Lady Mary and Her Rakish Count: A Clean Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Revelstoke Legacy Book 3)

by Lynda Hurst

  “No, I deliberately avoided yours due to your familial closeness to Bastien. For the plans my father and I had in place, it was too soon and too risky to be connected to you in any way.”

  “Then what of your work as the ambassador? You still had dealings with Bastien, did you not?”

  “Ah, that was strictly by chance. The position of French ambassador came along when I lived in Paris for a time, and I was encouraged by some of my connections there to take it up. It served as a chance to visit the palace on occasion, allowing me to study what my next stratagem would be.”

  “Hence, the stolen Ark,” Valerian guessed. “Since the reports stated that a couple were responsible for the theft, I assume you were responsible for its orchestration?”

  “Clever guess. Who would have thought that the palace employed those of my blood unknowingly? They were most eager to aid me in my plans as long as they were promised a place of prominence once I became king.”

  “Hm. But you no longer have the Ark. How is this plan of yours supposed to work if it is lost to you?”

  Smiling widely, St. Germain’s gazed focused keenly on Valerian. “That is where you become invaluable to my plan. My spies have reported that Lady Mary has personally delivered the Ark back to the palace. I simply sent off a note demanding the Ark.”

  “How do I fit into this mess?” Valerian asked, glaringly.

  “You are my leverage. My note demands the Ark in exchange for your life.”

  22

  The Day of Valerian’s Disappearance, Mont-Tremblant Palace

  Having been escorted to the palace by Sergeant Goudreau and his men, Mary was brought straight to King Bastien as she had requested. It was fortunate that Bastien was eager for news from his cousin, but when a guard had sent word to him about Valerian’s kidnapping, he was desperate to hear the full story from Mary herself.

  Exhausted as she was from a full day of traveling and the harrowing events that followed, she mentally steeled herself for an informal audience with a member of royalty. Fear for Valerian and his welfare had her uncaring of what she must look like before a king, and she was anxious to have someone see to Valerian’s rescue as quickly as possible as Bastien would have the proper means to do so.

  Bastien was waiting for her arrival in his great office when she swept through its doors, and she was surprised to see him there in the company of his queen. Both stood at her entrance, and she remembered almost belatedly to drop into a full curtsy before them. Handing them the Ark, she was relieved that it was no longer a hindrance to Bastien’s position, and she succeeded in surprising them both with its appearance. A pair of guards were called then, entrusted with the task of safely locking it away.

  Queen Anastasia, or Ana, as she is known to her husband, spoke first. “Lady Mary, we are so glad you are all right, and we welcome you to our home. But please sit, you look ready to faint.”

  Smiling weakly at the both of them she did as she was bid, then she replied, “Thank you. But I believe I have a little more fortitude than to faint when I have much to tell you.”

  Bastien and Ana sat at the sofa opposite to Mary as she revealed everything she knew from her time in Paris with Valerian leading up to the events of today. They gave her liberty to speak freely, only interjecting with a few questions for clarification, and when she was finished, she felt less burdened with the hopelessness that hadn’t left her since Valerian had been carried off to parts unknown. She didn’t know anyone more capable of finding him than his own cousin, a king with great influence.

  But rather deliver a swift solution as she had expected, Bastien said instead, “Thank you, Lady Mary, for your detailed account. I am sure you are as worried for my cousin as we are, but you need rest. We have rooms ready for your use.”

  “But what of Comtesse Loire? Shouldn’t she know about her son?” she asked, almost frantic. “I could stay with her.”

  “Not when you look ready to fall over. You are welcome to stay as long as you like. A bath is waiting for you, and I have also set aside nightclothes and a few gowns for you in your room. We will send word to our aunt as soon as we see you comfortably settled for the night,” Ana said kindly. Calling for a maidservant, Ana instructed the girl to escort Lady Mary to the aforementioned room.

  Grateful at the thought of a comfortable bed, Mary curtsied once more before the royal couple and said, “Thank you, your Majesties. I regret that we met under such dreadful circumstances, but I am honored that you are allowing me such generosity.”

  Bastien replied gently, “We are soon to be cousins from what I understood from Valerian’s last letter. There’s no need for formalities between family, at least, in private. And I have to admit, I am greatly pleased that he has chosen you for his bride after all. After what the two of you had gone through together, I have great respect for your strength and courage through it all.”

  Nodding her thanks, Mary turned to follow the palace servant to her awaiting room. Observing the female leading the way, Mary pleasantly noted the woman’s unique perfume. Reminded of the freesias her mother herself cultivated in their home’s hothouses, Mary felt a pang of homesickness so deep she felt lanced with it. When Valerian was about, she hadn’t had time to long for home, and she realized now that he had made her feel safe and at home with him.

  Arriving at her prepared room, the servant led her within and proceeded to introduce herself. “I am Colette, my lady. Please allow me to help you with your bath.”

  Mary nodded. “I would be grateful, Colette,” she said. “As tired as I am, I’m afraid I may not make it as far as the tub.” Rushing to her side, Colette helped her to undress and carefully step into the tub of warm water. As Colette scrubbed at her hair with the sweet-smelling soap, Mary did the rest, both not talking, intent on their task.

  After she was rinsed, dried, and helped out of the bath and into her nightclothes, Colette spoke up, surprising her with the issue she chose to address. “My lady, I believe I can help you.”

  Not catching her meaning, Mary thought she had meant to help her into bed and said as much just as she slipped into the bed on her own.

  “No, my lady. With Comte Loire.”

  Now wide awake, Mary asked, “How do you mean?”

  Retrieving a note from the folds of her skirt, Colette handed it to her and explained, “I was instructed to deliver this to the king, but I believe that you should see it as well since it involves your fiancé.”

  Scanning the lines scrawled there, Mary looked up aghast at Colette. “This is a note of ransom from St. Germain.”

  “Yes, I admit I once helped him, but now I cannot let go of the feeling that he has done something to my husband. My Jean was supposed to come back from his meeting with him in Paris, but he hasn’t returned. I fear the worst.”

  “How do I know that you would not seize the chance to betray King Bastien? If you helped St. Germain once, who is to say you would not do it again?”

  Alarmed, Colette cried, “No, my lady! I am certain of the man’s duplicity as there have been rumors he does away with those who displease him in the slightest. I believe my Jean may have done so after we refused to kill the one witness to our theft of the Ark. He was told to meet with St. Germain in a little tavern in Paris and has not been seen since!”

  Spitting on the floor, Colette proclaimed, “That animal is no friend of mine, and I want to see him dead!”

  Cold dread snaked down Mary’s spine. Having unknowingly picked up the Ark in such a place, Mary quickly pieced together the facts she knew with the facts she was just told. “Where was your husband supposed to meet St. Germain?” she demanded.

  Puzzled at the relevance of her question, Colette responded, “I think it was a place called The Cochon Volant. Why?”

  Turning pale, Mary related, “Then I think your husband is truly gone. I was there, moments after he was killed, and it was there, I had unknowingly picked up the Ark which has now been returned to King Bastien.”

  Fat tears rolled
down poor Colette’s cheeks, but anger blazed in her wet gaze as she spat, “I curse St. Germain to the same hell he has put me through!” Then she wailed, “My poor Jean! Oh, my love! The price of our own greed has brought us to this!”

  Sobbing, Colette collapsed to the ground as Mary rushed to her side. After a few moments, Colette looked up at Mary with a determined gaze. “What I said before, I can still help, and it will be my revenge against that snake of a man.”

  Rising from the floor, Colette produced a small vial of white powder and handed it to Mary.

  “What is this?” Mary asked.

  “St. Germain makes it himself. He calls it canterella, his poison of choice which he has used on occasion. I stole a bottle from him the last time he had us meet him at his old shop.”

  Bringing the vial to the nearest lamp to observe its contents, Mary asked, “How does it work?”

  “A good dose placed in one’s wine would cause instant death, but small amounts over time will cause the victim to gradually decline. There is no known antidote, St. Germain has said. I urge you to use it against him. Help me get my revenge!” Colette exclaimed, hotly.

  “You mentioned a shop. You know where?” Mary asked.

  “Yes. It’s in a district not far from here. It is where he had once lived and worked as a physician. That is where the note states to make the exchange.”

  “And the King hasn’t yet seen this?”

  “No, I was afraid it would implicate me now that I have renounced anything to do with St. Germain.”

  “Then how were you going to deliver it?”

  “Anonymously,” she admitted cryptically. “Will you help stop him? Killing him or not, he does not deserve to acquire the throne after he’s shown he cannot be trusted. Not when he can kill so indiscriminately.”

  Nodding, Mary said, “All right. I think I know a way, and I will talk to His Majesty.”

  Pleading, Colette said, “But please leave me out of it. I am ashamed that I ever helped that snake in the first place, as it has only led to my sorrow and regret.”

  Once Colette had Mary’s promise, the servant left Mary alone to finally seek her bed. Smiling at the vial of canterella before drifting asleep, Mary had already formulated a plan she would present to Bastien that would see both the Mont-Tremblant throne and her Valerian safe. Not since her days of playing pranks on Jackson had she been this confident that her plan would be successful.

  23

  A Day Later, St. Germain’s Old Mont-Tremblant Residence

  It wasn’t every day that St. Germain felt a lightness in his step, and he had every cause to be happy. His plans were falling into place, and he had just received a reply from Bastien through a different courier. Colette had disappeared from the palace shortly after he had sent his note for her to deliver, and he discounted her departure with as little regret as he had for her husband’s demise.

  He had checked on his hostage prior to the appointed meeting time he had stipulated in his note to the palace. Asleep, the comte looked no worse for wear since his first night here, seeing as he kept him drugged with the same sleeping draught he brewed for himself. Brebeuf and Osgoode stand guard inside the comte’s temporary quarters as insurance that Bastien would cooperate. If he didn’t, St. Germain would give them the signal to kill the sleeping man on the bed.

  Knocking sounded at the door: one knock, pause, two knocks, pause, then one last knock. Bastien was here, just as he demanded.

  Gilles glanced quickly outside the window for confirmation that he was alone, but St. Germain’s pulse picked up in temper when Gilles calmly said, “He’s not alone.”

  Before he could ask how many, the feeble front door is rammed through, and bodies march past the threshold. Six of the royal guard have entered the room in position with their pistols pointed at him and Gilles. Enraged that he did not have Bastien’s full cooperation, he made ready to bellow his signal, but Bastien himself, followed by Lady Mary, calmly breezed through the room and halted St. Germain with one hand raised.

  St. Germain hissed at Bastien, “We agreed you would come alone.”

  Smiling as if she had a great joke to share, Mary spoke for Bastien. “He did. These guards are here for my benefit.”

  Furious, St. Germain spat, “You dare mock me, woman? When your fiancé’s life is at stake?”

  Appearing somber, Mary said, “He is the reason I am here. I want to see for myself if he has been cared for since I had last set eyes on him. I would like to tend to his wounds.”

  “That is a luxury you cannot afford at the moment,” St. Germain stated. “Not when my stipulations have not been met.”

  Bastien then spoke. “I am here as you requested, Ambassador, but you must know that I am not in the habit of obeying the commands of criminals. Especially one that is a murderer.”

  Instead of countering that accusation, St. Germain calmly said, “Then be advised that I will add one more if this does not go well. I have only to say the word, and the comte will die if you do not hand over the Ark. If you do not let me leave unharmed with the Ark, the comte will die. You have but a few moments to decide whether or not you are willing to cooperate.”

  Sharing a glance with Mary, she gave him a nod, and Bastien continued, “Then I propose a toast to your health before I hand you this.” Bastien produced the very object that had been the source of all of this grief, brandishing the Ark in one hand.

  St. Germain’s gaze fixed upon it momentarily, and Mary could see his lust for power flare in his eyes, only to be replaced by suspicion at Bastien’s suggestion. Mary pulled a bottle of wine from her satchel that also contained her medicinal supplies, setting the bottle on a nearby table. She also pulled out two cups, one for Bastien and the other for St. Germain.

  Eyes narrowed at the sight of the wine and cups, St. Germain noted, “How do I know this is not a plot to kill me with poisoned wine?”

  Bastien vowed, “I promise that this is an act of good will before we make the exchange that we originally agreed upon. My cousin for the Ark, isn’t that what you had demanded?”

  Instead of answering, he directed his ire at Mary, who had uncorked the wine and was now pouring the rich red liquid into two cups. “Have her drink from both cups first.”

  Mary glanced to Bastien who nodded assent. Shrugging, she drank the contents from one cup and did the same with the other. A few moments passed in silence before Mary said, “Well? As you can see I suffer no ill effects.”

  Filling both cups once more, she handed them both to Bastien, who handed one to St. Germain. Addressing St. Germain, Bastien raised his cup and said, “Here is to your health and to your rightful position in the pages of Mont-Tremblant’s history.”

  St. Germain raised his cup and drank the wine just as Bastien swilled his. Mary offered to take back both cups with outstretched hands, but not before he caught a glimpse of a familiar vial between Mary’s fingers.

  A vicious cramp seized his belly suddenly, and St. Germain doubled over in pain. Realizing what she must have done, he could barely screech out between gasps of pain, “You witch! Colette! My canterella! How?” Now collapsed on the floor, awaiting the convulsions that would soon overcome him, he looked up at Bastien and Mary with such hatred in his eyes.

  Mary stooped down to show him the very vial he had noticed was missing since Colette’s last visit. “Yes, I am a witch. A healer who knows enough magic to produce poison where there was none.” And with a flick of her wrist, the vial disappeared from between her finger and thumb. Another flick of her hand, and the vial reappeared.

  His eyes widened in astonishment, realizing she must have slipped the poison into his cup after she poured the second serving. But he didn’t see her do it! How?

  He received no answer to his silent question as Bastien raised his voice to seize both Gilles and St. Germain. The other guards were ordered to storm the rest of the building to find Valerian. Smiling to himself, he realized death would soon overcome him, and he would not have to face w
hat punishment awaited him as a traitor. He just had to wait a few moments more, and he would soon be in the death throes.

  But the convulsions did not come. Just the gut-wrenching pain deep in his belly remained. Mary caught his bewildered look as he was being clapped in chains and she asked, “Waiting for a death that is not coming?”

  Looking at her incredulously, St. Germain could only but stare. She continued, “What you thought was your special brand of poison is, in fact, my own concoction of bitter cascara. I discarded the canterella Colette gave me and replaced it with this.” She shook the contents of the vial before him. “Like I have said, I am a healer, and I made a promise to never harm anyone with my knowledge. I put in just enough of the cascara to make you wish you were dead.”

  Bastien barked a short laugh at her statement just as his other four guards produced the other two henchmen in chains and a groggy Valerian leaning heavily against one of the guards. Mary rushed to Valerian with a cry, looking him over quickly for additional damage that may have been done to his person, then hugged him tightly to her. He crushed her to him with what strength he still had, murmuring in her ear that the both of them were now safe.