The Diamond Slipper (38 page)

“Up, Lucette,
now
!” Cordelia instructed, and the Lippizaner rose on her hand legs, her front feet pawing the air. The two men fell to their knees, terror writ large on their broad faces, their eyes wild with pain as Lucette towered over them.

“Dear God in heaven!” Leo’s hunting knife was already in his hand as his gelding pounded across the forest floor toward them, tearing up the ground, loam and debris flying from beneath his hooves.

“What the devil!” Leo hauled on the reins and Jupiter came to a stamping halt. Cordelia brought Lucette onto four hooves again.

“Footpads,” she said, her voice shaky now that the crisis was passed. “That little boy brought me here, then he disappeared. I suppose they were going to rob me.”

“I saw you leave the hunt.” Leo dismounted and stood over the two cowering men.

“Leave us be, yer ’onor?” the older one begged. “They’ll ’ang us fer sure.”

“A merciful death compared with what you presumably had in store for the lady,” he said coldly, running a gloved finger over the blade of his knife.

“No, we wasn’t goin’ to kill ’er, yer ’onor! Jest get ’er to the ground, like.” The spokesman inched backward as if he could escape the icy stare of the tall, slender Englishman.

“Leave them, Leo.”

He turned in surprise. “Leave them? God knows what they were going to do to you.”

“They’re starving,” she said flatly. “Their families are starving. That wretched child probably belongs to one of them.” She reached into her pocket and drew out a leather pouch. “Here.” She tossed it down to the ground between the two men, who merely stared at it as if they couldn’t believe their eyes.

Which seemed an entirely logical reaction in the circumstances, Leo reflected. He sheathed his knife and remounted. An arrow hole was no light wound, so they weren’t exactly escaping scot-free. “Next time, I suggest you curb your philanthropic urges,” he said to Cordelia as they emerged from the trees. “Ragged children have a sting in their tails.”

“It’s not their fault,” she said flatly.

He looked across at her, thinking that she had so many unexpected sides. She was as many faceted as a diamond. And as precious. When he thought of what could have happened, his blood turned to ice. But Diana the Huntress also seemed supremely capable of looking after herself. However, she was rather pale, and he noticed that her hands on the reins were a little unsteady.

“Let’s return to the palace.”

“And not rejoin the hunt?” She looked surprised.

“I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“I’m not such a milksop,” Cordelia protested indignantly. “I was a little shaken, but not anymore. And I’m not
in the least hurt. Come. I’ll race you. We’ll hear the horns soon enough.” And she was off at a gallop down the ride.

Leo hesitated for a minute, then went after her. She seemed unhurt, but something about the whole incident niggled at him. Footpads who preyed upon the king’s hunting party in the forest of Versailles were asking for the hangman’s noose. And hunters would offer slim pickings—there was little need for money or jewels when chasing deer. No, there was something distinctly odd about the whole business.

Amelia, Sylvie, and Madame de Nevry traveled in a coach that lumbered in the wake of the prince’s. The girls were so excited they could barely control themselves, and only their governess’s grim visage and threats to report their behavior to their father kept them from kneeling up on the seat to look out of the window at the fascinating scenery and people they passed. They sat side by side, clutching each other’s hand, their legs swinging with the motion of the coach, their eyes brilliant with excitement.

At last the governess dozed off, and they scrambled onto the seat to gaze outside, their thrilled whispers so low they couldn’t possibly disturb the snoring Louise, who didn’t awaken until the carriage turned through the great gilded gates into the outer court of Versailles.

She sat up and with fluttering hands adjusted her wig, which had slipped sideways. The girls were sitting innocently opposite her, hands in their laps, their bright blue eyes gazing steadily at her. She coughed, took a quick nip from her flask, and looked out of the window. She had never seen Versailles and gazed awestruck at the magnificent spread of golden buildings, their red roofs and shutters glowing in the evening sun.

The girls tumbled from the carriage as soon as the footstep was lowered, ignoring the steadying hand of a powdered footman. They stared around. Sylvie’s hand crept into
her sister’s. She felt like an ant she’d once watched crawling laboriously across the schoolroom floor. Amelia squeezed the hand tightly, totally terrified by the size of the court stretching ahead of them toward the massive golden palace.

The prince’s carriage had arrived first and he stood a little way away from the children, in conversation with Monsieur Brion, who’d been alerted to his master’s arrival by a runner.

Michael glanced over his shoulder at his daughters. They looked absurdly tiny and frightened, as they should, he reflected. This was no place for a pair of small children.

“Take them away,” he said to Brion. “I assume rooms have been set aside for them.”

“Yes, indeed, my lord. The princess has supervised the arrangements herself with the dauphine’s approval.”

“I trust the princess finds herself in good health?” Michael took a pinch of snuff, his tone bland.

“Perfectly, I believe, my lord.”

Michael sneezed abruptly. He dusted his nose with his handkerchief. “I understood she was to ride to hounds today.”

“Indeed, my lord. I gather she had a very good day.” He controlled his furious disappointment with difficulty. “Is the king returned from the hunt?”

“An hour ago, sir.”

“Then I shall attend him at once.” Michael stalked off without a backward glance at his daughters and their bemused governess.

The court was gathered in the state apartments, talking about the pleasures of the day’s hunt over the gaming tables. The king looked up from his favorite game—lansquenet—as the prince bowed before him.

“Ah, Prince, you are back from your errand, I see. You have brought your children? Madame the Dauphine is most anxious to make their acquaintance.”

“They are with their governess at present, monseigneur, but will wait upon the dauphine at her pleasure.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Well, I daresay you wish to find your delightful wife. She accompanied us on the hunt, splendid archer. We were most impressed … brought down at least two birds.” He nodded amiably and the prince took his dismissal.

He strolled through the rooms, acknowledging acquaintances, listening for interesting morsels of gossip. A man could get out of touch in as little as a day in this hotbed of scandal. There was no sign of Cordelia at the tables, although the dauphine was playing animatedly with her ladies. He took a glass of wine from a footman’s tray and wandered over to the long windows overlooking the gardens. The lights on the mock Venetian windows along the canal had just been lit.

Bungling idiots
! The plan had been foolproof. They had not been required to think of anything themselves, just to identify their quarry from an unmistakable description and follow the prince’s orders to the letter. A simple fall, a blow to the head, a few hours lying on the forest floor until she was missed and a search party was sent out for her. How could they have failed?

“I imagine my nieces are very excited at their new lodgings.”

Michael spun around. Leo was smiling his amiable smile.
Damned fool
, Michael thought savagely. He probably thought the palace was a perfectly good place for his nieces. Besotted idiot didn’t give a moment’s consideration to the deleterious effect of distractions and such a violent break in their carefully ordered routines. He had no patience to exchange inane pleasantries about a situation into which he’d been blatantly manipulated, even if he couldn’t blame Leo for it. He bowed, said tightly, “I trust their governess can curb unseemly excitement.” And he stalked off.

Leo’s blood raced with savage fury. Michael was clearly not a happy man, and he would be bound to take out his unhappiness on Cordelia. He glanced at his fob watch. Five o’clock. The women in the Parc aux Cerfs would be
preparing for the evening. But as yet, they wouldn’t have visitors. Now would be a good moment to discover if Tatiana had had a chance as yet to talk to her brother-in-law about acquiring a false passport.

Michael, seething with cold fury, made his way to his own apartments, where he presumed he would find his wife, unharmed and as stubborn and defiant as ever. He found her sitting at the mirror in her dressing room peering intently at her image. She rose immediately at his entrance and curtsied. “Good evening, my lord.”

He ignored the cool greeting. “You attended the hunt this morning?”

“I had some success with my bow and arrow,” she offered, taking her seat at the mirror again, folding her hands in her lap, with an air of demure attention that did nothing to conceal the insolence behind it. “The king was pleased to compliment me.”

“Nothing untoward occurred?” His pale eyes were pinpricks as he watched her for a reaction.

Cordelia decided rapidly. If she told him of the attempted robbery, he could well institute a search for the footpads, and he would show no mercy if they were found. Even if he didn’t care a fig for his wife, his pride would not endure that a crime against his family should go unpunished.

She shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary, my lord.”

A flash of vicious frustration darted across the pale surface of his eyes. He spoke with caustic satisfaction, “Hunting is not a safe activity. I am beginning to think that you should give it up.”

Cordelia stared at him, her expression as dismayed as he’d hoped it would be. “Give it up, my lord?”

“If you are with child, it is unwise,” he said with a grim little smile. “I would not risk my heir.”

Cordelia didn’t know whether she was pregnant or not, but she did know that he was tormenting her and enjoying it. She could defeat him only by not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her unhappiness. “I’m sure you know best, my
lord,” she said with an indifferent shrug. “The children are settled in their apartments. Would you wish to see them?”

It was a successful deflection. Michael flushed angrily. “I would not. I also intend that they should remain with their governess except when they’re summoned by a member of the royal family. On those occasions, you will accompany them, but you will also be escorted by a guard.”

“A guard, my lord?” Her eyebrows crawled into her scalp. “What danger could they be in at Versailles?”

“You will do as I say, is that understood?”

“Of course, my lord.” She rose and curtsied again, radiating insolence, so that he took a step toward her, his mouth tight, his hand raised.

Then he stopped and his asp’s smile flickered thinly. “I will deal with this further when I come to you tonight, madame. Be prepared.” On which note he turned on his heel and marched out.

The familiar sick tremors fluttered in her belly, but Cordelia squashed them resolutely. She had Mathilde’s little vial. Michael always took a glass of cognac before he came to her. He would have it in his hand when he stood by the bed, looking down at her as she lay waiting for him, struggling to hide her fear. Struggling and so frequently failing.

But never again. From now on he would never detect so much as a quiver of fear. And tonight she would use Mathilde’s potion.

Chapter Twenty

M
ICHAEL ENTERED HIS
dressing room just after midnight. He locked the door behind him, then locked the door communicating with his wife’s dressing room.

He unlocked the brass padlock of the ironbound chest and took out the book with purple binding—a startling contrast to the somber bindings of the daily journals. He turned the volume between his hands, running his finger over the gold lettering on the spine.
The Devil’s Apothecary
. A most useful volume. If accidents failed, he could find something in here to cause his wife a serious indisposition. Enough to ensure her removal from Versailles. It was always better to do things for oneself, he thought. Relying on bumbling idiots to carry out even the simplest instructions was clearly futile.

He didn’t want an illness that resembled Elvira’s in the least degree. Something more like food poisoning, perhaps. Not fatal, just distinctly unpleasant. But neither must it be something that would endanger a possible pregnancy.

He closed the book with a snap, returned it to the chest, turned the key in the padlock. Then he unlocked the doors to his dressing room and rang for his valet. There was silence coming from his wife’s dressing room. He had insisted she be escorted back to the apartment as soon as the royal family had left the evening’s concert, so he knew she would now be abed, after Elsie’s less than expert assistance. Abed and waiting for him, knowing that she had offended him earlier. Knowing what she must expect. His loins stirred.

“Cognac!” he demanded with a snap of his fingers as his valet appeared.