Chapter 28
Sister Marie knew her way back to the ballroom. She suggested that Dani affect the posture of a distressed maiden—head down,
face in hands—and Marie put an arm around her shoulders and led her through the corridors, walking quickly. The little vignette
could suggest anything from crying jag to eye injury, but the pervading idea was “Not your problem.” Dani allowed the nun
to lead her along. With her vision obscured, she tuned her ears to the sounds around her. If she heard Luke’s voice, they
were doomed. A row would ensue, and the playacting would end.
What she heard were the thuds and clatters of a busy party inside the tomb-like castle. There went the wheels of a trolley;
next, the cymbal sound of silver warming domes connecting with platters. Servant conversations came to her in snatches. The
staff complained of exhaustion, the kitchen complained that the caviar was finished. She heard that the guests were gauche,
the guests were drunk, the guests were dropping pearls in their champagne and drinking them down.
Closer to the ballroom, she heard raucous laughter, clinking glass, someone singing at the top of his lungs.
Servant voices went silent and she heard only their hurried footsteps.
They were nearly there. If they reached the ballroom, they’d be swallowed up by the undulating crowd.
She could locate Vincent Surcouf and lie in wait, making certain Luke did not need her.
Dani’s decision to disobey him had been very simple. Sister Marie, loyal to a fault, had listened carefully to Dani’s plan
and, without argument, consented. Why had Dani come all the way to France—why had she dragged her brother and Killian and
Lord Fernsby also to France—if not to serve as a fail-safe? She’d certainly not come all this way to embrace him in a corridor.
Even if he had revealed to her that he loved her. Even if he’d said he wanted to return to Eastwell Park and live as her husband.
Which he had done.
And good for him. A warm buzz swam up her body at the memory, and Dani smiled into her hands.
First, she reminded, see that he escapes this castle with his life.
From the beginning, she’d been the linchpin in his negotiations with the Frenchman. She would not leave here until she knew
she was not needed in some reckoning or negotiation or trade. If she must, she’d give over her lands. Whatever it took.
After Luke had delivered them to the little garden, Dani and Marie had easily climbed the wall and dropped to the other side.
They’d hidden in the shrubbery, waiting for Luke to retreat and whispering back and forth the tenets of their new plan. Then
they’d climbed the wall again, re-entered the very same servants’ door, and backtracked to the ballroom. Sometimes, Marie
said, simple was best.
“Ballroom, Highness,” Marie whispered now. “Head up. Smile on. Look everywhere but make eye contact with no one. We should
be seen but not approached. Luckily, everyone is well and truly drunk by now.”
“How will we find Surcouf?” Dani asked, blinking in the smoky, yellow glow of the candlelit hall.
“We’ll make a circuit of the perimeter. When we arrived and asked for the private room, the official wanted to ‘present you’
to Surcouf. Likely he’s holding court in an anteroom, or in the wings, or on a balcony. He’ll be separate but not hidden.
Let us find his location and hover. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, we’ll not show ourselves. There’s always the chance
that Captain Bannock will locate his good sense and not challenge him in the end.”
“Yes, yes,” Dani agreed. “Seen but not approached. Hover. Pray that no one challenges anyone.”
Dani paused on the periphery of the dance floor and blinked at the advanced state of the party. Voices were louder; the collective
din almost obscured the band. Candles were flickering out; the ballroom was cast in deep shadows. Couples broke away from
the crowd to disappear into the recesses. A woman tripped on the hem of her gown and fell to the ground, laughing. Two men
reached for her, but one lost his balance and tumbled beside her. The trio laughed like children. Just steps away, dancers
spun in tight duos, skirts and coats whirling.
“I’ll need to follow you, Highness,” prompted Marie. “As your chaperone.”
“Oh, right,” Dani said, biting her lip.
“Lead the way, then?”
“Yes, of course.” Dani squared her shoulders and raised her chin.
She looked to the right. A circle of men and women chanted a counting rhyme together, their glasses raised.
When their chant reached the number ten, they downed their drinks in unison.
To the left, three men in military uniforms appeared to argue.
Dani chose right. She skirted the group counting and wound her way through dancers.
They came to a round table stacked with delicate cakes on pedestals.
A man pulling his partner to the dance floor veered into the corner of the table, and the woman bumped it with her hip.
The cakes quivered, and a cat—a live cat, prowling atop the pudding buffet—emerged with icing on its whiskers.
When the table rocked, the animal jumped to the floor and wound its way through the crowd.
Dani thought instantly of Miriam. She felt a jab in her ribs, the sweet hook of homesickness. Miriam had been told Dani traveled
to Eastbourne to buy more sheep. If her mother knew what she was doing right now, Miriam would expire.
In a nod to Miriam Dinwiddie, Dani followed the cat—it was as good a guide as any. The animal edged around boots and under
skirts; it darted through dancers and hissed at a guard with a mongrel on a lead. Finally, it came to another table of food,
this one laden with steaming vegetables and a pig with an apple in its mouth. The cat disappeared beneath the tablecloth.
“You’ve found him, Highness,” Marie whispered over her shoulder. Taking Dani by the arm, she pulled her behind a column.
“Luke?” Dani asked, looking around.
“No,” said Marie. “Vincent Surcouf, the Comte d’Moulac.”
The cat had led them to a side wing of the ballroom.
The ceiling was lower here, creating a room with no walls.
The area had been cordoned off with urns and potted plants, and guards stood at intervals around a select group of guests.
Thick rugs carpeted a small stage in the center.
Velvet furniture and giant candelabras were arranged in front of the buffet and a drinks cart.
Men and women laughed and tutted under the watchful eye of the guards.
But this was Vincent Surcouf? Dani wondered.
Except for being set apart, no one looked grander than the other guests.
“How can you tell which one he is?” Dani whispered.
“Look,” urged Marie.
Dani leaned around the column to study the tableau. A lone man clipped from the stage, putting distance between himself and
the perimeter of servants and guards. He craned his head, staring into the ballroom like he was waiting for the mail coach.
Nothing about his features marked him as important. He wore the uniform of a French officer, but half the men in attendance
wore military uniforms. He was neither tall nor short. He was middle-aged, with dark hair and eyes and strong French features.
When she looked closer, she wondered if his posture and bearing set him apart. His raised chin was mildly reminiscent of Giles
Stinchcomb, but he stared into the crowd with a look of anticipation. Would Luke’s terrible enemy anticipate rather than simply
gaze?
She followed his stare into the crowd, trying to see what—
Oh God.
Luke.
The crowd parted at the corner of the dance floor to make room for a squadron of guards. They dragged a tall man with broad
shoulders and auburn hair. The captive’s face was averted, but Dani knew him—at once, she knew him. She knew the set of his
shoulders, the curl of his hair, the silhouette of his profile. She’d never seen him dragged through a room by guards, of
course, but it was Luke. And the man who so anticipated his delivery was the Comte d’Moulec, Vincent Surcouf.
Panic closed her throat. She looked back and forth between the two men. The Frenchman was squinting now, trying to make out Luke’s face. Dani took a step toward them but Marie caught her shoulder.
“Wait, Highness,” Marie whispered. “Let us see what everyone intends. Look around you. Your brother is also here. Do you see
him? In the shadows behind the dais? We are not alone, but we hardly have the advantage. You’ll have only one chance to play
your hand. We must be strategic.”
“Bring him closer,” Surcouf shouted in French.
Dani gripped the pillar, watching as the guards hustled Luke forward.
Marie sucked in a breath. “And look,” the nun said, “there. It’s Mr. Crewes.” She pointed in the other direction. Killian
had returned to the ballroom. He was dressed again in his officer’s uniform. He stood so close, the guards had shouldered
him out of the way to haul Luke forward.
Dani nodded—yes, yes, she saw them. Her brother, her brother-in-law. She was grateful, truly she was, but her attention was
locked on Luke. It took colossal restraint to keep hidden and not run to him.
“Surcouf will know Luke on sight,” Dani whispered to Marie. “If he doesn’t already know it’s Luke. The musician’s disguise
will be useless. I . . . I believe I should show myself now. Now is the strategic moment, Marie—now. If for no other reason than to buy time.”
“Right,” said the nun. “I understand. Do it, then. Go. I am with you, Highness.”
Dani did not hesitate, she bolted forth. In the same moment, the cat who’d led her to Surcouf darted from beneath the buffet,
jumping in Dani’s path. On reflex, Dani bent and scooped her up, hugging her to her chest.
And then, in the loudest, clearest voice she could manage, she called, “le Comte de Moulac?”