“Perhaps, M. D’Aubert,” Céleste said, “you would be so good as to accompany me to a seat where I could rest. I have been on my feet since our arrival, and I find myself beginning to be worn quite thin.”
She made the request for a mountain of reasons. Her brother and sister-in-law needed the reminder of her “failing health.” She wished very much to be free of Pierre’s company. And she wanted to see M. D’Aubert’s response to having been offered a means of avoiding dancing with her.
He looked relieved while at the same time glancing nervously at Jean-François. It was a telling reaction, one that kept her alert as he walked with her to a small gathering of chairs not too far distant.
“I am sorry to hear you are unwell this evening,” he said. “Your brother seemed to expect your health to have improved.”
“Jean-François tends to expect things of people that they are not always in a position to fulfill.”
M. D’Aubert nodded firmly. Another very telling reaction.
After a moment, she was seated in a chair beside a small, dark alcove. There was unlikely to be a great many people passing by or disrupting the quiet. It was perfect, though it would be exceptionally boring. At least until Céleste found the right opportunity to undertake her planned performance in what she hoped was the final battle in her campaign to be dismissed from Paris.
“I will leave you here to rest, Mlle Fortier.” M. D’Aubert offered yet another flawlessly executed bow and retreated. The gentleman clearly had no actual interest in her, yet had shown some for whatever reason. Jean-François, she would wager, was forcing his hand, requiring it of him.
M. D’Aubert did not at all seem the violent type. But he also seemed the most likely victim of Jean-François’ extortion schemes. All the indicationswere there. His family was exceptionally well-heeled, which would allow for Jean-François to receive repeated payments. The family sat on an exalted rung of Paris Society but still had further to climb, which would make extorting the vulnerable son of the family all the easier.
But was he the sort to turn that extortion into threats? What she knew of him made her think not.
Sitting and looking fragile would help her ongoing performance, but Céleste didn’t feel entirely comfortable being so alone with the marquis’s warning still swirling in her mind. She could make her way slowly around the ballroom until she found Henri and the others, being certain to fill her movements with exhaustion. Standing with the brother who actually cared what became of her would feel safer.
She rose and took a step in that direction. Only one step. She was stopped by a hand on her arm. Céleste attempted to turn and look but couldn’t twist enough. Bursts of candlelight obscured what little she could see. She was yanked forcefully into the dark alcove, being held from behind in an ironclad grip.
“Release me,” she said firmly, attempting to keep her fear from her voice.
“I have a message for your brother, Mlle Fortier.” The voice was raspy, quiet, but somehow echoed in every corner of her mind.
“I have two brothers,” she said.
“Do not attempt to be clever. You are in no position to test me.” Her arm was pulled sharply sideways, sending a twinge of pain to her shoulder. “Tell Jean-François that he has played games long enough.” The voice, though kept low, held a familiar note. Too vague for identifying, but she knew she had heard it before. “Tell him I will play these games no longer.”
“Who should I tell him—”
The assailant tightened his grip and pulled her arm harder. She gasped a little at the unexpected surge of pain.
“Tell him his schemes end or I will begin recouping my losses one Fortier at a time.”
“I will tell him,” she said.
But his grip didn’t loosen. “It seems to me”—the man continued in a tone of having only just thought of something—“he doesn’t believe I am in earnest.” She felt his breath reach her neck. “Perhaps he needs a demonstration of how serious I truly am.”
Fear tiptoed over her. His sincerity could not be doubted, nor his willingness to follow through on whatever dastardly thing had occurred to him.
“I will tell Jean-François that you are in earnest.” Indeed, she would have rushed directly to that brother if her assailant would only let go, and if only she could see well enough to spot him.
“Perhapsdeliveringthe message is not the role you would play most effectively.” His sinister voice sent shivers through her. “You could so easily serve as theproofof it.”
“Céleste?” That was Lucas. And he didn’t sound very far away.
Though she felt certain the man holding fast to her would hurt her if she cried out, she knew he would do far worse if she wasn’t able to escape. And Lucas was her best chance at managing it.
“Over here!” she called out, desperately hoping Lucas was as close as he sounded and could reach her before she was dragged away.
A man’s silhouette appeared in the opening to the alcove in the very next instant. Was it Lucas? A random passerby? If she could see even a little better, she would know if her salvation or a potential addition to the danger had just arrived.
The unidentified man behind her muttered a curse that Céleste had never heard in a ballroom. Her arm was released, and he ran—not past her but deeper into the alcove that was, apparently, actually a corridor.
In almost the same moment, the silhouette stepped close enough for her to realize it was indeed Lucas. “Who was that? What happened?”
