Surrender to a Stranger (44 page)

But the serenity and innocence of the painting was at odds with the vicious mutilation that had been performed on it. The painting had been assaulted, but not in the random, frenzied manner that other paintings in the château had fallen victim to. The portrait of the De Lambert family had been very carefully slashed, right across the throat of each family member, including little Séraphine. Scarlet paint trickled down their necks and over their fine clothes, until it welled into a deep pool of blood at their feet. The effect was so deliberately horrific that Jacqueline could not take her eyes from it, and so she stood, transfixed, frozen by the awesome hatred that seemed to radiate from the canvas.

“Is that supposed to be you?” asked Philippe as he pointed to Jacqueline’s likeness.

She nodded.

He studied her for a moment. “You don’t look like that anymore,” he said finally.

Jacqueline looked at the fifteen-year-old girl in the portrait, who had been painfully scarred by the death of her mother, but was still totally sheltered from the cruelties of the world beyond the Château de Lambert. She was smiling as she gripped her father’s shoulder, so strong and solid and comforting. And she held Suzanne’s little hand firmly, fully at ease with her new role as mother to her young sisters. Life had seemed so simple then. Her responsibilities had been clear, her future set. She had thought herself mature and worldly, because she had endured the agony of her mother’s death. But now she realized what an innocent she had been. She had known nothing of hunger, or poverty, or misery. She had been innocent of rage and hatred, other than hating God for a time when he took her mother from her. She had not yet understood what it was to hate with a passion that never abated, that grew and darkened and festered until it consumed her every breath.

“I am not like that anymore,” she stated bitterly. “That girl is gone.”

She turned abruptly and left the room, leaving Philippe staring at the painting.

She mounted the stairs and moved quickly down the hallway that led to her room, trying to ignore the destruction around her. The light was quickly fading, there was no time for her to indulge in anger or self-pity. When she reached her room she found it had not been spared; if anything it had been more thoroughly ransacked than any of the other rooms. Her mattress and pillows had been sliced open and the stuffing torn out, paintings had been wrenched from the walls and cut to pieces, her wardrobe had been emptied of its gowns and chopped into firewood. Even the walls had been attacked; the delicate yellow paper on them had been torn off in many places, and huge holes had been gouged into them every few feet. It was obvious to Jacqueline that whoever attacked this room was not merely venting their rage at a way of life they found abhorrent. The person who so deliberately swept through this room had been on a far greater mission. They had been searching for the missing De Lambert jewels.

She moved quickly across the room to the fireplace. Kneeling down, she ran her hand along the right interior wall, examining the bricks with her fingertips. She traced the edges of the center brick, then grabbed the poker beside her and used it to carve a groove around it. She worked fast, rooting out the sand and ash she had carefully packed around the stone over a year earlier. When she had created a deep ridge around the brick, she inserted the tip of the poker and began to pry, slowly at first, alternating from one side to the other. She jiggled the poker until finally the brick began to move, bit by bit, until it was out just far enough for her to grasp it by the edges and pull it out the rest of the way. She lowered it onto the hearth and reached deep into the black hole she had created. Her hands came to rest on a cool, square object. With a sigh of relief she pulled out an intricately carved wooden box. Sitting back on her heels, she paused to wipe her blackened hands on her skirts before slowly lifting the lid.

Nestled against the black satin lining of the box was a sparkling collection of priceless jewelry, including elaborate necklaces, earrings, bracelets, rings, brooches, and hair ornaments, all heavily studded with icy diamonds, midnight sapphires, sea-green emeralds, and blood rubies. Ropes of luminous pearls were mixed in with the brilliant pieces, as well as several exquisite gold watches. Jacqueline plunged her hand in among the jewels and rooted around to find a tiny blue velvet bag. She held it upside down over the palm of her hand and an enormous diamond ring spilled out. With a soft sigh she placed the ring on her finger and held it up to the fading light filtering through the windows. It was her mother’s favorite piece, a magnificent, utterly colorless diamond surrounded by a shimmering halo of smaller diamonds. Her father had given it to her mother in celebration of the birth of Antoine, their first child and the future Duc de Lambert. She watched with pleasure as the ring sparkled with fire and light, like a tiny, perfect star bound to her finger with gold.

“I knew you would return.”

She let out a startled gasp and sprang to her feet, dropping the box of jewels onto the floor. Her heart pounding with fear, she slowly turned around.

Nicolas was blocking the doorway with his huge frame, making a sudden dash to safety impossible. His heavy winter coat was flecked with snow and his boots were wet; it was obvious he had just arrived. He stared at her and smiled, a hard, bitter smile that spoke more of triumph than pleasure.

“What is the matter, Jacqueline?” he demanded mockingly. “Did you honestly believe we would never meet again?”

“No,” she answered, her voice low and filled with loathing. “In fact, I always hoped we would.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him, and that pleased her. He studied her a moment, taking in her simple attire, her filthy skirts and her blackened hands.

“By what guise are we here today?” he asked curiously. “Scullery maid?”

She did not answer.

“It is not terribly becoming on you, whatever it is,” he mocked. “Although, I must admit, it is probably more becoming than the outfit you wore to sneak your way out of the Conciergerie. Every guard you passed swore to me on their mother’s grave that it was an old man and a filthy boy who walked out of the prison that night. None would believe it could possibly have been the beautiful daughter of the Duc de Lambert. You and all your traitorous accomplices are to be commended on carrying off so convincing a charade.”

She stared at him calmly, unwilling to confirm or deny his accusations, desperately trying to think of some way to get past him.

“I paid for your little escape, I can tell you,” he continued bitterly as he stepped into the room and began to strip off his gloves. “The Committee of Public Safety does not take kindly to condemned prisoners slipping through the walls of justice. And since I was the last person with you, and I foolishly agreed to leave you with that Citizen Julien, there was even some suspicion that I might have been involved in your sudden disappearance.” He tossed his gloves onto the floor and began to undo the buttons on his coat.

“How unfortunate for you,” commented Jacqueline sarcastically. She glanced casually around the room, searching for something to use as a weapon. She cursed herself for not at least having thought to hide a knife in her boot.

“But then I almost found you, didn’t I?” he went on, ignoring her comment. “Once the word was out that we were looking for a young boy and an old man, we were of course flooded with dozens of reports. One of them came from that innkeeper, Dufresne. He said he was not sure, but he did not think that the old man’s grandson was very enthusiastic when he talked about the executions of the day. I got there as quickly as I could, but you were just one step ahead of me, weren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jacqueline declared. She had no idea how much he knew about Armand and his involvement with her escape. The less she said, the better.

“Of course you do,” Nicolas assured her. “When we got into your room, we saw that he had purchased women’s clothes for you. That was enough, but it was the bar of perfumed soap that really convinced me. Poor Jacqueline, did those long weeks in prison leave you needing a bath?” he taunted.

She met his gaze calmly. In her mind she was still searching the room for something to kill him with, but she tried to appear docile and resigned to the fact that he had found her.

“Your friend was lucky to get you away from that mob,” Nicolas commented as he dropped his coat to the floor. “And, I must admit, it was a nice touch to send that boy to me inquiring about his reward. That was when I realized I was not dealing with someone who merely wanted to see that Mademoiselle Jacqueline de Lambert did not have her pretty neck severed by the guillotine.” He smiled. “That was when it became clear I was dealing with the Black Prince. Only he would be arrogant enough to snatch an escaped aristo from a hostile Parisian mob, and stupid enough to then flaunt his arrogance in my face.”

Jacqueline continued to stare at him blankly, trying to look as if she hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about. She had decided the best weapon available to her was the brass poker lying on the hearth. The question was, how would she snatch it up without Nicolas getting to her first?

“The challenge, of course, became not just to get you back, but to capture the Black Prince as well,” Nicolas continued. “After a few weeks had passed without an arrest, I felt sure you had left the country. Recalling your great fondness for your sisters, I realized you must have gone to England. Knowing where you were made trapping both of you incredibly easy.”

“Really?” said Jacqueline, slowly moving closer to the poker, pretending she was simply inspecting the destruction inflicted upon her room. “How is that?”

“I used your precious betrothed, of course,” he replied. “You remember, that idiotic fop your father thought was good enough for you, when I was not? I had him arrested, on charges of conspiring in your escape. I must tell you, he required little coaxing,” he sneered. “He was more than willing to tell me where your sisters were in England. I then had him write to you there and plead for help. I was not sure if you would come, or if you would send your infamous new friend, but either way I would be rewarded for trapping one of you.”

Jacqueline still managed to look at him calmly, but fury and regret were churning within her. Justin was right, the whole thing had been a trap. And Jacqueline had stupidly sent Armand into it.

“When your friend appeared out of nowhere to rescue Monsieur le Marquis, I was right there to catch him,” Nicolas boasted. “But alas, you did not appear to be with him. So I let your precious marquis go, in the hopes that he would tell you what had happened. I suspected your inbred sense of noble duty would lead you back to France to try to help the Black Prince.”

He was clever, she had to give him that. He had planned the whole thing, sensing Jacqueline would be unable to ignore François-Louis’s or Armand’s plight. The revelation that François-Louis had agreed to help Nicolas in exchange for his freedom was a shock, but at this moment it did not matter. What mattered was killing Nicolas for his crimes against her and her family. Then she would rescue Armand.

“I come here often, you know,” continued Nicolas, looking about her room as he began to unbutton his jacket. “Whenever I can get away from my work for a day or two. I tore this room apart myself looking for those jewels. I must admit, it did not occur to me to look in the fireplace. Somehow I could not imagine the pristine Mademoiselle de Lambert dirtying her hands, not even to hide something so incredibly valuable.”

“I am surprised you did not tear apart my father’s study,” commented Jacqueline acidly, trying to keep him preoccupied with his talking as she casually took another step toward the hearth.

“I did have it searched,” Nicolas admitted, “but very carefully. After all, I did not want the room destroyed. I wanted the room where your father rejected my offer for you preserved for my own use. As you may have noticed, I have kept it exactly the way it was when your father was alive and I used to come here as a welcome guest and friend. You remember those days, don’t you, Jacqueline? I was invited here because of my superior knowledge of finance and investment, which your father sorely lacked. With the abolition of feudalism, pious aristocrats like your father, who once thought business was common and therefore beneath them, suddenly had no means of income. If not for my advice that your father invest his money in industries like sugar, tea, and silk, your brother would have inherited nothing but this old château and the mountain of debt that goes with it. I saved your family from financial ruin, do you realize that?” he demanded furiously. “Your father owed me. It was therefore a great shock when he refused my offer for you. That, of course, was when I realized what a hypocrite he was. Him and all his noble friends, who spouted liberal ideals over their fine dinners, accepting men like me as equals in theory, but not in fact.”

“Do not delude yourself, Nicolas,” interjected Jacqueline. “I never thought you were an equal in theory either.”

The insult found its mark. With two strides he had closed the distance between them and slapped her hard across her face.

“Think carefully before you make such a regrettable comment again,” he warned menacingly as he gripped her by her shoulders. “I would hate to have to send you to the guillotine with your lovely face bruised and battered like some common peasant wife.”

She wanted to spit in his face, but if she hoped to reach the poker she would need him to release her, and so she held her tongue and simply glared at him, her loathing and hatred so intense it nearly sickened her.

“But here we are, fighting again,” he said mournfully as he lightly stroked her cheek where he had struck her. “This is not how I imagined our reconciliation. Let us agree to put aside our differences, just for tonight. After all, tomorrow will come soon enough.”

“Tomorrow?” repeated Jacqueline warily.

“I have dreamed of having you for years,” continued Nicolas, slowly pulling on the ribbon that held her hat in place. “First as my wife, and then, when your father refused me, as my mistress.” He lifted the hat from her head and tossed it onto the floor. “But you continued to spurn me, didn’t you?”