Linna : Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 5) (31 page)

“I’ll only be a few more minutes,” she answered.

He sucked in the breath and nodded. Then he tried to be patient. He watched as they measured and fussed with a bolt of yellow cotton-looking cloth. Then it was time to choose and cut a length of ribbon. He sighed heavily again as they selected lace. He went from one foot to the other until he probably resembled Birdie.

“
Linna—,” he began.

She turned and smiled
. The heavy stone in his breast started heating up the moment their eyes connected. He frowned.

“It’s all right, Cord
. Go. Get your message. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

“Thank you, love.”

The proprietress probably thought them a loving couple as he delivered a peck to her cheek. It was a good act, he supposed.

The streets had too many carriages and wagons on them, there were too many people, and it seemed to take forever to get to the docks
. He hoped he’d be in time. If the proof of his lineage was on the ship–! He couldn’t complete the thought. He’d get a hotel room. There weren’t many, but Linna deserved it. He’d put his plans for Marcelle on hold for the moment.

It was shaping up to be a perfect evening.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Cord had said he’d be right back. That kept the shopkeeper charming and gushing and so cloyingly sweet-tempered, that more than once, Linna had to close her eyes and take deep breaths before replying to anything the woman said. She knew the reason:  her husband. And she knew exactly what he’d meant when he’d told her that he was pretty with such hatred in his voice. It was annoying the way women acted when he was about.

“Oh my
.”  The woman said and gasped immediately after her cryptic words.

“What?”  Linna replied, without moving her head.

“As I live and breathe. It’s the Larroquette coach! Isn’t it grand?”

Linna looked out the window
. There was an elegant equipage in the street outside, a liveried driver, and four matched horses. She had to agree. It was grand. Too much so. For use on an island the size of this one, it was outrageous.

“And at my establishment
! I’m going to die of the pleasure. Do you think the marquis is interested in my shop? Or mayhap it’s his wife? That would be so wondrous. Why...just one bit of business with the Larroquettes, and I’ll be set. Everybody follows what they do. Those of any consequence, anyhow.”

Linna blew out the sigh and turned back to a length of yellow flannel, baby flannel; soft and sturdy
. It would work up beautifully, if the price wasn’t too steep. She no longer cared about the Larroquettes or their coach. She knew what was important, and it wasn’t social consequence.

“Oh look!”  The woman squealed it
. “He’s coming in! To my shop!”

Linna glanced over
. The marquis wasn’t coming in. His driver was. He didn’t look as thrilled to be there as the proprietress was to see him. That brought a smile to her mouth, then it fell at the man’s words.

“Is there a
Madame
Lar-o-ket here?
Madame
Linnette Lar-o-ket?”

Linna closed her lips at the man’s strange pronunciation of her surname
. It wasn’t that difficult to say.

“I’m Linna Larket,” she replied.

“I’ve been sent for you,
Madame
. To escort you.”  He approached her and bowed. Linna blushed, and for no reason other than a man was bowing to her in a dressmaker shop.

“Me?”

“Your husband is Cordean? From the plantation,
non
?”

“Y
—yes,” Linna replied.

“
Bien
. He has sent for you. The marquis is waiting. You’ll come with me now? You have purchases I need carry? Come. Everything will be taken care of. With his lordship’s regards.”

The shop mistress was speechless at the amount
of coins the servant put in her hand. It was a good thing. Linna didn’t need any more attention drawn to this. She was going to make certain Cord knew about it, too. If he had to decide now to introduce her to the Marquis
de
Larroquette, the least he could have done was warn her.

Linna was smoothing her hair back as she approached the coach
. The servant followed, burdened with a wrapped bundle that was meant to go on a wagon floor. It would look positively shabby in the elegance of the coach. It really was rich, and what had to be the Larroquette family seal was mounted on the door at her eye level.

It didn’t make much sense
, though. After months of wondering what he looked like, and what she’d say to him when they met, she was about to get that experience, just when she was bloated with child, tired, wearing an inexpertly crafted outfit made from her brown traveling ensemble, and looking almost as shabby as her bundle. Not an auspicious way to meet anyone, let alone the Marquis
de
Larroquette.

She watched the door open outward but didn’t hear it
. Then the shape of an elegantly dressed gentleman was in front of her, lifting her hand to his lips and looking at her with admiration in his eyes.

In my condition
?
She felt the urge to laugh, but caught it.

“Ah...
Madame.
We meet at last.”

“My
…lord,” she murmured and attempted a slight curtsey before pulling her hand from his grasp. She didn’t know why, but something about him unsettled her, and it wasn’t just his high-pitched voice.  

“Come
. We delay. And for no reason other than entertainment for the
bourgeoisie.
We have business. Private business. Allow me to assist you in. Please. I must insist.”

He was motioning her to the coach
. Linna’s feet stopped for a moment of trepidation. Then she let it go. There wasn’t any reason to worry. It was the Marquis
de
Larroquette. He was a gentleman. Even without the elegant attire, she could tell that. He didn’t look dangerous, either. He wasn’t much taller than she was, and that was with heels; he wasn’t the type to do any physical labor, for his legs in the slick satin of his breeches were thin and spindly-looking; and he wasn’t as young as he tried to portray either. And, she reminded herself, Cord had sent him for her.

He had a hand on her back
. It felt a bit like Luthor’s had. Linna had to consciously keep from pulling from him. Actually, with his spindly legs, his bony hands, and his effeminate voice, he reminded her a great deal of Luthor Evans.

“Watch your step now
. We don’t want any harm to come to the little one.”

Linna didn’t answer
. The benches facing each other were padded, stuffed taffeta, smooth and chilled to the touch. The sides appeared to be tufted velvet, and there was a repast of a ham, croissants, and a bottle of wine on a little table below the opposite window. She’d never seen anything like it.

“I was just finishing a light sup.”

Linna spread her skirt about her on the seat. It felt like she was sitting on air. The door shut. The marquis turned to her, and he didn’t look remotely handsome anymore. He looked sinister, evil, and absolutely malevolent.

“So tell me,” he asked, “how is my dear cousin, Raoul, anyway?”

~ ~ ~

The darkness was the worst part.

Linna slid her hands along a wall. She’d recognized them easily, although they never gave her any light. She knew where she was. She’d spent a day in this room when she’d first arrived on the island. Deep under the street. In Dominique’s control. This time she wasn’t a guest. She was a prisoner.

As near as she could figure, she’d been locked up for two days,
but the only way she guessed that, was because someone shoved the door open and pushed food in. If they meant for her to have three daily meals, then it had been two days. If they were giving her two meals, it had been three days. She wasn’t hungry, so if they were giving her a meal a day, she’d been there for six. Details like this drove her to beat on the walls. It hadn’t worked the first time, and it wasn’t working now.

It did nothing except upset the baby
. Linna held to her belly, crooning nonsense to the child she loved so much. As much as she loved Cord…but he wasn’t even Cord, anymore. He hadn’t lied to her at the ball in New Orleans. He’d never lied. He really was Raoul Larroquette. Cordean Raoul Larroquette. He was the man startled from his bed when the ship was attacked, been sent in irons to slave for the British Navy, and escaped that life for piracy. And he’d done nothing to deserve it except to be born.

N
ow he was being baited.

Linna knew that’s what she was
. Bait. She only wished she could do something to stop it. Anything.    

“Settle down, Rachelle,” she murmured to the child,
using the name they had decided on. She left her position against the wall to pick her way across the floor, one hand out for safety, the other supporting her baby. She wasn’t due for a month, but babies came early all the time. Fretting might even bring on labor. She didn’t know. She didn’t have anyone to ask. But there was one thing that would worsen the situation. Bringing this baby into the world now.  

They’d given her a chamber pot, but then they didn’t empty it but once
. The smell was horrid, but she couldn’t help it. The stench was as aggravating as not knowing whether it was day or night, or how many of them had passed. She finally took a rug from the floor and put it atop the pot.

The
room had been emptied of furnishings. There was no bed. No chair. They’d taken everything but the heavy braided rugs that covered the floor. Linna had rolled one into a support for a spot that wouldn’t aggravate her back. It didn’t work when she’d first done it. It still didn’t. She reached the roll of carpet and used her hand to make sure of distance, before sitting beside it. It wasn’t comfortable, nor did it soothe anything. She was just maneuvering onto her side when Cord’s voice cut through the dark. Muffled, but recognizable. Hard. Deadly. With the same tone he’d used on her brother the first day in their home.

“
There you are, Dominique. Good.”

“
Ah.
Bonjour
Raoul.”

“
I’m here for my cousin. And then I’ll be leaving with my wife.”

“What makes you think I’ve seen either of them?”

Linna crawled toward the sound, bumping her forehead on the wall when she reached it.

“
Oh. I have a note that says so. Marcelle was seen coming in. He had company with him. You have three seconds. Don’t waste them.”

“Ah
.
Mon brave
. You are mistaken. I only need one.”

“What?”

“Now, Matthew!”

A thud sound filtered through the wall
beside her cheek. It was followed by a grunt of pain. Cord’s grunt. Another thud came, and then a series of them. Linna couldn’t see what was happening. But her heart knew. Her mouth was open in shock and horror, while tears covered her face. And still the blows kept coming.

“That’s enough!”

The voice that stopped them came from Marcelle. The imposter. She’d only heard it the once. She didn’t need a repeat.

“Haul him to the
waterfront. I need him alive enough to drown. I’m avoiding an official inquiry, not starting one. Yes. Dump him. Nobody questions a drunken fight that turned ugly. Go. Now.”

No!

The cry came from her heart. Inconsolable. Agonized. Quiet. No one could have heard it. And yet the next moment, the distinct sound of her lock turning came clearly through the dark.  

~ ~ ~

“Get the hell out of my way!”

“Drew Fletcher!”  Elizabeth Fletcher raised herself to all of her four feet, eleven inches and glared at her son
. “You are not to speak to the dowager marquise in such a fashion!”

“Sorry, ma’am...I mean, your worship
fulness...I mean...your ladyship. Oh. Bother. Will you please find someone to help me, Mother? He’s
heavy
!”

Cord
didn’t shift from his slumped position across Drew’s shoulder. And then Drew moved. Cord must not be capable of standing on his own. He fell in a heap when the support disappeared. He looked terrible. Pale. His shirt was in tatters. And there was blood on it.

“Oh
my! It’s…Cordean! Rex!”  Elizabeth shouted for her husband and glared at Drew. “What have you done to him?”

The dowager marquise was at Cord’s side instantly
. The woman started speaking in strange sounds to the prostrate man on the floor.  

“I didn’t do anything
. I found him in my carriage. Just like this. So I brought him. Don’t take me to task over it. Take Linna. She should have taken better care of him.”

“Linna?”  Cord
mumbled it, and then groaned.

“
What happened to him?”

His mother had unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open
. Bruises crisscrossed Cord’s chest, each one marking a fresh, bloodied scrape. Elizabeth exchanged glances with Drew.

“A man can’t even take a bath in the privacy of his own
—.” 

Rex Fletcher
tirade stopped the moment he arrived. He finished cinching the belt on his robe and glared at all of them in turn. “A man falls on the floor and you stand gaping at him? Birdie! Fetch a sawbones. Liz-Beth get my scotch. Drew, get him to a sofa.”

“
Me? I can’t. He’s too
heavy
,” Drew protested.

“Oh hell
.” Rex swore and bent down to the man on the floor. “I’ve seen you worse laid up than this, Larket. And I want you to know your ass is uncovered, it’s as lily white as a newborn babe, and about as easy....”

Cord came off the floor with a start, already swinging
. Everyone got out of the way as he careened off a wall and glanced off Drew. Rex helped him to the parlor sofa, where he sprawled on his belly, more off the couch than on it.

“Does he look like this all over?” Rex asked.