by Lynda Hurst
She watched as he turned his hand this way and that, flexing carefully to test its mobility. “Thank you, Mary. Your work is very well done.”
“You’re welcome. After all, I’m the one responsible for your injury in the first place.”
Snatching the Ark up in his right hand, Valerian grinned at her, “Let us just say that you finding the Ark is your way of apologizing for this cat scratch. I still can’t believe that it is no longer lost!”
“All right,” she accepted, almost bashful. “But if we have the Ark, I have to wonder what our thief must think now that he realizes it is no longer in his possession.”
Sobering, Valerian stated, “If a Laurent was behind its theft, then I can only imagine that they will try again. This is the first time that an attempt has been made on the Ark, and I think that we are dealing with a much smarter Laurent than his relatives from the past.”
“Hm, if that is the case, then I believe we must prepare ourselves for a future attack.”
Smiling broadly, he grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I like that you referred to this as a problem the both of us will face together. You are learning quickly, ma chere.”
“Of course,” she said haughtily. “And as a quick learner, I believe I can also be of use to you when we visit Madame Reveille tonight.”
Quirking a brow at her dubiously, he wryly said, “I’m not sure how you could be useful at a bawdy house when you will only prove a distraction. A beautiful, attractive distraction at that.” His eyes turned liquid as he looked at her hungrily.
“You can stop that, this instant,” she reproached. “Perhaps you had best tell me the reason for your ‘business’-like visit with the madam of a brothel.”
Valerian had only realized that he was a slower learner than his fiancée until now, as his discovery of her stubborn will had only registered in his brain until this moment. Giving in, he sighed, “All right. I will tell you on one condition.”
Knowing he was a consummate negotiator, she warily stated, “Only if it is something that is agreeable.”
“Oh, the both of us will find it very agreeable,” he said, waggling his brows at her in the most ridiculous manner.
“Now, I’m not sure I should agree,” she said doubtfully.
“Agree to my condition, and you will find my reason for visiting Madame Reveille.”
“Fine! I agree, so out with it!”
“I was planning to ask Madame Reveille to use her network of information to see if there has been anyone newly arrived from Mont-Tremblant who has been keeping a low profile. She would know best as her establishment has been known to hide all sorts of rabble-rousers and instigators of riots. But knowing that you would fight me tooth and nail to accompany me there, I will simply refrain from visiting her.”
“Is that all? I confess that I thought you were up to no good without me, and I only wanted to be a part of it because I didn’t want to be left behind at the hotel.”
“Now that you have your answer, may I tell you what my condition was?”
That wary look entering her eyes once again, she nodded. “What would you have me do?”
“This.” And he cupped the nape of her neck, his fingers brushing against the soft hairs at the base of her skull, causing her to shiver delightfully. He drew her closer to him so that their noses brushed lightly, once, twice, and his breath fanned warmly over her face. Slowly, he seduced her into wanting his kiss just by his nearness alone, and it just about killed her for the waiting of it.
Finally, he crushed her mouth with his, and she reveled in the possessiveness of his lips against hers. Her head spun with the slowness with which he paced their kiss, and she was set alight with the delicious ache of wanting more. He gave her everything and more in that kiss, and it was very satisfying to know she was being kissed by a master. He was hers by way of legal contract, but now, she wanted to own him as much as he already owned her.
Breaking away with heaving breaths, Valerian told her, “If that is how you kiss, it’s a wonder you didn’t have marriage proposals left and right!”
Just as dazed by the effects of his kiss, she simply said, “None of them were acceptable enough to even think about spending a lifetime with.”
“Good. You belong to me, and it is obvious to me that you were meant for me from the start.”
Blushing, Mary replied in a teasing tone, “It’s a good thing I already knew about your arrogance because otherwise I would have been put off by such a possessive statement and would have run in the opposite direction.”
“Then know that I will always chase after you.”
“Promise?” she said, with a flirtatious light in her eyes.
***
The Doctor was furious at his own clumsiness. He surreptitiously followed behind the couple whom he had not originally paid much attention to in the tavern, urging the hired hackney driver to follow them at a distance.
In his haste to leave the tavern, he hadn’t seen the girl there, bent over the imbecilic buffoon who lay sprawled unconscious, and he had unceremoniously tripped over the girl’s bowed form, causing him to lose the Ark in the first place. Not wanting the expense of being recognized, he didn’t think to make sure the Ark was still in his hands, and he sped to leave, grabbing the similar-looking cloth wrapped bundle.
It was fortunate for him that the bundle felt oddly lighter than it should have been, and when he was away from prying eyes in a darkened alley, he had reached into his cloak to unwrap the oilcloth-covered treasure. Already, he had known with hands trembling in anger that the bundle was the wrong shape, the wrong weight. Disbelief had him unwrapping what looked like glass jars of dried weeds and plants along with sachets of spices and various other pungent items. In a heightened temper, he dashed the various items against the dirty alley floor as he roared at his own foolish mistake.
It had taken herculean effort to calm himself before backtracking towards the tavern. He hadn’t wanted to return, in the event that someone might have noticed that he was the last person to have talked to the now dead Jean. But if he were to retrieve back the Ark, he had no choice but to return to where he had lost it.
Arriving back at the tavern, he swiftly ducked into a shadowed alley at the sight of two commissaires entering the squalid establishment. They must have been called once the body had been discovered, and it was now out of the question for him to make his way back in there.
Even as he had watched the tavern door, it must have been a spot of luck for him when the girl who had caused his fall exited the tavern, accompanied by a male he recognized. Questions flurried through his mind as he watched, disbelieving, that the Mont-Tremblant king would be here in Paris. But after observing the couple closely, he realized that it was unlikely that Bastien would be here, holding the girl familiarly, as it was known to all and sundry that the king was very much in love with his queen.
It had occurred to him then, that the male must be the king’s cousin, Comte Loire, whom he had never had occasion to meet, but he knew of the similarities in resemblance that both cousins shared. And he hadn’t been prepared for the shock of seeing a member of the Montchagny family to be here in Paris. Was it possible that the Montchagnys knew he was responsible for the theft of the Ark and had the comte follow him here? Had Jean led them straight to him with his carelessness?
Regardless of the questions he would have no answers to, he still had a plan he intended to see through to its end. And for his subversive scheme to be successful, he needed that Ark back. Even as he had continued to watch the comte and the girl, he had watched as the girl reached for something in her satchel, and he had focused solely on the flash of the same oilcloth that he knew held the Ark.
Thus, he was now in a public hackney following them to their destination, which happened to be in a more affluent part of the city. Snapping to the driver to stop and with his hat lowered further on his brow, he watched as the comte and the girl entered a reputable hotel that catered to the wealthy and influential.<
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He smiled to himself, now knowing how he could snatch the Ark back as well as regaining his place in the Mont-Tremblant monarchy. His plan would need some adjusting, but he gleefully would be using the easiest way to get what he wanted. And it seemed to have fallen neatly into his lap once he realized his plans would be accelerated once he had both the comte and the Ark in his hands.
15
The Next Day
Mary felt relieved to be alone without Valerian hovering over her, watching her every move. Since he had left the hotel earlier, he saw to it that one of Bastien’s guards would accompany her on her errands so that she wasn’t completely alone, but it was a nice respite not to have Valerian’s distracting presence around. Especially since he was beginning to wreak havoc on her poor little heart.
In deference to her and her reaction to Madame Reveille, Bastien had made a great show of sending off a note to the woman, requesting the information he sought rather than visiting her outright. A small part of Mary was disappointed that he wasn’t going to pay the infamous woman a visit; she had hopes of finally discovering with her own eyes what such an establishment looked like in person. Her promise to follow after him to such a place had worked efficiently to deter him from going.
Valerian had also penned a note to Bastien that morning, stating everything they had learned thus far regarding the Ark. For the time being, the Ark was now being safeguarded by two guards stationed in Valerian’s rooms, as he hadn’t wanted to risk taking the precious item outside when there was every possibility that their thief may be watching them. Under cover of night and with an armed escort, he planned to move the Ark to his residence here in Paris where it would be safe until the time came for them to be on the road again.
Now all that was left for Valerian to do was to meet with the French ambassador to Mont-Tremblant for the purpose of rallying support for Bastien in the event that war should ensue. In so many words, Valerian had told Mary that Laurent loyalists were even now coming out of the woodwork and that it was likely that Bastien’s position as King was in danger of being overthrown if the Ark had not been found. However, with the number of Laurent supporters increasing in number, the Ark still might not make a difference if the insurgents decided they would rather fight to see a new ruler on the throne. Cognizant that such a situation might arise, Bastien had urged Valerian to quickly round up as much support through friends in Paris by way of Sir Dante St. Germain.
Valerian had sent his card along with an urgent message to the ambassador, hoping to gain an audience with him at his earliest convenience. Knowing that the ambassador was currently in residence in Paris only recently, Valerian anticipated a reply hopefully later in the day. But rather than sitting idle in the hotel while waiting for St. Germain’s reply, Valerian thought it best if he ventured out to seek out the man’s residence and make apologies later for arriving at his doorstep without an invitation while using the excuse of having sent a note prior to his arrival.
Mary could only shake her head at Valerian’s nerve. She presumed that Valerian’s being the first cousin of a king must have imparted to him a higher degree of authority than a typical comte. And she could not envision Valerian as anything that used the words typical, average, or common as descriptors.
Still, his high-handed ways and arrogance could not have simply be linked to his station, as he seemed extremely confident in his abilities to master any task. Therefore, Mary supposed that he had a right to his confidence, as he appeared very capable of controlling all aspects of any situation as a master strategist.
These thoughts ran through her mind while being escorted by Simon, a member of Bastien’s own royal guard, through the city streets of Paris. Simon had been instructed to stay close to Lady Mary while she shopped for the herbs she had lost the day before, and he found that the guard duty was made much more pleasant by the presence of Lady Mary’s pretty maid, Brielle.
He led the women to a lesser known apothecary at Mary’s request, as according to her, the less frequented shop would mean that its stores of herbs would be in plentiful supply. This one happened to be some distance from their hotel and required a brisk trek to get there, but both women were used to such distances, having used Donnesbury country lanes to visit Mary’s patients.
The little shop was thankfully open for customers, and upon entry, Mary was pleasantly assailed with the different aromas of herbs familiar to her and of those foreign but distinct. While Mary looked about the storefront, Simon stayed out of her way and remained close to the door. So far, the shop’s only occupants seemed to be the three of them, and Simon relaxed slightly at his position by the door.
From a back room, a tall, gangly man emerged and greeted the three of them with a toothy ‘bonjour’. He introduced himself in French, “My name is Raphael, and I am the owner of this apothecary. How can I be of assistance to you today?” By the disinterest shown in their body language, Raphael deduced that Mary’s companions were not his customers, and so he had aimed his question at her.
Mary’s own command of the language was abysmal, but she came prepared, and instead produced a list of the things she had bought and lost yesterday. The owner accepted the proferred list and quickly glanced at it.
In English, she said, “I will be needing sufficient quantities of each, and I would prefer them to be sealed in jars rather than sachets.”
“Ah,” the shop owner breathed, then in English, he continued, “an English lady here in my humble shop? May I also interest you in something that will balance the humors?”
“No, thank you. I am looking for just those exact items on my list if you please.”
“Are you sure I could not interest you in a special serum of my own concoction, proven to help obtain that youthful glow to your delicate skin?” And he pulled said concoction from a nearby shelf and presented the cream for her to sample.
Frustrated that she was being bombarded with suggestions for things she did not need, Mary decided to put him to the test. “What is in this serum of yours?” She bent to better smell the product.
“Milady, you would be smelling a blend of emu oil, beeswax, and primrose oil.”
Skeptically, Mary asked, “Is that really emu oil mixed in there? Australia is an awful long way to acquire such a thing.”
Smiling sheepishly, Raphael answered, “Well, it’s really only pig fat as it is cheaper to acquire, but the insipid rich ladies who come here for the serum do not need to know that.” Wagging a playful finger at Mary, he said, “I don’t think I would be able to fool you. Your list tells me you are something of a healer.”
“Yes, I am a healer, and therefore, I have no interest in potions or quack remedies for youth in a bottle. I am more interested in knowing whether or not you have the items I have marked down.” Recognizing she would brook no further nonsense, Raphael only nodded and hurried to fetch each item on her list.
As Raphael was busy searching his stores, the door opened, heralding another customer. Raphael called out something in French to the new arrival, and the answering baritone had both Simon and Mary look up in interest.
A well-dressed man stood at the doorway looking harried by Raphael’s reply, but he stepped further into the shop until he was abreast of Mary who could not help but gape at him. To her, the stranger was Valerian’s exact opposite in coloring, but just as devastatingly handsome as her own fiancé. Where Valerian was blond and golden, this man possessed dark locks, swarthy skin, and piercing blue eyes.
The handsome stranger addressed Mary in French to which Mary could only stammer, “Je ne comprends pas.” I don’t understand.
“English, then?” the stranger asked. When Mary nodded, he pressed on, “Would it be too much trouble if I bought the last bit of valerian root from you? If I wasn’t so desperate, I would not ask.”
“Oh, in that case, I can dispense with it if you have a greater need for it. By all means, you can take it, and you mustn’t worry about payment. Raphael, would you set aside the valerian root fo
r this gentleman, please?”
Looking extremely relieved, the man breathed, “Thank you. My nights have been plagued with sleeplessness lately, and I am at my wit’s end. I am Sir Dante St. Germain, at your service, milady.”
The French ambassador! Mary thought. She quickly introduced herself, “And I am Lady Mary Ellesmere. Your name is very familiar to me.”
“Ah, I see my position precedes me. Yes, I am the French ambassador to Mont-Tremblant, come home for a bit of a holiday from my duties.”
“Your name is familiar because my fiancé had just written you a note this morning, asking for an audience with you.”
Raising a brow at her admission, he asked, “Oh? May I ask why he is wanting to see me?”
“I can’t rightly say,” she replied, playing coy. It wouldn’t do for her to divulge Valerian’s sensitive matters out in public. “But my fiancé would be more than happy to explain himself if you would be so kind as to grant him the opportunity to meet with you.”
