His voice rose with each word, and Natalie recognized the growing offense taken by the jeweler in response. At that point other party guests in their immediate surroundings quieted and began to take notice of the exchange.
Fecteau raised his chin a fraction, inhaling deeply and eyeing Henri with conviction. “Forgive me, Comte, but I know my craft. I have been a professional jeweler for more than two decades, have myself made paste jewelry from originals for those of the middle classes as well as aristocrats, and I know forgery the moment I see it.” In a deep, solemn voice, he enunciated, “This necklace is a forgery.”
Natalie felt Jonathan take her hand, lacing her fingers in his, squeezing them gently, and her mouth went dry.
The blood drained from Henri’s face. “Impossible,” he said in a raspy breath. “It’s been locked in my safe for weeks.”
A heavy stillness spread over the room. Fecteau clasped his hands behind his back resolutely. “Then, Comte d’Arles, if you believed these emeralds were real, I submit to you that your safe has been compromised and you have been cleverly duped. If you will only take a knife or sharp object to the gold, you can scrape it off. The green is nothing more than glass.”
Alain began to sweat, his forehead beading profusely; Michel became red with rage; Annette-Elise clutched the emeralds, her ruddy complexion now white as graveyard lilies. Nobody did anything for seconds, then Claudine muttered, “The safe, Henri, check the safe.”
It was a useless thing to do, given that the jewels, if Fecteau was correct, were already stolen. But he turned and walked quickly to the ballroom door, then out into the foyer.
Everyone began talking at once—the noise a clatter, heat oppressive. Natalie stood silent, basking in the thrill of the moment as it coupled strangely with tension, knowing the Black Knight was there, probably watching. Jonathan ran his thumb back and forth along her knuckles, and she peeked up cautiously to note his expression of mild curiosity. He didn’t have to know the language well to grasp what was taking place, or the enormity of it all.
Madeleine began a fierce, animated exchange between the jeweler, Claudine, and the other two men, and Natalie felt Jonathan very casually pull her back a foot or two to the side.
“He did it,” she said softly.
“With his usual style,” he whispered in return. “But it’s not over yet.”
Seconds later, Henri reentered the room, and everyone turned, a hush falling over the crowd again as they witnessed the astonishment in his expression. He looked physically ill now as he stumbled back to the buffet table, skin pasty gray, dark eyes wide with horror, beads of perspiration rolling from brow to chin.
“What is this?” he demanded in a harsh, choked voice, holding out a black, velvet pouch with shaking hands. “What is this!”
Silence boomed. Movement stopped. Fecteau guardedly reached for the pouch, his countenance embracing a flat, knowing pessimism. With agile fingers he reached inside and carefully removed the contents.
“Oh, my God . . . ,” someone whispered.
Sitting daintily in his palm was a replica of the necklace, but made of black stones and cheap metal, and only about half the size. It was a demoralizing hoax; a mocking tribute.
Fecteau bristled. “This is a low-grade silver, Comte d’Arles, and the stones are black onyx. Semiprecious. Quite ordinary but a nice piece, and probably worth more than the emerald forgery.” He turned it over in his hands. “Unusual, really. One normally makes, oh . . . cameos from onyx.”
A gust of ocean wind swept through the opened windows for the first time that night, severing the collective shock with chilling reality. Then the low rumble began to ripple through the crowd again—outrage for those enlightened, whispered confusion and uncertainty for those still ignorant.
Suddenly Henri was red-faced and seething, fists clenched at his sides, eyes watering with a rage he couldn’t begin to place, his Adam’s apple convulsing as he swallowed, unable to speak.
Michel grabbed Fecteau by the collar, glaring at him, ashen but for bright red cheeks. “Did you steal them?”
“Monsieur Faille!” Madeleine gasped, moving between them.
He ignored her. “How coincidental that you are here tonight—”
“Shut up, Michel!” Alain spat, pulling at the tall man with quaking hands until he released the jeweler. “Unwarranted insults will only cause greater trouble and attract outside attention.”
Fecteau looked appalled, stepping back, still clutching the onyx necklace with the fingers of one hand while smoothing his frock coat with the other. “I did not steal anything,” he insisted, his voice cracking nervously. “I cannot imagine how I or anyone could have stolen such a necklace from around your daughter’s neck during this ball. And if I had stolen it before today, I assure you, monsieur, I would not be here now.”
Perfectly logical, and everyone knew it.
Alain turned his corpulent figure to Madeleine and her escort. “You are undoubtedly correct, Monsieur Fecteau. Our profound apologies to you.”
The commotion grew to a thunder with that, and Annette-Elise began to cry, still clinging to the worthless glass. Then Henri grabbed the necklace, yanking hard once. The clasp broke easily, and they fell away from her throat into his hand.
“They’ll search us,” Natalie said dismally.
Very slowly, Jonathan murmured, “No, they won’t. They can’t.”
She looked up to his face in question.
“Searching anyone here tonight will ruin them socially, and they can’t call the authorities when they stole the necklace in the first place.” In a vaguely arrogant assertion, he added in a whisper, “They’ve lost the emeralds and they know it.”
She watched him as he continued to stare at the count with hard, clear, observant eyes, a wisp of near-black hair falling low over his forehead unnoticed. But it was the certainty in his voice and stance, the expression of his mouth that made her hesitate—not exactly a smile, but a barely upturned line, a poetic smirk of quiet satisfaction, of bland but ultimate triumph. As if he’d just won the prize in a challenging and enormously reckless game of chance.
As if he’d stolen the necklace himself.
Natalie stilled completely, transfixed in time as a gradual breath of comprehension began to form within her. Somewhere in the very far distance she heard the music resume, awkwardly played. Henri and several others quickly left the ballroom; Madeleine talked with Fecteau in hushed tones, and yet Natalie’s thoughts went beyond them now. To another place, another moment that now seemed like so long ago.
. . . he is dark, sophisticated, charming, intelligent, handsome, and he does good things to help people. There is also a rumor that he has blue eyes. . . .
A chill, so cold and numbing, blanketed her and she started to shake.
And the Black Knight is in Marseilles? she had asked him.
He will be when we get there.
“Oh, no . . . ,” she whispered.
Jonathan looked down at her, his vibrant eyes searching hers as he noticed her expression.
He’s exciting, he travels, he . . . lives for adventure. I know this sounds a bit odd, but I believe he’s also looking for me.
Beyond doubt, as forceful as a punch to the stomach, it was there in front of her. All the questions and understandings, all the hope in her future rapidly dying in her heart, all her dreams shattered by one incredible stroke of realization. Why hadn’t she seen it before now? How could she not have known? Because even the thought was something she could never imagine; a nightmare realized she could never accept.
“Natalie?”
She was freezing, trembling inside, staring into his magnificent eyes now pulled into a slight frown of curiosity. Suddenly she felt a powerful sense of rage and the crushing embarrassment of the things she’d confided in him, the consuming humiliation of being lied to repeatedly, of being used.
He still held her hand, the touch now as scorching as burning oil on skin. But with an almost instantaneous
insight into what lay ahead she didn’t jerk it free. Reason flooded her in a torrential wave, stopping her from immediate, irrational action. The answers were there before her, making clear and obvious sense as she began to put the pieces into place, but the proof was not. Call it sharp knowledge or an almost overwhelming instinct, her mind took control at that moment, and for good or bad, it made her pause.
She couldn’t let him know. Not here at the ball in front of hundreds of people. He had played her for a fool, and she would hate him for that. But he had stolen the emeralds for a reason, and now she was intensely curious as to what that was, where they were, how he’d done it, and most of all why he’d brought her along on this journey. If she confronted him now she would embarrass them both, but even more than that, he would win. And she couldn’t let him win.
He could not win.
Calming, her mind working frantically, eyes thinning with a broad smile of hidden intention, she murmured, “I-I’m just . . . shaken.”
He ran his thumb softly along her fingers again, and she fought the urge to slap him with all of her strength. Instead she squeezed his hand tenderly. “I think I’d like champagne now.”
For moments he stared into her eyes. “Would you like to go?”
She lowered her gaze, scanning the crowd. Two or three couples took to the dance floor, boldly attempting to ignore the unpleasant moments just passed as silk and satin once again swished in rhythm to the too-brightly played music; small groups of people whispered in corners, at refreshment tables, eating or drinking; some discreetly took their leave.
With resolve, and a warm smile of excitement she no longer felt, she looked back into his beautiful, deceitful eyes and began the best performance of her life.
“Not now,” she said effortlessly. “I’d like to . . . see how things play out.”
That appeased him, and he seemed to relax. “Then champagne it is.” He released her hand at last and reached up to cup her chin. “We might as well enjoy ourselves while we can, and I think you owe me at least one more dance before I turn you over to the thief.”
She did hate him for that—for his smoothness, his irresistible charm, his attention to her, and the unquenchable desire between them he’d expertly used to his advantage. And what did Madeleine say? I wonder how he plans to go about this introduction? He’d said it would be tomorrow, and that gave her time. Time to think of something that would place the advantage in her hands. And she would think of something. She had to. Then she’d have control and she would win.
She would win.
Chapter 11
It took Natalie nearly ten minutes of staring at his trunk before deciding it was time to open it and check the contents. Naturally, searching his personal items would be a most embarrassing thing to do, but she had no choice. It was the only way to know absolutely. Jonathan had just left the bungalow to purchase them a cold luncheon in one of the nearby villages, leaving her with the promise of an extensive discussion when he returned. Such a discussion would no doubt be about the emeralds, about the Black Knight, and she wanted to be ready for it. She had to find the jewels first, though, for any leverage at all, and she was fairly certain he didn’t have them when he left. Carrying them in a pocket would have been noticeable probably, and she just couldn’t imagine him selling them anyway, which would be the only reason to risk carrying them at all. That meant they were still here. And the only place they could be was tucked somewhere beneath his personal belongings.
They’d returned from the ball shortly after two in the morning. The party had continued to some degree after the forged emeralds had been discovered, although the mood had changed to one of quiet static. Most guests left early, but she and Jonathan had remained at her insistence, dancing occasionally, mingling socially, being nearly the last to leave. The comte d’Arles had not returned after the fiasco with Fecteau, but Claudine had done her best to keep the party alive for the sake of Annette-Elise. It was all she could do, really, and Natalie felt sorry for both of them. One could hardly call the ball a success, but it hadn’t, at least, ended disgracefully.
She was, however, extraordinarily proud of herself. Her acting had been superb, as Jonathan had remained completely blind to her sudden discovery of his identity. That gave her power, something that would serve her well in the days ahead. During the last nine hours she’d done nothing but fidget internally, sleeping little, hiding her intentions as best she could, almost wanting to murder him, but deciding to get even instead. At six this morning, lying next to his carefree, slumbering form in bed, it had come to her. She now had a plan, and a way to use him in the manner in which he’d used her from the moment she’d walked into his town house.
So, with dignity, and before she could change her mind, she knelt at last beside his unlocked metal trunk, smoothed her lavender skirt around her, released the brass latches, and opened the lid.
If she expected to be surprised at the contents, she was mistaken. Of course, she’d never done anything so obtrusive in her life, nor had she ever been so closely exposed to a man’s underthings. But her first impression upon opening the lid was amazement at how neatly everything was folded and placed within. From shirts to shoes, it was perfectly tidy. Oddly, she’d never expected that from Jonathan. In personality he seemed so capricious, and yet his manner of dress and style ran more to the elegant, reserved tastes of a gentleman, which, she had to remind herself, he actually was.
Carefully, starting on the left side of the trunk, she lifted his shirts, one by one, and placed them on the floor beside her. Trousers followed, three pairs, and these she also removed with care. Beneath them, on the bottom, were two pairs of shoes. No emeralds, although she gingerly stuck her fingers into the toes to be sure they weren’t stuffed inside.
Then she moved to the right half of the trunk. She’d purposely avoided this side at first because she’d noticed his more personal items—comb, razor, toothbrush and powder, underwear—which was none of her business. But still, to reach the bottom, she had to go through it all.
With anxious hands she removed the toiletries, setting them to her side. Next, and quickening her pace, she began to lift his folded undergarments, growing increasingly uncomfortable as she touched each one, but reminding herself of her purpose. She needed the emeralds and she needed to hurry.
Then finally, as doubts began to seep in, she discovered the object of her search. A black velvet pouch, exactly like the one that contained the onyx necklace, sat conspicuously between the last two garments.
Her first thought was that he’d left it in such an obvious place because he knew she’d look for it. But after only seconds of speculation, she realized this conjecture was wrong. He didn’t yet know she’d discovered his identity. It did seem a bit foolish for him not to conceal the jewels in a hidden pocket or within a shoe, but she really didn’t have time to speculate about his tactics as a thief. The only thing filling her mind was the scrumptious thought of the shock she would witness on his face when she confronted him.
Her heart beat fast as she took the pouch in hand, to some surprise finding it to be lighter than she’d expected. With a rush of exhilaration she swiftly opened it to stare at the contents.
The sparkle and shimmer of green and gold took her breath away. The necklace was even more magnificent up close—not at all a feminine piece of jewelry to accent a woman in her gown, but a work of art to be displayed only on the canvas of warm skin, everything else fading behind its brilliance.
She dropped the pouch to the floor unnoticed and slowly glided her thumb along the emeralds, cold yet vibrantly beautiful, allowing them to fall between her fingers, a smile of ultimate satisfaction growing on her lips. The stolen, priceless necklace was now in her possession. All doubts faded. She had the power at last and she would use it. She would win.
Natalie glanced briefly over her shoulder to the clock on the dressing table. It was nearly noon. Jonathan would be returning at any moment.
Tucking a menacing curl behi
nd her ear, she returned the emeralds to their protective, velvet casing, rested the pouch in her lap, replaced each of his items perfectly in his trunk, and closed the lid.
Then with speed and newfound determination, only vaguely becoming aware of how things were about to change between them, she moved to her own trunk near the wardrobe. Quickly she opened the lid and reached deeply inside until her hand found one of her tall, black leather boots. She pulled it out from beneath shoes and other miscellaneous items, then sat fully on the ground and went to work.
One of the greatest stories her mother ever told her about her grandfather was not just of his escape from France but of how cleverly he’d accomplished it. He never would have made it out alive had he not paid off the jailer. And he never would have been able to do that if he hadn’t hidden several gold coins beneath the soles of his shoes, which he’d hollowed out for that specific purpose. When the peasants searched him, they found nothing on his person but they didn’t think of looking closely at his shoes. Neither would Jonathan, for she’d heeded the advice of her mother and had, over the years, hollowed out various shoes of her own to hide money should that ever be necessary when she traveled. Call it pure nonsense as many would, but doing so had now finally come to serve a purpose of her own. She would hide the emeralds in her boot, where they would be secure and never discovered by anyone.
With a good deal of prying, cracking a nail in frustration, the bottom leather sole of the tall heel finally came loose. Her initial idea was to stuff both emeralds and pouch inside to keep them well protected, but it was immediately clear that she didn’t have the room, and only the jewels themselves would fit. And just barely.
After once again removing the necklace from its velvet covering, she cushioned it as delicately as she could inside the heel, and with a great deal of pressure from her hand, closed the top leather just enough to secure the contents. Grinning from a great sense of accomplishment, she turned the boot over in her hands. It would take close examination to notice that the leather sole didn’t quite meet the wood, and who would think to look? The hiding place was perfect.
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