Shev

by Tracey Devlyn

  The ladies stood, flowers in hand. Something caught both their attention. Anne shaded her eyes for a better look; surprise slackened Jacqueline’s sweet face. Shev turned, his hands rolled into fists. It all happened as if their movements were slathered in molasses. But never more so than when he recognized the figure striding down the knoll toward them.

  Bélanger.

  Shev’s heart struck the wall of his chest with such force as to make his body recoil. This couldn’t be the tall, balding gentleman Anne had just seen. Bélanger sported a full head of hair. His gaze slid back to Jacqueline, his little banshee, just as she dropped her wild bouquet and tore after Bélanger. Her father.

  “Papa!”

  Jacqueline’s small legs spun with amazing speed, her face more aglow than he’d ever seen it.

  Bélanger’s pace did not alter or falter at the sight of Jacqueline flying toward him. In fact, the gentleman’s gaze wasn’t on the girl at all. It was fixed squarely on Shev, and he would not describe the man’s expression as pleasant or even anxious. Fury swirled around the Frenchman’s dark good looks.

  Anne came to stand beside him. She said nothing, nor did she touch him. A silent symbol of strength, support, and even love, though she would likely never tell him so.

  “Papa!” Jacqueline launched herself at Bélanger, wrapping her thin arms around one leg. Love shimmering on her upturned face.

  Rather than lifting her into his arms and hugging her close, Bélanger patted Jacqueline’s head and pried open her arms. He barked an unintelligible command at her before resuming his march downhill.

  Shev peered around the Frenchman to check on Jacqueline. Her pixie face crumpled before his eyes. Anger burned in his gut.

  “Remember, Jacqueline still loves the man, despite him being an arse. If you maim him, she will hold it against you.”

  Hearing Miss Anne Crawford, the incomparable governess, use “arse” in a sentence momentarily knocked away thoughts of murdering the Frenchman.

  She peered at him without turning her head, the area at the corner of her eye crinkling the slightest bit.

  Another clever move by the vixen. She knew the powerful effect her unusual comment would have on him—and the Frenchman’s fate. She had disarmed him with nothing more than a curse word tucked inside a casual comment. What havoc would she wreak on him when she truly set her mind to the task?

  “I love you, Anne Crawford. And once I run this arse back to France, I’m going to marry you, and we’re going to give Jacqueline a brother and sister to terrorize.”

  Her beautiful, tempting mouth sagged open. Her eyes widened, sheened with tears.

  “Your mouth is agape, my love.” He winked.

  “Lord Shevington,” Bélanger called from a few feet away. “I’ve come to retrieve my daughter.”

  All Shev’s humor fled on the heels of those six ugly words. “Take Jacqui back to the house, Anne. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  “Jacqueline is not going anywhere.”

  “Go, please.” Shev nudged Anne forward. “I’ll take care of the arse.”

  Anne didn’t argue. She simply strode past the Frenchman with her chin held high, a dark look in her eye.

  “Shevington, don’t think—”

  Shev held up his hand, cutting off the bastard’s rant. He stayed the man until Anne coaxed Jacqueline away. Then he allowed fury and fear to fuel his heart.

  “What do you want, Bélanger?”

  “My daughter, of course. You might have stolen my wife, but I will be damned before I allow you to have Jacqueline.”

  “Do not pretend to be affronted. I happen to know you exiled both your wife and daughter after learning the truth of Jacqui’s parentage.”

  “Her name is Jacqueline. And my family is no concern of yours.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Shev leaned against the large oak and shoved one hand into his pocket. “The moment you turned your back on your responsibility was the moment she became my concern.” He studied the Frenchman. “How much, Bélanger?”

  “Pardon?”

  “How much will it take to assuage your wounded pride?”

  The Frenchman sputtered a string of incoherent words, his hands slicing through air, punctuating each threat to Shev’s honor, manhood, and a number of other things he couldn’t quite discern. But Shev knew people. He understood the small, telling nuances revealed by lifting a brow, narrowing an eye, straightening a spine, shifting a gaze, tugging a ruffle. Every expression and movement told a story.

  And Bélanger’s bespoke greed.

  Once again, Shev held up a hand, halting the other man’s tirade. “The fires of hell have already singed my soul, Bélanger. Save your threats of damnation. I would much rather you name your price and be done with this farce.”

  Bélanger’s chest heaved once before his livid features hardened into a businesslike mien.

  Shev should have been happy that he had read Bélanger correctly. But he couldn’t muster an ounce of elation. Jacqueline would be heartbroken when her French father faded away in a few days, never to return. “Let us be done with this.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Everyone is in the drawing room, my lord,” the butler said as he stood aside to allow Shev and Bélanger entry.

  “Thank you, Higgins.” Shev could barely tolerate walking the short distance from the stream back to the house with Bélanger. The sum Bélanger had proposed had been staggering though Shev would have agreed to twice the amount to keep Jacqueline away from the bastard.

  Bélanger claimed to love Jacqueline, and perhaps he once did. But the news of her paternity had poisoned the Frenchman’s mind. Now, he only cared about revenge and filling his coffers.

  How Shev would ever make it through the next few days while the paperwork was drawn up he would never know. For Jacqueline, he would do his best. Bélanger was the only father she had ever known and she deserved time enough to say good-bye.

  “I find I am curious about something, Shevington.”

  Shev kept walking.

  “Why would you spend so much coin to keep a child you barely know? A bastard child from an affair you likely do not recall?”

  Shev might have to put up with the man’s presence, but he could not be held accountable if Bélanger’s perfect nose met with Shev’s fist before he slinked off to France.

  Halting, Shev didn’t bother facing Bélanger. He simply angled his head to the side and said, “If you haven’t discerned Jacqui’s value in five years, there’s nothing I can say to you in thirty seconds that will enlighten you.”

  Before entering the drawing room, Shev took a deep breath and willed away the disgust that must have been evident on his face. He didn’t want Anne or Jacqueline to worry, not when he’d managed to secure their future. A future he was looking forward to with every heartbeat.

  A footman opened the drawing room door, and Shev stepped inside—and stopped dead in his tracks. An older, distinguished-looking gentleman nursing a drink stood behind a sofa that held an even more distinguished-looking lady, who peered at him through a pair of spectacles attached to a ribbon hanging around her neck. Next to her sat Jacqueline, hugging a doll he had never seen before. His mother sat in her favorite chair, an inscrutable expression on her normally joyful face. Anne was not among them.

  “What are you doing here?” Bélanger asked, addressing the older couple.

  “An interesting question coming from you,” the woman replied in perfect French.

  Shev ignored the exchange, for he had a more important question clamoring in his head. “Where’s Anne?”

  The Frenchwoman lifted a penciled brow. “An unusual way to address a governess.”

  His mother’s eyes narrowed on him.

  The distinguished gentleman took a drink.

  “Anne’s not a usual sort of governess.”

  “Here, my lord.”

  Shev turned to find Anne standing near the door through which he’d entered. Indignation made him
snap, “Why are you standing over there?”

  “It’s where I belong, my lord.”

  “Anne, take a seat by my mother.”

  “My lord, I don’t think—”

  “Miss Crawford, my son is correct.” The marchioness patted the chair beside her. “Your place is over here with the family.”

  In that moment, he could have picked up his mother and whirled her around until they both saw double. Where Anne would have stubbornly refused to budge for him, she could not refuse his mother. No one told his mother no.

  With flushed cheeks, Anne passed by him, head held high. “What are you about, my lord?” she bit out through gritted teeth, not stopping to hear his answer.

  Based on his mother’s devilish smile, she knew what he was up to—and approved. Though he had no doubt she would give him a tongue-lashing for breaking his word about getting involved with the governess. But she knew her son well enough to recognize his intent toward Anne.

  No sooner than Anne had taken her spot, another gentleman entered the room. A tall, lean, balding man. Anne sucked in a shocked breath, her frightened gaze meeting his. Tall, lean, balding man. Could this be the gentleman Anne saw spying on them earlier?

  “What are you doing here?” Shev demanded.

  The newcomer ignored him and leaned down to whisper into the Frenchwoman’s ear. Although her expression remained for the most part unchanged, Shev didn’t miss the small wave of disgust that played over her face. It was then he registered the older couple’s identity. They had to be Jacqueline’s grandparents. Giselle’s parents. Friends to Bonaparte.

  A boulder rested on Shev’s chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. How could he keep the strength of an empire from taking Jacqueline away?

  When the man straightened and moved away, the lady’s attention shifted to Jacqueline. “Ma petite,” she said softly, brushing a hand down Jacqueline’s mop of hair. “Go greet your father.”

  The boulder pushed harder against Shev’s chest when Bélanger moved to stand beside him.

  Jacqueline hugged her doll closer before hopping off the sofa and inching forward. No doubt she recalled Bélanger’s curtness on the hill. But children were amazingly forgiving when it came to their parents.

  Dropping to one knee, Bélanger smiled and opened his arms.

  Shev looked away, unable to watch the reunion that would mark the end of a future he’d only just begun to envision. He swallowed back the pain and sought Anne’s reassuring presence. Her beautiful eyes clouded with tears, feeling the same loss. Then she mouthed the three most precious words in the English language, and Shev’s throat closed. He blinked back his tears and tried to tell her with his eyes what his aching throat refused to release.

  A small body pressed against his leg, jarring his attention away from the woman he loved beyond imagining. Still holding her doll, Jacqueline stared up at him with anxious eyes.

  “Jacqueline, what are you doing?” Bélanger half asked, half demanded.

  Jacqueline turned her face into Shev’s thigh and raised her arms in the international signal of lift me up.

  Without another thought, Shev hefted his daughter into his arms, and she wrapped her limbs around him, clutching him so strongly he wondered if she feared Bélanger would try to snatch her away.

  Never.

  “Well, that is settled,” the Frenchwoman said, smoothing her hands down her expensive silk skirts.

  “After all that I have done for you,” Bélanger spat, rising to his feet, “this is how you show your appreciation? Little bastard—”

  Shev’s hand shot out and clamped around the Frenchman’s neck. He squeezed until tendons and muscles separated beneath his fingers. Then he squeezed some more. “Do not ever utter those words again.” The man’s eyes bulged, and he clawed at Shev’s grip.

  “Marcus, that’s enough,” his mother commanded quietly.

  Releasing his grip, he shoved Bèlanger away. Jacqueline straightened to see what the commotion was, but Shev coaxed her head back down on his shoulder. “Nothing to worry about, banshee.”

  “Higgins,” his mother called. “Would you please see Miss Jacqueline to her nurse?”

  “Indeed, my lady.” Higgins touched a finger to the girl’s shoulder. “Shall we go see if Nurse has any of Cook’s sweetmeats stashed away?”

  Jacqueline’s eyes widened. She looked at Shev as if Higgins had divulged classified information.

  Shev chucked her beneath the chin. “Save a piece for me.”

  Smiling, she scrabbled down from his arms and yanked on the butler’s sleeve. “Come on, Higgins. Hurry!”

  The drawing room door closed, and Shev turned the full force of his hatred on Bélanger. “If you ever say or do anything to hurt that child again, I will kill you. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Do so, and she will hate you forever.”

  “If that is the price, I will pay it.”

  “Marcus,” Lady Shevington interjected. “Perhaps, it is time I formally introduce you to our guests.” She waved a hand in the couple’s direction. “General and Madame Trudeau.”

  Shev bowed. “Giselle’s parents, I presume.”

  “You are correct,” Madame Trudeau said.

  Shev eyed the silent gentleman. “A general without a uniform?”

  “We live in volatile times, my lord,” the general said. “Until France and Britain become better friends, we thought discretion the wiser choice during our travels.”

  “No doubt you were correct,” Lady Shevington said.

  Madame Trudeau studied Shev with an indecipherable expression. “I understand that my son-in-law has bartered off my only granddaughter.”

  “What a preposterous thing to say,” Bélanger sputtered. “Lord Shevington and I have entered into a gentleman’s agreement concerning Jacqueline’s future.”

  Shev flicked his gaze to the tall, balding gentleman standing off to the side. “Madame’s intelligence rivals the emperor’s, I think.”

  She smiled. “One must stay informed.”

  “How long have you been watching us?” Anne asked.

  “Long enough to make a few decisions about my granddaughter.”

  “But Lord Shevington is her father.”

  “So my daughter said.”

  “Anyone with eyes can see that your daughter’s claim is true.”

  Madame’s eyebrow hitched in the air. “You are quite forward for a governess.”

  “My apologies,” Anne said in a conciliatory tone. “I don’t mean to offend. But I have witnessed Jacqueline’s transformation from a sullen, unhappy child to a happy, carefree girl. As displayed just now, she has grown to love and trust Lord Shevington.”

  “My granddaughter was happy in France until Bélanger allowed his pride to destroy her innocence.”

  “Had Giselle tempered her wild ways,” Bélanger said, “she would not have endured the emperor’s censure, and I would not have had to send her to the country.”

  “One word to me,” Madame Trudeau said, “and I could have stopped the sequence of disastrous events.”

  “She was my wife and my responsibility. I would have lost the emperor’s respect had I not dealt with Giselle myself.”

  “You lost the emperor’s respect long ago with your grand investment venture that cost several people close to the emperor a great sum of money. If not for your connection to this family, you would have been banned from the emperor’s presence well before now.”

  “What do you mean ‘before now’?”

  “Bélanger,” General Trudeau interjected in a cold voice, “it is time for you to return to France.”

  “Once the paperwork is drawn and signed, I will be on my way.”

  “There will be no paperwork.”

  Shev could feel his mother’s and Anne’s eyes on him, but he kept all his concentration on the general and his wife. Once Madame Trudeau had revealed she knew about his and Bélanger’s agreement, Shev knew he no longer dealt with Bélanger. An unwelcome r
ealization. Greed was a battle he could win. Navigating the complexities of grandparents’ love for their only grandchild would take every bit of skill he possessed.

  “How dare you come here and try to dictate what is best for my daughter,” Bélanger all but growled.

  “As Miss Crawford carefully pointed out,” Madame Trudeau said, “Jacqueline’s not your child.”

  “She is in the eyes of the law.”

  “You might recall the emperor wrote the Civil Code?” Madame smiled. “Which means he can change it or interpret it in any way he sees fit. And do not think for an instant that we are ignorant of the reason why you banished my daughter and granddaughter from their home. I have written proof Giselle told you about her affair with Lord Shevington upon her return to France.”

  “You have no such proof, for I only learned of her deception two years ago.”

  Madame Trudeau raised a challenging brow, using silence as her sword.

  Bélanger glanced from one person to the next, a trapped look in his eyes. “This is far from over.”

  The door slammed behind the Frenchman, and Shev felt the reverberation all the way down to his bones. With a nod from the general, Trudeau’s spy followed Bélanger at a much more sedate pace.

  “Do not let Bélanger’s bluster concern you, Lady Shevington. My husband will see to him when we return to France.”

  “Despicable man,” Lady Shevington said to no one in particular.

  “We have long thought so.”

  “Jacqueline’s place is here,” Shev said.

  “While in London, we made inquiries about you, my lord,” Madame Trudeau said. “Some of the things we heard were not flattering.”

  Shev strode to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, pulling his thoughts together. How did one explain that the majority of what she had learned about him was nothing more than a carefully crafted ruse?

  He held the decanter up to the general, who nodded. Shev replenished his guest’s drink before turning back to the gentleman’s wife. Briefly, he wondered about the unique roles the two had established, but decided not to question it. Their approach to dealing with conflict appeared to be quite effective.

  “Recent events have shown me that life has a good deal more to offer than the ton’s entertainments.” His gaze rested on Anne. “And I plan to explore other options.”