Lady of Seduction (18 page)

Caroline smiled at him. “I don’t want to disturb you, monsieur. You need your rest. I only wanted to look in on you and see
how you fared.”

“I am well enough. Better than I deserve, I think, after all the trouble I caused last night.” He held out his hand to Caroline,
and she hurried over to take it in hers. “My daughter has made arrangements for us to leave this place. We will depart on
the morning tide.”

“Is that quite safe?” Caroline said, even though she had planned to do exactly the same thing. “It is still rough weather.”

“I think we will be safer on the sea than here. And I must get Victorine away before her grief gets the better of her. I had
no idea she was so very fond of that ruffian Michel, or I would not have agreed to him coming with us. I thought it was a
mere trifle of an affair.” He gave a deep sigh. “I was wrong about so many things, mademoiselle. And I was especially wrong
to come here chasing a ridiculous dream.”

“Grief and desire make people do such strange things,” Caroline said. She thought of Mick O’Shea setting a fire to avenge
his Bessie. And she thought of herself, chasing
The Chronicle
to Muirin Inish and getting trapped in the whirlwind of her feelings for Grant Dunmore. Where would it all end?

“You leave without
The Chronicle
,” she said.

“It seems that particular dream was not to be, though I can hope for the future.”

“And does Captain LaPlace go with you?”

The vicomte frowned. “I really have nothing to do with LaPlace,
ma chere.
He was only a means for me to get here, just as I was his cover for his own errand. That was how it had to be for this voyage
to happen.”

“His own errand?” she said, feeling suddenly cold. “What is it?”

“I fear I do not know for sure. Only LaPlace and his friends in Paris know, including your Irish Monsieur Emmet. I have kept
well away from all that.” His hand suddenly tightened on hers, a strong grip that belied his frailty. “Mademoiselle Black,
won’t you come with us?”

Caroline tried to laugh even as her mind raced with the news that LaPlace surely was a spy. “Monsieur, I can’t go to Paris.”

“Then let us take you to some larger island at least. You should not stay here; it isn’t safe.”

So many warnings today. “Oh, monsieur. I do appreciate your concerns, truly I do. And I will leave as soon as my own work
is done here.” She gently kissed his brow. She had become quite fond of him in the short time she knew him, even if he did
want to take
The Chronicle
away. “You should rest now. I wish you a very safe journey back to your library.”

“And I you,
ma chere.
” A faint smile whispered across his face. “I have enjoyed our talks. No one at home appreciates history as I do.”

Caroline laughed. “I’ve enjoyed our talks as well. Maybe one day I
will
be able to come to Paris.”

As she stood up to leave, the door flew open and
Mademoiselle Victorine rushed in with an open valise in her arms. Her eyes widened when she saw Caroline there, and she threw
the case onto the floor.

“What are
you
doing here, harassing my poor father?” she cried. Her eyes were red rimmed with weeping, and her lovely auburn hair was falling
from its combs. “He must rest if we are to leave this horrible place.”

“I was just saying
au revoir
, mademoiselle,” Caroline said softly. “I hope you and your father reach your home very soon.”

“And we shall never leave it again! This is the most barbaric of lands, mademoiselle, and you would do well to leave it yourself.”
Victorine’s stare raked over Caroline’s tall figure in her boy’s clothes and dirty boots. “If any sane Frenchman would have
you.”

Caroline hurried out of the room. She was vastly tired of all these French visitors, tired of their secrets, of all that had
happened since they arrived. She just wanted the quiet of her own room, where she could think and sort everything out.

But she was not done with them just yet. Captain LaPlace waited for her in the shadows of the landing outside her chamber.

“You are very busy today, mademoiselle,” he said with a smile. He seemed entirely unconcerned about his kinsman’s death or
anything else that might be happening around him. His hand rested casually on the balustrade, blocking her path. “Who would
have thought there was so much to occupy a person on such a quiet island?”

Caroline watched him cautiously. She had the distinct sense their paths had not crossed accidentally. Why would he be waiting
for her?

“I’m a scholar, monsieur,” she answered. “I study the ancient history of Ireland, and there are a great many sites to be seen
and examined.”

“History! Such a dull subject for a lovely young lady.”

“I do not find it so. Now if you will excuse me…” She tried to duck around him, to get into her room and lock the door against
him, but he was too fast. His casual laziness was merely an act. He struck out, quick as a serpent, and grabbed her wrist
in a hard clasp.

“Let me go!” Caroline cried. She tried to be firm and calm, and not give in to the fear that twisted her stomach. She attempted
to wrench her wrist free, but he held her fast.

LaPlace reeled her slowly toward him until he could spin her around and pin her against the wall. She felt closed in, surrounded,
just as she had when he grabbed her the first time they met. He held her there with one hand, as easily as if she were a feather,
and the other hand covered her mouth. But his first attack in the corridor had felt sexual, possessive. This time it felt
only violent and controlling, keeping her in his power.

But that hateful, helpless feeling only fanned the flames of her anger. She kicked out at him, and he laughed and lifted her
higher. His eyes gleamed with a terrible enjoyment.

“Oh, mademoiselle, let us not lie to each other any longer. It becomes tiresome,” he said. The more she fought, the more he
seemed to enjoy it, so she went very still. She watched him carefully, waiting for a vulnerable moment.

“We should be friends,” LaPlace continued. “We could be of much benefit to each other. But I fear that cannot be until we
come to an understanding. I know that old, musty ruins are not the only thing that keeps you and Sir Grant here on this forlorn
island.”

Caroline shook her head.

“My master is not a fool, mademoiselle,” LaPlace said. “He knows that not all of Monsieur Emmet’s contacts can be trusted,
and your lover is the most untrustworthy. After all, he has been known to change his loyalties before,
n’est-ce pas
? He is probably planning to do so again. But disloyalty is one thing my master will never tolerate. And I serve him in all
things.”

Caroline wrenched her mouth away from his hand, and he let her go. But he rested his fingers ever so lightly on her throat,
ready to close in again in an instant.

She felt an icy numbness creep over her, as if she watched the whole scene from a distance. She needed that distance to get
away from him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, monsieur,” she said. “You and your master—whoever that may be—are
no concern of mine. And Sir Grant does not confide in me.”

“Of course he does not. No man of sense confides in his
putain.
But you are not merely a little whore, are you? I have watched you since we arrived, just as you have been watching us.”
His hand tightened, just enough to make it harder for her to breathe. “And if all goes as we hope, my master will soon be
yours as well, and that of every person in your benighted Britain. It will be more than you deserve.”

He leaned closer to her, so close she could feel the nauseating brush of his soft lips on her cheek. She feared she would
be sick, and she closed her eyes against the clammy sensation.

“And then,
ma chere,
” he whispered, “you will learn your place as all good Frenchwomen have. The ancient regime was too permissive to you—how
do you English
say? Bluestockings. But that will be done now. A woman’s true place is beneath a man…”

His mouth covered hers, and Caroline cried out. She had no time to struggle; he was suddenly flung away from her and she fell
to the floor.

She opened her eyes to see that Grant had seized LaPlace and torn him away from her. He held the Frenchman in an iron grip
by the neck, and the two of them grappled in one flashing, violent blur on the landing. Fists were flying, the air torn with
shouts and grunts and the terrible thud of flesh on flesh.

Her legs trembled, but she managed to stand using the wall as support and slowly edged away from the furious combat. She looked
around frantically for some sort of weapon, anything she could use to drive them apart, but there was nothing. She was trapped
there against the wall, able only to watch in horror as first one then the other seemed defeated.

At last Grant managed to catch LaPlace in a headlock and slam him down on the top step. There was a horrifying crack, and
the Frenchman went still.

The sudden, vibrating silence was deafening. Caroline stared at Grant as he slowly stood up, his chest heaving as he fought
for breath. His lip was cut, the blood bright on his skin.

“Grant…” she said, and he took a step toward her.

Suddenly, LaPlace’s hand shot out and grabbed Grant’s leg. Caught off balance, Grant tumbled backward toward the stairs. LaPlace
leaped up into a crouch and shoved him down the old stones.

As Caroline watched in terror, Grant rolled down the steps, slowly at first then faster and faster, with no sound but the
awful thuds of his body.

“Grant!” she screamed. In that instant, her whole world seemed to change, and she was overcome by a wild desperation. All
she knew was Grant was hurt, and she had to get to him. She lunged forward, but LaPlace caught her by the waist and threw
her hard over his shoulder.

She had only a fleeting glimpse of Grant lying terribly motionless halfway down the stairs. She cried out, and LaPlace tossed
her into the bedchamber. The door was slammed in her face as she threw herself at it, and she heard the metallic grate of
the key in the lock.

“Grant,” she sobbed as she fell to the floor. “Oh, Grant. Damn you, don’t you dare be dead!”

L
et me out!” Caroline screamed. She banged on the locked door with her fists until her hands turned bruised and bloody, shouting
until her throat was raw. “Please, someone help me!”

But there was no one left in the castle to hear her, and even if there was, the old walls were too thick and secure. The place
had been built to keep people out—and keep them trapped inside.

She pressed her forehead to the door and closed her eyes as she listened for any hint of noise. She could hear nothing at
all. It seemed LaPlace had abandoned her there for the moment.

But where was Grant? Her last view of him haunted her, that image of him tumbling down the stairs and lying there so horribly
still.

He couldn’t be dead. The ties between them were so tight, surely she would feel them snapping loose if he were dead. But her
heart felt heavy with an icy weight of grief at the thought. Her stomach cramped, and she thought she would be sick.

She fell to her knees, clutching at that hollow ache inside of her. He was
not
dead, she wouldn’t even think that. But he was here in this castle somewhere, hurt and in the power of that terrible LaPlace.

“He will find a way to get free,” she whispered. Grant was surely like the proverbial cat—he had many lives and he always
seemed to escape from any trouble. Had he not survived his deprived childhood, the warehouse fire, the stormy sea? He would
escape from this, too. He simply had to.

In the meantime, she had to find a way to help herself. If she could get out of this room, she could find Grant, and together
they would find a way to escape.

She forced away her fear and ran to the window. In some of the Gothic romantic novels Anna liked, the imperiled heroines sometimes
escaped by tying sheets together to make a rope and lowering it out a window. But as Caroline peered outside she immediately
saw the foolishness of such an idea. Only cliffs and ocean were below her window, and even the narrow strip of dirt and rock
was very far away. She didn’t have nearly enough sheets to reach safety.

She studied the room carefully. If only she could scurry up the chimney, or simply vanish like one of the fairy folk in an
old story!

Suddenly there was a soft tap at the door. Caroline was sure she imagined it, but then it came again, a little louder.

Her heart seemed to skip a beat. Was it one of the servants, crept back into the castle to help her? Or was it LaPlace, coming
to attack her again?

“Don’t be silly,” she told herself. He would never knock.

“Mademoiselle Black? Are you there?” someone called. To Caroline’s shock it was Victorine.

“Yes, I’m here,” she answered. She ran back to the door and pressed her palms against it, as if she could will it open. “I’m
locked in, by LaPlace.”