Even before this English Duke had bowled into her life and begun challenging her decisions, she had already been questioning her choices. But that inner questioning had been easy to ignore. The Duke of Tremaine was not. Especially when he had looked at her as he had just now.
It had been desire in his eyes.
But Emilie would not be trapped a second time. She had learned from Vergelles. And what she had said was true. She had seen the pain in the Duke’s face when he had spoken of the woman he loved. Whatever emotions he felt towards Emilie, they were superficial, while the wound below was real. The fact that for an instant she had wanted him to kiss her was… by the by.
She brushed down her dress with her hands, removing any loose pieces of mud, and headed into the house with the basket on her arm. Just as she came into the hall, Dartois appeared.
“Good morning, Mademoiselle.” He bowed to her. “I see you have been making use of my gardens?”
“Yes,” Emilie replied, realising how forward she must look. “I asked your housekeeper if any cut flowers were needed for the house, and she furnished me with a basket, scissors and a trowel as I like to weed. I wished for fresh air. I hope that was all right?”
“But of course.” Dartois opened his arms wide. “What’s mine is yours, Mademoiselle Cadeaux.” That disconcerting gleam that had been in his eyes when they were last alone reappeared.
Emilie felt the atmosphere shift from a polite morning greeting to something else. The Marquis came towards her, feigning interest in the basket of flowers on her arm.
“Beautiful, aren’t they? And that scent—the very scent of heaven.” He was close, smiling down at her, and one finger found the bandage on her hand and traced over it. “The gardens here were all in ruins when I bought the place. It used to belong to my grandfather before he had to sell it off. I persuaded the new owner, an elderly widow, that she was better getting the property off her hands, and I have been bringing it back to life ever since. Roses were my choice—have you ever noticed how hardy they are? They may be cut back harshly by the gardener, but they come back more vigorous than ever.”
His touch on her hand made her shiver, but not with the pleasure Avers had evoked before.
“They are beautiful flowers. I should get them to the housekeeper to put in water before they wilt.”
Dartois completely ignored what she said. “Have you thought about whether you want more than your position as the Comte’s mistress, Mademoiselle Cadeaux?”
With his words Emilie’s entire frame tensed. The unease his touch had induced was magnified by his question. She had hoped to get away from him before he had the opportunity to bring up this subject.
Dartois pointed at the bandage. “I should not mark such a pretty thing if I was its owner.”
Owner. The word made her feel sick.
“I guess it is not sensible to damage what you are investing in,” she replied, nausea giving way to anger.
Dartois smiled. “Exactly.”
The heat of her fury gave her sudden courage. “No, my Lord.” How dare he treat her like an object to be bought or sold. She may be a nobody, without name or wealth, but she would never be owned. “I have not considered it.”
“You will,” Dartois said confidently. His arrogance repulsed Emilie even further. “But I will not press you. Unlike the Comte I am not interested in coercing an answer.”
“I think you mistake my value, my Lord,” Emilie replied. “I am only a woman.” If he was going to talk about her as an object—and paradoxically, he had before called her a creature of wit and curiosity—then she would use his words against him.
“Correct,” he replied. “But as I said before, you have potential that could allow you to do so much more within your position as a mistress. I have plans you would fit into so well, Mademoiselle Cadeaux. Lucrative plans that would see us gain wealth we couldn’t have dreamed of.”
A servant appeared in the hall. The Marquis broke off his conversation and both of them watched the maid carrying a basket of wood into the morning room to make up the fire. He seemed about to resume his petitioning when sounds above indicated the other inhabitants of the house were now awake and moving around. She heard Tremaine’s voice from the dining room as another servant appeared from the kitchen and entered the room with a tray of food.
“You had better get those flowers to the housekeeper, Mademoiselle Cadeaux, and then come in to breakfast,” said Dartois.
“Yes, my Lord,” she replied, inwardly sighing with relief.
She left Dartois’ presence as quickly as she could and made her way to the kitchen with her basket. The Duke of Tremaine’s questioning and the Marquis’ talk of ‘ownership’ had sparked a fire within her.
Up until now she had been biding her time, waiting to see what happened and how she might play her hand to protect herself. She had been operating from a defensive position fuelled by a growing fear. But now she could feel the corner into which the Comte’s impatience and Dartois’ menacing offer had backed her, her fear transformed into anger.
Life may be outside of her control, but she would not sit idly by any longer and allow it to happen to her. Her tenacity grew. She wasn’t sure how. She wasn’t sure when. But she had to get out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“We have some sensitive information,” said the Comte, his cool eyes observing Avers over the top of his steepled fingers.
They sat in the study of the lodge. Avers noted the floral wall paintings that peeped between the many books lining the walls. It was entirely at odds with the otherwise masculine domain, and yet somehow it suited Dartois, the noble who was at once pleasantly affable and terrifyingly unhinged.
“Information? So, it isn’t just brandy and lace you are selling after all,” Avers replied, feigning disinterest by observing the cuffs of his jacket and straightening one, then the other. “I assume, whatever it is, the information must be high profile for you to have asked me outside of Paris and to—ah—test my loyalty?”
“Still sore over it?” asked Dartois who sat behind the ornate desk, his booted feet carelessly resting on its polished top.
“Not at all,” Avers replied, keeping his tone even. “I am only pleased the experience had purpose—I hope, a lucrative one.”
Dartois smiled. “We hope you may help us with that.” He nodded to the Comte.
“It is your cousin’s offices that have provided the information,” Vergelles explained.
Avers gasped, as if surprised. “No wonder my cousin has been in such a foul mood. How did you come by it?”
“The important part is that we did,” Dartois said, brushing off the question, “and this intelligence is worth a small fortune to interested parties.” He tapped a finger on a set of innocuous looking papers on the desk.
Avers eyed them. “Are those the documents?”
“Yes,” Dartois replied casually. “We have identified a buyer for the information, and we believe with your connections, you will be able to meet with them for the exchange without attracting attention.”
Avers shifted in his chair to face Dartois. While the Comte had started this conversation, and the Marquis had handed over to him once, it was feeling more and more as though Dartois was leading. The relaxed and amusement-driven Marquis had an air of authority about him since they had left Paris.
Avers glanced towards the papers again. They were there—the stolen papers that Wakeford’s career rested upon. Not wanting to attract attention, he allowed his gaze to drift lazily up to Dartois again and raised a single brow. “And the buyer is?”
Their explanation of the business they were offering him did not add up with Wakeford’s recent conversation. According to his friend all the valuable information had already been sold to the French. There had to be another party.
“Have you heard of the Commissioners of the Continental Congress who have lately arrived in Paris?” asked Dartois.
The colonists from the Americas? Wakeford had mentioned them in his initial briefing.
“Franklin isn’t it? And two others. Over from the colonies.”
“When there is rebellion,” Dartois said smiling, “information is as valuable as weapons, and we have enough here to interest them.”
But if they had already sold the information to their French compatriots, wouldn’t they pass it on to the colonists? After all, the French were subversively financing the colonists against the British already. Or was the Comte doing a double deal before the information could pass between them? Make them pay twice for the same information.
“And you think I can draw out the Commissioners with my connections in the British government?”
“They are here to petition the King for French aid, but that does not mean they would be averse to speaking with a British nobleman, especially one who may have information to help their cause. You have far more reason and influence to meet with them, thanks to your position at your cousin’s offices.”
