Fairchild's Lady (Culper Ring Series) (7 page)

When she sighed, he almost wished the question unasked. Almost. “I was betrothed once, but François’s interest was only in my face and my dowry. I did not realize it. Not until a month before the wedding, when I caught him in an embrace with one of my friends. At which point he laughed at me for thinking he had ever loved me. It was my friend he had loved all along, and as she had just inherited a large sum, he said he intended to end our engagement and marry her instead.”

Fairchild winced. Perhaps in a way it was similar to his story, but Winter had never been cruel. She had done her best to spare his heart. This François seemed to have deliberately trampled Julienne’s. “I can imagine how that hurt.”

She gave him a bittersweet grin. “I was less hurt than angry. I believe I said something about my grandfather not making a pleasant enemy, so perhaps he ought to think twice about his decision.”

He couldn’t resist chuckling. “A well-placed threat, to be sure.”

“I had not even spoken with Grandpère yet when I received word that François had been killed on a hunt.” She shook her head and cast that glacier gaze to the distance. “Angry as I was, I did not wish such a tragic accident upon him. My friend, she…she was devastated but could not admit why. And there was I, mournful but not as everyone supposed. Still, I was glad for the excuse to remain apart from society for a while.”

“I imagine. And then, when your mourning was over…the duc?”

“
Oui
.” She rested her head against his chest again. “He returned to court just as my mother insisted I attend the balls again, and his interest was quick and clear. No one else would ever dare speak for what he had claimed, and so here I am. Five-and-twenty and very, very grateful to be yet unwed.”

“Oh, Julienne.” He knew not what else he could say and feared that if he dared say more, it would only prove him more the fool. Pound as his heart may, he could not give in to the longing for her. Her mother obviously disapproved, and her father just as obviously had never considered such an unbalanced match. How could he have? They had both thought Fairchild would be meeting Lady Julienne for the first time on this trip.

Yet his hand, when he commanded it to let go of her hair, only
made it so far as her cheek before settling again. And his other arm, when he thought he had better set her away from him, pulled her closer.

And it surely helped not at all when she smiled up at him the way she did now, with passion and a pinch of mischief. “Are you never going to kiss me, Isaac?”

The chuckle escaped against his better judgment. “This is only the fourth time we have been in company. Only the second alone.”

“Ah, but we must not overlook those scores of dreams.”

Perhaps they did deserve to be counted since they were shared. And perhaps, since this could well be his only chance to kiss her, the folly of it could be forgiven. Surely ’twas right that he was able to embrace a woman he loved once in his life, was it not?

She was already lifting herself up on her toes, her arm had already snaked around his neck. Perhaps because he had already lowered his head and pulled her against him.

Their lips touched in a soft caress, no demand within it. No rush, no regret could find a handhold in his heart now. There was room for nothing but Julienne, for the swell and crash of love that overtook him. He cradled her gently, yet firmly enough that when she sank against him, he held her up.

Kiss melted into kiss, deepening from want to need and from need to promise. The obstacles ceased to matter. Anything, he would give her anything she ever needed, ever wanted, would do anything he must to earn the right to hold her like this every day. To make her his wife, his love, to show her in a million such soul-searing kisses that she was all he would ever need.

“I love you.” He whispered the words in her ear when finally he pulled away enough to catch a breath, and punctuated it with a kiss upon her jaw. Then another, and another, headed back for her mouth.

“
Je t’aime
,” she murmured against his lips. “
Je t’adore
.”

A hundred years wouldn’t be long enough, neither a thousand nor a million to show her how true were those words. For whatever reason, their souls had touched here in the grotto those months ago and had recognized then what the Almighty had known all along—that they were meant for each other. That though He led them on the strangest paths, all was worthwhile when they found each other.

Like this. Oh, praise be to heaven, just like this. He kissed her again,
long and deep and without reserve, praying she would know, when finally they must pull away, that he would fight for her, that he would never let her go. Praying it would sustain them until he could convince her parents that he would be the best husband for her. Praying—

In the next second, his arms were empty. His eyes flew open even as a scream pierced the air for a single moment before being muffled by a black-gloved hand. He reached for his pistol only to realize he had left it in England. And though he had a dagger concealed in his boot, he hadn’t the time to reach for it before the flash of another blade was caught by the moonlight—along with the enraged face of the duc de Remi.

Rough hands seized him, a pair on each arm, even as whoever had held Julienne released her to the duc’s fury. Remi, a guttural growl ripping his throat, grabbed her, shook her, and jerked her until she landed against his chest with that wicked blade touching her cheek.

The terror in her eyes…
Lord my God, God of our ends, help us! Protect her, Father, please. Please, keep her safe!

Calm descended upon Fairchild like the morning mist, touching every crevice of his being until he could breathe in and out with certainty. He relaxed his arms, his shoulders, his entire stance, and shifted to the belligerent, arrogant posture he had so disliked when he’d met the real comte d’Ushant half a year before. When he’d stood before the man who was a near mirror image to him and thought they had nothing in common at all.

But he could pretend. If it would save her, he could pretend.

“How dare you! How
dare
you take what is mine?” Remi pressed the knife into Julienne’s cheek until she closed her eyes. “You think her beautiful? I can take her beauty with one swipe of this blade.
Then
what will you think?”

Her eyes opened again, and again he prayed—this time that she would understand exactly what he was doing. Fairchild shrugged. “What is it to me? I wanted only to enjoy that beauty for a night. It is you will have to look on her for a lifetime, so if you wish to make her hideous…” He raised his hand as if to wave it in dismissal, but of course his captor stopped him. Which afforded him the perfect opportunity to send the man—a servant, it seemed—an icy, unaffected glare.

Remi growled again, but he eased off the knife a bit, praise the
Lord. “You think to
toy
with my fiancée? To use her and discard her like a common trollop?”

Now Fairchild widened his eyes, as if genuinely surprised by the man’s offense. “You mean—monsieur, how was I to know you do not have such an understanding?” He tossed in a smirk and mumbled, “Every other couple at court seems to.”

“
Imbécile
.” But Remi jerked his head, and his henchmen relaxed their grip, though they didn’t let him go entirely. “Next time learn to whom a woman belongs before you try and seduce her.”

Fairchild rolled his shoulders and shook off the servants’ hands, and then he tugged his waistcoat back into place. “You can be sure I will. My apologies. I meant no harm, only a pleasant diversion.”

Remi narrowed his eyes. “Your ignorance with the court is your only salvation, d’Ushant.” The fact the duc knew his assumed name made Fairchild’s blood run a little colder. “You owe me your life. Cross me again, and it will be
your
neck with a blade against it. Remember that if ever I approach you with a favor.”

Not even daring to wonder what use the duc might envision for d’Ushant, he bowed. “I am at your service. Of course.” He bit his tongue against asking what he would do to Julienne. D’Ushant would not care, so he must not seem to either.

But he barely repressed a sigh when the duc lowered his knife—and barely held back a shout when he then jerked Julienne around and fisted a hand in her hair, using it to force her against him and her head back to what must be a painful angle.

A whimper escaped her lips.

“But
you
.” Remi’s sneer looked as though it should drip poison. “You cannot claim the same ignorance.”

Somehow, she managed to shift just enough to make her awkward position look captivating, as if she had put herself there willingly. “Please,
mon amour
. Forgive me. So long I have kept a rein on my feelings for you, my desire for you. I did not even know he was there, I was out here dreaming of you, of our wedding. When he kissed me I…I did not realize. I thought it you, part of my dream…”

Did the duc believe her? Fairchild had his doubts. Remi was too
shrewd. But he let go of her hair and even smiled. “If it is I you wish to kiss, Julienne, you are most welcome to do so at any time.”

Fairchild’s throat felt dry as rice powder. She could hardly refuse him now, after that “confession.” Were she to try it, Remi might yet use the knife in his hands. Still, even knowing that, even understanding, he felt the blade plunge into his own stomach when she simpered up at the duc and slid a hand around his neck. He felt it twist when she pulled Remi’s head down and caught his mouth in a kiss passionate enough to make the servants chuckle and loose a low whistle.

Passionate enough to make Remi drop his knife.

That helped ease the pain in his gut.
Good girl, Julienne
.

One of the servants gave Fairchild a shove. “Enough of a show for you,
non
? I suggest you leave before the duc decides you are not so useful an ally after all.”

“Good advice,
mon ami
. Good advice.” He turned as if he had no other care than preserving his own hide. And sent a prayer of thanks heavenward when Julienne pulled then from the duc.

Remi whispered something into her ear, something that made her giggle. Something that made the moonlight reflect a flash of fear in her eyes.

The second servant gave Fairchild another helpful push. He made a show of rolling his eyes and heading toward the garden path, but not before glancing over his shoulder to see that Remi was leading Julienne away, on a direct course for where his apartments lay.

And the knife was back in his hand, resting against the small of her back.

B
y the time Remi shoved Julienne through the door of his expansive suite, she felt certain the knife had scorched its imprint into her spine. She stumbled over the fringe of the carpet and caught herself on a chair, wincing when he barked out the name of one of his servants.

What would he do? Dismiss them all so there would be no witnesses when he made good on the threat that lay beneath his whispered promise to give her far more than kisses? Then what?

Mon Dieu, protect me. Or if You will not, if this is the result of my own foolishness and it is Your will I suffer it, then insulate me. Make me numb. And Isaac, give him peace and comfort
…

“
Oui
, duc?”

Remi tossed his hat to a side table. “Find the comtesse de Rouen and bring her to me. We will settle the arrangements for the marriage now, before I leave.”

The servant nodded and disappeared out the door. Julienne jumped when it closed behind him, her gaze tracking Remi as he paced the foyer. He was like a panther with its prey cornered, waiting for the moment it fancied to strike.

He tossed the knife to the floor with a clatter that nearly shattered her nerves and then spun to her. She managed to seat herself upon
the chair, some vain hope of retaining her dignity flitting through her thoughts. It abandoned her when he braced himself on the chair’s arms and leaned over her.

How could a set of eyes such a beautiful brown be so cold, so hard? So unlike Isaac’s, though the colors were within a shade of each other. The hearts behind them were a world apart.

“Would you like to try again,
ma chérie
,” he said through clenched teeth, “to tell me what you were thinking? Why you would betray me?”

The truth tickled at her tongue, but if she spoke it, he would kill her and then hunt down Isaac. Even Mère and Grandpère could be in danger.
Non
. She could not hand them over to his rage like that.
Please, Lord. Please save us
.

“Well?”

She let the tears come as she averted her face. “What can I say, Remi? It was a foolish mistake, a lapse in judgment, and I am sorry.”

He pushed off, straightened, and raked a hand through his hair. “Le comte d’Ushant. You would not know him, would not realize that his…trysts…got him chased away from court once before. He is a raptor, Julienne, preying on pretty young wives.”

The real d’Ushant might be a complete monster, but Isaac was not. Still, she dared to draw in a breath at his words. Was he providing her with an excuse? “I did not know.”

He was before her again so fast she hadn’t even time to recoil before his knuckles cracked across her cheek. “You should not have
had
to know!”