‘Must have been the wind. The latch on these shutters is loose. Come – we should return before they begin the next performance or we will be missed. And this person will be here with the package soon – I do not want Montpensier’s servants to encounter him first.’
I let out a shaky breath; my fingers had grown numb with cold and I was not sure how long I could go on gripping the stone balcony.
‘Are you sure no one’s been in here?’ Guise’s voice shocked me with its proximity; he had joined her on the balcony. I hoped he had not noticed the drawer of the escritoire. I could see his shadow as he leaned forward to look over to the ground. If he should think to pull the shutter back… The stone under my hands was icy; I felt my fingers beginning to slip.
‘Who would be in here?’ the Duchess said, impatient. ‘Come, I am freezing – let us not waste any more time.’
Guise muttered something I could not catch. The shutter hiding me moved; I held myself rigid, not daring to breathe, but they were pulling it closed from the inside. I heard it firmly shut and the windows bolted. Though I was relieved they had not seen me, I was now left with a different problem: there was no latch on the outside of the shutters and I was stuck on this balcony. I had begun to haul myself back over the parapet to relieve my arms while I considered the situation, when I heard footsteps on the frosted ground below. Glancing down, I saw a woman walking across the courtyard, a heavy shawl wrapped around her shoulders; she paused by one of the torches in the wall long enough for me to glimpse her profile and the recognition sent that same jolt through my gut. Sophia, alone outside; who was she meeting? Without allowing myself time to think, I let go of the parapet, dropped into a bush below, rolled out and on to my feet, ignoring the dart of pain in my left leg; she had whipped around, startled, at the noise, but she barely had a chance to react before I had grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the shadow of an arched passageway at the side of the house. We stared at one another, our faces inches apart, for the first time in more than a year. It gratified a streak of cruelty in me to see that she looked afraid, her lips parted as if she were on the verge of crying out.
‘You owe me fifty écus,’ I said, through my teeth.
NINETEEN
‘I could scream,’ she said, her voice low. ‘There was a groom over there just now.’
Before she could attempt it, I had whipped the knife from my belt and pressed the tip against her stomach. ‘You would be dead before he could cross the courtyard.’
It pleased me to see that she flinched, though she held her nerve, jaw clenched. It was I who was trembling.
‘You are still angry with me, then,’ she said, after a pause. I thought I could detect a faint smile hovering about her lips, which only enraged me more.
‘What did you expect?’ I pressed the blade home a fraction and heard her gasp.
‘You were always a man of strong feeling.’
‘You have no idea.’
We held each other’s gaze, so close I could feel the heat of her breath on my mouth; I searched her eyes for some sign of remorse, affection – any nuance of emotion would do, anything beyond the calculating pragmatism I now feared had always coloured her dealings with me. Her face seemed to soften; slowly she reached up and brushed the back of her fingers against my cheek. Our breath clouded and dissolved together in the raw air. I let the arm holding the knife slacken. A horse whinnied across the courtyard and the moment was broken; I slapped her hand away and she dropped her gaze.
‘I thought I would run into you sooner or later,’ she murmured. ‘I did not expect it to be in this place, though. I had thought you might come looking for me.’ I was almost sure I heard a wistful note in her voice that suggested she had hoped so.
‘You knew I was in Paris?’
She gave a brief nod. ‘Charles Paget is a neighbour of my employer, Sir Thomas. He speaks of you often.’
‘With great affection, I suppose. Paget found you the position, didn’t he?’ When she didn’t answer, I put my face closer to hers. ‘You must be greatly in his debt.’
‘Seems I owe everybody,’ she said, with a studied carelessness.
‘And how do you repay him? On your back?’ I could hear the rising pitch of my voice; I seemed unable to rein in my anger and jealousy, and that only made me more furious with myself.
Sophia blinked calmly. ‘How does anyone barter with Paget? I keep my eyes open for him. Not that it’s any of your business,’ she added.
‘Then you have not – with Paget?’
She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I assure you, Charles Paget sets his sights higher than an English governess.’
‘And you? Where do you set your sights? This is pretty.’ I flicked the jewelled choker at her throat. ‘What did you do in return for this? Do you have hopes of being a duchess now? Or is being his mistress profitable enough for you?’ Stop now, stop yourself, the voice of reason clamoured in the back of my head, but I seemed powerless to heed it.
‘Jesus, Bruno. Now I know you have lost your
