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"Tu as bien fait mon petit espion," came the man's voice once more.
"I am not your spy!" Lady Rose threw back at him as Anthony realised what the man had said,you have done well, my little spy.
The Frenchman began to laugh then, but Anthony did not wait to hear what else was said. He already knew all he needed to know. He had been duped. He was married to a woman who had merely been using him all this time to gather information for the French. Her betrayal knew no bounds.
He had taken her as his wife, taken her into his bed, made love to her with such affection that she returned without hesitation, and yet here she was giving everything away.
Unable to take another moment of the sudden pain in his heart, Anthony turned and began to run, practically vaulting back over the wall in his attempt to escape all he had just seen.
Chapter 33
"What was that?" Penelope asked, quickly glancing into the shadows at the edge of the churchyard. Though the Comte St Clair had been laughing at her denial, she was on edge and had not missed the sound of movement behind her.
"Likely it was a bird," the Comte replied for the very first time that morning in English, though his accent was so thick that it may as well have been French. Penelope tried to take his word for it, but she felt a clawing in her gut that told her he was wrong.
It didn't really matter; she had done all she had set out to do. That morning, well before dawn, she had snuck into the duke's study and found the package she guessed the Comte had wanted.
She had stolen it, though not before writing a letter, a letter that would hopefully explain all she had done and why she had done it before she had snuck from the manor to meet the Comte and was now prepared to disappear.
"You have what you wanted," Penelope told him. "Now we are done. I do not wish to see you again."
"Oh, sweet girl." The Comte’s tone was derogatory and sly, and it made Penelope's skin crawl. "We are only done when I say that we are."
"But I did as you asked," Penelope protested, her voice becoming shrill. She bit her lip and drew her voice down to a whisper, all too aware of how well sound carried so early in the morning. "I got you what you wanted, and now I only wish to be left alone."
She thought again of the letter she had left for the duke. Likely he was up and about by now, already reading it. She could imagine him sitting at his desk with the paper in hand, a dark and disgusted expression upon his face as he read every word carefully, determined to understand everything she had written.
I should have written that letter long ago,she thought grimly, feeling the emptiness of her wedding ring finger where her wedding band had once sat. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she imagined never seeing the duke again.
"You are not done yet, girl," the Comte protested. "Not until I say so."
Bile rose in the back of Penelope's throat the moment that the Comte reached out and gripped her chin in his hand. He turned her face up to his until her hood started to slip back, and she could feel him eyeing her closely.
"You certainly look better than when we last met in France," the Comte announced, sniffing her as if he also thought she smelled better. Penelope had to at least agree with him on that.
She was no longer the terrified, abused little mouse she had been in France. Having spent time as a lady with all the finery of a duchess and having seen the confidence in the duke, she had grown just enough to do what she needed to do.
"Perhaps when all this is over, you shall return to France with us, and we can pick up where we left off. Unless you would rather defy me?"
Penelope bit back the urge to spit in his face and tell him that whatever offer he had, he could keep it. Instead, she decided it was best not to argue, best merely to accept whatever he said and make a quick getaway before he realised that she had defied him far worse than he ever would have anticipated.
I would rather die than return to France with you,she thought grimly, now far less scared of death than she ever had been before she left France and all that she knew behind.
"What would you have me do, My Lord?" Penelope asked though she knew something that the Comte didn't. As soon as she could, as soon as he released her to return to the duke, she would make a break for it.
She had enough coin and jewels to see herself well away from both of them, to be free of all the lies and betrayal and abuse, to finally be herself once more. Even though she was unsure who exactly Penelope Dupont was anymore, she was more than a little excited to find out.
As she had expected, the Comte announced, "You shall return to the duke's manor and await further instructions."
Luckily for her, she appeared to have grown quite good with lying over the last few months, and she smiled just a hint as she told him, "Of course, My Lord."
As she curtseyed and turned around to at least pretend she was following his instructions, she thought,Anthony, please forgive me for all I have done.
It was a terrible thing to know that she would never see him again though she was certain of one thing, she would never again allow herself to be used against him. Even though she had lied to him every day of their relationship, he meant more to her than anything else in the world. If protecting him meant never seeing him again, then that was exactly what she would do.
Chapter 34
Anthony knew he had to send word to London immediately. Whatever had happened between him and Lady Rose or Lady Clara or whoever she was, she did not matter. What mattered was that the French had got their hands on something that could cause havoc if he did not at least try to let the right people know.
