She cupped Inès’s cheek with her gloved hand. “Where have you been, ma chouchou? I have not seen you in years and years.”
“Away. I had a job. I did it. And then”—Inès hesitated a moment, but no one was about—“I had to flee.”
“I will not ask more. Let us walk, eh? Why not that café there?” Cecily nodded toward the one where Evan sat inside, near the window, drinking wine.
“Of course.”
They locked arms and strolled along.
“Is it England?”
“It is.” Inès grinned. “I will be tickled to relate the news. Can I?”
“Please do. For this, we need wine first. I promise to be quiet as you fill me with delight.”
They entered the little café, chose a table at the back near the kitchen, and ordered a carafe of vin rouge. Only one other table, beside the one Evan sat at, was occupied with a couple, man and woman, who were arguing in wild whispers.
From her vantage point, Inès could easily gaze across the room into the violet eyes of her husband. She did not let on that he was there. He would not want her to recognize him or introduce her.
The countess lifted her veil, and Inès could not control her joy at seeing how unchanged, how devastatingly lovely, the lady was at what must be mid-forties or fifty years of age. Her hair, black, glossy curls, was in the latest Roman style, close to her head. Her eyes—a luminous green with gold flecks—stunned anyone. They were large and vivid. They were the same as Gus’s. “You do not change, madame. I am so pleased to see you well.”
“You are kind, dear girl.” The lady squeezed her fingers, then let her go and sat back. “I try not to wear my worries on my face.”
“You are expert at that.”
“I think I must teach you how.” She arched finely tapered black brows. “Qu’est-ce que c’est? What is your worry, my dear? Why are we here?”
“I have come for Luc.”
She blew out a long breath. “A big problem.”
“I am also in a hurry.”
“But of course you are.”
“I have two men helping me.”
The lady twitched a brow. “Darling, you need an army.”
The garçon came with their two glasses, their bottle of wine, and a dish of roasted walnuts. He took his corkscrew and quickly skewered the cork and drew it out, then poured generous draughts and left them alone.
Both lifted their glasses in a small clink of a toast, tasted the vintage, and sat back.
“It needs to breathe, machérie.” The lady folded her hands in her lap and inclined her head toward Evan. “Is he yours?”
“Certainment.” Inès gave a laugh at Cecily’s perception. “Il est mon amour.My husband.”
“We will not invite him to join us.”
“Correct.”
The countess picked up her glass again, drank, and set it on the table. “There is a man here, whom you may have met. He tried to get Luc free from La Force. Twice. He failed. This is why your brother is now in the old palace on the Seine. The dungeons are so old, ma chérie. Over a century. It is a feat to try to get anyone out.”
“I need someone, madame. I need him or her soon. Plus supplies, a place to stay.”
The countess clasped her hands before her on the table. “And if you fail, you will share your brother’s fate. So too will your dashing husband. Do you realize—”
“I do. I must!” Inès had to convince her to help. “You must understand. I…I worked with Gus and with Amber for years. With Luc, too. I was a contact, a runner, for many who…” She leaned closer to the lady. “You understand me.”
