Wiping some of the moistness from her cheeks, she nodded toward her cold and uncaring husband. “Sophie Fremiet Rude. They’re authentic and made within a year of each other.”
“Excellent. Go back to the car. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.” He left her side to approach one of the men who had carried the paintings into the house.
As Alex made her way back toward the car, she watched Pascal hand Simon a metal briefcase. It had to be the cash for the paintings. Somehow, Simon’s complicity in this sale made her sick. His involvement with stolen art wasn’t news to her, but seeing him take the cash tied him to a world she detested and turned her stomach. How could Henry trust someone so corrupt, brother or not? Unless he was pretending to be corrupt. She had no way of knowing.
Pascal strolled toward the farmhouse away from Simon, who seemed preoccupied with counting his money. After Simon checked the contents of the briefcase, he placed it in the trunk of his car.
He intercepted her on her way back to the car. He grasped her hand with both of his and looked into her eyes as though trying to absorb her story. “Alex, I presume.”
Luc would not be kind to her if he suspected they knew each other. She pulled her hand from Simon’s clasp and backed up one step.
“Yes. And you are?”
“Simon Dunn.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Dunn.”
Simon switched to Gaelic with a faint Scottish brogue. “He misses you.”
She flinched, shocked he knew her secret with languages. She rarely used the Gaelic she’d learned from a Scottish landlord in Paris.
“He’ll get over it,” she replied in the same language.
“Don’t underestimate the earl. He doesn’t take rejection well.”
She ignored his comment. “I spoke to him this morning. His face is destroyed. What happened?”
After a slight narrowing of his eyebrows at the statement, he shook his head and then beamed her a flirtatious smile. A grimace, however, hovered around the edges of his mouth. “He met a few acquaintances of your father.”
Henry had seen her family? She could picture her father’s poor treatment of him. He hated outsiders. She dropped her eyes to avoid his gaze. “Tell him I’m sorry.”
Simon lowered his voice. “We can help you.”
We? Simon and Nicola? How could they help unless they killed Luc?
“I don’t want your help.” She saw Luc approach and stepped away from Simon.
“Alex, go to the car.” Luc spoke to Alex in French, and switched to English for Simon. “Everything looks good. You have the payment?”
Simon nodded. “I’ll hand it to Roman when his flight comes in.”
“Will I see you at dinner tonight?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” He nodded toward Alex before she turned to walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Simon arrived among the first of about twenty guests for dinner. Luc had not materialized, but his wife Alex greeted each guest as they entered the spacious foyer. Wearing a loose ivory gown, she leaned on her crutches near the front entrance. Luc’s security guard stood behind her, more as a prison guard than a protector.
Simon took hold of her hand. “Good evening.”
“Hello, Mr. Dunn.” A poorly constructed smile greeted him, and her hand trembled in his. “My husband is currently detained in his study, but drinks are at the bar. Please help yourself.”
He couldn’t understand why she didn’t want their help, but she was getting it regardless. He continued to hold her. “Would you care to join me for a drink, Mrs. Perrault?”
“I’m afraid I have front door duty. Perhaps later.” Her eyes flickered toward the guard.
“No one else will be arriving for a while—come on.” He guided her to the bar.
“Mr. Perrault asked you to remain at the door. You can’t leave.” The security guard stepped in front of them and attempted to scare Simon off with some bullshit aggressive expression. A bully over a woman a third of his size; the man should be castrated.
“You’d almost think she was under house arrest the way you’re treating her.” Simon laughed at his own brand of warning. “Why don’t you find the lady a chair? It’s obvious she’s been standing too long.”
Alex brushed Simon’s lapel with a whisper touch. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Dunn. I’m quite all right. I prefer standing.” She dropped her hand to her side and returned to her station.
“As you wish. I look forward to speaking with you later.” Simon nodded to her, then strolled to the bar and ordered himself vodka straight up. He greeted several acquaintances, none of whom he’d ever want to meet without the Beretta in his waistband.
While chatting with one of Luc’s artifact importers from Cambodia, Simon kept his eye on the front door and his brother’s obsession. She stood erect, but frequently shifted the weight off her bad leg. She should be sitting. He’d love to get that prat standing with her alone to teach him some morals.
The door opened again and Roman entered, heading directly for Alex. If he recognized her as Belinda, then Alex, Nicola, and he would all be at risk.
Simon walked as fast as he could across the foyer to shield Alex from Roman’s view. He was too late. Roman had already placed his arm around her waist.
“Nice to see you again, Belinda. Still attached to Simon?” He glanced between Alex and Simon.
Alex tilted her head and said something back to Roman in fluent Russian. Nothing submissive about this woman when she pulled out her inner warrior. Even her stance morphed into something different than Belinda’s eye candy with no brain persona.
Roman perused her body again with a curious stare and responded to her in his native tongue. He seemed confused at the similarities the brunette shared with the blond Belinda. Alex’s strength and intelligence, however, eclipsed dim-witted Belinda’s personality. Good.
“Roman.” He clasped his old friend on the shoulder. “I see you’ve met Luc’s new wife, Alex.”