Small and sleight, the young woman slipped past Jacques with incredible speed. She raced through the hall and down the stairs. Remi hurried after her but wasn’t nearly fast enough. The doors burst open with a simple push and she was gone. She was already halfway down the gravel drive when Remi reached the doorway, breathless as she watched Sylvie’s retreating figure from the threshold.

“Remi?”

She spared a glance over her shoulder, catching movement from the hall that led to the study. Ben emerged from the shadows with concern clear in his expression. He came straight to her and wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders.

“What’s going on?” he asked, herding her away from the door after shutting it. “Why are you crying?”

“Crying?” She wiped at her cheeks. Traitorous tears had been falling unknowingly from her eyes the whole time. “I didn’t realize…”

Jacques cleared his throat. “It was Sylvie. I caught her rifling around in your room. She had some papers in hand, trying to tuck them away when I found her. Madame and I confronted her moments ago.”

Ben turned Remi in his arms. “Is it true?”

“Sylvie was leaving the letters,” Remi nodded stiffly. “She said that someone coerced her into doing it.”

“Did she say who it was?” Ben asked, looking between her and Jacques. Neither of them had the answer he wanted to hear.

“No.” Remi rubbed at her temples. “She ran off before we could learn anything more.”

Ben swore under his breath.

Jacques asked him a question, and Ben replied so softly that she couldn’t hear. Her head began to pound. It felt as if someone was hammering nails into the back of her skull; if not for Ben holding her steady, she might have collapsed where she stood.

“Ben?” Remi swayed, gripping his arm to steady herself. “We have to help her.”

He lifted her, cradling her against a warm, broad chest. Ben’s voice vibrated against her body as he addressed Jacques. “Get the horses and bring them around front.”

Jacques went wordlessly.

Ben carried Remi into the parlor and set her down on one of the armchairs. She was grateful for the seat but missed the warmth of his solid frame almost instantly. He knelt down in front of her and reached one hand out to touch her chin, keeping her gaze focused on his face. The intensity in his dark eyes made her heart flutter.

“I’m going to find her,” he declared. “And when I do, I will bring her back here so that we can get to the bottom of this.”

“I’m worried about her, Ben.” She grasped his wrists with both hands.

“Sylvie seems resourceful,” he said with a half-hearted smile. “After all, she’s been cunning enough to escape suspicion up until this point.”

Remi relaxed. “This is true.”

Carefully, he wove their fingers together and brought her knuckles to his lips. “I will find her,” he promised.

“You’ll find her,” Remi echoed.

Ben searched her face, his own set with determination. She hoped he could see how much she trusted him, how deeply she needed him. Then, just as he reached for her, she leaned in and met his eager lips. His hands flew to her head, cradling it as he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. She would have melted into him, let him take her there in the parlor, but the spell between them broke as he pulled away.

“Wait for me.” With a short nod, Ben took off. Remi watched him go, hopeful that he would manage to bring Sylvie home.

THE SEARCH

BEN

Sylvie might have had a head start, but Ben hadn’t anticipated her complete disappearance. She couldn’t have gone far—her legs could only take her to so many places in such a short amount of time. The hour had grown late, and there were only so many places a young woman could run without drawing attention to herself.

“Shall we split up?” Jacques suggested. “We can cover more ground that way.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll meet you in an hour.”

The town of Flottante was large, but its streets were narrow. He dismounted, guiding the horse with him through the quiet cobbled roads. There weren’t many people out at this hour; the docks were empty, the seamen asleep in their boats. He stopped to inquire at the inn, but everyone he spoke with eyed him warily. Ben was beginning to lose hope when Jacques suddenly appeared around the bend.

“Lamotte!” he yelled.

“What about him?”

Jacques brought the horse to a stop, clearly out of breath. “She’s gone to see Lamotte,” Jacques sucked in a deep breath and grasped at his chest.

“Are you certain?” Ben furrowed his brow.

“I heard it at a bar down the way.” Jacques shook his head. “The owner is her uncle.”

Ben sighed deeply.

“Lamotte lives on the other side of town,” Jacques shouted above the whipping wind. “Easy to find, but if we intend to catch her, we need to go now!”

Ben nodded and kicked his heels. They took off down the hill, squinting in the meager lantern light. Part of Ben wished that they were in Paris. At least there the streets were alive with electricity. The island had yet to see them, outside of the few homes they’d passed.

“Nearly there!” Jacques shouted.

Ben wished he could move his horse at the same speed his mind was racing. Of all the places for Sylvie to go, Lamotte’s was the last place he expected her to go.

Jacques’s horse came to an immediate halt, startling Ben and his own horse. He careened to the side to avoid colliding but found it hard to tear his eyes away from the obstacle in their path.

“No,” he rasped.

Jacques mirrored Ben’s horror.

Lamotte’s home, the only house on this side of town, burned against the night sky. With the force of the wind, it had spread rapidly, tearing through the house like it had been constructed of paper. Ben watched it with a dark expression. He could feel the fire dancing under his eyelids when he blinked, sinking its heat deep into his skin until it had burned its way into his blood.

“We must go.” Jacques hissed suddenly, turning himself and the horse around. “The crowd.”

He jerked his head and indicated the amassing number of spectators as they cried out and screamed for help. Little black figures darted around the house, throwing shimmering buckets of water onto its charring figure in a fruitless attempt at stopping the spread. There was no doubt in Ben’s mind that Lamotte had been inside. The fire, he felt in his gut, had been started by someone who wanted him to stay quiet.

What of Sylvie?

“This way.” Ben heard Jacques’s command.

“No!” he shouted from behind, cutting him off. “Follow me.”

Ben led his horse down a narrow road until it came out on the other end. He followed it to the docks, back toward Lamotte’s office. It was a few buildings away from where they’d pulled Leith from the water, and with everyone else preoccupied with the fire, he would be able to break in unseen. If Lamotte was well and truly dead, then he needed the papers stashed inside the bottom drawer of his desk.