Shev (12 page)

When the man straightened and moved away, the lady’s attention shifted to Jacqueline.
“Ma petite,”
she said softly, brushing a hand down Jacqueline’s mop of hair. “Go greet your father.”

The boulder pushed harder against Shev’s chest when Bélanger moved to stand beside him.

Jacqueline hugged her doll closer before hopping off the sofa and inching forward. No doubt she recalled Bélanger’s curtness on the hill. But children were amazingly forgiving when it came to their parents.

Dropping to one knee, Bélanger smiled and opened his arms.

Shev looked away, unable to watch the reunion that would mark the end of a future he’d only just begun to envision. He swallowed back the pain and sought Anne’s reassuring presence. Her beautiful eyes clouded with tears, feeling the same loss. Then she mouthed the three most precious words in the English language, and Shev’s throat closed. He blinked back his tears and tried to tell her with his eyes what his aching throat refused to release.

A small body pressed against his leg, jarring his attention away from the woman he loved beyond imagining. Still holding her doll, Jacqueline stared up at him with anxious eyes.

“Jacqueline, what are you doing?” Bélanger half asked, half demanded.

Jacqueline turned her face into Shev’s thigh and raised her arms in the international signal of
lift me up
.

Without another thought, Shev hefted his daughter into his arms, and she wrapped her limbs around him, clutching him so strongly he wondered if she feared Bélanger would try to snatch her away.

Never.

“Well, that is settled,” the Frenchwoman said, smoothing her hands down her expensive silk skirts.

“After all that I have done for you,” Bélanger spat, rising to his feet, “this is how you show your appreciation? Little bastard—”

Shev’s hand shot out and clamped around the Frenchman’s neck. He squeezed until tendons and muscles separated beneath his fingers. Then he squeezed some more. “Do not
ever
utter those words again.” The man’s eyes bulged, and he clawed at Shev’s grip.

“Marcus, that’s enough,” his mother commanded quietly.

Releasing his grip, he shoved Bèlanger away. Jacqueline straightened to see what the commotion was, but Shev coaxed her head back down on his shoulder. “Nothing to worry about, banshee.”

“Higgins,” his mother called. “Would you please see Miss Jacqueline to her nurse?”

“Indeed, my lady.” Higgins touched a finger to the girl’s shoulder. “Shall we go see if Nurse has any of Cook’s sweetmeats stashed away?”

Jacqueline’s eyes widened. She looked at Shev as if Higgins had divulged classified information.

Shev chucked her beneath the chin. “Save a piece for me.”

Smiling, she scrabbled down from his arms and yanked on the butler’s sleeve. “Come on, Higgins. Hurry!”

The drawing room door closed, and Shev turned the full force of his hatred on Bélanger. “If you ever say or do anything to hurt that child again, I will kill you. Have I made myself clear?”

“Do so, and she will hate you forever.”

“If that is the price, I will pay it.”

“Marcus,” Lady Shevington interjected. “Perhaps, it is time I formally introduce you to our guests.” She waved a hand in the couple’s direction. “General and Madame Trudeau.”

Shev bowed. “Giselle’s parents, I presume.”

“You are correct,” Madame Trudeau said.

Shev eyed the silent gentleman. “A general without a uniform?”

“We live in volatile times, my lord,” the general said. “Until France and Britain become better friends, we thought discretion the wiser choice during our travels.”

“No doubt you were correct,” Lady Shevington said.

Madame Trudeau studied Shev with an indecipherable expression. “I understand that my son-in-law has bartered off my only granddaughter.”

“What a preposterous thing to say,” Bélanger sputtered. “Lord Shevington and I have entered into a gentleman’s agreement concerning Jacqueline’s future.”

Shev flicked his gaze to the tall, balding gentleman standing off to the side. “Madame’s intelligence rivals the emperor’s, I think.”

She smiled. “One must stay informed.”

“How long have you been watching us?” Anne asked.

“Long enough to make a few decisions about my granddaughter.”

“But Lord Shevington is her father.”

“So my daughter said.”

“Anyone with eyes can see that your daughter’s claim is true.”

Madame’s eyebrow hitched in the air. “You are quite forward for a governess.”

“My apologies,” Anne said in a conciliatory tone. “I don’t mean to offend. But I have witnessed Jacqueline’s transformation from a sullen, unhappy child to a happy, carefree girl. As displayed just now, she has grown to love and trust Lord Shevington.”

“My granddaughter was happy in France until Bélanger allowed his pride to destroy her innocence.”

“Had Giselle tempered her wild ways,” Bélanger said, “she would not have endured the emperor’s censure, and I would not have had to send her to the country.”

“One word to me,” Madame Trudeau said, “and I could have stopped the sequence of disastrous events.”

“She was my wife and my responsibility. I would have lost the emperor’s respect had I not dealt with Giselle myself.”

“You lost the emperor’s respect long ago with your grand investment venture that cost several people close to the emperor a great sum of money. If not for your connection to this family, you would have been banned from the emperor’s presence well before now.”

“What do you mean ‘before now’?”

“Bélanger,” General Trudeau interjected in a cold voice, “it is time for you to return to France.”

“Once the paperwork is drawn and signed, I will be on my way.”

“There will be no paperwork.”

Shev could feel his mother’s and Anne’s eyes on him, but he kept all his concentration on the general and his wife. Once Madame Trudeau had revealed she knew about his and Bélanger’s agreement, Shev knew he no longer dealt with Bélanger. An unwelcome realization. Greed was a battle he could win. Navigating the complexities of grandparents’ love for their only grandchild would take every bit of skill he possessed.

“How dare you come here and try to dictate what is best for my daughter,” Bélanger all but growled.

“As Miss Crawford carefully pointed out,” Madame Trudeau said, “Jacqueline’s not your child.”

“She is in the eyes of the law.”

“You might recall the emperor wrote the Civil Code?” Madame smiled. “Which means he can change it or interpret it in any way he sees fit. And do not think for an instant that we are ignorant of the reason why you banished my daughter and granddaughter from their home. I have written proof Giselle told you about her affair with Lord Shevington upon her return to France.”

“You have no such proof, for I only learned of her deception two years ago.”

Madame Trudeau raised a challenging brow, using silence as her sword.

Bélanger glanced from one person to the next, a trapped look in his eyes. “This is far from over.”

The door slammed behind the Frenchman, and Shev felt the reverberation all the way down to his bones. With a nod from the general, Trudeau’s spy followed Bélanger at a much more sedate pace.

“Do not let Bélanger’s bluster concern you, Lady Shevington. My husband will see to him when we return to France.”

“Despicable man,” Lady Shevington said to no one in particular.

“We have long thought so.”

“Jacqueline’s place is here,” Shev said.

“While in London, we made inquiries about you, my lord,” Madame Trudeau said. “Some of the things we heard were not flattering.”

Shev strode to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, pulling his thoughts together. How did one explain that the majority of what she had learned about him was nothing more than a carefully crafted ruse?

He held the decanter up to the general, who nodded. Shev replenished his guest’s drink before turning back to the gentleman’s wife. Briefly, he wondered about the unique roles the two had established, but decided not to question it. Their approach to dealing with conflict appeared to be quite effective.

“Recent events have shown me that life has a good deal more to offer than the
ton
’s entertainments.” His gaze rested on Anne. “And I plan to explore other options.”

“As you can imagine, my husband and I were prepared to take Jacqueline back with us—at any cost.”

“Were?”

“Indeed. Until we happened by the Earl of Somerton at a private function.” A secretive smile creased the older woman’s implacable mask. “He enlightened us on a few details.”

Shev stared at the odd couple. The general lifted his glass in a mock salute, and his wife simply sat there, calmly, as if she hadn’t just told him they were informants to the Crown.

“I see,” was all he could manage.

“Lord Shevington,” General Trudeau said, “as you can see, we are prepared to ensure you get what you want. Are you prepared to do the same for us?”

The thought of their recent conversation with Somerton sent wariness racing up his spine. “In what way?”

Madame Trudeau took up the gauntlet. “We are practical-minded enough to understand that travel between our two countries is unpredictable at best.”

“I would agree.”

“Until such time safe travel can be managed, I would appreciate reports on Jacqueline’s progress and, when she is old enough, a letter or two by her hand.”

“Done.”

“I’m not finished, my lord.”

Shev tipped his head, bracing himself. “My apologies. Do go on.”

“We would also like for her to spend at least three summers with us.”

“The entire summer?”

“
Oui.
We believe it’s important for her not to lose sight of her mother’s heritage.”

“Very well.” Shev swallowed hard. “Anything else?”

“One more thing.” Madame squared her shoulders. “If Jacqueline does not find a suitable husband during her first season, you will send her to me for her next season.”

Where she would meet a Frenchman and live hundreds of miles away. “No, I cannot agree to such a condition.”

“You would discard witnessing the entirety of Jacqueline’s youth for three months of her adulthood?”

“I’ve agreed to everything but the season. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, my lord,” the general said.

Shev couldn’t do it. The odds that Jacqueline would find a suitable husband in just one season were incredibly low. And he would not be one of those parents who forced his child into a lifetime of misery because of his own ambition. “I’m sorry, but I can’t—”

“Second season,” Anne rushed in.

“Pardon?” Madame Trudeau asked, clearly not pleased with the interruption.

“If Jacqueline doesn’t find a love match by the end of her second season, Lord Shevington will send her to you for her third.” Her worried gaze sought his. “Right, my lord?”

Knowing Anne as he did, he understood the courage it took for her to speak up during such a sensitive family issue. She would never have done so unless she thought he was about to make a tremendous mistake. Love for this woman surged inside him, nearly buckling his knees.

“Would you and the general be amenable to Miss Crawford’s suggestion?” Lady Shevington asked.

Madame Trudeau peered at her husband a moment. Although the general’s facial expression never changed, some kind of silent communication between them was exchanged.

“What Miss Crawford suggested seems a reasonable compromise.” Madame turned to Shev. “And you, my lord? Will you approve of all the terms of our agreement?”

Shev set his empty glass down. “On one condition.”

“That would be?”

“Miss Crawford marries me.”

His mother gasped and promptly choked on the air she inhaled. Madame Trudeau settled back in her chair, a smile playing on her lips. The general poured himself another drink.

Anne sat stricken.

He was at her side in an instant. “Anne—”

“I need some fresh air, my lord,” she said unsteadily. “I’m so sorry. Please excuse me.”

Shev followed Anne’s hasty exit with a sense of disbelief and unbridled fear. He had just asked her to marry him, and she’d run away.

To be fair, his caveat for accepting Trudeau’s agreement hadn’t been the romantic scene he’d envisioned. But at that moment in time, he had wanted everyone in the room to know of his intention toward Anne. He’d wanted Anne to understand that the one obstacle powerful enough to keep them apart had been obliterated the second she wordlessly confessed her love for him. Something he’d never thought she would do. Could he be blamed for having an attack of optimism?

For someone who had spent his entire adult life unable to feel anything beyond a simmer, he had experienced emotion after torturous emotion in the last few days at a raging boil.

“I must ask that we save the rest of our discussion for later.” He bowed toward the general and his wife. “In the meantime, please accept our hospitality. Mother.” He strode to the door.

“Marcus,” his mother called.

He paused in the process of reaching for the handle. “Yes?”

“Do not let my future daughter-in-law get away.”

He grinned and winked. “No chance of that happening, Mama.”

Chapter Fourteen

Anne had no idea where she was going until her boots hit the stone surface of the mysterious folly in the woods. Her breaths seesawed in and out of her chest, ragged and painful. The discomfort caused by her mad dash was nothing compared to the realization that Marcus loved a lie. He knew only what she had chosen to share with him. Nothing about the horrific act she’d committed against her family all those years ago. Who could ever love a murderess? Certainly not a marquess.

With a listlessness she felt all the way to her bones, Anne traipsed up the final two steps and took in the quaint structure. The steps wrapped around a third of the building, leaving the front of the folly open and airy except for three large columns supporting the domed roof.

The view was incredible. A large expanse of neatly trimmed grasses poured into a small pond protected by towering trees on the opposite side. Sunrays sparkled off the pond’s sheer surface, giving it an ethereal glow. Birds chirped in the distance and insects hummed nearby.