Free The Devil to Pay by Liz Carlyle

no? Then choke me on them.”
    Sidonie winced at the vivid, but not inaccurate, suggestion.
    “Now, what else have you there, eh?” He looked across the table a little greedily.
    Sidonie thought of the solid gold snuffbox in her reticule and decided against it. She looked at Jean-Claude and shook her head. “No, the rest of it I shan’t give you,” she answered. “It is too risky.”
    The young man’s expression was wounded. “What eez thees?” he asked. “Madame does not trust Jean-Claude? We have done beezness together for all of one year, and now you say—”
    She cut him off by laying her hand over his. “I trust you, Jean-Claude,” she said. “But I’ve also grown fond of you. These other things, they are simply too dangerous to sell, even in Paris. They are very fine, yes. But too easily identified. And they belong to a dangerous man. Should you be caught, you would almost certainly be hanged, and for that I would never forgive myself.”
    He wrestled with himself for a moment. “Très bien,” he finally said. “But just give Jean-Claude a leetle peek, oui? I wish to see theez so very fine things I cannot have.”
    Sidonie cast a judicious gaze about the empty room, then pulled the first from her reticule, enfolded in a plain white handkerchief. Jean-Claude unwrapped the snuffbox first, glanced at the lid, and blanched. “Oui, madame, thees one I think you may keep,” he murmured, swiftly rewrapping it. “I recognize too well the leetle alphabeets—not to mention the crest.”
    The “alphabeets” were the letters A—E—C—H etched deep into the gold in a small, old-fashioned script. Sidonie wondered what they stood for, and opened her mouth to ask Jean-Claude. Then on her next breath, she chastised herself for caring and shoved the box back into her reticule. Devellyn was all she needed to know. His Christian name needn’t concern her.
    “What else have you there?” asked Jean-Claude.
    Sidonie shrugged. “Another gold watch,” she said, then hesitated. But curiosity got the best of her and she dug into her bag again, instead pulling out a smaller bundle. “And this,” she said, passing it across the table.
    Jean-Claude lifted one brow. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
    “I haven’t a clue,” she admitted. “It is like a very thin pillbox, or some sort of square locket. I see a tiny hinge, but I cannot open it.”
    “Very interesting,” said Jean-Claude, unfolding the fabric. “Ah! Thees eez a very rare thing, madame.”
    “Is it?” Sidonie asked.
    “Watch, and I show.” Jean-Claude pulled a tiny tool from his coat pocket and worked it very gently between the lips of the mysterious trinket. It popped apart like a little gold book. “The latch, eet was stuck,” he murmured, turning it so that she might look at it. “A petite treasure, n’est-ce pas?”
    Stunned, Sidonie nodded. The thing really was something like a large locket. On one side was a gilt-framed miniature of a young man in the high collar and elaborate cravat of the Regency period. On the opposite side, under a tiny pane of glass, was a curl of dark hair.
    Ma foi!” whispered Jean-Claude, obviously intrigued. “Exquisite! This comes from the Devil of Duke Street?”
    Sidonie was still trying to make sense of it all. “Yes,” she finally said. “From Devellyn.” She peered more closely at the handsome young man. “What do you make of this fellow?”
    Jean-Claude made a very French face and opened his empty hand expressively. “Eet eez his lover,” he said. “What else?”
    Given her recent experience with Devellyn, Sidonie had trouble believing that. “Or his father, perhaps?” she ventured.
    But she knew at once she was wrong. The portrait was too recent. Jean-Claude gave a dismissive toss of his hand. “The Devil, he eez estrange from all his family,” he said airily. “Everyone says that eez true. So the pretty boy, he must be a lover, no?”
    “No.” Sidonie frowned. “No, I don’t think