Like this. Oh, praise be to heaven, just like this. He kissed her again, long and deep and without reserve, praying she would know, when finally they must pull away, that he would fight for her, that he would never let her go. Praying it would sustain them until he could convince her parents that he would be the best husband for her. Praying—
In the next second, his arms were empty. His eyes flew open even as a scream pierced the air for a single moment before being muffled by a black-gloved hand. He reached for his pistol only to realize he had left it in England. And though he had a dagger concealed in his boot, he hadn’t the time to reach for it before the flash of another blade was caught by the moonlight—along with the enraged face of the duc de Remi.
Rough hands seized him, a pair on each arm, even as whoever had held Julienne released her to the duc’s fury. Remi, a guttural growl ripping his throat, grabbed her, shook her, and jerked her until she landed against his chest with that wicked blade touching her cheek.
The terror in her eyes…Lord my God, God of our ends, help us! Protect her, Father, please. Please, keep her safe!
Calm descended upon Fairchild like the morning mist, touching every crevice of his being until he could breathe in and out with certainty. He relaxed his arms, his shoulders, his entire stance, and shifted to the belligerent, arrogant posture he had so disliked when he’d met the real comte d’Ushant half a year before. When he’d stood before the man who was a near mirror image to him and thought they had nothing in common at all.
But he could pretend. If it would save her, he could pretend.
“How dare you! How dare you take what is mine?” Remi pressed the knife into Julienne’s cheek until she closed her eyes. “You think her beautiful? I can take her beauty with one swipe of this blade. Then what will you think?”
Her eyes opened again, and again he prayed—this time that she would understand exactly what he was doing. Fairchild shrugged. “What is it to me? I wanted only to enjoy that beauty for a night. It is you will have to look on her for a lifetime, so if you wish to make her hideous…” He raised his hand as if to wave it in dismissal, but of course his captor stopped him. Which afforded him the perfect opportunity to send the man—a servant, it seemed—an icy, unaffected glare.
Remi growled again, but he eased off the knife a bit, praise the Lord. “You think to toy with my fiancée? To use her and discard her like a common trollop?”
Now Fairchild widened his eyes, as if genuinely surprised by the man’s offense. “You mean—monsieur, how was I to know you do not have such an understanding?” He tossed in a smirk and mumbled, “Every other couple at court seems to.”
“Imbécile.” But Remi jerked his head, and his henchmen relaxed their grip, though they didn’t let him go entirely. “Next time learn to whom a woman belongs before you try and seduce her.”
Fairchild rolled his shoulders and shook off the servants’ hands, and then he tugged his waistcoat back into place. “You can be sure I will. My apologies. I meant no harm, only a pleasant diversion.”
Remi narrowed his eyes. “Your ignorance with the court is your only salvation, d’Ushant.” The fact the duc knew his assumed name made Fairchild’s blood run a little colder. “You owe me your life. Cross me again, and it will be your neck with a blade against it. Remember that if ever I approach you with a favor.”
Not even daring to wonder what use the duc might envision for d’Ushant, he bowed. “I am at your service. Of course.” He bit his tongue against asking what he would do to Julienne. D’Ushant would not care, so he must not seem to either.
But he barely repressed a sigh when the duc lowered his knife—and barely held back a shout when he then jerked Julienne around and fisted a hand in her hair, using it to force her against him and her head back to what must be a painful angle.
A whimper escaped her lips.
“But you.” Remi’s sneer looked as though it should drip poison. “You cannot claim the same ignorance.”
Somehow, she managed to shift just enough to make her awkward position look captivating, as if she had put herself there willingly. “Please, mon amour. Forgive me. So long I have kept a rein on my feelings for you, my desire for you. I did not even know he was there, I was out here dreaming of you, of our wedding. When he kissed me I…I did not realize. I thought it you, part of my dream…”
Did the duc believe her? Fairchild had his doubts. Remi was too shrewd. But he let go of her hair and even smiled. “If it is I you wish to kiss, Julienne, you are most welcome to do so at any time.”
Fairchild’s throat felt dry as rice powder. She could hardly refuse him now, after that “confession.” Were she to try it, Remi might yet use the knife in his hands. Still, even knowing that, even understanding, he felt the blade plunge into his own stomach when she simpered up at the duc and slid a hand around his neck. He felt it twist when she pulled Remi’s head down and caught his mouth in a kiss passionate enough to make the servants chuckle and loose a low whistle.
Passionate enough to make Remi drop his knife.