He would pursue her anew when she was fully recovered. This would not be the end.
'Where are your spectacles?' she asked.
'They were crushed the night of the fire.'
Her fingers tightened on his. 'You saved me.'
'Actually, you were well on your way to saving yourself. I simply caught you.'
'And tended me for three days. Thank you.'
He bowed, released her hand, and turned away.
'I anticipate your visit tomorrow,' she said in barely a whisper.
Edward's steps faltered slightly, but he gave no other outward sign of his relief. He could not appear eager, not with a woman so frightened of overt male interest.
'Until then,' was all he said, but he was smiling as he departed.
Desjardins was whistling as he entered his study shortly after breaking the fast. It was unfortunate that James had chosen to search the wrong side of the Orlinda manse first, which had led to Lysette being exposed to danger longer than he would have liked. However, the physician assured him she would survive without long-term damage and James was so smitten already that he had spent the last three nights tending to her himself.
But then such fortuitous events were the usual for him. His life had always been a charmed one. Take, for instance, the Fouches. While he regretted providing Lysette with such elderly and subsequently dubious help, he could afford no better without arousing undue suspicion in his wife. Comtess Desjardins was a beautiful woman, far too lovely for a man of his unremarkable appearance, but regardless, she loved him, as he loved her, and she would not allow him mistresses or even temporary dalliances. Keeping Lysette was one of his marriage's enduring secrets, as were his less savory deeds performed with the goal of increasing their social stature.
Now it appeared the age of the Fouches was a blessing in disguise, providing James the excuse to act heroically once again.
The comte had just taken his seat behind his desk when a knock came to the open door. He smiled at the waiting butler and said, 'Send him in.'
He knew the man's identity already, as his arrival was scheduled and perfectly timed.
A moment later Thierry entered, smiling. 'Good morning, my lord.'
'Yes, it is.'
His returning smile was sincere, his affection for the man bolstered by over two decades of loyal service. Thierry had filled many roles over the years, from courier to footman. His present guise as the Fouches' son allowed him to stay apprised of the developing relationship between Lysette and James.
Despite their years, the Fouches had no difficulty in assimilating new roles quickly, even becoming the parents of a grown man overnight.
'How is Lysette?' the comte asked.
'She woke this morning.'
'Lovely news.'
'She is tired and weak, of course,' Thierry said, 'but seems well enough.'
Desjardins leaned back, his legs stretched out before him. 'Any word on what she and James intend from this point?'
'James will return tomorrow.'
'Not tonight?'
'No, not that I blame the man. Mademoiselle Rousseau is not an easy woman to care for while unconscious, courtesy of Depardue and his men.'
'Damn the man.'
He would never forget his first sight of her, cowering and abused, ruthlessly shared among a coarse lot of men until little of her spirit remained. But again, it was another fortunate event for him, because acquiring Lysette had given him a valuable tool he would not have had otherwise, both in her loyalty and her identity. Only time would tell if he would ever have to use the latter, but it was there, if he should need it.
'I will see her this evening, then,' the comte said. 'Tell her to expect me.'
'Yes, my lord.' Thierry straightened and leaned forward, setting a missive on the edge of the desk with a now familiar and much hated black seal on the reverse. 'I was handed this on the way here.'
Thierry had become nearly the only bearer of the
Clenching his jaw, Desjardins dropped the missive into a drawer and withdrew a nicely weighted purse.
'You may have the night to yourself. However, I should like to know why Quinn came to see her. I will need you in residence when he responds to her summons, hopefully tomorrow.'
'Of course.' Thierry stood and caught the purse when tossed to him. 'I am at your service, as always.'
Desjardins responded to a few posts waiting his attention, and when the clock on the wall chimed the noon hour, he stood, straightening the lines of his coat with a practiced tug. A moment later his lovely wife filled the doorway, pulling on her gloves.
'Are you ready, Desjardins?' she asked, her dark hair expertly, elaborately coiffed, and her wrists and ears sparkling with emeralds that matched the exact color of her eyes.
'Yes, of course.' He rounded the desk. 'I am as eager to offer my condolences to the Baroness Orlinda as you are.'
His wife had wanted to see the baroness immediately, but he had delayed the visit, explaining that the number of curious and sympathetic visitors to her sister's residence where she was staying would be prohibitive.
The comtess shuddered. 'I feel for the woman,' she said, 'as I would anyone who suffered similarly, but truly, this is the sort of thing that happens when one engages in such immoral behavior.'
'Certainly,' he agreed.
He had no fear that his presence at the ball would become known. The baroness never discussed her guest list with anyone, and those who attended never spoke of whom they saw there, since that would be admitting their own involvement.
'Shall we?' he asked, extending his arm to the comtess.
This would be no mere social visit for him; if so, he would have allowed his wife to speak for both of them. He had more interest in this excursion than a need to offer his sympathy. Before he left the baroness's home, he would know if Quinn's presence at the ball had been happenstance or not. With the additional visit to Lysette shortly after, he had begun to doubt that as being the case. Lysette said Quinn had ceased to work for the English, so why was he still in Paris?
Of course, perhaps it would just be simpler to kill the man and be done with it. There would be no reprisal for the death of a man no longer in service.
The idea held merit and Desjardins tucked it away to consider in greater depth later.
Chapter 14
It was barely noon when the first missive arrived on Simon's desk. Written in a beautiful, flowing feminine hand, it asked if he had reached a decision regarding his discussion with the Vicomtess de Grenier the day before. He thought of burning it, but thrust it into a drawer instead.
Later, another arrived, this one containing only the address of a tailor's shop and nothing more. Unlike the vicomtess's, it was a message Simon was relieved to see.
Donning his coat, he left his house posthaste. His residence was now a torment, occupied as it was with both Eddington and memories of Lynette. It was the last place he wanted to be and yet the only place to both wait for news and bide his time until the hour was sufficiently late to allow him to visit Lysette.
He rode swiftly, goaded by the feeling of being trapped, forced to act against his will and in ways that went against the grain. He could not move forward or back, and lack of information was what hampered him.
Familiar with the direction sent to him, Simon was still forced to travel in ever-minimizing circles, searching for anyone who might be following him before finally reaching his destination.
The ringing of bells on the shop door heralded his arrival, but no one he knew was inside.
