Oftentimes the best lies were the ones resembling the truth as closely as possible. They were the ones that she could make herself believe enough for her to act her part convincingly. She saw no other choice but to dive in. “I see I have presented you with quite a mystery, my lord.”
“And, will you willingly enlighten me, or shall I have to squeeze it out of you?” He pressed her closer until she felt his jaw graze against her cheek. She stifled a shudder.
“Monsieur, may I remind you that I’m a married woman. I do not dally.” Thank God for Ryan’s sense in telling this man that she belonged to Michael.
The count laughed. “Madame, you are as prudish as the English. We Frenchmen never allow a husband or a wife to deter us from the greater pleasures in life. Indeed, Madame, husbands exist in order to provide for their wives, while wives exist in order to dote upon their husbands. It’s a symbiotic relationship. But, when it comes to passion, decadence, and unadulterated sex—the kind that makes you writhe between the sheets . . . then, Madame, it’s not a husband you need, but a lover.”
Alexandra could feel her stomach roil. Never before had she thought herself more close to being violently ill. Had it been Michael who had spoken such filth, it might have stirred her, but to find herself so shamelessly affronted. Few things agitated her, but this . . . this was beyond all sense of decorum.
“Might I offer my services?” the count whispered as his wet tongue swiped against her earlobe.
Yuk!
This was by far, more than she was willing to endure. And yet, she had to remember her primary goal in attending this evening.
Pulling back slightly, she gazed up at the man who’d just declared her to be nothing but a slab of meat. She batted her eyelids to the best of her ability and prayed to God that she would not vomit. “To answer your first question, I am here this evening as a guest of Monsieur le Docteur. He’s my brother, Monsieur.”
The count raised an eyebrow, surprise clearly evident upon his face, but then he narrowed his eyes and looked at her more closely as if he hoped to read her like an open book. “I’ve enjoyed several interesting conversations with him, I must admit.” He swept her in a wide circle and tightened his hold on her hand. “His Imperial Majesty is quite taken with him, you know, but then, he admires all men who’ve studied at the Sorbonne. He’s a great advocate of higher learning, you see.”
Alexandra spotted the trap immediately. She didn’t know why this man was deliberately trying to set her up—the only thing that mattered was that he was and that could only mean one thing. He suspected her of something or he suspected William. Fortunately, her brother had been farsighted enough to mention this detail when they’d last spoken. “I fear you must be mistaken, my lord,” Alexandra smiled as they glided to a halt. She placed her hand on Bertrand’s arm and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor. “I’m quite certain that he studied at Leiden.”
“Ah, yes, I do believe you are correct. One must admire him for managing such a feat. After all, it can’t have been easy for him to study in a foreign language.” Bertrand’s eyes glittered like those of a wolf preparing to spring a trap. “I don’t believe Monsieur le Docteur speaks Dutch.”
Alexandra’s smile tightened. There was no longer any doubt. This man was clearly trying to prove that William wasn’t who he claimed to be. It worried her to no end. Her brother’s situation was clearly more precarious than she’d imagined. “My lord, the last I heard, medicine is taught in Latin—a language which my brother happens to be quite proficient in.”
“Well done, Madame,” the count exclaimed. “You do appear to have passed the test. Come, walk with me.”
Alexandra let out a small sigh of relief. Her head was feeling rather dizzy from the strain of it all. She’d been ready to make a dash for it the minute the count had caught her out. Thank heavens she’d managed to remain calm.
“I do apologize for questioning you like that, but you must understand that His Imperial Majesty’s safety is of the utmost importance. Having never seen you before, I was naturally concerned.”
“I completely understand,” she muttered as she glanced about, hoping to spot Michael, William, or Ryan . . . anyone who might save her from her current companion.
Bertrand led her out onto a small deserted balcony. The cool breeze that wafted against her was a refreshing change from the oppressive heat in the ballroom. “Might I ask you a question now, Monsieur?” She stared out over the Place de la Concorde, her back ramrod straight and her chin held high. She was about to risk everything with one simple question.
“I believe you’ve earned the right,” Bertrand chuckled at her side as he placed his hand over the one she’d placed upon the railing in front of her.
“My brother Renard and I were recently admiring all the Emperor’s achievements,” she said, angling her face in his direction. “You were with him at Elba, were you not?”
Bertrand nodded, his eyes darkening with the memory of it.
“Then I admire you as well, my lord.” The corner of her mouth curved upward into the most alluring smile that she could muster. “You’ve been so very brave.”
Turning fully toward him, her hip resting against the balcony railing, Alexandra pushed her chest as far out as possible without risking permanent damage to her gown. Bertrand’s gaze fell instantly to her prominent cl**vage. “You must forgive me for my curiosity tends to get the better of me.” She gazed up at him before running her index finger lazily down the front of his jacket.
“I was wondering if you’ve captured any of those horrid Englishmen who seem to have become such a menace to our beloved country, indeed to our very Emperor,” she drawled. Her finger, having arrived at his waist, fell away. Bertrand stiffened, mesmerized by her forwardness. She turned back toward the view of Paris.
Bertrand cleared his throat and edged close enough to her for their shoulders to touch while they both stood looking out over the city. “May I ask why such a thing might interest you, Madame? To be frank, you’re the first woman to have asked me such a question.”
“Well then,” she murmured. “Suffice it to say that my reasons are of a rather personal nature.”
Let him make what he will out of that.
He paused for a moment before leaning toward her. “Does the thought of holding an Englishman captive against his will . . . of torturing him . . . does it arouse you, Madame?”
Alexandra stood stock still. She simply didn’t dare move, because if she did, she was either going to laugh hysterically or punch the man. Well, she had laid it on a bit thick, so really, who could blame him from drawing such a conclusion?
I can do this, I can do this, she told herself.
There was nothing for it. She had come this far, and she wasn’t about to turn her back on that vital piece of information now. Would she risk her innocence to gain it?
Hell no.
But, she wasn’t opposed to misleading this man even further if that was what was required of her.
“I cannot deny it,” she told him bravely, her voice hushed as if the confession shamed her—which of course it did.
Eugh.
She felt as if she was being slobbered by a wet poodle.
“Then perhaps . . .” he lifted his finger to trace a steady line between her br**sts.
The nerve!
“ . . . I ought to tell you that we do happen to have an Englishman imprisoned—within these very walls in fact.”
Alexandra gasped ever so slightly, but loud enough for him to hear her, and interpret it as a sign of her growing excitement. Before she had a chance to gather her wits about her, he’d placed his hand against her bottom.
This had better be worth it!
She gritted her teeth, ready to do battle. “Tell me more,” she whispered in a saucy voice that would have horrified anyone with a single ounce of respectability.
“He’s a spy. A vicious, vicious little man, whose very life has proved to be a threat to ours.”
He ran his tongue against her neck.
She almost jumped out of her skin at the sliminess of it . . . rather like being assaulted by a snake, though that might be considered an insult to the poor snake. “Will you torture him, my lord?” she murmured, hoping that he didn’t hear the sting in her voice.
“Yes, but not here. The Emperor’s a reputable man, Madame. He’ll want him moved to La Conciergerie first.” He reached his arm around her waist and finally settled his hand upon her breast.
Oh no. No no no . . . I cannot . . . please do not.
He squeezed and before Alexandra could help herself, she leaned over the railing to cast up her accounts upon the ground below.
“Madame Laurant! Qu’est-ce qui se passe? Are you all right?”
“Oui, oui . . . ce n’est rien. I must have eaten something that didn’t quite agree with me. Forgive me, my lord.” She intentionally turned her head toward him as she spoke that last sentence, hoping that the pungent smell of her breath might be enough of a deterrent.
“Madame, there’s absolutely nothing to forgive,” he said, stepping away from her. “May I escort you back to your husband? He must be terribly worried about you.”
Alexandra hid her grin well as Bertrand hauled her back inside the ballroom and dragged her along behind him, pushing his way through the crowd with a hint of desperation in his stride. She knew she’d just been dropped like a hot potato and she didn’t mind it one little bit.
“Monsieur Laurant! Monsieur Gravois!” Bertrand called out as soon as he spotted the two men about to save him. “Madame has taken ill. Terribly sorry, Messieurs, she claims it’s something she ate.”
Michael and Ryan were at her side in an instant, both questioning her to no end about her health, or sudden lack of it as they politely relieved the count of his duties and sent him on his merry way.
“Would you like some lemonade to ease your stomach?” Michael asked her, his face filled with concern. “Or perhaps some tea?”
“What happened?” Ryan asked.
Alexandra waved her hands impatiently at both of them. “Where’s William? Have you seen him?”
“He’s standing right over there.” Ryan pointed toward a group of men who seemed to be deep in conversation with one another. “We were on our way over there to greet him when you arrived.”
Alexandra pierced Ryan with a meaningful look. “Come with me,” she whispered, latching onto Ryan’s arm and pulling him along with her. She never once looked at Michael, confident that he would follow.
When they reached the salon de Paix, Alexandra glanced warily about. The gallery was still sparsely filled with people. Slowing her pace, she lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. She felt Michael step up beside her, no doubt in order to hear what she was saying.
“William’s in danger,” she told them, her face betraying nothing of what she felt. “Bertrand was trying every which way to make me trip up once he discovered that we were acquainted with each other. He’s suspicious. He has no idea that William’s English.” She paused for a moment as she considered this piece of vital information. “This can only mean one thing—he’s not collaborating with them.”