The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (23 page)

But only until the day when his mind started to go. And since Lisette would undoubtedly
care deeply about him by then, the thought of what it would do to her was more than
he could stand.

She shifted restlessly on the seat, pulling her legs up beneath her cloak as if trying
to get them warm. It
was
rather cold in the coach. It might be spring, but the nights were still cold.

Telling himself he just wanted to make her more comfortable, he slid onto the seat
beside her, pulled her against him, and covered them both with his greatcoat. With
a sigh, she burrowed into him, and his heart constricted in his chest.

He closed his eyes and laid his head back, pretending that they
were
married, that she was his wife and they were traveling to Paris for pleasure. He
sat like that a long time, thinking he would never be able to fall asleep himself,
with her so fragrant and warm in his arms.

But to his shock, the next time he opened his eyes,
it was broad daylight. Sometime in the night, he must have stretched out on the seat
with his back to the squabs, for she lay stretched atop him. Her raven curls had come
loose from their pins, and he couldn’t resist the urge to stroke them.

Rousing, she opened her eyes to stare up at him in clear confusion.

“Good morning . . . Lisette,” he murmured, choking off the word
dearling
just in time.

“Max.” A soft smile touched her lips that made his heart soar. Then, to his chagrin,
she came fully awake and cried, “Max!” and threw herself off him and onto the other
seat.

She wouldn’t look at him as she straightened her skirts. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know
how I ended up using you for a bed.”

“It’s all right. I didn’t mind.”

If that was the closest he could get to having her in his arms, even temporarily,
he would take it.

“I suppose I look a fright,” she murmured, running her fingers through her wild curls.

“You couldn’t look a fright if you tried.”

She shot him a wary glance, then gazed out the window. “We made good time, didn’t
we? We can’t be more than an hour from Paris. I think we should go to Tristan’s lodgings
and see what we can find out there. That will also give us a chance to make ourselves
presentable before we talk to Vidocq.”

Clamping down on a burst of jealousy, he said, “We don’t have time to dillydally,
Lisette. Let’s only spend as
much time at your brother’s as we need, assuming that he doesn’t turn out to be there.”

“All right.”

“And we can consult with Vidocq, but if he doesn’t know anything—”

“We will have to speak to the head of the Sûreté. I understand.”

“Good.” Because no matter how tempting he found her, he wouldn’t relent in getting
to the bottom of this matter with his brother and Bonnaud.

To Maximilian’s surprise, Bonnaud’s lodgings turned out to be in the Faubourg Saint-Germain,
an aristocratic area of the city. Either the man had done well for himself in Paris,
or he had a friend in high places who’d rented to him.

But as it turned out, his street, the rue de l’Hirondelle, was mean and narrow and
his rooms, situated in a slice of the block of buildings, looked deserted. When they
entered using Lisette’s key, it was clear no one had lived there in some weeks. Dust
lay thick upon the furniture and the carpetless floors.

“What next?” he asked. “Does your brother have a desk or safe where he might have
kept notes or letters regarding his business affairs? We might trace him that way.”

“The room he used as a study is through there.” She pointed to a closed door. “I suppose
we might find something in his records.”

A voice speaking French came from the doorway. “It’s about time you returned for a
visit, my angel.”

Maximilian turned to see an imposingly tall man in his fifties enter the room. Despite
his bushy eyebrows, the fellow was what some might consider attractive, with a sanguine
complexion, eyes of bright blue, and fair, curly hair.

“Vidocq!” Lisette cried and ran over to press a kiss to the man’s cheek.

Tensing, Maximilian watched the blasted investigator, but Vidocq’s expression was
more like that of an indulgent father than of an impassioned lover.

“I suppose you are looking for your brother,” Vidocq continued in French, casting
Maximilian a shuttered glance.

“We are indeed,” Lisette replied. “This is Maximilian Cale. He is in something of
a hurry to find Tristan.”

Maximilian was pleased that she hadn’t introduced him as the Duke of Lyons. If they
could learn of Tristan’s whereabouts without having to reveal his full identity, so
much the better for her reputation, especially if Vidocq could be counted on to be
discreet.

“I’ve heard much of you, sir,” Maximilian said in French, holding his hand out to
the man.

“How odd,” the man said in English, refusing to take Maximilian’s hand. “Because I
have heard nothing of
you
. At least not from my little angel.”

With an anxious glance at Maximilian, Lisette switched to English as well. “Forgive
me, Vidocq, but we don’t have much time. We have urgent need of Tristan. So if you
know where he is—”

“I know where he was headed when he left here.” Vidocq stared hard at Maximilian.
“But I will only tell you after you explain why you’re traveling alone with the Duke
of Lyons.”

As Maximilian groaned, Lisette said, “You
know
who Max is?”

“Of course. The Cale family had dealings with the police when they came here in search
of the young heir years ago. The name of their surviving son was mentioned often.
It’s a hard name to forget.”

“Especially for a man rumored to have an excellent memory,” Maximilian said dully.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered the possibility that Vidocq might know of
his family. Father’s investigator had probably consulted with the Paris police a number
of times in the course of his search.

“Come,” Vidocq said, offering Lisette his arm, “let us go to my house where we can
be more comfortable. You will join me for
le déjeuner
and tell me what this is all about. Then I will tell you where Tristan was headed
last.” He cast Maximilian a veiled glance. “I suspect that you will both find it most
interesting.”

Maximilian forced a smile. “We would appreciate any help you can give, sir,” he said,
“and we’d be honored to join you for breakfast.” Even if he did feel as if he’d just
stumbled onto a stage without a script.

Vidocq’s house turned out to be through a courtyard into the next building. When Maximilian
shot Lisette a questioning look as they headed into the more spacious rooms, she murmured,
“Tristan rents from Vidocq.”

As soon as they were seated in a small but expensively decorated dining room with
servants scurrying off to arrange their breakfast, Vidocq turned to Lisette with a
bright smile. “I have found a publisher for my memoirs. I don’t suppose you would
consider moving back here to help me edit them, my angel?”

“Your ‘angel’ already has a position helping Mr. Manton with his business in London,”
Maximilian said tightly, inexplicably annoyed at the possibility of Lisette returning
to Paris to live. “I understand it’s a very good position.”

“And now you speak for her, too, Your Grace?” Vidocq said smoothly. “In addition to
dragging her about the country without a chaperone and ruining her reputation so she
will never be able to find a respectable husband?”

“Enough, you two,” Lisette cut in with a dark glance at Maximilian. She turned to
Vidocq. “I came of my own accord. We’re traveling as a married couple: plain Mr. Kale,
the land agent, and his wife.”

At that moment, one of the servants reentered the room, and Lisette said in French,
“If you would please give us a few moments . . .”

The servant nodded and left.

Lisette scowled at Vidocq. “If you really do care about me, then you must maintain
the fiction in front of the servants. My neighbors already think I got married. And
His Grace pointed out that it will be easy for me to tell people that my husband died
conveniently while we were abroad.”

At Vidocq’s snort, she added, “You are likely the only
person in the world who would recognize the duke’s actual name. Not a single person
has questioned our disguise.”

“Disguise!” Vidocq said. “It’s hardly a disguise when you use real names.” He cast
Maximilian’s clothing a contemptuous glance. “And His Grace looks as much like a land
agent as I do a duke. His fingernails are too clean, he wears fine linen beneath that
fustian suit, and he speaks with an Etonian clip.”

“Oh, for God’s sake—” Maximilian began.

“You see?” Vidocq said. “Like that.”

“Stop it!” Lisette chided. “Tell me where Tristan is, before His Grace challenges
you to a duel or something else absurd. He’s very volatile.”

“I am not,” Maximilian grumbled.

She merely raised an eyebrow at him, then scowled at Vidocq. “Tristan, if you please?”

“Very well,” Vidocq said. “He left two months ago, pursuing an escaped forger up north
to Belgium.”

“Belgium!” Maximilian exclaimed.

“Isn’t Belgium where your brother was found dead?” Lisette asked.

Maximilian leaned forward, his eyes boring into Vidocq. “
Where
in Belgium was Bonnaud headed?”

“Antwerp,” Vidocq said. “Which makes it very curious that you are here looking for
him, Your Grace, because Antwerp is close to—”

“I know what it’s close to,” Maximilian bit out.

Vidocq’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Lisette, then
back at Maximilian. “Tell me, does my little angel know about your family?”

Maximilian released a low oath.

That brought Vidocq’s thick eyebrows up a notch. “I thought not. And you don’t want
her to know, do you?”

“But you’re going to tell her anyway, I suppose,” Maximilian countered, feeling his
stomach twist into a knot.

Vidocq shrugged. “She will find out sooner or later.” His voice hardened. “Better
that it be sooner if you are trying to take her into your bed.”

“Vidocq!” Lisette cried, a blush staining her cheeks. “He is not . . . we are not . . .”

“I’m not blind, my angel.” Vidocq’s gaze never left Maximilian’s face. “I see how
he looks at you. I see how you look at him. And since he is a duke and marriage is
not all that likely, that leaves only—”

“Tread lightly, old man,” Maximilian bit out, “or I might challenge you to that duel
to uphold her honor.” He steadied a dark gaze on the man.

Vidocq sat back to stare at him consideringly, though without apparent fear.

Lisette glanced from Maximilian to Vidocq. “What is it that Max isn’t telling me about
his family? What is Antwerp close to?”

With this new information, there was no way to avoid telling her the truth.

“Antwerp is close to a town called Gheel,” Maximilian said, his throat suddenly tight
and raw. “Gheel is
sometimes referred to as the Colony of Maniacs, because it’s where many of the mad
go in a last attempt to get cured.”

He gave a shaky breath. “It’s also where my insane great-uncle took my brother in
the final years after kidnapping him. And where they both died in a fire.”

A
T THAT MOMENT,
the servants entered with a typical Parisian breakfast—roast beef and chicken, pastries,
grapes and pears, a ragout, and some good bread and cheese, not to mention tea, coffee,
and
vin ordinaire.

It was an excellent distraction for Lisette, since she could hardly take in what Max
had just revealed. It wasn’t only his words that stunned her, either—it was his haunted
tone. He looked suddenly weary, and she wanted nothing more than to comfort him.

But not in front of Vidocq. Her old friend had already guessed too much about her
and Max. And why had Max not told her this, anyway?

Because he was a duke. Dukes didn’t talk about weakness or illness. They didn’t reveal
dark secrets about their families.

Still, it hurt that he hadn’t felt he could trust her with the knowledge. She remembered
what he’d said when she’d asked who the kidnapper was:
some blackguard.
That left out an awful lot.

“So, Max,” she said flatly after Vidocq dismissed the servants, “it was your great-uncle
who kidnapped your brother. Why?”

“I wish I knew. I didn’t even know he was the one to do it until the fire.” His tone
hardened. “I was almost four when Peter disappeared; Father just told me he’d been
stolen by a blackguard. For years, I feared that there were blackguards everywhere
waiting in the bushes to steal me from my parents.”

“Oh, Max, that’s awful,” she said in a sympathetic tone that had Vidocq raising an
eyebrow at her. She ignored him.

Max seemed to grow even tenser. “When I got old enough to question what I’d been told,
my parents said they had investigators searching England and America for Peter. They
told me they had no idea who’d taken him. That was a lie. Yet they held to that until
after the fire, when they couldn’t keep it from me anymore.”