by Diana Quincy
Elle gone. The words reverberated in his mind like cymbals clashing together. Gone and married. To a nobleman. Not a bastard.
Never a bastard.
—
She seemed like a different person to him now.
Elle sat across from Will in the hired coach that would take them to Langtry. She was pale-faced with red-rimmed silver eyes, which held none of their usual laughing spontaneity.
The Elle he’d known since girlhood was gone forever. Before, he’d assumed her negligent, careless, maybe even spoiled. But that laughing carefree girl would have never concealed such a devastating truth. He couldn’t imagine loving this version of Elle. One who’d considered denying him the right to know of his child’s existence. What kind of person could perpetrate such an enormous mistruth and live with it for years?
He was different too. Being a father changed his sense of who he was, of where he fit in the world. For the first time in his memory, he felt unsure of himself. It was still hard to digest that Susanna was his. His heart seemed to expand when he thought of the vivacious moppet with a sly gaze and her mother’s lively appeal.
Elle’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Will you leave for London as soon as you deliver me to Langtry?”
He looked at her, holding herself erect and proud despite her pallor and the obvious emotional distress vibrating beneath her composed exterior. “And abandon my daughter?” The words seethed with anger. “I do not think so.”
She flinched—ever so slightly—at his contemptuous tone. “I only meant because you have Duret’s package and are keen to deliver it.”
“My plans have changed.” When they’d reached Salcombe, he’d received word that his superior, Ogilvie, the person into whose hands he was to deliver the package, was visiting friends in a nearby county and would meet Will at Langtry at his earliest convenience, possibly on the morrow.
“This is what’s going to occur.” His tone was emotionless. “Once we reach Langtry and this business of Duret’s package is at an end, we will marry and provide my daughter with the family she deserves.”
Her eyes widened. Although why she should be surprised, he could not imagine. “But you hate me now,” she said softly. “How can you even contemplate a marriage between us?”
“This is no longer about our whims,” he said. “What we want has no bearing. We have a child, and we must think of her first.”
“Do you think it is best for her to see the deep disdain with which her father regards her mother?”
He exhaled loudly through his nostrils. “I shan’t burden you overmuch with my presence. My work will take me away for long periods of time. I trust we can behave in a civil manner when I am in residence.”
They sat in silence, listening to the rolling clatter of the wheels and the horses’ rhythmic gait as their hooves struck the ground.
After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “I am sorry to have wronged you.” The words were strong, determined. “But I have passed the last five years being told where I could go and what I could do, and I do not intend to live that way again.”
Disbelief rose in him. “You would deny me my child?”
She set her jaw. “I will not enter into a marriage borne of contempt.”
He leaned forward. “I could take my daughter,” he said angrily. “By law, children belong to their father.”
Her face went white. “You would take her from me? When I have just found her again?”
“At least you knew our child existed, that she had been born. I knew nothing thanks to you.”
She drew a long, deep breath. “I will not apologize again. I tried to tell you that I was with child. My condition was becoming increasingly noticeable, but you had disappeared.”
He gritted his teeth. “I was called away on an important assignment.”
“Did you never wonder whether there were any repercussions from the night we shared?” Her fingers clenched and unclenched in her skirt as her voice rose. “I was an innocent. Was it not your duty to ensure I was not ruined beyond all repair?”
He felt a sharp tug of guilt. “I offered marriage.”
“Know this.” She swallowed hard, the chords of her neck sliding under porcelain skin. “I will never let you take her from me.”
“I am her father.” The words were deadly quiet. “It is my right.”
“By law, you are not her sire.” Determination blazed in her silvery eyes. “You have no claim on her at all. My father is a powerful peer. He will not allow you to take her.”
Bitterness burned its way into his throat. He would never be free of his low birth. “So that is the way of it.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I am just a lowly bastard, now as always.”
She flushed. “I did not mean—”
He waived off the words with his hand. “Do not apologize. That is perhaps the truest sentiment you’ve ever shared with me.”
Dismay darkened her face. “If that is what you believe, then all is truly lost between us.”
“Be that as it may,” he said icily, “we will marry and give my daughter the family she deserves. You’d best accustom yourself to the notion.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And what kind of marriage will it be?” she said heatedly. “One in name only?”
“If that is what you wish.”
She regarded him warily. “Do you intend to keep seeing your innkeeper’s widow?”
“I suppose that depends upon you.” He allowed his gaze to run down the length of her body. “A man has certain physical needs. I can either slake them with my wife or with another. Either way, it will merely be a physical transaction. Nothing more.”
She gave an indelicate snort. “Maybe if you keep telling yourself that Banbury Tale, you might actually come to believe it.” Then she turned her attention away from him to look out the window for the remainder of the journey.
—
Not even the painful business with Will could dampen Elle’s excitement when she saw Langtry again for the first time in six years. The view of the three-level manor with ivy spreading over its façade filled her with quiet joy and contentment. Home. She pulled on the ribbon that opened the carriage window, leaning her head out to inhale the salty scent of the ocean just beyond the cliffs. She gazed at the sand-colored Georgian manor as they drew closer. This had always been her favorite place in the world. Knowing her daughter was somewhere within its safe confines made it even more so.
Will surveyed the scene ahead of them, his voice polite but distant. “It appears rather deserted.”
“It is no wonder, really,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away from the manor house. “Besides Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey, there are only two other servants.” Will had mentioned that Cosmo and his wife were on a delayed wedding trip. Only Aldridge, Susanna, and her nurse could be expected to be in residence, along with the handful of servants.
The post-chaise came to a stop in front of the manor and she threw open the door and alighted on her own, without waiting for the coachman. She was bounding up the front stairs before Will had a chance to disembark.
“Elinor,” he called urgently. “Wait.”
“I’ve waited long enough already.” She pushed open the front door, knowing it was rarely locked and charged headfirst into the front hallway. “Papa! Papa!” Her voice echoed into the silence. She ran across the parquet floor down the corridor to the study near the back of the house where her father spent most of his time.
“Elle.” Will’s words were sharp behind her. “Stop, something is very wrong.”
But she’d already reached her father’s private enclave and burst inside, anxious to see Aldridge after so many years. Perhaps Susanna would be with him. She halted in the middle of the empty room and breathed in the familiar scent of leather and books. The fading Aubusson carpet and gothic, glass-fronted bookcases were just as she remembered them. The sight of her father’s familiar chess table in its usual place by the window made her eyes sting. Her gaze went to
an old portrait of her in a white muslin gown, painted the year before she married, hanging behind her father’s stately rosewood desk.
She stilled and her scalp tingled. Will was right. The house was too quiet.
Behind her, the sound of cracking knuckles shattered the silence.
Chapter 17
A shiver shot down her spine.
“It’s an excellent likeness, don’t you think?” Cool hands closed around her upper arms. “The portrait does you justice, my dear.”
She forced herself not to flinch. “Gerard.”
“In the flesh.” He pressed a lingering kiss on her cheek from his stance behind her. “It is good to see you, cherie.”
Fear raked her insides. “Where is my father? And Susanna?” She pivoted to face him. “What have you done with them?”
“They are in my safekeeping until you give me what is mine.”
“Do not hurt them. I will give you the dispatches.” She licked her dry lips. “I only took them to force your hand in returning my daughter to me.”
His scowl deepened. “It was unwise of you to deceive me.”
“Take the dispatches and leave us in peace.”
Muffled sounds reverberated from the front of the house―the scuffle of shoes across the parquet floors, the sound of cracking bone. A man cursing in a rough French voice. One heavy thud. Then another. Her heart leapt like a rabbit. Will.
But then there he was on the threshold of her father’s study, his chest jerking with each harsh breath. His color was high, his hair tousled and his cravat askew, but he was alive and appeared unharmed. She gave a silent prayer of thanks. But when she looked past him, icy spikes of fear punctured her belly. Duret’s man, Jean Paul, had a pistol pressed to the back of Will’s head.
Duret surveyed them dispassionately. “Where are the others? Betrand and Gosse?”
“Dead.” Jean Paul spat the words as though they were lemons in his mouth. “This queutard killed them during our attempt to capture him when he entered the house.”
Duret’s brows rose, looking like silver-streaked black caterpillars moving sideways up his forehead. “And the other men?”
“Outside, searching the grounds.”
“I see. I trust you have disarmed Monsieur Naismith.”
“Yes, but he did not use weapons,” Jean Paul said. “He killed them with his hands.”
Duret’s dark gaze moved to Will. “Is that so. How enlightening.”
Will shrugged, all traces of sunshine absent from his hazel eyes, leaving them a cool, emotionless green. “There are many ways to kill a man as I’m sure I’ll have the pleasure of demonstrating for you soon enough.”
Comprehension filled the general’s harsh face. “I presume I have the honor of being in the company of Le Rasoir.”
Will stared at him and remained silent. Elle’s legs trembled, threatening to give out at the knees. She leaned her weight against her father’s familiar desk, the one she had hidden under as a child, and felt grateful for its comforting sturdiness.
“You have proven most elusive.” Duret’s smile was that of a satisfied predator. “What a pleasure it is to finally meet.”
Will’s face was a study in inscrutability, as blank as an unused sheet of foolscap. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t return the sentiment.”
Burly ruffians crowded the doorway behind him, the rest of Duret’s henchmen, the ones who’d been searching the grounds. Their arrival filled the room with the noisome odor of unwashed, sweaty male bodies.
“Help our guest to a seat,” Duret ordered. They blustered forward, anxious to do their master’s bidding. While Jean Paul kept his pistol aimed at Will, the other men forced him to a chair by her father’s chess table. Two sets of heavy hands on his shoulders induced him to sit with a hard thud, the old leather chair creaking under the assault. They tied an enormous rope around his chest and bound his feet to the chair legs and his hands behind his back.
The futility of their situation assailed Elle, especially now with Will trussed up like a sheep ready for the slaughter, guarded not by one man, but three. Duret wasn’t taking any chances with the deadly Le Rasoir.
The general turned to her. “Congratulations, my dear. It appears you seduced the right fish after all.”
A sense of outrage stirred in her chest. She hadn’t come this far only to have this man rob her of her child again, to extinguish any chance―however remote―of a future with Will. She slid her hand along the cool wood of the desk until she touched the cold metal of her father’s letter opener. “I have kept my end of our bargain. Now I want my daughter.”
“I confess I did not expect you to bed Le Rasoir with the enthusiasm of a strumpet.” Duret moved to the supply of brandy her father kept by his chess table. Helping himself to a glass, he said, “Unfortunately, you broke our bargain the moment you absconded with those messages.”
“I didn’t set out to steal them, not at first. I took them by mistake.” She pushed away from the desk, sliding the letter opener into the folds of her skirt as she did so. “They were next to papers my solicitor had given me.”
“The mistake you made, my dear”―his tongue slithered over the endearment, as deadly as a snake―“was in crossing me by giving the dispatches to the enemy. What you’ve done is treasonous to France.”
She lifted her chin. “I am not French.”
“But your daughter is.” He paused for a long draw of her father’s brandy. He took his time savoring the amber liquid, rolling it over his tongue. “Perhaps I should take the girl and reunite her with her mother country. Teach her to be a good French citizen.”
“I’ll give you the dispatches,” she repeated, her chest tight with fear. “Just let us go. My daughter and my father. And Will.”
“He’ll never let Le Rasoir go free,” Will said, keeping his attention on Duret.
Duret held his cup aloft in Will’s direction, a mock salute. “Very perceptive of you.”
“You’ve no need for Madame Laurent now,” Will said evenly. “Release her and I shall give you far more than the dispatches.”
Duret studied him. “What precisely are you offering?”
“You will be privy to all of Le Rasoir’s secrets.”
“And they are legion, I am sure.”
“They are not to be underestimated. I have been with the service for many years.” He jerked his head in Elle’s direction. “You have no further use for her.”
Duret smiled like an indulgent uncle. “In that you are incorrect, Le Rasoir.” His gaze raked over Elle. “I can think of many uses for your whore.”
“If you touch her, our agreement is null and void. I give you nothing,” Will said.
Amused interest settled over Duret’s harsh features. “You are in no position to make idle threats.”
“None of my threats are ever idle.”
“You will cooperate, Le Rasoir.” He jerked his chin in the direction of his ruffians. “My friends here will make certain it is an enlightening conversation.” Her mind filled with visions of the unspeakable things Duret would do to Will. “And afterward Jean Paul will have the pleasure of gutting you like a fish for killing my men.”
“Don’t.” She stepped in front of Will, panic threatening to overwhelm her. “Spare him and I shall do whatever you ask.” She saw her opportunity, as slim as a crack of light glimmering through loosened floorboards, but there nonetheless, and immediately grasped it. She would gain Will enough time to free himself and save them all. “Spare us and I will give you whatever you want.”
Duret’s eyes darkened as he digested the meaning of her offer. “Anything?”
She held his gaze. “Anything. I’ve never yet disappointed a man in the bedchamber.”
“You’ll spread your thighs for me.”
“Yes.”
“Elle, no.” Will’s strained voice sounded behind her.
Duret eyed her with his usual hunger. “I would rather enjoy screwing you. I have always thought you’d
be a wild one between the bedclothes.”
Her heart thumped and she swallowed down her disgust. Who knew how Duret would react if he couldn’t perform. But it didn’t matter. She would do anything to buy Will enough time to make his escape. It was their only hope. “We have an agreement, then.”
Will’s chair scraped. She sensed the impotent fury rolling off him in waves. “No, damn his eyes.” The words were rough with urgency. “Elle, don’t do it. He’s lying. They’ll kill us both anyway.”
“Silence!” Elle whirled around in time to see Jean Paul backhand Will with a hard slap, drawing blood from his mouth.
“You’ll have to do better than that to silence me,” he drawled even as his lip began to swell.
Duret’s eyes fixed on Elle. “Perhaps after I slake my lust, I’ll allow my men to sample your whore.”
Will flushed and struggled in his chair again, the wooden legs scraping a protest against the worn parquet floor. “You’d better just kill me now, Duret,” he warned in a low voice full of murderous intent, “because I swear on my father’s grave that I will take great pleasure in slitting your larcenous throat as soon as I get the chance.”
Ignoring him, Duret turned to Elle. “Let us not waste time.”
“Not here.” Elle struggled to keep her voice from shaking. “In a bed upstairs. Alone and in private. I know the perfect chamber. Those are my terms.”
“And if I agree to your terms, you will come willingly and enthusiastically?”
She knew he was lying, that he would never let them go, but she needed to buy Will some time to escape. It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was their only option. “Most enthusiastically. You will not be disappointed.”
Lust vibrated from his stocky form. He flushed and licked his lips. “There is no time to waste.” He gestured toward the door with his hand. “Shall we?”
“Elle, dammit.” Will’s controlled exterior crumbled. “Don’t go with him. Don’t do it. The whoreson can’t be trusted.”
Duret’s ruffians silenced Will with a flurry of meaty fists. To her horror, the sickening sound of cracking bone rent the air.
“Enough.” Duret gave the orders in the quiet, firm tone of someone used to having his orders followed. The beating ceased immediately. Will’s head flopped toward his chest, unmoving.
