The Devil May Care (Brotherhood of Sinners #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

going after Sal. And sacrificed a very valuable double-agent to do it.” He shifted forward in his seat, planting both boot-soles on the ground. “The French have hated your sister for years, but shortly before her death, Sal somehow came into possession of something—a book of some sort, an encrypted book—which Victoire wanted very much to recover. I’m quite certain that if the French think Sal still lives and possesses that book, Victoire and her minions will crawl from the woodwork fast enough.”
    Rachel took a deep breath, and nodded. “So I’m to serve as bait.”
    “Essentially, yes.” The gargoyle’s voice was cold, but his eyes were searing again, fixed on her mercilessly. “In any case, the most important question right now is one only you can answer.”
    She refused to let him stare her down, though looking back into those hot eyes made her spine quake. “What question would that be?”
    “A simple one.” He smiled at her, a smile with no warmth in it. “Tell me, Miss Covington, can you play the part of courtesan?”
    “Courtesan?” Her breath and her heartbeat stuttered.
    “Yes, courtesan. A woman whose profession it is to—”
    “I know what a courtesan is,” she snapped, her cheeks heating. “I am literate.”
    “Oh, you’ve read about courtesans?” His smile widened, though it did not increase in warmth, only in undisguised disdain. “Well, then, no doubt your knowledge of human relations is quite complete.”
    She ignored his sarcasm. The implications of his question were slowly sinking in. “But Lord Helm said Sarah broke ciphers . She wasn’t . . . ”
    “She was ,” the gargoyle said. “And expert at using the connections that role gave her. Salomé . That’s how she was known. Salomé Mirabeau. Fallen daughter of a French count who was slain in la Terreur . Grown up to become one of the most infamous women of the London demimonde.” A more authentic smile flickered briefly across his mouth. “The melodramatic tale amused her greatly. As did the play on her real name.”
    “Her real name? No.” Rachel knew she sounded foolish, insisting on this detail at this time, but she couldn’t help herself. The world would melt and slip from her grasp if she didn’t. “Her name was Sarah , not Sal.”
    “Sarah,” he repeated, in a tone of indulgence even a child would find patronizing. “But for you to succeed in this mission, Miss Covington, a courtesan is what the world must understand you to be. So tell me: can you play the role? Convincingly? Can you, my quiet, gray, drab little nun, transform yourself into a Salomé?”
    Her head swam. Courtesan .
    It was too much to take in at once. That Sarah had become such a thing. That she herself was being asked to convince the world she’d done the same.
    What had that life been like for her sister? Echoes of pain and fear and tears she’d sensed over the years swept over Rachel now. Loneliness. Anger. Shame.
    Rachel wanted to curl in a ball and pull the cloak over her head.
    But the gargoyle’s eyes were glaring into hers, and there was something ugly in them, something that infuriated her. It was not just the implied insult, the one he’d already thrown at her in Helm’s office, that she lacked feminine wiles. No, this was something else, this was . . . satisfaction . A cruel satisfaction. Lord Gargoyle didn’t think she could do it. Worse, he didn’t want her to do it. He wanted her to fail .
    Damn him. Her sister had died. Her sister had been murdered.
    She had every right to be part of this.
    She’d seen that look of his before, on the faces of the few men who’d ever stooped to play her in a game of chess. Most took her on only to shame her, to defeat her, to demonstrate her proper place. Whenever she’d encountered that look, she’d always—however carefully and quietly she’d had to do it, and however mild she’d had to keep her expression afterward—handed shameful defeat to them instead.
    Now, she didn’t