Page 92 of The Avenging Angel and the Spy
“Still alive?” said Lazare. “What does it take to rid me of this English dog?”
With a furious hiss Belle turned, starting to rise, but she was stopped cold by the barrel of Lazare’s pistol pointing into her eyes.
“Don’t.” He growled a low warning. “You have never been a stupid woman, Isabelle. Now is not the time to begin.”
She froze, glaring up at him. “Damn you, Lazare. What sort of game are you playing?”
“My own and the prying Monsieur Carrington is very much in my way. Those fools, Giles and Auguste! Twice they had the chance to dispose of him. Twice! And they failed me both times. Now I must attend to the matter myself.”
A surge of panic rose in Belle. She had seen that nigh-crazed look in Lazare’s eyes before. Instinctively, she moved to position herself in between him and Sinclair’s helpless form.
“Stay still!” His hand tightened upon the pistol.
“Why do you want to kill Sinclair?” she asked, making a futile attempt to reason with him. “He is one of us. He?—”
“He’s an English spy.”
“How do you know that?”
Lazare’s lips curved into a taut secretive smile. “That doesn’t concern you. All you need understand is that I don’t like being spied upon. Though I suppose I should thank the British pig for one thing. Without him, I would never have known of the Beauvais slut’s treachery.”
“Yes,” Belle whispered, a sickening image of Paulette’s mutilated body rising to her mind. “I have seen what you did with her.”
“It was necessary. Someone had to stop her, although I never desired to have the slut in my bed. But I’ve had no time to do aught else with her.”
His eyes glazed over and some of the tension seemed to go out of him. Belle tried to gauge her chances of leaping at him,disarming him. No, she would never have the strength to subdue him without a weapon.
“Get that rope over there from off the trunk,” he suddenly commanded. “I want you to truss up Carrington.”
“I don’t see the necessity of that,” she snapped. “You’ve made quite sure in your cowardly fashion that he will be of no threat to you.”
Lazare shifted the pistol to the region of Sinclair’s heart. “I can make sure in far more permanent fashion unless you do as I tell you.”
“You may intend to kill us both anyway,” she flung back, desperately trying to avoid carrying out the command, scarce breathing for fear her defiance would drive Lazare over the brink.
“Oh, no,ma chéreamie, Carrington may live for the present. And as for you and me, we must go.”
“Go?” she repeated numbly. “Go where?”
He shot her a mocking look. “How short your memory has grown. You must make all haste to array yourself for your assignation with Bonaparte.”
Belle stared at him. Was he mad enough to think she intended to go on with the plot after all of this, indeed that she would go anywhere in his company?
He appeared to read some of her thoughts, for he said, “We will not abandon our mission now, will we, Isabelle? Not with Carrington and Mademoiselle Beauvais so nicely taken care of.”
“And if I refuse?” Belle asked quietly.
“Then I will show you how large a hole can be made in a man’s chest at this range. Now go get that rope.”
Belle hesitated, but only for a moment. She had no choice but to obey. Lazare stood far too close to Sinclair to risk further defiance. She must think, try to play for time.
Slowly she edged toward the rope Lazare indicated, the length of hemp that had held closed his battered trunk. Keeping close watch upon her, Lazare bent long enough to scoop up the papers Sinclair had dropped. He stuffed them in the pocket of his greatcoat.
They looked like letters, Belle thought. What had Sinclair read in them that had made him call out to her with such urgency only moments before Lazare had entered the apartment? Did they hold the key to why Lazare so desperately wanted to destroy Sinclair? Belle did not believe his simple explanation that he hated being spied upon. That should not bother a man who had nothing to conceal from the rest of their society.
Lazare continued to stare down at Sinclair with such a look of contempt and hatred, Belle feared anything she might do would prove of no avail. But Lazare appeared able to keep his more turbulent emotions in check, merely saying, “Hurry. Make haste. And make sure you do a thorough job.”
Belle picked up the rope, no longer able to delay returning to Sinclair’s side to carry out the order. Her gaze flicked to the cudgel Lazare had dropped, but she rejected the notion almost immediately. She might not be able to move quick enough in these cramped quarters. Her best chance of saving Sinclair was to pretend to cooperate with Lazare and draw him away from these lodgings.
