And even if it was solely a magnanimous gesture on Richelieu’s part, Will swore he’d never take charity from him. Walking behind him as he chatted up Cora again, Will was sure he’d meant it as a punch to the gut. Had Richelieu seen what Hugh had seen in his face, his eyes, when he looked at Cora? Was he trying to clarify that Will had no chance against him if they competed for her affections?
He stifled a sigh and looked down the line of neat hedges in the park beneath the Eiffel Tower. He had to get her out of his mind, give up on this crazy dream before it became his undoing. Because after all, he had no more business taking up with Cora Kensington than Pierre de Richelieu did. Neither of them belonged with her. Neither of them.
He’d purchase his own suit before they left for Provence. It would not be nearly the same quality as what Richelieu had offered him; but it would be his, earned the old-fashioned way. It was unfortunate he’d tried the new suits on at all, though, because now his old, too-small collar chafed more than ever.
Studiously attempting to look at anything but Cora and Richelieu laughing and chatting, he followed behind the group as they strolled the park that led to the Eiffel Tower. The two of them intended to go to Richelieu’s favorite restaurant after their sunset visit to the Eiffel Tower, and then Richelieu was going on to another event, so Cora wore an exquisite evening gown of cream and pink, with cutout lacework crossing her delicate shoulders, and a feather in her hair. The small train of her dress was held by a tiny strap over her left wrist so it wouldn’t drag through the gravel on the path. Truly she had never looked lovelier, and it made Will feel all the more shabby. He had to admit that Richelieu was a fitting companion for her this evening, dressed in a silk jacket, trousers, and hat.
Again and again, Will’s eyes strayed to the couple in front of him, then reluctantly to his other charges. Hugh caught his last lingering glance at Cora. He smiled slyly like a fellow conspirator, and Will looked away from him in frustration, embarrassment.
And that was when he saw the man, with hat pulled low, watching the group as they passed. It was not the look of the casual observer, nor the native caught by the intrigue of a foreigner in their lands—Will was well versed in deciphering that expression. It was a cool, calculating kind of stare. As if he were memorizing each one in the group for future reference.
Will stared hard at the man but then saw him gesture across the park, to another neatly trimmed row of hedges in which a second man stood. Will’s heart went into double time, and he gripped his walking stick hard. What was this? Why were these men here, and what interest did they have in his clients? Will took several long strides toward Antonio and, with one swift tilt of his chin, drew the older man’s attention to the sentinels on either side. But by that time, both were leaving, exiting to the far side of either hedge. Will chalked it up to a fluke, an oddity, but he caught the first man’s dark gaze just as he broke away. It was the tiny smile edging his lips that caused Will to shout and run after him.
Will got to the other side of the seven-foot hedge, looking left and right. But the man was gone. Will ran another thirty feet to the next opening between the hedges. Beyond that, there was nothing in a vast lawn of the park. Somehow, somewhere, the man was hiding. But why? A chill ran down Will’s back, and he glanced over his shoulder. Antonio was approaching him, dark brow furrowed as he shook his head. No luck for him either.
And now they were both separated from their clients. Will raced toward Antonio, and, belatedly recognizing what Will feared, Antonio turned and charged ahead of him. They hurried over to their clients. Uncle Stuart met them first, ten feet in front. “Will?” he said in a hushed tone.
Will’s eyes scanned the row of hedges on either side, the people inside the park. Nowhere did he see the first man or his companion. Panting, he reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s all right. There were simply a couple of men—”
He abruptly stopped speaking as Richelieu approached. “What is it?” the man asked lowly, waiting for Will’s answer. His eyes told him he’d not accept anything but the truth.
“Two men. Nicely dressed. On either side of the park’s hedgerows. Watching us. Our party, passing. If it had been one, I might’ve let it pass. But two?” He shook his head. “They were waiting for us. I’m certain.”
Richelieu frowned and peered down the bushes again, squinting into the sun. “Perhaps it is not your clients they are watching, but me. If that is the case, I can handle them,” he said, opening his jacket and showing Will a small gun, carefully hidden in his vest. “I never leave without it.” He gave Will a sly smile.
The man had fearsome enough enemies to prompt him to carry a weapon? Richelieu turned to walk away, confident that all was now in order. Will swore under his breath and met his uncle’s eyes, as well as Antonio’s.
“Of course the man has enemies,” Uncle Stuart said soothingly, trying to dismiss the sense of danger that had fallen upon them. “Men do not reach his stature, his sort of power, and keep it without making others angry en route. He is no different from countless others we’ve met over the years.”
“Except he’s set his sights on one of our clients,” Will bit back, under his breath. Cora. He, his uncle, and Antonio were moving, catching up with the rest, who were now resuming their stroll toward the Tower. Richelieu was regaling them with a story, obviously trying to assuage their concern over Will’s actions. “That courtship is already under way,” Antonio said with a nod. They all looked forward and saw Richelieu place a hand at the small of Cora’s back, pointing something out to her in a nearby tree. A bird?
“It will be over as soon as we depart,” Uncle Stuart said.
“Are you sure about that? Is he not friends with those who will house us in Provence?” Will said, keeping his tone low. He still owed Richelieu for not making a big deal out of his attack. He wasn’t eager to raise his ire again now. But what if Richelieu had to use that gun under his vest? Would their clients be in the middle of some terrible shoot-out? His hand clenched around his walking stick at the thought of it. There was a reason Uncle Stuart never allowed them to carry weapons. Too many things could go wrong.
“He is a busy man. Deep into his business,” Uncle Stuart grunted, clearly not liking the challenge in Will’s voice. “He’ll forget about Cora after a couple of days. She’s a passing interest.”
Will shared a look with Antonio behind his uncle’s back. A man merely distracted would not go to the same lengths that he’d seen this man go to—the housing, the costumes, the dancing, the boating. Even his willingness to put aside the affront of Will’s attack was evidence of the man’s infatuation. No, it was by no means trivial, his attention. Will clenched his teeth. If Uncle Stuart insisted on seeing it as such, he was a fool.
Not that he could say anything about it.
Staring upward as a group, they reached the massive feet of the Eiffel Tower. Will thought it might be his favorite aspect of Paris—to stand beneath the elegant structure, each curve and angle as beautiful as it was strong. Uncle Stuart began his lecture. “Built for the World’s Fair of 1889, the tower was to be torn down within twenty years. But Parisians adopted it as their own.”
As his uncle went on, Will glanced around, studying each person about—other tour groups, begging Gypsies, a couple of businessmen out for an afternoon stroll. Neither of the men he spotted earlier was in sight, which both relieved him and made him anxious. Were they merely waiting for a better opportunity to—to do what? Try to capture or hurt Richelieu? Or one of the Kensington or Morgan heirs? All of them?
He sighed and counted heads, glad they were all in one small, tight group for once. Hugh and Felix were shaking hands and grinning, as if agreeing upon a bet, and glancing up to the top. Then he looked for Richelieu and found him to one side of a small newspaper stand, slipping his wallet out and handing the guard some bills. So that’s how he gains entrance.
Richelieu approached the old bear and bent to say something in his ear. Looking pleased, Un
cle Stuart nodded and gestured for the group to follow their host to the stairwell. “The lifts are still closed, but we’ve gained access to the stairs,” he said with delight. Reluctantly, Will turned to follow. He was the last one in, and with a grunt, the guard closed the iron gate, locking it behind them.
They began the climb, the women exclaiming about the numerous flights of stairs, the men jostling to get ahead—Felix at the front, of course, Hugh right behind him. Andrew stayed with Vivian. It only took a few turns before Lil, red-faced, paused to catch her breath beside Uncle Stuart, who appeared similarly flushed.
“You go ahead, my boy,” Stuart panted. “I’ll stay and keep watch with Miss Lillian here.”
Will passed them, sure they’d never make it to the top. Climbing wasn’t the best idea for Uncle Stuart anyway. His heart wasn’t what it used to be. Nell paused next, and her brother Andrew and Vivian waited with her. Will glanced downward, now a couple hundred feet up from the bottom. With the gate locked behind them, he was reasonably sure all would be safe below. He was more concerned with what might transpire up top. His eyes narrowed as he spied Cora and Richelieu two flights above him, on the opposite side. Even from this distance, he could see Cora’s color was high and she was flashing Richelieu a shy smile. Passing interest, my foot, he thought grimly.
Felix and Hugh were being idiotic, jostling each other, now two turns ahead of Richelieu and Cora. Will doubled his pace, intent on catching up to the young men. If they wrestled at just the wrong juncture, if there was a handrail rivet not quite strong enough—he glanced down to the ground and shuddered at the thought of them going over.
He passed Antonio, who was leaning forward, hands on his knees, panting for breath. The middle-aged man was in good shape, but this was a taxing venture for them all. “Keep an eye on Richelieu and Cora, will you?” Will said. Antonio gave him a red-faced nod before Will added, “I’m going after the boys.”
He resisted the urge to call after them, scold them like children. Clients never reacted well to that. But he’d do it if he had to.
In their race, they’d lost all sense of decorum, laughing and practically wrestling right there on the stairs. They’d finally caught the attention of Andrew and Vivian, who yelled up at them. But their cries went unnoticed. Hugh grabbed Felix by the back of the collar, and when he lost his balance and stumbled to the left rail, Hugh hooted and ran past him on the right, taking the steps two at a time. Felix ripped off his jacket and left it on the rail, tearing after Hugh.
Will raced on, seething that they would take such foolish risks, as well as leave behind such an expensive coat. “Felix!” he shouted, hoping his friend would pause, but Felix remained steadfast in his goal of catching up to Hugh. Will’s breath was coming in ragged heaves now, his heart thundering in his chest. How could they keep up such a pace? He kept his head down, watching every stair that passed, knowing he couldn’t afford a fall himself. Finally, he was gaining on them. Up ahead, Felix had caught Hugh on a small landing where the stairs turned, and they shifted from side to side on the small platform. Far below, Will heard one of the younger girls scream when the men leaned far over one rail, but Hugh and Felix could neither see nor hear anyone but each other, it seemed.
Hugh frowned as Felix grabbed hold of his jacket as he attempted to resume his climb, and roughly yanked him backward onto the landing. But when Felix tried to move ahead, Hugh did the same thing to him. Felix crashed into a beam on the far side of the landing and then dived for Hugh, bringing the man down on the stairs.
“Stop it!” Will cried. “Stop it, now!” He was but twenty feet away.
Both men looked over at him in surprise, then, with a grin at each other, resumed their wrestling match to get ahead.
Will swore under his breath and ran after them. Hugh was again ahead, but Felix grabbed one of his elbows and yanked him backward, sending him to one side of the stairwell rail and running past him, oblivious to what he’d just done. Hugh teetered on the edge, his legs lifting. For a second, Will hoped he’d regain his balance. But then he clearly was not. Will heard the women screaming below as Hugh twisted and narrowly caught the rail with one hand as he went over.
Will was still five feet away.
Hugh swung, grimacing as he fought for a grip. Felix reached him a second before Will. “Hugh!” he cried, grabbing hold of his friend’s wrist.
Will leaned over the rail and assessed the situation. “Hugh, give me your other hand!”
“I’m losing it,” Hugh cried in desperation. “I can’t hold on!”
“Felix has you!” Will said.
Hugh groaned and paused, as if summoning the strength. Will took two steps downward. “Here, I’m right here,” Will said, reaching out to the man from a different angle.
Hugh didn’t pause another second. Sucking in his breath, he swung toward Will, reaching out. They clasped wrists. Will repositioned himself for better leverage, then nodded at Felix. “Get a better grip on his wrist.”
Felix paused, his dark brows gathering over his bright blue eyes, sweat beading on his brow. “It’s okay,” Will said. “I’ve got him.”
Both Felix and Will grunted with the strain of holding Hugh aloft, now fully dead weight. “Move fast,” he grunted at Felix, his breath coming in pants. They wouldn’t be able to hold on to Hugh for long. “On three, we’re going to yank him up and grab him by the waist. Got it?”
Felix, red-faced, the sweat now running down his forehead, nodded.
“One, two, three,” Will said, and with that, both men gave it all they had, yanking Hugh upward with force. Before gravity could reclaim him, they reached out and caught him underneath each armpit.
Quickly, they pulled him backward, collapsing in a heap on the stairwell, Hugh partially atop them. They gasped for breath and held on to Hugh, as if he still might slip from safety.
Cora and Richelieu reached them, panting, faces awash in concern. “Are you all right, monsieur?” Richelieu asked, reaching out to touch Hugh’s shoulder.
“Fine, fine,” Hugh said.
Felix began laughing first. Then Hugh. But Will seethed with fury. He pushed Hugh off of him and clambered to his feet. “You think it’s funny?” he cried. He wanted to kick them. “You almost died.”
Hugh rose, and his smile partially faded. “Sorry I gave you a fright there, Will,” he said, reaching out his hand.
Will stared at it, still too angry to take it.
“Will,” Hugh said, now fully sober, “I’m indebted to you. You saved my life.”
“Yes, I did,” Will said, finally taking his hand. “But if you ever do anything as idiotic as that again”—he looked from Hugh to Felix—“I’ll toss you over the rail myself.”
CHAPTER 33
Cora
I’d never seen him so furious. He’d left us behind at the Eiffel Tower, walking past Antonio’s outstretched hand of congratulations, ignoring his sputtering uncle, and rattling the gate at the bottom until the guard came and unlocked it. He strode out and, according to Anna, didn’t appear all that evening, apparently electing to take his supper in his room rather than dine with the rest of the group.
We’d moved ahead, making it as far as the first observation deck, a small number of us going all the way to the top. But a cloud had descended since the incident with Hugh, muting conversation. Such was the effect of death—or near-death, I supposed. This seemed to bring the Morgans and Kensingtons to an abrupt halt, but for me, it was a familiar feeling. It was as if the shine had come off of the silver, and all that remained was the basic, utilitarian utensil. I knew how to deal with such surprises; the others did not.
Pierre and I ate our supper at a restaurant, as we had planned, but it was early, and only a few of the tables in the restaurant were occupied, so there was none of the gaiety and subdued chatter I’d become accustomed to in the city. Through the large glass window, I could see Antonio alternately pacing outside the restaurant—keeping a chaperone’s eye on me—and then sitting i
n the Richelieu carriage, waiting to escort me back to the chateau. But my mind was back at the Eiffel Tower…
“What is it, ma perle?” Pierre asked, jerking my attention back to him. He looked at me with a tender gaze that felt like a caress.
“It is the boys,” I confessed, setting down my fork. I wasn’t eating my coq au vin anyway. “Hugh and Felix.” I shook my head in agitation. “They don’t know what they’ve been given. What they so nearly threw away today.”
He studied me with his steady green eyes. “But you do,” he said quietly. “Who did you leave to take this tour, Cora?”
My eyes shifted to the front window of the restaurant, watching as people walked by. I imagined them there, my parents. Staring in, their hands on the glass. “My papa,” I said, tearing my eyes away. Then I met Pierre’s gaze. “The father who raised me, Alan Diehl. Up until last month, I did not even know Wallace Kensington. And Papa, he suffered a stroke… He was terribly weak when I left him.”
“And now? You’ve received word from him?”
I nodded a little. “Before we left the States. He was receiving good medical care, but still I fret over him.”
He nodded soberly, unblinking. “Who else?” he asked. This time he reached out and covered my cold hand with his warm one. “Who else are you feeling far from, ma chérie?”
I dared to look at him again. Was it that obvious? Did I wear my longing like a mask across my face?
“My mother. She accompanied Papa to Minnesota, where he might enter a proper hospital.”
Again, no surprise filled his eyes. Only compassion. “Who else?”
I studied him, confused, and gave a little shake of my head. “No one else.”
Glamorous Illusions Page 27