AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Better than we could have hoped. Not only did Rohan feel as if reconciliation was assured, he also began to believe Antoinette was in love with him. And everyone knows the way to a woman’s heart is through gobs of expensive jewelry.”
Cole smirked. “That’s debatable but go on.”
“In the fall of 1784, my Armand wrote another letter to Rohan ‘from the Queen’ asking him to act as a go-between in the purchase of a ridiculously extravagant diamond necklace from the royal jewelers. Rohan not only agreed, but the fool signed on as guarantor. If the necklace wasn’t paid for, it would fall on him to cover the costs. But Jeanne assured him the necklace had been handed over to the Queen and that the jewelers had been paid out of the royal coffers.”
“But they hadn’t.”
“Not remotely. We absconded with the necklace, and Jeanne and Armand cut it up into pieces and sold the diamonds in black markets all over Europe. Rohan was left holding the bag, so to speak.”
“He had to pay for the necklace?”
“1.8 million livres, an astounding sum. When the Affair came out, the King foolishly demanded a public trial for Rohan, but the good cardinal was acquitted. The citizens, already believing Antoinette was spending France into starvation, decided she had ordered the necklace herself and now was using a poor commoner as a scapegoat.” I wave a hand. “You know the rest.Let them eat cake—something she never said, by the way—and off with her head and all that. Though I never lived to see the Revolution from This Side, the Affair fanned the flames, and I tasted of those earliest flickers. To say the least.”
A silence falls where those flames burn in my memory. I look up to see Cole watching me from under his tousled hair. Part of me that I’d long since believed dead—that I’d thought had perished in that fire—stirred.
“So yes, there is a reason I have bad associations with all that is French,” I say quickly. “I died in Paris on the very day Armand was sentenced to exile for his role in the Affair.” I lean over the small table between us. “You asked what you see when you look into the black of my eyes. You see a death, Cole. Mine.”
“I thought so.” His hand that’s resting on the small table between us looks as if it wants to reach for mine. “This sounds odd given the context, but…do you want to talk about it?”
I suddenly find it hard to swallow.
Damn him and damn myself for the weakness that overtakes me in his presence. I have to remind myself that men such as Cole don’t actually exist. Their kindness is a façade that conceals their own selfish wants. Armand had once been sweet and considerate. He’d told me he loved me, and it had all been a lie.
“No,” I state. “Why would I?”
Cole sits up and puts his hand on his coffee cup, now likely cold. “No, I get it. But can I ask a question? Didyousell off any of the diamonds?”
“Did I profit from the Queen’s downfall? No.” I stiffen, regretting that I cannot tell this tale without the painful parts coming to bite me in the arse. “By then, Armand had decided he was in love with Jeanne. They cut me out of the profits. Because I was already wealthy, I pretended it didn’t bother me.” I force a smirk. “It all evened out in the end. They were arrested, I wasn’t.”
Cole nods, his gaze on his plate. “You loved him.”
The three words stab me in the chest, and I don’t know if it’s because of Armand’s betrayal or that Cole’s tone is saturated with concern for me.
Like a fool, I answer truthfully. “Yes.”
“Is that why you became…what you are? Because he broke your heart?”
The air seems to still and thicken, and I’m trapped in Cole’s lovely dark gaze. Like an embrace I don’t wish to pull myself out of.
This is madness. You’re to destroy this man or else be destroyed yourself. Remember who you are!
I stand up and reach for my scarf. “Time is wasting, and we still have errands to run before you begin your work.”
“Yeah, sure,” Cole says, offering a small smile. He’s not even angered at my rudeness, the bloody fool.
You’re the bloody fool. Every door you open to frighten him only draws him closer.
We step out into the chilly day. After a stop at a doctor’s office where Cole orders a replacement pair of glasses, we take a cab to an art supply store. The best in London. Cole walks the aisles like the proverbial kid in a candy store, his gaze lovingly falling on the tools of his trade. A far cry from the miserable person he was on the bridge just the night before.
I stroll down the aisle with Cole, hands in my pockets, rather enjoying his pleasure. He picks up a tube of vibrant blue paint.
“I love this shade,” he says, smiling fondly. “I call it ‘Chagall blue.’ He uses it a lot, in his stained glass too. He was just…unreal.”
And because he’s Cole, he puts the tube back. I sigh and flag down an employee.
“Could you assist us? We need canvases in a variety of sizes. At least twelve to start? And oils—the best you carry in all colors. A dozen palettes, brushes, pencils, charcoal, a new sketchpad… Am I forgetting anything?”
“No, that should do it.” Cole leans into me. “This is too much.”
