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Authors: Kate Pearce

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BOOK: Simply Carnal
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She pushed that thought away and concentrated on what she could salvage. Armand was in England, which meant the children were alone at the château. Had his mistress, Louise, stayed behind to guard them, or had she accompanied Armand? Would Louise care whether the children were taken? Elizabeth had to assume she would, seeing as they represented the future of the Saint-Brieuc dynasty, and Louise was very conscious of her role in that future.
Elizabeth got up and washed her hands and face. She should know never to depend on anyone else by now. She had the money to return to France and the desire, so she would simply continue with her plan later that night. She changed her crumpled dress, gathered a few possessions in her largest reticule, and went to the door. She knew Christian wouldn’t let her work in the pleasure house, but she could at least sit in the kitchen and keep Madame Durand company before she left.
She tried to open the door and realized it was stuck. After a couple of minutes of fruitless jiggling, she realized that the door wasn’t jammed at all. Someone had deliberately locked her in.
 
“Mr. Delornay, I have some news for you.”
Christian was sitting in the kitchen trying to forget the expression on Elizabeth’s face when he’d likened her to his mother. Did she really think he needed to grow up? If so, she was a fool. “What is it, Ambrose?”
Ambrose sat next to him. “Your solicitors said they have received a reply from the Walker family, and they are intending to meet with you and your representative on Monday, if that is acceptable.”
“That will be perfect,” Christian said. “By the way, I’ve locked Mrs. Smith, I mean Madame la Comtesse, in her room. Don’t let her out.”
“Locked her in?” Ambrose frowned. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want her running back to Armand.”
“Why would she run now when everything has been discovered ?”
“I’m not sure.” Christian went still. “That’s a very good question.”
“I don’t think she likes Armand very much, do you? I can’t imagine why she agreed to marry him.”
“I’m not sure if she did or whether she was just told that it would happen.”
“He didn’t strike me as a very pleasant individual.”
“He was extremely unpleasant,” Christian said slowly. “So why didn’t Elizabeth take issue with what he said?”
“Because she knew he spoke the truth?” Ambrose hesitated. “If she really did leave her children in France, you are the last person she’d want to know about it.”
“Because I’m irrational on the subject?”
“Not exactly
irrational
. You have a perfect right to hold strong views on the matter,” Ambrose said carefully.
“You think I’m wrong about my mother, don’t you?”
Ambrose simply looked at him.
Christian swirled the contents of his wineglass and contemplated the ruby reds. “Is that why Elizabeth didn’t argue with Armand? Did she assume I wouldn’t defend her because of my relationship with my mother?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Ambrose said. “I expected her to defend herself a little more strongly, but once he brought up the subject of her children, she seemed to crumble.” He sat up straight. “Mayhap she fears what he will do to them if she argues. By bringing them up straight away, he managed to subtly threaten her.”
“She left them, Ambrose. Why would she care what happened to them now?”
“You know it’s not as simple as that.” Ambrose hesitated. “I don’t think your mother stopped caring about you for one moment.”
Christian stared at the wine. Ambrose was probably the only person apart from Lisette brave enough to voice that particular opinion. Did he have a point? Had his mother cared for him in the only way she knew how?
He remembered her coming to visit him, Marguerite, and Lisette in France once, how the nuns had had to tear him away from her embrace and how hard she’d cried when they’d made her leave....
And how did that relate back to Elizabeth anyway?
“She told me that nothing was ever that simple.”
“Who did?” Ambrose asked.
“Elizabeth.” He raised his gaze to Ambrose. “There is something I’m missing, isn’t there? How in God’s name am I going to get her to tell me what it is?”
“Couldn’t you just ask her?”
Christian laughed. “She’d just lie.”
“But who is she trying to protect when she lies—herself or the children? And what is she trying to protect them from—their cousin or herself?”
“I have no idea, Ambrose, but I suspect there is a lot more to find out than we realize.” He rose to his feet. “In fact, I think tomorrow night I’ll allow Mrs. Smith to escape if she wants to.”
21
“Y
ou had no right to lock me in my room!” Elizabeth said tightly.
Christian leaned against the bedroom door and regarded her closely. It was Saturday evening, over twenty-four hours since she’d first been locked in her room, and she was still angry and sick at heart.
After their last horrible encounter, she could hardly bear to look at Christian. She had to convince him to set her free. She cleared her throat.
“Mr. Delornay?”
“You’ve already told me that you intend to return to France with Armand, so there really isn’t any need to contain you.” He flung open her door and bowed low. “Please accept my apologies. I’d prefer it if you kept to the pleasure house. Despite your cousin Armand’s protestations, Gaston might still be lurking outside, ready to dispose of you and save everyone a lot of bother.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “Why have you changed your mind so easily?”
His cold smile reminded her of the first time they’d met when she’d been unable to understand or read his face at all.
“I’m quite capable of reassessing my risks, madame. As you pointed out, this really isn’t my problem. I’m just keeping you safe until you return to your rightful position.”
There was nothing in his polite, social tone to indicate that he cared for her. Nothing at all and it hurt. God it hurt more than she could possibly have imagined. But it was for the best. She was the only one who was supposed to feel any regret for the lost opportunity of meeting and loving a man like him.
She curtsied to him and walked toward the doorway where he still lingered. She waited for him to move away but he didn’t.
“What are the names of your children?” he asked quietly.
She stared at the top button of his gray waistcoat and slowly took in a breath. She would not cry in front of him. She would
not
. “Jean-Pierre and Evangeline.”
“Do you miss them?”
She pressed her lips tightly together and refused to look up at him. She supposed he deserved his revenge, but she would be damned if he expected her to discuss the children.
“I only ask because I don’t understand. You do not strike me as the sort of woman who would abandon her responsibilities so easily.”
She had to finish this before she leaned into his deceptively slender chest and told him the whole sordid tale. With all her remaining courage, she looked up at him.
“But you don’t really know me at all, do you, Mr. Delornay? Perhaps there is a reason why your mother and I got along so well. Perhaps I told her what I refused to tell you and that’s why she let me stay.”
He grabbed hold of her wrist, and the coldness in his hazel eyes turned to ice. She fought an urge to step back from such frozen fury. Instead she smiled as sweetly as she could and he let go of her.
“Damn you to hell, madame.”
She put some distance between them. “Of course I’ll stay in the pleasure house today, Mr. Delornay. Is there anything in particular you would like me to do?”
“Stay out of my sight?” he suggested.
“Naturally, sir.” She curtsied again and sailed past him into the hallway, her smile instantly dying, her hand pressed to her aching heart. She would find solace in the kitchen. Surely Madame could do with an extra pair of hands? And if Christian came by, there were plenty of places to hide.
When she entered the kitchen, Ambrose looked up from his perusal of the newspaper, got to his feet, and studied her intently.
“Madame la Comtesse.”
“Elizabeth will still do nicely.” She sat and waved him back to his seat. “Are you angry with me as well?”
“I’m more surprised than anything.” He folded the newspaper and gave her his full attention.
She held up her hand. “Please don’t tell me I don’t look like the sort of woman who could walk away from her children. Mr. Delornay has already been over that.”
“I’m sure he has. But now I quite understand why you were reluctant to reveal what happened to you.”
“As soon as I realized he was at odds with his mother and why, I knew he would never understand what I was forced to do.”
“Forced?” Ambrose asked.
Cursing herself for revealing even that, Elizabeth took the opportunity to rise and ask Madame Durand for some coffee. By the time she took her seat again, she was determined to be more careful.
“Where is Paul? I haven’t seen him for days.”
“Paul is ... busy elsewhere.”
“With the military?”
“I’m not sure.” Ambrose seemed to find the topic of conversation as uncomfortable as she had found the last one.
“If Paul isn’t here and I’m no longer available, what are you doing about the room of desires?”
“We’ve recruited one of Marie-Claude’s protégées, Henrietta, to help out, and Mr. Delornay and I will continue to play our parts when necessary.”
“Henrietta is an excellent choice. She is completely unshockable.”
Ambrose smiled. “That is certainly an advantage.” He reached across the table and took Elizabeth’s hand. “We will miss you, Mrs. Smith.”
“I’ll miss you too. You have been very kind to me.”
He patted her hand. “You needed it.”
“I will never forget you, Ambrose.” Although the rise of her emotions was debilitating, and she would need all her strength later, it was a relief to be able to say how she really felt.
“You don’t have to go with him, Elizabeth,” Ambrose murmured. “Stay here and let us help you.”
She stared into his worried brown eyes. “I can’t. I wish I could, but I’ve realized I have no choice.” She forced a laugh. “I never did have a choice. I have to go back. I’m fairly sure Mr. Delornay, at least, will be glad to see me leave.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know he cares for you.”
“I know nothing of the sort.”
“If you leave him, I fear he’ll never recover.”
She pulled her hand away from between his. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ambrose. He’ll never be able to forgive me for this.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never met a more stubborn pair of fools in my life. Why can’t you just—”
She held up her hand to stop him speaking. “Because we can’t. Please don’t do this,” she whispered.
He stared at her for a long time. “Elizabeth, you can’t always run away. You do know that?”
She nodded and he sighed and rose to his feet. “I have work to do. Perhaps I will see you later? I’m sure Mr. Delornay told you not to leave the pleasure house.”
“I’m going to stay here and help Madame Durand.” Elizabeth smiled. “She says I will come in useful this afternoon when she needs someone to slice apples and blackberries for her pies.”
 
By ten o’clock that night, Madame’s pies were cooling in the larder and she had retired to bed, leaving Elizabeth in charge of the kitchen. Not that there was much to do. The buffet staff already knew where to get the supplies to replenish the food, and Elizabeth merely made mulled wine as required.
There had been no sign of Paul, Ambrose, or Christian for hours, and Elizabeth was beginning to hope she would be able to leave after all. She’d already packed her reticule and had it with her in the kitchen. The last obstacle was Seamus Kelly, who was guarding the back door.
Dubiously, Elizabeth regarded his broad back. Would he even know that Christian had told her not to leave the premises? Surely it would be better if she sent him elsewhere while she slipped out the back door? He was such a sweet man that she didn’t want to get him in trouble.
“Seamus? Could you help me for a moment?”
He turned his pleasant, freckled face toward her and smiled. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Smith?”
She waved vaguely in the direction of the kitchen range. “I need some more of the Spanish red wine to add to the spices and orange peel for the posset. As there is no one else here, could you possibly go down to the cellar and bring me up another two bottles?”
Seamus shifted from one massive foot to the other. “I’m supposed to be watching the door, ma’am.”
“I know you are, but I’m too afraid to go down into the cellars myself.” She pretended to shiver. “It is so dark down there. I promise to watch the door for you.”
His smile was indulgent. “All right, then, ma’am. Just call out if anything happens and I’ll be back up them stairs in a flash.”
She squeezed his massive arm. “Thank you, Seamus.”
He blushed and mumbled something unintelligible as Elizabeth unlocked the cellar door. She propped the door open with an old rusted warming iron and watched as he descended the stairs. As soon as he disappeared from view, she grabbed her coat, bonnet, and reticule and ran for the back door.
The bitter cold hit her immediately, but she didn’t stop to fully button her coat. It was imperative that she get as far away from the pleasure house as possible before they discovered she was missing. Her booted feet slipped on the icy cobblestones as she ran through the mews yard at the back of the house, past the stables, and then down onto the narrow street below.
Her breath formed an icy swathe around her as she paused to seek her bearings. She’d studied the area well enough to know that if she wanted to find a hackney cab, she needed to get out of the residential region of Mayfair and into the more commercial parts of the city.
Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones behind her, and she started moving, barely resisting the temptation to look back. Her fingers were cold, and even as she increased her pace, she belatedly tried to button her coat one-handed. Her aim was to get as far as one of the coaching inns on the edge of the city and leave for Dover on the morrow.
“Madame la Comtesse.”
Gaston’s triumphant voice echoed behind her. Her fingers closed on the handle of the knife in her pocket. Stupid of her not to listen to Christian’s warnings, but she’d assumed he’d been lying to make her stay. But not everyone lied as easily as she did. Not everyone was prepared to sacrifice everything to survive.
She kept walking. Either he’d have to come after her or she’d escape him. She
was
tired of running away, and she’d realized recently that Gaston was a coward and a bully. He ran at her and she swung around to confront him, knife in her hand. He screamed as the blade sliced into his outstretched hand, and his French became vile and guttural.
She ignored his threats and concentrated on the job at hand. She didn’t need to kill him; she just needed to stop him following her. Rage flooded through her and she drew back her arm again.
“Go away, Gaston, or I’ll kill you.” He cringed and flung up his hands before his face. “Do you really think I came out here alone? There are at least two men following me, and they will not care whether you die.”
His head whipped around and she maintained her confident smile. “Do you want me to scream for help and prove my point?” His teeth drew back in a snarl as he glared at her. “Are you really that keen to die for Armand, Gaston? He has no intention of paying you for killing me. He denied all knowledge of your plans.”
“Liar!”
“I saw him on Friday. I’m sure he told you.” She deliberately looked over his shoulder back toward the mews of Barrington Square. “I see Seamus Kelly coming. He’ll beat you to a pulp. Run away while you have the chance and talk to Armand before he betrays you to the authorities anyway.”
Gaston spat in her direction and muttered in French before turning on his heel and running for the shadows. Elizabeth took a deep breath and ran in the opposite direction, the bloodied knife abandoned on the street, her thoughts in chaos.
To her relief, a hackney cab was dropping a party of men off on the corner of the square. One of the men paused long enough to ask her directions and open the door of the cab for her. She thanked him profusely.
“Where do you want to go, ma’am?” the driver shouted.
“The Greyhound Coaching Inn in Carshalton,” Elizabeth shouted back as she stepped up into the cab, and the gentleman helpfully shut the door for her.
“That’s a long drive, ma’am. Do you have the necessary coin?”
Elizabeth held up a crown. “Indeed I do, sir, and I’ll pay you well for your time.”
He turned around to grin at her, and she noticed he lacked one of his front teeth. “Fair enough, then. Let’s be on our way.”
 
Christian ran down on the cobbled street beside Seamus Kelly, who was still apologizing.
“Seamus, it’s all right. She can’t be more than a minute in front of us.”
He frowned as he heard the sound of French insults being thrown. “Damnation, is Gaston onto her already?”
By the time they reached the cobbled lane that lay between the mews and the square below, there was nothing left but a bloodied knife lying in the center of the road. Seamus slapped Christian on the back.
BOOK: Simply Carnal
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