“Another reminder,” Killian said, “only Danielle and Fernsby will appear harmless to Bannock. He doesn’t know the rest of us. Sister Marie and I were only introduced to him at the wedding, and he’s never met Gabriel in his life. Our French uniforms will hardly paint us as allies. If and when we locate him, we must be mindful of how we approach or he may run us through, thinking we are enemies.
“IfIwas planning to rescue an old man from the dungeon of my enemy,” said Killian, his expression mildly annoyed, “I’d not linger, I’d be in and out cleanly. To the cellar and away. I’d avoid the dancing and dining and guests. However, if Bannock persists with his vendetta to challenge Surcouf face-to-face, God only knows where he’ll roam. That’s a long way of saying, behave naturally, notice everything, but be ready to abscond with Bannock whether he’s willing to come or not. And above all, protect the princess.”
It took Dani a beat to realize that the princess in this warning was her.Shewas the princess. She was standing at the door to a French castle wearing a silk dress and a crown.
Tipping her head, she touched the crown Luke had given her on their wedding day. It felt risky to race through the countryside with it tucked in her saddlebag, but she could hardly present herself as Princess Danielle d’Orleans without the trappings of a princess.
And that—presenting herself as Princess Danielle d’Orleans—was Dani’s plan. Killian’s suggestions were prudent and useful, but Dani had an added goal. She would seek out Surcouf and introduce herself as his potential fiancée. This dangled what he really wanted—her inherited lands—enticingly before him. Luke had planned it this way all along; it was the reason he’d sought her out in Kent. The details had been vague at the time, the players unmet, but Dani could see the value of it. She and her dowry represented a way for Surcouf to expand his estate. When Surcouf encountered her, avarice would consume him. In that moment of salivating hope, she would skewer his avarice by revealing the truth. She was a married woman, wholly unavailable to him—married to his enemy, in fact—and he would never, ever possess the Orleans land.
After that, and before anyone killed anyone else, she would go—or rather, she would flee. As plans went, it was as vague and unconsidered as Luke’s original idea. It came at incredible risk, and she strummed with anxiety. At every burst of laughter, she jumped, craning around. She’d hoped to exude a sort of regal aloofness; instead she was jittery and wide-eyed, searching every face for Luke.
Luke.
Greater than her fear or nerves, greater than her desire to face off with Surcouf, was her desire to reach him. To clap eyes on him and hold him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him.
Her feelings since he’d left her in Kent had evolved from hurt and resentment to something like desperation. And love—desperate love. Oh, she’d missed him all along, and for weeks couldn’t distinguish heartsickness from frustration. Then his letters began to arrive. His tone was so conciliatory, so contrite. She’d not expected how very chatty he would be. Honestly, she’d not expected him to write at all. The letters kept coming, each one more lovely than the last; and then the note had arrived from his mother. Dani had asked for an explanation and been shocked when he’d given one.
After the letter that so openly described his boyhood, Dani began to draw parallels between Luke’s inability to ask for help and the years of denials that had come from his mother. By the time his last letter came, she was consumed with sympathy for him, with longing, with love. And now here she was, on the brink of seeing him and bringing him home. The anticipation in her chest felt like unopened champagne, the bottle newly shaken, a thumb on the cork.
“Look alive,” Killian whispered suddenly. “We’re up next.”
Dani nodded and squared her shoulders. The group ahead of them was ushered inside and a liveried official beckoned them to the small bridge over a moat. Lord Fernsby, playing the role of Killian’s aide-de-camp, spoke to the servant. The man referenced a list on curling parchment. In flawless French, Lord Fernsby introduced Killian’s faux name and rank. Then he introduced his own faux name and also Dani’s brother’s, suggesting that they were members of Killian’s staff. While the man searched his list for their names, Fernsby extended a gloved hand to Dani and proclaimed, “And may I present, Her Serene Highness, Princess Danielle Allard d’Orleans, accompanied by her chaperone, Sister Marie Rivier of the Visitation Sisters.”
Slowly, the man in the livery looked up from his list. He squinted into the torchlight, scrutinizing the group with fresh interest. Killian had told them to expect anything from fawning shock to suspicion when Fernsby announced the princess. Whatever the response, Killian had warned them not to waver from their assigned roles. Dani would project regality. Sister Marie would be her stern attendant. The men were impatient French officers. Half the battle of a false identity, Killian had said, was commitment.
“Step forward, if you please,” the official asked Dani in French.
“You will use the proper address when you speak to the princess,” Marie snapped. She positioned herself in front of Dani as if to protect her from the man’s impertinence. “You will bow and make any request with proper deference.”
The man gaped at Marie. The nun returned his gaze with resolve and a hint of challenge.
“Forgive me,” said the official, “but I do not see the princess on the list of guests.”
Marie and Fernsby said nothing, staring at the official as if this was his problem to solve.
Nearby, a footman hovered with a lantern. The official summoned the man to hold the light to his list. The two servants conversed in low tones.
Finally, Fernsby said, “Does your hesitation mean that the Comte d’Moulac does not welcome a princess of the blood from the house of d’Orleans? She’s only recently left exile, thanks be to God. She’s home at last. This ball is to be her first foray into French society. Her attendance is an honor, I assure you, to the Comte d’Moulac.”
If no one else, the footman with the lantern was convinced. He swung the light, searching Dani’s face in dazzlement. She fought the urge to give the man a friendly smile, but smiling at footmen was not part of the act. She raised her chin, glanced at him with impatient hauteur, and looked away.
“If you please,” Sister Marie said impatiently, “I should like to get Her Serene Highness out of this night air.”
The official nodded, on the verge of making some ruling, but the footman with the lantern was ahead of him. He stepped out of the way and lit the path with his lantern. Lord Fernsby seized the opportunity and strode over the moat. Marie nudged Dani forward, and their group swept across the bridge and into the doors of Chateau d’Oiron.
The scene inside was so disorienting that Dani fought the urge to cover her ears. Music and laughter echoed off stone walls. Courtiers huddled in groups or wound their way through the crowd in a chain, hands clasped. When they encountered one another, they gave a shout and fell together in fawning embraces. Jeweled headpieces winked in the candlelight, crystal glasses sloshed champagne, and women swayed to the strains of music. Dani took it all in, her eyes wide. The women looked like tropical birds from the pages of a book, every species represented. A veritable army of uniformed men suffused the crowd in blue, gray, or scarlet. Their chests jangled with medals and their hats fluttered with ostrich plumes. Forgetting the pageantry, Dani had never seen so many people assembled in one place. The crowded market in Maidstone was a trickle of passersby compared to this crush. Smoke from hundreds of candles smudged the air. Liveried footmen maneuvered the crowd with trays of drink, adroitly dodging wide gestures or heads thrown back. At the far end of the hall, a full orchestra blasted a brassy song.
“You may give off the appearance of a newcomer to castle balls,” Killian said, leaning to whisper loudly into her ear, “but try not to appear as if you’ve stepped onto the moon. And do not become distracted. The sooner we locate Bannock, the sooner we can get out.”
Dani nodded, smoothing her skirts with her palms. She glanced over her shoulder. Lord Fernsby had broken away, disappearing into the crowd. Sister Marie wore a resigned expression of hauteur and piety, but her eyes darted right and left. Gabriel, imposing in his uniform, loomed over them. He looked unsettled and disgusted.
“Fernsby’s bolted and I’m going to cut Gabriel loose,” Killian told Marie in a low voice. He leaned to Dani’s brother to whisper something, and Gabriel nodded and moved away. Three seconds later, he was gone, disappearing into a passage that led into the heart of the castle.
Dani sucked in a shaky breath. She’d known they would separate, but she hadn’t realized it would happen so soon.
“It would be impossible to keep them close,” Killian told her. “They have business beyond recovering Bannock, and I cannot dissuade them from it. The viscount’s military training and Gabriel’s imposing size and strength will see them through. They know the rendezvous point. I’ll lend support when I can. Even if you and I are separated, Marie will not leave your side, Danielle.”
He walked ahead of Dani and Sister Marie, shouldering to the opposite side of the dance floor. As they made their way through the crowd, Dani searched every face. No one appeared remarkable; guards and servants looked bored, just as Killian had said. The guests were a colorful riot, carefree and distracted.
