Tonight or Never (34 page)

John sliced into his meat.
"Surely not all of it."
His eyes flashed with humor and a glint of steel as well.

"Where have you been those times when the rescues took place?"
Malleaux
asked straight out.

The diners gasped at his rudeness.

"Not that I am bound to answer you,
Malleaux
, but I was with my wife."

"Surely not every time?"

"We are newly wed; yes, every time."

Chloe blushed.
He didn't have to be that honest
!

"Nonetheless, I believe the Black Rose is sitting at this table."

So do I
, John agreed silently.
Why not let the bastard think it's me
?

John despised men like
Malleaux
. He stared at him tauntingly, daring him to make a move against him. "Perhaps he is."

"Perhaps he despises the new order you have found,"
Adrien
Cyndreac
spoke out, bravely shifting the focus from Lord John to himself.

"Perhaps he recognizes you for what you are," Jean-Jules added to further shift his suspicions.

"Perhaps he detests oppression,"
Deiter
enjoined, surprising everyone. The men of
Chacun
à
Son
Goût
were banding together against this threat.

"Perhaps he enjoys the minuet," Maurice supplied provokingly as he proudly added his name to the list of suspects at the table.

Percy took out his snuff for a flamboyant snort. "Perhaps he simply detests English cuisine and must do something to preserve a decently prepared meal."

The entire table roared with laughter.

Malleaux
endured the mockery, a smarmy grin on his
weaselish
face.

Despite the brash joviality at the table, John sensed a viper waiting for the right time to strike lurking beneath
Malleaux's
thinly veiled civility.

"Are you feeling all right, Maurice? Calloway told me you had returned to your rooms." The Countess de
Fonbeaulard
stood in the doorway to the marquis's room.

"I am perfectly fine, Simone." He opened the top drawer of a bureau and began removing the contents.

The countess watched him in confusion.

Maurice walked over to his bed and tossed the items inside a small portmanteau.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Maurice closed the lid with a snap.

Before the countess could respond, Calloway appeared at the door with some servants.

"These here and those over there."
Maurice pointed out the cases he wanted taken down.

The men dutifully bent to the task; they closed the door behind them on their way out.

"You are going to your estate?" she asked, perplexed.

"Yes."

The countess let out a sigh of relief. "You have received a message of some kind? You should have told me; I—"

"There was no message. I am going to my estate," he intoned.

"What do you mean?"

"I think I was perfectly clear."

The countess paled. "You—you are leaving me, Maurice?"

He hesitated, hating to have to put that look on her face, yet set in his choice of action. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you come with me."

Mistaking his meaning, she immediately brightened.

Until he added, "As my wife."

"What are you talking about? You know that—"

Maurice interrupted her. He was through listening. "My coach is waiting for me. The
Cyndreacs
will be following me out to Somerset in the morning. They will be residing at my estate.

I know you are fond of them, as I am. If you come with me, I have arranged for a marriage ceremony en route."

The countess pulled herself up straight. What had gotten into him? He had no right! "When you return, we will discuss this." She waved her hand, trying to dismiss the objectionable subject.

The marquis stood firm. "I will not be returning unless you are beside me as my wife."

"Maurice, you are being unreasonable!"

"Am I?" He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. "I will wait five minutes for you, Simone. Five minutes." Snapping the lid shut, he strode purposefully to the door.

The countess was stunned. Surely he didn't mean this? She knew him; he would think it over and—

Maurice stopped at the door. "I won't be coming back, Simone," he said quietly before he shut the door behind him.

It took a few moments for the silence of the room to penetrate her fog.

Maurice had walked out!
Left her.
A dull ache started in her chest. She glanced at the clock. Four minutes.

He was bluffing! He would be back… he always came back. Three minutes.

Who did he think he was?
Telling her that—Two minutes.

The Countess de
Fonbeaulard
picked up her skirts and, for the first time in her adult life,
ran
down the hall to the center stairs.

She literally raced through the front door of the house.

At the bottom of the stairs the marquis's personal coach emblazoned with his family crest prepared to depart.

As the countess reached the bottom step, the door to the vehicle was flung wide and an outstretched hand yanked her inside.

"This is ridiculous, Maurice! I have no clothes with me—"

"I will get you what you need
Marchioness
." Strong arms embraced her.

"But—"

His mouth silenced her.

Merde
! He should have done
this years
ago, he realized as the coach rolled down the drive.

"Might I have a word with you, John? Out on the terrace?"

John nodded, excusing himself from the group of men he was conversing with on the sidelines of the dance floor. He followed Percy outside onto a deserted terrace.

The two men, shielded by plants and an overhanging tree, leaned on the ledge and looked out at the night. Clouds dotted the sky, weaving in and out of a crescent moon.

John waited for Percy to speak his mind.

"
Malleaux
seems to think he will find the Black Rose here. What do you think, Sexton?"

"I think the Rose has exposed
himself
to great danger and his chances of being discovered grow greater every day."

Percy was silent for a few minutes. "Perhaps he likes this type of danger."

John exhaled. "Most likely he does, but I don't trust
Malleaux
. Even if the Black Rose should
happen
to be an Englishman, he might very well wake up to find himself in a French prison.
About to lose his head."

"Some risks are worth taking."

John nodded. "Yes, they are. Nonetheless, the Black Rose has done more than his share of risk-taking. It might be time for him to stop testing his luck and be happy for what he has accomplished."

Percy said nothing.

"Perhaps he should remember those he has saved."

"One might wonder if the man thinks more of those he didn't," Percy murmured reflectively.

John raised a brow. There were levels here he knew nothing about. "He is only one man."

Percy smiled obscurely showing a hint of white teeth. "They say he is many men, what with his disguises and all."

"So I've heard." John turned to face him. "Such a man who dons these disguises might even seek a friendship with someone like
myself—
knowing I would not turn him in to the authorities. He might use that friendship for his own ends."

"In what way?"
Percy spoke very low.

"He could use my home as a point of operation; he could come and go here as he pleased under the cover of his disguise; he could have many types of dealings no one would know about or suspect. There's no end to the amount of mischief he could be engaged in."

Percy's lips turned upward in a poignant half smile. "You forgot one thing."

"What's that?"

"He might genuinely value your friendship, John."

John was taken aback; he looked out over the gardens. "It is dangerous for the Black Rose here;
Malleaux
will not give up until he has his head."

Percy seemed to listen to John's warning; he adjusted the lace cuff on his sleeve. "I'm afraid I shall have to leave, John."

John smiled slightly. The fop was back once more. "When shall we see you again, Percy?"

"I'm not sure—when one is in fashion, one is forever in demand!" His lace-trimmed sleeve punctuated the air.

"Then take care of yourself,
my friend
." He warmly clasped Percy's shoulder.

"And you, John," Percy said softly. "Although I somehow think you have found where you want to be."

John nodded, surprised to feel deep sadness at Percy's leaving. He supposed he had gotten used to him always hanging about. Even as a fop, the man had been… well, likable. He turned to leave.

Percy called out to him, "Do you know what you get when Heart is wed to Sexton, my good man?"

John shook his head no.

"Why, everyone knows heart and sex together form a perfect match
! '
Tis
called romance!"

John snorted. Grinning, he turned and walked back into the house.

"And what you get is very, very lucky.
Ave
atque
vale
, my friend. Hail and farewell." He saluted the direction of the door John had entered and agilely leaped over the stone wall to disappear into the night.

The ball was winding down.

Most of the guests had already departed, either returning to their rooms or their coaches for the journey home. John's rumor was already starting to work.

Chloe and John circled the dance floor one last time, the final dance of the evening.
A Scotch reel.

When the lively dance ended, he pulled Chloe along with him out of the ballroom, as the amused onlookers waved a last good night.

Instead of taking the stairs as she expected, he tugged her along to the other side of the mansion.

"Where are we going?" She tried to dig her heels in but she was no match for his determination.
Especially in silk slippers.

"You'll see."

This end of the house was still and quiet.
Almost deserted.

The tap of his top boots along the parquet flooring was the only sound to be heard as he pulled her resolutely along.

He took her down a long side gallery, through a secret panel she hadn't known about, and through another gallery, not stopping until a specific door stood in front of them.

Standing to the side and in front of her, John unlocked the door, letting it drift slowly open.

"Welcome to paradise, my lady." He gestured to the space beyond with an outstretched hand.

Flowering plants of differing hues and sizes greeted her in a wave of color and scent. Chloe closed her eyes, inhaling the lovely combination of fragrances.

"It's another door to the conservatory!"

"Yes. I hadn't known about it until Maurice showed it to me today. He said something about finding it instructional; I wasn't quite sure what he meant." John drew her inside, closing the door behind them.

At once they were enclosed in a tropical world of exotic plants and lush foliage.

"It's so lovely!"

"Yes, you are, Chloe," he agreed in a low, sultry whisper.

Chloe glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She'd recognize the roguish tone in her sleep. Indeed, she had
heard
it in her sleep on many an occasion. John was getting sportive.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And just why did you bring me here, my lord?"

A slow, sensual smile was the rake's answer.

Chapter Fifteen

Immortelle

"Here?" she uttered, astonished. Only John would think of something like this.

"Yes, here," he whispered.

Chloe viewed the room that was bursting with a profusion of blooms. Flowers and herbs carpeted the stone floor, seeming to climb up the very walls in places. Some pots even hung suspended from the ceiling, their vines trailing down.