by Tamara Gill
The comte strode away, seemingly satisfied at having forged a conversation between the two of them.
Arthur stepped nearer her, and her blue eyes darkened further, resembling sapphires or the Mediterranean on a perfect sunshine filled day.
Chapter Ten
Heavens. The man exuded handsomeness, easily exceeding the attractiveness of the carefully conceived figures of sculptors’ and painters’ imaginations.
“May I have this dance?” Arthur swept into an elegant bow, one that managed to emphasize the broadness of his shoulders, the firmness of his torso, and his long, well-shaped legs.
He stretched his hand toward her, and sun-kissed skin peaked from his ebony tailcoat.
It shouldn’t have felt so familiar.
Seven years should suffice in length to forget the broadness of someone’s shoulders, the exact height of the man’s towering form, and it should certainly should be long enough to banish the memory of the exact manner in which his lips pulled into a smile.
Seven years should be long enough to no longer desire to ponder the exact twinkle of his eyes, and her heart certainly shouldn’t warm in his presence.
It was a wonder she had a heart at all after the man had taken such efforts to dismantle it.
She raised her chin and steadied her gaze, ignoring his outstretched hand. Even though marquesses who controlled vast amounts of wealth might be more accustomed to seeing priceless heirlooms than their poorer counterparts, they likely didn’t think jewels made a habit of appearing in women’s palms.
The man’s features dipped into something slightly less reminiscent of cherubic joy.
She dipped into a curtsy. “My lord.”
“My lady.”
She’d managed to convince herself at one point that he’d cared for her. Memories of strolling the Royal Academy of Arts, riding his curricle through Hyde Park, and finding delight in discussing even the most mundane things with him faded.
All ridiculousness.
He clasped her hand, but she tried to pull it away.
They couldn’t dance.
Dancing would be impossible. Utterly.
The bracelet was still in her hand.
His grip tightened, and then his expression changed. He forced her palm open and stared at the sapphire bracelet.
Her heart might be racing, urging her to run from the ballroom, but it was too late.
I’ve been caught.
In a crowded ballroom.
By the man who despised her.
She struggled to control her breathing. She had to think.
Calmness. She had to emanate calmness.
“What did you do?” he growled.
She strove to think of an explanation for why she was holding precious jewels in the palm of her hand.
Unfortunately she couldn’t think of anything.
Madeline gazed downward. She laughed. “The clasp broke on my bracelet.”
“Don’t feign insipidity.” Arthur closed her palm, but his hand remained on her wrist. “I know this doesn’t belong to you.”
“It does—”
“It belongs to the Comtesse Beaulieu. A fact I’m sure you’re aware of.”
Her heart thudded in her chest.
She’d always feared discovery.
And now it had happened.
By someone who knew her, someone to whom she couldn’t give a false identity, someone who—
The melodic notes of a waltz began, and Arthur’s expression hardened. “Dance with me.”
“I—”
“You have no choice,” he said sternly and pulled her into his arms. “See that room in the corner? We’re going to go there.”
The waltz.
Of all the dances in the world, the musicians had to be playing a waltz. There was no opportunity for escape with Arthur’s hands clasping her. Couples swirled about them, and Arthur led them into the dance. She glided in his arms, conscious of the whirl of the silk dresses and vibrantly colored waistcoats of the other guests. The violins hummed pleasantly, and it would be so nice to imagine that they were dancing for another reason.
He maneuvered them elegantly across the marble floor, never lessening his grasp on her hand and waist. The door grew closer, and then he swung it open.
“Inside,” he growled.
She stepped into a small, dark room, and he bolted the door behind them.
“You’re a criminal,” Arthur said.
It shouldn’t matter if he was disappointed in her, but the solemnity in his voice seemed worse than that of any magistrate.
“What on earth were you thinking?” Arthur asked. “You know better than that. Your sense of propriety is renowned.”
Madeline stiffened. “So people like to tell me. I’m the somber Amberly cousin. I don’t have a large family like Rosamund, and I don’t have a budding archaeological career like Fiona. Well that doesn’t mean I’m completely dull, even if I memorized the ways of the ton better than both of them.”
“Obviously not,” he said. “Do you need money? Because a life of crime should never be an option.”
“It’s not about the money.” She darted her gaze about the small room. It contained only a table with some flowers on it, and music still trickled through the door. A window was on one side, but with Arthur here…”
“You can’t run away,” Arthur said. “Tell me now.”
“Or else?”
“Or else I call the others. All I need to do is raise my voice—and trust me, I do know how to make my voice carry, and you will be imprisoned.”
“Who exactly are you?” she asked.
His face darkened. “A guest.”
Madeline didn’t believe it. “You seem to care greatly about letting the French keep the spoils from their invasions.”
He flinched but remained silent.
Madeline sighed. “The French attacked the Italian peninsula.”
“I know.”
“I’m sure,” she said icily. “They destroyed crops and ransacked everything. Sanctioned by Bonaparte of course. Most people would see it as a small crime compared to the murders and assaults the army of peasants also committed. But the thing is, to the families, the jewels mean everything. They are heirlooms and an insurance policy should they ever need money.” She gave a bitter smile. “And I assure you, when your land has been destroyed and everything of monetary value taken from you…you do want the option to sell even things of immense sentimental value.”
He looked at the sapphire bracelet. “So you’re stealing the jewels back?”
“Indeed. I’m returning the jewels to their rightful owners. I only steal them when the people in question have refused to return them,” Madeline declared.
“That doesn’t make it better,” Arthur replied.
“I doubt the comte and comtesse are precisely poor. They didn’t even pay for the bracelet.”
“And what do you gain from this?”
“The satisfaction of doing the right thing.”
“The law would debate it.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “How can you risk your life for small pieces of colored stone?”
“They’re more than that. For the family that owns them—they’re everything.”
“You always were interested in such things.”
“You always noticed.”
“I suppose that’s why you married the baron.” His voice sounded almost wistful, and she gazed at him sharply.
“What you are doing is not safe.” Arthur paced the room in long, furious strides. “You’re a woman—”
She shrugged. “I never travel alone. And my job is perhaps easier, because fewer people suspect me. Did you suspect me?”
“No.” Arthur flushed. “But you can’t simply go about stealing things. Any one of the guards could have shot you if they’d seen you. We’re in a country that has beheaded nobles with glee! You must have picked up a broadsheet once during the war.”
“Naturally. But that doesn’t change the fact that wha
t I’m doing is important.”
“And even if you’re right,” Arthur said. “Do you think a single court will uphold that here? If the people couldn’t get the jewels back through natural means, how are the courts supposed to see it when they’ve done so by illegal means?” He raked his hand through his hair. “Blast it, there’s a process. We’ve just achieved peace with France. A rare thing. We’ve been battling off and on for centuries. You shouldn’t risk the peace. If the French government knew a woman in your position was openly stealing from them—”
“Please don’t imply I want a war with France. I don’t. But that doesn’t mean we can let them do whatever they want. Is that why the battlefields were stained pink with the blood of so many young brave boys? Justice is important. And I am valuing that.”
Voices ushered forth from the ballroom. The waltz had ended, and people were once again chitchatting.
And hopefully not listening at doors.
“I will return the jewels,” Arthur said. “I’ll tell them I apprehended the criminal. You can run away. Out that window. It’s to a courtyard. The window opens onto some bushes. The guards shouldn’t be able to see you from that angle.”
She was silent, and his face reddened. “I am offering to help you.”
It was tempting.
Exceedingly.
But she wouldn’t do it.
She’d come so close to being able to give all the jewels to the Costantinis.
And furthermore—
She sighed. “I don’t trust the guards to not shoot.”
“Then you can turn yourself in. Perhaps they will be less harsh—” His face flickered uncertainty. “I do not advise it though.”
“Then I must do the third option.”
“And what does that entail?”
“Give me the bracelet first,” Madeline said.
“Nonsense.”
“Very well.” Madeline lifted the hem of her dress and removed a pistol from the holster on her leg.
Arthur’s eyes widened. “What on earth are you doing with that?”
“I know,” she said. “It’s small. And it only has one shot.”
“Madeline.” He swallowed hard, but her heart still quickened at the sound of her first name on his lips.
It didn’t matter.
She couldn’t trust him.
She continued to direct the pistol at him. “Do not move. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Madeline.” He spoke softly but distinctly. “Don’t do anything rash. I can’t protect you.”
She stepped toward the window. “Give me the bracelet back.”
“I won’t.”
“Give it to me,” she said sternly.
He slid it across the table, and she grabbed it. “Don’t follow me.”
Arthur stood. “I don’t think you would want to shoot me.”
He moved toward her.
He was going to take the pistol. He knew she wouldn’t shoot at him. He knew—
Her heart sped.
The vase.
She could use the vase.
She picked it up and flung it at him. He toppled to the floor. Heavens.
Regret coursed through her, but she couldn’t linger. She rushed outside and into freedom, clutching the sapphire bracelet in her palm.
Chapter Eleven
Madeline climbed from the window and glanced at the roof.
Good.
She strode into the garden behind the Beaulieu Palais. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to slow down. Her shoulders didn’t quite relax, and her breath would take a while to come in even bursts again, but she inhaled the scent of lavender and roses. A few couples wandered in the courtyard, and Madeline even smiled.
Perhaps there was a reason why people in this region declared themselves so much more knowledgeable of romance than their English counterparts. In this warm weather, when one had such beautiful pieces of nature to gaze upon, how could one not believe in love?
Noises wafted from the hydrangeas. A man and woman were murmuring—and at times, embracing. Madeline had seen people embrace before, but her body still flushed uncomfortably. The act seemed strange and overly intimate.
And yet these people, whoever they were, could not wait to find a location of greater privacy.
Perhaps they’d assumed no one would be in this section of the garden, and Madeline tilted her head away from them.
Except… She knew the woman.
The comtesse.
But the man she was with was most certainly not the comte. He was younger, his hair was devoid of gray, and his stomach could not be described as being in possession of a paunch.
They mustn’t see me.
Not when they might wonder why she’d entered this private garden.
Not when the comtesse might remember her.
It was too late.
“Somebody is there,” the comtesse’s lover whispered, and the comtesse swung her gaze over at Madeline.
“Bon soir.” Madeline attempted to sound casual, as if it were perfectly natural to cavort in hydrangea bushes, as if she would likely be doing the same as them if a man were accompanying her.
Her tone sounded the appropriate combination of sophisticated and nonchalant, and for a moment Madeline was certain she could continue past them.
The woman’s dark eyes widened. “It’s…you. You found my bracelet.”
“Indeed,” Madeline replied.
“But you’re dressed—” The woman’s gaze swept over Madeline’s attire. Madeline wasn’t sure in the light if the comtesse’s eyes were narrowing, but she didn’t fail to note the suspicion in her voice.
“Let me see your bracelet,” the man said to the comtesse. “Perhaps she exchanged it.”
Murmurings sounded, and Madeline quickened her pace.
Then a wail sounded.
They’d noticed.
“Stop,” the comtesse’s lover shouted.
Madeline ran.
Stopping was not a viable option, no matter how much the comtesse’s lover hollered.
She quickened her speed and stepped off the path, hoping the grass might be effective at masking the sound of her slippers striking the stones. Delightful fragrances wafted over her, even though the night had obscured their colors, and the manner in which the branches arched toward the sky seemed more eerie.
The azurean sea transformed to darkness, only distinguishable by the glint of the waves’ crests under the moonlight and the sound of the water tumbling against the shoreline.
Her heart pounded, struggling to give her body every burst of energy it needed. Her lungs burned, and her coiffure became undone. Locks whipped against her face, and despite the cold breeze, sweat prickled her back and forehead.
She entered the town, unsure whether to be thankful or worried for Antibes’s narrow, mazelike streets. She ducked into an alley, and then turned into another one.
Footsteps pounded after.
Is it possible two people are following me?
She shook her head. Perhaps it was the comtesse. If so, she likely wouldn’t wander too far away from the palais. Not during a ball. Not in her finest evening attire. And certainly not with a man whom the comte probably would not like her to be seen alone with.
The sound of pounding footsteps vanished. She hesitated, unwilling to abandon the temporary safety of the alleyway.
But she had to return and fetch Gabriella.
Once the comtesse told the comte, and he put the whole force of his men toward finding her…
Madeline’s stomach lurched uncomfortably, and she hurried toward the cottage. She moved through the alleys, taking care to walk parallel to the sea front, noting the direction of the sound of the waves.
*
Arthur scrambled from the floor. The baroness had thrown a blasted vase at him. He brushed water and flowers from his attire. The last time he’d been caught off guard like that—he shook his head. He could call the others. That was his duty. He could round up all of Co
mte Beaulieu’s men and have her arrested, and then he would go back to London and receive Admiral Fitzroy’s commendations. Perhaps the admiral might even laud him right here in Antibes.
But it was Madeline, and despite everything, he couldn’t do that.
Her companion.
She would have gone to fetch her. They must have rented a place here. And likely soon they would be off to Venice.
She would need to return home first.
Well.
Arthur could certainly follow her.
He considered calling the others. That was his duty, blast it.
He dismissed it easily. He knew Madeline. Clearly not as well as he’d thought. But he wasn’t going to put her in a French jail.
Madeline was not the first female criminal he’d encountered. France had a habit of directing sultry female spies his way. They were easily distinguished by their practice of introducing themselves to him and their penchant for elaborate scarves, as if the latter conjured a sufficient disguise.
He hadn’t expected to find her doing such behaviors.
Clearly he’d been revoltingly naive.
The woman had no concept for danger.
The things he’d seen—
His heart thudded in his chest. He didn’t want Madeline to encounter any of it. She shouldn’t be locked in a cell, possibly executed. Not for a crime done from good intentions.
Damnation.
He scurried down the building and ran through the town: he needed to get to Madeline.
*
Madeline rushed to the cottage and banged on the door.
Gabriella opened it at once.
“I have it.” Madeline dangled the bracelet from her fingers. The sapphires and diamonds glimmered.
Gabriella clapped her hands together. “Magnifico.”
“Yes.” Madeline allowed herself a small smile.
It was wonderful.
It was the culmination of so much planning.
The set was complete. The Costantinis would be given some justice, finally, after all these years.
“There’s no time,” Madeline said quickly. “Somebody saw me.”
“Oh.” Gabriella rushed to the other room and grabbed two suitcases. “The carriage is ready. I hooked up the horses.”
