Free Closer To Sin by Elizabeth Squire Page A

‘Lord knows it wasn’t a love match, but she was mature enough to understand that her loyalty belonged to me. They would have both known that sailing for the Americas was wrong.’
    ‘And now my friend, providence will decide the direction of your life.’
    Sinclair cast Gaston a wry look. ‘Providence will find me to be a worthy foe, you old reprobate.’
    ‘We shall see,’ Gaston chuckled. ‘But I have not come here to debate your unmarried status. What else is news with you my good friend? What brings you back to our fair shores?’
    Sinclair related the events that led to his departure from England and the suspicion there was a spy within their midst.
    Gaston leaned back in his chair and quietly stroked his moustache, a look of dismay etched upon his face. He raised his brandy and drank deeply from it while he considered what this all meant. ‘I had heard rumours, you know, but no one I spoke with seemed to know anything substantial. That, or no one was willing to speak out.’ Sinclair nodded to Gaston, urging him to continue. ‘But it is what else I’ve heard that concerns me. Until now, I had not connected the two events.’
    ‘And what may that be?’ Sinclair prompted.
    ‘On occasion, Anais and I, and others of our ilk, encounter obstacles in our path. You know, the usual thing that you’d expect to cross at some time or another in this business. They’re usually isolated incidents and I’ve never been overly concerned, but …’
    ‘But it has become more frequent?’
    Gaston shook his head slowly. ‘Not specifically, but there are stories. We hear talk of the Jacobin movement being resurrected. No one anticipated the slaughter the Terror became, but the story goes that they’re happy to bide their time, to manipulate events and Napoleon himself. And their supporters,’ he grimaced, ‘are loyal. The thing is, no one really knows who those supporters are. Most of them were thought to have perished.’
    Sinclair trawled the dregs of his memory as Gaston paused to take another sip of his brandy. ‘I recall some years ago having heard something similar, but for the most part, I’ve always passed it off as one of those myths that rise from the ashes of hate and resentment.’
    ‘Yet this story is persistent. Perhaps Gareth was murdered because he had discovered something to do with this.’
    It was a tempting theory, but surely implausible. And he wasn’t ready to give Gareth up as dead yet. Sinking back into the chair, Sinclair took refuge behind his brandy and contemplated this new information. Some vital piece of evidence was still missing. ‘I feel that for some reason the answer lies further south in Boulogne. Perhaps I need to pay a visit to some of your contacts. See if I can pull a few of the facts together. I—’ A sound outside the window drew his attention.
    He turned and pulled aside the curtains and paused at the sight of men spewing out of the tap room’s doorway into the lamplit courtyard. Fists flew in all directions, accompanied by loud yelling and grunts of pain. As the brawl intensified Sinclair propelled himself towards the door, driven by the surge of alarm disseminating throughout his body. Liliane .
    ***
    Liliane arose from the cooling water and moved to the fireside to dry herself. It would be nice to dress for dinner, but with only one travelling valise, that essentially meant the difference between wearing the grey woollen dress or the sapphire blue.
    With a shrug of her shoulders, she shook out the grey dress Solange had lent her. It was understated in both colour and design, unlike anything Liliane was accustomed to wearing. There was no adornment on either the skirt or the bodice and the simplicity suggested that the women who typically wore this style of garment did not have the benefit of a ladies’ maid. Warm, practical and inconspicuous. She looked in the mirror and grimaced. The bodice was perhaps a little tight, but it would have to do. Piling her hair into