Hell, he didn’t want to hurt her. But neither did he want her locked in a cage of André’s making. She was too wild for that. Yet she had spent her life helping her brother to knock in the bars that surrounded her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, aware of each slender bone of her, of the night sounds shuffling closer, snuffling and whispering.

She raised a hand to his face, her fingertips brushing, touching, exploring each of his features in the darkness and lingering on his lips. He felt desire for her burn through him as he kissed her soft mouth, heard her whispered moan. She tasted of salt marshes and raw nerves and a hunger so strong it stopped his heartbeat.

‘Eloïse,’ he murmured.

‘What?’

She eased back a fraction, but he was still conscious of her breath on his skin.

‘Don’t do this,’ he said.

She picked up the torch and flicked it on. By the patchy light of its beam he could see her eyes were huge and her mouth was curved on the edge of a laugh.

‘Don’t do this?’ She brushed the back of her hand along his jaw.

Stop.

But the word refused to come out of his mouth. He took hold of her wrist and drew her hand away, but his fingers wouldn’t release it.

‘Don’t continue your involvement in André’s secrets. It’s dangerous and you are not trained for it.’ The thought tightened a hard knot in him. ‘I worry about you.’

She grew still. She didn’t remove her hand but used it to raise his hand to her lips. She kissed his knuckle. ‘I owe André,’ she said in a low tone. ‘I owe André his legs. And I won’t rest till I find the person who did this to him.’

There it was. Nothing he could say would change it. He knew her. Knew that tone. Whether she was hanging from a tree branch or hunting down a murderer, she would never let go.

Léon drew her to him, holding her close. ‘Then let me help you.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

‘You know what a DLD is?’

‘Of course. A dead letter drop.’ I looked at André. He was wound up. I’d felt the tension the moment he’d pushed open my door.

‘That’s right.’ He smiled approvingly, assessing my mood. ‘I want you to execute one today.’

It was early morning and yesterday’s clouds had sloped off to the west, leaving a naked blue sky that promised the heat would build fast. André was propped against the door-frame, wearing his workman’s clothes, a rough collarless shirt and neckerchief, though he was no longer a workman. I noticed he was wearing boots for the first time instead of soft shoes. Was he planning on going somewhere? Or was he just clinging to the world he’d lost?

‘Ready?’ he asked.