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“Mr. Quinn. So good of you to dress for the occasion.”
He pivoted to find the lovely vicomtess sweeping regally into the room. Her attire was more informal than it had been on her visit to him. Wearing a floral gown of thin muslin, she appeared no older than her two daughters. On her heels was a lovely brunette who flashed him a smile so warm and genuine he could see why she was in such demand. He sketched a courtly bow to them both.
The vicomtess made quick and curt introductions, then gestured for him to sit.
“A note would have sufficed,” she said coldly.
“To inform you that Lysette is alive and well?” he drawled. “Even I, with my admitted lack of breeding, have more tact than that.”
Stiffening, she shot a glance at Solange seated beside her. The brunette reached over and linked hands.
“What do you want, Mr. Quinn?” the vicomtess asked. “I am not in the mood to play these games with you.”
He ignored her curtness, believing it understandable in light of the circumstances. “She claims not to remember her life prior to two years ago, which is why she has not sought you out before now.”
“How convenient,” she said cloyingly. “No possibility of remembering the details incorrectly if you do not remember anything at all. When will you be bringing her by? I am certain she will wish to rejoin us and our wealth.”
“I will not bring you together until I am certain it is safe to do so.”
“Oh, I see. How much will it cost me to make it safe for you?”
Simon smiled, thinking he should like to speak with the vicomtess one day when she was in charity with him. “Were you aware of a man named L’Esprit when you were with the Marquis de Saint-Martin?”
She paled.
“I see,” he murmured. “Have you heard from him in recent years?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“I find it odd,” he murmured, “that both you and Comte Desjardins are so defensive about a man who plagues you.”
“Some things are private and painful. They are not easy to share with strangers and those you distrust.”
“I trust him.”
Lynette’s voice flowed over his skin like sunshine and brought an ache to his chest that was painful in its intensity. He stood and steeled himself to look at her. When he did, he inhaled sharply, noting the bruising around her eyes and her kiss-swollen mouth that betrayed his mark on her.
She had never been more beautiful.
He bowed. “Mademoiselle Baillon, you are a vision.”
“Mr. Quinn.” Her voice was low and throaty, reminding him vividly of her passionate cries in his bed. “How dashing you look in disguise.”
“Lynette . . .” the vicomtess chastised. “Please return to your room.”
“No.” Lynette crossed the room and sat on a gilded armchair with her slender hands curled around the carved claw ends. “I believe I will stay. Mr. Quinn would only be here in regard to me.”
Simon smiled and sat.
“I do not—”
Solange squeezed her friend’s hand and the vicomtess fell into silence.
“Desjardins has been receiving demands from L’Esprit for the past ten years,” Simon continued.
“I cannot think of a better man to torment,” the vicomtess said.
“I believe he may have something to do with Lysette’s ailment, although I wonder if he is the same man you knew as L’Esprit twenty years ago.”
Solange leaned forward. “Why do you say that, Mr. Quinn?”
He explained the differences between the two communication styles.
“But I do not understand why someone would effect such a ruse,” the vicomtess said, “or why they would want anything to do with Lysette.”
“Is it her?” Lynette asked with hopeful eyes.
“Yes,” Simon said softly. “I believe so. But she is not the sister you once knew. Her memory is lacking beyond two years past and the woman she has become during that time is not the one you remember.”
“I do not care,” Lynette said stubbornly.
“You might when you meet her,” he warned, but his gaze promised support to her. She nodded and looked at him with such adoration he wondered how he remained seated.
“I think,” he said, turning his attention back to the vicomtess, “that the L’Esprit who once demanded vengeance from Saint-Martin has become one who demands vengeance for him.”
The vicomtess frowned. “I still do not understand.”
“Who would have a grievance against you and your children? Who would resent your happiness and wish to destroy it?”
She pushed to her feet. “Are you speaking of Saint-Martin?”
Simon stood. “Desjardins told me that L’Esprit’s goal was to ruin Saint-Martin, yet the new L’Esprit—the one who hand-writes his notes and does not visit him in the cellar—makes demands that have nothing to do with the marquis. Their purpose is to bedevil Desjardins.”
“Saint-Martin would never hurt me,” she refuted. “Never.”
“Who is Saint-Martin?” Lynette asked.
“By all accounts he fell into a rapid decline when you left him,” Simon continued. “Yet you married, had children, lived life.”
“How would he know about L’Esprit?” the vicomtess challenged. “I received the one and only missive from him the night I left France and I took it with me. Saint-Martin never saw it.”
“If L’Esprit was so determined to take every happiness away from the marquis, would he not gloat when he succeeded? Would he not have sent something to Saint-Martin advising him that his misfortune was not an aberration but a well-planned attack? What satisfaction would there be in defeating your enemy if they did not know they were defeated?”
“Mon Dieu,” Solange whispered.
“He isn’t capable of such viciousness,” the vicomtess insisted.
Simon glanced at Lynette, but spoke to the vicomtess. “A man can be driven mad with wanting, my lady.”
“What do you believe has transpired, Mr. Quinn?” Lynette met his gaze directly.
“I believe your sister was taken,” Simon advised. “I believe another body was dressed in her clothing and burned in the carriage. I believe these acts were committed by a man named Depardue, who was working on behalf of Saint-Martin. Somehow, Lysette’s brain was damaged and her memory lost. Desjardins learned of Lysette and took her in, knowing full well who she was. He created an identity for her and has used her for his own purposes these two years, hoping that one day her existence would prove useful in freeing him from L’Esprit. I do not believe Saint-Martin knows she is alive.”
“I do not believe any of that,” the vicomtess said, but her white face and wringing hands said something else entirely.
“All this because my mother broke off their affair?” Lynette guessed.
“It is a possibility.”
“No, it is not.” The vicomtess straightened her shoulders. “You do not know him, Mr. Quinn, to make such aspersions on his character.”
“Or perhaps you contribute feelings to him regarding your children that he cannot feel. You know more than he, after all.”
“You are very clever, Mr. Quinn,” Solange said softly.
“What are you talking about?” Lynette asked.
Simon looked at the vicomtess, hoping she would speak up and explain. She said nothing, merely looked away.
Lynette sighed. “Maman, you will have to be less secretive, if we have any hope of success.”
“We will have to lure L’Esprit out into the open,” Simon said, “in order to free Lysette completely. She and Lynette will both be at risk as long as his involvement is unaddressed.”
Lynette stood. “I will help you however I can.”
“You will not become involved in this morass!” her mother said crossly.
“I am sorry, Maman.” Lynette’s voice was sure and unwavering. “It is not my wish to disobey you, but I cannot allow Mr. Quinn to risk himself alone for us and I c
annot allow Lysette to continue to live as she has been if I can spare her. She would do no less for me.”
“You do not know if this woman is your sister.”
“I do,” Lynette said. “I know it without a doubt.”
Solange exhaled audibly. “What can we do, Mr. Quinn?”
“Speak with de Grenier when he arrives a few days hence. Share my suspicions. We will need every able-bodied man we can find.”
“De Grenier . . . Yes, you are correct.” The vicomtess’s relief was palpable. “He will assist you.”
“In the interim,” Simon said, “I will do what I can to keep Lysette safe from harm.” He looked at Lynette. “Please remain indoors, mademoiselle. I would be much aggrieved if something untoward were to befall you.”
“Of course.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “I will not jeopardize myself in any manner.”
Simon bowed. “I am in your service if you should need me, but please, do not venture to my home during this time. It is not safe for any of you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Quinn.” Lynette came to him and offered her hand. The smell of her skin as he kissed the back filled his mind with memories he cherished. He released her with the greatest reluctance, fighting his most basic instincts to squire her away and protect her from all harm.
Solange also reached out to him. “Be careful, Mr. Quinn.”
“Thank you, mademoiselle. You, as well.”
