The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (62 page)

Or maybe she could
surreptitiously shove something, like a piece of folded sketching
paper, between the door and the lock when the man brought their meal?
They probably weren’t being watched carefully, especially at night,
so, if she did manage to pry the door lock open, she and Monsieur
would wait until dark tomorrow night to escape.

Monsieur seemed a bit
stronger now that she’d convinced him to eat a little and
especially to drink the ale they’d brought him for supper. She
hoped he’d be strong enough to leave when the time came. He seemed
to want to talk, which wasn’t surprising after being isolated for
so long. She sat back down beside him and put her arm around him.

“I should have my arm
around you, to warm you up with your own pelisse.” He protested
weakly. When she ignored that, he began to explain. “Victor tricked
me into coming out here to paint the perfect landscape. I thought he
was offering an olive branch. We haven’t been getting along well
this past year since his mother died. Once here, he tried to force me
to sign a paper giving him the ownership of my studio and all my
possessions, and to tell him where I hide my money. I refused. With
the help of those hired thugs, he overpowered me and they carried me
down here. He said he’d be back and, by then, I’d be willing to
sign.” His shoulders slumped further. “By now, he’s probably
found my will and knows he’ll inherit everything once I’m
declared dead.”

“But wouldn’t he
have expected that anyway? You have no other relatives, do you?”

“He might have
worried I would leave half of it to Gaston. Have you met him,
Monsieur Beauclaire?”

“Yes. He called on me
the other day.” Had it only been days ago? It seemed ages ago now!
“But why would he think you’d do that?”

“I wouldn’t. But
we’re very close, Gaston and I, so Victor might have thought it
possible. However, Gaston has family money; he doesn’t need mine.
Victor has only me.” His voice cracked with emotion. “But what I
don’t understand,
ma petite
,
is why he is doing this? Why has he turned against me? What can he
hope to gain that will not already be his?”

She heard the hurt and
bewilderment in Monsieur’s voice. He’d taken care of his sister’s
boy, as if he were his own. He must feel utterly betrayed.

“It has something to
do with my paintings, I think.”

“
Quoi
?
How? He knows nothing about them.”

“He does now! Did you
enter two of my paintings in the Royal Art Academy Exhibit this
year?”

“No, of course not.
We agreed to wait until you came to London, so we could decide what
name you were going to use to sign them.”

She knew she’d been
right in assuming Monsieur was innocent! “I went to see the Exhibit
and two of my paintings, the contrasting night and day one’s, were
there with “Sold” cards on them.

“
Mais,
c’est impossible!
” her mentor exclaimed.

“The problem is, they
were signed with my father’s name.”

“
Mon
Dieu! Quelle bêtise!
” Moreau was appalled. “
Mais
…
what is he trying to do, ruin our reputation?”

“I believe he wants
to go back to France, to live there.” She hugged him closer, being
careful not to hurt him, he was so frail. It was keeping her warmer
too. “You said he had no one, only you?”

“Yes. It has always
been just the three of us and, when my sister passed away last year,
we’re just the two of us left.”

“He mentioned
something about meeting his father?”

“
Maudit!
”
He tried to rise, but couldn’t, so she helped him sit up higher on
the little cot.

Good, he was regaining
some strength and some of his spirit back too.

Her pelisse slid off
his shoulders. She pulled it back up and closed a few buttons. He
needed the warmth more than she did right now. Victor should have
made sure his uncle didn’t freeze, if he intended keeping him alive
here for close to a month!

“My sister’s doing,
I suppose. She felt so guilty about him not having a father that she
probably told him who the man was before she died. But she must not
have told him how the bastard had no interest in Victor at all.”

She began to say
something comforting, but Monsieur shook his head. “It’s my
fault. I should have taken him back to France, myself, to let him see
why we had to leave. How his dreams of grandeur about living there
were just that, merely dreams.” He moved uneasily. “My sister
told him tales about how we came from a very old and noble family.
She was never happy in England and built France into a golden place
for the boy.”

Tally thought Victor
was a little old to be called “boy” and she got the sense he had
been over-indulged by both his mother and uncle. She wondered if she
should tell Monsieur about his studio burning down, then decided
against it. His knowing changed nothing and, if they didn’t get out
of here alive, he need never know.

At that depressing
contemplation, she allowed thoughts of Reed to take center stage in
her mind. How she wished she had seen him before she left. She wished
even more she had told him she loved him. Strange how nothing else
appeared to matter now that her life might be over soon.

The thought of never
seeing him again felt like her heart had been slashed open. Why had
she been so against becoming his true wife? When she hadn’t been
worried about being found out, she’d been happy playing that role
these past weeks. Looking at it now, she saw how miserable life would
be without him. Already she missed seeing him when she got up in the
morning and before she went to bed at night. He was nothing like her
selfish father and brothers. He let her breathe her own air, be her
own person.

She vowed that if she
made it out of here alive, she’d gladly wed him. No more allowing
her past to sour her present. No more being afraid of loving a man.

Unable to remain
seated, she carefully released Monsieur and got to her feet. She
walked briskly across the cell and back to warm herself up. She could
have used Reed’s comforting shoulder right about now, not that he
was in any mood to lend it to her, but– “Wh..hat’s that?” she
whispered to Monsieur.

“What?”

“I heard something. A
scratching sound.”
Don’t let
it be rats, please.
She hated rats! Both rodent, and human
ones! That touch of wry humor restored her enough to move. She
approached the door silently and put her ear against it.

Something or someone
was definitely making noise on the other side of the door. She hoped
it wasn’t the men coming to hurt or kill them. She pulled her
pistol from her pocket. But, if so, why had they bothered to feed
them?

Or was she the
attraction? Those men had been up here in the country without
entertainment for a month. She backed up closer to Monsieur and held
her gun up ready to defend them.

“Who’s there?”
she called in a low voice. If it was someone here to rescue them, she
didn’t want to alert those villains.

The noise stopped
abruptly, followed by a loud whisper. “We’re coming!” And the
noise started again at greater speed.

Someone
was
here to rescue them! Surely not. It was too soon! She’d expected
Foster to organize a search but never expected it to be this fast!
And how on earth had they found the door to this dungeon?

Lowering her pistol,
she ran back to the door and, keeping her voice down, she enunciated
clearly, “the key is on a hook on the wall, around the next
corner.” If it were their guards, they wouldn’t be picking at the
lock. They knew where the key was.

Silence, then a
jangling, followed by an odd squishing sound, then the key sliding
into the lock. She cringed anticipating the awful screeching sound of
the rusted lock, but the door opened almost silently this time. It
was jerked open so fast she almost fell through, instead she ended up
in someone’s arms.

“Reed!” She
clutched him tightly and savored the safe feeling of his familiar
embrace. Was she hallucinating? She’d just been thinking about him,
wishing to see him, and here he was.

“Tally!” He
enfolded her tighter into his arms. “Tally. Thank God!” After a
few seconds, he eased her back a little, looked into her face and
asked, “Are you all right?”

She nodded, then a
tremor shook her from head to toe. He pulled her close again for a
comforting hug. She sighed and snuggled still nearer. “Thank you so
much for coming.” Her teeth were chattering so hard, she was
stuttering. She burrowed still closer. “You’re so warm.” Now
that she was safe, she could allow herself to feel the cold. For
Monsieur, she’d been trying to conceal how chilled she really was.

“And you’re so
cold.” He drew back a little. “Didn’t you wear something
warmer?

She motioned behind her
with her head and he saw a gaunt, shrunken man sitting on the cot
huddled into Tally’s pelisse. Cold, but alive. He gave a grateful
sigh. “Mason, can you hand me one of the blankets we brought and
use the other one to wrap around Moreau.” Addressing himself to the
older man on the cot, he said, “You are Monsieur Moreau?”

At the other man’s
nod, Reed said, “Beauclaire will be relieved.”

“Gaston! He knows I’m
here?” Monsieur’s voice shook with cold and emotion.

“He was the one who
sent us here.”

“
Dieu
merci,
” Moreau said.

Draping the blanket
Mason threw him around Tally, Reed again drew her into the welcoming
circle of his arms. “Did Dubuc hurt you?”

“No. He just pushed
me in and shut the door.” She shuddered. “I wanted to see if
Monsieur was here before using my pistol on him.”

“Ah, yes, the famed
weapon!”

“Oh. You still have
your memory back.” She wasn’t sure how he felt about her shooting
him. He’d said he understood, but he must feel some anger at her
about it!

He nodded but said
nothing. His look turned somber. “We can discuss that later. Right
now, I’m just grateful to find you alive and unharmed.”

Sudden tears welled up
in her eyes.

“Oh no, sweetheart,
please don’t.”

“They’re good
tears. Tears of relief and happiness.”

“Tears of any kind
will unman me right now, I’m afraid. It’s been a harrowing day
and we haven’t had any sleep.” He softly pushed a strand of hair
behind her ear. “Our first priority is to get you and Moreau out of
here.” He released her and went to retrieve her pelisse, which was
lying, discarded, on the cot, now that Mr. Mason had swathed Monsieur
in the woolen blanket.

“I went back up to
check and all remains quiet,” Mr. Mason told Reed.

“Good, but we need to
hurry. We have no idea if they have anyone keeping watch at night or
not. It would be best to get far away from here, as fast as we can.”
Reed helped her put on her pelisse. Letting her button it herself, he
went to talk to Monsieur. They’d brought a warm coat for Monsieur,
who showed his good sense by allowing Mr. Mason to button it up for
him. Or maybe he was simply too weak to be embarrassed.

“Do you think you can
walk?”

“I don’t know. I
doubt it.” Monsieur sounded defeated. “At first, I tried to keep
up my strength and spirits by walking around this cell many times
every day. To keep me warmer too! I even searched for a way to climb
that wall, to reach the little opening at the top! But as the weeks
passed and no one came, I gave up hope of ever being found. I stopped
trying. I haven’t done any walking at all in several days.” He
stood slowly, swaying slightly. “But I will do my best,” he
promised.

Mr. Mason grabbed his
arm and steadied him. “Let’s practice a little to get your sea
legs.”

They walked back and
forth several times. Monsieur seemed to be gaining strength each
time. “I think my years of regular walking are helping me now.”

“Ready?” Reed
asked. His impatience to get out of there was obvious.

Tally couldn’t fault
him for that. She was anxious to leave too. Maybe even more than he
was!

To Monsieur, he said,
“Mason will assist you and, if you need more help, we’ll carry
you up together.” Holding his lantern high, he led the way. “Follow
me.”

She gestured for
Monsieur and Mr. Mason to go next and she’d bring up the rear, in
case Monsieur had difficulties. She felt the least she could do was
help ensure he didn’t take a bad spill down the steps.

With Mr. Mason’s
strength supporting him, Monsieur remained valiantly on his feet.

At the top of the
stairs, Reed said, “I’ll go out alone first to reconnoiter and
make sure no one is about.” He handed the lantern to her and
quietly pulled the door open and slipped out, leaving the door to
swing shut.

She was glad he’d
left the lantern. One day in here and already she’d had enough of
the dark. She should be thankful it hadn’t been total darkness.
Poor Monsieur, how awful his weeks here must have been! She was
anxious for a glimpse of the sky. She hoped the stars would be
shining tonight.

Reed was back in a few
minutes. This time, after taking the lantern and snuffing it out, he
clasped her hand and said, “Let’s go. They’re playing cards,
but we still need to be as quiet as we can.”

Guided only by pale
moonlight drifting in and out from behind the heavily clouded sky,
they stepped carefully over the rough ground, eyes down to avoid
obstacles in the debris. Luckily, the rain had passed leaving the
ground only slightly soggy. They were just about to reach the path,
from where it was a short way to the first line of trees, when one of
the men came out to relieve himself by the side of the barn. They
ducked low and froze, but it was too late!