She’d been snatched off the road by someone who’d grabbed her from behind. A blanket had been thrown over her head, and she was tossed into a carriage, the blanket never lifted from her during the entirety of the terrifying ride. She was free of the blanket now but being held captive in the private dining room of an unknown inn by Pierre Léandre.
On the road to Eu Plate, she’d finally realized where she’d seen the handwriting from the note in Adèle’s book. Nicolette had received letters from Pierre during their later aborted engagement. As her dearest friend, Céleste had seen the letters. It had been years, so they weren’t fresh in her mind any longer. If not for the peculiar way he formed the capital I, she likely would never have pieced it together.
In the end, it didn’t matter. He’d caught her unaware and dragged her away.
And he hadn’t said a word. If she was to formulate any sort of plan, she needed him to talk.
“I don’t know what you are expecting to accomplish,” Céleste said.
“‘Expecting to accomplish’ makes it sound as though we haven’t already been successful.”
We.He wasn’t acting alone.
Of course he wasn’t. The handwriting on the notes Jean-François had received were different. And the voice at the ball hadn’t been his. It likely had been disguised, but not well enough that she wouldn’t have recognized it as Pierre’s. She knew his voice far better than she knew his handwriting.
“If you think taking your anger out on me is going to hurt Jean-François in any way, then I have a few things to teach you about unhappy families.”
“Jean-François is a means to an end. Andyouare not that end.”
Pierre was targeting someone else. But who? Adèle? Marguerite? Both possibilities seemed unlikely. Céleste could see him well enough to know where he was in the room but not much else.
He stepped over to the window, as he’d done many times since their arrival, and pulled back the curtain. The bright light that flooded in helped him, no doubt, but it added to her struggles. At first, she’d assumed he waschecking to see if they had been followed. But now she felt certain he was watching for his coconspirator. Soon, there would be two people determined to keep her there and do whatever harm they had in mind. She needed to formulate a plan for escape, and she needed to execute it quickly.
“If ending Jean-François’s extortion is not actually your aim, then why threaten him?”
“I have seen two fortunes taken from me in as many years. And the same person is responsible for both. That Jean-François madeotherenemies was a useful thing.” He was talking in riddles, likely on purpose.
Two fortunes. His windfall from the courts had been reduced by Jean-François’s extortion. The other fortune was likely the money he had accumulated by violating a trade agreement between this country and France, an illegal scheme that had been brought to an end when Henri had threatened to expose it.
Henri.But Henri would have had nothing to do with the extortion; he wasn’t even in France when it was happening.
“What was the purpose of sending your lackey to chase Adèle and me through the countryside? You could have caught us any number of times or simply shot us from a distance.”
“You weren’t being chased,” he said with palpable annoyance. “You were being herded.”
“Youwantedus to come to England.”
“Enough. Keep quiet or you will find yourself compelled to be silent.”
Pierre had intended for them to cross the Channel and, it seemed, had known they would come to Norwood Manor specifically. But why Norwood?
Pierre’s lucrative but illegal business dealings had been undertaken with the late Duke of Hartley and had fallen apart while they had both been at Norwood Manor. But Aldric’s father was dead.
Aldric.
Could Pierre’s focus be Aldric? Heavens, it was more than merely possible. Aldric had been referenced in the note Pierre had left. And he would have known Aldric would never abandon Céleste and Adèle, if for no other reason than his well-established loyalty to the Gents. He would see Henri’s family to safety no matter what it took. And he knew Aldric would come looking for her now.
Aldric would be walking into a trap.
“Finally,” Pierre muttered, letting the curtain fall back into place. The room was dim again. She could only just see him move to the door. She heard him unlock it.
He pulled it open. Additional light spilled in, illuminating him where he blocked the doorway. She couldn’t slip out that way.
“You are unforgivably late,” Pierre said to someone on the other side of the door. As he had thus far, he spoke in French. “He might have arrived before you. How pathetic that would have been.”
“I am not interested in your prey, Pierre.” That was the man who’d snatched her at the ball those weeks ago. The voice wasn’t identical, not being disguised just then, but it was the same voice. She knew it was. “Fortier has not agreed to stop extorting me. I am here to end his best hope for securing further connections he can trade upon.”
Céleste needed to get out somehow. She’d been in a similar situation during their flight to the Channel. Voices outside the door. No escape through the usual route. On that night, they’d climbed out a window. There was another on a side wall, out of sight of the doorway. It, too, was covered in a curtain, but a hint of light escaped, telling her it was there. She likely had very little time. And this was, without question, her only chance.
