A Counterfeit Heart

by K. C. Bateman

  Raven nodded sagely.

  Richard finished his glass and poured another. “That’s what she does, you know—she creates carnage wherever she goes. If it’s not forging my signature, it’s causing havoc in a public street. She’s like those typhoons at sea. The ones that suck a man up and carry him away, then spit him out a thousand miles from home, broken, bewildered, and exhausted.”

  Raven lifted his glass in a toast. “I know. She’s marvelous.”

  Richard groaned, unable to refute it. “God, why her? She’s socially inept, but so charming she wraps everyone around her little finger. She even has the bloody prince regent eating out of her hand!”

  Raven shrugged. “You need a little madness in your life, Rich. And of course you find her irresistibly attractive—you’ve never encountered anyone like her. She refuses to do your bidding on an hourly basis. And she’s probably the first woman not related to you who hasn’t offered herself up on a platter.”

  Richard scowled into his glass. “She is not a restful woman.”

  “Ha. You can rest when you are dead.”

  “Every time I think I know what she’s going to do—what any other, perfectly rational woman would do in her place—she turns around and does precisely the opposite!”

  Raven refilled his glass. “Ordinary women don’t interest you. It’s the curse of men like us; we’re fated to be attracted to extraordinary women.” He took a deep swallow. “Admit it. Normal women have been throwing themselves at you for the past fifteen years and you’ve never felt more than a glimmer of interest in any of them. But this one stubborn, infuriating creature is utterly necessary to your future happiness.”

  Richard glared at him.

  Raven grinned. “You are considering that a world without her would be bleak and unchallenging,” he continued. “You are considering that the only way to keep such a vexatious creature near you is not with threats or bribery or brute physical strength, but with something even more drastic. By admitting that you love her. And by offering a legally binding, always-and-forever, till-death-do-us-part option: marriage.”

  Richard dropped his head back against the chair. “Oh, God.”

  Raven cuffed him playfully on the shoulder. “It happens to the best of us.”

  Richard had no answer to that. He uncorked another bottle. After that things got a little hazy.

  “Get up, you dolt!”

  Heloise’s voice brought him sharply back to the present. He closed his eyes as Thor’s hammer pounded mercilessly on his skull. “Whaddyouwant?”

  His thankless sister whacked him on the arm. “Will Ambrose just saw Sabine escaping out of your library window.”

  Richard sat up, instantly awake. “She what?”

  He jumped to his feet, fury heating his blood. Infuriating woman! She couldn’t be trusted an inch. Where did she think she was going? To meet that cursed lover of hers? She couldn’t leave. They had an agreement, dammit. She still had ten days to go.

  He stalked out into the hall, tugging on his crumpled jacket as he went. Will was waiting by the door.

  “Which way did she go?” Richard demanded.

  “Hailed a cab,” Will said cheerfully. “Told the driver to take ’er to the Pool o’ London, near London Bridge.”

  Richard swore. She was leaving the bloody country!

  “Raven, I need a horse.”

  Raven appeared in the doorway, looking as rumpled and hung over as Richard felt. He nodded toward his stables. “Of course you do. Help yourself.”

  Chapter 58

  The Falcon turned out to be a large sailing vessel with two square-rigged masts. Sabine thanked her cab driver and stepped cautiously onto the wharf, dodging some sailors carrying crates of dry goods up the wooden gangplank.

  A shout from above made her crane her neck and she smiled as Anton raced down the walkway and enfolded her in a smothering hug.

  “You look much better,” she commented. His face was back to normal, the swelling gone, save for a few small patches of yellowish bruising under his jaw.

  “You don’t,” he said bluntly. His concerned gaze went to the bandage she still wore on her head. “What happened to you?”

  Sabine told him of her adventure with Visconti. Anton whistled in astonishment. “Dieu!” he breathed. “You could have been killed.”

  Sabine nodded. “Yes, but Richard saved me.”

  She bit her lip and Anton tugged her hand, as if sensing her desire to avoid that particular topic. “Come and see my cabin. We don’t sail for at least another hour.”

  Sabine smiled at his boyish enthusiasm as he showed her his comfortable, well-appointed berth in the middle of the ship, complete with a deck skylight and whale-oil lamp. They met the captain, Mr. Lewis, and several of his fellow passengers, including a vicar and his wife. Anton introduced her as his sister Marie, come to wish him a bon voyage.

  When they emerged on deck, they went over to the green-painted rail and looked out at the bustle of activity along the riverfront. “You can still come with me, you know.” Anton glanced sideways at her. “It’s not too late.”

  Sabine shook her head. “I’m for Paris. I still have things to do.”

  Anton shrugged. They’d had this argument countless times on the trip from France.

  “Oh, I have this for you.” Sabine reached into the pocket of her cloak. “One hundred and fifty pounds of real English money. You shouldn’t have to use the counterfeits at all.”

  Anton whistled. “How did you get this?”

  “Legally,” she said curtly. She didn’t want to think about her betrayal; it made her chest hurt.

  Anton pocketed the money and gazed out over the water. “I’m looking forward to a fresh start, you know. A new challenge. America is a land of opportunity for men like me.” His eyes gleamed with roguish anticipation. “Just think—a whole continent of women desperate for the love of a good Frenchman.” He chuckled. “It will be a great adventure.”

  Sabine smiled, even as her throat tightened at the thought of him leaving. “Behave yourself, Anton Carnaud!”

  She couldn’t hold him back anymore. He’d made so many sacrifices for her over the years; she had to release him from that obligation. He needed to live his own life without constantly worrying about her. She was twenty-four. Old enough to stand on her own two feet.

  She would miss his easy friendship, though. This must have been how Richard felt when he’d lost his beloved brother Tony. This wrenching, aching sadness at the thought that they might never meet again.

  Anton put his arm around her and squeezed her to his side. “Stop looking so sad, little one. It’s not forever. Just long enough for Malet to forget I exist. I’ll be back in Paris before you can print your next million.”

  Sabine blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. “I know.”

  “I’ll write to you,” he said coaxingly. “In between making my fortune and beating off love-struck women, that is.”

  She gave a watery chuckle. “Oh, Anton, I’m going to miss you.”

  A commotion on the dock below drew their attention. Sabine leaned over the rail and then shrank back in horror.

  “Oh no,” she whispered.

  Captain Lewis bustled to the side to investigate. “What’s ado?” he shouted down.

  Richard’s voice carried with awful clarity in the crisp morning air. “I have reason to suspect you are harboring a fugitive, sir.”

  Sabine paled at his authoritative tone. Richard’s footsteps stomped up the gangplank and she shrank back as his gaze found her unerringly across the deck. Her heart somersaulted. She caught Anton’s sleeve, but instead of accosting them, Richard turned and addressed the captain.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, sir. I am Richard Hampden, Viscount Lovell.”

  The captain bowed. “How may I help you, Lord Lovell?”

  “I regret to inform you, Captain, but you have a woman on board who is attempting to flee the country.”

  The captain’s br
ows rose. “Is that so?”

  Richard nodded in her direction. “Her name—or should I say, one of her names—is Sabine de la Tour.”

  The captain frowned and glanced at her over his shoulder. “There must be some mistake, my lord. Why, that is Christian Lambert and his sister.”

  “She’s no more his sister than I am,” Richard said dryly.

  Sabine’s cheeks burned with humiliation. The vicar, his wife, and the other passengers were now all regarding her with assorted degrees of suspicion and horror.

  Richard strode up and grabbed her by the arm. She tugged away.

  “Get off me!”

  He turned back to the captain. “This woman has so many names I’m not surprised she finds it hard to remember them all,” he said. “She’s known as Sabine de la Tour. And Philippe Lacorte. And, most recently, Sabine Hampden—my lawfully wedded wife.”

  “Your what?!” Sabine gasped. “Your wife? I’m not his wife!”

  Richard shot her a quelling look and glanced at the captain. “She recently sustained a blow to the head—you see the bandage?” He pointed at the dressing she still wore. “Alas, she seems to have forgotten not only me, but our recent marriage, too.”

  “Liar!” Sabine shrieked. “I might have had a bump on the head, but I would never forget if I’d married you! I would never be so demented. And you—” She turned to the captain. “He’s Viscount Lovell. Don’t you think if we had been married you would have heard about it? The newspapers would have been full of reports.”

  She shot Richard a superior smile.

  “Well, that’s true,” the captain said, suddenly doubtful. He turned to Richard. “What proof do you have that she is your wife?”

  Richard held up one finger. “Ah.”

  He drew a piece of paper from his waistcoat like a magician. A very smug, satisfied magician—and smiled down at her in a way that could only be described as Machiavellian.

  “We were married by special license.” He unfolded the parchment and angled it for her to see. “Your name: Sabine de la Tour, spinster, twenty-four.” He shot her a pitying look. “And me, Richard Frederick Montague Hampden, bachelor, thirty-two. Dated Friday of last week, and signed by none other than the archbishop of Canterbury himself.”

  He showed it to the captain.

  “This doesn’t prove anything,” Sabine said. “A special license merely grants permission to marry. It does not prove that the two people listed on it have actually done the deed.”

  Hampden addressed the captain again. His calm, assured tone made her want to kick him.

  “The reason you haven’t heard about it is because it was a private affair. I was so desperate to marry her that I couldn’t bear to wait the three weeks necessary to read the banns in church, so I procured a special license.”

  “It’s a fake,” Sabine said stoutly.

  Richard feigned insulted affront. “Tsk. Are you accusing me, an upstanding member of the House of Lords, of falsifying a legal document?” His dimple reappeared. “And what would you know about fake documents?” he added wickedly.

  “This is a monstrous falsehood!” Sabine howled.

  “She really does have problems recalling we are married.” Richard smiled confidingly at the captain. “It was a very small service. Just a handful of close family and friends.” He furrowed his brow in fake concern and gazed down at her. “Don’t you remember it, darling? The tiny chapel at my parents’ country estate? You looked so beautiful. You wore a silver gown like Princess Charlotte’s, scalloped all over with beads. You looked like a star.”

  The vicar’s wife sighed lustily and shot Sabine a reproachful look for daring to forget such a magical moment.

  Richard’s eyes filled with mocking laughter. He put his arm around her waist, pulled her close, tilted her chin with his fingers, and gazed down into her eyes. “I can forgive you forgetting the marriage ceremony, but surely you recall the wedding night?”

  The vicar’s wife gasped in scandalized delight.

  Sabine opened her mouth to berate him, but he didn’t give her the chance.

  “Perhaps this will refresh your memory.” He kissed her. Hard.

  Sabine’s knees buckled and for one dark, glorious moment she forgot she was running away and kissed him back.

  He drew back, panting. “Ring any bells?”

  She smacked him on the arm. “Let me go! I don’t want you!”

  His eyes flared, and she realized he was utterly furious beneath his urbane exterior.

  “I don’t want you!” she repeated fervently. “I came here to meet my lover!” She pointed at Anton, who had been standing back, enjoying the show. “I am eloping with him!”

  This elicited more gasps from their avid audience.

  “Now wait a minute!” blustered the captain. “I’ll not be party to an elopement. Or to your planned adultery, madame. I apologize, my lord, for any insult.”

  Sabine groaned at his obsequious bow to Richard. The toadying idiot. “There is no adultery,” she cried. “I tell you, I’m not married to this man!”

  Richard shot her a quelling glance. His lips were a thin line and his eyes blazed. She quaked at the depths of emotion she saw there.

  “Do you deny you could be carrying my child even now?”

  All the blood left her face. Oh, God—she hadn’t even considered that possibility. “I—it’s—”

  Her stricken pause was proof enough for the captain.

  “Good Lord, what falsehood!” he thundered. “My Lord, please remove this woman from my ship at once!”

  “I won’t go!” Sabine shrieked, backing away.

  Anton stepped in front of her and intercepted Richard’s advance. He held up his hand. “One minute, if you please, monsieur. If I might have a moment to speak with my friend?”

  Richard glared at him as though he were trying to burn him to a cinder, but stopped. He folded his arms and gave a lordly nod.

  Anton turned Sabine toward him. “Sabine, are you truly married to this man?”

  He spoke rapidly in French and she answered in the same language, praying it would be too fast and too low for Richard to follow.

  “No! I’m not, I swear!”

  “He would like you to be,” Anton whispered.

  She gaped at him. “What? Are you mad? He doesn’t want me. I’m nothing but a nuisance.”

  Anton shook his head. “He cares for you. Why else would he go to such lengths to chase after you?”

  “I don’t know!” Sabine hissed, exasperated. “He likes chasing people. That’s what he does. But once he has them, he loses interest, believe me.”

  Anton gave a wry chuckle and glanced over her shoulder at Richard. “He hasn’t lost interest in you. He watches you with a hunger that is almost painful to witness. He wants you so badly he aches with it. And he fights himself, because he thinks he is alone in his regard.” He cupped her face and grinned down at her. “But he’s not, is he?”

  Sabine felt her cheeks suffusing with heat. “Of course he is! He drives me insane. He—”

  “Do you love him, little one?”

  “I don’t—I mean—”

  Whatever Anton saw in her face must have answered his question. He gave a delighted chuckle. “In that case, let me do you a favor.”

  The next thing Sabine knew, he’d pulled her into his arms and was pressing a fervent kiss on her astonished mouth.

  “What are you doing?!” she gasped as he straightened her back up and gave a piratical grin. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You won’t think so right now, but someday you’ll thank me for that. I’ve just done you a great service.”

  He shot Richard a cocky look and Sabine was suddenly glad she stood between them. The hard set of Richard’s jaw hinted at a longing to do bodily harm. He started forward, arm outstretched, as if to pull her away from Anton, but she sent him a warning glare. He stopped. Satisfied, she took the opportunity to give Anton a fierce hug.

  “Goodbye, Anton.”
<
br />   Anton cleared his throat, his tone gruff. “We’ve had some adventures, you and I, eh?” He ruffled her hair in the same affectionate gesture as always. “You should go home, chèrie.”

  “I will,” she muttered. “If I can get away from that awful man.”

  He shook his head and glanced over at Richard again. “I don’t mean Paris, little one. Home is wherever someone who loves you is waiting.”

  Her heart clenched in misery as she took his meaning. “I can’t, Anton. It’s impossible—”

  “As touching as this little scene is,” Richard’s frosty tone cut through their farewell, “it’s time to go. Madame?” He gestured grandly at the gangplank.

  Sabine pulled back from Anton’s embrace and scowled at Richard.

  “I am coming, Lord Lovell,” she said regally, and swept across the deck.

  Chapter 59

  The first ten minutes of the ride back to Upper Brook Street was accomplished in strained, furious silence. Sabine crossed her arms, not trusting herself to speak. Richard sat on his side of the carriage and glared broodily out of the window, as if the very sight of her sickened him.

  “I wasn’t leaving with Anton, you know,” she muttered finally, unable to keep quiet any longer.

  Richard turned and glared at her. “Pardon?”

  “I said, I wasn’t leaving with Anton. I was about to disembark when you so rudely interrupted us. I was saying goodbye. He is a dear friend. God knows when I will see him again.” Her voice quavered and she bit her lip, but Richard ignored the embarrassing display of weakness.

  “No need to kiss him quite so enthusiastically,” he said acerbically. “I have plenty of ‘dear friends.’ I don’t embrace any of them with such abandon.”

  Sabine shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Richard’s gaze narrowed as he sat forward abruptly and she reared back into her seat. Her heart pounded in her throat.

  “What I understand, madame, is that I have just allowed a man who is undoubtedly your partner in crime to leave the country unimpeded. I could have had him arrested on the spot. No doubt he’s the one with whom you have been communicating these past three weeks, hmm?”