Page 90 of When Dashing Met Danger

“I do,” Alex said, and Lucia wanted to kiss him. He glanced at her, though his words were directed to Camille, “It all makes sense now. Julius Joubert.”

“Julius?” Lucia repeated, her voice almost a screech of excitement.

“He’s a doctor near Notre Dame who can be trusted. Wentworth knew him and may have told Dashing about him.”

Camille rose, indignant. “Who is this doctor? Why was I never told of him?”

“There was never any need.”

Camille scowled.

“Alex, we have to go to him,” Lucia said. “We have to get him out of Paris.”

“No.” He gave her a firm look. “You’re not going anywhere.” He turned away from her, heading for his bedroom.

“Alex, this is my brother,” she said, scampering after him. “I have the right to see him.”

“And you will. Not now.” He shrugged his coat over his dark clothes and pulled the bicorne low over his features.

“Why not?”

“It could be a trap. I’m not risking it.”

“A trap?” Camille said, coming up behind Lucia.

“I do not believe a word of this. Alex, cher, I cannot believe you are pursuing this. No one reads that much into Shakespeare.”

Alex glared at Camille, and Lucia was happy she wasn’t the only one to receive the evil eye when not in agreement with him.

“I’m coming as well.” Camille held up a finger. “And don’t argue with me. If there is a traitor, I need to know who he is.”

“And we’ll be safer if we’re all together,” Lucia added.

Alex raked his hair. He was fighting it, but she knew she’d won.

“All right. I can’t fight both of you.” He ground the words out. “But you’ll do everything I say. Understand?”

She nodded eagerly.

Ten minutes later she regretted her promise. He made her wear a cape from his own wardrobe, and it was far too large, not to mention inappropriate for a sunny May day. Her one consolation was that Camille had to wear a mantle, too, so they would suffer the heat together.

They went out the back door of the building and climbed into the hired carriage Camille had waiting. She glimpsed Notre Dame’s magnificence briefly as they rode past, and she turned her head to see better. It stood like the hand of God reaching down from the heavens. She could just imagine Napoleon inside, dwarfed by its majestic arched ceilings and stunning stained glass windows, taking the French crown from Pope Pius to place it on his own head.

A few moments later the carriage turned down a tree-lined avenue, and Alex rapped with his cane, indicating to the coachman to stop.

“Stay here,” Alex instructed, looking pointedly at Lucia. “If it’s safe, I’ll come for you.”

Lucia started to protest, but he was already exiting the coach in a flurry of black. She watched as he disappeared into an unobtrusive house shaded with enormous oak trees. Lucia glanced at Camille, then looked away. She wished Alex would hurry. Her brother was inside that house.

After all their searching, it didn’t seem possible that he was finally so near. So near and yet . . .

What was taking Alex so long? Lucia reached for the door. “I’m going inside,” she told Camille and hopped out. Camille reached for her, but Lucia scooted away, practically running by the time she reached the residence. At the door, she banged on the polished wood.

She almost yelped when Alex pulled it open, yanking her inside, then dragging her to a room that was dim and musty compared to the sunshine of the street outside.

“Do you ever listen?” he barked. His hand was on her elbow and he shook her gently. “I told you to stay—”

“Is he here?” She glanced wildly about the room. “I want to see him.” The door opened again, and Camille entered the room. Then for the first time, she noticed an elderly man with a bushy white beard and eyeglasses standing by the window behind her.

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