The Paris Affair (41 page)

“It’s far more likely he’d have turned government informant,” Raoul said.

“Quite. Christian sold out his cousin Étienne for the promise of who knew what favors. But before he died Étienne had told both Christian and Rivère about his love for Tania. Perhaps even told them he’d married her. Rivère realized Tania had a child just after and put it together that the father was Étienne. Somehow he discovered she’d hidden papers about the child in St. Gilles’s painting.”

“Do you think the marriage lines were there as well?” Suzanne asked.

“It’s possible. Perhaps they were hidden behind different parts of the frame and Rivère only had time to retrieve one or didn’t realize there was a second. But his knowledge made him doubly dangerous to Christian. Christian must have already feared Rivère could put it together that he’d betrayed Étienne. And now Rivère had proof of the legitimacy of a child who could stand between Christian and the title that could suddenly be his. Which leaves the question—who was Christian working for and who is helping him now.”

A gust of wind cut across the inn yard. Suzanne put up a hand to anchor her bonnet. She didn’t risk a glance at Raoul, but Fouché’s name hung between them. A chill cut through her that had nothing to do with the wind.

Gabrielle ran across the hall of the inn and seized Bertrand’s arm. “You’re not going to leave without talking to me.”

Bertrand looked down at her, guilt and regret chasing themselves through his gaze. “Gaby—”

She pulled him into the now-empty parlor in which they had all gathered to hear his story. “I know you have to leave to take the St. Gilleses to the coast. But then you have to come back to Paris. To us.”

Bertrand took a step towards her. “Gaby—I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to be caught up in any of this.”

She shrugged. “I made my own choices, and I can take care of myself. You must have realized with you gone Rupert was more likely to marry.”

“I—” Bertrand glanced away. “I knew it was a possibility.”

“And whatever girl he chose would have found herself married to a man who couldn’t love her as a wife wants to be loved. Did that not seem so bad because it would be an unknown girl, not your cousin?”

Bertrand drew a breath. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you were too busy wallowing in the nobility of your sacrifice. I’m sorry, Bertrand—I know you faced an impossible choice. I can’t imagine the hell you’ve been through, and I know you were trying to spare those you love pain. But you have to realize that the choices you made caused pain as well. And especially now he knows the truth, I’m sure Rupert would rather be miserable with you than without you. Save that I don’t think he’d be miserable at all.”

The breath Bertrand drew was that of one who dares not hope.

Gabrielle seized his hands. “You have to come back now. You must see that. Rupert knows about his father—the damage is done. In fact, if anyone can help mend matters it’s you. And your parents need you. Oh, the devil, I need you.”

A smile broke across his face, a smile that took them back to the nursery, when choices had been simpler and they’d been allies against all else. He raised a hand and stroked her hair.

“There are a dozen times a day I’d welcome your advice,” she said. “And Stephen needs to meet his uncle.”

“I can’t come between—”

“You’re right. You can’t come between Rupert and me. The divide is already there. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say you’ve always been between us, even when Rupert thought you were dead and I didn’t have a glimmering of the truth of his feelings for you. But that doesn’t mean we all have to be miserable.”

“You’re amazing, Gaby.”

“I’m a pragmatist. Unlike the recklessly idealistic men in my life.” She tightened her grip on his hands. “We found a way to muddle through when we came to England. We can find a way to muddle through this.”

He shook his head. “You always had a fondness for fairy tales.”

“Meaning you won’t come back?”

Though she still held his hands, he stared down at her as though looking at something out of reach. “I have to get the St. Gilles family to England. I can’t think beyond that.”

 

Paul St. Gilles turned before climbing into the carriage after his wife and children and regarded Malcolm. “I owe you a debt, Rannoch.”

Malcolm’s gaze drifted inside the carriage to where Pierre sat within the circle of Juliette’s arm, Marguerite cuddled up beside him, Rose in their mother’s lap. “It was your wife who set things in motion. She’s a remarkable woman.”

“That I know well. But Juliette’s told me everything you did.”

“I’m the one who owes you the debt. For protecting Tania’s child.”

St. Gilles glanced at his family as well, then looked back at Malcolm. “I never thought of myself as the sort to keep secrets. Pierre changed things.”

Malcolm glanced across the courtyard to where Suzanne stood with Cordelia and Dorothée. His wife was holding Colin, his legs wrapped round her waist, his hand fisted round her collar. For a moment Malcolm was pulled back to the moment Geoffrey Blackwell had placed Colin in his arms, squalling, blue-tinged, wobbly head—the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. “Having children does.”

St. Gilles cast a quick look at him. “I know—”

Inside the carriage, Marguerite giggled at something Pierre was saying. “We may never have the answers to some questions,” Malcolm said, “but there’s no doubt in my mind you’ll always be Pierre’s father.”

St. Gilles’s eyes held a gratitude that went beyond simple relief at knowing he wouldn’t lose his son. And for an unnerving moment, Malcolm felt the other man glimpsed more of his own life than he’d meant to reveal. “Thank you.”

CHAPTER 38

Wellington stared at Malcolm across his study at Headquarters. “I don’t suppose you can prove any of this.”

“Would you want me to, sir?”

“Absolutely not,” Stuart said.

Castlereagh shot a look at him.

“Sorry,” Stuart said.

“You’re sure Christian Laclos was behind Rivère’s death?” Wellington said.

Malcolm surveyed the three men. He and Harry had managed to give them an account of Christian Laclos’s actions that excluded mention of Tatiana’s son. “Rivère must have worked out that it was Christian who had betrayed Étienne and that Christian was a government informant. With Napoleon in power, Christian had no fear of retribution. But now that the king is restored, that information could have ruined him.” Malcolm didn’t add that Antoine Rivère had also known about the child who could come between Christian and the Laclos title and lands.

“A blow for the Laclos family,” Castlereagh murmured.

“But softened by the fact that they have Bertrand back,” Harry said.

A current of unease ran through the room.

“Is he coming back?” Castlereagh asked.

“I don’t know,” Malcolm said. “But he has to be officially cleared so he has the option.”

Wellington and Castlereagh exchanged glances. “His alleged crimes were never made public,” Wellington said. “As far as the world knows, he was an émigré who went to fight for Bonaparte and died. If we simply reveal that he was in fact our double agent, he’ll be a hero.”

 

“The St. Gilleses are safely in England.” Suzanne, balancing Colin in her lap, looked round her salon at Dorothée, Wilhelmine, and Cordelia.

“You heard from them?” Dorothée asked.

“From the Kestrel. Bertrand Laclos. He got a message through to Malcolm.”

Dorothée shook her head. “I still can’t believe—”

“I can.” Wilhelmine reached for her coffee cup. “At times it seems very tempting to be able to start again, with none of the baggage of one’s previous life.”

Suzanne steadied Colin, who was reaching for the plate of biscuits. “You gave up a lot in the course of this investigation, Willie.”

Wilhelmine blew on the steam from her cup. “Loath as I am to admit it, my little sister was right. Stewart would have bored me. In fact, it’s amazing how a man could be at once so dull and so reprehensible. I’m all but certain he’d learned Bertrand Laclos was still alive after the tavern brawl in Spain. He kept quiet to protect himself. That’s why he was so afraid of what the investigation might uncover. I suspect he babbled about it to the opera dancer Ninette and she told Antoine Rivère.” Wilhelmine took a sip of coffee. “There are worse things than being alone.”

“Like being married to the wrong person.” Dorothée picked up a biscuit, broke it in half, and gave a piece to Colin.

Wilhelmine shot a glance at her. “Vienna might not free you from all your baggage, but it would be a fresh start.”

Dorothée spread her hands in her lap, her gaze on Colin. “I know. Which would be both a blessing and a curse.” She looked at Suzanne. “What will happen to Pierre? Will the Lacloses acknowledge him?”

“They want to. They’ll have to sort things out with the St. Gilleses.” Suzanne looked down at Colin, who was gravely studying the piece of biscuit clutched in his fist. “I think they can reach an accommodation about acknowledging him as the heir as long as Juliette and St. Gilles understand no one is trying to take him away from them.” She pressed her lips to the top of Colin’s head. Colin took a bite of biscuit.

“And Bertrand?” Cordelia asked. “Will he come back to France?”

“I don’t know,” Suzanne said. “Though it will be difficult for him to hide now, even if he wants to.”

“Poor Gabrielle Caruthers,” Dorothée said.

“I don’t know.” Cordelia cast a glance at Livia, who was at a table by the window, drawing a picture. “At least they have honesty now. That’s more than a lot of marriages.”

Wilhelmine shot a look at her. “The events of the past days can’t have been easy on your own marriage.”

“No. But they were something we were going to have to go through sooner or later. I’d like to say we’re the stronger for it. But I suppose time is the only real test of that.”

Dorothée looked at Suzanne. “You’re lucky, Suzanne. Married to the man you love without the baggage of the past.”

Suzanne tightened her arms round Colin and managed a smile.

Before she was compelled to answer, the door opened and Valentin announced Prince Talleyrand.

Dorothée set down her coffee cup. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Are we due at the Austrian embassy already?”

“No, I came early.” Talleyrand waved her back to her chair. “I was hoping for a word with Madame Rannoch.”

“Of course.” Suzanne set down Colin, who ran over to Livia, and got to her feet. Given Prince Talleyrand’s knowledge of Malcolm’s family, it wasn’t entirely surprising he would wish to speak with her. Or so she told herself as she took Talleyrand into Malcolm’s study. In truth, her mouth was dry and the tension that had lain coiled within her ever since Fouché’s threats pulled tighter.

“My thanks again for all you’ve done for Dorothée,” Talleyrand said as she closed the door behind them.

“Doro’s a good friend.” Suzanne sank into one of the two crimson damask chairs in front of the desk.

Talleyrand sank into the opposite chair. Every motion was controlled, but he moved as though his bones ached. “I know Clam-Martinitz wants her to go to Vienna with him.” He tilted his head back against the damask. “I expect she’ll agree.”

“I think she may,” Suzanne said. “Though as her friend, I’m not sure that’s the option that will make her happiest in the end.”

His thin mouth curved in a smile. “You’ve very kind, Suzanne.”

“I didn’t say it to be kind.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” He regarded her for a moment. “I asked to speak with you to tell you that you needn’t fear any longer that Fouché will trouble you.”

Suzanne’s fingers closed on the muslin folds of her skirt. Even with Talleyrand, where she should have known to be prepared for anything, she hadn’t been prepared for this. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did you imagine Fouché could know about your work while I did not? I’m hurt. Oh, I’ll grant you O’Roarke was good at keeping your identity secret. He went to rather extreme lengths and few have his talents as a spymaster. But it’s difficult for an agent of your caliber to remain undetected.”

Suzanne swallowed, a host of scenarios racing through her mind.

“Yes, I know,” Talleyrand said. “The board has shifted and it’s difficult to tell now if we’re allies or enemies. I’ll confess I have enough affection for Malcolm to have been not best pleased when I learned he’d been saddled with an enemy agent for a wife.”

She jerked her hand free of her skirt. Her nail snagged on the muslin.

“But then in Vienna I had the leisure to observe the two of you together. Malcolm is not a man to heed my advice on the dangers of personal relationships. Losing you would spell disaster for him.”

“Surely you of all people wouldn’t make a decision based on such considerations.” Suzanne was amazed she managed to keep her voice steady.

“Not entirely. There’s also what you’ve done for Dorothée. And what I’ve observed of you myself.”

Suzanne looked into his hooded blue eyes. “Those still don’t sound like considerations that would weigh with you.”

“No? Well, I must be permitted my idiosyncrasies. Suffice it to say, Fouché will not trouble you further.”

“How—”

“My dear Suzanne, it must have occurred to you and Malcolm that Christian Laclos betrayed his cousin Étienne to the authorities.”

“You’re saying Christian went to Fouché with the information?” It was what she had suspected.

Talleyrand’s mouth curved. “I always thought it surprising the Laclos cousins and Rivère got as far as they did without Fouché knowing about it. It was only recently that I realized Fouché had known all along.”

Suzanne stared into Talleyrand’s cool gaze. “Are you saying that Christian Laclos was Fouché’s agent from the first? That Fouché instigated the plot?”

“Nothing like a plot that threatened his family to make Bonaparte frightened. And a frightened Bonaparte made him easier for Fouché to control. You must have wondered what happened to the gold Dewhurst and Carfax sent with Étienne.”

“Fouché pocketed it?”

“How else would it have disappeared without trace?”

Suzanne spread her fingers in her lap, rearranging the pieces of information. “So Christian Laclos was Fouché’s agent provocateur. And Fouché knew Rivère was giving information to the British.”

“And like me found him a useful way to pass along misinformation. But with the Restoration Rivère could connect Fouché and Christian Laclos to entrapping Étienne Laclos, whose father is a friend of the Comte d’Artois. Even Fouché treads on dangerous ground these days. He can’t afford to give d’Artois an excuse to try to get rid of him.”

“You’re saying Fouché ordered Christian Laclos to get rid of Rivère?”

“I think Christian had his own reasons for wanting to get rid of Rivère. But at the very least, I think Fouché protected him.”

“Which is why Fouché wanted Malcolm to stop the investigation. Ironic that Christian’s death will end it in any case.” Fouché’s voice echoed in her head, threatening to use his hold over her indefinitely. Her fingers closed on her elbows.

Talleyrand eased his clubfoot straight and regarded the diamond buckle on his shoe. “I know Fouché is known for his wealth of information on people, but I would hardly have survived this long did I not have information of my own. As I said, you need not fear Fouché will trouble you in the future.”

She held him with her gaze, wondering what on earth he had had to threaten Fouché with. “You also wouldn’t have survived this long if you hadn’t learned not to waste bargaining chips.”

A smile curved Talleyrand’s thin mouth. “My dear girl. I don’t consider it wasted.”

 

Cordelia pushed open the door of Harry’s study. The late summer sun cast a golden wash over the room and burnished her husband’s brown hair. Livia ran to give her father a hug and show him the picture she’d drawn at Suzanne’s. Cordelia perched on the edge of Harry’s desk and waited until Livia had darted off to show the picture to her nurse. “The St. Gilleses are safely in England.”

“Yes, Malcolm sent word.” Harry leaned back in his chair. “It happens so rarely, I’d almost forgot what a satisfying feeling it is when things work out.”

“They’ll have challenges to face.” Cordelia stared at the rays of sunlight slanting through the window to dapple the desktop, then looked at her husband. “As will we all.”

“We’ve faced a number already.”

Cordelia studied his face. The sardonic curve of his mouth, the familiar creases round his eyes when he smiled, the way the smile lit the eyes themselves. So impossible to think now that he’d once been almost a stranger, that they’d been apart for five years. She picked up a pen from the desktop and twisted it between her fingers. “We’d be fools to think this is the end of it.”

“No. We’ve both lived much too complicated pasts for them not to intrude. And we may not come through it as easily next time.”

She set down the pen. “You don’t sugarcoat things, do you, Harry?”

“There are no guarantees.” He reached for her hand. “Only the will to make it work.”

She leaned forwards and twined her fingers round his own.

 

Suzanne set Colin in his cradle. He’d fallen asleep in her lap after the Courland sisters, Talleyrand, and Cordelia and Livia left. She’d sat holding him in her arms for a long time, savoring the solid warmth of his body, the even rise and fall of his breathing, the soft brush of his hair beneath her fingers. The most genuine thing in her life, her anchor in this web of lies. She drew the yellow-flowered quilt, a gift from Malcolm’s aunt, over Colin and stared for a moment at her son’s initials, worked in one corner. She could scarcely believe the gift Talleyrand had given her. Yet she knew how precarious her life remained.

“I never get tired of watching him sleep.” Malcolm’s voice came from the doorway.

Suzanne turned to smile at her husband. “I told Doro and Willie and Cordy that Paul and Juliette and the children are safely in England.”

Malcolm moved to her side and slid his arm round her. “Since that night Rivère told me Tania had a child, this is the first time I’ve known the child was safe.” His lips brushed her hair. “I’ll never forgive myself for failing Tania. Knowing Pierre is safe doesn’t change that, but—It’s a long time since I’ve done anything I could be unquestioningly proud of.”

Suzanne pressed a kiss against his throat. She knew all too well that guilt couldn’t be banished, but there were shadows gone from his eyes that had been there since Vienna. “Tatiana would be grateful to you. And I think she’d have done the same for Colin.”

Malcolm’s gaze went to the cradle. Colin was flopped on his back, one arm curled round his stuffed bear, the other flung up over his head. “I owe O’Roarke an incalculable debt.”

Her throat closed. “I think he was glad to do it.” That much, she thought, was the truth.

“When I was a child he was one of the few people I could depend on. I hadn’t realized how much that was still the case.” He rested his chin on her head. “I found myself envying him, acting on his principles, not serving a particular master.”

Suzanne turned her face into her husband’s cravat to stifle a laugh or a sob. “When are we leaving for England?”

“I didn’t say I’d decided.”

She tilted her head back and studied her husband’s face. The changeable gray eyes, the flexible mouth, the determined lines of nose and cheekbones. “I don’t always need words to read you, Malcolm. I don’t think you’ll be able to put up with Castlereagh and Wellington much longer.”