Serena didn’t believe Guillaume would hurt her. After all, he’d been sorry when Monsieur Christoff had tried to steal a simple kiss. Yet now, all three men had their weapons raised. It was only getting worse.
“I am not such a besotted fool as you think,” Guillaume said. “She’s shown her loyalties don’t lie with the emperor. I couldn’t possibly take her for my own.”
Good!Serena didn’t want him to take her at all. Yet she also didn’t want to be shot. Glancing at Malcolm, she tried to quell her rising fear at a situation which was quickly spiraling out of control.
“We haven’t killed the other man,” Jean-Paul said, his perseverance clearly wavering. “We aren’t here to commit violence.”
“My friend is right,” Guillaume said. “We are not hear to murder anyone. We should all put our guns down, starting with you.” He looked at Malcolm. “We will leave her in peace with no more violence if you will come with us.”
Malcolm hesitated, and Serena shook her head. He couldn’t go with them. In Paris, he would be executed.
Yet Malcolm came to a decision and lowered his weapon, sliding it back into his pocket. As soon as he did, Guillaume swiveled his pistol toward him.
“Grab his hands behind his back,” he instructed Jean-Paul, who had already laid down his own weapon.
“Are we taking him back?” he asked.
“If he survives,” Guillaume said.
“Guillaume, please,” she said again. “What are you doing?”
Following orders, Jean-Paul tried to take hold of Malcolm’s arms, but it was clear the Englishman was better trained in fighting and kept slipping from his grasp.
Guillaume yelled, “Stop, or I will shoot you as a spyand herfor a traitor.”
For a tense moment, Serena thought Guillaume might be so stupid and brutal as to do what he threatened. However, as soon as Malcolm allowed Jean-Paul to draw his arms behind his back, Guillaume pocketed his pistol.
Just as she sighed with relief, he delivered a solid blow to Malcolm’s stomach, making him double over.
“No!” she screamed, rushing forward and grabbing Guillaume’s arm.
He laughed. “You don’t think this Britishlopettedeserves a sound beating for meddling in the affairs of France.”
“No, I think you need to leave my family’s vineyard at once. You have no business here.”
Guillaume paid her no mind and punched Malcolm again.
“Oof,” Malcolm expelled a breath, struggling to free himself from Jean-Paul. “I should have shot you,” he added, although Serena didn’t know which man he was speaking to.Probably both!
Guillaume hit him again, making Malcolm double over so only Jean’s grip was holding him up.
“I won’t let you hurt him any further,” she announced to Guillaume’s back.
He stiffened and turned on her.
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. You have your own little pistol, don’t you?”
Merde,Serena swore silently in French, thinking it less damning to her soul. She should have kept quiet.
“Of course not,” she lied. “Not in my own sitting room. That’s only for the streets of Paris.”
“Prove it,” Guillaume ordered. “Lift your skirts.”
She rolled her eyes, hoping she looked entirely truthful and nonchalant, instead of increasingly terrified.
“Fine.” Sending Guillaume a look of pure annoyance, she turned and grabbed the straight-back chair at the table where she and Michel played chess and cards in the evenings. Twirling, it around so the seat faced her, she set her right booted foot upon it.
The room fell utterly silent. Keeping her gaze trained on Guillaume, she slowly raised her skirts to show her unadorned ankle with no holster.
