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Now Gabrielle did gape, thankful the interior of the coach was too dark for the Pimpernel to see her. “How did you know that?”
She saw movement and realized he’d shrugged as if to indicate it was nothing. “The comtesse and her daughter have been reunited with the comte de Tonnerre.”
“Have they?” Gabrielle felt guilty for not having asked after the comtesse before. “My only regret is that the warden now has possession of such a treasure as le Saphir Blanc.”
“Especially when it’s worth ten times what you owe in debt. Yes, I am aware of your debts. I do hope now that you have returned, you have no plans to revert to thievery.”
“No.” Gabrielle said it firmly. She would rather face debtors’ prison than go back to that life.
“If only you could marry Sedgwick.”
Gabrielle clenched her fists in her lap. “That’s not possible.”
The only sound was the clop of the horses’ hooves and the drone of voices of those they passed on the street. Gabrielle felt her eyes sting and clenched her hands more tightly.
“You love him,” the Pimpernel said.
She nodded, sniffed. “I’ve always loved him.”
“Then let him deserve that love for once.”
She didn’t care whether Ramsey deserved her love or not. He’d more than proven himself to her when he’d risked his life for her. Her anger at his betrayal had seeped away with his explanations and time. She wanted him, not the cold bed she would lie in if he died to prove he deserved her.
She might have said as much if the Pimpernel hadn’t knocked on the roof again.
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
“No,” came the quiet response, followed by a low chuckle. “You are.”
The door swung open, and there was Sir Andrew lowering the stairs. He held out his hand, and Gabrielle took it without thinking. As she descended, she looked back over her shoulder.
All she saw was darkness and a small red flower on the seat where he’d been.
How did he do it? She turned back to Sir Andrew, and glancing beyond him, saw the carriage had stopped in front of her town house.
“Thank you,” she said. She might have said more, but the door opened, and with a yelp, Cressy ran out to meet her. A moment later, Gabrielle was wrapped in arms smelling of lemon oil then shepherded inside. By the time she remembered Sir Andrew, the carriage was gone.
—
Madame Fouchet’s lair was as dark and gloomy as Ramsey remembered it. Though the sun shone brightly outdoors, the curtains of Madame Fouchet’s residence stubbornly refused to allow any light to penetrate.
The servant who answered the door carried a candle to light the way to a small parlor Ramsey had never seen. He’d always been admitted to Madame’s boudoir or, on a few occasions, her drawing room. The parlor was near the front door, which would make escape convenient, if it came to that. He was willing to pay for his crimes, but not at the hands of Madame Fouchet.
He’d paid her enough.
He didn’t take a seat; instead he crossed to the black velvet curtains and drew them aside. The furnishings—several chairs and a couch—seemed to shrink in the sunlight. Ramsey stared out at a view of a withered garden.
He turned when the door opened, and Madame held her hand up to shield her face. “What the devil are you about? Close the draperies!”
He obeyed slowly, closing them sloppily so light still filtered in. She looked old in the light, her face lined and pale, her ruby lips wrinkled and stained with lip dye. No wonder she preferred the dark. It maintained her illusion of beauty.
“Sit,” she ordered him.
“I prefer to stand. I cannot stay long.”
“You’ll stay as long as I want,Mr. Barnes.”
He didn’t flinch at her use of his real name. He might as well claim it. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. I have other pressing engagements today. In fact, this will be our last visit. Ever.”
