Rake Most Likely to Rebel (Rakes On Tour Book 1)

by Bronwyn Scott

  She could see that storyline spinning across his face, pity and sorrow mixed together. It was an explanation that made sense to him, an explanation his code of honour could forgive: her father dead, her brother killed in an accident, a young woman suddenly left alone to fend for herself so she turned to her inheritance—a salle d’armes, her own formidable talent and her family name. And Julian had supported it for his own gains, waiting for a time when he could strike out for himself or marry into it.

  ‘No, he didn’t die.’ The words were in her mind, but she’d not been the one to speak them. She watched Haviland’s eyes move past her to the door she blocked. The voice spoke again. ‘I’m Antoine Leodegrance and I’m very much alive.’

  They both turned and stared at the man in the wheeled chair. For once she had the luxury of seeing Haviland caught entirely off guard. This was too much for even his noble hauteur. She knew with a certainty that whatever pity he’d felt for her was gone, replaced with something indecipherable.

  Haviland stared. Two simultaneous thoughts flashed. Antoine Leodegrance did not have a scarred face. Instead, he had a face that very strongly resembled Alyssandra’s, high cheekbones and all, right down to the chocolate-brown eyes. Secondly, he was in a wheeled chair. It was not scars that prompted his privacy, but that fact that he couldn’t walk. Antoine smiled in the wake of the stunned silence. ‘Perhaps this isn’t best discussed in the hallway. Alyssandra, if you would please help me inside.’ He gave his attention to Haviland. ‘This chair can do some amazing things, but backing up is not one of them.’

  ‘Of course,’ Haviland said automatically, still trying to take it in as he followed the Leodegrances inside. Alyssandra was pale and, for the first time since he’d known her, she was visibly unsure of herself and unsure of what to do next. She shot him a glance he wasn’t meant to see and realised where the uncertainty came from. She didn’t know what he would do next. Perhaps she was right to carry that uncertainty. What would he do next? He had the feeling that this revelation should change everything, but he didn’t know how. Was he supposed to stop loving her because her secrets were revealed?

  Antoine pulled out a pocket watch. ‘There is still forty-five minutes before the match. I think there is time for our tale.’ He looked at Haviland. ‘But I’m sure, at this point, you’ve figured out an accurate sketch of it.’

  He had. His original thought was not far off except for Antoine’s role in it. He wasn’t dead, but he was incapacitated and it had fallen to Alyssandra to literally become the legs of the salle. The masquerade was ingenious in many ways, making the most of their shared likeness and their shared talent. Haviland had understood that aspect well enough the moment Antoine had opened the door. It was the details he was lacking.

  Antoine gave Alyssandra a small smile full of affection, his attention riveted on her as he began. ‘I love my sister, Mr North, and she loves me. So much so that she has dedicated her life in recent years to my care and well being to the detriment of her own.’

  His dark-brown gaze swivelled to Haviland. ‘You are aware that slightly over three years ago I was hurt in an accident. You might even have heard that it was a riding accident? I’m not sure how much news of that nature would be of interest in London. I took a jump stupidly, not knowing what was on the other side. It was muddy and slippery and my horse landed badly. I was thrown and this is the result.’ He gestured to his useless legs. ‘The doctors were hopeful the damage wouldn’t be permanent and, under that assumption, we took up the masquerade. Alyssandra could be me for a few months. We could keep the salle open and it would be business as usual.’

  He shook his head, a shadow crossing his face for the first time. ‘But the months became a year, the doctors became less optimistic. A year became two years. Alyssandra’s fiancé lost hope that she would ever leave me, ever feel free enough to marry and have a home of her own. He broke with her.’

  He paused and looked down at his hands. ‘I think that was when I started to realise I had to end the masquerade for Alyssandra’s sake. I was going to be tied to this chair for the rest of my life, but it was not fair for her to be as well. But these things take time and timing. I couldn’t just close the salle and disappear. There are practicalities to be met. What would we live on without the membership fees?’ Antoine said apologetically as if the delay in acting on his thoughts had needed explanation.

  ‘It is not a sacrifice to be with you,’ Alyssandra inserted swiftly, fiercely when he paused. ‘You do us both little credit to talk about yourself that way.’

  Haviland smiled. That was the woman he knew, selfless and giving. Some of the worry inside of him began to ease. Despite his comment to the contrary, he had allowed himself to be influenced by Julian’s words more than he’d cared to admit; perhaps not in the way Julian had intended—that she was a master plotter, a woman of covert, insincere attentions—but in a more personal way. He’d doubted Alyssandra’s feelings for him, doubted the quality of their intimacy.

  Julian had failed on both accounts. The masquerade had not been wrought out of duplicity but out of love, out of a need to protect themselves and each other. Haviland saw the underlying message in Antoine’s apologetic remark. He was Alyssandra’s brother, he had to provide for her. And Alyssandra recognised his pride demanded it. He saw now why the masquerade had been maintained. Alyssandra was protecting her brother’s pride while he protected their livelihood.

  ‘But now it has to end,’ Antoine continued. ‘She cannot do this indefinitely. After the tournament, I will look for a buyer and sell the salle. We will remove to our country house in Fontainebleau and start again somehow. Perhaps it is what should have been done from the start. Now, Monsieur North, you know our little secret.’

  It was a request for judgement. Haviland knew what Antoine was asking. Antoine wanted to know what would he do with their secret? Would he expose them here at the last with them so close to escaping detection? More importantly, what were his intentions towards Alyssandra? Haviland understood, too, that Antoine had taken an enormous risk in what he shared. Men did not take such risks unless they felt that risk was somehow justified. Antoine must be very sure of him.

  Was he that sure of himself? He let his gaze rest on Alyssandra, lingering on the fall of caramel hair, the sharp jut of her chin, the depths of her dark eyes. There was sadness in them and he wished he could take it away. There was little doubt in his mind that he’d been the one to put it there in the first place. He was starting to understand Alyssandra’s choices.

  It occurred to him in the silence of the room that he’d been wrong. All along, he’d viewed the tournament as the watershed, the event that would define his future. But it wasn’t. Winning the tournament or taking third as he had done, didn’t change anything for him and it certainly hadn’t changed him. It had merely been an exercise, a chance to show off an accomplishment, but nothing more. She was his watershed. What he did with her, what he did for her, would define his future. She had given up her secrets for him. Would he give up his family for her? Not for a fencing salon, not for personal freedom, but for her because she was his freedom, his dream. But the time for such an announcement was not yet.

  ‘I think Alyssandra needs to prepare for her match,’ Haviland said at last. ‘Monsieur Anjou must not be underestimated.’ She needed her mind on Julian, not on him, not on any emotional turmoil. He tore his gaze from Alyssandra to give attention to Antoine. He bowed. ‘You have done me a great honour with your revelations. Your secret is safe with me. When the tournament is over, we will speak again.’

  Walking out of that room past Alyssandra without touching her was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He supposed he could have stayed. Antoine would have allowed the company, but he sensed Alyssandra and Antoine needed time alone, perhaps not solely as brother and sister, but as coach and athlete.

  Knowing didn’t make passing her easier. He wanted to stop and kiss her, wanted to tell her a million things to watch for, how to fence against Julian,
how Julian preferred to go for the right line on his opponent. But he recognised those things served no purpose. A kiss would distract her, and she already knew how to fence Julian. She’d been fencing him for years. Anything he might tell her she already knew.

  At the door, Antoine called out to him, ‘Do not worry, Monsieur North. Julian is no danger to her. He knows his part. There is just as much glory for him in losing the finale, if not more. A defeated Leodegrance is bad for business and Julian depends on that business as much as we.’ He smiled confidently.

  Haviland wished he were that sure. Julian might know his part, but Haviland wasn’t at all certain Julian would play it. He shot a glance at Alyssandra, counselling caution. Antoine would have to be told about Julian’s perfidy, but now was not the time. By Jove, he did not want Alyssandra to go out there. Every instinct protested against it. What sort of man let his woman go out to face danger?

  Alyssandra held his eyes, firm and unwavering. I will be fine. I’ve done this a hundred times. He had his answer. A brave man. A man who trusted in her abilities. She was not outmatched. She’d beaten him, hadn’t she? It had been her behind the mask conducting the lessons, meting out the defeats until she’d helped him correct his dropped shoulder. Perhaps, too, he could do her more good out there, where he could keep an eye on Julian. He gave a short nod as he opened the door. ‘I’ll see you both afterwards.’ This was a different kind of bravery, a different kind of honour. But Alyssandra would tolerate nothing less. It would take some getting used to.

  ‘He’s coming back.’ Antoine smiled triumphantly.

  Alyssandra returned his smile. She hadn’t the heart to ruin his happiness. Antoine thought everything was solved. And it was, in a way that had nothing to do with his disclosures to Haviland. ‘You should have told me you meant to tell him everything,’ she said, reaching for her gear. She would have to go soon.

  ‘I didn’t know myself that was what I intended,’ Antoine confessed. ‘When I heard him out there, I knew I had to tell him. He loves you, Alyssandra. It’s in his voice, in the way he looks at you. You love him, too, I think.’ His voice softened, and he looked young again, the way he looked before pain marked his days. ‘Maybe he’s the reason Etienne wasn’t meant to be the one?’

  That brought tears to her eyes. ‘You’re a hopeless romantic, Antoine.’ She brushed at her cheeks and shook her head. She had to tell him. ‘Maybe he does love me, but nothing can come of it.’

  Antoine cut her off. ‘You’re the daughter of a French vicomte, you’re a lady in your own right. There’s nothing wrong with your birth. You’re perfectly acceptable—’

  ‘Antoine, listen,’ she interrupted. ‘It wouldn’t matter if I was the Queen of England. He’s promised to someone else. It’s been arranged since they were children. Two families are counting on him to fulfil the contract when he goes home. He’s an honourable man, Antoine.’ She couldn’t tell him the rest, that Haviland wanted to stay in Paris, wanted to teach fencing, wanted to be with her. Antoine would hope too much.

  The news crushed him. She could see the life go out of his face. Oh, she hated doing it to him. ‘Then he should not have dallied with you.’ Antoine’s voice was grim, bitter.

  ‘Don’t blame him. We started it, you and I, with our subterfuges. And I proved less resistant to his charm than I would have thought.’ Perhaps she should feel regret over having waved her fan that very first night. But she didn’t. She would lose Haviland, but she wouldn’t lose the memories.

  Antoine relented, but remained unconvinced. ‘I guess it was all for naught. I thought if he knew, if he understood...’ He would forgive her and the path would be clear for him to propose and everyone could live happy ever after. Antoine didn’t need to finish the sentence. She knew his thoughts, knew how his mind worked.

  ‘It’s not all in vain.’ Alyssandra picked up her rapier. ‘I will finish this tournament and we will have a new life.’ She bent down and dropped a kiss on her brother’s forehead. ‘All will be well, you’ll see.’ Eventually it probably would. She’d got over Etienne. She would get over Haviland, she promised herself. But it would take a long time and it would hurt. It already did.

  Antoine’s hand closed over her wrist. ‘Wait, why is North worried about Julian?’

  She smiled brightly, too brightly, and pulled away. ‘I do not know. I will beat him.’

  * * *

  The bitch would not beat him. Julian stood on the sidelines of the piste, waiting for the final to be called. He couldn’t notch her rapier, as well. He caught sight of Haviland shouldering his way through the crowd and moved to intercept him. He had something for the Englishman, too.

  He made sure to stand next to North on the sidelines. ‘What a day this will be. First I beat you and now I’ll beat your woman.’

  To his credit, North refused to be drawn. ‘You didn’t beat me. You notched my blade.’ His tone was low and calm, his eyes straightforward, never straying from the curtained cubicle where Alyssandra must be right now getting ready. ‘Did you notch hers? If not, she’ll beat you.’

  Julian smiled. He was going to mess with North’s mind until the Englishman was paralysed with fear. ‘Two broken blades in two consecutive rounds against me would be far too suspicious. No, I have something better for her. Shall I tell you what it is?’ Just then, his page ran up to him, delivering his rapier. ‘Ah, and here it is. Thank you, my boy. You didn’t touch it, did you?’

  ‘No, sir.’ The boy nodded and ran off.

  ‘Good lad, because if he had...’ Julian leaned towards Haviland with an air of confidentiality ‘...he might be dead. I poisoned the tip, you see.’ He watched Haviland’s jaw tighten. ‘I think it adds a little excitement to an otherwise dull sport, don’t you? Really, what’s the point of fighting with only wooden fleurets to pierce one’s chest? It’s like knife fighting with dull blades, firing guns without bullets. It’s much more exciting this way.’ He held up his blade to the light. ‘It’s cobra venom, it’s invisible. All I have to do is knick her arm or leg. It won’t matter if it’s a legal touch or not. The result will be the same. I just have to give the poison a chance to work. The surface of the skin isn’t enough, it has to enter the bloodstream.’

  Then it would just be he and Antoine. He might not have the security of marriage any longer to bind him to the family without Alyssandra, but Antoine would need him for ever, would need the quality of his name to keep the salle drawing high-paying customers because to all the world, Antoine Leodegrance would be dead. Best of all, Antoine would never know what he’d done. It would be a shame to lose such a beauty, but she had made her position plain and refused to budge when she’d come after him with that sabre.

  ‘You can tell her if you want to. There’s time.’ Julian smirked at Haviland’s silent outrage, his fists clenched at his sides as he realised there was nothing he could do in a crowd. ‘Or do you think it would distract her too much to know? What you have to ask yourself is will she fight better knowing her life is on the line or better if she was ignorant of the fact? It’s your very own roulette game. Or maybe you don’t care either way. You know, she has played us both, North. She’s led me on for years. Maybe you’ve finally figured out she came to you only to protect her brother. She flirted with you so you’d stop asking questions about the two of them. She’s done nothing but deceive you. If you didn’t want to tell her, I wouldn’t blame you.’ He gave Haviland a little nod. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for the final.’ Julian was through waiting. Fortune favoured those who took action and it was going to smile on him in about twenty minutes.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Murder! Haviland let the horrifying knowledge galvanise him into action. There were mere minutes in which to act. His mind raced ahead of his body as he pushed his way through the crowd gathering on the floor for an up-close look at the bout which would take place on a raised stage. There was no time to go to Antoine. Even if there was, there was no guarantee Antoine could do anything t
o stop the match without revealing himself. Neither could he go to Archer or Nolan in the stands. He’d never make it through the press of people to reach them and still warn Alyssandra.

  His mind had already resolved that issue, too. He impatiently elbowed aside a few bystanders that refused to move. The crowd was nearly impossible. He wouldn’t risk playing with her mind because she wasn’t going to fight. He needed to take her place. The crowd would be expecting a man anyway. With a mask on, he doubted they would see anything but what they expected to see—Leodegrance on stage, at a distance from them.

  Haviland turned sideways and edged through the people congregated at the foot of the stage. There were curtained cubicles set on either side for garbing up. She’d be there, but she’d already be garbed. As the champion, she’d be stage left. She was there, practising with her rapier—one of the salle’s premier blades. Haviland had seen them under lock and key in the glass case of the private instruction rooms.

  ‘Leodegrance...’ he began, careful not to use her name in case they were overheard.

  She stopped mid-lunge, startled by the intrusion. He strode towards her, a hand to his lips, warning her to be silent, to do nothing to give her away, although he suspected she was far better at that game than he. Close enough to whisper, he delivered his news. ‘Julian has poisoned his blade. Likely it’s the tip, perhaps part of the blade itself. Definitely the fleuret.’

  He wanted to rip the damn mask from her face, wanted to see her reaction, but it was far too risky with a crowd just feet away beyond the curtain. What was her reaction? Did the news frighten her? ‘He means to do murder.’ Motives didn’t matter at this point. All that mattered was that Julian not have a chance to do it.