Elizabeth Boyle (68 page)

“Lily, would you please calm down. My head aches enough without these shrill tones. For once and for all, I do not have a mistress.”

Lily felt more than a little foolish. Still she couldn’t help asking. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly. There is no one in my life.”

She waited for him to say, “except you,” and when that didn’t happen, she considered making his black eye a matching set.

“Now, why don’t you ask me what I did find today, other than trouble at your hands.”

Lolling back on the settee she ignored him.

“Since you want to know,” he said anyway, “I couldn’t get into the country house. We’ll have to go through with the hearing tomorrow so as to get the house unsealed. The moment the court declares you the heiress, we can tear the place apart until we find the journals.”

She turned and stared at him. “You want me to go to this hearing? But it’s a trap, it must be.”

“I suppose it is,” he said. “But not to worry. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you see what I have in store for the court.”

“Would you care to enlighten me about this surprise now?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Consider the suspense penance for your dalliance with that dancing baboon.”

Lily sniffed. “At least Armand isn’t afraid to tell me how he feels. Why he said—”

“Oh let me guess. ‘Adelaide,
ma petite
,’ “ he said, affecting Armand’s deep voice and overdone Gallic charm, “ ‘I love your dancing, your jewels, your big,’ “ he paused and waggled his eyebrows, “ ‘dowry.’ “

Lily couldn’t help herself, she giggled. “He’s harmless, Webb. Besides, it’s not like I am going to run off and marry him. He’s hardly my type.”

“And I’m to believe Adam is?”

“You know I’m not going to marry Adam.” Lily retrieved Webb’s compress and applied it tenderly to the growing lump on the back of her head.

“So I guess that just leaves me in your litany of betrotheds.”

Lily stilled. What was Webb trying to say—that he wanted to marry her? As much as she dreamt of such a possibility, and despite Celeste’s unholy predictions, Lily knew that that would never be possible. Not after they returned to London.

When Webb found out the truth, the truth behind her deceptions, he’d never forgive her. His wrath would know no boundaries.

He’d hurt her deeply as a child, but that would be nothing in comparison to the anguish she’d feel at having to endure his hatred.

For hate her he would—it was inevitable.

“You don’t want me,” she said, forcing a light tone to her words. “Remember, you said quite specifically you wanted a wife who could dance. And you’ve seen my dancing.”

Webb grinned. “So I said, but what I witnessed today looked suspiciously like dancing. Though I can’t say I admire your choice of partners, you looked like an expert. You told me you couldn’t dance—or was that another of your half-truths?”

“I can’t,” she sighed. “But with Armand, it was quite easy. He practically carried me through the steps. Why I felt lighter than air, like—”

Webb held up his hand. “Enough. I don’t think I can stomach anymore of Armand Latour. The moment the court declares you the de Chevenoy heiress, we will ride to Henri’s country house, find the journals, and be gone before anyone misses you. Then you can forget you ever heard the name Armand Latour, let alone consider seeing him again.” Webb slumped back into the thick cushions, his eyes closing.

“What if your plan doesn’t work, and I end up going to prison?”

“That won’t happen,” he said, not bothering to open his eyes. “But in the unlikely event that it does, I’m sure your beloved Armand will visit you regularly.”

T
he next afternoon, Lily threw open the doors to the small dressing room off Adelaide’s bed chamber. She pulled down the smallest of her valises, tossing it on the floor behind her before sorting through the clothes hanging around her.

Pitching into a pile next to the upside-down valise only what was necessary, a fresh chemise, stockings, and a sturdy pair of shoes, she plucked down her traveling dress and cloak as well.

“What is going on in here?”

She turned and found Celeste standing in the doorway, her hands on her narrow hips.

“By all that’s holy, Celeste, you nearly scared me out of my wits,” Lily said, trying to catch her breath. She turned back to the shelf and pulled down another valise. “Here, take this. Pack up whatever you need—but only what you can carry.”

Celeste stared down at the valise in Lily’s hands. “And why would I need this?”

“Because we’re leaving.” Lily tossed the bag next to hers, shouldering her way past Celeste and into the bedroom.

“Since when did Mister Webb say we were going to leave?”

Lily looked over to make sure the door was closed. “Mister Webb didn’t say anything. Other than ‘don’t worry.’ This is my decision.”

Webb had promised the night before he’d be by first thing in the morning to explain everything, but here it was already one o’clock and he was nowhere in sight.

And the hearing was set for two.

Not to worry.
Her imagination ran away with horrid scenarios of what had happened to him.

Imprisonment. Torture. Maybe even death.

Now it was closing in on her turn, and all the master spy had given her to prepare for her imminent death were the comforting words,
not to worry
.

Not worry! Lily wasn’t going to worry because she wasn’t going to be anywhere near that hearing.

“I’m not about to sit around and let them haul me off to prison. I’ll not die because he didn’t, he wouldn’t, … well, he just can have Paris.” She ignored Celeste’s dark, penetrating gaze and concentrated on stuffing her belongings into the valise.

“Hmm.” Celeste walked past the pile of clothes and stood by the door, as if to block her path.

“Celeste, start packing. Troussebois will be here to take me to the hearing any minute and I have no intention of being anywhere within the city gates.” She slid the second bag over toward Celeste’s feet.

Celeste kicked it right back to her. “You are not going anywhere until Mister Webb says so. He knows what is best and if he says not to worry, then you must listen.”

“If you haven’t noticed, our trusted leader is nowhere to be found. I’ve been up since dawn waiting for him to return. I even sent word to his lodgings, but there was no reply. He’s not coming for us.”

Before Lily could stop her, Celeste walked over, plucked the valise from her hands, and dumped the contents out onto the floor.

“What do you think you are doing? Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” She scrambled over the floor, scooping up her belongings until they were a rumpled mess in her arms.

“Oh, I heard,” Celeste said. “I heard the ravings of a selfish girl who’s too proud to admit the man she loves may not return her feelings.”

This stopped Lily cold. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.” She picked at a loose thread on her cloak. “I don’t feel anything for that man.”

“No, mistress,” her friend and maid said, “you feel everything for him. And that is why you hurt.”

Lily glanced away, afraid to show the tears in her eyes. The tears she’d held in check for too long. But they fell anyway, rolling down her hot cheeks and splashing down on her dress.

Before she knew it, she’d dropped her armload of possessions back onto the floor and flopped down beside them. Celeste sat down beside her, while Lily sobbed her heart out.

“I thought, well, after the other night, I just thought after …” she said, embarrassed now to admit her wanton behavior, even to Celeste.

“That after you made love to the man everything would be different?”

Lily swallowed and looked up. “You knew?”

The maid’s voice shook with laughter. “You weren’t exactly quiet. I think half the block heard.”

Lily’s mouth fell open in a wide
O
.

Celeste laughed again. “I’m teasing you. No one knows but me.”

“How did you find out?”

“I saw Mister Webb bring you in, and I made sure all your clothes found their way back to their rightful place.”

“Oh.” It was all Lily could say.

“I also saw him kiss you before he left, and that was not the kiss of a man who wanted to leave. If Mister Webb doesn’t talk, he has a good reason.”

Lily felt a flicker of hope kindle in her heart. “You think so?”

“Oh yes, I think so.” Celeste nodded sagely. “Let me see your hand and I will show you again how that man is your fate.”

Lily’s fingers curled into a tight fist in her lap. “No, thank you. You know I don’t believe in palm reading.”

“What is there to believe?” Celeste shrugged. “I look at your hand and I tell you the future. It is all there for any fool to see.”

Lily shook her head. “I think it is better if I don’t know.”

Better if I don’t know that Webb doesn’t love me
, she thought.

Downstairs the front door bell rang.

“Troussebois!” Lily sprang from the bed and started gathering her clothes and her valise. “We must hurry, Celeste. We’ll use the back stairs and hide in the cellar until the coast is clear.”

“I’m not going into that cellar. It is too dark and too closed in for me.” She sat unmoving on the bed. “I still think you should wait for Mister Webb.

Just then, Mme. Costard poked her head in the room. The woman only gave a passing glance at the discarded clothing and valise, instead sending a glowering look toward Lily. “Adelaide,” she scolded, “you aren’t dressed! And here is your young man downstairs, ready to take you to the hearing.”

Lily let out a sigh of rehef, but the woman’s next words stopped her in her tracks.

“He’s with Monsieur Troussebois. Everyone is assembled and ready to leave but you. What is taking you so long?”

She ignored the last question, focusing on the woman’s other statement. “Everyone? Who else is going to the hearing?” From what Troussebois had explained yesterday, it would only be a quick formality to verify her identity as Adelaide de Chevenoy, the daughter and only heir of Henri de Chevenoy. He had her birth and baptismal records, to which she had added the forged school records Lord Dryden had procured.

“Yes, that lazy husband of mine and I are to testify on your behalf. Most
émigré
s are required to produce at least thirty witnesses, but you have touched the First Consul’s heart with your sad return and loss, so he has made an exception.”

Lily did a mental tally of the possible witnesses. The Costards, Monsieur Troussebois, and her. “Who else?”

“That horrible Madame Paville. Your mother, bless her soul, loathed the woman, but she was never one to shun acquaintances, no matter how vulgar their manners might be, no matter their unlikely attachments.”

She had to agree with Mme. Costard’s description of the woman. She was utterly loathsome in her toady and grasping ways and it was no wonder the Comtesse de Chevenoy had disliked the woman. But if she was willing to testify on her behalf, and it would open for her and Webb the doors to Henri’s country estate, then she could tolerate the woman for another afternoon.

Just the same, with that crowd around, how would she ever get a word in private with Webb?

Maybe it didn’t matter, she thought, clinging to Celeste’s assertion that Webb cared for her. What he needed from her now was the performance of a lifetime.

Their lives depended on it.

“Get on with you,
ma petite poulet
,” Mme. Costard said. “Get dressed and ready or I’ll send Madame Paville up to help you select a dress.”

That was all the encouragement Lily needed to rush back into her closet and select a simple, understated gown.

Webb suspected that this afternoon’s hearing was a trap.

It had to be.

He knew for a fact that Fouché’s spies had been working overtime trying to verify who he was, and so far, at least as far as he knew, they had only been able to determine that he was the man he claimed to be—Henry Milne, an American shipowner.

Now as they pulled up in front of the old hotel that served the local area as an administrative center and stepped from the carriage, he felt the gaze of unknown eyes watching his every movement.

Lily squeezed his arm. “Will we survive this?”

How could he tell her he didn’t know? The last thing he wanted was for her to panic. “Yes, most certainly,” he lied.

It was bad enough the journals were still missing, but he also wondered how his father’s information could have been so bad? Henri had died in the country, not in Paris. Had one of their contacts deliberately given them bad information to send them hunting in the wrong direction?

No wonder the Paris house had turned up empty. It only seemed reasonable that Henri would have his journals close at hand when he died, so they must be somewhere in his rambling country estate.

Now all that stood between them and completing their mission was this hearing.

Climbing the steps into the building, Webb surveyed the surrounding boulevard and neighboring buildings, gauging routes of escape in case of trouble.

He wouldn’t have been so nervous if it had been only him, but he now had Lily to consider.

Lily
.

He’d avoided her like the plague since they’d made love, hoping his tangled feelings for her would straighten themselves out on their own.

Not that it had worked.

With the nagging feeling that someone was watching him, he felt it best to keep those eyes away from Lily. He’d kept his distance to keep her safe.

At least that was what he told himself. Keep her safe? Bah! More like keep his heart safe.

So instead of spending his time with her, Webb had spent most of yesterday trying to break into Henri’s country house. The rambling country manor proved to be as difficult a puzzle as his feelings for Lily. Rotating shifts of men surrounded the place. By their general appearance and professionalism, he suspected Fouché’s hand.

Even when he’d slipped past the hired louts, the doors and windows were so efficiently boarded up that it would have brought half the locals running if he’d tried to pry them open or break through the security measures.