by Shana Galen
“But I think you were hired to teach the comte to speak. We had heard he had made progress, and for that we thank you. We need him to speak to us, and you are going to help us with that.”
Felicity swallowed. “How am I going to do that?”
“You are going to take a short voyage with us, mademoiselle. To France.”
She was shaking her head, even as the words were out of his mouth. “England and France are at war. There’s no travel between them.”
Marius smiled at her as one might smile at a child. “I am not concerned with wars and politics. All that concerns me is the treasure. I think you can see nothing will stand in my way. I have waited years to have it, only to watch the comte slip through my fingers. For that the duc de Valère will pay.”
Claude laughed and flexed his fingers. Marius turned to him. “But not yet. First we will have the treasure and the comte.”
“The comte doesn’t even know I’m gone. He was not home when I stepped out with Mr. St. John.”
“Oh, have no fear, mademoiselle. He will find you, either on his own or with the help of his brother. The Valères can be quite resourceful. And once we have lured them to France, they will give us the treasure.”
“They don’t have the treasure.”
“Then they will find it. And do you know why they will find it?” He leaned close, and she backed away. “Because if they do not, Claude will kill you.”
Felicity drew in a sharp breath and felt an icy cold slash through her. She could see in Marius’s eyes he meant what he said. They would kill her if Armand did not retrieve the treasure for them.
“Claude, gather our things. We will take Mademoiselle Bennett to the ship now.”
“Wait.” She grabbed Marius’s sleeve, desperate now. She did not want to be on a ship with these men. Once she left English soil, she doubted she would ever return. Better to stay here as long as possible. She would have to think fast, think of a way to stall them. “I have spent weeks with Armand—the comte. He has little memory of what happened before. He’s blocked it out. I don’t think he knows where the treasure is. If he ever did, he cannot recall.”
“Then we will jog his memory.”
“But what if that knowledge was never in his memory?” She spoke rapidly now, her words almost slurred. “What if he does not know anything about this Treasure of the Sixteen?”
Marius paused and smiled at her, then pulled out a pocket watch. He nodded at what he saw. “Do you know why he was sent to prison, mademoiselle?”
“No. I don’t think he recalls.”
Marius shook his head. “The mind is a complicated thing, is it not, Claude?” Claude smiled and shrugged. Marius gestured to a couch, bare as the holland cover was on the floor at her feet. “Please, take a seat. We have a few moments before we need to be away.”
Felicity did as she was told, not because she wanted to sit, but because it delayed their departure. Now she had to think. How could she escape? If escape was impossible, she must alert Armand. He would save her. Of that, she was certain.
“The first time I saw the comte, he was a dirty, skinny little street urchin,” Marius said. “At least that was how he appeared. But I have a talent, mademoiselle. I can see deeper, and I knew he was no peasant boy. He came to the prison every day. I asked myself, why would that street urchin come here? The answer was simple. Someone he knew or loved was inside. No one but aristos were inside that prison, mademoiselle.”
“And so you realized he was the son of a noble.”
“Precisely. At that time, the nobility were hardly in favor. Times were hard. The price of a loaf of bread alone could bankrupt a man. But a little aristo boy, the price for turning him in could buy my son and myself both wine and bread.”
She must have made a face of disgust, because he shook his head and laughed. “That was the time, mademoiselle. I do not expect you to understand. But just as I was getting close to the boy, my efforts to catch him were thwarted.”
“The two Jacques,” she murmured.
He nodded. “Yes. There, you see, the comte does remember. Yes, the two Jacques took him in, protected him, made him one of their own.”
“Why?”
“I suppose they thought he might be useful. I am certain he was useful as an errand boy. He was an intelligent child. After all, he managed to evade me, and he convinced the two Jacques he was a mute. I suppose they thought their secrets were safe with him.”
“What secrets?” She had to ask questions. She had to keep him talking.
He nodded to her in admiration. “Not bad, mademoiselle. You catch on quickly. The secret of the Treasure of the Sixteen. The Jacques wanted it. All of Paris wanted it, but most thought it only a fable. It was too grand to be real.”
“What was it?”
The answer did not come from Marius but from the figure leaning in the doorway beyond him. “The hidden royal treasure of Louis the Sixteenth.”
“Armand!”
Marius was instantly on his feet, but Claude was already moving in. Armand, appearing unconcerned, held up a hand. “I’m alone and unarmed. But I still remember how to fight.” He gave Claude a meaningful look, and the large man turned to his father for guidance.
“Leave him alone,” Marius said. “For the moment.” He sank back down, beside Felicity, who could not stop staring at Armand. It was as though he had appeared out of nothing. One moment he was not there, and then he was. How had he found her? Had Charles gone back and told him? She almost laughed at the absurdity of that notion. Charles had taken his payment for her and run straight to the gambling hell.
Armand must have seen her in the garden with Charles and followed the carriage here. Thank God.
Armand’s eyes met hers and then flicked away. They were as hard as cobalt now, and she swallowed, feeling his displeasure. She knew he did not want to be here, did not want to speak of his past like this. But he would do it—for her.
A surge of love welled up inside her, but she did not want Marius and his son to see, and so she looked down. She did not want to give them anything else to use against Armand.
“It has been a long time since we have seen you, monsieur,” Marius said. He spoke in French now, and Felicity, who had always daydreamed during French lessons, had to concentrate to understand every word.
“Not long enough.” Armand leaned gingerly against the door jamb, and if Felicity had not seen him a few weeks ago, wild and unable to speak, she would not have believed he was the same man. He did not wear a cravat, and his hair fell loose and free about his shoulders, but he had donned a greatcoat and riding boots. His throat was bare, his shirt open at the collar, making him seem, for all intents and purposes, like a careless noble.
“I had hoped that your friend here”—Marius gestured to her—“would bring you to us. But I did not expect the pleasure so soon.”
“You have me here now,” Armand said, examining his nails as though all of this were tedious to him. “What is it you want to know?’
“You don’t need me to answer that question, monsieur. I want what all of Paris wanted. The Treasure of the Sixteen.”
“And what makes you think I know where it is? No one else has been able to find it. It’s been over a dozen years.”
“The Jacques knew where it was.”
Armand shrugged. “They never found it.”
Marius leapt to his feet, his small body quivering with excitement or anger. Felicity wasn’t sure which. “They never had the chance—”
“That was your doing.” He looked pointedly at Claude. “You had them killed. Pity you didn’t realize they had imprisoned me for… safekeeping before you did so.”
“I searched for you in every prison in the country. I bribed so many officials I spent a small treasure of my own. I know I searched for you in Le Grenier. I did not believe it when I heard the repor
ts that your brother found you there.”
“You must have bribed the wrong official. Either that or they had forgotten me by the time you searched.”
“You can be assured, monsieur, that I never forgot you. And now we are going back to Le Grenier. I think there is something you left behind, yes?”
Armand’s eyes darkened, but if the idea of returning to the prison troubled him, his face did not betray the emotion. “I will agree to return with you. But Miss Bennett stays behind.”
“Oh, you think I am a fool, do you, monsieur? You think I would leave behind the only thing I have binding you to me? She comes, and if you do not give me what I want, she dies.”
***
Armand would have liked to put his hands around the little man’s neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged and began to bleed. He would have liked to pull the sharp knife he had hidden in his boot and plunge it into Marius’s belly. But he had to remind himself these two had not put him in prison. It was the Jacques. Marius wanted only what everyone else had wanted—the treasure.
Wealth, money, prestige. Men would kill for it. These two had.
Armand was not certain the treasure existed. What he did know was his life had been sacrificed to it, and that was enough. He would not allow Felicity’s life to end on the altar of greed, as well.
But with Marius seated beside her, and his oaf of a son just a few feet away, ready to snap her neck at a moment’s notice, Armand was left with little choice but to agree to the terms.
For the present. He would free her and then…
He did not know. Kill Marius and Claude? Return with them to Le Grenier? Seek out the treasure? He did not care for the money, but after all this time, he wondered if he had been imprisoned for nothing. He wondered if his suspicions would be confirmed.
“Very well.” He spread his hands in a gesture he remembered seeing his brother make, a gesture common to his father. “I am at your service.”
The words were barely spoken before he and Felicity were bundled into a carriage and driven across town. There was a ship waiting for them, a small, fast ship with a man at the helm who looked as though he had done his own share of throat-slitting.
A pirate, Armand thought. He had read about them in books. During a war, those pirates could call themselves privateers and make a fortune. He wondered how much Marius had paid the man to transport them across the Channel in the middle of the night. He wondered if the man could do it.
Not that he cared for himself. He didn’t give a damn if he ended up on the bottom of the sea, but he would not lose Felicity. He walked closely behind her as they boarded the ship, trying to shield her from the eyes of the ship’s crew. But strangely enough, not a one seemed to be looking at her.
All eyes were on him.
The captain, who was probably fifty but looked seventy, sauntered over. “Name’s Wiggin—at least that’s the name I’m using.” He held out his hand, and Armand looked down at it. Was he supposed to kiss it?
After a moment, Wiggin pulled his hand back. “You look like someone I used to know. Someone I maybe still do know. What’s yer name?”
“Armand Harcourt.”
“French?” Wiggin’s eyebrows went up. “He is, too. Or he was the last time I saw him. Probably dead now.”
“This is all very interesting,” Marius interrupted, “but we would like to go below—”
“What was his name?”
“He goes by Captain Cutlass. But I don’t think that’s his real name.” He gave Armand a narrow look. “I once heard his quartermaster call him Bastien. Course could have called him Bastard for all I heard. I’d been in my cups.”
Armand felt his throat clench, but he controlled the torrent of emotion that swept through him. “Sounds like a pirate. How would I know him?”
Wiggin shook his head. “Damnest thing. You look just like him.”
“If you’ve had enough chitchat,” Marius interrupted again.
Wiggin signaled to one of his men. “Take these four below. Get them settled. We leave with the tide.”
Marius went above deck, leaving Claude to watch him and Felicity. The large man stood at the door to the captain’s cabin, arms crossed, gaze never leaving them. Armand stood by the porthole, and Felicity sat on the berth, her hands in her lap.
Armand stared calmly out the porthole as the light faded to dusk. He kept his expression calm and composed, but inside, he wanted to scream. It was torture being locked in this tiny cabin. He could barely breathe, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to plow through Claude, break down the door, and run for the deck.
He needed fresh air. He needed light. He needed freedom.
He looked at Felicity, at the unruffled way she sat, the way she looked at him every few moments, trust in her eyes. He could not leave her, as much as his instinct was to save himself. This cabin would not kill him, and he would rather be with her than anywhere else.
There was a knock on the door, and Claude opened it. His father gestured him outside, and the door closed behind the two men.
They were alone for the first time, and immediately Felicity jumped up. “I’m so sorry, Armand. I had no idea Charles would do something like this. He never mentioned Marius or the treasure, but I suppose if he made inquiries about you they might have sought him out.” She reached out to him, and he took her hand, wishing she would be quiet for just a moment so he could think. “Can you ever forgive me? I know you don’t want to return to Paris. I can’t imagine anything worse. Perhaps we could plan an escape or—”
“Felicity.”
She closed her mouth and glanced at him sharply.
“Stop talking.”
“Very well. But what are we going to—”
He tugged her against him and silenced her in the best way he knew. He put his mouth over hers and kissed her long and hard. Not surprisingly, the kiss took his mind off the small cabin and the sense of being trapped. If he could kiss her all the way to France, he just might survive the voyage.
They parted, and when he looked down at her, her sky blue eyes were wide, and her cheeks were blushing. And she did not speak.
“We’re going to sail soon.”
She nodded, looking past him to the sinking sun.
“There is no way to get off this ship until we reach France. But I will protect you.”
She nodded. “I know you will, but—”
He put a finger over her lips. “Once we reach Paris, you must do everything I say. No questions. No arguing. No talking.”
She nodded, her eyes serious.
“I’m the tutor now.” He bent and kissed her again, and the touch of her lips against his was like a drink of cool water. He wanted more than anything to wrap her in his arms and take her away from here, take her to Southampton, where she would be safe. But he would deal with Marius and Claude first, and then they would be safe wherever they ended.
She broke the kiss and brushed a hand over the hair falling on his forehead. “I just have one question before they return.” She looked at the door as if making sure it was still closed and they were still alone.
He nodded. Had he really thought he would keep her from asking any questions? Words were like air to her, it seemed.
“Is there really a Treasure of the Sixteen?”
He understood the reason for the question. She wanted to know if he could give the men what they wanted or, if at the end of this, they would be forced to show their empty hands.
He was honest with her. “I don’t know.”
She let out a long breath. “I see. I’m sure we’ll figure out something.”
“But I have something I can give them. Something at Le Grenier.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you to go back there.”
“There seems no way to prevent it.” And maybe he always knew he would h
ave to go back. Even when Julien had walked into his cell and dug him out all those months ago, Armand had known that the dank little hole wasn’t done with him. It had haunted him in nightmares, and now he was being driven inexorably back.
“I’m tired of fighting it,” he told Felicity now. “I want to face it.”
“Oh, Armand…”
He thought she would have kissed him again, but the door rattled, and Marius stepped inside. “Am I interrupting?” His face was a sneer. “Don’t mind me, but I wanted to let you know we’re about to depart. If the winds are favorable, we’ll be in Paris in less than a day.”
Nineteen
Felicity had never been to France before, so she did not know what to expect. She had heard awful rumors of Bonaparte, but when she stepped off the ship two days later and gazed about Calais, the country seemed little different from England—with the exception that everyone around her spoke French. Considering that England and France were at war, she spoke as little as possible. Her rudimentary French and strong English accent would certainly give her away.
Armand was quiet, as well. They had little opportunity on the crossing to talk, but she knew from watching him, from meeting his eyes time and again, he was planning their escape. Relief swept through her every time she looked at him, brushed against him. He would save them. He would take care of her.
He would have to.
The more she observed Marius and his son, Claude, the more she realized that even if Armand were to lead them straight to the treasure, they would probably kill him anyway. They had even less incentive to leave her alive.
There had been a hundred times on the voyage she had wanted to touch Armand, just hold his hand, but they were kept on separate sides of the cabin. And he was as out of reach then as he was now, seated on the opposite side of a carriage on the road to Paris.
“It won’t be long before we return to Le Grenier, monsieur,” Marius said. He parted the carriage drapes, and she saw the sun was slowly rising. “I have connections there. We will stand in your old cell at nightfall.” He smiled, showing a row of uneven teeth, and Felicity glanced at Armand.