“That’s not possible,” she said gently. “I don’t think of you in that manner.”
“You led me to believe otherwise,” he insisted, stroking a large hand down her arm.
“I didn’t. I swear. At least, not intentionally.” With each word she spoke, he appeared more annoyed. “Guillaume, I thought we were all friends. You and Felicity, Suzanne, and Jean-Paul. But nothing more. You shouldn’t have come all this way for nothing.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, grabbing her by the shoulders, he held her in place.
“Maybe when we kiss, you will feel the passion I feel.”
He swooped down, trying to land his mouth upon hers. Twisting her head to avoid his kiss, not expecting any help, she screamed from sheer outrage and a healthy dose of fear.
The door behind him burst open. Malcolm appeared, and Serena’s mouth dropped open. He was like one of the famed mesmerizers at Covent Garden whom she’d seen perform conjuring tricks when she was a girl. Suddenly — impossibly — he was in the sitting room of the Renault vineyard house when she’d imagined him many miles away in Paris.
And he had a two-barreled pistol trained on Guillaume.
“I hope you are unharmed, Mademoiselle Renault?” were his first words.
Still gaping like a fish, so stunned was she, all she could do was nod, although if they were alone, she would have run into his arms already. It seemed everyone she knew from the city was showing up. She half expected Bonaparte himself to stride in.
A moment later, she wished itwasthe emperor arriving with his distinct air of civility. Instead, Jean-Paul strode in, holding a Charleville musket, old but effective.
“I heard Serena scream,” he said, but his gaze, one of confusion, was trained on Malcolm. “I never even saw him slip by,” he mused.
“Because you are an idiot,” Guillaume berated him. “And what of her other protector?”
“Tied up behind the shed.”
Serena closed her eyes with relief. That sounded promising. If Michel was tied up, he was alive. But what a ridiculous farce this was! Guillaume wanted her. She had no interest in him. She wanted Malcolm who didn’t reciprocate her affection, at least not to the point of marriage. And Jean-Paul was just in the way.
At that instant, she wished all these manly men with their hostile posturing and their guns would disappear so she could determine Michel’s condition and get on with her escape to England.
“We are at a stand-off,” Malcolm said.
“Hardly a stand-off,” Guillaume said. “Drop your weapon, or Jean-Paul will have to use his.”
Serena stared at Guillaume, hardly daring to look at Malcolm because his being in danger made her heart beat faster and caused her to feel even more vulnerable.
“Please, Guillaume,” she implored, “go home.”
“I will,” he said, “but I’m taking this British spy with me.”
Fear choked her throat.
“Even if your friend shoots me,” Malcolm said, his eyes never wavering from Guillaume’s face, just as the aim of his pistol never left her former friend’s barrel chest, “I will manage to shoot you, too.”
Guillaume shrugged. “Jean-Paul won’t shoot you,” he said calmly. “He’ll shoot her.”
“What?” Jean-Paul exclaimed, and Serena knew her cheeks had paled from the blood leaving her head.
“Put your gun down,” Guillaume ordered Malcolm, “or hewillshoot her.”
But Malcolm shook his head. “He won’t shoot her, but I will gladly shoot either one of you through the heart.”
As if knowing it for the truth, Jean-Paul rightfully blanched at the threat.
Slowly, reaching behind him, Guillaume picked his weapon off the table and raised it to Serena’s chest.
“Gui!” Jean-Paul exclaimed.
