Читать книгу My Lady's Dare - Gayle Wilson - Страница 12

One more, the Earl of Dare told himself, the now-familiar words repeated like a litany, as he pressed his body more closely into the shadows. He was in the back garden of a small house on the outskirts of Paris. It was well after midnight, but there were still lights on inside. Apparently, and disappointingly, the occupant of the dwelling was either awake or, more likely, reluctant these days to sleep in the dark.

And despite the risks occasioned by his present location and by the task he had undertaken tonight, Dare found himself smiling at that thought. Relishing it.

He had known, of course, that this one would be the most dangerous. And he had added to that danger by saving this particular man for the last. That decision, however, had been both considered and deliberate, and even now, faced with the daunting prospect of the light, he had no regrets.

This was the man who had issued the orders. The one most responsible for what had been done to his friend, Andre. And considering his position in the government, this man, Paul Lefebvre was probably the most intelligent of the five whom the earl had set out from London a week ago to hunt down. And that meant, Dare had decided, that Lefebvre was probably also the one with the greatest capacity to imagine his fate.

At least I hope you’ve been imagining it, you bastard, Dare thought, the smile on his lips without amusement. I hope you’ve been living in a state of absolute terror, dreaming about my hands fastened around your throat or about the coldness of my blade sliding into the vileness of your black heart.

For six days the Earl of Dare had stalked the streets of Paris like ancient Nemesis. And in those six days, he had relentlessly found, and killed, four men. Although what had been in his heart when he had begun this quest had been nothing less than cold-blooded murder, he had given all of them the opportunity to fight him. Far more chance than they had given Andre.