Free Triumph in Arms by Jennifer Blake Page A

stopped at the head of the stairs to look back down at him, his gray hair loose, long and free of pomade, making a silver nimbus around his head and shoulders. “But not enough to undo everything?”
    Christien thought of Reine standing like a goddess with the folds of her near-transparent nightgown swirling around her feet and a lamp like a beacon in her hand. He recalled the womanly fragrance of her, and the sheen of her hair as it was burnished by lamplight. He felt again the touch of her hand that seemed a permanent brand on his skin. “No,” he said shortly.
    Vinot gave a pleased nod as he stalked into the room that served him as both salon and bedchamber. Gesturing toward the table in the center as a place for Christien to deposit the lamp, he poured two glasses of sherry from the decanter next to it and handed one to him. “Did you have time to look around?”
    Christien inclined his head. “For what good it did me. Everything seemed just as it should.”
    “Nothing unusual in their manner? No sign of disturbance?”
    “Naturally, they were disturbed. I’ve taken everything they own and foisted myself on them as a houseguest and future bridegroom. It would be incredible if they accepted it without kicking up some kind of dust.”
    The maître frowned as he dropped into a chair at the table. “You sound as if they have your sympathy. I would remind you that Cassard made our plans possible with his weakness for cards. Moreover, these are the people who helped hide the man who killed my daughter.”
    “You don’t know that. Certainly, I saw no sign of it.”
    “I know that arrogant, cowardly young scoundrel. He refused to meet me, refused to give me satisfaction after taking my Sophie’s innocence and deserting her in her time of need. He cared not a whit that she died and his bastard with her. She wasn’t good enough.”
    “Maître…” Christien began.
    “Nor was I his equal, if you please,” the old man went on, unheeding. “He was not required to accept my challenge under the code duello. No, certainly not.” A sardonic laugh shook him. “The truth is, he was so terrified he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. He was petrified I would find a way to force a meeting, positive I would kill him. And so I would, so I would. But now he’s healed and bored with hiding, so has begun to appear here and there in town at night. He thinks I have forgotten him, more fool he.”
    “He has been making mischief elsewhere, as well,”Christien said with a scowl. “He prowls around River’s Edge at night, frightening young Marguerite, I think. What can he mean by it?”
    “Nothing good, I’ll wager.”
    “He must have little ready cash, else fear of your reprisal would have sent him on the run as soon as he was able. The income he once had from Bonne Espèrance is gone as his mother closed the house, shut down crop production and sold off the hands before she left for Paris. If she is sending anything for his support, no whisper of it has been heard.”
    “She may also believe him to be dead,” Vinot pointed out.
    “Or she may have washed her hands of him. Cassard indicated that she was not a doting mother. Suppose…”
    “What?” his old mentor asked, his gaze keen.
    “Suppose Theodore thinks to terrorize Marguerite then, when his daughter and his wife are suitably distraught, rise from the dead and demand money for staying away? Well, or for leaving the area, never to trouble them again?”
    “It sounds possible if you assume the wife knows nothing. Taking advantage of the fair sex was ever his specialty.”
    “It sounds damnable,” Christien said in fierce condemnation, “the act of a madman.”
    “Which he may be, if he was struck about the head as it seems from what Cassard told you. Why the blows could not have killed him in truth…” Vinot trailed off with a shake of his gray head. “But no matter. The monster’s luck will not last. I shall see to it.”
    Christien tucked the idea