Page 89 of A Mistake of Worth
Henri’s stomach dropped. David’s face was flushed, his hair mussed from sleep, but his eyes were wide and alert. He’d been listening. Had heard everything.
Henri scrambled toward them on hands and knees.
“I’ll take his place,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Whatever you’re planning, do it to me instead.”
Marc turned from Henri to David, the smile that spread across his face predatory and delighted. “No. Lessons must be learned by the student.”
He hauled David away, leaving Henri naked and kneeling in the office doorway, the air cold against his skin. David’s panicked glance over his shoulder burned into Henri’s memory as the bedroom door slammed shut.
Marc’s words clung to him, and the hallway felt too long, too empty, as if the walls themselves knew there would be no saving either of them. Henri remained frozen in position, naked and helpless, listening to the silence that followed and knowing it was the sound of another person breaking.
Chapter sixteen
Michael
Thecarrolledtoa stop in front of the Lafayette Square house, its tall windows spilling soft amber light into the summer dusk. The old Victorian façade had been restored with a precision that spoke of generations of careful stewardship. Not the aggressive perfection of new money trying to prove itself, but the quiet confidence of wealth so established it didn’t need to announce itself.
What caught Michael’s attention was how new the security looked. Discreet cameras tucked beneath wrought-iron scrollwork with mounts still sharp-edged without the patina of age. Motion sensors disguised as decorative elements that didn’t quite match the Victorian aesthetic. The faint glint of reinforced glass in the sidelights. Expensive upgrades that screamed recent threat assessment.
Someone had turned Gabriel’s home into a fortress, and they’d done it fast.
The man who opened the door before Michael could knock moved with the silent efficiency of professional security. Not a butler. This was someone trained to kill, dressed in domestic staff clothing. Another recent addition, Michael guessed.
Inside, Gabriel Rohan was waiting in the front hall, immaculate as always in perfectly tailored casual wear that somehow looked more expensive than most people’s formal clothing.
Michael was suddenly aware of his wrinkled jeans and travel-worn t-shirt. The comfortable clothes he’d thrown on for the long commercial flight from London. He’d spent nine hours in first-class trying not to think about what Marc might be doing to Henri while he was trapped at thirty thousand feet.
“Michael,” Gabriel said warmly, but there was an undercurrent of purpose in his voice that suggested this wasn’t a social call. “Come in. We’ve been waiting.”
The “we” became clear as they stepped into the living room. Ellis Anouilh sat in an armchair near the fireplace, his posture carefully controlled but tense, hands clasped tightly in his lap. His eyes flicked to Michael with the hypervigilance of someone who’d learned the hard way that strangers meant danger.
Michael caught the way Ellis’s breathing had gone shallow, the barely perceptible lean away from his position near the door. Gabriel noticed it too, his gaze sharpening as he took in Ellis’s discomfort.
On the sofa, Jean Saint-Clair was half-curled against Lucas Moreau, and Michael had to do a double-take at his outfit. Black satin capris cinched below the knee, paired with a gauzy asymmetrical top that was solid black at the chest before spilling into sheer panels that trailed when he moved. It was bold, feminine, and utterly impractical for anything except looking beautiful.
Jean wore it with the unselfconscious ease of someone who’d never questioned his right to exist exactly as he was.
“That’s...” Michael started, then caught himself.
Lucas’s smile was sharp with pride and possession. “I chose it. Jean has the bone structure to wear anything, and he looks stunning.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes with the long-suffering expression of someone who’d had this conversation before. “Lucas treats Jean as his personal dress-up doll.”
“And Jean loves it,” Lucas said without apology, his hand sliding possessively down Jean’s arm. “Don’t you, baby?”
Jean preened under the attention, pressing closer to Lucas’s side. “I like looking pretty for you.”
Michael filed away that dynamic. It was intimate in a way that made him think of Henri, and the sharp ache of loss that followed made him clear his throat and look away.
Alain Beaumont leaned against the far wall, a glass of red wine in his hand, watching the room with the detached interest of someone who’d seen a hundred such meetings and knew most of them ended badly. Nikolai Rykov sat at the long dining table, laptop already open, monitor displaying what looked like financial flow charts.
Gabriel didn’t waste time. “Ellis, Jean. I need you both to sit this one out.”
Ellis straightened, already nodding, relief washing across his features. “Of course.”
Jean did not nod. His spine went rigid against Lucas’s side, and his voice carried more bite than whine. “You’re discussing my brother. My family. I think I’m entitled to know what you’re planning.”
“No,” Gabriel said, smooth but absolute. The tone was perfectly polite and completely immovable. “You don’t need thedetails. And Ellis,” his gaze softened slightly, “this isn’t for you either. Not right now.”
