Shana Galen (24 page)

O
n the way back to Alex’s apartment in the Latin Quarter, Lucia couldn’t stop thinking about John’s last words.

“Be careful,” he’d said, and his hand had trembled in hers. She took a deep breath. Lord, she’d be relieved when they were all finally out of France and safely home on English soil.

Alex gave her some last-minute instructions as they entered his apartment. He was in a hurry to get the papers and money he needed and secure them a carriage, and maybe that was why he didn’t notice that something was wrong. But Lucia felt it right away. A chill of apprehension and warning wrapped itself around her as soon as they crossed the threshold into his quarters. Camille entered behind them and didn’t seem to sense the danger, either.

“Keep the curtains drawn and the rooms dark,” Alex was saying. “Look in my wardrobe for the false
documents we’ll need to get out of Paris. Lucia, are you listening?”

She stared hard at the room. The couch…

The swords and the shield above the couch. One sword was missing. She could have sworn it was in place when they left. “Alex, something isn’t right—” She turned to Alex and froze as she caught the flash of metal in the fading sunlight.

“I do not think you will be needing those documents, Selbourne.” Camille raised her pistol.

“What the hell?” Alex pushed into the room and thrust Lucia behind him. “What are you doing, Camille?”

“What I should have done days ago.”

Lucia heard the click of the hammer as Camille cocked it into place. “It’s you, isn’t it?” Lucia said softly.

Alex stared at her. “Lucia, I told you—”

“It’s
her
, Alex.”

He shook his head and turned to Camille.

Camille chuckled. “That’s why I love you, Alex. You always see the best in me. I am almost sorry I could not live up to your standards. Now you will die thinking the worst of me.”

Lucia began to tremble, and Alex moved closer to her.

“Put the gun down, Camille,” he said. “You’re no traitor.”

“Oh, but I am.” She waved the gun at them, and Lucia flinched.

“I would love to kill her first so you would have to watch her die,” Camille told Alex. “But I think it more prudent for you to be the first to go.”

Lucia felt Alex stiffen with rage. His body was poised for battle, but she felt like grabbing him, holding him, keeping him safe.

“Why?” he said, voice deceptively cool. “What happened to you?”

“What happened?” Camille gave a short, bitter laugh. “I was never a patriot like you,
cher
. My parents were killed in the Revolution, and I hated the misguided fools who did it, but the Revolution is over now. Bonaparte has a new vision for France. We can rule the whole of Europe and beyond. Do you think I want to stand by and watch you English bastards defeat us?”

Oh, Lord. Lucia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How badly had this woman compromised England?

“How long?” Alex’s body shook with anger. “How long have you been deceiving me—deceiving all of us?”

“You mustn’t take it personally, Alex.” She moved closer, still pointing the gun at them. “If not for me, you would have been dead long ago. I kept your identity a secret as long as I could, but after your last escape, it was no longer possible. That information concerning Villenueve was too important. Décharné was on to you.”

“He said he’d discovered your identity after my escape from France.”

“A precaution, I’m sure, so you would trust me in case you managed to elude him. And do you know, Alex, that even yesterday I would have saved you? I meant what I said about the two of us leaving together. Getting away. But then I saw
her
.” She waved the pistol at Lucia, her eyes burning with jealousy. There was no disguising it now, or the woman’s intent. She was going to kill them both. “I saw her and knew it would never happen.”

“What would never happen?” Alex asked. Lucia clutched his tailcoat, willing him to silence. Willing
him to change the direction of the conversation.

“You would never love me,” Camille answered. “I’ve loved you for years, Alex, and I’ve watched you spurn me again and again for other women. I meant nothing more to you than a common prostitute.”

Lucia closed her eyes. The pain in Camille’s voice was heartrending.

“No.” Alex took a step toward Camille, and Lucia stared at him in shock. Why was he moving
closer
?

“You
know
I care about you, Camille,” he said, his voice low and seductive.

“Stay where you are.” Camille waved the pistol at him. “You’ll never care about me the way I care about you.”

But Lucia heard the hope in Camille’s voice.

“That could change,” Alex said, his tone soft and convincing. Lucia shivered at how convincing he sounded. He took several steps closer, and even his movements were seductive. He was a man who knew how to use his charms.

“I don’t believe you,” Camille stammered.

“Don’t you? Time and again,” Alex said silkily, “I’ve been there for you, Camille. You know I’d do anything for you. Let’s start over. Put the gun down, and we’ll talk about this.”

Lucia watched the French woman’s hand tremble, causing the pistol to shake. Her eyes were locked on Alex, and Lucia could see how desperately she wanted to believe him.

But then she shook her head. “No. You must think me a fool. Besides, there’s still
her
.” She waved the pistol at Lucia, and Lucia swallowed her cry of fear.

“She means nothing to me. She’s like a sister to me. I have an obligation to Ethan to protect her. Nothing more.”

Camille frowned. “But I saw you with her this morning. Was that nothing?”

Alex shrugged. “She was convenient. What you and I have is deeper than that.”

Lucia inhaled at the sharp pain stabbing her heart at every word Alex spoke. He moved farther away from her and closer to Camille, was almost beside her now. Lucia told herself that Alex didn’t mean what he’d said to Camille. He was just trying to get the gun away, to save them, but the words ripped into her nonetheless. All her doubts and insecurities weighed on her. He’d never promised her anything, never declared his love.
Was
she just a convenient distraction?
Did
she mean anything more to him?

With Alex halfway across the room, Lucia wondered what her next step should be. Should she run? Stay still? Alex’s body was still in front of hers, giving her some protection from Camille, but how long before the woman stepped around him and turned the gun on her? The woman would not hesitate to pull the trigger.

“But how can you forgive me?” Camille was saying. Alex was still inching toward her, but she hadn’t lowered the pistol. “After all that I’ve done?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alex said.

Camille gazed at him, and her hope was a beacon setting her face aglow. Then it dimmed. “But you don’t know everything,
cher
. I was the one who revealed Henri’s identity and your own. That night in London when I came to see you? I went directly to Décharné to tell him you were at home.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Alex’s voice was calm and soothing. For a moment Lucia wondered if he
had
known.

“That’s not all.” Camille glanced at Lucia, and for
some reason the woman’s look made her shiver. “I was the one who shot John.”

Lucia gasped, and no longer caring about the danger, took a step forward. “Why you—”

Alex silenced her with a look, then turned back to Camille. “Put the gun down, Camille.” The husky note was back in his voice. “Let’s go into my bedroom and talk.”

Camille began to lower the pistol, and Lucia realized in her place she would probably have done the same. A woman unaffected by Alex—his godlike appearance, his velvet voice—was made of ice. Alex was beside Camille now, and Lucia knew he would take the gun from her given one more moment. But as he stepped to the side, she glimpsed the hallway, and what she saw there sent a flash of pure terror through her. In the shadows, his face a skeletal mask of rage, was Décharné. His eyes met hers, and he smiled. Slowly he raised his pistol, and before Lucia could think to scream, fired.

Alex flinched and waited for the inevitable pain. How had he failed? Why had Camille fired? Then the blood poured from Camille’s open mouth, and she tumbled forward, sending her pistol skidding across the floor and spilling the sticky red liquid onto his shirt. He caught her, breaking her fall. Behind her, Décharné emerged from the shadows, his spent pistol discarded, replaced by a medieval sword.

“I never could abide the woman,” Décharné said pleasantly and nodded at Camille. “Never trust a woman. They are far too easily swayed by their emotions. Of course, considering the performance you just put on, who could blame her?” He inclined his head at Alex in acknowledgment.

Alex could only stare at him. In his arms, Camille gurgled, taking her last breaths, and behind him Lucia was backing away. More than anything, he wanted to look at Lucia, to be certain she was safe, but he didn’t dare take his eyes from Décharné.

Décharné ran a finger along the blade of the sword. “In the end, she served her purpose. She led me to you.” Décharné executed a mock bow, waving his sword gallantly as he rose. The swish of the metal cut the air in front of Alex just as Camille exhaled. She did not breathe again, and Alex set her down gently. He had no time for grief or even to wonder how Décharné had found him. His eyes darted to where Camille’s pistol had fallen only a few feet away.

Décharné smiled, pulling another from his coat.

“How quick are you, Selbourne?” he said. “Do you think you have time to reach that pistol before I shoot Miss Dashing?”

Alex’s gaze darted to Décharné, who pulled his lips back in a thin smile. “Oh, yes, I know who she is.”

Alex froze. “What do you want, Décharné? You have me now. Let her go.”

Décharné cackled, bones protruding sharply from his thin cheeks. “From the lover to the hero, is it? Well, why not play the part of the knight in shining armor? Step away from the pistol and we shall see your skill in sword fighting.”

Lucia retreated another step, and Alex looked for a distraction, anything to give Lucia time to get away. “You have the sword, Décharné, not I,” he said.

“Miss Dashing, if you would be so kind?” Décharné pointed, and Alex turned to see a lone sword mounted on the wall behind his couch. Lucia was staring at him, trying to read his intentions. He nodded to her, and she went to the couch and reached for the sword.

A sword. A bloody sword. Alex felt like laughing. So this is what it had come to—a duel to the death. His death, for certain. He felt like laughing. He never thought he’d regret the time he’d spent with Lizzy Snell, the daughter of a local tavern owner and one of his first lovers, but for the first time he wished he’d been more interested in his fencing lessons and less interested in Lizzy’s charms. From the way Décharné held his weapon, the man was well practiced.

Alex stepped away from Camille’s discarded pistol, and Décharné lowered his own as Lucia dislodged the sword from the wall. She was shaking badly, and Alex tensed when she almost dropped it, but dutifully she held on and handed the weapon to him—Guinevere to his Lancelot. Their eyes met briefly, and he tried to smile at her but was afraid it came out as a grimace. She pressed her lips together as she sometimes did when she was trying to hide her worry. Décharné raised his sword and assumed his opening position—hand behind him, one leg thrust back, the other forward and bent at the knee.

Alex took his time, hefting his weapon from one hand to the next. The sword was heavy and fat, like something a medieval knight would own. His own experience in swordplay was limited to the foil and épée. This sword was much heavier, required more strength to wield. His eyes darted once again to Camille’s fallen pistol. Bloody hell. He didn’t have time for Décharné’s games right now. If Décharné was here, how much longer before his men or the French army would follow? Were they outside even now?

Décharné moved impatiently, and Alex had to raise his sword. Then, without warning, the skeleton lunged. His attack was rapid and wild, but it had enough strength behind it so that Alex felt the reverberations of the fierce contact between the two
blades. The clash of metal on metal ricocheted off the bare walls.

Alex took a step back as Décharné veered to the left. Once again, the gaunt man attacked ferociously, but Alex was ready this time, raising the heavy weapon and meeting Décharné’s sword thrust forcefully. He hadn’t had the chance to remove his greatcoat, and the black material swung around him in a wide arc, hampering his movements. Still Décharné retreated, sidestepping a chair, and coming dangerously close to Lucia, who skirted away, closer to the window.

Alex’s eyes flicked to hers for an instant, and Décharné took advantage of his lapse to strike again. This time Alex’s reaction was too slow and Décharné’s sharp sword cut through layers of clothing and into the skin of his biceps.

“Alex!” Lucia cried, but he held up a hand to ward her off.

“Touché!” Décharné shrieked triumphantly.

Anger rising at the sudden sting of pain, Alex positioned himself to attack. Behind Décharné, he saw Lucia scoot around the chair and toward the couch. Camille’s pistol was still lying beside her lifeless body, and he wondered if the risk of snatching it was worthwhile. Décharné had tucked his own pistol into his pocket and could retrieve it and fire in seconds.

The only encouragement was that none of Décharné’s men had arrived. If Décharné had come alone, Lucia might still have a chance at escape. Alex lunged at Décharné, bringing his weapon down brutally. The swords crashed, and the two men were nearly face to face, each testing the strength of the other.

“You are better than I thought you would be, Selbourne,” Décharné commented breathlessly.

“Are you regretting your choice of weapons?”
Alex growled between clenched teeth. Décharné was stronger than he looked.

“No.” Décharné let out a loud yell as he exerted more force and pushed Alex back a step. The heavy greatcoat was still an encumbrance, and it took Alex a moment to regain his balance and ready his sword. Décharné was coming for him, swinging high, so Alex ducked low, skirting around the man, and slicing his thigh as he did so.