Elizabeth Boyle (72 page)

Unsure of how much Armand had heard but willing to bet it was enough, given that he still held a pistol in his hand, she decided to try and brazen out the situation.

“Armand, of course you are welcome here,” she said, rising from her seat. “But why the gun? You are frightening my servants.”

“Really, Adelaide, or shall I say Lily, how stupid do you think I am?”

Staring at the muzzle of the pistol, Lily decided not to tell Armand the truth. “I haven’t the vaguest notion what you are talking about,” she said instead.

He waved the gun at the Costards, who had also risen from their seats. “Sit down,” he ordered, “both of you.”

They both sat as quickly as possible, the poor couch groaning under them.

He turned to Lily. “So, now, what to do with you, my cunning little betrothed? I should kill you outright for the traitor you are, but it seems a waste to have all the de Chevenoy money revert to the Republic, don’t you think?”

Lily looked about the room, trying to find something, anything, that she could use to distract and disarm Armand, but there was nothing. Instead she chose to lull him out of his defensive stance. “Please, Armand, put away the gun. There is no reason for the two of us to be at odds. We have the same end in mind—the money. And there is more than enough for both of us.”

“Enough money? I doubt it. I’ve lived in stinking poverty all my life, and I’m of no mind to go back, ever.”

Poverty all his life? That didn’t make sense. The Latours had once been one of the richest families in France. But Lily didn’t have time to decipher his odd ramblings, only to try to find a way to disarm him.

Then out of the corner of her eye she saw someone she’d never thought she’d be happy to see—Lady Marston. While she still didn’t like the woman, Lily could appreciate the lady’s bravery. For the demurely feminine Lady Marston stood not far from Armand wielding the stout wooden club Costard kept hanging in the front hall coatrack.

And by the way Amelia held the weapon, Lily had the sneaking suspicion the lady was as good with it as she was at seducing men.

“W
hat do you propose?” Lily asked, moving a little to her right so Armand’s gaze would follow her and distract him from seeing Lady Marston’s approach.

Blessings on both the Costards, she thought, for they hadn’t even batted an eye at the arrival of their potential savior.

“I propose nothing,” Armand said. “I am telling you what you will do. Your lawyer is on his way over here with Fouché. Yes, your trustworthy little solicitor, Troussebois. He may have been loyal to his good client de Chevenoy, but it seems he was looking for more business, and our proposal was obviously better than yours. We offered to let him keep his head.” Armand’s chest puffed out.

Lily could well imagine the rabbity Troussebois’s response—the twitchy little man dashed for the nearest safe hole.

“There is a new will for the de Chevenoy estate, one where you bequeath all your holdings to your lawful husband. You will sign the will and then we’ll wed.”

Lily shook her head. “I won’t marry you. Not now, not ever.”

“Don’t worry,
ma chérie
, our marriage won’t be too much of an encumbrance on you. I fear you won’t live to see our honeymoon.”

As he made his boast, Lady Marston’s gaze rolled toward the ceiling, as if she couldn’t take another minute of the man’s overblown speech. Glancing one last time at Lily, she slipped behind Armand.

When he started to make his next swaggering statement, Lady Marston raised the club and hit him on the back of the head.

He slumped to the ground in a heap.

“What a vulgar man,” she commented, handing the club to Costard, who’d rushed to her side. She smiled at him and said, “Please ask my driver and footman to come in, I think we will need their assistance.”

Her regal bearing obviously spoke to Costard’s servant heart, for the man fairly rushed out of the room to do her bidding.

She stepped over the prostrate Armand, as if avoiding a child’s forgotten toy and settled down on the settee next to an open-mouthed Mme. Costard. “I had hoped to have a private audience with you, my dear,” she said to Lily, casting a significant glance at the housekeeper. “If this is an inconvenient time, I can leave.” She smoothed her skirts and made no attempts at anything that looked like she was leaving.

Lily shook her head at Mme. Costard not to leave and then nudged Armand in the side with the toe of her shoe. “Is he dead?”

“One can only hope,” Lady Marston said.

“I didn’t want you to kill him.” She reached down and put her hand on his neck. Beneath her fingers she felt a steady, pulsing beat, while his chest continued to rise and fall with his breathing. “Oh, thank goodness. He’s still alive.”

Lady Marston pursed her lips, as if to say she found nothing to be thankful for in Lily’s news.

“What are you doing here?” Lily asked. Realizing how badly that sounded, she continued. “I mean, your arrival turned out to be rather fortuitous. Thank you for saving us.”

“Yes, well, think nothing of that,” the lady said, patting a stray lock of hair back up into her quaint little bonnet.

Lily looked down at Armand and spied the corner of the letter still caught in the clutch of his hand. She knelt down beside him and retrieved the letter destined for Lord Dryden. “What am I going to do about this?” she muttered to herself.

“I would suggest removing him,” Lady Marston said, with a distasteful nod toward Armand. “Especially if he was telling the truth and that ill-mannered Fouché is due to arrive.”

“I suppose so,” Lily said, rising from Armand’s side, still a little unnerved by it all. She looked down at him. “We could lock him in the wine cellar.”

Lady Marston frowned. “He’d probably drink every decent bottle down there when he came to.” She leaned over, studying the fellow’s back. “Is he as handsome as I’ve heard tell?”

Lily leaned down beside him, and with the help of a still speechless Mme. Costard, rolled Armand over. “See for yourself. If you like dark coloring and chiseled features, you might call him handsome.”

Lady Marston rose from the settee and gazed down at Armand with a professional, assessing air. “What color are his eyes?”

“Blue,” Lily said. “A rather startling blue.”

“Hmmm,” she said, as one might when considering a knickknack or piece of sculpture. “Yes, I believe you are right. He is quite handsome. Why he is a magnificent specimen.” The lady tapped her chin with her forefinger and then snapped her fingers. “I have it. I know the perfect way to get rid of this beast, permanently.”

Lily glanced up at Lady Marston and spied a twinkle of laughter in her gaze. “I don’t want him killed.” As much as she disliked Armand and his treachery, she didn’t want to see the man dead. He was no more than an overreaching pawn in Fouché’s game.

“And waste such a beautiful creature? Why I’d never.” The lady turned toward the door and said, “Hamid and Alim, would you be so kind as to tie this man up and put him in my carriage.”

Lady Marston’s driver and footman entered the room, and despite herself, Lily took an involuntary step back. From the looks of the fierce pair, Lily wouldn’t have been surprised if Lady Marston told her she fed them women and children three times a day. They hadn’t even blinked at their mistress’s strange request, as if it was a common everyday occurrence for Lady Marston to kidnap unconscious strangers.

“Mamelukes,” Lady Marston said. “The best bodyguards you’ll ever find and extremely loyal. They were a gift from my dear Samir. They travel everywhere with me. I’d simply be lost without them.”

Gathering up all her courage, Lily stepped in front of the two moving mountains. “I can’t let you take Armand until I know what you intend to do with him.”

“Oh, I suppose you can’t.” Lady Marston’s hands went to her hips. “Well, if you must know, I thought to send him to the Sultan, as a gift. The Sultan loves to have handsome men as …” She glanced over at Hamid and Alim and then back to Lily. “As servants, shall we say. Given Armand’s …” her gaze swept to the clearly identifiable bulge in the man’s tight breeches, “uh, extraordinary assets, he’ll spend the remainder of his days as a pampered guest of the Sultan. Truly it is the best way. He’ll be out of Paris this very afternoon, and never have a chance to reveal what he overheard.” As if she saw Lily’s hesitation, the lady added, “It will be best for everyone. No one associated with Henri de Chevenoy will ever have to worry about this man returning to Paris and betraying them.”

Lily didn’t quite trust Lady Marston’s assertion about Armand’s pampered status, especially given the odd look her servants shared as the lady explained her plans. Lily had a feeling Lady Marston was leaving out something very important, but if it was true, and the Sultan did like handsome servants and it would keep the Costards safe, then the fate that awaited Armand in the East was better than killing him.

She stepped aside and allowed Lady Marston’s servants to do their work. Very quickly they had Armand efficiently bound and gagged.

Costard returned to the room and surveyed their handiwork. He nodded with approval as the beefy Hamid hoisted Armand onto one shoulder as if he were picking up a small child.

“Hey there,” Costard told the burly servant, “you can’t cart him out the front door, the neighbors will see.” He sighed before muttering under his breath, “Foreigners.” Puffing up his narrow chest, he bullied his way in between the two Mamelukes. “Take him back to the kitchen and leave him near the garbage pad,” he instructed Hamid. He turned to Alim and jerked his thumb toward the door. “You bring that fancy carriage of yours around—as close as you can to the door in the alley. We should be able to toss him in without attracting any notice.”

Before Lily knew it, Armand was bundled off for his new life in Constantinople.

Costard returned. “Is there anything else, mistress?”

“Yes, Costard,” Lily said. “Please tell Celeste to pack our belongings. Then you and Madame Costard will need to pack as well.”

Costard frowned. “Madame won’t take that very kindly.”

“There is no other choice,” Lily told him. “If what Armand said was true, Fouché will be along very soon. Anyone he finds here will be, at the very least, suspect, if not arrested on sight. I think it is best if both of you go to the country house until I can send word to Webb. Is there some place out of the way where we could hide?”

“Yes, a small hunting cottage on the far side of the property. It hasn’t been used for years.”

“Good,” she nodded. “We’ll meet there. Call for a hackney and follow Lady Marston’s carriage out of Paris. There will be less suspicion then, for it will look as if she is leaving the city with her servants. Once I get word to Webb, I’ll join you there and we’ll leave for England before Fouché has an opportunity to ensnare us.”

Henri’s valet looked around the room, his gaze suddenly weary and his face lined with care. “If we must. England, you say? What will Madame and I do over there?”

“You can continue to serve me, if you like. Or I will arrange for positions in my sister’s household.” Lily crossed the room and patted him on the arm. “It is the only way.”

Costard nodded. “I’ll go tell Madame. It shouldn’t take us long to gather our things.” He bowed to them both and left to carry out his duties.

Lily turned to Lady Marston. “As you can see, Lady Marston, I have little time left here, and I think it would be best if you were to leave.” She paused before she added, “For your own safety.”

“My safety? How droll you are,” Lady Marston said, brushing her hands over her skirt before settling back down into the settee as if this were nothing more than the usual afternoon call. “Now, where was I before all this unfortunate business began?”

Not knowing what else to do, Lily perched herself on the edge of a chair. “Truly, I can’t imagine.”

The lady grinned at Lily’s sardonic tones. “Ah, yes, Webb. I want to discuss Webb.”

Lily shook her head. Thankful as she was for the woman’s timely arrival, Webb Dryden was not a subject she wanted to discuss with Lady Marston.

“Before you dismiss me,” the lady said, “Hear me out. I’ve come to see that you don’t make the same mistake I nearly made. I want to see you spend the rest of your life with the man you love.”

“How very kind of you,” Lily said, getting up and hoping Lady Marston would take a hint and leave. “But I don’t think this is the best time to discuss this matter.”

“Indeed?” Lady Marston looked ready to argue the point, but instead she rose from the settee. “Lily, I have no doubt you think Webb and I have resumed our former acquaintance here in Paris. But I can tell you, nothing is further from the truth.”

Lily turned her back to the woman, unwilling to hear her lies.

But when the lady made her next statement, Lily found herself compelled to turn around and listen.

“I love someone else,” Amelia said with so much honesty, so much feeling, that Lily’s gaze shot up. “Yes, I can see the skepticism in your eyes, but it is true. Webb is delightful, but he is not the man for me. He never was. Nor am I the woman for him.”

“Who is this other man?” Lily needed to know, needed confirmation.

“His name is Samir. Until a year ago, he held the title of Pasha and we lived in Cairo. I left the Foreign Office to be with him, and I shall always be with him.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I suppose this all looks terribly suspicious, but I’m here at the request of Lord Dryden. Samir and I have been living in Vienna for the last year.” She paused for a moment, studying Lily. “No, I really came to help you. I owed you that. I owe you so much more.”

“I can hardly think why. Why would you want to help me, especially after …” Lily tried to express her bitterness, but she couldn’t open herself to the very woman who’d been partly responsible for her grief.

But there was no need. Amelia readily admitted her fault.

“After the way I treated you, yes that is a good question.” Amelia looked away and when she looked back, there were tears misting in her eyes. “I owed you my assistance to repay the debt between us.”