Luck of the Wolf
Page 26
She had gone on quickly before Aria could speak, explaining how Yuri had finally admitted his scheme to her shortly after Cort had expressed his intention to marry Aria. Yuri had known Brecht—Duke Gunther di Reinardus—in New Orleans; it had been the duke himself who had first taken Alese, then lost her years later.
“The Reniers eventually learned that it was di Reinardus who had taken Alese, but they were unable to find either one of them, despite years of searching. They assumed Alese was gone forever.
“When I told Yuri that you could not be Lucienne, he was convinced that you must be closely related to Alese. More than closely related—that you must be sisters, both of you spirited away in infancy to be held in safety until the time came to restore you to your rightful places.
“Yuri said it would make no difference which princess di Reinardus married. The duke’s men were waiting near the lodge for him to deliver you to them as soon as your training was finished. I appealed to him, Aria. I begged him not to go through with it. He finally agreed to turn against di Reinardus and make certain that we got safely to Placerville. He promised to tell Cort everything then. I thought… Oh, Aria, I am certain he tried to do what he said he would, but something must have gone terribly wrong.”
Somehow Babette had stumbled through the rest of the explanation. Aria had listened quietly, staring into her empty wineglass. Afterward, she had simply gone to bed. She had asked a few questions that morning, but hardly enough, considering that her world had just been turned upside down.
“One thing has not changed,” Babette had said to Aria before they went down to the dining room. “Your guardian clearly meant for you to be reunited with your people.”
“Then why did he keep so much from me?” Aria had asked in a voice as weary as an old woman’s. “Why didn’t he tell me that the king and queen were loup-garou and that there were many more like me in Carantia? And why plan to take me to San Francisco instead of New Orleans? He said it was humans who would want to hurt me because of what I am. Did he know about my sister? Why was she sent to the Reniers, while Franz kept me hidden in the mountains?”
“Franz must have been loyal to the true king,” Babette had said. “He wanted to protect you from the usurpers, and those who would harm or use you, like di Reinardus. He wanted you to be safe, as Cort did.”
“I would have been safe if di Reinardus had taken me. If I had gone to him, Cort would still be…” Aria had choked on the unspoken words and changed the subject. “You don’t think my sister is still alive.”
“I do not know, ma petite. Di Reinardus was unable to find her after she escaped, and she never came back to New Orleans.”
It was all the wildest speculation, of course. Babette knew that Aria had no reason to trust her or her opinion about anything. But the young woman would require advice and guidance now more than ever, even if she herself could not stay at Aria’s side.
Without Cort, Aria needed somewhere to go. Someone to love. She would need a purpose, something to fight for. As the heir to a lost throne, she might find that purpose.
So Babette had forged on. “The loss of your sister gives you an even greater reason to try to understand your place in this remarkable story,” she had said. “Do you not owe it to Alese, and to the man who raised and protected you? To your mother and father, who were so loved by their people and must have loved you just as dearly? To Cort, who fought to give you the chance to discover who you are?”
“Why should I trust the Reniers, when they weren’t even able to protect my sister?”
“We do not know the circumstances of what happened all those years ago. And you are strong, Aria. You have nothing to fear. You can be anything, anyone you want to be.”
Aria’s eyes had filled with miserable tears. “I don’t want to be anything but what I have always been.”
And that could never be. Aria’s life of anonymity and unchecked freedom was over and could never be restored.
Babette stabbed at an inoffensive slice of ham on her plate. “Benoit Renier sent a message that he will be meeting us here in an hour,” she said as they lingered over their uneaten breakfasts. “They may have doubts at first when we reveal your identity, but the proof of your birth is clear. I have written a simple letter of introduction that we will say your guardian passed on to me before his death. It will be easier if you continue to play the role we agreed upon, that you are a distant relative, until you know them well enough to reveal more of your past and the circumstances by which you came to be here. Given what became of your sister, they will understand your reticence.”
“More lies,” Aria whispered, smiling blankly at a young man who bowed as he passed the table.
“It is only for a little while.” Babette set down her fork. “I will excuse myself before you go to the Renier mansion.”
“Because you once did things they don’t approve of? Because they make you ashamed?”
“It is best this way, Aria.”
Steel glinted beneath the softness of Aria’s cheek. “I won’t let them make me ashamed.”
“You promised that you would say nothing about Cort or your future plans. At least not yet. And keep an open mind about the Reniers. You are too intelligent to do otherwise.”
Aria fell silent again. A waiter refilled Babette’s coffee. Aria hardly moved until another half hour had passed, when she lifted her head, sniffed the air and grew even more still than before. Babette knew then that Benoit had arrived.
“Bonjour, madame,” the young man’s voice said behind her. “Mademoiselle Aria, it is a delight to see you again.”
Aria looked up at him, a beautifully painted smile on her face. “Good morning, Monsieur Renier.” Her gaze shifted past Benoit’s shoulder, and Babette turned in her chair. An older, taller man, also blond and blue-eyed, was standing just behind Benoit.
“Madame Martin,” Benoit said, “Mademoiselle Aria, may I have the honor of presenting to you my brother, Henri Renier.”
Babette inclined her head. “Monsieur Renier,” she murmured, wondering why she had been so foolish as to think that Benoit would come alone.
Unlike his younger sibling, Henri Renier was clearly acquainted with Babette’s former profession. He didn’t smile as he bowed, and she could feel the disapproval in the stiffness of his shoulders.
When he turned to Aria, however, his whole manner changed. “It is remarkable,” he murmured.
“I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, monsieur,” Aria said, offering her hand to Henri.
He looked a bit startled by the familiarity, but it seemed to please him. He took her hand and bowed over it, holding it longer than was strictly proper.
“I was told that you were beautiful, mademoiselle,” he said, “but Benoit’s description hardly does you justice.”
Aria produced a very convincing blush. She smiled warmly at Benoit. “I am afraid that we told your brother very little yesterday and left him in a state of great curiosity.”
“Not at all, mademoiselle,” Benoit said. “There will be plenty of time to talk. In fact, my brother has come to second my invitation to our home.”
“I have,” Henri said. “No Renier is permitted to remain in a hotel while Belle Lune stands.”
“But she is not a Renier.”
Aria’s face paled and then blossomed with joy. Babette caught her breath. Benoit and Henri turned to stare.
Cort strolled toward them, dressed as handsomely as always, and tipped his hat to Babette, Aria and then the gentlemen.
“Forgive me for the interruption,” he said, meeting Aria’s gaze. “I regret that I was delayed in joining you, mademoiselle.”
“You’re…” Aria grinned like the wild girl she’d always been. “How did you…?”
“You need have no further concern. Our little difficulty has been dealt with. I—”
“Monsieur,” Benoit said, a very unpleasant expression on his face. “What do you mean by saying Mademoiselle is not a Renier?”
“Monsieur,” Henri said, shooting a warning glance at his brother, “as it appears you are acquainted with mademoiselle, I will—”
“Please!” Aria said. “Gentlemen, let us not quarrel.” She smiled impartially at everyone, and only Babette could see how her eyes lingered on Cort with barely contained joy. “Messieurs Henri and Benoit Renier, please allow me to present Monsieur Cortland Renier.”
Henri gave a visible start. Benoit frowned. Babette watched their faces carefully, trying to decide whether or not they recognized Beau Renier, the bayou boy who had once dared to court their sister.
But they seemed more annoyed than angry, as if it were only the mention of the shared surname that disturbed them.
“I am honored, gentlemen,” Cort said with another slight bow.
The Reniers did not respond in kind. “May I ask, monsieur,” Benoit said tersely, “what is your connection to Mademoiselle Aria?”
Cort’s smile was both charming and deadly. “I am her friend, monsieur.”
A finger of ice traced up and down Babette’s spine. Cort would not be here if he hadn’t seen to di Reinardus once and for all. Had he come to take Aria away? Had he realized he loved her? Did he hope to make a life with her in spite of the obvious obstacles?
Or did he still want the revenge that Babette had hoped he had given up forever?
“Monsieur…Renier,” Benoit said, interrupting her thoughts, “I asked you why you claimed that Mademoiselle Aria is not a Renier, when she herself has told us that she is?”
Cort glanced at Aria and smiled. “I only mean to say that she is far more than merely your cousin, though she is too modest to speak of it in a public place.” He turned back to the Reniers. “Messieurs, may I present Mademoiselle Aria di Reinardus, Crown Princess of Carantia.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE.
Or, Cort thought, perhaps not quite hell. Only its vestibule.
Benoit’s eyes opened very wide, as did his mouth. He clearly had no idea what Cort was talking about.
Henri was another matter. “Di Reinardus?” he repeated. His face hardened, and Cort guessed that he was one of the few Reniers aware of Lucienne’s hidden identity. Cort knew that the two men had only met Aria yesterday evening. Even if they had initially believed she was their lost “cousin Lucienne,” that misconception could not have persisted long. And now Henri had just been presented with something he had never expected.
If he believed Cort’s claim.
And why shouldn’t he? It would be difficult to doubt the evidence of his own eyes. Aria appeared in every way a princess. Cort had tried to prepare himself for the inevitable completion of her transformation, but he hadn’t succeeded. Despite the warmth and animation in her eyes, her bearing and manner were impeccably aristocratic. Her beauty had always been astonishing; now it was but a single exquisite element that made up a radiant being of angelic perfection.
And to think he had actually been worried about her. Every moment during the run to Placerville, throughout the game that had won him enough to complete the journey from Sacramento to New Orleans, and then during the journey itself, he had prayed that she and Babette had made it safely to their destination. He’d wondered how well she would accept the incredible story Babette had shared with him.
Apparently she had accepted it completely. He felt her staring at him, and it was all he could do to pretend he didn’t notice. He hadn’t planned to interrupt these fine proceedings. He’d almost convinced himself that he could watch from a distance without becoming directly involved. It would have been so much simpler for both of them if he’d let Aria believe he was dead.
But he’d allowed his emotions to rule him, to drive him to confront his enemies and see Aria again. That had been a mistake, but not because he still intended to take revenge against the Reniers. When he’d come face-to-face with Henri and his brother, he’d quickly realized, with some shock, that he was able to lock his hatred away in a corner of his heart where it could not affect him.
No, the danger lay in the fact that they might recognize him too soon. He had changed so much that Henri didn’t know him yet. But it was only a question of time before they realized that Cortland Beauregard Renier was the Beau Renier they had known, and Cort didn’t intend to put Aria through the unpleasantness of the inevitable unmasking.
Because he knew now that he had done the right thing in sending her to his former enemies. Seeing her among her blond, blue-eyed, aristocratic kin had sealed his conviction. Wild she had been, and wild she still might be, but she would soon realize, as he did, that this was where she belonged: with her own kind.
And he need not fear that they would destroy her independence or the very qualities that made her so much finer than they could ever be. She would never again allow herself to become anyone’s pawn, no matter what the Reniers and her countrymen might want from the sole remaining heir to the Carantian throne. Her future was as wide-open as the Western prairies. The future Cort had imagined for himself was no more than a flimsy stage set that had never been meant to withstand the end of his self-deception.
The game was nearly over. But before it ended, he had to speak with Aria alone. He had to make her understand.
“Princess?” Benoit said, cutting across Cort’s grim reverie. “What is this?”
Henri touched his arm. “We will speak of it later, Benoit.” He met Aria’s gaze. “Mademoiselle, do you confirm this man’s claims?”
Aria managed a perfect imitation of flustered modesty. “I… Monsieur Renier is no dissembler,” she said.
Cort nearly laughed at the irony of her words. “I apologize profoundly for not having been here to see to your comfort, Your Royal Highness,” he said to Aria. “But as you have found your family…”
“Ah!” Benoit said, brightening. “Of course! I remember Father mentioning a place called Carantia.” He turned eagerly to Henri. “Di Reinardus…that was the name of the ruler, wasn’t it? Father said there was a connection between the Reniers and the di Reinardii. Our distant cousins, are they not?” He bowed deeply to Aria. “Your Highness, please forgive my stupidity.”
Aria blushed again. “Please do not call me ‘Highness.’ I was not told of my birth until my…my late guardian brought me to America.”
Henri nodded, and Cort could almost hear his thoughts clicking against each other like poker chips. “Am I to understand that your guardian is no longer among us?”
There was nothing feigned about Aria’s sadness. “Yes,” she whispered.
“I am sorry,” Henri said. “May I assume he intended that you come to us?”
“He died before he could make his intentions entirely clear, but Madame Martin and Monsieur Renier…”
“Forgive me,” Babette said quietly. “The princess’s guardian gave a letter to me before his passing.” She withdrew an envelope from a pocket hidden among her skirts. “If you will be so good as to read it—”
“And just what is your part in this, madame?” Henri asked, dropping even the pretense of courtesy. Cort had wondered if the Reniers had recognized Babette, and now he had his answer. Had Babette already told Aria what she had been in New Orleans?
Aria’s quick response didn’t enlighten him. “Madame Martin and Monsieur Renier assisted Franz and me when we were in difficulty,” she said. “They have been loyal friends, and I could not have come to New Orleans without their help.”
“The details are unimportant,” Cort added. “The princess honored us with her trust. We have sought to fulfill her guardian’s request and to assure her safety while—”
“Safety?” Benoit echoed. “What do you mean?” He frowned and then turned to his brother. “Of course. Didn’t Father mention some sor
t of revolution in Carantia? Is that why…?”
Henri looked sorely tempted to strangle his younger sibling. “Enough, Benoit,” he said sharply. “The princess may tell us what she wishes when she is at Belle Lune, and has had time to rest and meet our father.”
“Thank you,” Aria said with a perfect balance of gratitude and dignity. “I am honored by your offer to receive me at your home, and I am certain that Monsieur Renier and Madame Martin shall be equally honored by your hospitality.”
Cort bit back another laugh. He doubted that Henri had wanted to invite an unknown and undoubtedly inferior Renier and a whore to the family seat, but Aria had just made it impossible for him to refuse. Impossible for him to refuse, as well, if he couldn’t get Aria alone beforehand. Cort cleared his throat. “I thank you, messieurs,” he said to Henri, “but Madame Martin and I would not wish to impose. If I may speak to the princess before your departure?” He turned to Aria, keeping his expression remotely polite. “If you will be so kind, Your Highness…”
Aria sighed and closed her eyes. “I am so very weary,” she said, touching her forehead. “And you must be, as well. Can we not speak later?” She smiled innocently up at Henri. “I am sure my American cousins will wish all of us to be comfortable. N’est-ce pas, monsieur?”
No, Aria would never be anyone’s pawn. And she was making it clear to everyone that she would not go to the Reniers alone.
Henri had also recognized defeat. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he said flatly. “Benoit and I will wait outside so that you may finish your meal without further interruption.” He stared pointedly at Cort. “Perhaps you will join us, monsieur.”
So that you can ask a few more questions of your own, Cort thought.
But Aria folded her napkin and made as if to rise. “I am finished,” she said, folding her napkin.