Slumped in a chair, she contemplated each of the times she’d encountered Malcolm over the past weeks. Maybe if she’d figured out a way to say goodbye in person, had her grandparents had allowed her, then he would have—
The door flew open and a figure, backlit by the strong sun, filled the opening. For a second, she believed it was Malcolm, conjured from her thoughts. Obviously, it must be Michel. And yet, she knew by the shape, it was not.
Rising slowly to her feet, she felt the first tendrils of fear tickle her. Then she realized who it was.
Chapter Nineteen
“Guillaume? What areyou doing here?”
He was brandishing a pistol and breathing hard. Closing the door behind him, he moved closer.
“I had to see for my own eyes you had truly fled Paris like the other royalists. Because you fear our emperor.”
“I amnota royalist,” she said truthfully. As for fearing Bonaparte, she was far more afraid of her former friend who had the fervent look of fanaticism blazing in his eyes. Her grandparents had lived through the terror of the Revolution. They’d told her stories of those who turned against not only the crowned heads but anyone around them whom they suspected of being a royalist. Inflamed by the fire of revolution, people had become zealots, overturning previous civility and friendship.
Looking around, he set his gun upon the oak card table. “You are safely tucked away in your family’s vineyard and yet your trunks are packed. Why?”
She glanced behind her where her two trunks were stacked by the archway to the staircase leading to the bedrooms. She and Michel awaited word to head to the coast, a message which they expected hourly.
When she said nothing, he took a step closer. “I had hoped you and I could be together.”
“I will return to Paris soon,” she said. “That’s why my trunks are packed.”
“Liar!” he spat out. “I sent Felicity to speak with your grand-mère, and she said you would write to her. It did not sound as though you were returning to the city. And yet, plainly, you are going somewhere with that man who works with you at the Halle aux Vins.”
She gasped. “Where is Michel?”
“Is he your lover?” Guillaume crossed his arms.
“No! He is a family friend, not that it is your business. Where is he?” She repeated, starting forward, frightened now that her family’s loyal employee had been harmed on her account. He had a loving wife and two young sons who needed him.
Guillaume’s arm shot out and restrained her. “He is merely having a little rest.”
Her blood ran cold. “Did you harm him?”
Guillaume stared down at her. “You are the only woman I want. I have shared my thoughts with you and my hopes for the future on many an evening in the café. A future I thought would be ours.”
