“When did it change?”
“After we received word that your parents had been taken to the guillotine.”
Raoul’s heart clenched with a combination of regret at his parents’ untimely death, and weary resignation at Merriot’s treachery.
“But of course,” he scoffed, easily capable of imagining Lord Merriot’s delight at the news. “Until then, there was always the possibility my parents might arrive on the doorstep and demand their son, as well as their wealth.”
“Oui. Once, however, he realized that there was no one to halt him from stealing your inheritance…”
“No one but you,” Raoul pointed out.
“And what am I?” Francine gave a wave of her hands. “A meaningless servant from France who willingly repeated the lie that you are Lord Merriot’s bastard son. Who would believe anything I said? Too late did I realize the danger of our masquerade. So foolish.”
“Never that,” Raoul denied.
“But I was.” The round face hardened with self-disgust. “The moment I realized that the pig intended to steal your inheritance, I should have taken you from Cheshire.”
“Why did you not?” he gently demanded.
“I had no money and nowhere to go. I thought it was best to ensure you at least had a home and food to eat.”
Sensing the woman’s lingering guilt, Raoul caught and held her gaze. “I do not blame you for Lord Merriot’s sins, Francine. Indeed I am extremely grateful for all you did for me.”
“It was not enough,” she whispered. “I will never forgive myself for having left you alone in that ghastly house.”
“You had your future to think of, Francine. I understand.”
Her eyes widened, as if she were shocked by his words. “Non, mon enfant. You cannot believe I ever left willingly.”
“You did say Lord Merriot had no fear of you convincing others I was nothing more than his bastard,” Raoul reminded her.
“He did not believe that any English court would accept the word of a French servant against that of a nobleman, but as time passed, the revolution came to an end.” A bittersweet smile touched her lips. “The government remained unsettled, but I became determined to return you to France so you could claim your place as the Comte de Suriant.”
Raoul lifted his brows in surprise. Francine was obviously a woman of uncommon resources and courage.
Much like another woman he knew.
The mere thought of Sarah was enough to ease the chill that was lodged in the pit of his stomach.
Mon Dieu, he wished she were here with him.
“Did you reveal your plan to Lord Merriot?”
“Of course not,” Francine denied, her tone indignant. “I knew he would do anything to keep secret his theft of your inheritance. Even if he were not judged guilty by English law, his name would certainly be tarnished.”
“Then how did he discover your plans?”
An unexpected blush touched her cheeks. “I was still young and foolish enough to be susceptible to the charms of a handsome young gentleman.”
“The gardener,” Raoul breathed.
“How did you know?”
“I spoke with his brother. He claimed that Lord Merriot had Drabble transported.”
“Oui. We fell in love, and I confessed all to him. I also told him of my plans to return to France, and he was determined to assist me.” Her lips trembled with a reminiscent pain. “Ah, such a good man. I will always miss him.”
Raoul gave her a moment to gather her composure, only distantly aware of the crackle of the logs in the fireplace and the muted sound of laughter from the street below.
“I still do not understand how Lord Merriot discovered your plans,” he at last prompted.
She drew in a shaky breath, her hands clenched in her lap. “Frank and I made a habit of meeting in the nursery after Lord and Lady Merriot went to bed to discuss our journey to France. I do not know if Lord Merriot became suspicious, or if he came to the nursery for some other purpose, but he overheard us speaking and…”
Her words trailed away, and Raoul reached out to once again take her hand.
“Francine, you need not say any more.”
“Non, I wish you to know.” She determinedly squared her shoulders, her expression grim. “We were in the nursery when Lord Merriot entered with a gun. He forced Frank and I to follow him downstairs, and then he called for the servants, telling them he had caught Frank stealing.” She was forced to halt and clear her throat. “Of course, they did not believe his absurd accusations, but what could they do? They sent for the magistrate, and Frank was taken into his custody. I was never allowed to see him again.”
Raoul bit back a curse. Of course Lord Merriot would think nothing of ruining the life of an innocent man. Selfish ass.
“He was transported,” Raoul muttered.
“And it was all my fault.”
“No,” he rasped, refusing to allow this woman to hold herself to blame. “The fault lies with Lord Merriot, not with you.”
She studied him with a wistful smile. “You are so much like your mother. So kind and prepared to forgive others.”
Raoul shook his head. “I fear I am not nearly so kind as you believe, and I assure you there is nothing to forgive.”
She abruptly ducked her head, hiding her expression. “But you have not yet heard the whole.”
“You can tell me, Francine.”
There was a long pause, as if she were inwardly gathering her courage. Then she raised her head to regard him with open regret.
“After Frank was taken away, Lord Merriot locked me in the nursery.”
Raoul widened his eyes, astonished to discover that just when he assumed his opinion of Lord Merriot could not sink any lower, there was yet another trough to be discovered.
“He held you captive?”
Francine nodded. “He told me that he would allow me to leave the Great House, and even promised to provide me a yearly allowance, so long as I would swear not to ever approach you or reveal the truth of your past.”
“And if you would not swear?”
She licked her lips, the hazel eyes darkening with fear. “He said he would kill me.”
“A promise I intend to keep,” a harsh, shockingly unexpected voice assured them.
Chapter 20
Raoul was on his feet and placing himself between the intruder and the shrieking Francine in one smooth movement. He was swift but not swift enough, he acknowledged in disgust, glaring at Lord Merriot, who stood in the doorway with a dueling pistol pointed straight at Raoul’s heart.
Damn.
He was an utter idiot. He knew Merriot was in London. And that he was desperate to locate Francine. That alone should have kept him prepared for disaster.
Instead, he had readily allowed Nico to leave rather than keeping him on guard, his pistol was tucked in his coat pocket rather than having it in hand where it might have done some bloody good, and worse of all, he had allowed himself to be so distracted by Francine’s confessions that he had never even heard the door being opened.
Furious with himself, Merriot, and the world at large, Raoul allowed his contemptuous gaze to flick over Lord Merriot’s expensive caped coat, and the glossy Hessians that had no doubt been purchased with Raoul’s stolen inheritance.
“Do not be a fool, Merriot,” he growled. “It is over.”
“No.” The beefy face that was still red from the cold twisted with a violent hatred. “I have come too far to have what is rightfully mine stolen by a tawdry actor.”
“Rightfully yours?” Raoul scoffed. He was not indifferent to the gun pointed at his heart, or the realization that Merriot was a superior marksman. Indeed, he was acutely aware of the danger. At the moment, however, his only hope was to distract the frantic nobleman long enough to retrieve his own gun, or hope for Nico’s timely return. “And pray tell me what possible claim could you have to my inheritance?”
“If not for me, you would have gone to the gui
llotine.”
Raoul snorted. “You might have offered me refuge, but you had already been well compensated, had you not?”
“I risked my life…”
“You did nothing more than take a small child and nurse beneath your roof,” Raoul cut in, his tone revealing his revulsion. “If there had been the slightest danger, you would have tossed us out with no more thought than if we were a bit of rubbish. You will always consider your own neck, you spineless maggot.”
The nobleman’s eyes glittered with something very close to madness, and Raoul shifted to ensure that he was between Merriot and the softly sobbing Francine, who remained cowering on the sofa.
The man was clearly unstable.
“I did everything asked of me, and I deserved my reward.”
“You are a common thief and a liar, and the only thing you deserve is the gallows.”
“Never,” Merriot hissed. “I have suffered more than you will ever comprehend. Now I only want this business to be at an end.”
Raoul’s sharp laughter echoed through the room. “And what have you suffered?”
“My son is dead. Taken from me when he was just a child.”
“And that is my fault?”
The hand holding the pistol trembled. The bastard had truly convinced himself that all his troubles were Raoul’s fault.
“You have brought nothing but ill fortune since you arrived in England.”
“I also brought considerable wealth, that you have squandered with obvious pleasure,” Raoul taunted.
“And what could I do?” Merriot demanded. “My father left me on the brink of ruin.”
“Again, I fail to see how the fault can possibly lie with me.”
“It was too much temptation to resist,” Merriot blustered, his eyes protruding as he sought to justify his evil. “No man in my position would have chosen differently.”
“Unless he happened to possess a few pesky morals,” Raoul mocked, unable to feel anything but disgust for the weak-willed fool. Lord Merriot had stolen more than his inheritance. He had stolen his life. “Tell me, Merriot, did you have the least sense of remorse when you bartered off my father’s artwork and my mother’s jewels?”
“It had to be done.” He licked his fat lips, beads of sweat marring his brow. “I…I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice.” Raoul paused, wrestling against the rage that flowed like lava through his veins. He still had questions that only this man could answer. “I am curious.”
“Curious?”
“Dunnington was obviously blackmailing you.” Raoul kept his voice indifferent. “What did he know?”
“That fool.”
“Hardly a fool,” Raoul corrected. “He managed to lighten your stolen bounty by twenty thousand pounds.”
Fury twisted Merriot’s expression, but thankfully he appeared unaware of the significance of his answer to Raoul.
“Only because Mirabelle refused to comprehend the delicacy of our situation,” he muttered. “She was determined to keep the finer pieces of jewelry and, even after I warned her not to flaunt them, she refused to heed my warnings.”
“I presume she draped herself in my mother’s gems and waltzed through London?”
“Not London. A house party we had been invited to near Winchester.”
“Winchester,” Raoul breathed. It had been Fredrick who had discovered their old tutor had spent several years in the town. Obviously he had uncovered more than just the fact that Fredrick was the eldest son and heir of Lord Colstone. “Dunnington taught at the local college.”
Merriot curled his lips. “Had I known that Sir Easterby was so lacking in refinement as to invite a commoner to his gatherings, I should never have agreed to attend.”
“You have no need to prove your repulsive arrogance, Merriot,” Raoul snapped, refusing to have Dunnington insulted. Not by this worthless cad. “Perhaps if you had more sense and less pride, you could have avoided your inevitable decline into disgrace.”
Merriot stiffened. “You will notice that I have the sense to be the one holding the gun.”
“So you are,” Raoul drawled. “I am still baffled. I have no doubt that Lady Merriot was stupid enough to prance around in stolen goods, but how could Dunnington possibly have known they were filched?”
“The interfering jackass had spent several years in Paris when he was young.”
“As a student?”
“As if I care. I only know he was employed to run errands for the owner of a salon where the Comtesse de Suriant often visited.”
Raoul’s lips twisted. He could easily imagine Dunnington traveling to Paris to surround himself with those who possessed a passion for learning. Obviously his mother had made a lasting impression on the tutor.
“So he was in a position to personally recognize her jewelry. How unfortunate for you.”
“Encroaching muckworm.”
Raoul kept his expression unreadable, despite the pounding of his heart. The next question meant more than he wanted to admit.
“Did he know I was the Comtesse’s son?”
“Of course not,” Merriot denied, unwittingly easing the one lingering dread that haunted Raoul. “He had never met your father.”
“So he only knew you somehow possessed my mother’s jewelry?”
“The idiot was convinced that I had stolen them while I was in France. As if I were a common thief.”
Raoul shuddered with relief. Dunnington hadn’t known that he was the legitimate son of Comte de Suriant. Thank God. He was not certain he could bear the thought that the man he held in such esteem could have hidden the truth from him.
Still, he was careful to disguise his reaction behind a sneer. “But that is precisely what you are.”
Merriot gritted his teeth, taking a threatening step forward. “It no longer matters. Dunnington is dead, and soon enough you and your meddlesome nurse will join him in the grave.”
From behind, Raoul heard the sound of Francine’s groan, but he never shifted his gaze from Merriot.
The encounter was spiraling toward a bloody conclusion unless he could convince the lunatic that killing them was a poor notion.
“So you will add murder to your sins?” he demanded.
“I have no choice.”
“As I said, there is always a choice.”
“No.” Merriot shook his head, his eyes wild in the flickering firelight, sweat dripping from his face. “Once you are gone, it will be over.”
Raoul held up his hands in a calming motion. “You believe you can shoot two people in a hotel, and walk away without being seen?”
“I…” He swallowed heavily. “I shall say that you traveled to Cheshire in an attempt to demand money from me, and when I refused, you lured me to London to have your revenge. Only I was wise enough to shoot you first.”
“Very clever.” He shrugged. “And Francine?”
“She was obviously a partner in your nefarious plot.”
“Ah.”
“There will be no one left who can speak of the past.”
Raoul summoned a condescending smile, calling upon his years upon the stage. He had never needed his acting skills more than he would over the next few minutes.
“Now that is where you are out, Merriot.”
The older man frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Your crimes have already been exposed.”
“Impossible.”
“You were not nearly so careful as you believed,” Raoul drawled, casually crossing his arms over his chest. “Or perhaps you merely underestimated Jefferson’s frugal nature.”
“What the devil did my gamekeeper have to do with this?” Merriot snapped. “He knew nothing.”
“No, it is true he did not suspect your treachery, but he could not bear to witness perfectly decent furnishings condemned to the bonfire. He instead donated them to the local villagers,” he informed the wary nobleman. “Except for a handful that he took to the cottage…along with several p
ortraits.”
There was a shocked silence as Merriot considered the implications, then his ruddy face paled to a sickly ash as he realized the dangers of Jefferson’s interference.
“A lie.”
Raoul shook his head. “I have seen them with my own eyes, including the portrait of Comte and Comtesse de Suriant with their child.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves everything,” Raoul countered. “No one who views the portrait could possibly overlook my resemblance to Comte de Suriant.”
“And who will view it?” Merriot rasped, clearly shaken. “As soon as I finish here, I will return to Cheshire and burn it myself. I should have done so in the first place.”
Raoul’s smile widened. “You can return to Cheshire if you desire, but you will not discover the portrait.”
“Where is it?”
“It should be in the hands of Lord Liverpool by now. And I must warn you that he has always been particularly fond of me.”
Merriot’s chest heaved up and down as he battled against his rising panic. Raoul’s attention, however, remained firmly fixed on the trembling hand that held the pistol.
The last thing he desired was for the man to accidentally squeeze the trigger.
“Impossible.”
“Why impossible?”
“I was watching your house when you arrived in town. You came straight here.”
Raoul felt a stab of self-disgust. In his haste to find Nico, he had led Merriot straight to the hotel.
“So we may add spying to your unsavory habits,” he growled.
“I knew when I could not find Francine, you must be somehow involved.”
“And so you followed me here.”
“Exactly.” Merriot made a visible effort to gather his faltering composure. “So now I need only to travel to your town house to retrieve the damnable thing.”
“I fear you are too late.” Raoul dropped his hands to his side, ensuring his hand was close to the pocket holding his pistol. The more he pressed Merriot, the more dangerous the situation, but it also offered the only opportunity to distract him long enough to get his hand on his weapon. “I never claimed that I personally delivered the portrait to Liverpool.”
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