Page 36 of A Secret Correspondence (Hearts of Harewood #4)
“You will never know,” she seethed. It was difficult to have this conversation without facing him.
She wanted nothing more than to look into Paul’s eyes and promise he would not receive that which he sought.
She wanted to vow it in a way that he would believe her, even if he hoped she was wrong.
The desire was strong, pulling at her sharply.
She twisted against the ropes which bound her hands, kicking her feet, though they did not move.
“I shall, because you are going to come with me to France. Together, we are going to find your mother’s grave, and we will find the diamonds.”
Bile rose in her throat, sending a bitter wave through Marguerite’s mouth.
She noticed Samuel’s toes tapping faintly and lifted her gaze to find his eyes on her.
His brows went up in quick succession, and Marguerite wasn’t sure how she knew this, but she could feel something was about to occur.
Paul had learned what he needed to know, and the time for conversation was at an end.
Paul leaned forward, close enough to whisper. “You will help me, or I will hurt the people you care about, Marie-Louise.”
She ignored him, keeping her eyes glued to Samuel. She tried to mouth the word, Now ?
Samuel gave a nod. “Now,” he said aloud.
Marguerite did the only thing she could think of. She threw her head back, away from the knife, and smashed it into Paul’s face. He cried out, releasing her immediately. The knife sliced along her jaw as it pulled away, the shallow cut stinging in the open air.
The men moved forward immediately, each in a different direction.
Jacob circled around Marguerite’s chair and hit Paul’s wrist, sending the knife clattering to the floor.
He lifted his elbow and brought his fist down over Paul’s temple sharply, knocking him out.
Paul slumped to the floor in a heavy heap, where Oliver immediately bent over him with rope, tying his arms behind his back.
Samuel picked up the knife and began sawing at the ropes binding Marguerite’s hands together. The moment they were loose, she brought them in front of her and rubbed the tender skin as he worked at the rope around her ankles.
“The man is mad,” Samuel said when he got the first rope free and moved to the second.
She watched him work, her heart throbbing from the disorder of the attack.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly, then let out a shaky breath.
Once he was finished, he rose, taking her hand and tugging her to stand beside him.
He looked down into her eyes, a question in his that she could not read. What did he think of her now? Was he disgusted by the things Paul had revealed?
“How did your family know this man?” Oliver asked, stealing their attention as he tied the knot around Paul’s wrists.
“He was a Catholic priest,” Marguerite said, slipping her hand from Samuel’s.
Her voice sounded weak. “My father hid him when they were rounding up priests to send to the guillotine, and someone in our village reported him for it. No one found Paul, but the authorities took my father for it anyway. They did not require proof.”
Oliver’s face showed disgust as he completed the knot.
“We will deliver him to the magistrate immediately,” Jacob said.
“I think we ought to return to Locksley,” Oliver said. “They have a secure gaol there.”
“Yes, that is wise.” Samuel nodded his agreement. “Should you take our signed witnesses? Or do you think we can bring them later?”
“Marguerite should not need to live through this again tonight. We will speak to the magistrate and inform you of his answer,” Oliver said.
Samuel nodded.
Marguerite watched this discussion, her heart lifting toward her throat. She shook her head. “You are not all angry with me? ”
Three pairs of confused eyes turned to face her.
“Angry?” Jacob asked. “Why would you think that?”
Her voice was small when she finally had the courage to answer. “Because of all the lies I have told.”
Samuel’s eyebrows shot up. “Falsifying a widowed status in order to run a shop seems a generally harmless scheme to me.”
“And the matter of you being a countess?” Oliver said. “Ruth will be thrilled to hear that.”
“I am not,” Marguerite said. “Those titles were abolished twenty years ago.”
“Yes, but your parents were,” Samuel said, “which will feel very much the same thing to Ruth.”
“I take it the nephew who contributed Peter’s sleeping gown was not your nephew?” Jacob asked.
Marguerite nodded. “I was afraid if I revealed that he was my cousin, you would guess how long it has been since I lived in France. I have built my trade on being a Frenchwoman. I did not wish for people to know that I have lived most of my life on English soil.”
Oliver smiled warmly at her. “Nothing that man said will drive us away from you, Marguerite. Or—would you prefer to be called by your birth name?”
“No.” She fought the emotion burning in her eyes. “I am Marguerite Perreau. It is my identity now, and it is how I would like to remain. The Comte and Comtesse Agnon will always be my parents, but they are my past. This is my future.”
The men seemed to understand. “But you approve of us telling our wives, I assume?” Oliver asked.
“Of course.” She worried they would be hurt by her deception, but she took a step of faith, hoping they would understand as their husbands had. “I know they can be trusted not to speak of it to anyone else.”
“We should leave before it grows too light,” Jacob said.
“Or Mrs. Chatham is found on the High Street to witness our extraction.” Oliver started toward the door. “I will fetch the carriage.”
Marguerite took a step back and looked at Paul lying on the floor, his hands and ankles bound and face slack.
He had not regained consciousness, and Marguerite hoped he did not do so until he had been carried from the shop.
She hoped never to see or speak to him again.
Hurt still filled her body at his betrayal.
Seeing him now, the proof of all he had done to her was a pain unlike any other.
She lifted her gaze away, unwilling to look at him any longer. “Jacob, if you find a key to his house, will you take it? I would like to search for my mother’s trunk.”
Jacob’s eyes gleamed. “I will look right now.”