Once they left the parlor, they walked down a long hall, through an unlit room, through another adjoining unlit room, and out onto a small balcony at the back of the house.
Céleste glanced around the small space, purposely keeping her eyes off the giant figure taking up far too much of the balcony. It could not have been more than three feet wide and five feet long, but she was not about to crush her skirts against the balustrade from attempting to keep a proper distance.
“This is no closet,” she pointed out. “Where are we?”
“Where no one will think to find us. What you ought to be asking is did anyone see us leave? The answer is no. I don’t think so, but just in case…” He twisted and shut the doors to the room, seeming to shrink the outdoor space even more. “Now, what could be so important you lowered yourself to mingle with the likes of Mrs. Talbot?”
Céleste ignored the harshly disapproving tone and cleared her throat. She was suddenly anxious to speak with him considering what it might take to convince him to help her. She had used her trump card just to get him to speak with her, and she didn’t have much left to offer. Could she go so far as to use her body to entice him? Yes, she could. She was determined to find the truth, but she doubted she would be enough to tempt him, even if she wasn’t past her prime.
She forced herself to meet his gaze with all the confidence she could gather. He was a force to be reckoned with, a beast that had somehow convinced all of Paris he was a merry jester—harmless and unbothered.
He was most definitely bothered now, and she had never believed him harmless. She could feel his anger crackling in the air.
The moon was full, and a torch lit the garden just below, making him appear larger and more intimidating. It illuminated him: his hair, his eyes, his angled jaw just above the fine folds of his cravat. The way he narrowed his eyes at her made her feel like a troublesome insect he could crush at any second. No one had ever made her feel so small.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I want to engage your services.”
His hard expression held for a moment, then softened with a touch of amusement and… bewilderment? Then he smiled, and her jaw clenched.
He was far too charming when he smiled.
“You are the first,” he said. “I have been cornered in my box at the opera, pulled into a closet, had my clothes held ransom in Hyde Park—don’t ask—but you are the first to use threats of ostracizing me for a place in my bed. M’dear girl, if you wanted to be my mistress—”
“No!” Céleste burst out. “Good heavens, no. That is not what I meant.” She stopped herself and managed a scolding tone. “I understand you are a scoundrel, but I shall ask you to keep those hobbies to yourself. This is strictly business.”
“Love is a business, m’dear,” he murmured. “A lucrative one.”
She ignored him with a stern shake of her head. “I believe my husband was murdered, and I need you to find out who did it.”
Nick had to bite back a chuckle at her discomfort on the subject of love, but he sobered immediately at the rest.
“It was declared a suicide, was it not?”
“Well, yes, but they found no reason for it. There has to be a reason. Someone must have driven him to do it.”
“No doubt of it,” he muttered, looking her over warily. “Look here, whatever you have heard about me, it was wrong. Besides, if anything was there to find, it has long been covered up by now.”
“Béarn recommended you. Surely, it is worth your efforts for his sake if not for your own.”
Nick’s jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes on a long blink. Béarn? Why? Nick could take a joke, but this? This was blackmail… and Béarn had facilitated it.
Nick made a quick mental inventory of any factories he might have forgotten about which might have reached the duke’s attention. Maybe one or two… or three. Any with dead bodies? No. None that Nick had put there, anyway. Allard’s death wouldn’t reach the duke’s ears until next week at the earliest, and that was only if the police ever found out who owned the building. The paperwork for that shack was horrendous.
“Please,” she said, bringing him out of his thoughts. She licked her lips, immediately drawing his attention there. “I would do anything.”
Very well. He would admit the woman could surprise him, a feat very few women could pull off, and she had done it more than once.
“Is this worth so much to you?” His cock was screaming, yes, yes, yes, but his brain sensed a trap. Or a test. Or simply a fantastically terrible idea.
“Pierre was everything to me, and I am determined to prove he was an honorable man,” she insisted. “Was it not yourself who said there was such a thing as an honorable rake? If that is possible, then an honorable man committing suicide is not so unreasonable.”