The Making of a Gentleman (19 page)

What if she could acquire the one hundred pounds without accusing Armand? She could ask the duc. He would give her the money. But if she were able to acquire funds, wouldn’t Charles simply want more? This nightmare would never be over unless…

Unless she were no longer available to blackmail. She did not want to face murder charges, but it was the only way. She would turn herself into the authorities and tell them the truth. She would tell them what Charles had said, his plan to trap her, and if she were not believed or if she were implicated, as well, then so be it. It would not leave Armand out of the scandal completely. After all, the two of them were linked, but it would keep him from being charged with murder. It might not save her.

The idea of prison scared her; the idea of hanging terrified her. But Armand had faced years of prison and survived. She might have to do the same.

What other choice did she have?

When morning came, she went over her plan once more then walked resolutely to the duc’s study. She wanted to speak with him and Armand, tell them her plan, ask for their support. She wanted to explain all before Charles came for her.

But the butler informed her all but the duchesse were away from the house, and the duchesse was feeling ill this morning. Felicity cursed her indecision. Now she would have to wait until they returned to go to the magistrate. She hoped Charles did not come first. She gave the butler strict instructions not to admit Mr. St. John then went to the garden to wait for Armand. She knew he would go there immediately upon returning.

Outside the weather was cold and windy. The sky loomed gray and rain threatened. She pulled her cloak around her shoulders and paced. Finally, she made her way to the gazebo. The memories she shared with Armand there warmed her.

She heard steps and turned, expecting Armand. But her breath caught in her throat.

Charles smiled. “You thought you could avoid me.”

“No. I—”

“You had the butler turn me away.”

“I—”
Think, Felicity
. “I don’t have the money yet. I was waiting for the duc to return with the funds.”

He pointed his walking stick at her, and she couldn’t help but think of the blade concealed beneath it. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“The weather is not conducive to walking.” Indeed a cold drizzle had begun to fall. “Why don’t we wait for the duc inside? You could have a cup of tea.” She cursed herself for straying as far as the gazebo. She couldn’t even see the house from here.

“I don’t care about the weather.” The wind whipped his greatcoat around his ankles. “You are coming with me.”

She thought about screaming but feared he would hurt her before anyone could reach her. But once they were on the street, others would see her. She could run, beg for assistance.

She made her way out of the garden, Charles following. They took the side gate, but when they reached the street, Felicity did not see anyone about. The rain had kept many inside today, but she knew someone would be along. She needed to distract Charles for only a few minutes.

Charles turned to face her. “Where is the money?”

Her heart pounded, and she tried to steady her voice and breathing. “I-I told you. The duc has it. If we could wait inside—”

“It’s too late for that,” he said, and she stiffened in alarm. She had her back to the street, and now she glanced from side to side, hoping to spot someone, anyone who might help.

“What do you mean?” she asked. Another moment or two. Surely a carriage would come along…

She waited for Charles to say something, anything, but he was silent. Eerily silent. He didn’t look at her, seemed distracted by something.

“Charles?” she said when he still didn’t speak.

He glanced at her briefly then away again. She didn’t know what response she expected, but certainly not this one. Why did he not explode? Why did he not threaten her?

The sounds of the city filled the silence—a vendor calling out his wares on another street, church bells ringing, and the clop of horses’ hooves as a carriage neared.

Thank God!

She turned to call out for assistance, but her cry died on her lips. The carriage had stopped and the small man—Armand’s Marius—was coming toward her. She tried to scream, to run, but Charles grabbed her an instant before the holland cover was thrown over her head and her world went dark.

“We thank you for your service, monsieur. You are free to go now.”

“Thank you, but I want to make sure she’s unharmed.”

Felicity blinked, still wrapped in darkness. She was lying on something hard and cold. Oh, how her head ached. The darkness spun, and she realized she must have hit her head in her fall. She tried to draw a deep breath and felt the stifling material suck in around her.

“You were not as concerned about that when we made our agreement. You have been paid. Your part, monsieur, is complete.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

She recognized Charles’s voice and knew he was talking about her. With some effort, she tried to sit, to scream, but the blackness just spun faster.

“That information was not part of our arrangement.” That voice she did not recognize, but it was heavily tinged with French. “Now, say
au revoir.
You do not want me to get nasty.”

Felicity shivered as the pieces began to come together. The small man, Marius, and his son. Charles had given her to them, and now he was going to leave her, abandon her to whatever scheme they had concocted to get to Armand and the treasure. Perhaps they thought she knew something about the treasure.

Or perhaps they were just going to kill her. What had the brick said?
We will crush you
?

“You should have paid me, Felicity,” she heard Charles say. His voice grew softer, and Felicity knew he was being led away. Led where? Where was she? She was no longer outside. They had taken her inside. She was lying on a floor of some sort.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Charles said.

She hated him, and at the same time she wanted to call out, to beg him not to leave her alone with these two men. How could he do this to her? This was far beyond asking for money. Had he sold her? Charles would not do that, would he?

“
Chérie
…” The voice was soft and close to her ear. Through the holland cover, she could feel the warm breath, smell its rankness.

She stilled completely, pretending to be unconscious. “I know you are awake,
chérie
. Your friend is gone.”

Felicity squeezed her eyes shut. She had to think of a plan to escape. Charles was gone and would not have helped her if he’d been there. She had not seen this coming. But now that she was in this predicament, she had to find a way to return to Berkeley Square. She could tell Armand and his brother where Marius was hiding. Together they could go to the magistrate.

Suddenly, the holland cover was whipped away, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. The world spun again, but gradually everything came into focus. Marius held a candle and squatted beside her, his son behind him, holding the holland cover.

“Ah, yes. You’re a pretty one. I can see why he likes you. What is your name?”

She stared at him, keeping her mouth firmly closed. She was not going to speak to these criminals. She would not give them any information. She looked past the son, looked about her surroundings.

She was in a house, in a parlor of some sort. The place looked to be abandoned. What furnishings there were lay covered in white, and heavy drapes blocked out the windows. But she noted immediately the door to the parlor was open. If she could dash past her captors and reach the front door, she could make it on to the street. She didn’t know her way back to the Valères’ town house, but if she were away, she could hail a cab. She prayed she was still in London. She must be. She couldn’t have been unconscious long…

“No answer?” Marius leaned closer, his fetid breath feathering over her cheek. “Ah, of course. How rude of me. I have not introduced myself.” He gave her a short, mock bow. “I am Marius, and this is my son Claude. We are old friends of your lover, the comte de Valère. Perhaps he mentioned us to you?”

She stared past him at the door. Claude was so large that if she could move quickly enough, she might be able to evade him. Marius was small and possibly more agile, but he was not young.

“Are you thinking you can escape,
chérie
?”

She flicked her eyes to his and saw his knowing smile. His teeth were jagged, almost as though they had been filed to sharp points.

“You will not escape. We have plans for you.” He signaled to Claude, who lumbered forward and, with no more strength than it would take her to lift a kitten, picked her up off the floor and set her on her feet. “Now, are you going to tell me your name, or does Claude need to ask you?”

She glanced at Claude, who clasped his hands and cracked his knuckles. She had the feeling she did not want Claude to ask her any questions.

“Felicity Bennett.” Her voice was raspy and hoarse, but at least it did not tremble as her body insisted upon doing.

“
Merci
, Mademoiselle Bennett. And might I ask why you are living with the duc de Valère and his family?”

A dozen answers ran through her brain. Should she tell the truth? If she did, would that hurt Armand? But what if Marius knew she was lying? She looked at Claude again. He was studying his knuckles, which were the size of small plums. “I’m a servant. I was employed as the comte de Valère’s tutor.”

“Is that what they call it these days?” Marius smiled and glanced at his son. They seemed to share a private joke. “We saw you in the garden the other night. That was an interesting lesson.”

Felicity shivered now in disgust. The idea that these two had witnessed something as private and intimate as her lovemaking with Armand made her ill.

“But I think you were hired to teach the comte to speak. We had heard he had made progress, and for that we thank you. We need him to speak to us, and you are going to help us with that.”

Felicity swallowed. “How am I going to do that?”

“You are going to take a short voyage with us, mademoiselle. To France.”

She was shaking her head, even as the words were out of his mouth. “England and France are at war. There’s no travel between them.”

Marius smiled at her as one might smile at a child. “I am not concerned with wars and politics. All that concerns me is the treasure. I think you can see nothing will stand in my way. I have waited years to have it, only to watch the comte slip through my fingers. For that the duc de Valère will pay.”

Claude laughed and flexed his fingers. Marius turned to him. “But not yet. First we will have the treasure and the comte.”

“The comte doesn’t even know I’m gone. He was not home when I stepped out with Mr. St. John.”

“Oh, have no fear, mademoiselle. He will find you, either on his own or with the help of his brother. The Valères can be quite resourceful. And once we have lured them to France, they will give us the treasure.”

“They don’t have the treasure.”

“Then they will find it. And do you know why they will find it?” He leaned close, and she backed away. “Because if they do not, Claude will kill you.”

Felicity drew in a sharp breath and felt an icy cold slash through her. She could see in Marius’s eyes he meant what he said. They would kill her if Armand did not retrieve the treasure for them.

“Claude, gather our things. We will take Mademoiselle Bennett to the ship now.”

“Wait.” She grabbed Marius’s sleeve, desperate now. She did not want to be on a ship with these men. Once she left English soil, she doubted she would ever return. Better to stay here as long as possible. She would have to think fast, think of a way to stall them. “I have spent weeks with Armand—the comte. He has little memory of what happened before. He’s blocked it out. I don’t think he knows where the treasure is. If he ever did, he cannot recall.”

“Then we will jog his memory.”

“But what if that knowledge was never in his memory?” She spoke rapidly now, her words almost slurred. “What if he does not know anything about this Treasure of the Sixteen?”

Marius paused and smiled at her, then pulled out a pocket watch. He nodded at what he saw. “Do you know why he was sent to prison, mademoiselle?”

“No. I don’t think he recalls.”

Marius shook his head. “The mind is a complicated thing, is it not, Claude?” Claude smiled and shrugged. Marius gestured to a couch, bare as the holland cover was on the floor at her feet. “Please, take a seat. We have a few moments before we need to be away.”

Felicity did as she was told, not because she wanted to sit, but because it delayed their departure. Now she had to think. How could she escape? If escape was impossible, she must alert Armand. He would save her. Of that, she was certain.

“The first time I saw the comte, he was a dirty, skinny little street urchin,” Marius said. “At least that was how he appeared. But I have a talent, mademoiselle. I can see deeper, and I knew he was no peasant boy. He came to the prison every day. I asked myself, why would that street urchin come here? The answer was simple. Someone he knew or loved was inside. No one but aristos were inside that prison, mademoiselle.”

“And so you realized he was the son of a noble.”

“Precisely. At that time, the nobility were hardly in favor. Times were hard. The price of a loaf of bread alone could bankrupt a man. But a little aristo boy, the price for turning him in could buy my son and myself both wine and bread.”

She must have made a face of disgust, because he shook his head and laughed. “That was the time, mademoiselle. I do not expect you to understand. But just as I was getting close to the boy, my efforts to catch him were thwarted.”

“The two Jacques,” she murmured.

He nodded. “Yes. There, you see, the comte does remember. Yes, the two Jacques took him in, protected him, made him one of their own.”

“Why?”

“I suppose they thought he might be useful. I am certain he was useful as an errand boy. He was an intelligent child. After all, he managed to evade me, and he convinced the two Jacques he was a mute. I suppose they thought their secrets were safe with him.”

“What secrets?” She had to ask questions. She had to keep him talking.

He nodded to her in admiration. “Not bad, mademoiselle. You catch on quickly. The secret of the Treasure of the Sixteen. The Jacques wanted it. All of Paris wanted it, but most thought it only a fable. It was too grand to be real.”

“What was it?”

The answer did not come from Marius but from the figure leaning in the doorway beyond him. “The hidden royal treasure of Louis the Sixteenth.”

“Armand!”

Marius was instantly on his feet, but Claude was already moving in. Armand, appearing unconcerned, held up a hand. “I’m alone and unarmed. But I still remember how to fight.” He gave Claude a meaningful look, and the large man turned to his father for guidance.

“Leave him alone,” Marius said. “For the moment.” He sank back down, beside Felicity, who could not stop staring at Armand. It was as though he had appeared out of nothing. One moment he was not there, and then he was. How had he found her? Had Charles gone back and told him? She almost laughed at the absurdity of that notion. Charles had taken his payment for her and run straight to the gambling hell.

Armand must have seen her in the garden with Charles and followed the carriage here. Thank God.

Armand’s eyes met hers and then flicked away. They were as hard as cobalt now, and she swallowed, feeling his displeasure. She knew he did not want to be here, did not want to speak of his past like this. But he would do it—for her.

A surge of love welled up inside her, but she did not want Marius and his son to see, and so she looked down. She did not want to give them anything else to use against Armand.

“It has been a long time since we have seen you, monsieur,” Marius said. He spoke in French now, and Felicity, who had always daydreamed during French lessons, had to concentrate to understand every word.

“Not long enough.” Armand leaned gingerly against the door jamb, and if Felicity had not seen him a few weeks ago, wild and unable to speak, she would not have believed he was the same man. He did not wear a cravat, and his hair fell loose and free about his shoulders, but he had donned a greatcoat and riding boots. His throat was bare, his shirt open at the collar, making him seem, for all intents and purposes, like a careless noble.

“I had hoped that your friend here”—Marius gestured to her—“would bring you to us. But I did not expect the pleasure so soon.”

“You have me here now,” Armand said, examining his nails as though all of this were tedious to him. “What is it you want to know?’

“You don’t need me to answer that question, monsieur
.
I want what all of Paris wanted. The Treasure of the Sixteen.”

“And what makes you think I know where it is? No one else has been able to find it. It’s been over a dozen years.”

“The Jacques knew where it was.”

Armand shrugged. “They never found it.”

Marius leapt to his feet, his small body quivering with excitement or anger. Felicity wasn’t sure which. “They never had the chance—”

“That was your doing.” He looked pointedly at Claude. “You had them killed. Pity you didn’t realize they had imprisoned me for… safekeeping before you did so.”

“I searched for you in every prison in the country. I bribed so many officials I spent a small treasure of my own. I know I searched for you in Le Grenier. I did not believe it when I heard the reports that your brother found you there.”

“You must have bribed the wrong official. Either that or they had forgotten me by the time you searched.”

“You can be assured, monsieur, that I never forgot you. And now we are going back to Le Grenier. I think there is something you left behind, yes?”

Armand’s eyes darkened, but if the idea of returning to the prison troubled him, his face did not betray the emotion. “I will agree to return with you. But Miss Bennett stays behind.”

“Oh, you think I am a fool, do you, monsieur? You think I would leave behind the only thing I have binding you to me? She comes, and if you do not give me what I want, she dies.”

***

Armand would have liked to put his hands around the little man’s neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged and began to bleed. He would have liked to pull the sharp knife he had hidden in his boot and plunge it into Marius’s belly. But he had to remind himself these two had not put him in prison. It was the Jacques. Marius wanted only what everyone else had wanted—the treasure.