The madam sauntered down the stairs, her gaudy corset showing below a flimsy wrapper, her bleached hair framing a heavily painted face. "Bonjour. A pleasure to receive you, Your Excellency."
Pedro uncovered the side of the cape, revealing his precious bundle. "How much?"
"Who is she?" Fake French accent forgotten, the madam squinted her eyes at the girl.
Her practiced moves did not fool him. She would name her price now, as he wanted out of this place. Every moment in the open placed himself and the angel at risk.
He goaded Erebus forward, and she jerked out of the way, her complexion turning gray beneath the layers of face powder.
Pedro lowered his voice. "Don't play games with me. I won't ask a second time."
Cris posted himself at the madam's front, raising his palms. "She is telling the truth, brother. I’ve never seen this girl before, and I know them all."
Pedro hid his surprise under a blank facade and clutched the girl closer.
Angel, who are you?
Chapter 9
GabrielstoodinVesuvio'scourtyard under the shade of leafy palm trees, a frilly concoction of a bonnet in his hand. Why was a flower of a girl, the sweetest he ever beheld, in the carnage that had become of Quinta do Salgueiro? He cleaned his feet on the rug and entered the parlor in the wake of an old British butler. It was Gabriel's duty to find out, wasn't it?
"If you follow me, sir, the baron will receive you in the study."
Gabriel inclined his head and followed the formal servant. Signs of restoration brightened the old mansion’s public areas. New oriental rugs and silks gave vivid color to the vestibule and parlor, enhancing the sober oak parquet and tapestries.
With a quick rap, the butler opened the door and signaled for him to enter. Bright light washed the study from stunning floor-to-ceiling windows.
The moment he stepped inside, Griffin Maxwell vaulted from his seat. "You found her?"
The Englishman had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair stuck at odd angles. What a difference from the model of British restraint Gabriel had met at the village last week.
Gabriel cramped the bonnet, his palms moistening the cloth. "I'm not sure how to say this—"
The door opened without a knock, and Mrs. Maxwell waddled inside. "Wentworth said you bring news of Anne. Is it true?"
Maxwell exhaled and shook his head. "Why must Portuguese women be so stubborn? Didn't the doctor advise you to stay abed, Julia?"
She reached for the bonnet, her eyes brimming with tears. "Where is our Anne?"
Gabriel sighed. "I found the hat and her carriage in Quinta do Salgueiro, but unfortunately, your sister is missing."
Mrs. Maxwell gasped. "At Pedro's property?"
Mr. Maxwell's face turned red and then purple. "I'm going to kill that corrupt aristocrat."
"I don't understand. Anne has never met the Count of Almoster."
"Hasn't she?" Gabriel's heart lurched, and he lowered his gaze. She could have taken a fancy to him. It was hard to believe a sweet and innocent girl to be so disposed, but Pedro was nothing if not persuasive.
The baron narrowed his eyes to slits. "My sister is respectable, and anyone who even tries to disparage her name will—"
Mrs. Maxwell touched her husband's arm. "There must be an explanation. She left to meet winemakers. To teach how to graft grapevines."
"Then she was at the wrong place at the wrong time." Gabriel’s throat felt dry, but he needed to say it. The family had a right to know. "There's been an attempt on the king's life. Dom Luis escaped unharmed, but Pedro Daun is the prime suspect."
Mr. Maxwell opened and closed his mouth. "That murderous bastard has my sister."
Mrs. Maxwell sagged on the couch and pressed her temples. "I met Pedro as a child. Despite his many... shortcomings, he is an honorable man. There must be some mistake. If he has Anne, he is protecting her. I am more tranquil now that I know she is with him."
