My Lady Gambled by Shirl Anders Read Free Book Online

Paris, leading to the assumption that Paris had been the cult’s feeding ground. Brynmore vividly remembered Saxon’s description of the altar and how Hellion had taken appendages from different human sacrifices and sewn them together, all appearing to be male parts. This was the strongest clue, and was what had led him to start looking for missing men in Paris and any link he could follow that would lead him to the cult or at the very least, a cult member.
    Now, the name Miss Montoya mentioned had come up again, and Brynmore knew, if Miss Montoya did not, that her brother’s name Clayton Charette, was in the Paris police records linked to someone reporting missing less that two months ago. There was no reference to who had initiated the missing person record on Clayton Charette. It was an anonymous request.
    “I need to see your records,” Miss Montoya stated clearly. Brynmore thought he could hear her tone of voice better than any other.
    “I am sorry, Mademoiselle, this is impossible.”
    “But, I just saw someone-!” Miss Montoya began to exclaim, and Brynmore stiffened. Then her voice halted with sharp arrest. She began again, “What assurances are you going to give me about this?”
    Brynmore listened to the official blarney that the man gave Miss Montoya. Somehow, his intuition told him that she understood what the man was trying to do was placate her without substance behind it. She was firm though, responding to every avenue a person in her position could imagine. She ended their conversation with a promise to return the next day to see what progress they had made. The French constable hastily tried to dissuade her, however, Miss Montoya assured him that she could do no less than return tomorrow, and every day after, until news of her brother was found.
    It showed spirit, Brynmore thought, and he silently applauded her. She would be leaving the constable with a clear vision of her visiting and taking up his time, nagging him every day. Brynmore also wagered his best claymore that Miss Montoya’s next two stops would be the record’s office down the hall, and then on to find this man called Marco Remior.
    He needed to find Marco Remior also, and he decided that Miss Montoya needed further investigation herself. Victim or player? He would bet his second best claymore, Miss Montoya had Remior’s address.

Chapter Seven
    “Bolton, tell my wife that I have returned and will be in the study,” Wyndham said, tapping his riding gloves against his thigh before he handed them to Bolton, his middle-aged butler. He had just walked into the front foyer of his London townhouse, back from his early evening boxing exercises, which he attended thrice weekly. He had to admit, after a year of parrying, bobbing, and weaving about in a boxing ring that his war-injured leg was much stronger, coupled with the hikes through the countryside that he and his wife Or‚lan regularly enjoyed. He could say with confidence that his leg had returned to more than half of its normal capacity.
    “My Lord Hawkenge, your wife is not in residence,” Bolton offered with solemn gray eyes.
    Wyndham’s head hiked upward at this. Bolton would have mentioned where Lady Or‚lan had gone, if he had known. Wyndham would not suffer asking the man, or reveal the fact that he was unaware of Or‚lan’s plans.
    Damnation. Wyndham nodded to Bolton and headed to his study with only a slight limp. He had watched Or‚lan closely these two weeks since he had returned from Drummond’s after hearing of Saxon and Joelle’s dangerous encounters. That same night he knew Or‚lan had heard the tale also, all the wives and lovers of the Archangels had.
    Wyndham well remembered returning home that evening. He had not pretended, eluded or sidestepped the fact that he had a new mission he would be going on soon. And, that Or‚lan would not be involved. He had known immediately by her reaction that something was amiss. She had demurred to him like a timid flower,