She followed his stare into the crowd, trying to see what—
Oh God.
Luke.
The crowd parted at the corner of the dance floor to make room for a squadron of guards. They dragged a tall man with broad shoulders and auburn hair. The captive’s face was averted, but Dani knew him—at once, she knew him. She knew the set of his shoulders, the curl of his hair, the silhouette of his profile. She’d never seen him dragged through a room by guards, of course, but it was Luke. And the man who so anticipated his delivery was the Comte d’Moulec, Vincent Surcouf.
Panic closed her throat. She looked back and forth between the two men. The Frenchman was squinting now, trying to make out Luke’s face. Dani took a step toward them but Marie caught her shoulder.
“Wait, Highness,” Marie whispered. “Let us see what everyone intends. Look around you. Your brother is also here. Do you see him? In the shadows behind the dais? We are not alone, but we hardly have the advantage. You’ll have only one chance to play your hand. We must be strategic.”
“Bring him closer,” Surcouf shouted in French.
Dani gripped the pillar, watching as the guards hustled Luke forward.
Marie sucked in a breath. “And look,” the nun said, “there. It’s Mr. Crewes.” She pointed in the other direction. Killian had returned to the ballroom. He was dressed again in his officer’s uniform. He stood so close, the guards had shouldered him out of the way to haul Luke forward.
Dani nodded—yes, yes, she saw them. Her brother, her brother-in-law. She was grateful, truly she was, but her attention was locked on Luke. It took colossal restraint to keep hidden and not run to him.
“Surcouf will know Luke on sight,” Dani whispered to Marie. “If he doesn’t already know it’s Luke. The musician’s disguise will be useless. I... I believe I should show myself now. Now is the strategic moment, Marie—now. If for no other reason than to buy time.”
“Right,” said the nun. “I understand. Do it, then. Go. I am with you, Highness.”
Dani did not hesitate, she bolted forth. In the same moment, the cat who’d led her to Surcouf darted from beneath the buffet, jumping in Dani’s path. On reflex, Dani bent and scooped her up, hugging her to her chest.
And then, in the loudest, clearest voice she could manage, she called, “le Comte de Moulac?”
Luke almost,almostgave himself away. He heard her voice—heknewher voice—and every muscle in his body went from slack to coiled. His shoulders and neck strained. He wanted to lift his head, he wanted to see, he wanted to know what in the bloody hell she was doing inside this castle, making herself known.
He forced himself not to react. Hemustwait. He could not salvage this—and by salvage, he meant trade himself for Danielle’s life—unless he chose the exact, perfect moment. In that moment, he must do the exact, perfect thing. Of course, he had no idea what he’d do nor when that moment might be. His brain was a maelstrom of energy, and fear, and reactionary, violent denial. Why? Why here and now? She’d escaped cleanly over the garden wall. He’d seen her go with his own eyes.
And yet.
His body was rapidly turning to ice, limb by limb. He was so incredibly afraid for her. He knew what Surcouf was capable of.
“Comte d’Moulac? Or perhaps I should refer to you as Captain Surcouf,” Danielle called. She’d pitched her voice above the music. It was loud and clear, but he could hear her nerves. She was afraid. She was afraid—and yet, she persisted. She was saving him for the second time in one night.
“Who’s there?” Surcouf called.
There were whispers and murmurs. Luke heard boots slide and people call, “Make room!”
“Good evening, my lord,” Danielle said in beautiful French. “I beg your pardon for my tardiness. I found myself quite indisposed after my journey and required a moment of respite. In the crush of your party, my security detail has been lost. I find myself with no one to properly introduce us. I hope you’ll excuse the informality of introducing myself. Will his lordship indulge me?”
There was a pause. Luke strained every fiber in every muscle to keep from going to her. What was she saying? There was no reason for her to introduce herself to Vincent Surcouf—no reason to be so close to him, no reason for him to look upon her. Vincent Surcouf should not have the incredible privilege of breathing the same air as Danielle.
There was a pause—of course there was a pause. Luke was rapidly losing his mind, and part of the mindlessness was waiting out pauses. Luke could only assume that Surcouf was taking it all in. A beautiful girl. An interruption. The princess for whom he’d been searching, strolling up to his bloody party and begginghis indulgence. Surcouf’s avarice would expand like a mushroom.
Too late,Luke thought, gritting his teeth.
“I am inclined to feel very indulgent, indeed,” Surcouf finally said. “Whose acquaintance do I have the privilege of making?”
Luke wanted to lift his head—toseethis scene—but he dared not. Not yet. Danielle sacrificed her own safety. For him. Naturally, the guards surrounding Luke were as transfixed as Surcouf. He couldn’t look up, but he could sneak sidelong glances right and left. He listened carefully, gauging the density of people on the dance floor, the movement of the symphony. He listened for the clink of glasses and the scrape of forks against plates. His only weapon was a dagger in his boot. His primary tactic would be scooping up Danielle and bolting, turning over tables and throwing crockery to get out.
“I am Her Serene Highness, Danielle Allard d’Orleans, Princess of the Blood, my lord,” Danielle was saying. “How do you do?”
“Princess Danielle...” said Surcouf, drawing out the name in careful consideration. “Are my eyes to be believed? But I have searched for Princess Danielle d’Orleans for years. I have sailed round Europe, hoping to recover the princess from exile. Forgive my shock and disbelief, please. Pray, who is your escort?”
“I am never without Sister Marie Rivier, who has been provided by the Visitation Sisters as chaperone, protector, and guardian since my return to France.”
