Surrender

“You haven’t changed that much,” she said slowly, still surprised. Trevelyan had evinced a strong interest in her before Henri had swept into her life. The heir to a large estate with several mines and a great tenant farm, it had almost seemed that he meant to seriously court her—until her aunt had forbidden Evelyn from accepting his calls. She hadn’t seen him since she was fifteen years old. He had been handsome and titled then; he was handsome and commanding now.

“Neither have you. You remain the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

She knew she blushed. “That is certainly an exaggeration—so you are still the ladies’ man?”

“Hardly. I merely wish to flatter an old and dear friend—truthfully.” He bowed. Then, he said, “My wife died last year. I am a widower, my lady.”

Without thinking, she said, “Evelyn. We can hardly stand on formality, can we? And I am sorry to hear that.”

He smiled at her, but his gaze was filled with speculation.

John stepped in. “And I am affianced. We are to wed in June. I wish for you to meet Matilda, Evelyn. You will like her very much.”

She took his hand impulsively. “I am so happy for you.”

Evelyn realized that she was now standing alone with the two gentlemen—everyone else had left. Her salon mostly empty, she became aware of just how exhausted she was—and that, as happy as she was to see both John and Trev, she desperately needed to lie down and rest.

“You seem tired,” John said. “We will take our leave.”

She walked them to the front door. “I am so glad you called. Give me a few days—I can’t wait to meet your fiancée.”

John hugged her, rather inappropriately. “Of course.”

Trev was more formal. “I know this is a terrible time for you, Evelyn. If I can help, in any way, I would love to do so.”

“I doubt that anyone can help. My heart, Trev, is sorely broken.”

He studied her for a moment, and then both men stepped outside.

Evelyn saw their mounts tied to the railing as she closed the door—and that was the last thing she saw. Instantly, blackness claimed her and she collapsed.

* * *

“YOU ARE SO exhausted that you fainted!”

Evelyn shoved the smelling salts with their sickly odor from her nostrils. She was seated on the cold, hard marble floor, a pillow between her and the front door. Laurent and his wife knelt beside her, both extremely concerned.

And she was still light-headed. “Is everyone gone?”

“Yes, everyone has left—and you swooned the moment the last guest was gone,” Laurent accused. “I should have never allowed the guests to stay as long as they did.”

“Aimee?”

“She is still asleep,” Adelaide said. She stood. “I am going to get you something to eat.”

Evelyn saw from the look on her face that protesting that she was not hungry would not dissuade her. Adelaide walked away, and she looked at Laurent. “This has been the longest day of my life.” God, the tears threatened her again. Damn it. She would not cry!

“It is over,” he soothed.

She gave him her hand and he helped her to stand up. As she did, a terrible migraine began. And with it came the now-familiar surging of panic and fear. “What are we going to do now?” she whispered.

He had become her confidant in these past few years, and she did not have to elaborate. “You can worry about Aimee’s future tomorrow.”

“I cannot think about anything else!”

He sighed. “Madame, you just fainted. We do not need to discuss finances tonight.”

“There are hardly any finances to discuss. But I intend to start going over the estate ledgers and my accounts tomorrow.”

“And how will you read them? They befuddled the count. I tried to help him, but I could not understand the numbers myself.”

She studied him. “I heard you and Henri discussing the arrival of a new foreman. Did the previous foreman leave?”

Laurent was grim. “He was dismissed, madame.”

“Why?”

“We have suspected theft, Lady D’Orsay, for some time. When le comte purchased this estate, the mine was doing handsomely. Now, there is nothing.”

So there was hope, she thought, staring at the dapper Frenchman.

“I am afraid to ask what you are thinking,” he said.

“Laurent, I am thinking that I have very little left to pawn.”

“And?”

He knew her so well, she thought. And he knew almost everything there was to know about her, Henri and their affairs. But did he know about the gold? “Two weeks ago, Henri told me that he had buried a chest filled with gold at the château in Nantes.”

Laurent simply met her gaze.

“You know!” she exclaimed, surprised.

“Of course I know—I was there—I helped him bury the chest.”

Evelyn started. “So it’s true. He did not leave us penniless. He left a fortune for us.”

“It’s true.” They stared at each other. “What are you going to do?” he said unhappily.

“It has been quiet in France, since the fall of Robespierre.”

He inhaled. “Please do not tell me that you are considering retrieving the gold!”

“No, I am not considering it—I have made up my mind.” And she was resolved. Her decision was made. “I am going to find someone to take me to France, and I am bringing that gold back—not for myself—but for Aimee.”

“And who could you possibly trust with such a fortune?” he cried, paling.

But even as he spoke, the image came to her mind of a tall, powerful man standing on the deck of a ship racing the sea with unfurled black sails, his golden hair blowing in the wind....