Perfect Knave

by Kress, Alyssa

  He wanted to take care of her? And yet he seemed nervous, pacing and crushing that sorry hat in his hands.

  It occurred to Lucy that she could calm Emile's nerves. All she had to do was let him know he was free. At that instant he would shed any anxiety. His face would clear, and he would smile with sunny delight.

  Her hands curled into fists.

  Emile stopped by the dark fireplace. He looked down and started, as if only then noticing the hat he held in his hands. With a swift, jerky motion, he tossed it aside.

  Lucy's eyes briefly tracked the rejected hat. It was a confusing gesture, but she had weightier things on her mind.

  She stepped into the room after him, her hands clenching tighter. Uncertain how to begin, she latched onto his words instead. "Uh, at what have you been busy, then?"

  Emile shot her an odd, wary glance. "First off, I don't want you to blame yourself."

  She didn't, Lucy assured herself. None of the disasters that had befallen Emile had been directly her fault. He'd been the one to jump into her bath. He'd been the one to steal her father's silver, and he had most certainly been the one to kiss her in the barn. None of his problems had been her fault. Except, of course, for the blackmail. Her nails stabbed into her palms.

  "You're still...recuperating from that robbery," Emile continued.

  Perhaps she was, Lucy considered. Else she would find this task less troublesome.

  "With your mind on such matters," Emile went on, "it simply didn't occur to you to ready things for tomorrow."

  Lucy blinked quickly. Ready things? She suddenly realized Emile was talking about a different subject than the one she'd been pondering. Of course he was. He had no idea what Lucy wished to say to him. She gave her head a brisk shake. "I am sorry. You mentioned something about tomorrow?"

  He gave her a condescending look. "No need to worry. I took care of it. I gave orders to the servants about packing. And— I hope you don't mind, I sold one of those—" He stopped to twirl a hand in the air. "One of those table things in order to hire more horses. With the weight distributed among more pack animals, you can travel that much faster."

  "Travel?" Lucy's brows snapped down.

  "Yes. You'll be able to start at daybreak." Emile drew himself up. "With the extra horses, you could be home in less than a week."

  Lucy stared at him. Slowly, she began to comprehend. He had sold some of her furniture, ordered her servants, and was apparently making plans for her itinerary. Plans that she go home!

  In less than a week!

  "All of that," she responded hoarsely. "Yes, you have been very busy, indeed."

  Emile smiled fatuously. "I hope you aren't upset at yourself. You've had a difficult few days."

  Lucy put a hand to her forehead. She felt dizzy, which was silly, really. She could easily issue orders cancelling those Emile had given. Just because her husband had taken it into his fool head that she was going home did not mean she had to.

  "You are upset," Emile accused.

  "Mm."

  "I just wanted you to get an early start. I know how much better you're going to feel once you're in familiar surroundings again."

  Lucy lowered her hand from her forehead. She looked at him. "Is that what you know?"

  "Yes." His expression was earnest. "Back home you'll be able to adjust to...er, to all the changes that have occurred."

  For a moment Lucy imagined it. Going home. Herself at the head of the caravan heading back into Bonham. Alone. She imagined the whispers, the grins, the villagers poking each other with their elbows. 'I told you so,' each would say to his fellow, chortling. 'I told you he would bolt! Cursed, that is what she is.'

  "Trust me," Emile said. "An early start. That is what you need."

  A tight pain rose from Lucy's chest into her throat. "I am not going home."

  "What?"

  "I thank you for your...care, but let us waste no more effort."

  He was looking at her slack-jawed, as if he could not believe what he was hearing. "What?" he said again, louder.

  "I am not going home," Lucy repeated. "It is absolutely out of the question."

  Now he nodded slowly, dazed, then shook his head, contradicting the first motion. His brows curled in confusion. "I don't understand."

  Lucy rolled her eyes. "You do not have to understand. You merely have to listen. I am not going home."

  "But—" He shook his head again, as if he only needed to clear his ears in order to hear what he wanted. "But you've lost all your money."

  "Not all of it."

  "No?"

  Lucy lifted her chin. "I have what is in my purse."

  "Ah!" He peered at her closely. "That could not be very much."

  She shrugged. To be truthful, it wasn't. "It is sufficient," she claimed anyway.

  He squinted one eye. "What is in your purse."

  Lucy kept up a disdainful, haughty look, particularly since intelligence was beginning to creep back into Emile's confused expression.

  He squinted the other eye. "You're telling me that you intend to buy the farm your father told you about with what is in your purse?"

  "No, of course not!"

  "Then what are you about?"

  Lucy glared at him. The unfortunate truth was—she had no idea what she was about. She'd gotten no further in her worries over the future than how Emile was not going to be a part of it. "It is really none of your business," she told him.

  "None of my business!" His eyes widened. "All the money you own is in your purse, and you tell me it's none of my business to know what you plan to do!"

  Lucy worked to draw breath in a calm and even manner. "You will be...taken care of. You have no need to worry."

  "But I am worried." Emile gestured angrily. "You can't buy that farm. You can't even buy enough food to keep this lot for more than a few days. What are you thinking?"

  Once again, she had to admit she didn't know. Heat built beneath her clothes. "The servants." She latched onto a part of the problem she could handle. "You are right. They are unnecessary." She gave a brisk, decisive nod. "Them I will send home."

  "Oh, them you'll send home. Very good." Emile nodded, mockly sage. "So now you're not only without money but without people, as well. Excellent. What next?"

  Lucy set her jaw. "Then...I will take the remainder of my funds—and invest."

  "Invest!" He looked thunderstruck.

  She gazed back, imperious.

  "I cannot believe what I am hearing," Emile exclaimed. "Good Lord. What possible enterprise could you afford to invest in?"

  She had no idea. Maintaining a haughty disdain, however, she waved a languid wrist. "That, of course, would have to be investigated."

  A sharp guffaw escaped him.

  The sound went through Lucy like a whip. He was laughing at her. After all the humiliation he'd already given her, he was now laughing.

  "Investigated," Emile repeated. He paced away with a swagger. "I should think so."

  Watching him, Lucy felt more angry heat build beneath her gown. "I can do this."

  "Can you?" He whipped around. "Can you really?"

  She met his eyes. Oh yes, she could do it. She could do anything so long as it meant proving him wrong. "You will see."

  He gave a harsh, explosive laugh. "Oh, yes, I'll see." He spun on one heel. An arm swept out to take in their shabby surroundings. "I'll see what you can afford to invest in." He slapped a palm against a tattered wall hanging. Dust and dead spiders flew out. He turned to shoot Lucy a knife-sharp gaze. "This ratty old tavern! That is what you can afford!"

  Lucy made herself breathe slowly. Meanwhile, the anger built higher and hotter. It was one thing for Emile to reject her as his wife. She could understand that. She was not desirable to men. She certainly was not the sensuous, gregarious sort of woman who would be desirable to Emile.

  But for him to mock her judgment and suggest that she couldn't manage to take care of herself, that she needed some man—him—to do it for her—
Oh, this was beyond the bounds. "You will see," she repeated.

  Emile's chest puffed. "I will see—what? The depth of your blindness? The level of your obstinacy? You have to go home, Lucy. There are no two ways about it. Tomorrow," he went on, striding for the door to the stair. "You will be packed and all ready to start back at daybreak. I can wait that long—" He stopped with a strange, guilty look. "I mean, that's what we'll do."

  "No," Lucy said.

  "No?" With his hand on the door, he turned. A smile of masculine condescension graced his face. "Pray, what do you think, then?"

  He was not asking in order to solicit her opinion. He'd already rejected that. He'd already rejected absolutely everything about her. "I think," Lucy told him, "that I am going to buy this ratty old tavern."

  She was herself astonished by this impulsive statement. But the shock on Emile's face made it immediately worthwhile.

  "What?" he whispered.

  Lucy could feel herself trembling. Had she really said that? "I am going to buy this place."

  He continued to stare at her, in horror. "You—you couldn't."

  Feeling more confident with every breath, Lucy only raised a brow. She saw the change in his face, the little click when he realized that, in fact, she could.

  "But—you wouldn't," he breathed.

  Her shoulders straightened and her chin lifted. Lucy saw the next click in his face as he realized, indeed, she would.

  He opened and closed his mouth, looking like a caught fish. "But—but I was only joking, trying to make a point. You can't take that seriously."

  "Oh, but I do." Lucy's smile felt good. It felt real. "It was an excellent suggestion, in sooth. With a business of my own, I will be... independent. Yes. Independent." The more she thought about it, the better the idea became. With a business of her own, she could maintain herself, with or without a husband. She would not need Emile at all.

  "You can't," he repeated, but more weakly than before. He could see that for all his manly bluster, he was losing the argument.

  Lucy smiled, serene in truth now. Thanks to Emile and his mockery, she'd come up with a solution. She could maintain her independence and answer any who'd try to send her home. "I am going to be an innkeeper." Lucy liked the way it felt to say so. "I can do it, and I will."

  His stare was bleak.

  "Good night, Emile." Lucy moved to the inner door. She felt good, respectful of herself again. He would see. They all would. She knew how to succeed in business. Yes, money she could hold onto and make flourish. It was only men at which she failed.

  Emile made a soft, despairing sound as she sailed through the doorway.

  Lucy ignored it. He had no reason to despair. He was going to be well out of it.

  For an instant, Lucy's long stride faltered. She suddenly remembered that Emile didn't yet know he was out of it. In the heat of the argument, she hadn't had the chance to tell him he was free.

  Oh, yes. Right. Lucy blinked and turned slowly. On the morrow, then... Sometime when it was calm again and convenient. She would make Emile's situation perfectly clear to him.

  With a serene heart, then, and a vindicated soul, Lucy closed the door between them.

  ~~~

  Emile stood in the chilly outer room and stared at the door Lucy had just closed. A chuckle rose in his throat. It was a choked, hysterical sound.

  He should have known. The instant he'd decided to take care of the horses, he should have known. The moment he'd then considered it would not delay him much longer if he arranged a change of clothes for himself. Aye, he had been fool enough to think it wouldn't hurt to take the time to drop his current outfit by the side of the stream they'd passed on their way into town. It would give Lucy a chance to claim him drowned. He had actually thought it wouldn't hurt to take that much trouble for her.

  Another choked laugh erupted from him. He should have known that trying, even for one moment, to be responsible would end in disaster. Emile stopped laughing and glared at the closed door.

  She was not going home. She was absolutely, positively not taking her naïve and innocent self back home where she belonged.

  But it's not a disaster yet, a voice disagreed in his head. You could still leave.

  He closed his eyes. Was that true? Could he leave now with Lucy stubbornly settled in this pit of an inn? But what would happen if, once he were gone, she did something even more mad and reckless? He would not be here to—to somehow counter her actions.

  Emile lowered his head to rub the bridge of his nose. This was an absolute disaster. He wanted no part of the responsibility of a husband. For him to attempt the care of anyone was akin to dangling that person over an abyss. He would fail, and all would fall.

  But here Lucy was, rushing to fall all on her own, with none to catch her and pull her back to safety.

  From the corner of Emile's eye, he spied the old hat he'd bought from the beggar man, part of the disguise he'd planned to wear on his departure.

  Looking at that sorry hat, he started to laugh. Never, no never, had he met a woman more adept at messing up all his best laid plans.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  She bought the tavern. Or, more accurately, Emile signed papers taking on the considerable extent of the former owner's debt.

  In a cluttered storeroom, the most official spot that could be found, Lucy stood behind Emile's shoulder and watched him sign the necessary of documents.

  His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he made the clearly unfamiliar effort with a quill pen.

  To one side, the stoop-backed owner squeezed an arm about his wife's shoulder. The couple wore suspiciously bright and guileless smiles. They thought they were putting one over on Lucy.

  She shrugged. Let them think she was crazy. She knew what she was doing. She could make this tavern profitable.

  Emile lifted the paper he had just signed. There was another one underneath it. He sighed. But he stretched his arm and put the quill to paper again.

  His complacency made Lucy's smile dim. For the past few days, while she had rushed to make the necessary arrangements, Emile had made it crystal clear what he thought of the whole proceeding. Insane.

  And yet here he sat and dutifully signed a stack of documents that made it all come to be. Not a word of complaint or mockery issued from him. It was...strange.

  "There." Emile sat back. Setting down the quill, he rubbed his wrist. "I believe that's the lot of them." He turned to Lucy with a hopeful expression. "Isn't it?"

  A shaft of guilt went through her as she met his eyes. Her suspicions of Emile's complaisant behavior were unjust. He had good reason to be doing everything she wanted—because she had left him no choice.

  Lucy had yet to release Emile from the blackmail.

  "Ahem." She shifted her gaze quickly. "Let me check." Her face flushed as she leaned forward to sift through the heavy parchments. She should have released him already. Honor bade it. But expedience had kept her silent for these few days. She'd needed his signature to buy the tavern; her own would not have sufficed.

  Yes, as painful as it was to admit, she had needed Emile for one thing: to sign the documents.

  But Emile's signature, Lucy assured herself, was all she required of him. She straightened, absently rubbing her sleeve where it had brushed against Emile's shoulder. "Yes, 'tis done." Giving Emile a brief, wan smile, she looked away again.

  To the former owner and his wife, Lucy gave a better, bolder smile and announced, "Everything is signed. You are free of any and all obligations listed in these papers."

  The stoop-backed owner nearly crowed. "Oh, good. That is passing fine."

  Sighing, Emile rose to his feet.

  Lucy took a discreet step to the side, so that no part of her was touching him. She may not have required him for anything beyond his signature, but, in sooth, it had been a strange few days.

  Sometimes it seemed as though they'd done nothing but argue. But sometimes, right in the midst of the arguing, she'd felt
a strange closeness to her husband. Sometimes she half thought he was going to reach out and touch her. For what purpose, she had no idea. But there was the sense of potential, of a curling warmth beneath the surface of their bicker. Almost as if he were only arguing because he cared.

  Lucy shook her head. The only thing Emile cared about was wringing her neck. Aye, the man left no doubt how much she frustrated him.

  "First thing t'do is git rid of all the servants," the former owner was happy to advise. "A lot of lazybones is all they are."

  Emile coughed. The day before he'd watched with evident concern as Lucy had sent her own people back home.

  "I will keep whoever is willing to work," Lucy declared.

  "Whoever's willin' t'work?" The stoop-backed fellow cackled. "That won't be many."

  Which was all to the good, Lucy thought, biting the inside of her cheek. She had not the money to pay many.

  "And ye'll want t'know where we git our malt," the stoop-backed fellow went on, nodding sagely. "Lord Mitford hisself what lives on the hill—he even tried our ale once. 'Course he spat it out after, but he did try it."

  "Please, God," Emile muttered. He leaned toward Lucy. "Can I go?"

  Where his breath hit her ear, she felt a buzzing warmth. Lucy waved a hand, trying to brush the mistaken feeling away. Emile didn't create any warmth. He still wanted to leave—not just this room but the whole marriage. He wanted—no, he deserved—his freedom.

  "Well?" Emile asked, impatient.

  "What? Oh. Yes, yes, of course you may go." At the first opportunity, Lucy promised herself. She would tell him the truth at the first available opportunity. She would stop this dreaming and set him free.

  But as she stepped aside, she felt the need to whisper to him, "I hope you do not think I intend to take any of this awful advice?"

  Emile stopped in his tracks. "For three days you've refused to take any advice from me. Why should I imagine you'd take any from them?"

  Lucy flushed. "I know you mean well."

  Emile snorted. Leaning close, he whispered, "You just don't believe I could be right."

  Buzzing warmth against her ear again. "Mph!" Lucy muttered. "You will see."