Lady Alexandra's Excellent Adventure: A Summersby Tale (16 page)

“I do apologize for questioning you like that, but you must understand that His Imperial Majesty’s safety is of the utmost importance. Having never seen you before, I was naturally concerned.”

“I completely understand,” she muttered as she glanced about, hoping to spot Michael, William, or Ryan . . . anyone who might save her from her current companion.

Bertrand led her out onto a small deserted balcony. The cool breeze that wafted against her was a refreshing change from the oppressive heat in the ballroom. “Might I ask
you
a question now,
Monsieur
?” She stared out over the Place de la Concorde, her back ramrod straight and her chin held high. She was about to risk everything with one simple question.

“I believe you’ve earned the right,” Bertrand chuckled at her side as he placed his hand over the one she’d placed upon the railing in front of her.

“My brother Renard and I were recently admiring all the Emperor’s achievements,” she said, angling her face in his direction. “You were with him at Elba, were you not?”

Bertrand nodded, his eyes darkening with the memory of it.

“Then I admire you as well, my lord.” The corner of her mouth curved upward into the most alluring smile that she could muster. “You’ve been so very brave.”

Turning fully toward him, her hip resting against the balcony railing, Alexandra pushed her chest as far out as possible without risking permanent damage to her gown. Bertrand’s gaze fell instantly to her prominent cleavage. “You must forgive me for my curiosity tends to get the better of me.” She gazed up at him before running her index finger lazily down the front of his jacket.

“I was wondering if you’ve captured any of those horrid Englishmen who seem to have become such a menace to our beloved country, indeed to our very Emperor,” she drawled. Her finger, having arrived at his waist, fell away. Bertrand stiffened, mesmerized by her forwardness. She turned back toward the view of Paris.

Bertrand cleared his throat and edged close enough to her for their shoulders to touch while they both stood looking out over the city. “May I ask why such a thing might interest you,
Madame
? To be frank, you’re the first woman to have asked me such a question.”

“Well then,” she murmured. “Suffice it to say that my reasons are of a rather personal nature.”

Let him make what he will out of that.

He paused for a moment before leaning toward her. “Does the thought of holding an Englishman captive against his will . . . of torturing him . . . does it arouse you,
Madame
?”

Alexandra stood stock still. She simply didn’t dare move, because if she did, she was either going to laugh hysterically or punch the man. Well, she had laid it on a bit thick, so really, who could blame him from drawing such a conclusion?

I can do this, I can do this
, she told herself.

There was nothing for it. She had come this far, and she wasn’t about to turn her back on that vital piece of information now. Would she risk her innocence to gain it?

Hell no.

But, she wasn’t opposed to misleading this man even further if that was what was required of her.

“I cannot deny it,” she told him bravely, her voice hushed as if the confession shamed her—which of course it did.

Eugh.

She felt as if she was being slobbered by a wet poodle.

“Then perhaps . . .” he lifted his finger to trace a steady line between her breasts.

The nerve!

“ . . . I ought to tell you that we do happen to have an Englishman imprisoned—within these very walls in fact.”

Alexandra gasped ever so slightly, but loud enough for him to hear her, and interpret it as a sign of her growing excitement. Before she had a chance to gather her wits about her, he’d placed his hand against her bottom.

This had better be worth it!

She gritted her teeth, ready to do battle. “Tell me more,” she whispered in a saucy voice that would have horrified anyone with a single ounce of respectability.

“He’s a spy. A vicious, vicious little man, whose very life has proved to be a threat to ours.”

He ran his tongue against her neck.

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sliminess of it . . . rather like being assaulted by a snake, though that might be considered an insult to the poor snake. “Will you torture him, my lord?” she murmured, hoping that he didn’t hear the sting in her voice.

“Yes, but not here. The Emperor’s a reputable man,
Madame
. He’ll want him moved to La Conciergerie first.” He reached his arm around her waist and finally settled his hand upon her breast.

Oh no. No no no . . . I cannot . . . please do not
.

He squeezed and before Alexandra could help herself, she leaned over the railing to cast up her accounts upon the ground below.

“Madame Laurant! Qu’est-ce qui se passe
? Are you all right?”

“Oui, oui . . . ce n’est rien
. I must have eaten something that didn’t quite agree with me. Forgive me, my lord.” She intentionally turned her head toward him as she spoke that last sentence, hoping that the pungent smell of her breath might be enough of a deterrent.

“Madame
, there’s absolutely nothing to forgive,” he said, stepping away from her. “May I escort you back to your husband? He must be terribly worried about you.”

Alexandra hid her grin well as Bertrand hauled her back inside the ballroom and dragged her along behind him, pushing his way through the crowd with a hint of desperation in his stride. She knew she’d just been dropped like a hot potato and she didn’t mind it one little bit.

“Monsieur
Laurant!
Monsieur
Gravois!”
Bertrand called out as soon as he spotted the two men about to save him. “
Madame
has taken ill. Terribly sorry,
Messieurs
, she claims it’s something she ate.”

Michael and Ryan were at her side in an instant, both questioning her to no end about her health, or sudden lack of it as they politely relieved the count of his duties and sent him on his merry way.

“Would you like some lemonade to ease your stomach?” Michael asked her, his face filled with concern. “Or perhaps some tea?”

“What happened?” Ryan asked.

Alexandra waved her hands impatiently at both of them. “Where’s William? Have you seen him?”

“He’s standing right over there.” Ryan pointed toward a group of men who seemed to be deep in conversation with one another. “We were on our way over there to greet him when you arrived.”

Alexandra pierced Ryan with a meaningful look. “Come with me,” she whispered, latching onto Ryan’s arm and pulling him along with her. She never once looked at Michael, confident that he would follow.

When they reached the salon de Paix, Alexandra glanced warily about. The gallery was still sparsely filled with people. Slowing her pace, she lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. She felt Michael step up beside her, no doubt in order to hear what she was saying.

“William’s in danger,” she told them, her face betraying nothing of what she felt. “Bertrand was trying every which way to make me trip up once he discovered that we were acquainted with each other. He’s suspicious. He has no idea that William’s English.” She paused for a moment as she considered this piece of vital information. “This can only mean one thing—he’s
not
collaborating with them.”

She darted a look in Michael’s direction to gauge his reaction, but his expression was inscrutable. “If he were,” she continued, “it would be impossible for him to conceal his identity while providing them with information only the British would be able to know about.”

Passing a group of people who were on their way toward the ballroom, they nodded politely and exchanged a few pleasantries before moving on. “There’s something else afoot here, but it makes little sense to me,” she murmured. “I believe William is working on discovering something terribly important.” She lowered her voice even further. “Mr. Finch is being held prisoner somewhere in this building, so clearly his position has been compromised. What I cannot explain, is the letter he sent to Percy.”

They fell silent again as they passed yet another group of people.

“It’s possible that even Mr. Finch was not privy to your brother’s ideas,” Michael muttered. “Perhaps your brother thought it best not to allow anyone into his confidence. Such actions would very likely have made Mr. Finch suspicious—especially if they’re as good friends as I’ve been led to believe that they are.”

“You may have a point,” Alexandra acknowledged with a great deal of thoughtfulness. “But whatever the case, he can’t remain here. They intend to remove him to La Conciergerie
.
Once that is done, it will be much more difficult for us to gain access.”

Michael and Ryan both groaned in trepidation of what she was about to suggest.

“We’ll have to rescue him,” she said. “Tonight.”

The two men froze in their tracks, their sudden stop jolting Alexandra to a halt. “I knew you were mad,” Michael hissed between clenched teeth. “But I had no idea that you were suicidal.”

“Come now, lads.” She sent them both a bright smile. “Don’t tell me that the thrill of adventure doesn’t excite you. Yes, there will be some risk involved, but it would be terribly boring and hardly adventurous at all if there were not. Now, are you with me or not?”

Michael and Ryan sent each other a hesitant look. “I believe I’ll have to give you a paddle for your wedding,” Ryan told Michael. “This girl is in dire need of a good spanking if you ask me.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alexandra grinned, her eyes already brimming with excitement. “So, how do you suggest that we proceed?”

Both men stared at her as if she belonged in an asylum. “Er . . . Alex,” Michael drawled. “This was your idea . . .”

“Yes, I know.” She looked at them both expectedly, her gaze shifting from one to the other while they in turn continued to regard her in stupefied disbelief. “Oh . . . you expect
me
to have a plan?” They both nodded dumbfoundedly. “All right, I suppose I can improvise if you’re not up to it.”

Before either man had a chance to defend himself in the face of such an insult, Alexandra ploughed ahead, relentlessly. “Ryan, you must return to the ballroom to warn William—make it clear to him that Bertrand is sniffing about, and that he needs to watch his back. Also tell him that if he has discovered something vital, he should consider informing Sir Percy of it as soon as possible.

“Michael and I will see to Mr. Finch. We’ll meet you outside and head on back to the apartment together.”

Ryan grabbed his sister’s arm and leaned toward her, his face so close to hers that she could smell a hint of champagne upon his breath. “I’ll go with Michael while you speak to William,” he said. “This is far too dangerous for you, Alex. I cannot allow it.”

“Out of the question,” she told him, staring firmly back at him. “Bertrand believes I’m unwell. He’ll expect me to leave. If I return now and he sees me speaking with William after all the questions he’s just asked me about him— No, it’s too obvious.”

“And what of me? I am not obvious?”

“No, Ryan. You are merely his brother, informing him that we were forced to depart earlier than we intended. You will let him know that my husband is tending to me after I fell ill and that we’re awaiting you downstairs. You simply wished to make your farewells. Now, somewhere along the line, you’ll have to pass on the message about Bertrand. Do you think you can manage it?”

Ryan looked about ready to salute. Alex realized she was like a general giving orders. “Yes, Alex, I believe I can.” Squaring his shoulders, he turned and walked away.

“There’s not a moment to lose,” Alexandra said as she caught hold of Michael’s arm and steered him toward the stairs.

“Do you mind telling me how you discovered all of this information,” he asked, striving to keep up with her quick steps.

Alexandra shuddered as she thought of how she’d come by it all. “I told you my feminine wiles would work.”

“Good God woman! I hope you didn’t have to bare yourself.”

“It came awfully close as a matter of fact, but it seems I simply couldn’t stomach the man.” She threw Michael a grim smile. “Fortunately, I’d already learned everything I needed to know by the time I vomited for all of Paris to see. Except of course for the prisoner’s name.”

“What?”
Michael skidded to a halt behind Alexandra just before they reached the stairs.

“We can’t go that way,” she muttered, ignoring his question and now peevish attitude. “There must be a minor staircase we can use without being seen. Come along. This way.”

They turned left and headed down another corridor until they reached a rather plain looking door at the end. “What do you mean you don’t know the prisoner’s name, Alex? How do you even know it’s Mr. Finch? For that matter, how will we even
find
him in this place? He could be anywhere.”