His movements stilled. She heard him exhale. “I could contract you, Marguerite. I could reduce our . . . arrangement . . . to terms of goods exchanged. You might feel safer then.”
“Or I might feel like a whore.”
“Which is exactly why I have not suggested such a thing until now.” His hands settled atop her shoulders, then exerted pressure to turn her around. He stared down into her upturned face. His was agonized, his dark eyes roiling with emotions she could not name.
“What can I do?” she asked in a whisper. “How can I fight, when I do not know what I am fighting against?”
“Can you not leave this to me?” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I do not believe, even partly, that this matter has anything to do with our relationship. Not so long ago, de Grenier was suggesting that I step aside completely and Desjardins was very close to agreeing with that sentiment. Their sudden change of heart does not sit well. There is an ulterior motive at work here and I will learn what it is.”
“Je t’ aime,” she breathed, hating the fear that dampened her palms.
Her lower lip quivered with her distress and he licked across the curve, then deepened the contact into a melding kiss. He stole her breath with his expertise, leaving her panting and clinging to his hard body.
“As I love you. I will not lose you,” he vowed, pulling her tight against him.
This time, it was Marguerite who led the way. With his hand in hers, she tugged him toward the bedchamber, where they could forget their troubles for at least a few hours.
The Comte Desjardins entered his cellar and stopped in the same spot he was ordered to occupy every time L’Esprit called upon him.
“I do not believe de Grenier was successful in luring Mademoiselle Piccard away.” L’Esprit’s grating voice scraped down Desjardins’s spine and made him shiver.
“It is too soon to tell.”
“No. I watched him leave. He appeared dejected, not hopeful. She has forsaken everything for her affair. She has only one thing left to lose.”
“Saint-Martin.”
“Exactly.” There was a smile in L’Esprit’s rasp. “She will not leave him for her benefit, but I believe she will leave him for his.”
Desjardins shook his head. He had no notion of what Saint-Martin had done to anger L’Esprit, but he pitied the man. Desjardins suspected L’Esprit would not rest until everything Saint-Martin held dear was stripped from him. “What would you have me do?”
“I will see to this task myself,” L’Esprit said. “I do not want him dead. That would be too kind.”
“As you wish.”
“You will hear from me if I have further need of you.”
Turning away, Desjardins opened the cellar door and climbed back up to the kitchen. He jumped as he heard the slamming of the portal L’Esprit used as a shield.
It was fitting that the man came from the bowels of hell.
There was fury in L’Esprit and madness. The comte deeply regretted ever being lured into associating with him.
A pretty bauble for his wife, no matter how costly, was not worth his soul.
With his thoughts firmly directed toward Marguerite, Philippe was too distracted to admire the beauty of the Parisian afternoon. He was lost in his private musings, unaware of anything but the sense that he was missing the obvious. His horse cantered toward Marguerite’s home without direction, the steady clopping of hooves lulling its rider into a thoughtful trance.
Around him pedestrians milled, creating a feeling of safety in numbers.
But he was not safe. Had he considered, for even a moment, that he would be used against Marguerite rather than the reverse, he would have been more circumspect. As it was, he turned the corner and took the devastating blow to the chest without any attempt at self-defense.
Thrust backward while his mount moved forward, Philippe was unseated and tumbled to the ground on his back. The air was knocked from his chest, leaving him dazed and unable to move.
The sky above him darkened as men swarmed around him. A booted foot connected to his side. As Philippe’s rib broke under the assault, a grotesque cracking sound rent the air. More kicks. Shouting. Laughing. Pain.
Agony.
Philippe prayed for the strength to roll to his side and curl, but his body would not heed his command. The violence escalated. His vision dimmed.