Mutely, Annabelle nodded.
He had risen to his feet and was towering over her like some huge bird of prey. She had to forcefully remind herself that it was Dalmar, and in spite of the menacing posture, he would do her no harm.
He uttered an explosive oath and strode to the door. At the threshold he pivoted to face her.
"May I remind you of our pact?
"
She knew at once that he was referring to their agreement to keep their business and personal lives separate.
Rising to her feet, she nodded her assent.
"I
'
ll hold you to it.
"
As angry as he, she answered, "You do that, Dalmar. But I promise you, you
'
ll never get those diaries away from me as long as I have breath in my body.
"
With one last, furious look, he flung over his shoulder, "God, you make the temptation almost irresistible, do you know?
"
Chapter Eighteen
W
hen Dalmar walked into Annabelle
'
s office at Bailey
'
s the following morning, she greeted him with a smile. Though she had not forgotten their blistering argument of the night before, other things had robbed the recollection of its sting.
On her desk lay a rep
ort from Albert, her second-in-
command, and orders for books which had just come off the presses. He
'
d done a remarkable job, she thought, in ferreting out new avenues of distribution for the cheap cloth-covered editions she planned on producing. Her ambition had been realized, and in future, Bailey
'
s books would be found not only in the more prestigious bookshops, but also behind the counters of drapers, grocers, and general mercantiles in some of the great centers outside London. It was a first in the publishing world, and Annabelle was elated at the coup Bailey
'
s had pulled off.
She was eager to share her success with someone. Of everyone she knew, the Earl was more qualified than most to enter into her excitement. He
'
d shown a remarkable grasp of how her business was run. He was her partner. She
'
d acted on some of his suggestions and found that he had a sound head for business. But her most cogent reason for wishing to share the glad tidings with Dalmar was personal. She wanted to bask in his admiration. Rising quickly to her feet, she went forward to greet him.
It was the chill of his silver gaze which stopped her in her tracks. She fell back a step as two other gentlemen entered
behind the Earl. Their expressions were somber. One of the men was wearing a black coat.
"Is this the lady in question?
"
asked the man in black.
"It is,
"
said Dalmar.
"Am I addressing Mrs. Annabelle Jocelyn?
"
asked the gentleman, his eyes pinning Annabelle with a calculating stare.
"Yes,
"
she answered, and flashed the Earl a questioning look. But Dalmar
'
s gaze was trained steadfastly on the scene outside the small office window.
The man in black turned to his subordinate. "Let the record show that Lord Dalmar identified the suspect.
"
His eyes flicked to the Earl. "It
'
s in her favor, Your Lordship, that she did not dispute your identification.
"
"I
'
m aware of that. Just get on with it, man! I haven
'
t got all day.
"
Annabelle watched in numbed silence as the clerk made notes. "David, what
'
s going on?
"
she asked, her throat strangely dry. She became aware that all the normal, comforting sounds of a busy publishing and printing house were absent. The whole building had gone as quiet as a tomb. It frightened her. She tried to catch Dalmar
'
s eye to no avail. Nor did he answer her question. That frightened her even more.
The man in black addressed her in slow, sonorous tones. "Mrs. Annabelle Jocelyn. I am a constable of the law, and I must ask you to accompany me to Bow Street for questioning.
"
"Am I under arrest?
"
she asked. Her fingers curled around the edge of her desk, and she sagged against it for support.
"Not at the moment. But serious charges have been laid against you.
"
"And
…
and if I refuse to go with you?
"
It was Dalmar who answered. "Don
'
t be a fool, Annabelle! These gentlemen are officers of the law. They mean business! You
'
d better listen to what they say.
"
For the first time since entering her office, he looked at her directly. Those glittering, steely eyes showed no mercy.
"What charges?
"
she asked, turning her attention to the constable.
"Suspicion of murder.
"
The answer stole her breath away. She made a strangled,
choking sound as she sucked air into her lungs. "What are you talking about?
"
Though her voice was hoarse, it had risen a notch.
"Monique Dupres,
"
said Dalmar, his face a mask of implacable coldness.
Stunned, uncomprehending, she looked from one to the other. A flicker of pity momentarily softened the constable
'
s eyes. There was no such softening in the Earl.
"But I left her alive and well in Paris.
"
"It
'
s true, miss,
"
said the constable. "We have it from the foreign office.
"
He extended a scrap of paper. Annabelle took it and looked at it blindly. The constable
'
s voice gentled. "If you can prove your innocence, you have nothing to fear. The girl was a British spy, as you can see.
"
His eyes met the Earl
'
s. "It seems more like that one of those Frenchies did her in,
"
he offered.
The chill in Dalmar
'
s voice matched his expression. "You
'
re forgetting, constable, that Mrs. Jocelyn had the opportunity. Whether or not she had the motive remains to be seen. Now get on with it.
"
Annabelle was so shaken that she could not follow the conversation. She turned to Dalmar and said pleadingly, "Tell me the truth. Is she dead?
"
He answered her with brutal honesty. "Yes. Her throat was slit during the riot in the Palais Royal.
"
A shudder passed over Annabelle. By degrees, she came to herself and tried to focus on what the constable was saying. "What did you say?
"
she asked blankly.
The constable coughed and shuffled his feet uneasily. He cleared his throat. "If you hand over the documents, miss, you
'
re to be released into Lord Dalmar
'
s custody. Otherwise I must ask you to accompany me to Bow Street for questioning.
"
"Documents?
"
said Annabelle. "What documents?
"
"Diaries,
"
answered Dalmar succinctly.
Sudden comprehension jolted Annabelle. Her eyes locked with the Earl
'
s. "The diaries!
"
she said. "So that
'
s why you
'
re here.
"
"Yes,
"
replied Dalmar, and folded his arms across his chest. An unmistakable flash of triumph came and went in his eyes.
"Why don
'
t you make things easy for yourself, Annabelle? Just hand them over, and we can all go home.
"
Annabelle
'
s lip curled. She rounded furiously on the constable. "I don
'
t have the diaries,
"
she told him. "They were stolen from this very office a fortnight ago.
"
"A likely story,
"
snorted the Earl. "Constable, I adjure you to do your duty.
"
"It
'
s the truth, damn you! Lord Temple can verify my statement.
"
In a not unkindly tone, the constable said, "I
'
d advise you to hand over those documents, miss, or I shall have to take you into custody.
"
"But I don
'
t
have
the diaries,
"
yelled Annabelle.
"I did warn you, miss. Now come along.
"
He made a move to take Annabelle by the arm. She shook him off and backed herself into a corner of the room.
"I
'
m not going anywhere with anybody,
"
she cried out. "I don
'
t believe you are officers of the law! You
'
re impostors, that
'
s what you are!
"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the clerk scribbling furiously, no doubt recording that she was resisting arrest or some such thing. Her temper soared.
"I
'
ll give you something for the record,
"
she railed, and snatched the notes from his hands. She ripped them to shreds and scattered the pieces like a handful of confetti.
"Where are they, Annabelle?
"
Dalmar
'
s voice was dangerously quiet.
"Inside my head!
"
she spat out.
His eyes held hers, and he said with bone-chilling finality, "Take her away. I
'
ll start the search here. If we don
'
t find anything here, we
'
ll try her house on Greek Street.
"
"I hope you
'
ve got a warrant or whatever it is you need before you open one drawer on my premises,
"
she warned him, "or I
'
ll be the one filing charges.
"
"You forget, these are my premises, too.
"
"I don
'
t want you in my house!
"
"I
'
ve got a warrant. Everything
'
s above board.
"
But everything wasn
'
t above board, and they both knew it. Annabelle stood panting, glaring up at the Earl. It seemed she
could do nothing, say nothing to shake him from his purpose. In that moment, he was a stranger to her, a very disciple of the devil. Though clear, rational thought was beyond her, all through her body she felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal.
Her tone was as venomous as she could make it when she said, "Have a good look round when you
'
re in Greek Street, Dalmar. I promise you, it will be the last time you ever cross my threshold.
"
He seemed totally relaxed and slightly bored. "Now who
'
s the poor loser?
"
he drawled.
Thus Annabelle, generally esteemed for her cool logic and calm, imperturbable nature, completely lost her head. Incensed beyond endurance, without weighing the consequences, she lashed out at the object of her distress. Her open palm struck Dalmar full across the face.
A lesser woman would have cowered before the blaze of fury which distorted the Earl
'
s normally saturnine features. Annabelle struck him again.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. Kicking, biting, scratching, spitting like a wildcat, she went for him. Her strength was unequal to his. She was shaken like a rag doll. Pins fell from her tresses to scatter on the floor. Her hair cascaded wildly about her shoulders. Still she fought him.
Her arms were seized from behind.
"Put the manacles on her!
"
"But your lordship…
"
"Do as I say.
"
Bands of adamite confined her wrists. Far from subduing Annabelle, the action incited her to further violence. She kicked out at her captors, screaming abuse at them. They bound her ankles together. Dalmar
'
s glittering eyes betrayed his murderous frame of mind. Annabelle did not care.
"
Take her away!
"
he bit out. "No doubt a cold cell and a dish of want will bring her to her senses.
"
Bound hand and foot, Annabelle resorted to the only weapon left to her. She lashed the Earl with the rapier blade of her tongue.
"You spawn of Satan! You degenerate! I should have known what to expect from a man who murdered his own father!
You
'
ll never get those diaries! I swear I
'
ll publish them! I
'
ll make you the laughingstock of all England! The foul stench of your name will disgust all decent people!
"
Screaming like a fishwife, uncaring of who heard her, Annabelle cursed him up hill and down dale.
"Gag her,
"
said Dalmar curtly.
Kicking, bucking, screaming, she resisted the smothering gag. It took two pairs of hands to hold her down and Dalmar to finish the job. He turned her over. Hatred, pure and unadulterated, glittered in her eyes. He stepped back.