“Simone, have you an explanation for your behavior?”
She swallowed, and the hairs rose on the back of her neck. “Non,Papa.”
Armand rubbed his withered arm and rocked on his heels. His lips moved soundlessly as he stared at her, forming inaudible words.
And Simone stared back, too frightened to look away for even an instant. Armand was eccentric, and not a little intimidating. His one quest since Simone could remember had been to find some mysterious treasure, its worth reported by Armand to be quite priceless. Her father was largely a stranger to her, always away searching for his elusive prize while Simone was growing up. When he was in residence at Saint du Lac, he was brusque and moody, and not unlikely to punish a misdeed with his fists. Even now, in his advanced age, he was large and strong. Simone knew her rash behavior this evening was beyond forgiveness, and she wondered if he would whip her.
Finally he spoke. “You cannot reason to me why you deliberately disobeyed me? Why, the instant I left your side, you sneaked away with a known seducer to let him fondle you for any who may pass by to see?” He moved around the end of the bed toward Simone.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Non,Papa.”
“Come to me,” he commanded, standing at the bedside now and beckoning to her with a finger.
Simone’s entire body shook as she crawled from beneath the covers and sat on her heels before her father. She was eye level with him now, and she couldn’t help but flinch when he raised his good hand to grasp her chin.
“I have an idea as to why you behaved as you did,” he said.
Simone’s throat barely allowed her to reply. “You do?”
“Oui.” The corner of his mouth not frozen into place crept upward. “’Tis because you are very, very clever.”
Simone’s eyes widened. “I am?”
Armand abruptly kissed both of Simone’s cheeks and then crushed her to him with one arm. “So very clever!” he repeated with a laugh. He held her away again, beaming at her in a way Simone could not recall him doing the whole of her life. “When Halbrook saw you in the arms of the young baron, he tripled the amount he’d offered for you!”
Simone closed her eyes, her relief dizzying. “Oh, thank God.”
Armand chuckled again, and when Simone opened her eyes, she saw him hovering over her dressing table. He searched among the items scattered there, mumbling to himself, before selecting one and returning to the bedside. He perched on the edge of the mattress and held up the item he’d chosen from her toilette.
A small, silver reflecting disc.
“Look, and tell me who you see.”
Simone frowned and then glanced at her miniature reflection—her hair hung down in black sheets around her near-colorless face.
“Me?” she offered weakly.
Armand shook his head with a sly smile. “Who is ‘me’?”
Simone gave a frustrated sigh. He father was eccentric to the point of exasperation. “Simone du Roche of Saint du Lac. Papa, I do not understand—”
“Sayau revoirto this girl,” Armand interrupted, “for she will soon be no more.”
“Papa?”
Armand rose from the bed awkwardly, leaving Simone with the mirror. He limped to the window and looked out over the soft dawn, washing the rather seedy street where their inn was located in flattering light, and then he smiled.
“I have done it, Simone—England is mine!” He turned to her, shaking a fist in the air and laughing as if he could not help himself. “In two days’ time, you will become the Baroness of Crane!”
Simone’s world tilted. “What?”
“You are to marry Nicholas FitzTodd, here in London, with William’s own blessing!” Armand clarified, obviously pleased.
“Non,” Simone whispered, horrified. She instantly recalled with startling detail the warning Nicholas had whispered in her ear:If this is some intricate plot to ensnare me as your husband, ’twill not work. I do not yield to feminine trickery.
Armand beamed. “This is better than I ever could have hoped for!”
“But…but Nicholas FitzTodd is penniless!”
