Max closed his eyes, wracked by pain over what she had suffered—and guilt over what he had done. Damnation, only now did he understand the true depths of how badly he had hurt her.
What an idiot he had been to point out that she might be carrying his child. Instead of strengthening the bond between them, that possibility had—
Struck by sudden insight, he opened his eyes. That was when she had withdrawn from him completely. Not because she had no feelings for him…but because she was afraid.
Afraid to trust him. Determined to be strong and survive on her own, as her mother had not.
Afraid, perhaps, to trust her own heart…because she did still have feelings for him.
He felt a surge of hope stronger than any he had felt in the past week.
If only he could make her see the truth that was right in front of her eyes. “So it was your grandfather who raised you?”
She wiped a tear from her cheek. “Yes. My brother and sister never stopped longing for the glamour and excitement of the city, but I was perfectly content in the country. Everyone always considered me a bit odd, but Grandfather understood. We were so much alike.” She smiled sadly. “He never thought my interest in chemistry was at all inappropriate.”
“An enlightened man. I think I would like him.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “You don’t think it’s inappropriate for a woman to pursue an interest in chemistry?”
“You’re intelligent and talented. Why should it matter that you’re a woman?”
“You don’t really believe that,” she said incredulously.
He grinned. “I was raised by a very strong-willed, independent woman. My mother has a love of history that rivals your love of science. She even applies to lecture at the university now and then, though they keep turning her down.”
Marie looked impressed. “I didn’t realize the duchess was so accomplished.”
“An accomplished woman who raised her sons to appreciate accomplished women,” he said cautiously. “Not all men are cads, Marie.”
She stiffened and looked away. “And not all women are as dreamy and romantical as my mother.”
She returned to her experiment, but after a moment, she spoke again.
“Véronique always believed that dreams could come true,” she whispered, toying with the feather on her quill. “I remember once, she brought every mirror in the house downstairs and lined them up in our front entry hall, so she could practice making a graceful entrance into the galerie des glaces at Versailles.” Marie smiled at the memory. “And she did it perfectly every time.”
Max felt a lump in his throat, but at the same time, he felt pleased that she could remember happier moments with her sister, not just the pain of her sudden, tragic death. It was the first sign that Marie was gradually coming to terms with her grief.
“In many ways,” she mused softly, “I think my sister was like your brother Julian. Always optimistic. Always confident that everything would work out for the best.” Her smile slowly vanished. “People like that always seem to end up getting hurt.” She glanced at him, then went back to work. “It’s better to be practical and rational.”
“Like us,” Max said quietly.
Not believing it for a second.
He turned and leaned on the back of the couch, looking out the window behind him, trying to refocus his mind on the scientific problem at hand. At the moment, it seemed far easier to untangle than the emotional problem at hand.
He gazed out at the glaring summer sun, at the streets below crowded with people enjoying the warm weather, some buying food for their midday meal from street vendors. Workmen were putting a new roof on one building, their hammering and sawing causing a din that appeared to annoy everyone in the vicinity, and raising a cloud of…
“Sawdust,” he said, sitting up.
“Sawdust?” Marie echoed in bewilderment.
He stared down at the workmen, his mind racing, his heart suddenly pounding hard. “Perhaps our answer doesn’t lie in the field of science at all—but in the study of history.”
“What are you talking about, my lord?”
He stood and came back to the table, excitement taking hold. “History! The Thirty Years’ War in Sweden. Specifically a lesser-known sidelight of the Battle of Nordlingen—during which Emperor Ferdinand II’s men encountered a problem with their gunpowder. It looked completely normal, but it didn’t work. Wouldn’t fire. Jammed their flintlocks. No one could figure out what was wrong.” He scooped up some of the gray substance sprinkled in the boxes, rubbing it between his fingers. “Until they confronted the gunsmith who had supplied it and the man confessed that he had cut the powder with sawdust. Since gunpowder is sold by weight, he thought he could cheat the emperor’s government—and he never guessed that the sawdust would render the powder useless.”
“So you’re saying that if we mix sawdust in with my chemical—”
“In such fine granules that it couldn’t be noticed—”
“It would render the compound harmless?” She shook her head. “It couldn’t be that simple.”
“We’ll never know unless we try.” He turned and rushed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To purchase some sophisticated scientific ingredients from the workmen across the street.”
An hour later, they were working on a new batch of the compound with silent, shared hope when a knock sounded at the door.
Annoyed at the interruption, Max went to answer it, guessing it must be his friend from the university.
Instead it was Saxon, holding up a newspaper. “Fleming has been executed by the French,” he announced with a broad grin.
“What?” Max grabbed the paper in disbelief.
“It’s rather a colorful story.” Saxon’s voice brimmed with satisfaction. “Perhaps that’s why it made all the morning papers. It seems Fleming arrived in Paris a few days ago, where he promptly presented the King with a formula that he claimed would create a miracle compound, the ultimate weapon. But instead of blowing anything up, it covered everyone in the vicinity with an indelible purple stain.” He chuckled. “The French are notorious for their lack of a sense of humor—no offense, mademoiselle.” He cast an apologetic glance in Marie’s direction. “Or perhaps they suspected that Fleming had changed loyalties after all his years living in England. In any event, he’s been hanged.”
Max read the newspaper report with a grim smile. There was a certain satisfying irony in Fleming’s death at the hands of his own countrymen. “Somewhere above, a gentleman who went by the name of Wolf is enjoying one hell of a good laugh right now.”
“Undoubtedly.” Saxon looked at Marie again, this time with admiration. “It was quick thinking of you, mademoiselle, to give Fleming that particular formula.”
Marie almost smiled. “It was one of my earlier failed experiments…one that my sister complained about. It turned her fingers purple for a month.”
Saxon turned back to Max, his expression becoming serious. “As for that other matter we discussed four days ago, I’ve met with success.”
“Already?” Max dropped the newspaper, almost choking on both surprise and dismay.
“You asked me to take care of it. I took care of it.” Saxon inclined his head in the direction of the street. “I’ve got living proof in my coach outside. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Max looked at Marie, feeling a cold nausea in the pit of his stomach. “Yes, I want to go through with it.”
“Now?”
Sighing, Max nodded, seeing no sense in putting it off.
“It’s your funeral,” Saxon muttered. He went out the door.
Marie studied Max with a puzzled frown. “What in the world were you two discussing?”
“You’ll understand when Saxon comes back,” Max said hoarsely, picking up the newspaper he had dropped and tossing it onto a chair.
She understood even sooner than that, because in just minutes, a
n outraged voice sounded from the far end of the corridor—shouting in French.
“Unhand me, you guttersnipes! Sacrément! I don’t know what sort of common street trash you are accustomed to dealing with, but I will not be treated like this!”
Marie gasped and stepped away from her experiment. “Armand?”
A moment later, Saxon came through the door, followed by two stocky men dressed in D’Avenant livery who held Armand LeBon between them.
The Frenchman looked mad enough to chew steel and spit rust. “You will let go of me at once!” He was struggling so hard, his tricorne flew off and landed on the floor. “I will not—” He froze upon seeing Marie.
“Armand!” she cried, her face alight with astonishment and relief and absolute joy.
“Let him go,” Saxon ordered his men glumly.
LeBon shook off his captors and met Marie halfway across the laboratory as she rushed into his arms. “Marie! Mon Dieu, Marie! They said they were bringing me to see you, but I couldn’t believe it!”
She clung to him, sobbing and laughing at the same time. “Oh, Armand, you’re alive! You’re alive!”
He set her away from him, holding her by the shoulders. “And you’re all right now? Your memory—”
“I’m all right. Oh, Armand, so much has…did you know that Véronique is…that she…”
He embraced her again. “I know, ma soeur.” His voice was thick with grief. “I know.”
They held one another, alone in a moment no one else in the room could share.
“Marie, it was my fault,” LeBon said gruffly, still holding her close. “If I hadn’t been so damned greedy when Chabot first approached me, none of this would have happened. I took his money without question—”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Marie insisted. “What they did wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known what they intended. We all thought we were…” Suddenly her gaze met Max’s over her brother’s shoulder. “We all thought we were doing what was right…but we were caught up in a situation that offered no way out.”
Max kept his eyes locked on hers and nodded, just once, almost imperceptibly.
LeBon turned, keeping one arm firmly around his sister’s shoulders. He gave Max a malevolent glare. “As for you, monsieur, I would put a bullet in you right now if your brother hadn’t disarmed me.”
“Sorry to cheat you of your fun, LeBon,” Saxon replied in awkward French. He gestured for his men to exit, shifting back to English. “I think my work here is done. I’ll leave you to deal with this, little brother.”
“Thanks for your help,” Max said ruefully. “I think.”
Marie blinked at them in confusion, then looked up at her brother as Saxon left. “Armand, how did they find you?”
“We found each other,” LeBon explained, still glaring in Max’s direction. “I knew that the English spy who had abducted you was named D’Avenant, so I came to London when I left Loiret. I thought I would lie in wait and try to free you when he brought you here. The family is well known, so it wasn’t difficult to find their town house, but I never saw any sign of you.”
“We were in hiding in Sussex. We…arrived in London before dawn one morning, just a few days ago.”
“But by then I had given up. I was trying to think of an alternate plan—when I read a mysterious notice in the newspapers summoning me to a rendezvous. It suggested that I might be able to secure your release.”
Marie turned an astonished stare on Max. “You sought Armand on purpose?”
Max nodded. “If a carefully worded notice in the papers worked on me, I thought it might work on your brother. If he was still alive, I figured he would be looking for you here, in England. I asked Saxon to use whatever means necessary to locate him.” He slanted a glance at LeBon. “Though I must admit, I didn’t expect him to turn up quite so quickly.”
“B-but…but…” She shook her head in confusion. “Why would you try to find Armand?”
He sighed heavily. “I think you know the answer to that, Marie. I’ve been forbidden to say.”
Armand released his sister and crossed toward Max. “Your brother explained to me how you became involved in this.”
Max clenched his teeth. “I believe I owe you an apology, LeBon, for—”
Before he could finish the sentence, Armand hit him. With a solid right cross to the jaw that landed like a sledgehammer.
Max found himself on the floor, dazed, his ears ringing, his jaw throbbing, his chest and shoulder afire.
“Armand!” Marie cried.
“Apology accepted,” LeBon snapped, standing over him.
Before Max could do more than curse in pain and anger, Marie had rushed to his side. “Max, are you all right?” She knelt beside him, cradling his head in her lap, turning a furious look on her brother. “Armand, that was not necessary—”
“On the contrary, Marie,” LeBon said, rubbing his knuckles and wincing. “After everything he’s done to you, he’s lucky I don’t have a pistol—”
“But you don’t understand! You could have hurt him!” She pulled aside Max’s frock coat, looking for signs of bleeding. “He was shot in the chest barely a week ago.”
Max thought of getting up.
But decided it was rather pleasant staying right where he was.
Perhaps he owed LeBon not an apology…but a thank-you.
He closed his eyes, moaning.
“Max!” Marie cried, her voice strained with worry.
He lifted his lashes halfway. “Is there any bleeding?” he asked weakly.
“I can’t tell.” She unbuttoned his shirt, checked his bandage…
And the feeling of her touching him made the pain in his jaw worth it. God above, it had been so long since she had been this close to him.
“I don’t think so,” she said, exhaling in relief. She rounded on her brother again. “Armand, you will please refrain from further violence! Max had reasons for what he did. Reasons that were honorable and patriotic and brave. He was trying to protect his country from a terrible threat. He didn’t want anyone else to be killed by the weapon that destroyed his brother’s ship. He’s not a…”
Her voice trailed off, as if she realized at the same time Max did that she was defending him.
And holding him rather close.
She lifted her hands away from his chest. “Can you sit up, my lord?” she asked dryly, her mouth curving downward in the prettiest scowl he had ever seen.
Drat. She clearly suspected he wasn’t as injured as he pretended to be.
“I think so,” he offered with an unrepentant grin.
He did so fairly easily.
“Marie,” Armand said, “we should talk—”
“We can talk later,” she replied with a regal cool that sounded almost like Ashiana. Standing up, she dusted herself off. “At the moment, Monsieur D’Avenant and I are in the middle of an extremely important experiment.”
Armand frowned, still glowering at Max, but apparently he knew better than to argue with his sister when she was intent on her chemistry. He went to a nearby table, jotted something on a piece of paper, and handed it to her. “Here’s the name of the inn where I’ve been staying.”
“I’ll be there at the first opportunity,” she assured him, tucking the slip of paper into the pocket of her skirt. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “I truly am glad to see you, Armand.”
“I can tell,” he said sarcastically.
“Now please go and let us get back to work.”
With a last threatening glare at Max, LeBon scooped his tricorne off the floor, resettled it on his head and left.
When they were alone again, Max looked at Marie for a long moment. The room suddenly felt very small, the air very warm.
“I asked Saxon to find your brother,” he said quietly, “because I owe you that and so much more. And because when you leave…if you leave…I didn’t want you to be alone. Because I love you.”
Marie swallowed hard, blinki
ng as if fighting tears, and started to say something.
Then she seemed to reconsider and returned to her experiment. “We have work to do, my lord.”
Marie continued working, despite the darkness that shrouded the laboratory. Apparently the university didn’t have enough funds to supply lighting for night work. The only illumination came from the moon’s silver glow spilling in through the windows and the golden flicker of the few candles she had been able to find. She had gathered them in the center of the table.
They cast a circle of light all around her and Max, the flames dancing before her eyes as she stared at the row of boxes.
Ten hours. The compound had been in standing water for ten hours now…and hadn’t caught fire. All the previous batches had ignited after one hour, or at most two.
But this version appeared stable.
Rising from her stool, her attention still locked on the granules sprinkled in the soil, she smiled, trembling, afraid to believe.
On impulse—an utterly unscientific, irrational impulse—she picked up the beaker that held the compound, shook a small amount into her hand, and sprinkled it over one of the candles, poised to jump out of the way.
But it didn’t explode. In fact, it doused the flame. The candle guttered and went out.
“Mon Dieu!” A rush of relief, satisfaction and joy swept over her.
It worked! Their new formulation worked. It was so stable, it wouldn’t even blow up in an open flame!
She felt an excitement that verged on giddiness. She repeated her impulsive test. The second candle expired just as quickly as the first. “Max, did you see that?” she exclaimed.
There was no reply from his side of the table.
She glanced over at him, looking away from her experiment for the first time in an hour. “Max…?”
He was asleep.
Still sitting on his stool, he had slumped over the table and lay dozing, his cheek pillowed by the book he had been studying. It was a text on the mechanics of combustion. He had been trying to find verification of his sawdust theory. But it seemed exhaustion had gotten the better of him.
A Scoundrels Kiss Page 34
