thing
standing between them and its sharp teeth was this single wooden door.
“I’m well enough,” he replied, sounding surprisingly polite after the rather disturbing
vocal display mere seconds ago. “But why is the door locked, darling? Do you not have
a key?”
She stepped closer. “I am sorry, I do not,” she explained, and said nothing more.
He was quiet again, and she could well imagine that he was struggling to make sense
of things while listening carefully up against the door.
She nervously cleared her throat. Her body was buzzing with awareness. She felt extraordinarily
alert.
The silence went on and on.
“Your Highness?” she said. “Are you there?”
Of course he was there. He was locked inside.
The floorboards creaked on the other side of the door. “ Why is the door locked?” he asked, and she recognized the height of his agitation.
“Because I am not supposed to let you out. You are to remain here until Tuesday, when
Lord d’Entremont arrives. I believe he wishes to speak to you about something. If
you will notice, there are fresh clean clothes for you in the wardrobe.”
“Who is Lord d’Entremont? And where are we?” Nicholas asked, ignoring her reference
to the clothes.
“He is a French marquis, and this is his house. We are near Dieppe.”
He paused. “Have I met him before?”
“I do not know.”
Another pause. “What does he wish to speak with me about?”
“I am sorry … but I do not know the answer to that question either.”
The sound of Nicholas’s heavy footsteps pacing back and forth behind the door caused
her to look sharply at the doorknob. She was expecting him to break through at any
second, and was tempted to open the door to avoid such a calamity, for she was not
equipped to do battle with him physically. But she could not risk that he might flee
before d’Entremont arrived.
“What is your relationship to the marquis?” he asked.
Gabrielle squeezed Véronique’s hand. “I am simply—” She hesitated, for she wasn’t
sure how to explain it. “—I am his courier, so to speak.”
The pacing stopped. “Are you telling me that you were hired to deliver me here? That
he is paying you?”
She saw no benefit in lying to Nicholas. He was not a fool. He was already seeing
this plot for what it was, and he would only grow more frustrated if she withheld
information from him. She would therefore reveal as much as she could.
“That is correct,” she said, “but I have not yet been paid. I will receive nothing
until he arrives and speaks to you.”
“On Tuesday,” Nicholas added.
She labored to keep her breathing steady and under control, even while this strange
conversation from opposite sides of a locked door was taking a dreadful toll on her
nerves.
“Yes.”
Again he was quiet, then: “You are aware—I hope—that what you have done is against
the law. It is kidnapping, Véronique, and I am a person who will most definitely be
missed. I am a prince of Petersbourg, here in France for diplomatic purposes. When
my brother finds out what has occurred, there will be serious consequences. Are you
sure you want to be involved in such a plot? If you unlock this door now and take
me back to Paris tonight, I give you my word that I will not press charges against
you. I don’t even know your last name, for pity’s sake. Let me out of here now, take
me back to Paris, and I will allow you to simply walk away from this. No questions
asked. Then I will deal with d’Entremont separately.”
Her mind was now swimming in panic, but she would not be deterred. She had promised
the marquis that she would deliver and hold Prince Nicholas here until Tuesday, and
she would not let anything keep her from doing so, for they had an agreement, and
she needed the marquis to fulfill his part of it.
“I am sorry, Your Highness, but I cannot take you back to Paris. You must remain here.”
His angry
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