Page 95 of Their Master

Edward Fanshawe looked vaguely uncomfortable, as if somebody had just committed a mild solecism.

Luke looked as blank as he always did—unless he was gazing at Smith.

The other man—the one with half his face covered behind an ominous black leather mask, Malcolm, Smith had called him—kept his single eye on the quivering lump that was Onions, who was huddled at his feet.

Nobody cared about the shot they’d heard.

You don’t either. You just want your betrayal to havemeantsomething.

The words were like a kick, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Could that possibly be true?

The door opened and Moira rushed toward it.

Smith caught her in his arms and held her. “No.”

She struggled, but it was like fighting against an immovable object. “I want to see him.”

“No, you don’t.” He towed her gently but inexorably toward the two carriages that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

“Let me go, Smith!” She pounded on his arm, shoulder, chest—any part she could reach—but it was like striking a tree.

Sandrine’s arm slipped around her. “Stop, Honorine. Stop it. You will make yourself sick.Honorine!”

Sandrine struck Moira across the face hard enough to snap her head back.

Moira’s jaw dropped and she stared at her sister.

“I’m sorry,” Sandrine said coolly, taking Moira’s unresisting arm and leading her to the carriage.

Thomas, one of Smith’s footmen, held open the door and handed them inside, not making eye contact.

“I will ride on the box with Thomas,” Luke said, giving Moira a pristine handkerchief before darting away.

Smith’s battered, bruised face was unreadable. “Sandrine will take you home—she will stay with you.”

He shut the door before Moira could respond and she stared out the window at him as the carriage rolled away.

Sandrine took her hand and pulled her closer. “Come and talk with me. How many years has it been? “

“Almost six,” Moira said softly.

Sandrine gave an odd laugh. “Has it really been that long?”

“Marie and theComtesaid you were dead. They said they didn’t know what had happened to you until two years ago when they found out that it had been Smith who’d killed you.”

Sandrine sighed and shook her head. “The one thing they didn’t lie to you about was my death—we made sure they believed that.”

“But…why? One minute you were living under Minister Bujold’s protection and the next you told me you’d met a man and that he was going to take you away.”

Sandrine scowled. “Bujold! That swine. You know he beat me? It was the only way he could achieve sexual satisfaction.”

Moira had seen her sister’s bruises and remembered how frightening Bujold had been when he’d confronted Marie after Sandrine’s disappearance.

“I don’t understand,” Moira said. “Was Smith the man you met?”

“In a way.” Sandrine sighed. “It was all a ploy, Honorine. They—theComteand Marie—forcedme to lie to you. They also forced me to come to London, using lies just as they did with you, but a different set of lies.” She snorted. “Back then they were more direct than they were now, with you.”

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