Free The Corrupt Comte by Edie Harris

house alive. And given the list of saddlers’ names, one of those men would have the blame for the assassination laid at his feet.
    “I do so love the opera,” Gaspard muttered. Raising his voice, he said, “My sincerest congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials. Who’s the lucky bride-to-be?”
    “She and her parents are my houseguests. My father and her grandfather were well acquainted years ago, and it would be a solid match.” Warming to his subject, Évoque arched a coy eyebrow. “And I’m tired of being a widower.”
    Gaspard murmured something unintelligible, resuming his play with the walking stick. It was a beautiful piece, smooth ebony wood with an ivory inlay and silver filigree knob. But the faint inscription circling the top was the best bit, by far.
     
    To the captain of my heart, Marcel de Courreaux. Fight bravely, my love.
     
    He smiled grimly. Yes, that inscription was indeed why he carried it everywhere.
    “…pretty enough, I suppose,” Évoque was saying. “Doesn’t say much.”
    Gaspard stilled, unease gathering at his nape. “Oh?”
    It was as though the other man hadn’t heard him. “In fact,” he continued, frowning slightly, “I don’t think I’ve spoken with her once.” Again, he waved a hand. “No matter. A wife is a wife.”
    “What did you say her name was?”
    “I didn’t. But it’s Pascale. Claudette, or something. Sounds French, I know, but she’s English on her mother’s side.”
    “I see.” She hadn’t said she was engaged. Two nights ago, with his fingers slicked in her wetness, she hadn’t said a word about an engagement to a high-ranking duke possessed of vast wealth, aging good looks and political power unlike any Gaspard had encountered.
    This was bad. This meant Gaspard couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see her—he had to find her tonight. Seduce her tonight. And if, after that, she didn’t choose him of her own volition… Well. He’d force her hand.
    He was good at that sort of thing. Very good.
    That said, he needed a strategy, immediately. “Is she royal?” he asked innocently, knowing quite well the answer.
    Évoque shook his head. “No, furthest thing from it. Merchant class, but so much money. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
    Oh, Gaspard would believe. He’d believe to the tune of ten thousand pounds and go to heaven with a choir of angels in his ear. “Not that you need it.”
    Évoque laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “One always needs more money. And there are other…benefits.”
    That laugh made long-buried memories want to rise up like the dead and walk under a yellow moon. His stomach turned. His mind blanked. Phantom dirt caked his palms, and his knees ached suddenly, as though he’d been thrown to kneel on the ground.
    Benefits. His heart was a sluggish thing in his chest. Whether for her body or her money, Gaspard had to marry Claudia Pascale. He couldn’t leave her to suffer Évoque’s benefits .
    “You ought to find yourself a bride like mine, Gaspard. Rich and young.”
    Gaspard struggled to remember his role, to keep his tone light and teasing. “And what use would I have for a rich, young bride?”
    “For the bride? Nothing. For her money…” Évoque leaned forward, planting his elbows on his cluttered desktop, and clucked his tongue consolingly. “I hear you’re about to lose your lands.”
    Évoque had manipulated those lands and the accompanying title into Gaspard’s scarred hands five years ago, all while knowing the extent of the back taxes owed on the property long before they came under Gaspard’s stewardship. He’d known Gaspard could never hope to pay off the debt then, just as surely as he knew Gaspard couldn’t do so now—especially with his wages more than a month in arrears. But now was not the time to mention the money Évoque owed him.
    That would happen after Gaspard killed the Duke of Berry.
    “You should know better than to listen to gossip, Your Grace.” He rose, heading for