“I still maintain that Marshall is right and they cannot hold us here inevitably,” Damien said, his arm now resting around Sebastian’s shoulders. “To do so would cause an international incident.”
“Yes,” Dorothy agreed. “As soon as the authorities in England learn that several members of the McGovern family and their friends have been wrongfully incarcerated, there will be a hue and cry. Help must be on the way.”
Louis glanced across to Solange, who had her head bowed as she glanced anxiously at Dorothy. Her gaze flickered his way, and Louis saw the worry there. Not just the worry, but the truth behind it. If he didn’t know better, he would say that Solange knew something. Something about the McGoverns that might justify their imprisonment for espionage. It was only a guess on his part, but Louis didn’t like the way the hair stood up on the back of his neck or the unsettled feeling Solange’s expression gave him. He would have given anything to be able to speak to her alone for just five minutes.
“Where is Asher?” Marshall barked, pounding on the bars, then marching deeper into the cell as if working off excess frustration. “I swear, I’ll murder that police lackey if he didn’t go straight to the palace to inform him of our plight.”
“It’s only been a few hours,” Louis said as soothingly as he could. “That’s hardly time to gather whatever he might need to in order to have us set free.”
Marshall looked as though he might reply, but the arrival of the lead officer who had had them arrested ended all conversation. Marshall raced to join Louis at the bars, and Damien and Sebastian leapt up as well. Across the way, Solange and Dorothy gripped the bars, leaning in to see what was about to happen.
“We demand to be released,” Marshall said before the officer could do more than sneer at them.
“I cannot accommodate that request,” the man said smugly. “You are to be moved.”
“Moved? Where?” Solange asked, her expression filling with dread.
The officer shrugged. “It has been decided that our facility is not big enough for the lot of you. Alternative arrangements are being made.”
“What alternative arrangements?” Louis asked, his stomach sinking. “Who is responsible for this?”
The officer chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that, monsieur.”
“No,” Solange spoke up from the other cell. “You cannot hand us over to Lafarge. You know what will happen if you do.”
Again, the officer shrugged. “What is it to me? I have executed my duty to the best of my ability, and now it is time for something, or someone, else to be executed.”
“My God,” Dorothy gasped, losing all her color. “This cannot be happening.”
“I won’t let it happen, my love,” Marshall vowed, his voice full of strength, but the tension coming from him hinted that he didn’t know how to stop it.
“We have to come up with a plan,” Damien whispered, glancing from Sebastian to Louis. “There has to be a way for us to make a break for it before Lafarge gets his hands on us.”
“There are six of us,” Sebastian added. “Surely that’s enough to overpower whatever guard we have.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Louis told them in a low voice. He remembered too well the force that had been used against him at Lafarge’s house and knew there was even more where that came from.
“I demand to speak to my cousin first,” Dorothy went on in a near panic. “I demand that Lord Addlebury be sent for at once. You will not send us anywhere until we speak to him.”
“You are in no position to dictate to me,” the officer said, moving suddenly closer to her. His scowl turned into a leer. “Although you and I could come to a private arrangement for your freedom, chère.”
He brushed his fingers against Dorothy’s knuckles as she gripped the bars. Dorothy recoiled with an indignant sound.
“Stay away from my fiancée,” Marshall roared, grabbing the bars of their cell as if he would yank them apart.
“You are in no position to threaten me, monsieur.” The officer turned back to him, looking as though all he needed was an excuse to drag Marshall out of his cell and beat him within an inch of his life.
“I’ll eat your liver for breakfast,” Marshall said, not backing down. “I’ll—”
Whatever other violent plans Marshall had were cut short by a commotion at the end of the hall between the cells. The officer turned toward the entrance with an irritated frown. Whatever he saw had his brow flying up. “Qu'est-ce que cela veut dire?” he demanded, marching just out of their sight.
Solange and Dorothy leaned hard against their cell’s bars, and Louis was certain they could see whatever was going on at the doorway.
“Get out of my way,” a prickly, female voice demanded.
“Oh, my God,” Dorothy exclaimed, her eyes going wide and her face splashing with color.
Curiosity gnawed at Louis for all of three seconds before the straight-backed, grey-haired, buttoned up form of the McGovern family’s chaperone, Miss Wendine Sewett, marched down the hall and came to stand between the cells that held their group.
“You will release these people at once,” Miss Sewett demanded, tilting her chin in the air.
Dorothy and Solange gaped. So did Damien and Sebastian. Marshall merely stood where he was, dumbstruck, and Louis scrambled for something to say but came up with nothing.
“Madame, you have no authority to be here,” the officer said, standing at his full height and marching toward Miss Sewett.
If he intended to intimidate her with his physical presence, he was out of luck. Miss Sewett was at least six inches shorter than him, but she stood as though she towered over him. “You have no right to hold members of the English aristocracy prisoner,” she told him, like a nanny scolding her charge. “It is undignified and unacceptable.”
“Madame.” The officer changed his tactics, speaking to Miss Sewett in a coddling voice. “Let me escort you out of this unpleasant place. A prison is no place for a lady like—”
“I am not a lady, I am a companion,” Miss Sewett snapped. “But at the moment, I am a spokesperson for the entire structure of the English aristocracy, and I can tell you that what you have done here is an egregious breech of protocol, formality, and etiquette.” She poked her finger into the officer’s chest with each point she made.
The officer stammered, unable to form his protest into words other than, “Madame, you should not be here.”
“None of these fine people should be here.” Miss Sewett gestured to the gentlemen and nodded to the ladies. “Have you no shame? No proper respect for God’s natural order?”
“But…but they have been accused of espionage,” the officer protested, now on the back foot.
Miss Sewett drew herself up to her full, imperious height. “English earls are incapable of espionage, sir,” she said curtly. “Anyone connected to such a noble family as the McGoverns is physically unable of doing anything half so base. And it is a travesty of justice and order to even think to lock them behind bars with common prostitutes and thieves.” She sniffed and made a sour face as she glanced to the women in the cell with Solange and Dorothy.
“Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit?” the bored prostitute said, pushing away from the wall and sauntering toward the bars, glaring at Miss Sewett.
Either Miss Sewett didn’t speak French or thought the prostitute was beneath her. She turned back to the officer and said, “You will release Lord Reith, Lord Sinclair, Lord Gregory, Mr. and Miss McGovern and Miss Lafarge at once.”
Rather than scoffing or curling his lip, as he had done with the rest of them, the officer took a step back from Miss Sewett. “Madame, you have no part in this business.”
“I have every part in it,” Miss Sewett said, pursuing him as he inched down the hallway. “I am chaperone to the McGovern party, and I take my duties very seriously.”
Louis almost laughed at her statement. The moment was preposterous, and yet he had never been so glad to have the intervention of a te
rmagant like Miss Sewett in his life.
“I have orders to deliver them to Monsieur Lafarge,” the officer stammered on, proving Louis’s worst suspicions.
“And who is he to me?” Miss Sewett demanded.
“He…he is a wealthy and powerful man,” the officer said, standing taller for a moment.
“Is he a nobleman?” Miss Sewett demanded. “Does he have the grace of God and the authority of the British crown behind him?” When the officer shook his head, she charged on with, “No? Then he is nothing compared to the august company you keep behind bars. You will release those whose freedom you have so scandalously stolen from them at once.”
“I cannot, madame. I will not.” The officer made one last attempt to hold his own.
“You can and you will,” Miss Sewett said, fixing him with a stare that would have withered a lesser man.
The officer looked as though he might soil himself, but he stood his ground, though he shook his head while doing so. As intimidated as he was, Louis didn’t hold out much hope that the officer would actually do what Miss Sewett demanded.
He was surprised when Miss Sewett broke her furious stare and stiff stance to let out an irritated breath and say, “Where is that man?”
Louis exchanged a baffled look with Solange across the hallway. Both of their attentions were diverted when Miss Sewett turned to face another commotion at the end of the hall.
“What has taken you so long?” Miss Sewett demanded, taking a few steps toward the door and slipping out of Louis’s view for a moment.
All of them trapped in the cells pressed up against the bars and turned to get a glimpse of the person who had entered the mad scene.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” a deep, distracted voice said. “I’m terribly sorry. There was some difficulty with the guards in the front.”
“No, you didn’t,” Marshall gasped, the first of their lot to see the man before he marched into view, facing down the officer.
Louis didn’t actually know the British ambassador to France, but he recognized Robert Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Lytton, on sight. The man’s bushy beard and curly hair were unmistakable, and his reputation was stellar. Though, at the moment, he looked as though Miss Sewett had yanked him out of a box at the opera and dragged him all the way to the prison by his ear.
“Monsieur l'ambassadeur,” the officer croaked, evidently knowing exactly who Lord Lytton was as well. “What an honor to have you visit my humble prison this evening.”
“Enough of that,” Lord Lytton snapped. “This woman has informed me that you are holding six British citizens, three of them lords, hostage.”
“I…that is…I was given orders….” The officer struggled and failed to explain himself.
“Foul play is at work here, my lord,” Miss Sewett explained to Lord Lytton, looking as regal as anyone there. “I do not know the source of it, but I do know that it is a travesty of justice and hierarchy for a peon such as this to act against peers.”
“Not to mention British subjects,” Lord Lytton added. He turned to the officer. “You will release them at once.”
For the first time since being rushed by policemen on the street outside of Solange’s cousin’s flat, Louis felt a spark of hope. Solange must have felt it too. She smiled across to him, looking as though they might just have a chance to be victorious after all.
“My lord,” the officer stammered, “I cannot simply let these people go. They are guilty of espionage, and I have been—”
“Where is your proof?” Lord Lytton asked, glowering at the officer. “I want to see a copy of the charges against them.”
“Well, I….” The officer went pale. Louis’s confidence that they were all about to get out of the situation increased. The man didn’t have any proof at all. He was only holding them on Lafarge’s orders, and at last, a force greater than Lafarge had arrived on the scene.
“Release them at once,” Lord Lytton repeated, “or I will have you brought before your own high court on charges of corruption and mismanagement. Do you think whoever put you up to this will come to your rescue then?”
The officer closed his gaping mouth and swallowed. “Relâchez-les,” he told one of his men standing at the far end of the hall in a hoarse voice.
The junior officer stepped forward, immediately unlocking the cell containing Louis and the others.
The moment the door swung free, Marshall bounded out into the hallway. “We need to return to the palace at once,” he said. “Evangeline and Roselyn have gone ahead with the ball designed to turn the tide against Lafarge, and I worry what might happen to them if they try to take him down on their own.”
Louis nodded in agreement as he crossed to take Solange into his arms as the junior officer opened her cell.
“The ball has already begun,” Miss Sewett informed them. “Even though I told Lady Evangeline and Lady Briarwood that it was not proper for the two of them to host a ball without proper preparation and planning.”
“We can reach the palace before things have gone too far,” Marshall said, speeding toward the exit, Dorothy, Damien, and Sebastian rushing after him.
Louis and Solange followed, but held back slightly. “We need to return to Grenelle first,” Solange insisted.
“What? We don’t have time,” Marshall said, glancing over his shoulder at her.
“There are things at the flat that we will need to bring Lafarge to justice,” Solange said.
Louis’s eyes snapped wide. In all the excitement of running from Lafarge, making love with Solange, and being thrown in prison, he had entirely forgotten the papers Solange had taken from her bodice and left on the counter in the kitchen. She had said they were enough to destroy Lafarge once and for all.
“We have to go,” Louis told Marshall as they sped through the prison’s front office and out into the fading light of evening. “Trust us. Lafarge cannot stand against what Solange found.”
Marshall glanced between the two of them as Damien hailed a cab. He must have seen how serious the situation was. He nodded, then dashed for the carriage that came to stop on the curb beside them. “Take this cab,” he said, then twisted to find Miss Sewett and Lord Lytton leaving the prison. “I trust we can take other conveyance to the palace.”
“I must return to my party,” Lord Lytton said, attempting to wave them off.
“No, my lord,” Louis said, taking a step toward the man. “Believe me when I say that you must be in attendance at the ball at the Château de Saint-Sottises. It is a matter of the security of the British Empire.”
“Oh,” Lord Lytton said, his brow shooting up. “In that case….” He moved toward a carriage parked along the street.
Louis took Solange’s hand and squeezed it, then nodded to Marshall and the others. “We will rendezvous at the palace and bring you the documents we need to end Lafarge’s reign of terror.”
“I look forward to it,” Marshall said, sending Louis a triumphant grin then taking Dorothy’s hand and dashing for Lord Lytton’s carriage.
Chapter 9
If she had had more time to contemplate the bizarre situation, Solange was certain she would have found a thousand reasons to be anxious about how easily the police had justified apprehending their group, and how quickly they’d been willing to let the lot of them go. Something else had to be at work. Lafarge would never have allowed them to walk free so easily unless he wanted them to. She could only conclude that he never intended to capture them completely, only to delay whatever they might do to counter his next move.
Which was why there was no time to lose. She and Louis raced back to the Grenelle flat to retrieve the papers she’d stolen from Lafarge’s trophy room, then journeyed out to the Château de Saint-Sottises, praying that they made it before Lafarge sprung his trap.
The moment they dashed into the palace, out of breath and disheveled from the whirlwind of the day they’d had, it was clear that nothing was going to plan.
“Please stay, Madame d'Aubigné,” Rosel
yn begged as she scurried after a middle-aged lady with a powdered face and lavish ballgown who appeared to be trying to leave the party as Solange and Louis entered. “There is so much still to happen. You cannot let one mishap intimidate you out of confronting Monsieur Lafarge.”
“My lady,” the Frenchwoman said, pausing to face Roselyn, her eyes wide. “Those who do not flee the tidal wave that that man has brought with him will surely drown under the weight of their sins.”
She continued her flight, and Roselyn continued to chase her, saying, “It was only a small revelation, and Monsieur DuBois admitted that the truth was already known. Surely one little whisper about someone else isn’t enough to crack your resolve.”
“One whisper is fast turning into a hundred,” Madame d'Aubigné said, picking up speed and flying out the palace’s front door.
“What’s happening?” Solange asked, changing directions to intercept Roselyn.
Roselyn dropped her shoulders, letting out a squeak of disappointment. “Monsieur Lafarge had started at least a dozen chains of gossip that have been making their way around the ballroom this evening,” she admitted. “Everyone we gathered to confront him is losing their nerve.”
“Lafarge is here?” Louis asked, a murderous light in his eyes.
“He is,” Roselyn admitted.
Solange didn’t wait. She took Louis’s hand and pushed on to the ballroom.
On the surface, there didn’t appear to be anything unusual about the ball. A few couples danced as a band played a waltz. Twice as many people and more hovered around the edges of the room, though, all whispering and huddled together in conversation. To Solange, they looked like cattle who had just discovered they were about to be led to the slaughter.
“Where are Dorothy and Damien?” Solange asked, scanning the room for them. “And Lord Reith and Lord Gregory.”
“They disappeared earlier and haven’t returned,” Roselyn said as she caught up with them. “We’re all so worried.”
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