What a Hero Dares

Zoé didn’t understand what Max meant, but if she told him what she knew, gained at least a modicum of his trust, eventually he’d tell her the rest.

“It was time for my visit to Anton. Unfortunately, he’d already slipped away—a drawback to working alone—so that I spent that night watching for him only to realize he’d escaped me. It took nearly another month to track him down again, looking first in Dunkirk, and then in Gravelines, because of the opium, you understand. It would do Anton no good if it remained in France, and Ostend’s harbor has lately come under English scrutiny. Two days later, and here we are, aren’t we? I imagine if your family managed to rescue any of the kegs I saw onboard tonight, they’re not filled with brandy.”

“And the man and woman?”

Zoé sighed. Again, the man and woman. He’d already known about the opium, she could see it in his eyes. What in the devil was going on here? Why would Boucher have chosen Redgrave land to be his rendezvous point with his smuggling partners? Why had he brought Max with him on the crossing, and then tried to either knock him unconscious or kill him? And all this obviously of strong interest to the Redgraves. Walk away? She wouldn’t leave Redgrave Manor now unless bound to the back of a cart and dragged.

Zoé believed she’d just seen the door to at least a conditional acceptance opening a crack in her favor, and she grabbed at it. “Are these questions in aid of something in particular? The trouble it would seem you Redgraves have found yourselves in, if I understood correctly earlier? Perhaps I can help, as it would appear I’m once again without financial prospects. For one, I’d definitely recognize the man and woman if I ever saw them again.”

“You’d sell your services to the devil himself, wouldn’t you?” Max asked, heading for the door. “Remember, I’ve seen your handiwork when you believe it time to change employers. Only a fool would trust you.”

So much for conciliatory gestures.

“And you’re certainly no fool, are you, Max?” she called after him as he turned his back on her.

She watched as his shoulders stiffened, as they rose up and down with his sudden deep breathing.

“I’m more the fool than you know,” he said, his back still turned. “If I’m beginning to believe you’re innocent, what in God’s name does that say about me?”

Poor Max. She longed to shake him. She longed to comfort him.

“What does it say about both of us, Max. Other than that we neither of us were so brilliant as we’d believed. Anton duped us both.”

He at last turned to look at her, but made no move toward her. “He should be locked up with the others in one of the outbuildings. I think it’s time all three of us had a small chat,” he said quietly. “I’ll ask Gideon and Richard to join us, as I no longer trust my ability to know who is lying and who’s telling the truth.”

“No, not yet,” Zoé warned him, for she’d spent several hours out on the roof, thinking how best to handle Boucher. “In your heart you know I’m telling the truth. I don’t think he saw me tonight, so perhaps you can continue as you were, pretending to still trust him. I don’t know what you mean when you speak about this Society, but I truly think that’s best, and I know you can do it. Think of your family, Max. Expose him at some point, yes, but not yet, not when he might still prove useful to you. Then give him to me. That’s all I ask in return for helping you, and I’ll be on my way. I owe you that much, and you owe me that much.”

At last Max understood; she could see it in his eyes, his expression suddenly bleak and defeated. “You were following Anton to kill him. For no other reason than to kill him. Not only that, or he’d be dead by now. You wanted him to see who was about to kill him.” Max took a single step toward her, with her involuntarily moving forward at the same time. “Tell me what happened. Please, Zoé. What happened after I left to meet with the courier?”

“There’s no point in that now, other than that you know your true enemy and can protect yourself. Otherwise it all would have been for nothing.”

“All what would have been for nothing?” Max took another step and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me. Please.”

She bent her knees and ducked out from beneath his light grasp, returning to the window to look out into the night sky. She’d believed him dead, had resigned herself to never being able to tell him what she longed for him to know. Still, the story flattered neither of them, and she wanted to get over this rough ground as quickly as possible.

“I was asleep in the loft with the others napping downstairs when Anton rode in with three men. Before I could fully rouse myself and get into my boots, they’d dragged Ralph and Howard and Georges outside and were tying them up on the ground. Ralph and Howard were dispatched at once, bullets to their heads.” She closed her eyes, seeing everything as if it was happening again. “And then...”

“Look at me, Zoé. Don’t look at the past, look at me.”

She turned around, leaning back against the windowsill, the moonlight most probably turning her unbound hair to silvery gossamer—drawing Max toward her like a moth to the flames. But now was not the time for such thoughts. She felt so incredibly sad. “Don’t you understand, Max? You are the past, and so am I. It’s too late to change that.”

He looked at her for a long time. “I suppose you’re right. Tell me about Georges.”

“He was so sweet, wasn’t he, and so young,” Zoé said at last, a single tear escaping down her cheek. “Anton went down on his knees beside him as the boy sobbed, pleaded, saying he didn’t want to die. Anton...Anton sat him up and hugged him close, kissed his cheeks, and told him no, his men had been overzealous in tying him up in the first place. Georges laughed and cried in relief, holding out his bound hands behind him so that his uncle could slice the ropes around his wrists. He was still smiling when Anton put a small pistol to his ear and shot him. Then he kissed him again as he gently laid the body back on the ground, thanking the boy for his sacrifice.”