The Making of a Duchess (39 page)

   She shook her head. "You're mad. Who would believe I'm a spy? I'm nothing more than a governess."

   He laughed, and she took a surprised step back. She had expected any number of responses, but not laughter. "I never should have sent you in," he said between chuckles. "I knew you would fail, but there was something too delicious about the irony."

   He moved closer, his pistol aimed at her heart. Sarah took a shaky breath, his words causing her heart to race. "What irony?"

   "Don't you know? Think,
Sarah.
I believe you do know."

   Sarah shook her head, but the duchesse's words earlier that evening played over and over in her head.
You are Serafina. You are the comtesse du Guyenne.

   "I don't believe it." She put a hand to her head, tried to still the loop of words. Was this another trick? Another ruse?

   "And that's the irony, Miss Smith—or should I call you comtesse? No. Actually I think Sera is more appropriate. That's what your parents called you."

   Sarah stared at him wide-eyed.
Sera.
Yes, in those phantom memories. In those phantom dreams of her mother and father, they had called her Sera.

   
Petite Sera.

   "But how?" she stuttered. "I don't understand."

   He sighed, clearly bored. "It's exactly as I told you. Your father, the comte du Guyenne, angered the king. He made too much noise about the king's spending and the rights of the peasants. It riled up the people, and in those days, even years before the revolution, it did not take much to anger the peasants."

   Sarah swallowed and nodded as she tried to digest the information. But even as Sir Northrop's words spewed forth, she easily put them into place. Instinctively, she knew them to be true. Her father had been a comte. She was the daughter of an aristocrat. But an aristocrat who had cared for the people, who had wanted to help them.

   She had had a family. She had belonged to someone.

   "The king exiled your family, and they left for England. Only, shortly after they arrived here, they disappeared."

   A chill ran down her spine at the look in his eyes. "What happened to them?"

   He smiled. "King Louis feared they would be a threat, even in England, so I dispatched them."

   She gasped, crushing a hand to her mouth. "You—" It was all she could manage.

   "I was to have killed you as well, but I felt you might be useful, so I brought you to the best orphanage in London and made a generous donation so I might be apprised of your progress. When you left your last post, I hired you. I found it amusing to have the comtesse du Guyenne as a servant in my home. And then"—he shrugged—"the perfect opportunity arose. You were engaged to play you." He laughed, but Sarah stared at him in horror. With just a few words, he had changed her life, her identity. Everything she had thought was true was false. Her mother had not been a prostitute but the beautiful Delphine, comtesse du Guyenne.

   And this man had murdered her. He had murdered Sarah's chance at a normal life and a family.

   "And so you see," Sir Northrop continued. "No one would believe Sarah Smith a spy and traitor, but Serafina Artois? Oh, yes, she might have many reasons to aid the French—loyalty, return of her birthright, revenge on the country where her parents were killed…"

   "No." She moved toward him, not caring that the pistol was pointed directly at her heart. She did not know what she would do; she just knew this man must be punished. She could not allow this lie, this abomination to go on any longer.

   "What are you doing?"

   She did not know what he saw in her face, but his hands were shaking now. She refused to answer, continued moving forward.

   He cocked the pistol, tried to aim, pointed it, and fired.

   But his aim was off, and the charge went wide. Sarah ran forward and crashed into him. They tumbled onto the floor, and she scratched at him, tearing at his face, kicking him wherever she could reach.

   She was screaming and thus did not hear the commotion as the doors were broken open and men rushed inside. She didn't look at them, just felt their hands as they reached for her and pulled her off Sir Northrop.

   As she was dragged away, she saw his bloody face.

   He was still grinning.

   She screamed, but strong arms engulfed her, pulled

her into an embrace. She struggled to free herself until she smelled citrus and wood.

   Then she stilled and glanced up at the man holding her. He smiled at her, blue eyes crinkling in a roguish grin.

   "Looks like I got here just in time."

As the torrent of emotions rushed over her face, she looked more beautiful than he remembered. Julien saw surprise, chagrin, relief, and finally—yes, that was what he had been waiting for—love.

   "Julien?" She reached up and touched his face, his hair, then fell into his arms. "I'm so glad you're here. It—he was horrible."

   He pulled her tightly against him, the feel of her body pressed against his like a wool greatcoat in the middle of a snow storm. His heart warmed, and he buried his head in her neck, not caring that the men from the Foreign Office were staring.

   She was safe. She was unharmed. His heart could stop clawing its way out of his chest.

   She pulled away, put her hands on his cheeks. "How did you find me? How did you know? And who—" She looked back at the men wrestling with Sir Northrop.

   "Armand." His brother was standing just outside the French doors, his arms crossed and his expression menacing. If Julien hadn't gone in to aid Sarah, there was no doubt Armand would have done so. "He must have followed you here then come back and woke me. Scared the hell out of me." He smiled at her, stroked her smooth cheek. "But I went with him. These men were skulking about outside, watching Sir Northrop's movements. They saw you go in and were waiting to see what would happen next."

   The men hoisted Sir Northrop to his feet and began to restrain him. "That's the traitor!" he shouted, pointing at Sarah. "Arrest her!"

   "Ma'am," one of the men began.

   Julien grabbed his shoulder. "Your Grace. She's a duchesse."

   "Sorry." The man cleared his throat. "Your Grace, we'll need to question you."

   "Of course," Sarah replied. "I'll help in any way I can."

   They muscled Sir Northrop past her, and Julien had to restrain the urge to take her back into his arms. But he watched as she faced the raving man, showing no sign of fear. "You're going to burn!" Sir Northrop shouted. "You'll burn for the traitor you are, Comtesse!"

   He was dragged through the broken doors, past Armand, who looked like he might tear him apart. Julien exchanged a look with his brother, and Armand clenched his fist then stalked away, giving them privacy.

   Sarah was looking at him. "He told me something, Julien. Something horrible. H-he told me I'm the comtesse du Guyenne. I really
am
Serafina Artois."

   Julien stroked her hair, her face. He didn't care who she was. He just wanted her safe in his arms again. "So my mother was right."

   "Yes. And Julien, he told me—" She swallowed, looked away. "He told me that he killed my parents." A tear sparkled on her cheek, and he pulled her close.

   "He's going to pay, Sarah. We'll make sure he pays."

   "Yes," she whispered into his neck. "But Julien, do you know what this means? I had a family. I was loved. I belonged."

   "You've always belonged." He pulled her tightly against his chest. "Right here. In my arms."

   "Yes," she whispered, and he felt her fingers dig into his back.

   He breathed in her scent, felt her soft body melt into his. And he cursed himself as a fool for ever thinking he wanted a business arrangement for a marriage.

   He wanted Sarah—no matter what her name was.

   With great effort, he pulled away from her and led her outside where Armand waited for them. "Let's go home."

   "Yes." She smiled at him, loving the way his eyes warmed to indigo with desire for her.
Home.
She finally knew where home was.

She belonged. Sarah looked at the Valère town house, at her mother-in-law, even at the quiet, watchful Armand, and knew she belonged. It wasn't because she was an aristocrat, in truth, as opposed to just playing the part. It was because she knew where she came from—and she knew who she belonged with.

   Julien.

   If only Rowena would allow them a few minutes to be alone.

   "We must have a wedding," she said the next afternoon, leading everyone into the dining room and signaling the footmen to bring in the first course.

   Julien pulled Sarah into his lap, and she smiled down at him. She could not bear to be separated from his touch right now either. Rowena frowned at the overt display of affection, but then she waved a hand and admonished everyone to eat. Her chief concern seemed to be they all looked too thin.

   Armand was at the table as well. He was clean and dressed, his long brown hair pulled back into a neat queue. Rowena saw Sarah looking at him and smiled sadly. "He still hasn't spoken. I think if we give him time, his speech will return." They watched as he pushed away his untouched plate of food then gave the footman attempting to serve him a dagger-filled glare. The footman backed away, and the duchesse sighed. "In time, I'm certain all of his manners will be restored."

   "Has he shown any reaction when you mention Bastien?" Julien asked.

   His mother shook her head. "Nothing. I'm not certain he recognizes the name."

   "I'll speak with Gilbert. Perhaps he knows something."

   His mother reached out and put her hand on Julien's arm. "Don't raise your hopes too high."

   The table was silent for a few moments, and Sarah could feel the hole Bastien's absence left in the family. But then Rowena smiled and said, "Let's talk more about the wedding plans!"

   Hours later, Sarah lay in Julien's arms, in Julien's bed, blissfully naked and blissfully satisfied. Her eyes were closed, but she felt Julien rise up beside her. She opened her eyes, smiled at him, and reached up to smooth back a lock of his hair.

   "I love you, Sera," he said quietly. "
Je t'aime.
I don't think I told you before. I should have."

   Her heart was pounding so fast and so loudly she feared she had heard him incorrectly.

   "You love me?" she whispered, still finding the idea incredible. Still finding the use of her new name—her true name—wonderful.

   "Very much. And I like my mother's idea of another wedding. This time we'll have a huge ceremony, the one of your dreams. Make it as romantic as you want. I'll even propose again. I'll bend on one knee and scatter rose petals around the room."

   She laughed. "Oh, Julien. I love you so much. But I don't need any of that."

   He frowned, the crease between his brows endearing. Why had she never noticed that before? She traced it with two fingers.

   "But I thought you wanted romance."

   "No." She shook her head, ran her fingers through her hair. "Not at all." She had never needed a grand gesture. She just wanted him.

   "Then what do you want?" he asked, and his fingers dipped to caress her bare shoulders. "What can I give you?"

   She bit her lip, looked away, then back again. "I want a family, Julien. All my life I've had phantom dreams of a family, but never a real one—never one I could touch. I want that. With you."

   He grinned. "Well, if that's all you want, let's get started on it right now." He pulled down the bedclothes, bent to kiss her breast.

   She caressed his hair, but her thoughts were a jumble. "What do you think will happen to Sir Northrop?"

   Julien looked up, leaned back. "I hope he's drawn and quartered. He deserves it for all his crimes."

   She nodded, and he leaned down to kiss her again.

   "Your mother seemed hurt but not surprised that my parents are dead. Do you think she knew that all along as well?"

   Julien shook his head. "I don't know. She's resourceful."

   She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he put a finger over her lips. "Why don't you ask her tomorrow?"

   She nodded, but just as he would have kissed her again, she said, "Armand seemed better tonight, don't you think? He's improving."

   Julien sighed and pulled back again. "Yes. He's doing better. It will take time, but I hope he'll make a full recovery."

   "And what about you? Are you done with trips to France? Done searching?"

   He raised a brow. "Tricky question. I still have one brother unaccounted for. He could be this Captain Cutlass."

   "A pirate?" She gave him a worried look, but she had known before she asked the question that Julien would never disregard his duty. It was part of why she loved him. If Bastien was alive, Julien would not stop until he found him.

   "Have I ever told you my father's motto?" he asked.

"No."