Latymer Read Online Free Page B

familiar rush of excitement before memory set in. Never again would she greet him at the door with a smile and a kiss passionate enough to grip his stomach in an instant tangle of need.
    He halted on the opposite side of the street and simply stared. The modest brick house was one of many that lined the street of this quiet neighborhood. Pickpockets did not lurk in the shadows and gin-sodden men did not sleep in the bushes here. In fact, Latymer found the absolute quiet that surrounded him far more unnerving than the cluttered, poverty-stricken streets of Seven Dials.
    Remaining in the shadows, he scanned the area for signs of Collette and her entourage as he made his way to the entrance door. He pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. The door clicked open, and he stepped inside.
    Even though the house had been closed up for more than a month, Lydia’s scent enfolded him. He gave himself a moment to enjoy and to remember, then pushed away the grief. Such a useless emotion. It did nothing to assuage the loss, but it did everything to make him more miserable.
    He paused inside the door and listened for signs of habitation: the patter of small feet, the echo of a young boy’s voice, the squeak of a rusty hinge. Instead, his arrival was met with the telling silence of a hollow existence.
    Releasing a breath, he moved from room to room, floor to floor, sifting through the evening shadows with painstaking precision. White linens draped every piece of furniture, making the once-happy atmosphere feel more like that of a dreary mausoleum.
    He saved Lydia’s bedchamber for last. Had he been stronger, he would have gone there first, knowing if Giles had managed to find his way home, he would’ve sought the comfort of his mother’s chamber. An instinctual response for any child, especially one who’d suffered so much.
    But Latymer’s courage began to flag the moment he placed his boot on the first stair. Although he could ignore the grief, he hadn’t been able to control the longing. After the French had kidnapped Giles and forced Lydia to spy on Somerton for them, he’d come here often. This house, their possessions, her bedchamber—the only links he had left to his lover and his son. Once he’d learned of her death, he’d stopped coming.
    He stared at Lydia’s bedchamber door now, praying Giles was within. If he lost his son to the French, as he’d lost the woman he loved, not even Bonaparte would be safe from his vengeance.
    Turning the handle, he eased the door open and slipped inside. Low, flickering light caught his eye. “Giles?”
    “No, darling, not Giles.”
    Collette . His heart sank like a bag of tarnished coins into his gut.
    How had she known to come here? Had she followed Giles? His gaze slashed around the chamber, searching for his son.
    Nothing, nothing, nothing.
    The lamplight grew stronger. “Looking for someone?” Collette’s bloodred lips tipped up into a taunting smile.
    “Where is he?”
    Sitting at Lydia’s dressing room table, Collette reached for a silver comb that lay next to a small pistol. She slid the hairpiece into her mass of dark locks, twisting her head one way, then the other, inspecting her handiwork. He’d given the comb to Lydia on her birthday five years ago. Seeing the special piece in his enemy’s possession sent fire streaking through his veins.
    She met his gaze in the looking glass. “He?”
    “Don’t play games with me, Collette. What have you done with my son?”
    “We will get to him later.” She rose and turned to face him. “First, let us discuss the unfinished business you have yet to attend to.”
    “There is no later. If you know where my son is, tell me now.” The steel in his voice drew forth two new bodyguards—one from the corridor and one from the dressing room—both as large as the last two he’d dispatched. “It appears you purchase your brawn in bulk.”
    Her eyes twinkled. “So much more convenient that way. Now, about