Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense)

by Veronica Forand

  He dressed quickly and stepped out into the spring air to organize his thoughts and rid his body of the stress hampering the mental acuity required to rescue her.

  An hour and many blocks through Paris later, he strolled in front of Luc’s residence, a monster of a house framed with a large stone wall extending to each side and protected by cameras sitting in plain view to deter outsiders. Henry glanced around, searching for his best vantage point.

  The café across the street was perfect. He hustled around oncoming traffic and chose an available table tucked under a large green awning. The previous patron had left a copy of the International New York Times under a half-drunk cup of coffee. Henry ordered a fresh cup of tea and pretended to read. Shadowing his face from the street traffic, he set to memorizing all the entrances visible to him and considered the best approach inside.

  After an hour, a black Audi with tinted windows pulled into the driveway. Luc Perrault exited the car and headed to the front door. Henry fixated on Luc’s gait, his clothing, and his need for a shave. The urge to run across the street and plow his fist through the man’s nearly perfect features threatened to overwhelm him. He cracked his knuckles and prepared to move closer, but took a deep breath and sipped some tea instead. Simon would kill him for being in the neighborhood, but Henry trusted his instincts, which told him to observe, and if needed, act. He threw a few euros on the table and waited.

  The front door of the house opened. A large man assisted Alex down the front walk. Seeing her pulled the tension from his chest, only to have it return when he saw the cast on her leg. She’d arrived on his doorstep a few weeks ago with broken ribs and a scarred neck.

  Someone had hurt her again.

  Short brown hair blew over her eyes as she negotiated the two stairs to the driveway with crutches. Her long pink skirt and pink flats projected a cheerful emotion, but not one spark of anything reflected in her eyes. Her face revealed no pain when she walked, but she was in her lady of the manor mode, quiet and deferential. If she drove away, Henry would miss the opportunity to know her motivation for leaving or if she had chosen to leave him voluntarily. A broken leg told him “no.” He jumped to his feet, forcing a friendly smile to appear on his face, and ran toward her.

  “Alex.”

  Her head lifted and jerked back in shock, probably at his bruised face and split lip. He continued across the street, narrowly avoided a honking car, and stopped breathless in front of the small group. Luc glared. The man with them, probably security, stepped toward Henry with a malevolent expression. Alex remained dumbstruck.

  Luc held on to her elbow as more of a restraint than a support. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m her cousin.”

  Alex winced.

  “A family relation? How convenient.” Luc seemed pleased to meet him. “Nice meeting you, Mr.…?”

  “West. John West.”

  Luc shook Henry’s hand, gripping it with excessive force that Henry matched. He tried to tame the anger in his eyes, leaving his handshake as the only warning he gave Luc. They released at the same time, like two boxers before the ring of the bell.

  Henry focused on Alex, although it was difficult with the guard trying to step into his space. “I haven’t seen you in forever. You took off after that party at Belinda’s flat.”

  She shrugged. “Zombie apocalypse. You can’t predict when those things will happen. I should have called.”

  “I love a good family reunion.” Luc gestured to the guard to stand down, yet he still held Alex with a firm hand. “Where are you staying? Perhaps she can contact you tomorrow.”

  Henry faced Alex. He wouldn’t release Simon’s location to anyone. “Same place as before.”

  A slight smile sprouted on her face, until Luc wrapped his arm around her and led her toward the car.

  “If you’ll excuse us, my wife and I are late for a lunch meeting.”

  The world stopped spinning. Henry could barely breath. “Wife?”

  Luc glanced at Alex. Her eyes focused toward the ground. When she looked up, her smile was cold and arrogant.

  What the hell?

  “We married a few days ago. A complete whirlwind romance.” She glanced toward Luc and smiled, but the smile seemed creepy and distorted.

  Why would she marry the man who beat the hell out of her? Did she love him?

  Glancing toward the ground again, she spoke in a breathy tone. “By marrying Luc, I fulfill all the qualifications for membership in the women’s club we used to joke about as kids. Perhaps I’ll join next time I’m in England. Good-bye, John.”

  She tried to step away, but Luc turned her toward him and gave her a deep and thorough kiss that Alex accepted. He helped her into the back of the car, sliding the crutches across the back window. When she was settled, Luc, Alex, and their bodyguard drove away, leaving Henry standing alone.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the rage threatening to explode from seeing her in another man’s arms. He wanted to lash out at her and at Luc. Instead, he remained on the sidewalk staring at the taillights of the car taking away everything that mattered to him.

  He couldn’t get past her marrying Luc. She almost seemed pleased about it. One minute in Henry’s arms and the next in the arms of someone else. And why the hell would he care that she could join a women’s club? He paused.

  Not a women’s club, the women’s club.

  Henry had to stop underestimating her abilities. She told him all he needed to know. The son of a bitch broke her leg. What else was he threatening to do if she didn’t stay married to him?

  …

  Alex sat propped in the backseat of the car to stretch her leg out, struggling to hold back the rush of emotion she felt upon seeing Henry. If Luc sensed she had even the slightest attraction toward Henry, let alone this aching love, her beloved earl’s life would be as good as terminated. Still, he consumed her thoughts.

  Henry in Paris? Her heart leaped for joy as her brain screamed in horror. He so wanted to be her hero, but the mild-mannered professor hadn’t an ounce of Indiana Jones in his veins. Simon’s Nicola probably alerted them to her whereabouts. His arrival was unwelcome and upsetting.

  What happened to him? The bruises couldn’t be older than three or four days. She wanted to remember him sexy and sweet, not beat up and despondent. Her body trembled with too much emotion, too much confusion. She just wanted this nightmare to end. Wrapping her arms around her waist to hold herself together, she stared out the window.

  Luc glanced over his shoulder as Pascal drove. “Your cousin seemed surprised to see you.”

  “We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

  “An English cousin?”

  She shrugged. “Second or third cousin on my mother’s side. Her cousin married some viscount in Leeds and moved her family there two or three decades ago. John is her son. I’ve only seen him a few times.”

  They drove to a rural area and down a wooded road to a small stone house, a place that could be located only with knowledge of the area and a clear destination in mind.

  Luc stopped his car and waited. “I’ve been impressed by your behavior since your niece’s accident. I like this new side of you. Make sure you continue to cooperate. If you fail me, you lose a family member. I’ll be generous, though—you can choose the person I’ll gun down. Perhaps I can kill Mr. West. He’s in the area and not immediate family.”

  She swallowed her fear and nodded. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Good. I’m acquiring two paintings this afternoon. You’re to stay out of the way until authentication is required. Tell me the truth and then return to the car.”

  She nodded again.

  A black Mercedes drove down the driveway and parked. A small moving van followed. The door of the Mercedes opened and…Simon? Alex tightened the hold around her waist to soothe the fear bubbling up inside her stomach. Dressed in jeans and a black blazer, he wandered toward Luc’s car and waited. He wasn’t wearing his usual
smile; instead, tension showed in his stiff posture and slow pace. His hands rested at his sides.

  Luc opened Alex’s door, pulling her out. Simon’s eyes widened in a flash of recognition when he saw her. He must not have expected her. Luc tossed her the crutches and then left her alone as he spoke to Simon. They seemed to know each other. Was Simon providing the paintings? She wished she could read people’s intentions as well as her sister Julia could. Would Simon betray her?

  The breeze through the trees muffled their conversation. Simon mentioned something about replacing Roman and a delayed flight.

  A couple of men she’d never seen before opened the back of the truck and pulled out two large packages wrapped in brown paper. The paintings. The men carried them to the house. Luc motioned Alex to follow them. She hobbled across the gravel driveway, keeping an ear toward Simon and an eye on Luc.

  Empty rooms and blank walls greeted her inside the main living area of the house. The men unwrapped the paintings and placed them against the wall, rough enough to chip the corner of one of the frames. She stepped closer to them.

  The two paintings had never been cataloged in her vast memory. One artist had painted both of these neoclassical mythological scenes. Oil on canvas with colors and markings dating them to the year 1820 or so. Alex reached out and touched the smooth strokes, looking for anything to indicate a forgery. They were authentic. She recognized the style. The artist had to be Sophie Fremiet, known more as her husband’s model for the sculpture La Marseillaise than for her own impressive work. Alex searched the lower corner of one of the paintings and found the artist’s mark. The delicate nature of the canvases and brutal handling of them depressed her.

  Tears streamed down her face. The destruction of art often overwhelmed her senses. She remembered crying for days after learning of a thief who had burned several masterpieces rather than hand them over to the authorities. The memory of the last painting she’d admired flooded her heart and mind. Lady Elizabeth Gillett. Did Henry buy the painting or did she disturb the night enough to throw Henry off his purpose for the trip? She hoped he’d found a way to save the painting and the Ripon Women’s Club.

  “Well?” Luc entered the room and stood next to her.

  Wiping some of the moistness from her cheeks, she nodded toward her cold and uncaring husband. “Sophie Fremiet Rude. They’re authentic and made within a year of each other.”

  “Excellent. Go back to the car. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.” He left her side to approach one of the men who had carried the paintings into the house.

  As Alex made her way back toward the car, she watched Pascal hand Simon a metal briefcase. It had to be the cash for the paintings. Somehow, Simon’s complicity in this sale made her sick. His involvement with stolen art wasn’t news to her, but seeing him take the cash tied him to a world she detested and turned her stomach. How could Henry trust someone so corrupt, brother or not? Unless he was pretending to be corrupt. She had no way of knowing.

  Pascal strolled toward the farmhouse away from Simon, who seemed preoccupied with counting his money. After Simon checked the contents of the briefcase, he placed it in the trunk of his car.

  He intercepted her on her way back to the car. He grasped her hand with both of his and looked into her eyes as though trying to absorb her story. “Alex, I presume.”

  Luc would not be kind to her if he suspected they knew each other. She pulled her hand from Simon’s clasp and backed up one step.

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “Simon Dunn.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Dunn.”

  Simon switched to Gaelic with a faint Scottish brogue. “He misses you.”

  She flinched, shocked he knew her secret with languages. She rarely used the Gaelic she’d learned from a Scottish landlord in Paris.

  “He’ll get over it,” she replied in the same language.

  “Don’t underestimate the earl. He doesn’t take rejection well.”

  She ignored his comment. “I spoke to him this morning. His face is destroyed. What happened?”

  After a slight narrowing of his eyebrows at the statement, he shook his head and then beamed her a flirtatious smile. A grimace, however, hovered around the edges of his mouth. “He met a few acquaintances of your father.”

  Henry had seen her family? She could picture her father’s poor treatment of him. He hated outsiders. She dropped her eyes to avoid his gaze. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

  Simon lowered his voice. “We can help you.”

  We? Simon and Nicola? How could they help unless they killed Luc?

  “I don’t want your help.” She saw Luc approach and stepped away from Simon.

  “Alex, go to the car.” Luc spoke to Alex in French, and switched to English for Simon. “Everything looks good. You have the payment?”

  Simon nodded. “I’ll hand it to Roman when his flight comes in.”

  “Will I see you at dinner tonight?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” He nodded toward Alex before she turned to walk away.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Simon arrived among the first of about twenty guests for dinner. Luc had not materialized, but his wife Alex greeted each guest as they entered the spacious foyer. Wearing a loose ivory gown, she leaned on her crutches near the front entrance. Luc’s security guard stood behind her, more as a prison guard than a protector.

  Simon took hold of her hand. “Good evening.”

  “Hello, Mr. Dunn.” A poorly constructed smile greeted him, and her hand trembled in his. “My husband is currently detained in his study, but drinks are at the bar. Please help yourself.”

  He couldn’t understand why she didn’t want their help, but she was getting it regardless. He continued to hold her. “Would you care to join me for a drink, Mrs. Perrault?”

  “I’m afraid I have front door duty. Perhaps later.” Her eyes flickered toward the guard.

  “No one else will be arriving for a while—come on.” He guided her to the bar.

  “Mr. Perrault asked you to remain at the door. You can’t leave.” The security guard stepped in front of them and attempted to scare Simon off with some bullshit aggressive expression. A bully over a woman a third of his size; the man should be castrated.

  “You’d almost think she was under house arrest the way you’re treating her.” Simon laughed at his own brand of warning. “Why don’t you find the lady a chair? It’s obvious she’s been standing too long.”

  Alex brushed Simon’s lapel with a whisper touch. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Dunn. I’m quite all right. I prefer standing.” She dropped her hand to her side and returned to her station.

  “As you wish. I look forward to speaking with you later.” Simon nodded to her, then strolled to the bar and ordered himself vodka straight up. He greeted several acquaintances, none of whom he’d ever want to meet without the Beretta in his waistband.

  While chatting with one of Luc’s artifact importers from Cambodia, Simon kept his eye on the front door and his brother’s obsession. She stood erect, but frequently shifted the weight off her bad leg. She should be sitting. He’d love to get that prat standing with her alone to teach him some morals.

  The door opened again and Roman entered, heading directly for Alex. If he recognized her as Belinda, then Alex, Nicola, and he would all be at risk.

  Simon walked as fast as he could across the foyer to shield Alex from Roman’s view. He was too late. Roman had already placed his arm around her waist.

  “Nice to see you again, Belinda. Still attached to Simon?” He glanced between Alex and Simon.

  Alex tilted her head and said something back to Roman in fluent Russian. Nothing submissive about this woman when she pulled out her inner warrior. Even her stance morphed into something different than Belinda’s eye candy with no brain persona.

  Roman perused her body again with a curious stare and responded to her in his native tongue. He seemed confused at the similarities the brunette shared with the blond Belinda.
Alex’s strength and intelligence, however, eclipsed dim-witted Belinda’s personality. Good.

  “Roman.” He clasped his old friend on the shoulder. “I see you’ve met Luc’s new wife, Alex.”

  “Alex? Alex Lemoine?” Roman stared at her face. They may have been introduced during Alex’s previous life.

  “Yes. Small world, isn’t it? She helped Luc with a few sales, fell in love, the rest is boring. Come, let’s get a drink.” He gripped Roman’s arm in a wrestling hold, and they walked off, leaving Alex with her bodyguard.

  “Did you bring anyone tonight?” Roman asked.

  “No. Belinda went to Miami to visit a sick relative. Annoying, but it keeps her happy. I don’t have the patience for more drama by inviting someone else right now.”

  “I understand.”

  Luc, sporting a navy blazer, jeans, and boat shoes, ambled up to them with a drink in his hand. “Welcome. I’m glad you both could make it. Sorry you weren’t at the exchange this afternoon.”

  Roman shook his hand and patted him on the back. “The plane was delayed in Edinburgh. Simon handled everything, I take it?”

  Simon creased his brow and faced Roman. He preferred both parties in a transaction to be present to minimize his own financial and physical liability. “We’ll talk later about my additional fee for the hassle of your absence.”

  The risks of a transaction always rose at the transfer point. Simon had never represented Roman’s interests in an art-only deal, preferring to be known exclusively as an arms dealer. Risking his life for stolen art and a briefcase full of cash seemed a waste. In this case, however, he wanted to reestablish contact with Luc. Alex’s presence at the transfer was a bonus.