Page 83 of Love Unraveled
“Let’s start with the message you received.”
“Ah, yes.” Bentley dug in his pocket, pulled out a small, folded piece of paper, and handed it to Gaston. “Told me everything I needed to know.”
Gaston read it twice.S has shed his robes. Taken our jewel to new château. Urgent.He frowned at Bentley.
“Well, he couldn’t simply write the duke has lost his cover and has kidnapped the countess and taken her to her residence, could he? What if someone intercepted? And trust me, Laurence only writes ‘urgent’ if it is indeed urgent. I did not hesitate.”
“But how did you know it was the countess?”
Bentley’s cheeks reddened, and he smiled almost bashfully. “It is what we call you. Our jewel.”
Sophie’s laugh tinkled lightly, and Gaston’s tension began to melt away. He couldn’t argue with Bentley, for she was a jewel. And the duke had certainly been disrobed. Gaston stiffened. The duke should never have been able to get ahold of Sophie in the first place. “If you both were aware the duke was covering something, why was he not being followed?”
“Oh, we were following him. Or I was. Remember those trips to Tattersall’s?” Bentley asked. “I wasn’t looking for company. I was trying to kill two birds with one stone. Find out exactly what your story was and keep an eye on the duke.” He looked at Sophie. “And that rout? The duke was expected there. He was the man who didn’t show up. Well, more the man who arrived too late for the meeting. Still, your eavesdropping was of great help. I believe the Prime Minister is suitably grateful.”
“And yesterday?” Gaston prodded. “Why were you not on his heels yesterday?”
Bentley sighed heavily. “Yes, well that was a bit of a shambles, wasn’t it? I watched the duke depart for what I thought was Newmarket. I rode on ahead to his usual inn. Less suspicious if I was there ahead of him. Of course, I now know he wasn’t heading to Newmarket.”
“You could not know,” Sophie said. “What will happen to His Grace now?”
“It’s hard to tell. Things are tricky when it’s a peer. Especially a duke. Last year, Bellingham’s trial occurred four days after he assassinated Prime Minister Perceval, and he hung three days later. But he murdered Perceval in clear sight of everyone. The duke was part of a plot not yet enacted. But there is the matter of plotting against the regent. That is something else entirely. It’s high treason.”
“I hope he hangs too,” Gaston said, and he meant it. A peerage should not protect him from the consequences of his crimes. Gaston had seen people murdered for no reason other than they existed. It disgusted him to think a noble who acted without any honor, who had threatened Sophie’s life, might walk free.
“Well, much will depend on what the prince regent says about it.” Bentley stood and stretched. “Mind if I take the remainder of this”—he pointed to the platter of food—“and that”—he gestured to the decanter on the side table—“out to Laurence?”
“But of course,” Sophie said, jumping to her feet. “I can get more.”
“No need, although some water to wash wouldn’t be turned away.” He smiled and bowed to them both. “We’ll be gone before you are awake, but I am sure I shall see you at the next soiree.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said, handing him the platter.
“It was my pleasure.” Bentley grabbed the decanter and walked out of the drawing room.
Gaston could hear him talking with a footman, and then the entranceway fell silent. He watched the play of emotion on Sophie’s face as she listened too. He worried she might collapse with fatigue. The pain in his head had not subsided with the drink, and he was glad the doctor had sent him with the tonic powder. He’d take some before going to sleep.
“It is all too much, no?” Sophie’s eyes glazed.
“Oui,c’est vrai.” Gaston held out his hand, and Sophie put her hand in it. “Let’s go to our bed,mon amour,and hold each other.” He tugged her closer and kissed her forehead and her nose, then brushed the softest of kisses against her lips.
She leaned heavily on him as they climbed the stairs and stood numbly watching as he took his tonic. He walked to her and rubbed her shivering arms. He helped her undress, throwing her dress in a corner far from sight, and lifted her onto the bed. She lay watching him as he undressed, but her eyes grew heavy. He crawled in behind her and pulled her close.
“Go to sleep,mon amour.Let’s leave all this behind and dream about the tomorrows that lie ahead.”
She fell asleep quickly, her gentle, steady breathing a comfort. He’d been terrified that after all these years, after finally finding their way to each other, he was going to lose her again. This time forever.
But she was here. She was unharmed. It was over.
Sleep pulled, and he closed his eyes. A young girl in Paris, her hand held out. A young woman inVenise, offering her innocence. A strong woman, as bold as she was beautiful, head thrown back, turning on the dance floor. He smiled into the darkness and held her tighter. His Sophie.
“Je t’aime,” he whispered and did as he’d advised her to do—surrendered to his dreams of their tomorrows.
Epilogue
All is not lost that is delayed.
—French Proverb
