Chapter Thirty-Seven
Céleste didn’t know where she was.
She’d been snatched off the road by someone who’d grabbed her from behind.
A blanket had been thrown over her head, and she was tossed into a carriage, the blanket never lifted from her during the entirety of the terrifying ride.
She was free of the blanket now but being held captive in the private dining room of an unknown inn by Pierre Léandre.
On the road to Eu Plate, she’d finally realized where she’d seen the handwriting from the note in Adèle’s book.
Nicolette had received letters from Pierre during their later aborted engagement.
As her dearest friend, Céleste had seen the letters.
It had been years, so they weren’t fresh in her mind any longer.
If not for the peculiar way he formed the capital I, she likely would never have pieced it together.
In the end, it didn’t matter. He’d caught her unaware and dragged her away.
And he hadn’t said a word. If she was to formulate any sort of plan, she needed him to talk.
“I don’t know what you are expecting to accomplish,” Céleste said.
“‘Expecting to accomplish’ makes it sound as though we haven’t already been successful.”
We. He wasn’t acting alone.
Of course he wasn’t. The handwriting on the notes Jean-Francois had received were different. And the voice at the ball hadn’t been his. It likely had been disguised, but not well enough that she wouldn’t have recognized it as Pierre’s. She knew his voice far better than she knew his handwriting.
“If you think taking your anger out on me is going to hurt Jean-Francois in any way, then I have a few things to teach you about unhappy families.”
“Jean-Francois is a means to an end. And you are not that end.”
Pierre was targeting someone else. But who? Adèle? Marguerite? Both possibilities seemed unlikely. Céleste could see him well enough to know where he was in the room but not much else.
He stepped over to the window, as he’d done many times since their arrival, and pulled back the curtain.
The bright light that flooded in helped him, no doubt, but it added to her struggles.
At first, she’d assumed he was checking to see if they had been followed.
But now she felt certain he was watching for his coconspirator.
Soon, there would be two people determined to keep her there and do whatever harm they had in mind.
She needed to formulate a plan for escape, and she needed to execute it quickly.
“If ending Jean-Francois’s extortion is not actually your aim, then why threaten him?”
“I have seen two fortunes taken from me in as many years. And the same person is responsible for both. That Jean-Francois made other enemies was a useful thing.” He was talking in riddles, likely on purpose.
Two fortunes. His windfall from the courts had been reduced by Jean-Francois’s extortion.
The other fortune was likely the money he had accumulated by violating a trade agreement between this country and France, an illegal scheme that had been brought to an end when Henri had threatened to expose it.
Henri. But Henri would have had nothing to do with the extortion; he wasn’t even in France when it was happening.
“What was the purpose of sending your lackey to chase Adèle and me through the countryside? You could have caught us any number of times or simply shot us from a distance.”
“You weren’t being chased,” he said with palpable annoyance. “You were being herded.”
“You wanted us to come to England.”
“Enough. Keep quiet or you will find yourself compelled to be silent.”
Pierre had intended for them to cross the Channel and, it seemed, had known they would come to Norwood Manor specifically. But why Norwood?
Pierre’s lucrative but illegal business dealings had been undertaken with the late Duke of Hartley and had fallen apart while they had both been at Norwood Manor. But Aldric’s father was dead.
Aldric.
Could Pierre’s focus be Aldric? Heavens, it was more than merely possible.
Aldric had been referenced in the note Pierre had left.
And he would have known Aldric would never abandon Céleste and Adèle, if for no other reason than his well-established loyalty to the Gents.
He would see Henri’s family to safety no matter what it took.
And he knew Aldric would come looking for her now.
Aldric would be walking into a trap.
“Finally,” Pierre muttered, letting the curtain fall back into place. The room was dim again. She could only just see him move to the door. She heard him unlock it.
He pulled it open. Additional light spilled in, illuminating him where he blocked the doorway. She couldn’t slip out that way.
“You are unforgivably late,” Pierre said to someone on the other side of the door. As he had thus far, he spoke in French. “He might have arrived before you. How pathetic that would have been.”
“I am not interested in your prey, Pierre.” That was the man who’d snatched her at the ball those weeks ago.
The voice wasn’t identical, not being disguised just then, but it was the same voice.
She knew it was. “Fortier has not agreed to stop extorting me. I am here to end his best hope for securing further connections he can trade upon.”
Céleste needed to get out somehow. She’d been in a similar situation during their flight to the Channel.
Voices outside the door. No escape through the usual route.
On that night, they’d climbed out a window.
There was another on a side wall, out of sight of the doorway.
It, too, was covered in a curtain, but a hint of light escaped, telling her it was there.
She likely had very little time. And this was, without question, her only chance.
She moved swiftly but quietly to the window and tested it with her eyes squinted against the glare.
It swung outward. It was a more difficult type of window to climb out of, but not impossible.
And she would be doing it almost blind, having forced her eyes to endure bright light after the dimness of the room.
Something sharp caught her hand as she pulled herself over the window well. The same something tore at her leg a moment later.
Céleste dropped onto the ground. There was something to her right—she wasn’t sure what but suspected it was a wall—so she had no choice but to go to the left.
That, she felt certain, would take her toward the front of the inn.
If Pierre and his comrade hadn’t yet realized she’d left the room, she might be able to slip past without being spotted.
She moved quickly, shielding her eyes with her hand to help her navigate while her eyes began to adjust. They would in a minute or two, but she couldn’t wait for that to happen. Speed was crucial.
“Leaving so soon?” a voice directly in front of her asked dryly.
It was the voice from the ball and from the doorway of the room she’d just escaped. They’d seen her and caught her. And she could see him just well enough to know now who he was.
Monsieur D’Aubert.
She’d dismissed him as a possibility, as he’d only just left her side at the ball when she was snatched away. But then, that meant he would have known where she was and that she was alone. And her poor vision did make it difficult to keep track of everyone in those enormous, dark rooms.
“Your brother very much wants me to marry you,” M. D’Aubert said. “I very much don’t want to. But he knows things I wish he didn’t, so we’re at an impasse.”
“Your quarrel is with him, not me.”
M. D’Aubert was undeterred. “He has bled me dry. I will not allow him to change his extortion from demanding money to demanding I marry you. His schemes will end here.”
“I need her alive,” Pierre growled from just outside the inn door.
Her eyes had adjusted more.
“I don’t overly care what you need, Léandre.” M. D’Aubert grabbed hold of her arm while still addressing his partner. “I have borne the burden of most of this plot, while you have simply made it more complicated than it ever needed to be.”
“He will never agree to my terms if I don’t have anything to barter with.” Pierre crossed to them.
“And his brother will never leave me be so long as he has a sister to marry off.”
His brother. Aldric wasn’t their aim at all.
It was Henri.
“How far behind you is he?” Pierre asked.
“Not far. He’ll be here before morning, if not sooner.” M. D’Aubert turned to Céleste. “This would have been far easier for everyone if you had simply stayed in Paris.”
Pierre grabbed her other arm. “Paris would not have suited my needs.”
“Why not?” M. D’Aubert spat. “Lord Aldric was there. You could have had your revenge on both families at once without all this complication.”
“They’ll both have to live with this here, where it will haunt them.”
Aldric and Henri. Both.
Good heavens.
They needed to be warned. And she needed to get free so Pierre and M. D’Aubert couldn’t use her to hurt them.
The sound of carriage wheels moving swiftly into the innyard pulled all their attention in that direction.
“He’s come to save his beloved sister,” Pierre sneered. “So naive.”
Céleste tried to pull free, hoping the distraction of Henri’s arrival would loosen M. D’Aubert’s grip. It didn’t.
Gravel flew as the driver pulled the team of horses to an abrupt stop. The door swung open, and Henri leaped out.
M. D’Aubert had a dueling pistol trained on Henri. “Hands out where we can see them, Fortier. You’ll not be pulling a weapon on us.”
Her beloved brother complied, watching Pierre with angry eyes. “I’ve come to make the trade you demanded: my life for my sister’s.”
Pierre pulled out a pistol of his own.
“No, Henri!” Céleste pleaded. “I’ll not let you die in my place.”
“Such a foolish family,” Pierre said. “We’re going to kill you both. You first, mademoiselle, so he has to watch.” He shoved her to her knees. “And we’re doing it here where Hartley’s son could have saved you, so he’ll know it is his fault that you’re both dead.”
Either Pierre or M. D’Aubert pushed her down. She barely caught herself with her hands.
“The Benicks and the Fortiers will both get what they deserve,” Pierre spat.
A gunshot rang out.
There was no pain. She moved a hand to her heart. Still beating. She wasn’t dead. She hadn’t been shot.
Céleste looked up. Aldric stood just outside the carriage, a pistol in each hand. One was smoking, the other was trained on M. D’Aubert, who still stood near her. Pierre was flat on the ground.
“Lower your weapon, D’Aubert,” he said.
His demand was immediately met.
A flurry of skirts momentarily blocked Céleste’s view of it all. Nicolette knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around Céleste.
“Do you have hold of her, Nicolette?” Henri’s voice echoed to them.
“Yes, and she’s whole, mon amour,” Nicolette said. “Whole and safe.”
“Aldric?” Céleste whispered.
“He’s here, Cél—”
“I’m not asking if he’s present.” Her voice broke. “I’m asking for him. Please.” The emotion spilled over. “Please tell him not to leave me.”
It was his voice that answered. “I’m not leaving you, Céleste.” He took Nicolette’s place. Céleste threw her arms around him, holding to him desperately. “I’ll not ever leave you again.”