Lady Poole slid to Fairchild’s side, her eyes set upon the window at which Julienne sat. “We must move quickly. All is ready?”
“Oui, madame. The horses are hitched to the carriage and all is packed. As soon as we bring her out, we will be away and in Paris by this afternoon.” Though that made his shoulders tense. The detour to Paris felt like a bad idea to him, but the countess had insisted. Their home there was where she had left her remembrances of England, and she swore that returning to her husband without them was impossible.
“Very well. Père?”
The marquis shot Fairchild a steady look. They had already had an hours-long discussion on his intentions toward Julienne, his prospects, his knowledge of the Earl of Poole and his family, and how he had become entangled in the youngest Gates’s work because of his resemblance to d’Ushant. Without question, the man approved neither of Fairchild nor of Lord Poole, but he approved even less of the duc treating Julienne as he had and threatening the very lives of those he held most dear.
A classic case of one’s enemy’s enemy, really, but Fairchild would take it.
The marquis nodded. “I am ready. Let us get this over with.”
The group exited the cover of the hedge, and the servants, all dressed in clothes befitting nobles, took up the planned nonsensical chatter. One of the maids wore a hat so ridiculous in its styling that the eye could not help but be drawn to it. And to make the group even more chaotic, they all kept stepping in front of each other to exchange a word with someone else before spinning back to their previous companion.
Perfect. Fairchild offered his elbow to Lady Poole, who tucked her hand into its crook just as they had planned. She said nothing at first, but once they entered the building that housed the duc’s apartments, she took up her planned prattle about the ball that night.
Fairchild repositioned his overcoat as they mounted the stairs, needing to reassure himself that his weapons were in place. As a supposed noble, he was entitled to the sword now strapped to his side, but he would just as soon keep the pistol, borrowed from the marquis, hidden.
His heart may have wanted to speed up at the thought of seeing Julienne again, but he kept himself in check, his training at the fore. Kept his breathing even, his senses on alert. Each person they passed was a possible enemy combatant. The guards standing outside the duc’s doors were the officers he intended to pick off.
Ah yes, he had learned a little something from the Americans when fighting against them. That sometimes the battle was already lost if you had to take to the field. Better to win beforehand, by wit and wile.
Their gaggle drew the attention of the guards, but in the way they had expected. With a roll of the eyes and shake of the head, the one Lady Poole had said would be in command stepped forward. “Madame, bonjour. May I be of service?”
Lady Poole looked up as if surprised to find the guards there and withdrew her hand from Fairchild’s arm. “Oui. You may open the door.”
While the commander sighed and focused on the countess, Fairchild slipped behind one of the maids and moved toward the second guard. His attention was also on the crowd, whose volume seemed louder than ever in the corridor, allowing Fairchild to slide up behind him.
“Madame, s’il vous pla?t. You know I cannot allow everyone in, only you and your father. The rest must wait here for you.”
“Nonsense.” The countess waved a hand at the crowd. “They are needed for the planning of the wedding. We will be only a few moments, but we must speak with my daughter at once so we can proceed.”
With a silent prayer, Fairchild covered the mouth of the second guard with one hand, and with the other pushed hard upon the pressure point on his neck. The man flailed, but the movement of the crowd kept that from view until finally he went lax. One of the marquis’s menservants slid over to take the limp figure, pulling him into an alcove to gag him and bind his hands and feet.
Fairchild headed for the one in charge.
“…not possible. You know, madame, how strict were the duc’s instructions. No one else may enter. Not even for a moment.”
Lady Poole huffed. “That is absurd!”
Before the man’s attention could shift from her to him, Fairchild stepped into range and leveled a well-aimed punch at his nose. Eyes glazing, the guard opened his mouth…and then crumpled before he could make a sound.
“Well, you are handy to have around.” The countess grinned at him and pulled opened the door, the females moving en masse with her through it. No one needed a reminder to move quickly.
Another of the men had caught the first guard and made to pull him off to join his compatriot, but Fairchild shook his head and positioned himself against the door frame, listening. Sure enough, the interior guards asked a question at the women, and Lady Poole insisted the doormen had given their approval.