The Diamond Slipper (48 page)

Cordelia pulled herself up against the pillows. She wiped her face with a corner of the sheet. “And just how do you plan to kill him, my lord?”

He stared at her with an arrested expression. “You don’t know?”

“How should I, my lord?” She met his stare calmly and had the satisfaction of seeing uncertainty scudding across his countenance.

“At sunrise tomorrow I will spit him on the end of my rapier,” Michael articulated slowly. “I’m sorry you won’t be there to see it, my dear, but I want you safely put away. Thanks to your damnable lover, we will be persona non grata at court after the duel until the king is prepared to forget this distasteful disruption.” Michael’s lip curled as he mimicked the king’s austere euphemism for the duel unto death that would take place in his presence. “The dauphine will offer you no protection now, madame.”

He waited to see if she would react, but she remained still, regarding him almost indifferently until his uncertainty grew. Then he spun on his heel and left by way of her dressing room.

Cordelia wouldn’t have believed it possible to feel such hatred for a fellow human being. But Michael did not fall into that category, she thought. He was a devil, a monster from the pits of hell. And he would return to the fires that had given him birth. Leo would pitchfork him right back into the inferno. She would not allow herself to consider the alternative. She had to plan. She had to prevent Michael from sending her back to Paris. She had to stay here. She had to be here when it happened. And the children. They
must be taken to safety tonight. Mathilde would have to go with them because she couldn’t go herself. Not now.

She was running through her plans when Elsie returned, her eyes reverently fixed to the letter reposing on a silver salver. The wax bore the dauphine’s seal. “A messenger brought this from Her Highness, madame.” She proffered the salver, too awed to touch the august paper herself.

Cordelia took it and slit the wafer. The message was short and she knew that Toinette had written it at dictation. Presumably by the Noailles:
Dear Princess von Sachsen, I very much regret that I will be unable to receive you until His Majesty permits. Maria Antonia
.

Cordelia nibbled her lip, gazing at the cold words that meant the official end of friendship. Then she saw that a corner of the paper had been folded over. She opened it.
Dearest, I can’t help it. But I will always love you. T.

Cordelia touched the message to her lips in a brief, symbolic farewell. When this was over, she would find a way to correspond with Toinette. There were always unofficial channels.

Elsie still stood by the bed, wide-eyed with the momentousness of events. Her gaze was filled with sympathy for her poor mistress. To lose a pregnancy and then face the prospect of being widowed in the morning. It was a dreadful thing. “Everyone says what a magnificent swordsman the prince is, madame,” she offered in misguided reassurance. “They say he’s never been defeated in a duel before and he always fights to the death. He killed ten men in ten months once … although he was a lot younger then.”

That presumably explained Michael’s confidence, Cordelia thought bitterly. How many duels had Leo fought? How many men had he killed?

“Bring me some tea, please, Elsie.” She had to get rid of the girl with her inarticulate sympathy and hand-wringing before she burst into tears.

Monsieur Brion was her next visitor. He stood awkwardly in the doorway of the chamber. “The prince has
instructed me to escort yourself and Mesdames Sylvie and Amelia back to Paris immediately, madame. Would you be good enough to instruct your maid to help you rise?”

“Monsieur Brion, I am not returning to Paris tonight,” Cordelia declared. “And neither are the children.”

“But, madame!” He looked astounded.

“You will not suffer, I promise you,” she said. “If the prince survives this duel, then I will give you sufficient funds to free you from his service.” She pushed aside the covers and rose somewhat shakily to her feet. She went to the dresser and opened her jewel casket. “Here. Payment in advance, monsieur.” She held out to him a sapphire ring. “You will know how to sell it?”

Brion nodded, slowly taking the ring. He had contacts in Paris who would give him a good price and ask no questions. He could get enough for the bauble to set himself up in a snug inn in the little village in Cognac, where he’d grown up. He’d be set for life.

“What would you have me do, madame?”

“Simply inform the prince that all is in order for our departure. Have the coachman drive through the town. Make sure that the coach is seen to leave, make sure that you are seen to leave with it. Oh, and you’d better take Madame de Nevry,” she said in afterthought. “Tell her that on the prince’s orders you’re fetching the children from their music lesson and taking them with her to Paris. When you drive through the town, if possible, drive past the inn where the prince is staying, but too fast for him to hail you. Whether you choose to go on to Paris with the governess, to return, or to get off somewhere else, is your business and I shall not inquire.” She sank into an armchair, weakened by the effort to gain this vital support.

“Very well, madame.” Brion bowed low. “And may I say it’s been a pleasure to serve you.”

Cordelia smiled in surprise and caught a flickering response from the majordomo. “Thank you, Brion.”

“May I wish you the happiest outcome tomorrow,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said again. He left and she sat back, regaining her strength, certain that he would do his part. She was safe from Michael for the moment.

And now she had to go to Leo. Tell him what she had done. Arrange for the children’s departure. She closed her eyes again.

How could he have done this thing? How could he sacrifice their love, their future?

Must she believe that that love and that future took second place to his love for his murdered sister?

Chapter Twenty-five

“W
HERE’S CORDELIA?” LEO
asked as he entered Christian’s lodgings at the Blue Boar. He didn’t need to look to know that she wasn’t there. He didn’t need eyes to detect that vibrant presence.

“Monsieur Leo!” The girls bounced up from the spinet stool. “We’re having a music lesson. We’re learning lots, aren’t we, sir?” They turned confidently to Christian, whose teaching methods concentrated on praise rather than criticism. As a result he had two utterly devoted pupils.

For once, their uncle had neither smile nor greeting for them. “Where is she?” he demanded again.

“She’s kept to her bed today, my lord,” Mathilde informed him with customary placidity.

“Is she ill?”

“Woman’s trouble,” the woman returned. “She needed to rest.”

Leo stared at her, trying to absorb this and the implications of Cordelia’s absence from his carefully laid plans. He had ridden with Cordelia, loved with her, spent days in her company, and not once had she suffered from “woman’s trouble.” Or at least not so that he was aware of it. “She’s been in her bed all day?” Harsh anxiety rasped in his voice.

Mathilde nodded. “As far as I know, my lord. I’ve been here with the little ones since early afternoon.”

“Did you do it?” Christian asked, almost hesitantly.

Leo nodded curtly. “The king has ordained sunrise tomorrow. I want you to take the children and Cordelia away now. They will have a good twelve hours’ start.”

“But we don’t have Cordelia,” Christian pointed out.

“Mathilde, go and fetch her. The prince has been banished
from court, as have I, so he won’t be in the palace.”
But supposing he had taken her into exile in the town with him?

“Hell and the devil! Why does Cordelia never cooperate!” he exclaimed, unjustly he knew, but his frustration was beyond all bounds. He became aware of two pairs of bright blue eyes regarding him solemnly and with a degree of injury.

“Isn’t that a bad thing to say, Monsieur Leo?” Sylvie—or at least he assumed it was Sylvie—asked.

“Isn’t what?”

“Hell and the devil,” Amelia supplied.

“Melia!” exclaimed her twin, and they both dissolved in giggles.

Leo raised his eyes heavenward.

“Here’s Cordelia.”

Leo strode to the window where Christian was looking down on the street. Cordelia had just turned the corner of the street below. She wore a dark cape over her riding habit, and a capuchin hood drawn close over her head. Relief flooded him. Now he could act.

But when she pushed open the door and entered the parlor, her pallor, the deep black shadows under her eyes, that beautiful mouth drawn with suffering, her obvious frailty, brought him forward with a cry of dismay. She looked as she had done when he’d found her on the windowsill waiting for Mathilde. That night seemed to have happened in another lifetime and yet, incredibly, was no more that a week past.

“Sweetheart, you are ill.” He took her hands. “What are you doing running through the streets?” He forgot how he needed her here, forgot everything but the pain radiating from her.

“I am not ill!” she said with a vigorous impatience that belied her appearance. “At least, not so it matters. What have you done, Leo?” She hadn’t meant to reproach him, but the words tumbled forth regardless. “I was there,” she said fiercely. “I saw you. I heard you.”

“I’ll be taking the children into the garden,” Mathilde said, with a significant nod at Christian, who needed no prompting. They left the room without Cordelia or Leo being aware of it.

Leo released her hands and moved back to the window. “I asked you not to be there.”

“You deceived me.” She wanted to weep. She hadn’t meant this to be bitter, but suddenly all vestige of understanding was leached from her.

He stood by the window, the evening sun falling across his left cheek, his strong white hands resting on the sill behind him. Angrily, with shaking fingers, she untied the strings of her hood and threw it back. The turquoise silk lining contrasted with the black hood and cape, framing her face, accentuating her pallor and the blue-black shadows beneath her hollowed eyes.

“I did not deceive you, Cordelia. I asked for your trust,” he said flatly. “I could not have my challenge compromised by anything that you might have done or said.”

“And you would not take me into your confidence?” Her voice was as bitter as aloes.

“I
could
not,” he said simply.

“Because I would have said to you then what I’m saying to you now.” She stepped toward him. “You cannot do this, Leo. You can’t fight Michael. You might not
win
.” She held out her hands in appeal, her eyes desperate. “You
cannot
, Leo. Surely you see that.”

He didn’t take her hands. He said simply, “It’s what I’m going to do, Cordelia. I will be avenged upon my sister’s murderer.”

“But you won’t be if he kills you!” she exclaimed, grabbing his arms, all possibility of dignity, of graciousness, of understanding vanquished under this desperate need to keep him with her. “You’ll be dead, and Elvira will be dead, and Michael will go scot-free.” She tried to shake him, but it was like shaking an oak tree.

“This is the way I have chosen,” he said, his voice suddenly cool and dispassionate, distancing her. “And I will take my chance.”

Her hands dropped from his arms. “Why couldn’t you have simply enacted a warrant, had his journals seized in evidence? Why couldn’t you have let justice take its course?” But she heard the defeated note in her voice.

“I could not,” he said simply.

“I don’t understand.”

“We’re all a mystery to others, Cordelia. I don’t expect you to understand how I feel. It’s enough that Elvira would know and understand.” Elvira would applaud it too. He could almost see her little nod of comprehension and approval. They had always understood each other’s motives, even when they hadn’t shared them.

Cordelia’s eyes were dark with emotion.
So she must believe that their love and their future took second place to his love for his murdered sister.

“You don’t love me,” she stated quietly.

He felt her dreadful hurt, but for the moment he could do nothing to help her understand. “I love you,” he said flatly. “But I must avenge my sister’s death. Once that is done, we will have everything.”

“We will have nothing if you die.”

It was hopeless and they both knew it. Leo moved into the room again, and now his voice was even, brisk. “You and the children will leave with Mathilde and Christian tonight. You will be long gone by the morning.”

“The children may go. I will not.”

“Cordelia, for God’s sake!” He took a step toward her.

“You expect me to accept your needs, my lord. You must accept mine. If I have to, I will watch you die.” She turned from him, drawing up her hood. “Christian and Mathilde can escort the children. Michael assumes that the children and myself have gone to Paris, so they will have an even longer head start. And if Michael lives, then it matters not
what happens to me.” She shrugged. “If I can run, I will. If that will make you die easier, my lord.”

She left without another word.

Leo turned back to the window, watching for her to reappear in the street. His heart was a black void. He had drained all possibility of emotion, of feeling, from his soul. He had been so afraid it wouldn’t be possible, but in the end it had been simply a matter of mentally returning to the fencing school. There he had trained himself to see only one thing, his opponent’s blade. He had trained himself to be aware of his opponent only as a thinking weapon. He had learned to close out all else from his sight, both physical and mental.