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“Count Angoulême is here in Paris.”
His hand around mine tightens briefly. “Does he know you’re here?”
Remembering the knife, I smile. “Oh, yes. We’ve spoken. One of the things we spoke about was you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. He holds no ill will against you for your escape.”
“Well, that’s noble of him. Too bad I hold great ill will against him for imprisoning me.”
I watch him closely as I say the next words. “It turns out, he wanted me to free you.”
He lets go of my hand. “What?”
“It made no sense to me either.” I have spent hours running Angoulême’s revelations through my mind, feeling the heft and weight and fullness of them. I would never have expected him to play such a deep game. I have been studied, analyzed, and prodded along a path I thought was of my own choosing and feel like a game piece on a board. “But more important than whether or not you two decide to kiss and reconcile, he divulged that the regent ordered you imprisoned—”
“We knew that.”
I shoot him an annoyed look. “In order to hide General Cassel’s actions and protect him from the king’s wrath. She is as fiercely loyal to the general as he was to her father.” Maraud’s mouth flattens into a hard line. “So you will have twice the battle to make your case, with the regent fighting tooth and claw to shield not only her involvement, but Cassel’s as well.”
Maraud swears. “Does the man have no weak spots?”
“He has a son.”
Maraud’s eyes narrow. “Then mayhap I will begin by aiming my revenge at him.”
I watch him closely. “Do you know the Beast of Waroch?”
Maraud’s entire face breaks into a wide grin. “Yes. I count him among my closest—” He scowls. “You don’t mean . . .”
“He is Cassel’s son.”
He looks as if he has taken a club to the head. “Beast always claimed he did not know who his fath—”
“He doesn’t know. Not yet. He has been on business in Brittany for the queen and left before Cassel arrived at court.”
Maraud grows quiet, looking into the red glow of the embers. Finally he says, “If there is one man who is owed vengeance upon Cassel even more than I, it is Beast.”
“I thought you could work together. He could be an ally in this. As could Angoulême. He can explain who gave him the order and why. And speak on your behalf. He is a Prince of the Blood. Furthermore, I believe the tide is turning against the regent.”
“Why?”
“Pierre d’Albret is here in Paris.”
His entire body stiffens. “Has he seen you? Recognized you?”
“No. But I wanted to warn you, all the same.”
He reaches out and takes both my hands in his, gripping them firmly. “You need to be careful. He saw through my disguise, he could easily see through yours.”
I purse my lips, weighing the risk. “Our paths have not crossed. I only learned it when someone else informed the queen. I will be cautious. But the more dire news is that Pierre and the regent are working together.”
“To what end?”
“We don’t know yet, but they have conspired in many ways against the queen, as far back as when she was duchess, and have not abandoned their alliance. However, it has begun to come to light, and the king is now mistrustful of them both.”
Maraud grins. “Then now would be a good time to add to the regent’s sins by revealing her role in my imprisonment.”
“And would remove one of Cassel’s most loyal supporters. And with Angoulême to speak on your behalf, you may well have a solid enough case to lay before the king.”
Maraud strokes his chin, thinking. “But would the count speak on my behalf?”
“Yes,” I say grimly. “He owes me that much at least.”
“Won’t that expose him to the regent’s ire?”
“Not if she is out of favor.”
To my surprise, he leans forward and plants a quick kiss upon my mouth. “Such a brilliant girl you are.” Something inside my chest feels light and frothy, like the foam on the ocean’s waves. After all that I have endured these last weeks, his words are a much welcome balm to my ragged soul.
Then his face creases in thought as he studies me so intently that I nearly blush. “What is your role in all this?” His gaze flickers briefly to the necklace before returning to my face.
“I wish to help you.”
At my words, his hands come up to cup my face, his thumb rubbing gently against my chin. “Why?” he whispers. “What has changed?”
“Everything.”
His gaze moves down to my lips. “Good,” he murmurs, pulling my head closer. He sets his mouth against mine, savoring the feel of my lips, brushing his against them once, twice, before he slants his mouth over mine, giving rein to the urgency that fills both of us.
I allow my own hands to touch his shoulders, savoring the sleekly muscled shape of him. For a brief moment, a memory of the king on the tennis courts barges into my thoughts. Guilt, quick and hot, causes me to pull away, and then Maraud steps closer, wrapping his arms around my waist, drawing the entire length of our bodies together, and all thoughts of the king scatter.
“Genevieve,” he murmurs, then moves his mouth to the line of my jaw, kissing along it until he reaches the sensitive place where it meets my neck.
I raise my head to give him better access and let my fingers play with the edges of his hair. My entire body aches for his touch, and I want him both to linger where he is and to hurry on to other places.
As if hearing my thoughts, one hand strokes its way up the curve of my waist, brushing teasingly against the underside of my breast. Of its own a
ccord, my body arches into him. He groans and runs his hands up along my back, his fingers pausing at the feel of the silver chain along my spine.
I grow still, letting his fingers explore the silver links through the thick fabric of my gown as I curse the way my body responds to him, curse that such feelings can drive all caution from my mind.
He pulls just far enough away that he can look into my face. “What is that?”
I reach around and remove his hand from it. “?’Tis a necklace, that is all.”
“That runs down your back?” While he does not raise his voice, neither does he try to hide his disbelief. “That feels far more like a chain to me, and I would know.”
I think of all the jests he could make, all the ways he could crow about who is wearing a chain now. But he says none of those things. He simply pulls me closer to the light of the furnace so he can examine the links.
“It is not a chain, but fancy court jewelry in the style that Germans or the English favor.” My heart beating too fast, I pull out of his reach.
He lifts an unwavering gaze to my face. “What is going on, Genevieve?”
“Nothing is going on. And I have stayed overlong already. I must go.”
He reaches out and grabs my wrist, but gently. “You’re talking fast, and your voice is high. You’re lying. Why are you wearing a necklace with a chain?”
I force myself to meet his eyes. “It is part of my work for the convent,” I tell him. “Truly. I can take it off and walk away any time I choose.”
“I would hear of this assignment, then.” Slowly, his movements achingly tender, he pulls the chain from beneath my gown and lays it across his palm. The orange light from the fire sparkles off the silver surface. Even though the late-night air is warmed by the furnace, I shiver. “Tell me, Gen.”
How do I tell him of the magnitude of the mistake I’ve made? The narrowest of paths I must tread to make things right?
“You said you trusted me.” His words do not feel as if they are meant to shame, but to remind me in case I had forgotten.
