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“Yes. The only thing that man craves more than wealth is power. I have been in his way for a very long time, and I suspect that he knows what I mean to do.”

“Which is?” she asked softly, and Raphael hesitated.

“Get my pound of flesh.”

“You hate him,” she said.

It was not a question. “Yes.”

“Why?” Her voice was a whisper. “You can tell me, Saint. I need to know what we’re walking into here. You have to give me something to go on.”

He stared at her. He didn’t owe her a thing and they both knew that. Right now, she needed him more than he needed her. Raphael admired that about her. She was not in a position of power in her current circumstance and still she didn’t cower. A lesser woman—or man—would not be so undaunted.

“Is Lisbeth your real name?” he asked instead, and he watched the shadows gather in her gaze. It was a small test, of course. Trust had to be earned before it was given.

Her lips tightened. “Yes.”

“Last name?”

She huffed, but conceded. “Medford by marriage.”

His own eyes widened in surprise. “You were married? Did you murder your poor unsuspecting husband in his sleep?”

“Yes, and then I cleaned my teeth with his bones.” Reluctant humor glinted in her green eyes. “The union was brief. He is well and alive, and happily married to the love of his life. Are you satisfied?”

His gaze heated, a dozen answers flying to his lips that had no place being said. Dieu, her impudence fired his blood. “Yes, for now.”

“Tell me something true, Saint,” she whispered. They were his words, asked when he’d tricked her out of her ship and now served back to him. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“You remember my story from the bonfire?” When she nodded, he stuck his hands in his pockets and turned back toward the ocean. He had no idea why he was being so obliging. So brutallyhonest. He’d told no one of his plans. But deep down, maybe he did trust her. Or maybe…he wanted her to trusthim. “He’s the reason my father is dead and the reason we lost everything.”

“Dubois was?”

Raphael nodded. “After the Crimean War, he resented that my father, who had been his commander on the front lines, was the one to receive Napoléon’s commendation. It festered that he, too, hadn’t been elevated to duke or received lands.”

“Did he deserve them?” Lisbeth asked.

Raphael released a guttural laugh. “No. Not when that piece of shit hung back like a lily-livered coward, and yet, when all was said and done, Dubois was there at my father’s side, like a vainglorious hero. He was much more grandiloquent than my father was.” Heat coasted over Raphael’s back as the familiar bitterness coursed through him. His fingers balled into fists. “Eight years ago, Dubois saw his opportunity to unseat my father, who given his past military experience, had been acting as an advisor of sorts during the French intervention in Mexico, but Dubois informed the emperor that his beloved Duc de Viel was a traitor.”

Her brows drew together, fury on his behalf flashing in that green stare. “How?”

“He claimed that my father sold secrets to President Juárez in Mexico about the movement of the French troops, allowing the Mexicans a clear advantage over the French. Napoléon was furious and my father’s lands were seized.” He swallowed. “He was vilified even though there was no actual proof, only cunning conjecture. His own brother, my treacherous serpent of an uncle, insisted he was unwell and had him committed to Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris. My father died shortly after, beaten to death.” Raphael glanced at her, his voice gentling. “Is that something true enough for you?”

“Charles Dubois is fucking vile,” she snapped fervently. “And he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

Raphael glanced down at her glowering, fierce face and felt an odd tightening in his midsection. She looked like she was on the cusp of burning down the world for him. It felt…strangely heartwarming, if such a thing could be.

“Will he, Viking?” he murmured, wanting so desperately to kiss her again and not daring to.

“Yes. I can promise you that.”

Eleven

Dubois clapped his hands as they entered the main building, though from the set of his face, Raphael knew that he was angry at having been kept waiting. But he didn’t give a shit. After the beach, both he and Lisbeth needed to get dressed and settle into their respective personas. Showing any weakness to Dubois, especially when he already had his sights on Lisbeth, would be unwise.

“Good of you to join us, Nephew,” he boomed, his voice carrying through the hall as if he were a king addressing his subjects.

Raphael smirked and tightened his arm around Lisbeth who walked beside him. Narina trailed a few steps behind. Dutifully, Lisbeth wrapped her fingers around his forearm and smiled up at him. The fight and fire in her eyes had been replaced with false obeisance. Taking in their interested audience, Raphael crudely adjusted his crotch.