Ben was not much changed. The round boyish face, the blue eyes, the neatly trimmed side whiskers were all there, but he was paler, not sun-pinked and tanned as he had been during that hot summer at Stranwyne, and he was a little thinner, more polished. The biggest change was the fact that in my imagination he had been cold, drowned, and dead, and the man now swinging me through the dance was very much alive. And smiling hugely.
“My, my, Miss Tulman, you are all eyes. I believe I am flattered.” We made our first turn. “But you are looking extremely well. Paris will not know what to make of you.”
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“Is that a philosophical question, Miss Tulman, or are you speaking more practically?”
“Why are you alive?” I clarified.
He laughed merrily. “Well, it’s no thanks to you, I must say.”
I thought of the opium-laced wine he’d nearly killed me with. “I suppose I could say the same of you, Mr. Aldridge.”
“Now, now, Miss Tulman, the name is not Aldridge here. We don’t use —”
“So it’s Arceneaux, then?”
He looked pleased. “Fancy you knowing that. And it’s Charles, by the way. That’s what my mother called me. ‘Charles Arceneaux,’ or no one will know who you’re speaking of.” He swung me around, making the hoop under the green dress swirl. “But we were speaking of being alive, Miss Tulman. Let me heartily recommend that you learn to swim. It’s a very useful skill, even with a broken arm and a knock on the head.”
My eyes went reflexively to the hand that held mine. Of course it was not still broken, but I saw a bandage there, a strip of snowy-white cloth around the wrist, disappearing beneath the black sleeve of his jacket.
“Yes,” Ben said, seeing where my eyes had gone. “I daresay we are even for past wrongs, you and I.” His smile remained the same but his voice lowered slightly, the grip tightening on my hand. “Burns can be extremely painful, can they not?”
My brain was still sluggish, picking its way through a mire of new facts, but I could see the night in my uncle’s workshop, the oil lamp in my hand, the smash of glass, the burning jacket being ripped away from the body of a man in a mask. My eyes darted upward. “You?”
“It’s rather a shame we got the wrong door. I wouldn’t have disturbed your rest for the world.” I thought of that crude map in the pocket of the dead man, with my corridor marked. Made by someone who knew the house, of course. But I kept silent, unwilling to increase his enjoyment with my shock or my words. “Though I don’t suppose we’re even in the matter of our servants,” he chatted on. “Your little maid split my man’s skull.”
He was still smiling outwardly, but I could feel the fury bubbling just below the surface, tightening the arm around my waist, his hand now squeezing down so hard on mine that I had to hold in a gasp. If I could sense the heat of his anger, I wondered if he could feel the bitter, freezing bite of my hatred. He leaned close to my ear. “I should have shot her. But since I did not, I think you rather owe me a favor, don’t you?”
I’d had enough. I struggled once in his arms, trying to shove him away, and we faltered in the dance. He jerked me back into position.
“Temper,” he chided. “Don’t make a scene. We are being observed.” I followed his eyes straight to the piercing ones of Napoleon, slowly twirling the pointed end of his mustache, sphinxlike as he watched us dance. “The emperor will take it as a personal insult if you — or your current watchdog — offend me.”
I caught a glimpse of Henri, frowning as he followed us surreptitiously around the edge of the dance, never quite letting me out of his sight.
“Marchand, wasn’t it?” he continued. “You seem quite good at picking up protectors, Miss Tulman, but I must say that was fast work, even for you. It took you much longer to convince Lane Moreau to step into that position.”
I was done being baited. “What do you want? I assume it was you that had me invited here tonight for this nasty little chat? Wouldn’t it have been easier to knock on my door? I daresay you know where I live.”
“So charming,” Ben said pleasantly. “I invited you here tonight, dear Miss Tulman, so you could view where I live. Or where I will live very soon. Welcome to my future home. It is rather grand, is it not?”
I felt my brows come down, feet moving automatically to the count of the dance as if they’d been wound with a key. Ben had gone truly insane.
“But as for you,” he continued, “in that regard my wants are very simple. I merely want you to tell me where your uncle is.”
“My uncle is dead,” I said immediately.
“Really?” He smiled. “A most conveniently timed death, I must say. But why then, Miss Tulman, have you been visiting hospitals and asylums?”
I said nothing, heart slamming against its tight casing of ribs and green velvet, my insides in a tangle. I had never considered that my search could take on such a connotation. He leaned in close, whispering in my ear. I shuddered.
“Bringing him here was bold, but it was stupid, Katharine. Very stupid. Mr. Tulman is an old man, and I would be most gratified if you did not endanger his health. Is he well enough to work?”
“I told you that my uncle is dead.”
He sighed sadly, breath moving the long curls that were brushing my neck. I wanted to scream, to thrust him away, to run, kick, make him stop touching me, but then he did move away of his own accord, and I realized the dance had ended. Couples were breaking apart with smatterings of gloved applause. Ben let go of everything but my wrist and began to pull me from the dance floor. I dug in my heels, but he turned quickly and said, “Come. The emperor is beckoning to us, and believe me, Miss Tulman, this is not a man you would wish to offend.”
I looked over my shoulder as I was dragged away, tripping a bit over the enormous skirt. Henri was still watching us from the edge of the dance, hanging back now that he saw where we were going. He would not be able to help me. I turned back to Ben.
“And if this emperor is a man one would not wish to offend, Mr. Aldridge,” I hissed, voice dripping venom, “then tell me why I should not inform him that you are a liar and a murderer, and that you are holding me against my will at this very moment?”
We stopped, and those hard blue eyes locked on to my own. “Because, dear Katharine, we have a bargain to discuss. One that I think you will wish to hear.” He smiled at me. “And because he will not believe you.”
“And why in the world not?” If I did not know what was behind Ben’s beautiful smile, I might have been charmed.
“Because, Miss Tulman, he is my father.”
And before I could think or react, I was jerked forward eleven more steps, and found myself wrapped in the enigmatic gaze of Charles-Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, emperor of France.
Ben bowed, pulling me down into a curtsy beside him.
My head was down, but I was stealing looks at the emperor, trying to understand how what Ben had just told me could be true.
“Does the young lady speak French, Charles?”
I lifted myself up to see the ivory-skinned empress smiling sweetly at us. Whatever Ben’s relationship might be to Napoleon, it was clear that the Empress Eugenie was not his mother. She could not have been much older than Ben. Her glance slid once over my tightly gripped wrist, and Ben instantly let go of me, smiling stiffly. “I believe she does not, Your Majesty.”
“Then where are your manners, Charles? Let us speak English for the new acquaintance.”
He bowed formally and said, “This is Miss Katharine Tulman, Your Majesty, lately of England.”
I curtsied again, and the empress inclined her head before she said, “So you must have known Charles in England, Miss Tulman. He talks so little of his time there.”
I stared at the empress, a large diamond winking from the center of her tiara. I had no idea what any of them knew about Ben’s past. For that matter, neither did I. “He is a …” I began.
“And so thoughtful,” said the empress, beaming. “Only last week, Charles brought me a gift of my favorite claret, just because I happened to mention my fondness for it.”
“You are too kind, Your Majesty.” Ben gave her his smile, all charm, while I prayed that the empress would
