Didier’s answering smile was radiant.
“But I hope you realize the danger telling another of your presence holds for me,” she warned, thinking of Charles and his disgusted horror at her confidence.
“Lady Haith will not betray you, Sister,” he promised solemnly. He looked as if he was going to say more, but then thought better of it as a rap sounded at the chamber door.
“’Tis Papa,” he whispered. He placed an invisible kiss on Simone’s cheek and then, in a blink, was gone.
Simone’s stomach clenched when she heard the key scraping in the lock. She sank down into the soft mattress and pulled the furs to her chin as the door swung open and her father stepped inside the room, carrying a single candle.
“Simone? Do you sleep?” Armand asked in a low voice.
“Non, Papa.” Her heart raced as he shut the door quietly behind him. His full, ruddy face was etched with fatigue, the ever-present tic around his eye jumping wildly as he limped across the chamber and placed the candle on a small table.
He is too calm, Simone thought as Armand came to stand at the foot of her bed. His arm was drawn against his side and he stared at her intently. Something is terribly wrong.
Her imagination ran unchecked: Lord Halbrook had called off the betrothal and they would be forced to leave London because of her scandalous behavior. Where would they go now? The meager funds Armand had managed to gather for the journey were nearly depleted and they could not return to France.
“Simone, have you an explanation for your behavior?”
She swallowed, and the hairs rose on the back of her neck. “Non, Papa.”
Armand rubbed his withered arm and rocked on his heels. His lips moved soundlessly as he stared at her, forming inaudible words.
And Simone stared back, too frightened to look away for even an instant. Armand was eccentric, and not a little intimidating. His one quest since Simone could remember had been to find some mysterious treasure, its worth reported by Armand to be quite priceless. Her father was largely a stranger to her, always away searching for his elusive prize while Simone was growing up. When he was in residence at Saint du Lac, he was brusque and moody, and not unlikely to punish a misdeed with his fists. Even now, in his advanced age, he was large and strong. Simone knew her rash behavior this evening was beyond forgiveness, and she wondered if he would whip her.
Finally he spoke. “You cannot reason to me why you deliberately disobeyed me? Why, the instant I left your side, you sneaked away with a known seducer to let him fondle you for any who may pass by to see?” He moved around the end of the bed toward Simone.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Non, Papa.”
“Come to me,” he commanded, standing at the bedside now and beckoning to her with a finger.
Simone’s entire body shook as she crawled from beneath the covers and sat on her heels before her father. She was eye level with him now, and she couldn’t help but flinch when he raised his good hand to grasp her chin.
“I have an idea as to why you behaved as you did,” he said.
Simone’s throat barely allowed her to reply. “You do?”
“Oui.” The corner of his mouth not frozen into place crept upward. “’Tis because you are very, very clever.”
Simone’s eyes widened. “I am?”
Armand abruptly kissed both of Simone’s cheeks and then crushed her to him with one arm. “So very clever!” he repeated with a laugh. He held her away again, beaming at her in a way Simone could not recall him doing the whole of her life. “When Halbrook saw you in the arms of the young baron, he tripled the amount he’d offered for you!”
Simone closed her eyes, her relief dizzying. “Oh, thank God.”
Armand chuckled again, and when Simone opened her eyes, she saw him hovering over her dressing table. He searched among the items scattered there, mumbling to himself, before selecting one and returning to the bedside. He perched on the edge of the mattress and held up the item he’d chosen from her toilette.
A small, silver reflecting disc.
“Look, and tell me who you see.”
Simone frowned and then glanced at her miniature reflection—her hair hung down in black sheets around her near-colorless face.
“Me?” she offered weakly.
Armand shook his head with a sly smile. “Who is ‘me’?”
Simone gave a frustrated sigh. He father was eccentric to the point of exasperation. “Simone du Roche of Saint du Lac. Papa, I do not understand—”
“Say au revoir to this girl,” Armand interrupted, “for she will soon be no more.”
“Papa?”
Armand rose from the bed awkwardly, leaving Simone with the mirror. He limped to the window and looked out over the soft dawn, washing the rather seedy street where their inn was located in flattering light, and then he smiled.
“I have done it, Simone—England is mine!” He turned to her, shaking a fist in the air and laughing as if he could not help himself. “In two days’ time, you will become the Baroness of Crane!”
Simone’s world tilted. “What?”
“You are to marry Nicholas FitzTodd, here in London, with William’s own blessing!” Armand clarified, obviously pleased.
“Non,” Simone whispered, horrified. She instantly recalled with startling detail the warning Nicholas had whispered in her ear: If this is some intricate plot to ensnare me as your husband, ’twill not work. I do not yield to feminine trickery.
Armand beamed. “This is better than I ever could have hoped for!”
“But…but Nicholas FitzTodd is penniless!”
“Oh, not so, not so! Although he may appear to be a ne’er-do-well, the baron is actually one of the wealthiest nobles in England. His demesne stretches the whole of the Welsh border and he is one of the king’s most trusted men.”
Simone could barely think. “But how, Papa? Lord Nicholas himself told me he had no desire to marry.”
Armand poured a cup of watered wine and sat in the upholstered chair with a contented sigh. He raised the cup to his lips as he answered, his words sounding oddly hollowed as they echoed into the vessel. “He simply has no choice.” He took a sloppy gulp and swiped his lips with his sleeve. “I petitioned the king on behalf of your tarnished virtue, and ’twould seem that William has a desire to see the baron wed.”
“My tarnished virtue?” Simone cried. “Papa, how could you? Naught of consequence occurred!”
“How am I to know that?” Armand held the cup out to her, his useless arm resting in his lap. “Or good Lord Halbrook, for that matter? You were wrapped up in the man’s clothing, for God’s sake—”
“His cloak! ’Twas cold!”
“—and he looking as though he’d just crawled from a brothel. Smelling like it, as well.” Armand added, giving her a pointed look. “What else would I think?”
“But,” Simone sputtered, “’tis your word against his!”
“Ah-ah,” Armand corrected. “You forget that the baron’s own brother was also witness to your display.”
“Of course his brother would not condone this farce,” Simone reasoned. “Surely he will speak to the king on the baron’s behalf.”
“He already has,” Armand offered easily. “Although what was said is a mystery to me—the man spoke in private audience with