He sighed with bone-deep relief as a familiar figure appeared at the main doorway in the center of the château’s eastern wing.
Evangeline. Thank heavens.
The temptation to make his way immediately over to her was there, but his military training was stronger. You didn’t move out into an open area unless you were completely certain that it was safe.
He wet his fingers and put them to his lips, letting out a sharp whistle before darting back into the trees. Evangeline’s head shot up. She looked quickly around then hurried over.
She passed right by where Gus stood, continuing on to the next cluster of trees.
Good girl. You know how to make sure no one has followed.
Slipping out from his secret spot, he crept around to the other side of where Evangeline hid. A glimpse of her pale hair was all he got before she launched herself at him.
“Dieu merci. Dieu merci,” she said, wrapping her arms around him tightly.
Gus winced. “Un peu plus léger, s'il vous plait?”
She froze, then released her hold on him entirely. “Oh, I am so sorry. I forgot you had been shot. Forgive me. How is your wound?”
He smiled at her. “I am mostly recovered; and Evangeline, you are always forgiven. I just wish I could have come back sooner. I cannot begin to tell you the nightmares I have endured worrying about you.”
She lay a hand on his chest, right over the wound. “It is a miracle that you survived. I know I told you not to come, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved to see you.”
I could never stay away, not when I thought you might be in danger.
He placed his hand over hers, brushing his thumb gently back and forth. Their gazes met for a brief moment before she slipped her hand free and stepped back. Her behavior had Gus pondering Evangeline’s reasons for having made such a bold move. And also, as to why he had stroked her hand.
We haven’t been this way with one another before. Is it just because I almost died? Or is it something else?
Gus pushed those awkward questions to the back of his mind. He was here on a mission, and that had to come first. “How are things? Are they as bad as your note said?”
Evangeline nodded. “Worse. Vincent Marec is demanding that Armand hand over the entire smuggling operation to him. He also wants us out of the château. That man will take everything we have if given the chance.”
“And what of Armand? Is he still preparing to fight?”
She lifted her gaze to the heavens and let out a resigned sigh. “He is determined to fight to the bitter end. He has enough weapons to start a small war, but he is no soldier. Vincent has years of military experience to call upon, and he won’t ever concede defeat.”
“This doesn’t make sense; Armand has never been one for violence.”
“I know. His moods are constantly shifting. One minute he is the Armand I have known all my life—warm, loving, a true bon vivant. The next he is sharpening blades.”
“Well, I am here now. I will talk to your uncle and get him to see reason.” Gus stepped away in the direction of the path, and Evangeline followed. The sooner he confronted Armand the better.
She had never been so relieved to see another person in her entire life. The instant she had heard Gus’s whistle, hope flared in Evangeline’s heart. He had come. And with him, the chance that a rational, sane man might finally be able talk Armand out of his secret plan. To bring her uncle back to sanity.
“Where is Armand now?”
“He has gone into Saint-Brieuc. He wouldn’t tell me why. Armand has become quite secretive of late, not willing to share anything. All he does is walk around the house muttering to himself. And he has put new locks on several doors in the west wing and won’t let me have the keys.”
She wasn’t even welcome in his study anymore; a place where she had shared many happy hours with her uncle. The previous evening, she had walked in on Armand while he was seated at his desk. She had caught sight of what looked like plans for a cannon before harsh words had been exchanged. He had thrown her out and locked the door.
Evangeline’s gaze met Gus’s deep brown eyes. He was wearing his customary tricorne hat and false long-haired wig. His smugglers disguise.
While it was charming, the hat also partially hid Gus’s face. She hoped that one day, she might be able to convince him to move with the times and wear the more fashionable top hat.
And perhaps give up the wig.
She understood all too well that the hat, greatcoat, and wig were all part of his attempt to blend in with the local Breton population, but she would dearly love to see more of the real Gus. The man beneath the façade.
