by Lynda Hurst
Arching a brow more at her tone than at her questions, Valerian admitted, “Yes, to both questions, but why do I get the feeling that there is more to your questions than just mere curiosity?”
Blowing out a breath in what seemed like exasperation, Mary answered, “You aren’t going to believe how roundabout our world truly is until I tell you that one of my dearest friends is a Revelstoke. Her brother is the current earl, and they both can claim the first Earl of Revelstoke as their direct ancestor.”
Perplexed, Valerian mused, “I will admit that serendipity is at play here, but you haven’t explained why the notion seems off-putting for you.”
“Well, the words ‘treasure’ and ‘Revelstoke’ have been synonymous as of late. Faith’s family legacy has involved a treasure hunt of sorts that has culminated into a family pastime. My own brother and sister-in-law had just recently found a portion of the treasure only months ago. I have grown weary of the activity, as it has taken years off my life in the search of it. There are too many greedy people in the world who would do anything, including attempted murder, to gain even a fraction of it.”
Intrigued, Valerian nodded at her to continue. She went on, “Faith Revelstoke, now the Duchess of Prestonridge, had been a target of a nefarious fellow who was after the treasure. Faith and I share a sister-in-law in Margaret, who also had been knee deep in treasure hunting and it just so happened she stumbled upon the author of a number of murders in the interim. So, if I had thought I was leaving England to be rid of the Revelstoke legacy and its imminent dangers, your admission has sorely disappointed as it were. But if I am to help, I believe I have the most experience between the two of us in hunting items that once belonged to a Revelstoke.”
Engrossed as he was in Mary’s tale, his protective instincts drove him to sound out a resounding “no”. He explained, “Mary, the missing Ark is not just the work of a simple fortune hunter. This is someone who is willing to see Bastien deposed, and if I am to guess that a Laurent is behind this, they will not have a care for who may stand in their way.”
She scoffed, “You cannot think that I would deliberately avoid a third chance at a Revelstoke treasure now that you have told me that it is missing. All things lost are meant to be found, and this particular occasion has definitely piqued my interest.”
“No, I cannot have you put in the way of danger,” he said stubbornly.
Just as stubborn as he was, Mary exclaimed, “Who is acting the husband now? We haven’t reached the altar and already you are demanding my obedience!”
He fired back, “As we are betrothed, you are my responsibility! No matter what you may think of me, I care about what happens to you.”
Seeing that he was dead serious in his intent, Mary tentatively asked, “Why do you care? We’ve only known each other for a handful of days, and you act as though we will be married. Why?” She daren’t put hope in that he actually did care for her, not when they would be breaking off the betrothal after they reached Mont-Tremblant.
Silent but for a moment, Valerian answered clearly, “I care because I rather like the idea of marriage to you. No woman has intrigued me as much as you have, nor have you fallen at my feet as I first expected at our first meeting. And you cannot deny our kiss hadn’t affected you.”
“Shush,” she admonished in a loud whisper. “Brielle may appear to only be napping, but she doubtless might have heard you.”
Glancing at Mary’s lady’s maid, it was obvious the poor woman was in a deep stupor, having endured the arduous trip over the English Channel none too well. Mary had given her a sleeping draught prior to their journey to Paris, and the woman gave no signs of wakefulness, given her soft snores.
Grinning wickedly, Valerian leaned forward to conspiratorially whisper to Mary, “Do not think I noticed your avoidance of the topic of our kiss. I challenge you to deny that it had affected you, and by the way you are looking at me now, you are daring me to kiss you again.”
Cheeks flaming, Mary hated that he read her correctly. So, instead, she focused on the one thing she could contest. “You are insufferable! What makes you think you are so enticing that women would fall all over themselves for a kiss from you? And no, I am not in the habit of begging for kisses, so you can remain on your side of the carriage with your hands and lips kept to yourself.”
Recognizing her display of false pique, his rakish instincts roared to life, demanding he take the situation to hand and overwhelm her with his sensual prowess. But it took every ounce of his willpower not to give in to such an impulse. They were in an enclosed carriage, after all, and they also had an audience of one, regardless of her somnambulist state. The stage for seduction was poorly set despite his urge to shift into a more heightened mode of flirtation with Mary, and he concluded he would have a better chance at wooing her when they weren’t traveling at breakneck speed down a dirty main road to Paris.
Alternatively, he opted to tease her as he slid further back into his cushioned seat, with legs and arms crossed. He began, “If I may say, your blush is very becoming, and it goads me to tease you some more just to see the pretty color rise up in your cheeks. If your maid weren’t present, I would be sorely tempted to press my lips against yours right here and now. I would slide my lips against the seam of yours and savor your warm breath upon me until you shiver with anticipation of my lips claiming yours for my own.”
As he watched, the flames in her cheeks rose in color at his words, and he could imagine her almost combusting at the picture he painted for her. His Mary was obviously a creature driven by passion, and his description of the passion that could be between them produced the expected results in Mary: heated gaze, shuddering sighs, and flamed face. To him, she was the very picture of bold femininity and mysterious allure that held him in thrall.
Mortified at her own reaction to his words, Mary turned her eyes downcast in an attempt to hide her response to his bold words. In a voice she barely managed to keep from wavering, she replied, “You go too far. Like I have said, we barely know each other, and you claim to say that our betrothal agrees with you. What has changed?”
At her question, Valerian found he had no simple answers, but he found that honesty would serve him best if he wanted Mary to believe him sincere. “I only know that you have had me intrigued since our first meeting and I simply cannot deny myself the chance to know you and your unfathomed depths. If you will allow me, I believe I can make you a good husband.”
She narrowly stopped herself from scoffing, but it didn’t seem likely to her that a rake such as Valerian would suddenly reform after having only met her. And what of love? She didn’t believe in love at first sight, and it was doubtful that he was suffering from such a malady. If anything, his outright flirting and suggestive teasing only stumped her, causing her to doubt whether or not he was sincere.
Granting him the benefit of the doubt, she conceded by saying, “If you are so sure that we will marry –”
“We will,” he interrupted with steely determination in his voice.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “if you are determined to have me as your wife, then I must demand that I not share you with any straggling mistresses waiting for you back home.”
“Done,” he cried with finality. “The stragglers haven’t consumed my thoughts as much as you have these past days, ma chere, and I find that I am not willing to share you with anyone either. Our marriage would be one of honesty and mutual respect. I would not begrudge you your interests as I hope you would not begrudge me mine.”
Producing something from his pocket and grabbing Mary’s left hand, Mary felt him slide the weight of a heavy band onto her ring finger. “Your betrothal ring, Mary,” he explained. “I didn’t have the opportunity to present it to you with your family present, but now I want you wearing proof that you truly belong to me. I promise you will have the grandest wedding to rival my royal cousin’s when we arrive in Mont-Tremblant.”
Inspecting the ring, Mary was dazzled by its large
red ruby encircled by tiny diamonds surrounding the main gem. “It’s beautiful, Valerian. Thank you.”
He said nothing as he watched her watching him, and the sudden silence that fell within the carriage felt rife with sharp tension for the both of them.
Although she was very intrigued by the prospect of being married to such a man, Mary had no guarantee that her marriage would be one where love would eventually spring from. And it was that thought that had her less eager to dive headlong into a lifetime with a man who didn’t love her. She supposed she could make the best of it; most ton marriages of which she was acquainted were those made from convenience and not love and even had the earmarks of a comfortable partnership. But her parents’ marriage was a love match, just as her brother’s was, and Faith’s. She had always longed for a love-filled marriage such as theirs, but with her handsome, roguish betrothed insisting on their union, she couldn’t help but be swayed to accept. Not just for the financial comfort or royal connections, but for the freedom that he could bring her.
In an attempt to ease the awkward tension, Valerian said, “Revisiting my problem I mentioned earlier, I haven’t a clue where to begin regarding our treasonous thief.”
Mary pondered his dilemma for a measure of silence before answering, “I suppose we could start by visiting the local taverns of Paris. By placing coins in the right pockets for information about our thief, something is bound to turn up.”
“Yes, and in turn, alert our thief by our broad search with all of these inquiries. But I like the idea of searching the lesser traversed taverns. France is generally in favor of Bastien as king and would not harbor traitors knowingly, so our thief would likely be laying low in less savory places.”
“That’s a start, at least. What about talking to the French ambassador of Mont-Tremblant? If he is loyal to Bastien, would it hurt to apprise him of the current situation?”
Pleasantly surprised by her quick mind, he answered, “You are absolutely, adorably right, ma chere! St. Germain has always been welcome in the palace, coming and going as frequently as he has over the years. He would know best how to approach this development and how to flush out our thief. I, myself, have not yet had occasion to deal with the ambassador, but I believe we can effectively bring him up to speed with the recent events back home.”
Pleased that she helped in a small way, she modestly said, “As an outsider, it was only natural for me to see what options were available to you. Now that we have a starting point for our search, I believe I am looking forward to washing off the dust of the road and sitting down to a nice dinner afterwards.”
Looking out the window to see that they have just reached the Parisian gates, he declared, “Ma chere belle, you are about to get your wish. Welcome to Paris, Mary.”
11
Somewhere in Paris
His plan to whisk the Ark out from under Bastien’s nose was sheer genius, really. To him, it was silly to keep the old relic out in the open and on display for the pleasure of the viewing public. If it weren’t for that ridiculous Law of the Ark, his family would have seized back the throne ages ago, and he would have his place in the Mont-Tremblant monarchy.
With the Ark now in his possession, all he needed now was for uncertainty to arise among Bastien’s own subjects, regarding the real usurper’s validity to the throne. Lying in wait long enough for the people of Mont-Tremblant to lose faith in their current king, he planned to execute the next stage of his plan where he would claim the throne as rightfully his.
None would deny his origins once he produced proof of his bloodlines tracing back to the last ruling Laurent monarch. Although his direct ancestor was not an heir apparent, he had every right to claim that he had a princely ancestor, a younger son.
He had timed the theft well, and he admired how well his accomplices followed his instructions to the letter. They were worth every sou he was paying them, and because they were cousins of a sort, he had promised them each a grander reward by way of a guaranteed place in his court once he was crowned King of Mont-Tremblant.
Little did they know that the Laurents, like the infamous Borgias, used canterella to do away with those who stood in their way, and he had plans for his homemade version of canterella to be used for his accomplices when they had lost their usefulness. His former profession allowed him access to a great many poisons and toxins that he generally made use of from time to time, but never in such frequency that it could be traced back to him.
But in the meantime, he had also instructed that they tail any activities of the current king and to report back any unusual movements to him. Last he heard, the pair had written that they had spotted the King travelling north incognito, but they had lost his trail once he sailed to England.
But for the time being, he was hopeful that his escape to Paris went unnoticed, as his presence here was warranted as a necessity for his other activities. Those who knew him here saw him only as a prominent figure, sliding smoothly in and out of French society as he saw fit to present as a front to others. Only those closest to him were aware of his secret and were directly involved with his efforts to gain back the Mont-Tremblant throne.
Having sent a message to his staunchest supporter to meet with him at his earliest convenience, he now awaited his right-hand man to arrive in a seedy tavern on the opposite side of the city from his usual residence. It wouldn’t do for any of his upper-crust friends to observe him in his plotting persona, one that he kept hidden away due to its unsavory and bloodthirsty nature, as he planned and pined for his rightful place in the world.
The tavern itself was a dreadful place, not meant for a member of royalty such as himself to frequent, but he had no alternative if he did not want to be recognized by any Montchagny supporters. With the Ark currently on his person, wrapped in oilcloth and under his coat, he impatiently looked about the barroom, looking for some sign of his trusted man. Recognizing no one familiar about the room, even then, he could not relax his guard, not when pickpockets were rampant in such spaces, and there was too much at stake for him to lessen his vigilance.
Finally, he spotted the familiar figure of his most trusted subordinate entering the establishment, and he waited until the man approached closer before making eye contact. By doing so, he failed to notice the shifting of the man’s eyes and the aura of nervous fear hanging about him, appearing every inch a guilty man afraid of getting caught.
When the man finally sat before him, he admonished, “Good God, Jean! Pull yourself together! You’re drawing too much attention to yourself with your nervous conduct.”
At closer glance, the new arrival was perspiring heavily, his breath labored, and his skin flushed. Jean reached into his coat to produce a dirty handkerchief which he used to mop at his brow. With breath heaving still, he replied, “I don’t know how, but I think they knew I was there that day, snooping through the king’s residence. The king’s guards must have followed me all the way here, and I did my damnedest to make sure they lost me in the streets outside.”
Incredulous that his subordinate would be so stupid, he cried in a hushed, angry tone, “What! You led them here, didn’t you, you imbecile! I told you to be careful before meeting me here, and now we risk everything by being seen here together!”
Stubbornly defending himself, Jean replied angrily, “It wasn’t my fault! Colette and I followed your instructions to the letter, and we did everything according to your perfect plan! Even you could not have guessed that the larger guard was not fully drugged and reported our likenesses to be on the watch for.”
“Did I not say to do away with any witnesses if that were the case? You could have easily dispatched the man before anyone was the wiser!”
Jean shook his head and argued, “And I told you that Colette and I were never murderers! We did not agree that killing innocents would be part of the job! Must I remind you that you only had us positioned in the shadows to watch the king from a distance, Doctor!” Forgetting to lower his voice, Jean was made suddenly aware
of a few curious stares directed at them, and he glared back at them in response. Those same stares turned quickly away at his killing stare.
Muttering furiously in reply, the Doctor said, “And I am paying you to obey orders! If you cannot do even that, then my carefully-laid plans will inevitably fall apart, and this will be another failed attempt at bringing the Laurent name back to its former glory!”
Jean muttered back, “I am a Laurent, too, despite my being born on the wrong side of the blanket. I have just as much a claim to royal blood as you do.”
“Yes, but without me, this project would not have its victorious start as it were. Claiming the Ark was only the first step to gaining back our place in the world. My plan was perfect until you failed to get rid of our one witness. It cannot be helped now, and this only changes my plans a little.” And in a blink, the Doctor effortlessly smoothed his face to be devoid of his earlier anger, appearing the picture of serene calm. “When I would have you accompany me the rest of our planned route, I’m afraid this is where the plans have changed and where we must part ways.”
