Forever His(80)

As she moved with Tourelle into the small chamber, Celine glanced at Etienne, but he would not meet her gaze, stiffly taking up his post outside. Tourelle nodded politely at the lad, escorted her in, and closed the door behind them.

Once they were alone, he flung her away from him. Any trace of kindness or concern vanished from his face.

“You are far more intelligent than I had given you credit for, my sweet,” he said, carefully keeping his voice low.

Celine stumbled backward, coming up against the stone hearth, startled by the sudden change in him. Beneath his mild words there was something threatening in his tone, something almost ...

Evil.

“I—I suppose it’s useless to tell you that I’ve never seen you before and I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about?”

Tourelle took a step forward and grasped the back of one of the carved chairs that flanked the room’s trestle table, a storm of anger gathering in his face, his voice a harsh whisper. “There is no need to keep pretending, Christiane, though your performance in the hall was most inventive. That madness about not being Christiane is an excellent way to keep Varennes off the scent. I must congratulate you on the cleverness of your scheme. And appearing here so suddenly on the eve of the new year and in his bed was truly inspired. I only wish I had thought of it. And that you had informed me of what you were about. You will not be so careless again!”

“I-I didn’t—”

“Nay, do not try to explain it now. It matters naught. What I would know is why you failed. Varennes told me you fled when the moment was at hand.” Tourelle’s grip on the chair tightened in white-knuckled fury. The massive piece of furniture shook. “How could you run when you had him within your grasp?”

Celine pressed herself back against the hearth, her heart in her throat as she began to understand. “My ... grasp?”

“Cease your playacting!” he hissed. “You have been here more than a month, damn you. Why have you not bedded Varennes? It does me little good to kill him if you have not secured your place as his widow!”

Celine stared at him, wide-eyed. Christiane—her ancestor, her innocent, convent-raised ancestor—had been in on some murderous plot with Tourelle! Celine had been wrong about her.

And Gaston had been right in his suspicions all along.

Tourelle shoved the chair aside and stalked around the table. “Tell me the truth, Christiane. Have you used any of the alluring tricks we discussed? Have you at least attempted to seduce him?”

Amnesia. That was her only hope. She had to make him believe she really did have amnesia. It might be enough to get a little information out of him.

Precious information that might save Gaston’s life.

“M-milord,” she said shakily, “I truly don’t know what you mean. I have no memory of you, or of any plans.” That should sound believable. It was true.

Tourelle had been advancing toward her, but he suddenly snapped around, fists clenched, every inch of his heavily muscled, six-foot-tall body taut with anger. “Damn you, you impudent girl!” He exhaled through his teeth as if trying to calm down, then turned back, frowning at her. “You have always known better than to defy me this way,” he murmured almost to himself. “Mayhap you truly did suffer a blow to the head.”

“I ... I think that may be it,” she agreed. “I don’t remember. But some ... some of it is starting to come back to me, now that I’ve seen you and the others.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “But it is still ... foggy. Per—mayhap you should explain it all to me.”

She opened her eyes to find Tourelle glaring at her, his arms folded over his broad chest. “You had better start remembering quickly, Christiane. I have no patience for mistakes.” A suspicious gleam came into his blue eyes. “Or disloyalty. You have not started to develop some ill-advised affection for Varennes, have you?”

“No. I don’t care about him,” she said blandly. “He hates me.” She tried to keep her voice steady as she said that. “And ... the feeling is mutual. It’s just that I can’t remember what it is I’m supposed to do. Tell me and ... I’ll do it.”

“Your part is simple enough. You are to lure Varennes into your bed so that he consummates your marriage. Since he is the last male heir of the line, when he dies, all he owns will pass into your hands.” He paused, as if relishing the thought. “Our hands.”

“But I don’t think that will work. He’s too suspicious of me. And h-he’s really not attracted to me. Besides, what about the King’s order? If anything happens to Gaston, you’ll have to forfeit everything you own. Maybe you should reconsider—”