The Sheik's Son (29 page)

Even more curious was the fact that Sophie was curled against him, also sleeping. He enjoyed the feel of her and even the dull ache of his shaft didn’t diminish the beauty of the moment.

He remembered drinking several glasses of brandy and then falling on the sofa to sleep. Then he remembered her coming into the room in an almost transparent shift and he had at first thought she was a ghost.

It all came back to him. She had come towards him and touched his face. He had asked her to stay with him. He moved his hands along the shift’s hem and his fingers felt the silken flesh of her calf, knee and thigh. She moaned slightly in sleep and shifted, pressing her bottom into him.

He closed his eyes. How far could he go? How far would he go? Not far. She wouldn’t give herself to him. He already knew that. All that he felt for her was not reciprocated.

He only had one hand available as his other hand was underneath her head.

He moved his hand over her left thigh, up along her hip and over her breasts. She sighed before he pressed a hot kiss on her neck and knew he should stop. She sighed and turned to face him as Sebastian kissed her lips lightly and sat up.

He adjusted his clothing and tried not to grind his teeth in frustration. It was becoming more and more difficult to be in her company and not ravish her.

“Come, Sophie. Let’s dress for breakfast,” he told his sleepy wife.

***

Alain Vennard slammed his way into his small office in the basement of the large building which housed numerous officials, including his commissioners and the other inspectors. His tiny windowless office space did little to cheer his mood. The small mahogany desk and chair and piles of papers littered around the office only reinforced how far he still had to go to achieve his goals.

He had not been surprised by the commissioner’s desire to drop everything to do with the Gauvreau family. As an older man used to taking bribes and becoming comfortable with his position, he would not want anything to threaten what he had achieved. He liked his easy position of doing very little and having his inspectors do all the work. Alain was the opposite.

Alain was ambitious and absolutely comfortable with bringing the upper classes to heel. In fact, his plan—which included Sophie Gauvreau—would make it certain that the upper classes would not receive any special favors. He was not interested in bribes or money, only power.

The candle on his desk offered scant lighting as he sifted through the papers that lay scattered. He noticed the mail gathered at the edge of his desk; he had not opened any for several days. He separated the letters into two piles that he deemed important and not important.

At the bottom of the pile was a small envelope with an elaborate red wax seal. The envelope was addressed to him in an elegant handwriting and he opened it carefully. As he read the simple contents, he smiled.

He laid the small card on his desk and smiled even broader. He would not stop looking at the Gauvreau family. Indeed, his main suspect had just given him the key to opening the door to her true identity and placing his plan in motion.

***

He had watched the printer for two days and discovered all he needed to know. The man’s habits were few and his workday was extremely regimented and precise.

He worked alone, with only a young boy whom Alain deemed to be the printer’s apprentice. The apprentice followed the printer around like a shadow and performed his job tasks as required. They left the shop together and returned together.

They would often begin their work in the afternoon and work through the night to have their pamphlets printed and ready for distribution the following morning. Alain stood in the small alleyway opposite the shop, smoking his pipe and watching the two printers at work.

The older man was meticulous as he arranged the type to form the words and sentences that would ultimately become the pamphlet. The type was then put into a wooden tray and the tray placed onto a table. An iron frame locked the tray into place.

He then watched the younger man take two wood-handled, wool-stuffed, leather-covered ink balls and literally beat the ink into the metal type. It seemed like tedious work, but the young man kept at it while the printer looked on.

Damp paper was attached to a leather-covered frame and then moved under a block of wood. The printer pulled the bar to lower the wood so that the type would make an impression on the paper. It was interesting to watch but Alain surmised that if he spent his life doing this, it might become quite boring.

The two worked late into the night and by near sunrise, there was a large stack of papers hung by pegs on a string drying inside the little shop. These pamphlets would be distributed by the younger man that morning as the older man slept the day away in his room above the shop.

Each day was exactly the same and this early dawn, Alain watched as the two parted ways, with the younger man holding a large stack of papers under his arm.

Alain watched the older man climb the steps to his room and waited another half hour before trying to see if the door was unlocked. It was locked, but the window in the back of the shop was slightly ajar. He crawled through it.

The smell of varnish hung heavily in the air; he guessed it was the ink. He listened intently for any noise above him and heard the heavy snoring of the printer. There was a little grey light in the sky, as the sun had barely begun its ascent into the sky.

He made his way to the wooden shelves in the back of the shop and quietly began sorting through the sheets of paper. The handwriting was different for each and when he looked at it in the grey light, none matched what was he was looking for. He tried again and again, searching for the matching writing.

He ran his hand through his unshaven beard and went to the next shelf. Again and again the handwriting didn’t match.
This was a fool’s errand
, he thought. He had been too arrogant. He thought too much of his skills.

He crouched down on his haunches to the lowest shelf. Several sheets fell to the floor at his feet. He picked them up, shaking his head. He moved over to the window and did the same with them. Suddenly the grey light seemed to turn silver and the paper he held in his hands sparkled. This time he didn’t smile. He looked at the sheet he held in his hands. He felt vindicated. He had been correct all along.

He took the sheets and placed them in his pocket, and placed the other insignificant ones on their shelf. He looked up at the ceiling above him where the printer slept.

“
Merci, monsieur
.”

He left the printer’s shop through the door.

***

Alain planned the timing of it perfectly. He waited until Sebastian left the home and then boldly delivered the note himself. Knocking on the door, he produced a small handwritten note and handed it to the footman.

The red-haired man was not known to the footman, who asked Alain if he wanted to wait for a reply. Alain said that a reply was not necessary and coolly asked that the note be delivered to “Madame Fairfax’s hand alone.”

The footman nodded in understanding and closed the door at the conclusion of the small interaction.

When Alain turned on his heel to walk from the house, his heart was beating fast. He was playing a dangerous game.

***

Sophie was threading her embroidery needle when the footman entered the room carrying a small silver tray with a note for her.

She thanked him and opened the note. When she read it the first time, she didn’t fully comprehend the words.

The second time it seemed to sink in more clearly. The third time she realized the danger. There was no greeting or salutation.

The note read:

Meet me at ---

Today at noon. Come alone.

AV

She licked her lips, which were suddenly dry. The address given was not known to her but the initials were obvious. She knew the note was from the inspector. He had not given up. Indeed, his brazen and bold step seemed to confirm that he had discovered something new and it was now time to play the game.

She couldn’t tell anyone. She wanted to confide in Sebastian but thought that perhaps she could make the inspector see reason.

She asked Marie to help her change. She chose a grey linen gown with a high neckline, one she used for traveling. It was not a gown designed to beguile or flirt, but one of comfort. She pulled her hair back and up and wore no jewelry except her wedding ring. She wore a long black woolen cape and hood.

“
Madame
?” Marie questioned her young mistress.

“I must go out. I will return shortly.”

Marie bobbed a curtsey and left Sophie alone with her thoughts. This was surely insane! No. She must go and hear him out. She couldn’t run forever.

***

Sophie hired a carriage and gave him the address the inspector had written down. As they moved through Paris and into the outskirts she realized the neighborhoods had become dirtier, more dingy and looked less reputable.

When the carriage came to a standstill, the driver opened the door for her and nodded at the coin she gave him before disappearing again.

The address had led her to a tavern of sorts with dirty children playing outside in the mud. She saw the inspector standing to one side of the building with a pipe clenched between his teeth.

“
Madame
.” He gave a mocking half bow and indicated that she should precede him up the narrow flight of stairs behind him.

She did so, only glancing down below her once to see that he was indeed following her. Once she entered the room, he closed the door behind her.

“I did have my doubts.”

“About?” Sophie asked.

“That you would come at all.” He gestured to the room. “That you would come alone.”

“You seem intent on following me and my family. I want it to end.”

She looked around the room. Books lined a shelf and a small wooden table was flanked by two chairs. A nautical painting of a ship afloat on a stormy sea dominated one wall. The stark room was befitting the man who stood before her, dressed in all black—a sharp contrast with his red hair and blue eyes.

“Yes, I have been following you,” he said bluntly.

He watched her in return. He saw that she had taken great care to dress in a subdued, dove- grey gown and black cape. It was a sensible dress and not alluring, though her face was picture-perfect.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why am I intent on following you?”

“Yes.”

“Because you are a traitor to your country and the monarchy,” he said smoothly.

“You’ve proof of this?” she whispered, sliding into one of the two wooden chairs.

He watched her mouth and cursed her beauty. He could easily subdue her and take her, but that wasn’t at all what he wanted. He would like to break her spirit, but that wasn’t his goal either. She was a small link to the greater prize and the power he meant to have. There was so much more at stake here than this one woman.

“I do.”

Sophie looked around the sparse room. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To hold an intimate conversation without being disturbed.”

Sophie locked eyes with him at the word “intimate.”

“Have no fear,
madame
. I have no desire for that.”

“What do you want then?”

“Your assistance. Or I will have to arrest you.”

“And your proof?” she asked.

“Ah, yes. My proof.” He removed two items from his coat pocket and placed them before her on the wooden table. “You sealed your own fate.”

One item was the simple note that she had written at her grandmother’s urging, to thank him for attending the ball. The other item was her last pamphlet, damning in its radical contents. It was undeniable that the same hand had written both, and with Sophie’s signature at the bottom of the card, he indeed held the proof that she was Jean Inconnu.

“Contrary to the silly novels in a matter such as this, I require neither your money nor your precious body,” he told her.

Sophie looked away from him and then back. “You don’t want money?”

“Not at all. Would I go through all this for some measly Francs?”

“I don’t know, inspector. You are a complete stranger to me.”

“Well, I would not.” He stood towering over her and then moved quickly away, taking the two handwritten items with him. “Do you recall what I told you when we met at the ball?”

“You said many things, inspector.”

“Yes I did. But most important is my desire to be the youngest commissioner in Paris. You said it was a lofty goal.”

“So it is,” she repeated.

“I also mentioned that I have no scruples. What say you?” His cold blue eyes watched her face.

“When you say no scruples, do you mean the killing of innocent people?” Sophie countered.

“Perhaps. But today I am giving a foolish young woman the opportunity to help me instead of earning a residency in a jail.”

“Helping you?” Sophie asked.

Alain turned toward Sophie and looked down at her. “It is not a compliment to say that you are beautiful. You must know it well yourself, having been told many times by many admirers.”

Sophie didn’t know how to respond so she remained silent.

“How long do you think you would last in jail?” Alain asked. “It would only take one night for several guards to have their fill of you. You will not be treated with respect or concern. They will rape you, one after the other. They will take you in any manner they like and discard you like rubbish when they are finished.”

“Please,” Sophie said.

“Do you know what jailers are like? Coarse, common men who like a quick tumble, ale and meat. Many of them don’t read and few write. They view women like they do their dogs. Each has a purpose.”

Sophie flushed under his scrutiny and words. “What do you want of me?”

Inspector Vennard smiled then. “Yes. Now we come to it. The reason for all of this. You know that you were always a means to an end. You were never my intended target, only a pretty stepping stone.”