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“Yes. You wanted Honoria alone, and now you will have her all to yourself. What designs do you have on her?”
Laurent barked out a laugh. “She needs no protection from me, mademoiselle. I have no designs on her. I simply want to rescue the princess.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He didn’t quite know how to answer that. He was unused to being spoken to that way by his equals much less an actress from the theater—and not even a very good theater in his opinion.
“I swear on my mother’s grave”—she moved until their faces were inches apart—“I will kill you if you dare harm her.”
“I have no intention of harming her. Why are all of you so intent on protecting Mademoiselle Blake?”
“Because it’s so easy to see she’s been hurt before. Do not hurt her again.”
She was correct. Honoria Blake had been hurt before. The way she hid her beauty and insisted she was more than a pretty face hinted at a past that still troubled her. Who did not have a troubled past in these days? But it angered Laurent to consider it might have been a man who’d hurt her.
“What happened to her?” he asked, keeping his voice level.
“As though I’d tell you.” Mademoiselle Martin huffed out a breath.
“You don’t know.”
She sighed. “She won’t tell me anything.”
“Then perhaps she merely wishes to forget it. Put it behind her.” Laurent shrugged. “I think we all would like to do that with aspects of our past. Perhaps the best way to help is to allow her to forget. That might even be the reason she came to Paris in the first place.”
Alex blew out a breath. “For a spoiled noble, you have some ideas that make sense.”
He laughed. “I have many ideas that make sense. After all, we have been ruling this country for nine hundred years.”
“Yes, well, just as long as your ideas have nothing to do with seducing Honoria.”
“Or you will have my head.”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you, mademoiselle.” He indicated the door. “You have been most entertaining.”
She scowled at him before returning to her chamber and slamming the door. Gingerly, he removed his clothing and lay in bed, listening to the quiet murmur of female voices in the room across the hall. Then all in the house was quiet.
Although he tried to sleep, rest eluded him. He wondered what Marie-Thérèse was doing at the moment. Was she lying awake, worrying about her mother? Did she know her father had been executed? Did she curse Laurent for failing to keep his promise?
And then he wondered if Honoria Blake slept, and if she did whether or not she dreamed of him.
Finally, he rose and dressed. The sky was still dark, but he could sense dawn would be upon them soon. He tried the latch on his door, found it locked, and cursed Ffoulkes. The man was taking no chances.
A few moments later, Ffoulkes opened the door and motioned Laurent to follow him downstairs. Laurent followed silently and found Honoria standing in the cold dark of the dining room. A small bag sat at her feet, just large enough to hold a change of clothing and a few toiletries. “I haven’t heard the carriage,” she murmured.
“The driver will be here any moment,” Ffoulkes told them. “Remember to keep your heads down, but do not look suspicious. Be friendly with any neighbors you encounter, but aloof.”
Laurent shook his head. “How the hell is one friendlyandaloof or did I translate incorrectly?”
Honoria’s smile told him he had not mistaken the words.
“Just be careful,” Ffoulkes said. “Communication between us should be kept at a minimum. Lord Anthony or myself will come daily to collect notes you make and observations. When we’ve formulated the plan, we will alert you. Do not, under any circumstances, act without us.”
“You have my word, Sir Andrew,” Honoria promised. Laurent would promise nothing. He could not. He’d promised Marie-Thérèse he would save her, and his loyalty was always first to her.
The clop of horses’ hooves sounded on the street outside. Ffoulkes peered out of the window and then shut the curtains again. “He’s here.” He handed them tricolor cockades. “Go quickly and remember what I said.”
