Chapter 4

Regent Street, London

V ictor gritted his teeth and tried to mask his boredom as Lydia writhed above him in wanton abandon. He wondered why the hell he had agreed to meet in person after she had persisted on harassing his entire staff until he complied. Victor had arrived at her lavish townhouse intending to deliver the promised gift he owed her and leave, but Lydia plied all her tricks to seduce him including her version of histrionics and tears. And fool that he was, he ended up in bed with her again. But he knew it was a mistake because despite her sumptuous naked form riding him with rampant passion, he was bored. She may be a member of the ton, but she was a consummate performer and highly sought-after courtesan in her own right. Yet, he felt nothing. Instead, his mind wandered running through lists in his head of possible suspects for half the cases he was working.

It was always this way with the women he had bedded in his lifetime. He was a virile man, he needed an outlet and he had succumbed for much-needed relief. But he knew it would end the same way it did with most women of his acquaintance—deeply dissatisfying for him.

He gritted his teeth and turned his head to the side, closing his eyes. This was all wrong; he felt nothing in the throes of passion, yet Lydia was becoming even more excited. She was a selfish lover, always had been; and he was fine with that. He had no problem with a woman knowing what she wanted and taking her pleasure, but with Lydia, he read this for what it was—a desperate attempt to rekindle their relationship.

He opened his eyes as Lydia leaned in closer, moving to capture his lips with hers. Her hands held his face, her eyes softened, and he knew he had to end it once and for all. For her sake and for his sanity. This would be the absolute last time he would share her bed. She was becoming too attached, and he—well, he was Victor Cambridge, a rake and a cold-hearted bastard!

Before their lips touched, Victor hauled her to the side and switched positions so now he was above her. He clasped her hips and began thrusting with earnest. He needed her to find her peak so this could end, and he could finally go home.

Victor watched as her eyes closed with pleasure and he felt the moment she found her release. Then he faked his own climax. He threw his head back and groaned loudly before he withdrew and collapsed on the bed beside her. He feigned exhaustion even though he was still hard and had hardly broken a sweat. Lydia was too busy catching her breath and staring at the ceiling with wonder-lust to notice.

Victor rolled out of bed and muttered something about removing the sheath. She simply nodded her head and remained abed. If she had looked closer, she would have noticed he was still hard and the sheath was empty.

Several minutes later, as Victor stood naked looking at himself in the mirror of Lydia's adjoining washroom, two things came to his mind: the sheath contained not a single drop—that's how utterly unsated he was—and he could no longer do this anymore. He brought himself to release with his hand and spent on a drying cloth. He rinsed the sheath and placed it in a special pouch, then he hurriedly washed and dressed, not looking forward to the conversation he was about to have.

It wasn't because Lydia wanted more; it was that Victor realized he wanted more as well but not with her. He regretted the entire evening and felt like a complete bastard for what he was about to do. Moments later Victor stood in the open doorway fully clothed and waited until Lydia turned to him; she had that look of expectation, but her face dropped when she noticed he was fully clothed. Once he conveyed his news she ranted and raved then threw things at his head, but undeterred Victor expressed his regrets, gave her the jewelry and large banknote then slipped out of her home through the servants' entrance for the very last time.

As he sat in his carriage on the ride home watching the London streets go by, he wondered if he would ever find that elusive something more that he craved. He'd courted his fair share of women in his lifetime, albeit discreetly, but there was always that gnawing emptiness inside, and even physical encounters left him unsated. He wondered if he'd ever find something to fill that void. Then he shook his head. He decided to remain celibate from now on and just focus on his job for the Foreign Office.

Rochford House – St Osyth, Essex – One Week Later

brIANA STOOD IN THE illustrious study of Rochford House, wearing men's attire—trousers, boots, a loose shirt, and coat with her curls tucked neatly under a cap. She waited in silence, maintaining perfect composure. While her outward appearance was calm and collected, inside she did all in her power to refrain from tapping her foot or fidgeting. She was running very late for an appointment with the modiste.

Sitting behind a large mahogany desk a meter away was William Zuylestein, the fifth Earl of Rochford. He was an extremely handsome man, but there was no warmth in his eyes. The earl had recently inherited the title from his late uncle, who had been a former courtier to Kings George II and III, ambassador to Spain and France, and the Southern and Northern Secretary. Part of that inheritance included a large volume of secret Crown papers documenting years of correspondence between high-ranking dignitaries spanning several countries. William now used those secrets to create an extensive spy network with hand-selected agents who worked directly for his purposes. From the rookeries to the grandest gentlemen's clubs, the fifth Earl of Rochford was a quiet giant. He wielded extraordinary power but lived a life of obscurity.

Briana hated having to visit the earl's ancestral seat, but she had no choice because, unfortunately for her, the Earl of Rochford was a current employer, and she was his most prodigious agent.

After what seemed like an eternity, William finally looked up from his parchments and said, "The documents are in order. Any luck with the jewels?"

"I have secured the parure and also... the pearl," Briana replied.

"You have? Well, why the devil didn't you say so earlier? Hand them over now."

He gestured for her to come forward. Briana walked toward the desk and placed a small velvet pouch in front of the earl. Then she took a step back and waited, again in silence, again glancing at the clock and trying to remain patient.

She watched his eyes grow with excitement as he opened the first pouch, pulling out the large jeweler's case inside. He gasped with wonder. He was gazing at a parure set of French diamond necklace, earrings, and bracelet. The necklace contained twenty-eight pendeloque mine-cut diamonds in a silver thread with twelve briolette rose-cut, pear-shaped diamonds. The matching bracelet and earrings contained an intricate gold setting with a total of sixty-four tiny diamonds dispersed throughout the design. He studied the piece meticulously with a loupe and took his time doing it.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally said, "My, you have outdone yourself this time, X. How did you manage to procure this exquisite set?"

"With a fair amount of difficulty. The owners are at a country party.

The earl held up his loupe and was perusing the diamond set again before he said, "Well done. Now for the pearl." He opened the next pouch and stilled as if he could not breathe. "Good Lord, I never thought I'd ever see this wonder of the world in my lifetime." He gently held it up to the light. "'La Peregrina' Pearl—it means 'The Wanderer.’”

Briana nodded and remained silent.

The earl whistled as he continued to examine the pearl. After a brief pause, he said, "Did you know this was found in the Pearl Islands and was the largest of its kind? It then spent hundreds of years as part of the Spanish Crown Jewels. Eventually, Joseph Bonaparte became King of Spain, but when he was deposed, he swiped some of the collection, keeping it for himself. So typical of the Bonapartes—they act as if they own the world. And now after all your wandering, you've finally come home," he said to the pearl itself.

There was a long pause that looked to stretch out more. The Earl of Rochford did not like to be rushed. It was a power thing with him—to keep people waiting a long time, to make the point that his time and attention were far more important than anything they would have on that day. Briana glanced again at the clock then said, "If you are satisfied with the items, I trust you have the agreed fee?" She knew she was being forward, but she needed that money, and she needed to be on her way at least fifteen minutes ago.

Instead, she was met with a roaring silence. Eventually, the earl put down his loupe and met her gaze.

Briana stiffened at the expression on his face. It was cold and calculating. She braced for his response, hoping against all hope that for once this power play between them could end quickly and she could be on her way.

"Yes, I believe you have earned it." The earl stood and handed her a pouch filled with coins. Briana breathed a sigh of relief.

He snagged the bell pull, and at once Briana was ushered out by a butler before she could say another word.

Briana stepped into the carriage and sat back with a sigh of a relief. She had made a deal with the devil for a good cause. Slowly all the pieces were coming together, and with Mendoza’s help she had a real chance of fulfilling her dream. She would prove once and for all that she had the intellect and skills to become a Crown investigator. The earl may have powerful allies in high places, but Briana had powerful allies as well. Granted, they were in very, very low places, but they could not be underestimated either. With that thought, she rallied at the momentous task ahead of her. As long as she stayed the course and did not get caught, she might just survive long enough to reap the rewards.