Gaston gave him a sardonic stare. “Which misdeed do you speak of, Tourelle?”
“Do not pretend ignorance!” Tourelle snarled. “Tell me what you have done with my Christiane. She disappeared on the eve of the new year, in the middle of the night. Vanished without a trace!”
Chapter 15
What the heck was taking so long?
Celine needed no more than five minutes to wash up and get dressed. After that, she sat perched on the edge of her bed, waiting to be summoned below, wearing a velvet gown in deep sapphire blue with silver embroidery on the scoop neck and long, fitted sleeves. Pride and something more made her want to look especially good for this long-awaited moment. The moment when Gaston finally realized just how wrong he’d been about her.
She pictured him looking at her with understanding and trust and ... maybe even that gleaming darkness swirling in his eyes, the expression she had glimpsed once or twice in unguarded moments. The thought made a warm glow settle through her.
Maybe he would even apologize to her, though that didn’t really matter. What she wanted was his trust. Once he gave her that, he might let go of this ridiculous idea that pleasure was all that mattered, that caring and compassion were feminine and weak. Maybe he could even admit that he cared for her, at least a little.
She felt so sure that he did.
And they had so little time left together, only weeks before she had to return home. That is, if she didn’t—
No, she wasn’t going to think about that. She would make it. With Gaston by her side, she would be strong.
But the minutes dragged by and no one came.
Maybe he was in shock. Meeting the real Christiane and realizing that Celine had been telling the truth all along would be quite a stunner.
Several more minutes dragged by. She couldn’t wait any longer. Leaping up from the bed, she started for the door, trying to think of what excuse she could offer for ignoring his orders. A resounding knock sounded just as she was reaching for the iron latch.
She pulled the door wide, unable to suppress a smile. “You rang?”
Royce stood in the dark hallway holding a torch, looking haggard and tired and not at all amused.
No doubt this was his version of shock.
“Sir Gaston would see you below, milady.”
“Yes, of course,” she said happily, breezing past him out the door.
He practically had to run to keep up with her as she hurried into the darkness, rushed down the spiral stairs that led below, and opened the door into the great hail.
A noisy crowd filled the room, all shouting at one another. There were a half-dozen nuns in long black robes, and Gaston’s guards, and a few men she hadn’t seen before, and various servants who had no doubt been roused from their beds by the tumult, and Gaston, who was having a heated argument with an expensively dressed stranger.
She glanced from one feminine face to another, trying to pick out Christiane.
Standing at her side, Royce cleared his throat loudly, twice. Everyone finally quieted and turned toward her.
A gasp went through the crowd.
Celine looked at Gaston with a tentative smile. “Well, where is she?”
The riot that erupted made the clamor before seem like silence by comparison. Before she had even finished her question, Celine found herself surrounded and practically knocked off her feet by a flock of chattering nuns, all of whom seemed intent on hugging her at the same time. They bombarded her with joyful cries and questions.
“Dear, sweet girl, you are unhurt!”
“Why did you disappear so suddenly?”
“You gave us such a fright!”
“How did you travel here?”
“How could you leave us that way without a word?”
Caught in the confusion of questions and hugs and pats and squeezes, Celine couldn’t force a word in edgewise. With all of them talking at once, she could hardly even understand what they were saying—but the little she could make out made no sense. “What do you mean? Please stop shouting at me. Please!”
She barely managed to disengage herself from the smothering little group when the stranger Gaston had been talking to forced his way forward through the crush and pulled her into his arms, holding her so tight she couldn’t take a breath.
“God’s blood, Christiane, we thought we had lost you!” His voice shook. “Are you all right?” He set her away from him, holding her by the shoulders and looking her up and down. “This cur has not harmed you, has he? How did he spirit you away from us? Tell me what happened!”
Celine stared at the man. A sick dread twisted her stomach.
He had called her Christiane.
But how could they think she was Christiane?
“W-what are you talking about?” she choked out. “I don’t know you! I’ve never met you before!” With his red hair and blue eyes, he bore a striking resemblance to one of her uncles. She guessed he must be the hated Tourelle.