by Win Hollows
After watching them go, she let out a breath and looked around her, alone in the room once more. For an awkward moment, she stood without knowing what to do and was relieved when the butler came in to ask if she wanted her coach readied. Leaving the grieving household was a relief, and yet she didn’t like the helplessness she felt at simply leaving her friends to their sadness.
It caused her to wonder what her household’s reaction would be if she suddenly died. Her lips twisted. They would most likely only mourn the income they would lose if she was unable to marry the duke. Celise might mourn her, but even that relationship was so tenuous that Elorie doubted it would affect her sister awfully much. Porthos wouldn’t know what had happened. He would assume she had abandoned him eventually, clinging to Celise thereafter. The three women she’d made friends with here in London would gasp, shake their heads, and take another sip of tea.
So that was what it would come down to, she realized. Her entire life could snuff out, and no one would particularly care. No one else’s life would change.
Would Max care?
Elorie swallowed. Max hated her. She would do well to remember that. Yet, some small part of her she’d learned long ago to tuck away and ignore glimmered from the depths with a seductive hope. If all she had of him was his hate, she would cherish it, for it was better than having nothing at all of him. She could be lying in bed as an old woman, knowing that at least the magnificent Earl of Eydris felt something toward her.
As for herself, she prayed she would someday feel nothing at all for the man with the tiger eyes and hummingbird piano hands. Maybe, eventually, she could even believe in her own delusion.
****
“Ouch. That was my ear,” Losif whispered.
“Just a little higher,” Max called back down to him quietly.
Losif grunted but complied, raising Max just a bit higher as Max stood on his shoulders below the second-story window of the Crescenfort home.
Max gripped the tree branch above him, causing Losif to sigh in relief as Max’s feet lifted up off of him.
“I’ll just wait here, then?” the monk inquired to the empty air above him.
But Max was already gone, and Losif would only see the fluttering of disturbed leaves and a shutting window in response.
“Right,” Max heard Losif mutter as he paused just before closing the sill. “I’m sure he meant to say, ‘Losif, very nice work. Stay there, I’ll be right back for you.’”
Losif sighed. “I’m not sure why people say otherwise, but the English are certainly an impulsive lot.”
Max turned away, and then stopped again as Losif continued. I wouldn’t have it any other way, for he provides no end of entertainment on this quest.” He watched as Losif settled himself against the trunk of the tree and pulled out a bag of candied nuts, surely pondering the complexity of a love that required breaking into houses and blackmail in order to accomplish it. Max hoped the monk consulted God on the matter, for he hoped someone could tell him just why he was doing this at all.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the window he’d just infiltrated led to a currently unused bedchamber. He carefully treaded across it and grabbed the doorknob.
“The silver is down the hall to the left,” a feminine voice said softly.
Max froze. Turning slowly toward the sound, his eyes found the silhouette of a girl standing in the doorway to a connecting chamber.
“I wouldn’t even have heard you if I hadn’t been using the water closet,” she said, coming forward. Her tone was hesitant, and her shoulders seemed to draw in on themselves like she was the one who shouldn’t have been in the room. “So you needn’t fear your thievery skills are slipping.”
“What is it with women and water closets lately?” he said with a growl.
As she came toward him, Max sighed and leaned back against the door, crossing his arms. Then he blinked to clear his eyes because he was looking at the spitting image of Elorie, yet as she had to have been as a girl. She was holding a large, limp cat who appeared to be sleeping, and wore a pink night rail with bows all down the front—the girl that was, not the cat. How women slept in such flouncy things he would never understand.
“You must be Elorie’s sister.”
She tilted her head to the side. He’d managed to surprise her, but his knowledge of Elorie caused her to drop her shoulders to a more relaxed position. “So you’re a suitor sneaking in to see her?”
“Something like that.” At this point, he had no idea what label he’d give himself, but that seemed about as accurate as anything else.
Elorie’s sister came to sit on the edge of her bed, stroking the cat slowly. Oddly, she didn’t seem to be in fear for her life, even though a strange man had invaded her home. Perhaps all the Crescenforts were miraculously blasé in such situations.
He couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the darkened room, but they were serene and clear as she studied him. Max noted her voice was nothing like Elorie’s, low and toneless, which he thought odd for someone so young. “Are you a duke? Elorie’s engaged to one.”
As if he needed reminding. His teeth ground. “No. A mere earl.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever assessed being an earl as unfortunate.”
“Are you rich? It seems to be a deciding factor, according to my mother.”
He hid a smile. “Very.”
“Perhaps there’s hope then.”
This, from a pink bow-clad child. “Indeed.”
“Do you love my sister?”
His lungs seized up. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about it, but being forced to declare it would mean he couldn’t go back from this, even if the admission was only to a little girl. He spoke slowly. “I might. Your sister… She means a great deal to me. I can’t not… I can’t not be with her.” That was as true as anything he’d ever said.
The miniature version of Elorie seemed to consider this. “Then I hope you win,” she stated, adjusting the floppy cat as she curled a leg underneath her. “You’re also more handsome than the duke.”
Max paused. “Er … thank you.”
The girl nodded. “Her room is two doors down on the same side of the hallway. I think she’s abed. Would you like me to go check for you so you aren’t caught?”
Max bit back a grin. It seemed he now had an ally in the Crescenfort house. “That would be helpful, yes.”
She carefully laid the seemingly unconscious cat on the bed and slipped out the door as Max moved aside for her. As she passed, Max glimpsed more of her face and couldn’t help smiling. She would no doubt be as lovely and bold as her sister when she grew up.
After a moment, she came back into the room and whispered, “Follow me.”
He looked up and down the hallway just in case, and then stepped out behind her. A few footfalls later, she turned the knob of another door and motioned for him to come in after her. As Max followed her through the doorway, his eyes adjusted to the fire-lit room he had entered.
“Celise, is everything al— Max?” Elorie squeaked from where she sat in her bed by the light of a candle. “What— What is going on?” she hissed, her eyes enormous as she bolted upright and smoothed her dressing robe.
“He’s here to convince you not to marry the duke,” Celise said plainly.
“That’s not strictly true,” Max corrected. “But I suppose we could address that as well.”
The counterpane snapped back as Elorie got out of the bed. “What’s gotten into both of you? How did you get in here?” She looked sternly at Max.
“He came through my window,” Celise admitted.
Elorie raised a brow at her sister. “And your first inclination was to help him break in instead of scream for help? I’m actually rather proud.”
Celise shrugged. “He seemed a reasonable sort. We had a nice chat.”
Elorie’s mouth hung open. “Y-you had a nice chat? You barely even speak to me!”
&n
bsp; Celise blushed.
“What I think she means to say,” Max intervened, coming between the two. “Is that I made it clear I was only here to see you with the purest of intentions.”
The snort Elorie produced wasn’t elegant. “Really.”
Max grinned, loving the way her robe clung to her figure. He had never once had a pure intention when it came to her. “More or less.”
Elorie sighed, and Max could tell he had won her over for the time being. “Celise, I think it’s time you went back to bed.”
“I agree. Although chocolates are a very nice way of thanking someone for their help,” she spoke to Max’s back.
Max turned to her and smiled down into her green eyes with the full force of his magnetism. He took her hand and spoke quietly. “Chocolates it is, love. And treats for your cat as well, for keeping guard.”
Celise looked momentarily stunned, her rosebud lips in a little O.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elorie roll her eyes.
Max took Celise by the shoulders and turned her around, sending her through the doorway before shutting it softly behind her.
“You know my sister’s now madly in love with you.” Her arms were crossed.
“At least one of you is,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he replied, coming toward her.
As usual, she didn’t back away. Her skin was luminescent in the light of the fire, the sun’s kiss on her apparent. No lady of the aristocracy would allow such a thing, and yet, Elorie wore her sunned skin like armor without a care what anyone else thought of it. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“It’s been a long day, Max. My friends … I need to be there for them tomorrow, so let’s get this over with. Why are you here?” she asked.
“I’ve come to make a deal.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of deal?”
“I’ve come to blackmail you.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice rose, eyes blazing.
“You might want to keep quiet. Yes, blackmail. I need your help, and you need my silence.”
He could see an angry flush work its way across her nose and cheeks. “Explain.”
Max sauntered over to the pair of chairs near the glowing fireplace. “I know where the Damarek is,” he told her, subtly watching her reaction.
Her mouth opened on a gasp, and then a slow smile made its way across her face. “I always knew you’d find it.”
Her reaction surprised him. He would have thought she’d be, at the very least, annoyed, and at most, furious that her beloved France wouldn’t get to it first. But she was in for a bigger surprise. “I want you to come with me.”
At that, she took a step back. “What?”
“I need you to help me avoid the Hand in France.”
“Why would you be going to…” He saw the realization dawn on her features. “It’s in France? All this time?”
He loved watching her mind work as she turned to pace the carpet in front of the fire. “Yes. Which is why I need you.”
She whipped around on him. “You don’t fool me, Max.”
He stopped his perusal of her luscious form and looked at her uncompromising face. “What do you mean?”
“For one thing, why would I help you find it? My allegiances haven’t changed. What’s to stop me from taking it straight to the Hand when we have it? And for another, we both know you don’t need me. You’ve managed to avoid the Hand’s reach thus far. You can do it again.”
She was astute, and he should have known his pretense couldn’t last long with her. “You’re right, I don’t need you,” he admitted, moving closer to her. “But I want you.” He reached her and put his hands on her hips.
He felt her suck in a breath. “Max, please…”
“Please what?” he whispered.
Anguished lines crossed her forehead as she closed her eyes. “Don’t do this. I can’t. You know I can’t.”
He tilted her chin up so she was forced to look into his eyes. “Have one last adventure with me.”
She smiled, and a tear dropped onto her cheek.
Max took a step back and pulled her with him until his calves hit the front of the armchair behind him. He sat down and pulled her atop him, then wiped the tear from where it had run down to her chin. “Spies never cry, serpent girl.”
“They don’t fall in love either,” she said solemnly.
Max stopped the roaming of his hands and looked in her eyes. Her long, braided blonde hair created a halo around her face in the light from the fire behind her. “You’re mine,” he told her. “You’ll always be mine.” He cupped the back of her head and pulled her lips down to his.
Elorie gasped into his mouth and forced her own fervor into the kiss, dueling with his tongue in a way that sent sparks down his limbs.
She smelled like nutmeg and chocolate tonight, and he wondered how she always smelled of something edible. Did she carry around scones in her pockets? Were there cocoa beans tucked into her hair? Most women preferred to smell like flowers, but he supposed it was only fitting she didn’t do as the rest of them did.
He heard her suck in a breath, and when she pulled back, it took him a moment to descend back to reality. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“It’s just a twinge,” she said. “I’m sure the doctor didn’t anticipate me climbing all over people as you tempt me to.”
Max couldn’t help smiling at that, but he smoothed his hand over her side with care.
“Why would you trust me?” she asked him, balancing on the balls of her feet atop him.
“I don’t,” he confessed. “That’s where the whole blackmail bit comes in.” He grinned.
She blinked and sat up straighter, put one hand on his chest. “You’re really blackmailing me?”
He nodded. “Afraid so, Viper. What would your precious duke say if he were to find out you’ve been working as an agent for France, running amuck all these years? I believe that will ensure your complicity until this mission is over.”
Elorie’s eyes went wide and she pushed against him to rise to her feet. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Max stood as well and forced his face to harden. “I do what I must to get what I want, Ellie. You know that.”
Max watched her jaw work as she ground out, “You’re right. I should know that by now.”
He tried to approach her again as she backed away. “You want to come, anyway. I know you do. What does it matter the circumstances?” He reached for her. “We’ll be together. That’s all I want.”
Elorie snatched her hand back. “It matters, Max. I will never be the kind of woman who lets someone else dictate her choices. Not even you.”
“Then why are you marrying him? I know that can’t be your choice.”
That brought her up short. “It’s none of your business.”
“I think it is. And you’ll tell me before this is through.”
She shook her head. “Why must you persist in asking questions you don’t want the answers to?”
He stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. “I want to know everything about you,” he told her angrily. “Every damn little thing. I want to know what perfume you wear and how you take your tea and whether you like summer or winter best. I want to know what you think about the Prime Minister and why you have a French accent when your sister doesn’t and what your hair looks like when you set it free from its braid. I want to know all your secrets, and someday, you’ll be begging to tell me things you’ve never told another person, wishing I was there to soak up all your sunshine. Because I can take it. I can take everything you are, and I won’t break. You would break other men, Ellie, but not me. I was meant for you, and you know it.”
Her breath came in harsh gulps, and she said nothing.
Max pushed himself away from her. “So the choice is yours, Lavoie. Be at the docks tomorrow at sundown—The Hawk’s Wing. Or don’t. But you’ll regret it if you don’t come, and th
at won’t have anything to do with my threat.”
He could see her indecision, but he wouldn’t push her any further tonight. Turning from her, he went to the window and lifted the sill, climbing smoothly out. Once he had made his way back down the branches, he startled Losif from a doze.
“Come on, Losif. We’ve an early day on the morrow.”
The monk grunted as he rose to his feet woozily. “Did it go well?”
Max’s tone was dry. “As well as blackmail ever does.”
“Will she come?”
He hesitated, looking back up at her window. “I don’t know. But she wants to.”
“I think it would be nice to have a lady along. I know you wouldn’t think it because of my charm, but I haven’t spent much time with women.”
Max looked sideways at his companion, unsure of whether he was serious or not. “Right. Well, let’s hope she comes then.”
“Quite so. We’ll have to make sure there’s enough food for all of us.”
“Losif, I want to make one thing abundantly clear,” Max said as they walked back toward the garden gate.
“What is that, My Lord?”
“You’re still not allowed to talk the entire journey.”
“Oh. You—you weren’t in jest about that?”
“I was as serious as you are about your charm.”
At this, he scratched his head. “I believe I understand.”
“Do you? Let’s start now then, shall we?”
“Oh, right now?” Losif looked at Max. “You mean stop—” At Max’s raised brow, he paused. “Of course, My Lord. I’ll just begin practicing now. You won’t hear another word from me.”
“Losif.”
“Yes, My Lord?”
“Promise me you’ll never attempt to take a vow of silence for your faith.”
The monk continued to reassure Max that he would try to avoid it for some time, driving Max to the conclusion that he had made more than one enormous mistake in his choice of confidantes on this mission.
