A Daughter's Destiny (5 page)

“Maman, this is Evan Somerset,” she said in a strained tone. “He is—he is—”

Sweeping past Brienne, Evan bowed to her mother with the grace of a courtier. With the narrow bed and a dresser piled high with clothing and medical powders, there was barely room for him. “How do you do, Madame LeClerc? Forgive this most unseemly intrusion, but Brienne and I were in the midst of a conversation when you rang, and being the devoted daughter she is, she would not wait a moment to hurry to your side.” With that beguiling smile Brienne was beginning to despise, he added, “If I may be so bold, madame, may I say I can see that Brienne inherited much of her extraordinary loveliness from you?”

Brienne was not surprised when Maman smiled, even though her mother often had told Brienne how much she resembled her late father. Maman always had had a weakness for handsome men. At least, that was what Grand-mère frequently mumbled. Brienne had seen few signs of that, for Maman had never entertained any gentlemen.

In her reedy voice, Maman answered, “You may be so bold, Monsieur Somerset.” She spoke in the thick French accent she took pride in, for she refused to admit they were staying in London. Glancing at Brienne, she smiled. “Are you calling on my daughter?”

“To be honest, I should say I hope I am. Your daughter is incredibly resistant to my attempts to woo her.”

“Brienne is innocent in many ways, but, of course, every mother wishes to see her daughter settled happily and well.”

“I'm quite happy with my life, Maman,” Brienne said in a chiding voice.

Before Evan could reply, Grand-mère called, “Brienne! Lucile! Are you about?” She paused in the bedroom door. “Monsieur Somerset!” She held out a slip of paper. Staring at Evan, she flinched and switched to English. “Brienne,
ma petite
, there are pound notes all over the parlor. I—”

Brienne plucked it from her fingers. “They belong to Mr. Somerset.”

“Is that so?” She frowned. “I am curious why even a man of your apparent means is throwing such a fortune about.”

“It is a long story,” he said with a smile.

Grand-mère nodded. “I would very much enjoy hearing it. Tell your coachman that—”

“Coachman?” His smile vanished.

“Isn't that your carriage out in the street?”

“No!” Evan rushed to a window overlooking the street. Pound notes crackled beneath his feet, but he ignored them as he drew the drapes aside. When he saw the street was empty, he cursed under his breath. Madame LeClerc must have frightened them away.

He knew he was being followed. That was why he had come through the disgusting alley at the back of the salon. If they—whoever they were—had traced him here, he must not leave immediately. To be seen now would guarantee more trouble for the LeClerc women.

“Do you recognize them? Will we be receiving a call from more of your friends?”

He turned to Brienne. Any man who thought only of her china doll prettiness would discover he was a fool. She possessed sharp wits. Those wits must not fail her now when she had to learn, and learn swiftly, that he might be her only ally.

“Whoever your grandmother saw is gone.” Letting the drapes fall back into place, he lifted one foot and peeled off the pound note stuck to his shoe. He smiled and handed it to Brienne. “I believe this is yours.”

She pressed it back into his hand. “Take your blood money and get out. If you don't leave, I shall—I shall—”

“What? Call Haviland?” He chuckled. “Mayhap you like having him panting over you.”

“'Twould be better than you!” A flush seared her cheeks as he laughed.

“I shall try to remember that, Brienne.” Lessening the distance between them, he smiled again as she inched backward.

When she bumped into a table, he reached past her to steady a lamp. He curved his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Her softness was everything he had remembered last night as he had stared at his ceiling, unable to sleep. She opened her mouth, but he gave her no chance to protest.

Her lips were as sweet as wine beneath his and just as intoxicating. Seeking within her mouth for more pleasure, he relished the caress of her breath against his tongue. When her fingers swept up his arms, he leaned her back against the table. He wanted to sample every inch of her, tasting each flavor she offered, urging her to be as bold. He deepened his kiss until her breath strained against his mouth.

Something crackled under his foot. The noise made by the money crashed like a fist against his face. With an oath, he pulled away.

Brienne watched in silence as Evan went to stand once again by the window, his hands clasped so tightly behind his back, she could see his bleached knuckles. Looking down at the pound notes scattered on the floor, she took a single step toward him. She froze when he spoke without facing her.

“Now that we have personal matters out of the way, shall we talk business?”

Personal matters?
Was that how he dismissed that mind-sapping kiss? She did not dare take another step. Her legs were still atingle with the sensation of his strong limbs against them. What a fool she was to let him sweep her away from her good sense with his well-practiced kisses!

“Is this how you seduce all your business partners into giving you what you want?” Frustration filled her voice.

His laugh was terse. “Of course not, but business must come first.”

“Don't you ever think of anything other than this business?”

“I cannot.” He turned to look at her, and she wished he had not. His eyes were as dull as the cast-iron stove, and the fire within was as fierce. “And neither, Brienne, can you now. Our enemies will kill to get what they want.”

She gasped. “But no one kills someone over something like that silly vase.”

“You are innocent, Brienne. Some people need no reason to kill. They do it simply for the pleasure.”

Her grandmother walked slowly into the parlor, sparing Brienne from having to answer. “Lucile is resting,” Grand-mère said as she sat. “Brienne,
ma petite
, I think we should delay opening the salon one more night.”

“But, Grand-mère—”

Shaking her head, she smiled with fatigue. “I know you have toiled so hard to have everything ready, but what are you going to serve?”

“I thought I would serve cold platters tonight.”

“No,
ma petite
. Tonight you will serve only your maman and me and Monsieur Somerset, if he feels inclined to join us for dinner.”

Brienne glanced helplessly from her grandmother's smile to Evan's astonishment. Was Grand-mère so exhausted that she could not see the foolishness of allowing Evan to remain in this apartment even a moment longer?

“After the dinner I had here two nights ago,” Evan said, “I look forward to another chance to sample Brienne's cuisine.”

Grand-mère's smile broadened. “She is an excellent cook. Even her cold platters are exceptional.”

“Then, I gladly accept as long as there is enough …” He flashed a grin in Brienne's direction.

Brienne vowed not to give him the satisfaction of forcing her to lose her temper before Grand-mère. Or was it only her temper she feared losing when he was close? So easily she had thrown aside all caution when he fascinated her with his touch. He was even more dangerous than she had guessed.

Quietly she said, “You will find Grand-mère has no intention of allowing you to starve.”

“Why doesn't Monsieur Somerset pick up his money,” Grand-mère asked as if nothing were amiss, “while you,
ma petite
, get us some tea and biscuits?”

“Grand-mère, I—”

“Go, child.” She regarded Evan steadily. “By the time you come back, Monsieur Somerset will have explained to me why he is being so careless with his money.”

Irritation pricked Brienne. “I can tell you what—”

“Go,
ma petite
. That cool wind has cut into my bones. I need tea as well as some answers.”

Evan sat on the settee. “Tea sounds good to me also.” Cocking his head, he flashed her a smile. “Honey, if you have it, instead of sugar.”

Brienne opened the door and left before she could embarrass Grand-mère by speaking her mind. How dare Evan try to seduce her, then order her about as if she were a child! And Grand-mère! She was conspiring with him to shut Brienne out of the conversation. She thought of slamming the door, but did not want to upset Maman.

She coughed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand as she started down the stairs. The smoke from the chimney pots must be heavier than usual. She put her hands over her mouth. A spasm of coughing paralyzed her. Dear God, she sounded as consumptive as Maman. Tears filled her eyes. She looked up. The stairwell was distorted by wisps of smoke.

She raced to the door at the foot of the stairs. Shoving it open, she cried out in horror. Billows of black smoke erupted through it.

Fire!

The kitchen was on fire!

Chapter Four

“No!” Brienne cried.

She ran into the kitchen. Smoke struck her like a blow. Reaching for the water bucket by the door, she moaned when she realized it was empty. Someone had tipped it over. She grasped her apron from the table and slapped at the flames. The fire leaped up onto it. She threw it away and ran back up the stairs.

Bursting into the parlor, she slammed the door and stared at Grand-mère's and Evan's startled faces. She struggled to speak past the smoke clogging her throat and could only cough.

“Brienne,
ma petite
, what is the matter?” cried her grandmother.

“The k-k-k-kitchen …” She pressed her hand over her stomach as she coughed more. “The kitchen is on fire!”

Evan leaped to his feet as spirals of smoke spread ghostly fingers under the door. “Go!”

“Maman—”

“I will get her! Hurry!”

He did not wait to see if they obeyed. Rushing into the bedroom, he called, “Madame LeClerc! We have to leave.”

“No,” she mumbled, and he realized she was half-asleep, “no, not without Marc-Michel! Marc-Michel,
mon amour
, not without you.”

Gently he touched her shoulder. Her bones were as brittle as a bird's. She opened her eyes, and he saw a flash of sorrow. Curiosity pinched him. Was Marc-Michel Brienne's father? That did not matter now. They had to get out of here before the fire cut off their escape.

“Madame LeClerc, there is a fire below!”

She promptly fainted.

“You should not have told her that,” Brienne cried as she dashed into the room. “Maman is very fragile.”

He scowled at Brienne. Did she have no sense at all? “Why haven't you gotten out?”

“Go! Help Maman!” She knelt by the bed and pulled out a box.

“Is that box worth your life?”

“The only money we have is in here.”

“Money won't do you any good if you're dead.”

She stood. “Get Maman. We don't have time to argue.”

Evan snarled a curse under his breath. Brienne was the one delaying him. But she was right. Now was not the time to quarrel. He bent and lifted Brienne's mother from the bed. She did not weigh more than a child. Following Brienne back into the parlor, he cursed again, this time louder when he saw both Brienne and her grandmother there. This whole family was want-witted.

“Get the door!” he shouted. “Get outside!”

Brienne pushed past her grandmother and touched the latch on the door to the stairs. It was still cool. The fire had not cut them off from escape. “Take a deep breath. The smoke is bad.”

She led the way down the stairs, holding her grandmother's hand. When they reached the bottom, she turned and saw, through the eddies of the smoke, Evan going toward the kitchen.

She grabbed his arm. “Not that way!”

“I can't see where to go!”

Realizing what was wrong, she pulled the collar of her mother's dressing gown away from his face. She grasped his sleeve and steered him through the blinding smoke in the salon.

“Grand-mère,” she shouted over the crackling of the flames, “take Evan's arm. Follow me.”

“I hope you know which way to go,” muttered Evan.

“I do.”
I hope
, she added silently as her throat was scraped with the smoke's vicious claws. How many times had she bragged she could cross this salon with her eyes closed? Within a step, she found she had been wrong. She bumped into a chair and swore.

“Go slow,” Evan said beneath the roar of the fire as it burst through the pass-through. “You can find the way. You know this salon better than any of us.”

She repeated his words under her breath as he continued to urge her forward. She groped for the door, then cried out in relief when her fingers found it. Grasping the knob, she tried to open it. It would not budge.

Desperately, she tugged on the bolt. The door was not locked. Again she tried to turn the knob. It refused to move.

“Brienne, hurry!” Grand-mère gasped. “The fire is closer.”

“It's stuck!”

“Step back!” Evan's voice was distorted by the smoke.

“Back?” she cried. She saw fire licking at the frame of the door by the stairs. “We cannot go back.”

“Look out!” He pushed past her. “I will kick it out!”

Brienne backed away. Her pain was as vicious as the smoke. L'Enfant de la Patrie was dying around her. Everything she had worked for … everything Grand-mère had worked for … all gone. Grand-mère! Grasping for her grandmother's hand, she tensed.

Evan's foot struck the wooden part of the door. It wobbled, but did not open. “You are going to have to do it, Brienne!”

“Me?”

“I cannot carry your mother and kick hard enough.”

“The glass—”

“I might cut her.”

Brienne grabbed a chair. “Look out!” She flung it through the glass. Shards sprayed everywhere. Fresh air burst into the room. The smoke was pushed back toward the kitchen, then surged toward them once more like a fierce wave.