“A cause which will instantly evaporate as soon as one or two of them get wind that I have more secrets to reveal. Secrets that will crush what little they have left.” He selected a decanter and poured himself a drink. “Brave men turn to cowards when faced with the possibility of losing everything a second time. Or a third.”
Louis frowned. He hadn’t expected Lafarge to be cowed, but he’d expected more than boredom. “What do you want?” he asked. “Is it money? What will it take to get you to retire and leave the rest of us in peace?”
Lafarge shook his head, then swallowed a gulp of his drink. “I have more money than you could possibly conjure up to pay me off. And I have more power than any of you who oppose me. What else is there to care about in life?”
There was so much more. In an instant, love and family came to Louis’s mind. Peace and friendship. Living a good life in a quiet, safe place, surrounded by joy and affection. Those were the things he wanted beyond any shadow of a doubt. But he was certain that Lafarge devalued all of those things.
“Money doesn’t last,” he said. “And power shifts with the winds. You’ve built nothing else for yourself, so I understand why you think you hold all the cards. But you do not, sir.”
“You have no idea how wrong you are,” Lafarge said, placing his glass back on the table. “Money and power are everything. All else is foolish and sentimental. I crush fools for pleasure and ruin sentiment for fun.”
“It will be your downfall in the end,” Louis said, then bowed sharply. “Good day, sir.”
He turned to go, but Lafarge stopped him with, “And just where do you think you’re going?”
Louis pivoted back to him. “To join with my friends in planning your destruction,” he said.
“Oh no. That won’t do. Durand,” Lafarge called to the butler hovering in the doorway. “Have Lord Sinclair taken down to the cellar and shot. Make it look like a suicide.”
Louis’s senses came alive with energy and he bolted toward the door. Before he could pass through, the butler, Durand, grabbed him and slowed his pace. Durand shouted something in French, and within seconds, two burly men shot out from one of the side parlors, racing to help subdue Louis. One threw a punch at Louis’s head, and the world went black.
Chapter 6
Solange dragged herself to her feet with a furious growl, then pivoted to run back to the door.
“Let me out,” she shouted, banging on it with both hands. “Lafarge! Release me at once!”
She banged again, but knew her protests would be useless. Lafarge was far off, in his office. The butler who had locked her in the room wasn’t about to return to free her. And if she were honest with herself, none of the servants in the house were likely to rush to the rescue of an unknown woman.
She slammed her fists against the door one more time with a wordless cry of frustration. She had been so incredibly stupid to charge into Lafarge’s house, into his clutches, without a solid plan and without someone watching out for her. No one knew where she was, and after the way she’d slipped away from the McGoverns several times during their Parisian visit, no one would be overly concerned by her absence at the palace. She’s let impulsivity and her desire for revenge take over her good sense, and now she was in real danger.
She leaned her forehead against the door for a moment, letting her shoulders slump and misery overtake her. For years, since discovering the truth of who she was, she’d been disgusted with her mother for falling into another man’s arms and then digging her grave deeper by lying about it for so long. But now she understood that people weren’t perfect. They made foolish decisions, particularly when their heart and their pride were involved. They acted on impulse and behaved like fools. She was as guilty as the next idiot.
With a long intake of breath, she pushed away from the door and turned to face the room. She might have been locked in, but she wasn’t trapped yet. There had to be another way out. She took a few steps deeper into the room, surveying the scene. There were two, tall windows at the far end of the room, which meant escape was possible. And it was always possible that there were hidden doors in the walls. Every spare inch of the walls was hung with paintings or had cabinets and display cases pushed up against it.
Solange blinked, her breath catching in her lungs as she took a closer look at everything around her. The room had the feeling of an overcrowded museum gallery. She recognized the paintings as those of grand masters, Rembrandt, daVinci, Titian, and more. The glass-fronted cabinets held everything from jewelry to gilded snuff boxes to ancient Egyptian statues. The furniture was mismatched, but every piece was exquisite. Beyond exquisite. The sofas that faced each other in the center of the room, a low table between them laden with papers, ledgers, and files, were pieces of art.
She pressed a hand to her stomach and walked forward, her eyes wide as she studied the objects in the room around her. She began a circuit of the room that took her past each of the cabinets and their contents. There were enough gems and gold in the cabinets to buy a small country. Most of the pieces were feminine—bracelets, necklaces, and rings. Some of them were arranged with miniatures of beautiful women.
Solange swallowed hard. The women must have been Lafarge’s former conquests and the jewels the prizes he’d collected from them. Her blood ran cold as she remembered some of the last words Lafarge had said before ordering his butler to drag her away. “Take her to the trophy room.”
She moved on to the next cabinet, a shiver passing down her spine. Was she a trophy now? A memento from her mother? Surely there had to be something else that belonged to her mother in that room. Lafarge didn’t seem to be the sort of man to let someone go without a token.
She moved faster, scanning the cabinets for anything she might remember from her childhood, any bits or baubles that had been important to her mother but had disappeared. Nothing looked familiar, though. Her mother had never been one for lavish jewels or frippery. And with all the nationalities represented by the articles in the cabinets, none of them were from Côte d'Ivoire. Perhaps Lafarge had taken something else from her mother, something more like the furnishings or paintings.
She started to turn away from the cabinet, but something caught her eye. Resting on a pillow of deep blue velvet in one of the cases was a large, old brooch of gold set with rubies. Beside it was a miniature of a young woman who had Louis’s eyes.
“The brooch,” she whispered, touching the cabinet’s glass.
She searched for a way to open the cabinet but couldn’t find one. There didn’t seem to be any locks or hinges or any way to get inside. It was as if the cabinet had been made with the objects inside of it. But she was determined to retrieve the brooch for Louis.
She turned away from the cabinet, marching across the room and looking for something to smash the glass with. There were no fire irons by the room’s large fireplace—which held several clocks, all of which ticked in relative unison—and nothing that could be used as a cudgel or club. She made a half-circle around the room, searching for anything to smash glass with, but almost everything in the room was locked up tight and could only be looked at.
Her frustrated steps took her to the low table between the sofas and the papers and ledgers it held. Her best chance was to use one of the ledgers to smash the glass with. She reached for the thickest of the books and picked it up.
As she did, a cascade of papers fell out from between the pages, scattering around her. She would have ignored them if the name “McGovern”, printed at the top of one of them, hadn’t caught her eye. She tucked the ledger under her arm and bent to retrieve that paper. After scanning the first few lines of what looked like a royal dispatch, her eyes went wide.
“No,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Asher, you didn’t.”
Her plans instantly changed, and she sat on the nearest sofa, dropping the ledger to its cushion. She scanned over the rest of the dispatch, then set that aside as well and began gathering the others. But there was no order to
the papers that had spilled around her, or if there had been, there wasn’t now. The one that had caught her attention was about Asher, but the next was in French and detailed the illegal activities of a Comte de Grasse, and the one after that was a letter from a British royal duke about—
Solange clasped a hand to her chest as all the air left her lungs. The letter from the duke was a personal correspondence that had been sent to Lafarge outlining plans to install Lafarge in the French National Assembly, in a position that would place him in direct contact with the president. She scanned the full letter, then quickly folded it and tucked it into her bodice before searching the rest of the loose papers for more evidence of Lafarge’s political ambitions.
Blessedly, she found them, and the picture they painted was far more vivid than a bid by Lafarge to enter politics. She found a letter from a French cabinet minister that more or less begged Lafarge to stop blackmailing him in return for political support and a receipt for an exorbitant amount of money signed by the French foreign minister. She folded both documents and slid them between her bodice and her corset.
“Treason,” she whispered as she scooted forward on the sofa, intent on poring over all of the documents to find more proof of Lafarge’s villainy. “You’re not just a seducer and blackmailer, you’re a traitor.”
She had just pulled one of the files from the table to her lap when a shout rang from the hallway outside of the trophy room. “Unhand me!”
Solange shot to her feet. “Louis,” she called, abandoning the papers and ledgers and dashing toward the door. “Louis, is that you?” She banged on the door for all she was worth, gripping the door handle with both hands and rattling it as if her force of will alone could break the lock. “Louis!”
The blow that one of Lafarge’s henchmen had landed on the back of his head had been enough to stun Louis. It was a small miracle that he was able to recover before they could drag him to whatever dungeon Lafarge intended to have him killed in. He came around only seconds after blacking out, but he’d gone limp for long enough that Lafarge’s men let their guard down.
As soon as sense returned to him, he jerked out of their grip and tore down a side corridor. Durand and the two henchmen scrambled after him, but Louis was able to dash to the far end of the hallway before they grabbed him.
“Unhand me,” he shouted, twisting to jerk out of the larger of the two henchmen’s grip.
No sooner had he shifted to throw a punch at that henchman than he heard Solange call out, “Louis, is that you?” from behind the door closest to him.
“Solange,” he shouted in return.
The henchman took advantage of his moment of distraction and threw a punch that connected with Louis’s jaw. Louis reeled to the side, which ended up helping him as he was wrenched out of the henchman’s grip. He recovered fast enough to crack his fist against the man’s nose. The man jumped back with a roar, blood pouring down his face.
Durand shouted, “Allez chercher de l'aide!” pointing down the hall and reaching into his livery jacket.
Louis moved fast, knowing he didn’t have time to make mistakes. He lunged for Durand, tackling the man and pinning him against the wall as the henchmen dashed past. The two of them struggled for a moment before Louis managed to reach a small pistol that Durand had tucked away before Durand could get it. Louis used the butt of the gun to hit Durand’s head as hard as he could, knocking him out cold.
“What’s going on out there? Louis!” Solange shouted, pounding on the other side of the door.
Louis tossed Durand aside before running for the door and trying the handle. “It’s locked,” he said.
“I know.” Solange continued to thump the door.
Shouting rang from deeper in the house. Panic gnawed at Louis’s gut. He refused to leave Solange to save himself, but time was more or less up.
He glanced to Durand’s prone form on the floor, catching sight of a ring of keys on the man’s belt. Without thinking, he lunged for it and grabbed the ring, ripping it free. His hands shook as he tried one key after another in the lock, until at last, the tumblers clicked and the door swung open, revealing Solange.
“Hurry,” Solange gasped, taking his hand and running. “We have to get out of here.”
“You’re damned right about that,” Louis growled, gripping her hand tightly and sprinting forward.
They made it to the main hallway and started toward the front door.
“Ce que le diable se passe ici?” Lafarge demanded, stepping out of his office.
Louis twisted back to fire Durand’s gun at the man, but all he got was a hollow click. Either the gun wasn’t loaded or it had malfunctioned. Three men spewed out of a side corridor near Lafarge’s office, and Louis did the only thing he could think to do with his heart pounding in his throat and the need to get Solange to safety pushing everything else from his mind. He threw the gun at them and raced for the door.
“Arrête-les!” Lafarge shouted as Louis almost slammed into the front door.
Louis grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.
“Go, go!” Solange urged him, pushing him out into the cool afternoon and leaping after him. “We have to get away from here as quickly as possible.”
Louis could only manage a nod of agreement as he sped away from the house as fast as he could without leaving Solange behind. A gunshot rang out after them and he ducked on instinct, but wherever the bullet went, it wasn’t a danger. A woman screamed somewhere nearby, but Louis had no interest in pausing to see who it was or what would happen.
He and Solange sprinted as fast as they could to the river’s edge. Though cool, the weather was fine enough that Parisians and tourists alike were out in droves, strolling the streets and walking along the banks of the Seine. Louis and Solange didn’t slow or stop, though. They kept running, in spite of the curious and alarmed looks they were getting, until they reached the Pont de l’Alma and raced across.
“Are they still following us?” Solange asked, panting furiously.
Louis slowed enough to glance over his shoulder from the center of the bridge. “It doesn’t look like it,” he said, only feeling a little relief. Lafarge’s henchmen might not be right behind them anymore, but there was no way Lafarge would let them walk away scot-free. “We need to find a place to hide.”
Solange nodded, her terrified run turning into a determined march. “I know where we can go.”
She led him on, across the bridge and onto the Avenue Rapp. Louis had no idea where they were going, but Solange clearly knew the area well. He trusted her to get the two of them to safety, but was surprised all the same when their path took them past the Eiffel Tower.
“I’m not sure now is the right time for a romantic rendezvous,” he said with a half-relieved, half-mad laugh.
She glanced up at him, the panic that had pinched her face resolving into a wry grin. “Danger has its own passion, does it not?” she asked, heat flashing in her eyes.
Louis’s desire to laugh reached towering heights. It was completely inappropriate and part of him was appalled at himself, but after what they’d just been through, considering what could have happened, he had never been happier.
“My cousin has a flat in Grenelle,” Solange explained as they strode on. “He is not in Paris at the moment, but he has given me use of the place.”
“How noble of him,” Louis said, tightening his grip on Solange’s hand.
The flat in question turned out to be the ideal place for the two of them to hide away, catching their breath after what might have been a disaster.
“What in God’s name were you doing locked in a room at Lafarge’s house?” Louis asked once Solange began making them tea in the flat’s tiny kitchen.
She wouldn’t look up at him and her face flushed. “I thought I could confront Lafarge on my own and convince him to abandon whatever horrible plan he has in store.”
“Without me?” Louis crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitc
hen.
Solange frowned up at him. “And what exactly were you doing at his house?”
A twist of embarrassment shot through Louis. He grinned sheepishly. “More or less the same thing.”
Solange let out a scolding breath and marched up to him as the stove began to heat. “We are a matched pair,” she said, crossing her own arms. “Unfortunately.”
“You could have been hurt or killed,” Louis chastised her, though he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. “You were locked in a room.”
He expected Solange to find some way to sass him, but her eyes lit instead. “I found everything we need in that room,” she said, reaching for her bodice.
For a moment, Louis thought she would undress in front of him, and his blood heated. She was dead right when she said that danger had its own sort of passion, and at the slightest hint of it, his body surged to life with the need to strip her bare and lay her across the sofa in the front room so that he could show her pleasure equal to the fear they’d just come through.
“I found these,” she said drawing several folded papers out of her bodice. “They contain everything we could possibly need to bring Lafarge down for good.”
He knew that he should pay attention, that everything she was saying was everything he’d wanted to hear for years. The fire in her eyes was too much for him, though, and the energy of their flight through Paris continued to pound at him.
“You’re everything I could possibly need,” he said, plucking the papers from her hand and setting them on the counter, then sliding his arms around her. “You’re beautiful and strong and more of a challenge to me than any woman I’ve ever met. You are everything I have ever wanted, and I love you.”
He tugged her closer, bending to slant his mouth over hers in a powerful kiss.
Chapter 7
Within seconds, every plan for bringing Lafarge to justice and avenging the wrong that had been done to her and her family flew from Solange’s head. Louis’s mouth teased hers, parting her lips so that he could taste her more fully. But what truly made her head spin were his words. He loved her.
Last Chance for Paris Page 6