Armand again. Isabelle didn’t know whether or not it was true. She just knew she didn’t like the thought of any other woman being so familiar with Armand that she could visit him in his quarters. Surely, it couldn’t have been the first time…
Pulling herself together, she managed to smile at Lucie, and they walked together back to the carriage where Father Despard was already waiting for them, along with the lieutenant who handed them in with great politeness. As they drove away, a few soldiers, including one officer, strode past about their business, but she saw no sign of Armand.
*
Armand watched them go with both unease and relief. He didn’t like Isabelle’s presence at the prison. Nor did he like to see her with Lucie Levigne.
Knowing nothing of their charitable visit to the prisoners kept at the fortress, he had been going in search of someone to take over his duty this afternoon so that he might try and see Isabelle again. And on the front steps he had encountered the dazzlingly inappropriate vision of the mayor’s wife in powder blue frills, ascending toward him.
“Madame,” he said in surprise. “What on earth brings you here?”
She smiled. “My good work of the week, of course,” she replied. “And just as we both hoped, I have run into you.”
“As always, you are a delight to the eyes,” Armand said. “Is there someone I can fetch for you?”
She laughed and playfully slapped his hand. “Just yourself, foolish man. I do not have long, but you may take me for a walk to the garden if you wish. As a promise.”
“Madame, I am on duty,” he pointed out. “My time is not my own.”
“And if it were?” Her husky voice and her fluttering eyelashes could no longer be ignored or brushed over. Their mild, social flirtation in no way justified this sudden escalation. Something, or someone clearly made her feel threatened or jealous, forcing her hand. Isabelle’s presence.
It made him uncomfortable, but also irritated, for he had done nothing to encourage her, beyond throwing her the odd, expected compliment.
“I would take you back to your husband,” he said shortly. “This is no place for a lady alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she said boldly, holding his gaze. “I’m with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
She laughed, as though it were a joke, and took his arm. “Armand! I could be.”
“No,” he said brutally, “you couldn’t. You and I can never be together, madame.”
“Because of my husband?” she asked, as though amused.
“Among other things. It is time for you to go.” And he strode on down the steps, leaving her alone.
It went against the chivalrous part of his nature, and he did glance back once to see her hurrying across the yard back in the direction of the prison. He swerved, walking parallel with her to be sure she was safe. Her shoulders drooped slightly. She was not used to rejection, but there was little he could do about that. If she had misunderstood his light-hearted banter, she was a lot less sophisticated than he had imagined, and he regretted it.
Especially when she did not even glance at the doorway but scuttled onward. And he saw a flash of dark blue gown vanish around the side of the building. Dear God, was Isabelle here, too?
Distinctly uneasy, now, he kept walking until he saw them together arm in arm. It caused him a pang. But there was little he could do except warn Isabelle to be wary when he could. Hastily, he ducked into the guard house, where he found Linville drinking tea and telling off a couple of soldiers.
While he cajoled for a shift-swap, he watched the mayor’s carriage drive away and wondered if he was foolish to worry about something so trivial. Isabelle’s position here was just too precarious…
*
Frustratingly, when he called on her that afternoon, he found her in company with other town worthies, and it was almost impossible to speak to her alone.
“And how is your poor brother, Monsieur Renard?” the eldest lady asked. “I hope we will get the chance to meet him soon.”
“So do I, Madame,” Dain replied smoothly. His French accent was excellent, with no hint of English unless you looked for it. “Dr. Ghibert is pleased with his progress.”
“And his devoted wife never leaves his side?” she pursued. “How very admirable!”
“Well, very seldom. My own wife takes her turn nursing, but my sister-in-law bears the brunt.”
“As is only proper,” the lady said. She clearly had more questions, but Isabelle spoke up.
“Talking of sickness, Captain le Noir, who is responsible for the health of the prisoners-of-war at the fortress?”
“I have no idea,” Armand admitted. “They are not part of my responsibility.”
“They need to be someone’s,” Isabelle retorted. “For I saw suppurating wounds and other illnesses when I visited this morning. Cannot Dr. Ghibert take a look at them?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said hastily, feeling unreasonably guilty.
At last, the wretched women went away, but Dain remained in the sitting room, glaring at him. Armand glared back.
Isabelle said, “There is an English prisoner there, too. He gave me a letter for his wife. Perhaps you know who to give it to, to make sure it reaches London?”
“Keep it,” he said. “Take it yourself when you go.” And suddenly the pain of parting reared its ugly head again, and he knew from the stricken look in her eyes, that she felt it, too. “The mayor’s birthday reception,” he said with a slightly desperate change of subject. “Are you invited?”
“We received a card of invitation,” Isabelle said. “But we might use the major as an excuse to stay at home.”
“I think you should go,” Armand advised, for not wholly selfish reasons. “No one in the town would refuse, and it might not be good to antagonize the Levignes.”
She met his gaze. “Meaning Lucie?” she asked bluntly. “She saw me take the prisoner’s letter. I told her I was giving it to you. But she may have heard me speak in English a little too well. I can’t make up my mind if she’s suspicious of me or not.”
With difficulty, Armand said to Dain, “How long before your brother can be moved?”
“I don’t know. A week, maybe?”
“It may have to be sooner. But if you are still here, it would be wise to attend the mayor’s reception.”
Dain nodded curtly.
He had only one brief moment alone with Isabelle when she accompanied him to the front door.
“Tomorrow morning,” he whispered. “Walk to the woods again. And Isabelle?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful of Lucie Levigne. She is jealous.”
She met his gaze. “Does she have cause?”
“Only in her mind.”
She nodded as if that was enough, and he could not resist swooping in for a kiss, though they were quickly parted by the approaching footsteps of the housekeeper from the recesses of the kitchen.
Chapter Eighteen
“Madame Renard—at last!”
The mayor’s birthday reception, to which everyone of note for miles around was invited, was held in the town hall. Isabelle wore her one evening gown—without Jane Verne’s little diamonds—and at first glance into the hall, she felt wildly under-dressed. However, the mayor’s greeting was openly admiring, so perhaps her lack of frills and jewels was taken as quiet elegance rather than insult.
“My wife has told me all about you. So delighted you could come this evening.” The mayor was a floridly handsome man approaching his fifties, and grown just a little portly on too much good living. He kissed Isabelle’s hand, his eyes gleaming with something more than mere admiration, something that was both avid and predatory. It was a look she had seen many times before.
“My husband, Marc Renard,” she murmured, drawing her hand free to indicate Dain, standing beside her with sardonic amusement.
“Ah, monsieur, welcome!” the mayor said jovially. “You are a lucky man to possess such a wife.�
��
“I am,” Dain agreed, placing Isabelle’s hand back on his arm. He smiled at Monsieur and Madame Levigne. “As are you,”
They moved on to let those following receive the mayoral welcome.
“You would appear to have another admirer,” Dain murmured.
“Somewhat excessive when he has never even seen me before tonight,” Isabelle said cynically. “I think he might be getting his own back on his wife.”
“For what?” asked Dain, faintly amused as he looked around the hall.
“For her rather too open favoring of Armand le Noir. Which,” she added as Dain raised his eyebrows, “is all in her mind.”
“Is it?” Dain murmured, his gaze fixed.
She followed it to Armand, standing with a group of other officers and ladies toward the back of the room. As though sensing their scrutiny, Armand glanced over, smiled, and raised his glass to them. Her heart skipped a beat as it always did when she saw him.
In the last couple of days, there had been other assignations, full of laughter and talk and passionate embraces. These secret meetings had only increased the bond between them. She had never been so close to anyone, and instead of being afraid of that, she loved it.
“He has no discretion,” Dain murmured. “What am I supposed to do when I deign to notice his—er—favor toward you? Call him out or pursue the mayor’s wife?”
“I think the former would be safer,” Isabelle said wryly. “But I beg you will not.”
“You may be easy on that score! But let us try to get through this evening as quietly as possible and return home intact.”
She knew what he meant. This was the first large gathering they had attended, and with it came the feeling that the town was closing in around them like bind weed, making them part of its fabric from which they would struggle to escape when the time came. As come, it must. They had only to stay safe a few more days.
And in truth, the surroundings were pleasant, the hall airy and not too crowded. A small orchestra played gentle music in the background, although, an acquaintance told Isabelle when she paused to greet her, there was to be dancing as well, for the younger people.
She made it sound like a treat for the children, an activity for the young, unmarried people of the town, so it came almost as a shock when the Levignes, still together, accosted Isabelle and Dain during their aimless perambulations.
“How charming to have found you both together,” Lucie exclaimed.
“Is it?” Isabelle asked, amused.
“I came to ask your husband’s permission,” the mayor explained. “It behoves me to open the dancing part of the evening, and I would be honored if Madame Renard would be my partner.”
“The honor would be ours, monsieur,” Dain returned politely, although the sardonic amusement had returned to his eyes as he placed Isabelle’s hand on the mayoral sleeve. “Then perhaps, Madame Levigne would grant me a similar honor?”
Madame Levigne, it seemed, was delighted to. She took Dain’s arm, giving him all her attention as Isabelle, slightly bemused, was led into the center of the hall by the mayor. At the same time, people scattered to the sides, leaving them alone, while the orchestra smoothly changed its background chamber music to the much more definite, introductory strains of a waltz.
The mayor’s smile was lascivious as he slid his arm around her waist and took her gloved hand in his. “Madame, your beauty quite dazzles me.”
“You are too kind,” she replied, following his steps.
“Not kindness, but truth,” he insisted.
“I cannot believe that from a man married to my friend Lucie,” Isabelle said sweetly, “who dazzles all who meet her.”
“She is a delight,” the mayor allowed, apparently oblivious to her set-down. “But you are something quite new to me, to the whole town, I daresay.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Am I really so freakish?”
“Unique,” he corrected hastily. “Your style, your elegance, even the way you speak. Madame, I am at your feet.”
“That would be unfortunate on the dance floor,” she observed.
The mayor blinked, and then laughed, but the exchange seemed to have set the tone for the entire dance. He made her fulsome compliments, which she turned aside or made light fun of. He allowed himself to be amused by her wit and thought of something else to say. All the while, he showed an inclination to hold her too close, which she parried by treading on his toes and apologizing for her gaucheness.
She had occasional glimpses of Dain and Lucie, sweeping past them. Lucie appeared to be employing all her arts to ensnare poor Marcus. Her eyes were wide and attentive, her lashes fluttering, her smile adoring. Was this to punish Isabelle for Armand’s apparent preference?
The whole evening began to feel unreal, especially when the dance finally ended and she managed to escape the mayor’s literal clutches and almost ran into Armand, only seconds before Lucie would have reached him. Lucie accosted Lieutenant Bernard instead, as though that had always been her plan. And certainly, Bernard looked ecstatic. Dain appeared to be in polite conversation with the mayor, although both pairs of eyes were on her and Armand.
“This is a mad house,” Isabelle breathed as Armand presented her with a glass of wine.
“Pretty much,” he agreed with a grin. “I fear you have both stumbled into a marital war. Not so much as principals but as weapons. I hope Monsieur Renard has a strong constitution and a will to resist, for I suspect the mayor is in a mood to kill. He would rather it be me, of course—or possibly Lucie—but I’m sure your husband will do at a pinch.”
“I’m glad you find this so amusing!”
“Well, it is quite funny, especially since Lucie has not been remotely unfaithful. Or at least not with me. But take my advice and don’t go anywhere unaccompanied tonight. You might pass that on to Monsieur Renard.”
“Perhaps you should take your own advice,” she retorted.
“Perhaps it will turn the mayor’s ire—and his attentions—if I dance with you.”
“Either that or he will hate you even more. This was meant to be a quiet evening for us. The last thing we need is the town’s gossip, to say nothing of ruffled feathers among its most important citizens.”
“You worry too much. Dance with me.”
Despite everything, she could not resist. The secret bliss of being in his arms, of being able to talk and smile with him, overwhelmed her.
“Do you remember our dance at Audley Park?” he murmured.
“I knew you were insane by then. I think it must be catching.”
“Would you really have shot me?”
She thought back to the fury, the hurt of that night as she’d finally realized what he was about. “I don’t know,” she said candidly. “I thought I could. I felt…used.”
“There was never any question of that,” he said seriously.
“I know. But now that the boot is on the other foot, as it were, you may say I was using you if and when this little masquerade is found out. I will be long gone, so you may revile me with impunity.”
“I could never revile you.”
Not for the first time, fear for him clawed at her stomach. “If it can save you, do it. When we began this, it never entered my head we could involve you, let alone endanger you.”
“I am in no danger whatsoever,” he said. “Except of loving you more every time I look at you.”
Even as her heart melted, she glimpsed Lucie over his shoulder, dancing and smiling with someone else, though her gaze seemed to just slide away from Isabelle and Armand.
*
The mayor found her again at supper—a buffet from which he offered her all the choicest morsels. She accepted only a small amount, in the hope of escaping him more quickly.
“Why, you eat like a tiny bird,” the mayor said, watching avidly as she nibbled an olive.
She let it fall back onto her plate. “What a charming building this is,” she said with a hint of desperation. “You must
be very proud of it.”
She meant the whole town must be proud, but he took it as a personal compliment. “Indeed I am. The marble hall is unique in this part of France. And as for the decoration of my official meeting room, the treasures we have on display… But come, I shall show you.”
Before she could demur, he snatched her hand, all but dragging her to her feet and toward the nearby wall.
She could probably have jerked free, or even spoken sharply to force him to release her. But surrounded by people, either would have drawn the sort of attention she wished to avoid. An undignified struggle, which she had no doubt about winning, would be better undertaken in private. And if there was no privacy, then she was in no real danger of anything except accusations that she was ensnaring the mayor.
To her surprise, the ornately decorated wall opened to Levigne’s touch, a private door, which swung closed to silence and gloom. A single lamp burned on the wall, casting a pale glow on a narrow staircase. Levigne released her since there was no room for them to stand side by side, and invited her to precede him.
She hesitated. There was little space for a struggle. He blocked the door. And he was no longer touching her.
“It’s too dark,” she said flatly.
“There are more lights at the top of the stairs.” He didn’t even look predatory any more, just eager to show his treasures.
She walked upstairs in front of him, and sure enough, at the top of the stairs, he lit more candles, handing her one, while he lit a lamp in the gracious passage and led her across the hall to another room.
Here, one lamp already burned, but he quickly lit others, further putting Isabelle at her ease. She duly admired the fine, painted ceiling panels, and was distracted by the glass display cabinets storing a fine collection of Chinese porcelain and ancient Egyptian jewelry.
She had bent over the cases with genuine interest when quite without warning, the mayor launched himself at her. Seizing her around the middle, he spun her around to face him and his open mouth swooped down on hers.
Sheer instinct shot her hand up between them and over her lips so that it was her palm he slobbered over. Bracing herself on the cabinet behind her, she shoved his face with all her might. His neck jerked with a somewhat ominous creak, and he staggered backward.
The Broken Heart Page 18
