Unforgiveness is disfiguring to the soul.
The words hung clearly at the forefront of his mind. They deserved careful thought. But as he turned into the lodge’s entrance, he resumed his alter-ego and made ready to play his part. Deciphering the mixture of emotions Mademoiselle Cadeaux had stirred within him would have to wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Duke’s question echoed back and forth across Emilie’s mind. You have no wish to walk a different path?
She scoffed aloud as she skirted the shrubbery edging the walls of the lodge and turned into its south entrance. It was a boot room, designed for the return of the men from hunting, with large flagstones making up the floor, various pegs in the walls for the hanging of hunting gear, and a broad oak trestle table running down its centre. She placed the basket of cut roses on the table while she changed out of her dirty boots and into silk mules appropriate for inside.
It was easy for the Duke of Tremaine to ask such a question of her. His ignorance was understandable when he enjoyed the security of his position. His place in life had been on firm foundations from the beginning. Emilie had been born clinging to an uneven surface, forced to carve out her security, making footholds above the treacherous waves of life below.
Yet… the Duke’s words ran around her mind again. She was choosing to remain in her current position with the Comte’s suit hanging over her.
Was it a choice?
Emilie’s standing felt more precarious than ever and it was not only herself she must think of. There was also Mademoiselle Saint-Val Cadette and those who depended on her in the Île de la Cité. She was staying where she was for the moment to protect others and herself until she could find a way out. Piece by piece, the Comte had taken away her freedom. The final piece was still hers, but it was clear Emilie was nearly out of time.
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.
