Elizabeth Thornton by Whisper His Name Page B

know it yet, but she was fated to meet Harry Norton again.
    It annoyed him that he had to waste his energies in tracking down the book. He had far more important things to do. He was an assassin. His real mission was waiting for him in London, and he had still to refine the details of how he would make the kill.
    And this kill would be spectacular.
    All the same, the book was important. If the authorities learned that Nemo was still alive and in England, it would make his job more difficult. But not too difficult. Jerome had not known who his target was. Even he hadn’t known until recently.
    He wasn’t convinced that the girl had hidden the book in her bank vault. She might be terrified of him, but she wasn’t stupid. She must have feared that he would kill her the moment he had the book. It didn’t matter. One way or another, she would lead him to the book.
    He’d considered delegating the problem of finding the book to his English accomplices, but he was reluctant to do it. They were rank amateurs. They didn’t have the nerve to kill anyone in cold blood, least of all a girl. He’d infiltrated their cells months ago, given them a new direction, and had set things up so that they would be there as scapegoats when his real mission was completed. After that, he’d returned to France to bide his time for the right moment to arrive. Then Jerome had intercepted his letter to the Emperor.
    First Jerome, then Colette, and now Abigail Vayle. And he never would have known about Miss Vayle if one of
his
spies had not intercepted
her
letter.
    Abbie
. How English. How boring! It made him think of bland puddings, apple dumplings, and boiled beef. She’d given him quite a start when he asked her to dance at the Assembly Rooms tonight.
He looked familiar
, she’d told him.
She always remembered a face
. He pridedhimself on his reputation as a master of disguise. No one ever recognized him. That was why the English had given him the nickname Nemo—‘Nobody.’ He was nameless and faceless, and that’s how he liked it.
    Had it not been for Miss Vayle, he would have been in London right now. It did not sit well with him that he’d been put to so much trouble by a mere female. She really must be punished for the inconvenience she’d caused him.
    He placed his pistol on the table beside his bed, but his weapon of choice, his two-edged blade, remained in the sheath strapped to his arm. He had too many enemies to feel comfortable without it, and though those enemies were for the most part among his own people in France, the habit of sleeping with his knife strapped to his arm had become second nature.
    When he blew out the candle and slipped into bed, he folded one arm behind his neck and contemplated when and how he would kill the girl. He would have killed her tonight if she’d given him the book, and that would have been a pity. She’d been terrified of him, but not nearly as terrified as he could make her. He could picture her on her knees, begging for her life and the life of her brother. He knew how to build that terror until she would kill her brother just to please him. The thought made him smile.
    There was no doubt about it, he had a weakness for females. Even at the kill, he couldn’t help flirting with them. But he preferred women who had some spunk. It made the chase all the more interesting. He suspected that Miss Vayle was going to be a big disappointment. In spite of how she’d outwitted him in Paris, she’d turned out to be a poor, sniveling, spiritless creature. Her heart would give out long before the chase ended.
    Colette had been more to his taste. She hadn’t beenterrified of him. He’d savored the pleasure of finally breaking her. But at the end, she’d cheated him of his pleasure. She’d leveled an empty pistol at him. She’d forced his hand and that made him angry.
    Abigail Vayle was no Colette.
    He didn’t know how long the game would last. He could spare three days, perhaps four. That would