Luke nearly sagged in relief. Marie was with her. It would be a long time before he forgot the sight of Sister Marie bludgeoning an armed guard, pivoting into a protective crouch in front of Danielle, and then taking out the second man.
A very loose plan began to form in Luke’s mind. Sloppy. High-risk. But what choice did he have? She’d captivated the guards enough for him to jerk free, but he would need to move very far, very fast. He would wait until Surcouf suggested something impossible—like leaving the ballroom with Danielle, or that she demonstrate proof that she was the missing d’Orleans princess. When that happened, Luke would pull away and launch himself at her. He would pretend to take her hostage, pulling the dagger from his boot and holding it to her neck. He didn’t relish the idea of brandishing a blade against his wife, but desperate times.
No one expected a member of the band to take a hostage. The result would be confusion, then chaos, but Surcouf wouldn’t permit anyone to touch him if he appeared to hold Danielle’s life in his hands. He would drag her into the raucous crowd, the nun would follow, and they would steal away into the night.
It was less of a plan, really more of a snatch-and-scramble suicide run. A manhunt would ensue; they’d have a devil of a time getting out of the forest, let alone the country of France. Surcouf’s reach—likely the bastard himself—would follow them to England (if they made it that far). But it would remove the immediate danger to Danielle. And he had no better idea.
Now Sister Marie could be heard introducing herself to Surcouf, dropping the names of churches and cardinals and Orleans family crypts—details that would legitimize Danielle to the Frenchman.
The Frenchman would barely listen; he’dwantto believe Danielle was the princess. She was young and beautiful; a hundred times better than any woman Surcouf could imagine. And he’d been hunting her for years.
“What an unexpected and incredibly welcome delight, Highness, Sister, to have you grace us with your esteemed presence tonight,” Surcouf announced. “Please, will you join me at my table? I am among friends at the moment, but your comfort is my priority.”
There was a pause. Luke coiled, prepared to reach for his knife and lunge.
“Clear the area,” Surcouf barked. “Everyone out. Refresh the buffet. Locate my sister.”
Luke peeked. Servants began to scatter. Lords and ladies scrambled from the dais.
“I can only assume you’ve been told, Highness,” Surcouf went on, his voice warm and cajoling, “that our families had hoped for a union between us.”
“Unfortunately my family is largely unknown to me, my lord,” Danielle answered. “As I’ve said, I’ve only recently left exile.”
“Even without the hopes of our families,” Surcouf said, “seeing you, I should be honored to be... united. I hope you’ll forgive my boldness.”
“United, my lord?” Danielle asked, sounding innocently confused.
Luke almost,almostlooked up. What did she intend? He didn’t understand why she would encourage this sort of talk. Sweat rolled down his neck. He struggled to control his breath.
“But of course. The good sister will have told you,” cajoled Surcouf, “that life after exile will mean betrothal to a suitable man, Highness. Marriage. The important work of restoring the aristocracy to France will want unions between ancient families like yours and mine. But please, we needn’t discuss it here. Will you join me? Sister Marie, too, of course. My guards will ensure that we are not disturbed. My guests are unruly and the music is loud but they’ve made room, see? I’m so sorry you were separated from your party when you arrived. If I’d known to expect you, I would have hosted a different sort of ball.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” Danielle said, “but did you say that life after exile will mean a betrothal? Marriage?”
The roar in Luke’s ears made it difficult to hear. But what had she—?
“Never you fear,” soothed Surcouf. “I’ve said too much. Forgive me. I’ve searched for so many years to find you, and now that—”
“Oh, I harbor no fear, my lord,” cut in Danielle. “It is confusion. If marriage is the union of which you speak...”
An odd chuckle from Surcouf. “Well, if you must know, perhaps I do speak of marriage, Princess.”
“Oh dear,” Danielle said. “To be perfectly clear, I cannot marry you, my lord, because I am already married.”
Oh God.Luke forgot himself. His head snapped up. His wife stood proudly before the Frenchman, chin high, shoulders back. In her arms, she held an orange cat.
“Married?” asked Surcouf, all indulgence gone from his voice. “Married to whom?”
And then Luke knew. God help him, he knew.
She wasn’t distracting the man, or stalling, or setting some larger plan into motion. She was simply giving Luke his moment of comeuppance. She was striking at the heart of Vincent Surcouf without raising a knife.
“To an Englishman, actually,” Danielle said. “Captain Lucas Bannock, he’s called. He is my husband.”
Before she finished saying his name, Luke tore away from the guards and dove for her.
Chapter 29
Dani had no way of knowing if Luke would reveal himself when she named him as her husband. She hoped he would. The moment would be more dramatic and impactful if the two of them revealed themselves together before the Frenchman. But they could hardly flee into the crowd if they were gloating. Then again, Marie would help them. Killian. Gabriel. Lord Fernsby was somewhere in this castle, possibly in this very ballroom.
