Tonight or Never

"We—we have no estate; everything has been taken from us," Adrien said sadly.

  "I will take you under my wing—but only under those conditions." He was telling them that the Chavaneau name would be behind them if they agreed to place themselves under his watchful eye.

  The brothers hesitated under the weight of the terrible decision.

  Maurice took out his pocket watch and opened it, implying he was much too busy to wait very long. "Do you agree?"

  The Cyndreacs looked from one to the other.

  "Would we have to give up fighting among ourselves?"

  "Yes."

  They sighed.

  "Your papa would want you to do this," Maurice said softly.

  "Very well," Adrien answered for them. "We will agree."

  "I have the word of all Cyndreacs?"

  "Yes," they answered dully, not at all sure about this.

  "Bien. Now you will go and get ready for the ball, and I expect you to behave yourselves tonight."

  "Oui, Marquis Chavaneau," they responded in unison.

  "Well, what are you waiting for? Go!" He shooed them out.

  Chairs scraped the floor as they pushed themselves off and rushed to the door to leave.

  Maurice smiled, shaking his head. They were engaging, but they needed guidance. Now for his countess…

  He began to hum his favorite song about a mouse that swallowed a cat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dancing with the Truth

  "You look beautiful, Chloe."

  The ball was well under way and every one of their guests, both English and French, was enjoying himself at the largesse of the Sextons.

  John swung his wife around the ballroom floor in an English country dance.

  His unconventional wife had chosen to appear at the ball in emerald green instead of the omnipresent white most women seemed to favor these days. The deep tone was a perfect foil for her red hair and complexion. She looked exquisite.

  In John's opinion, Chloe was a true beauty—within and without. Unconsciously, he hugged her closer to him as they twirled around the dance floor.

  "Thank you, John. You look very handsome tonight." She smiled graciously up at him. "But I think you always look handsome."

  So did most of the women there, for they hadn't once taken their eyes off her stunning husband.

  John was dressed in buff-colored breeches with a black waistcoat, jacket, and boots to match. The white silk shirt he wore stood out in stark contrast to the simple yet effective color scheme. His gilded, shoulder-length hair hung loose about his shoulders, gleaming under the light of hundreds of candles.

  John noted the way Chloe was observing him. Like he was a box of her favorite truffles. He chuckled. In some regards, she was not adept at hiding what she was thinking. In others…

  The nagging thought resurfaced again. What was she holding back from him?

  He intended to get to the bottom of that. Tonight.

  "I'd like to take you upstairs right now," he murmured, half to himself.

  Chloe was scandalized. They were the hosts; they couldn't leave. "John, we can't!"

  "Hmm?" He gave her a confused look, not realizing he had spoken out loud.

  Chloe grinned. Well, what could she expect from the Lord of Sex? It seemed to be a subject never far from his mind. Or other places, she thought with a snort as he adeptly led her into the dance.

  The octagonal ballroom at Chacun à Son Goût was eighty feet in length and was lit by no less than six magnificent chandeliers. Due to its size and grandeur, the room wasn't used very often. Tonight, however, was a special occasion.

  John eyed the full-to-overflowing room with resignation. So far no one was taking the hint. Not one person had arranged for his carriage the next day. Apparently everyone was having too good a time to leave.

  John's nostrils flared in annoyance. "How do I get rid of them, Chloe?"

  She laughed gaily at the frustrated expression on his face. For a man who, until recently, lived the carefree life of a rake, he was certainly having his share of situations to deal with.

  Chloe pretended to give the matter a great deal of thought. "That is a difficult dilemma, my lord."

  John quirked an eyebrow at her. "Surely you can think of something, Chloe-cat. As I recall, you were always good at schemes."

  Chloe started. What did he mean by that? She peeked up at him from under her lashes.

  She let out a sigh of relief. He seemed to be speaking in general terms.

  "Well…" she wrinkled her nose. "You could always hint at the outbreak of fever at the neighboring estate."

  John gave her a concerned look. "Is there?"

  "No, but you could hint there is." Two mischievous dimples scored her cheeks.

  "Chloe, you are devious." An appreciative smile etched his handsome face; he winked down at her. "I admire that."

  She flashed him a gamine grin. "Watch how fast they clear out, my lord."

  John chuckled. "I believe I shall begin spreading the rumor after supper. The staff has gone to a great deal of trouble preparing everything—no sense in letting their efforts go for naught."

  "Oh, I agree, my lord. I confess I have been looking forward to tonight, and why should we spoil our evening?" She smiled conspiratorially at him.

  "My evening could never be spoiled as long as I have you in my arms." He smiled disarmingly back at her.

  Chloe's heart sped up. Despite his reputation as a notorious rake, Viscount Sexton never said anything unless he meant it. He had never been an idle flatterer. Chloe had always believed it was part of John's attraction to the women of the ton, who were so used to hearing false flattery that they welcomed his straightforward demeanor. They always knew what he wanted. Sex.

  And that was all.

  So his tender words had special meaning for Chloe. "That was a very nice thing to say, John." Her violet eyes shone up at him.

  "I suppose I must be a glutton for punishment," he added teasingly, kissing the tip of her nose.

  Her mouth formed an O. "That's not humorous!"

  "No?" He smiled secretly.

  Chloe frowned at him, debating whether to step on his toe. The thick boots he wore probably wouldn't let much pain in. She sighed.

  "May I cut in?" Sir Percy smiled at the couple, holding out his hand for Chloe.

  Reluctantly, John handed her over to Sir Cecil-Basil.

  As Chloe took the fop's hand, the edge of her finger scraped against one of the many rings he wore.

  "My apologies, Lady Sexton."

  "It was my fault, Percy, I—Look! The ring opens." Chloe took his hand between her own to have a closer look at the intricate ring.

  The ornate domed top was cleverly hinged. The inside revealed an elaborate design. The ring appeared to double as a seal of some kind.

  John, standing next to them, bent over curiously to have a look as well.

  Percy stiffened slightly.

  " 'Tis beautiful," Chloe remarked. "What is this here? It appears to be a flower of some kind, draped in a dark cloth."

  "It is a pimpernel, my lady—the cartouche of my family."

  John stilled. A pimpernel. . . Part of the primrose family. Dark cloth… The Black Rose!

  Stunned, he gazed up from the ring, meeting Percy's light blue eyes dead on.

  They stared at each other in silence.

  Percy looked away first, closing the ring with a snap.

  "Oh, damn and blast, John!" Chloe captured his attention. "It's that obnoxious Lord Snellsdon!" Her lower lip pouted in disgust. "What is he doing here?"

  "I have no idea," John murmured, distracted for the time being from his momentous discovery.

  Lord Snellsdon approached them. A man who had accompanied him to the ball walked alongside him.

  "I don't believe it," Chloe said in a hiss. "Of all the gall! To bring that man into my house!"

  John didn't recognize the guest with Snellsdon, but Percy apparently did, for he stiffened at his side.
br />   Lord Snellsdon greeted his hosts. "Good evening, Lord and Lady Sexton; Sir Cecil-Basil. Lovely party… Allow me to introduce a friend of mine; this is Citizen Malleaux."

  "I know Citizen Malleaux," Chloe rejoined coldly.

  John had never seen his wife behave so rudely. He didn't know the man, but by the look of him it wasn't hard to figure out his wife's reaction. There was something about him that was downright chilling. John nodded curtly to him. "Malleaux."

  "A pleasure, your lordship," the man responded in a sibilant tone.

  "Sink me! 'Tis an ambassador!" Percy made a great show of bowing before whispering very loudly so half the room heard him, "Mustn't wear that drab brown—too plebeian, my man."

  The surrounding guests who had overheard his remark snickered at Malleaux's expense.

  Malleaux bristled at the expert set-down. Fortunately, someone waved at Snellsdon and the two men moved off into the crowd.

  Chloe fumed. "Grandmere will be furious."

  "Who is he?" John asked quietly.

  "He is the henchman of Robespierre," Percy informed him. "They say he is personally responsible for sending thousands to the guillotine. He is a butcher in the guise of a diplomat."

  John's eyes met Sir Cecil-Basil's. "I see."

  "How dare he show his face here!" Chloe's fists clenched. Half of their guests had narrowly escaped this man's form of justice.

  Percy took out his scented handkerchief, fluttering it in the air as if to disperse the man's noxious effluvium. "Let's hope no one takes it into their heads to execute him tonight. John certainly doesn't want to be forced to deal with an international incident. Besides, 'twould ruin the supper collation if his head rolled into the pudding, what?"

  Percy's attempt at humor helped to lighten Chloe's mood. She laughed softly. "You are one of a kind, Percy."

  "I daresay." He held out his hand to her for their dance.

  John took the opportunity to signal to the orchestra to strike up a minuet. The dance, with its short steps, was his way of paying homage to the French refugees who sought asylum in his home. The aristocracy had vowed to keep the dance alive.

  Chloe flashed her husband an expression of gratitude, her eyes shining.

  As the two of them entered the dance, John scanned the hall for Malleaux. He spotted him over by the punch bowl. His beady eyes were scouring every guest in the house.

  By the fierce glower of distaste on the man's face, it was safe to assume he was not happy with the choice of music. The minuet was an affront to the new regime.

  Thoughtfully, John glanced at his wife, dancing with Sir Percy.

  The criminal he was harboring in his home.

  The ex-pirate and God knew what else.

  The man who was the Black Rose.

  It was a tense table at the supper banquet.

  Somehow Lord Snellsdon and his guest had managed to secure seats for themselves at the head table.

  Chloe suspected the odious Malleaux of sneaking into the hall and switching place cards. She also suspected he had a very compelling reason for attending their party that evening.

  The new French regime was being made a fool of by the Black Rose.

  Malleaux undoubtedly was dispatched to find and capture the criminal of the people's government. The fact that many of the rescued had ended up at Chacun à Son Goût would naturally lead the man here in his investigation.

  John tried to lighten the mood by engaging in pleasant conversation with the Cyndreacs, all of whom were scowling on their side of the table, throwing murderous glances at Malleaux. John did not know that the man had been responsible for stealing their heritage.

  It was rumored that Malleaux now lived at the Cyndreac estate, having appropriated it for the state. Many believed he had signed the boys' death warrants simply because he coveted the choice location of their home.

  All of the brothers wanted to throttle the man with their bare hands. Every now and then one of the Cyndreacs would almost bound out of his chair to do the deed. A stern look from Maurice Chavaneau was the only thing that kept them in their chairs.

  "Have you heard that Lord Iversly is having a sheepshearing next week? I am terribly excited about it. Just think, all those lovely little balls of wool." Percy gave a heartfelt sigh. "There must be a place in heaven for sheep."

  John almost choked on his drink. "Why?" He didn't even know why he bothered to ask, except for the fact that the inquiry had slipped out before he could stop himself.

  "Oh! Think of all the garments to be created from the dear little buggers. When one thinks about it, they are the cornerstone of fashion."

  John rolled his eyes and tried not to burst out laughing. Now that he knew…

  "Aren't you going, John?"

  "I think not," he replied drolly.

  "Yes, well, no need to, what? One can see his lordship has already been clipped."

  Percy's comment caused a round of laughter at the table.

  "What do you mean by that?" John scowled.

  Percy simply sipped his wine, a smile playing about his lips.

  John turned to Chloe. "What does he mean by that?"

  Chloe shrugged, her focus shifting nonchalantly to the wall.

  "I shall be attending," Snellsdon offered, though no one had asked.

  "What about you, Malleaux?" Percy fluttered his handkerchief in the air as he had done previously and winked at Chloe.

  "To some, there are more important things to attend to than sheepshearing." He sneered at the fop.

  "Really?" Percy stared at him agog. "Like what?"

  "I would not expect one such as you to understand, Sir Cecil-Basil, but the Black Rose is what interests me."

  Well, now we have it out in the open, John thought.

  "He interests everyone!" Percy waved his beringed hand. Flaunted it, almost. Right under Malleaux's hooked nose. "Such a dashing fellow."

  John coughed.

  "I've written a poem about him—would you like to hear it?"

  "Not really." Malleaux swallowed a hunk of pork pie.

  "Oh." Percy made a moue with his mouth.

  John's lips twitched. He is good.

  "So what interests you about the Black Rose, Malleaux?" Maurice asked somberly.

  "I seek him, of course—to bring him to justice."

  "Whose justice?" The Countess de Fonbeaulard was seething that this man was at their table.

  "The justice of France, madam," he answered, refusing to use her title.

  Maurice stared the man down. "He keeps you up at night, hmm?"

  Malleaux reddened. "I will find him and he will die; it is not a difficult equation. Such men usually make mistakes at some point. When he does, I will be there."

  "Do you have any suspects?" Chloe wanted to know, so she might be able to warn the man.

  "Yes, I do." He took an irritatingly slow sip of wine. "A few suspects." He turned and pierced the Cyndreacs with intense scrutiny.

  They all returned bland faces to him.

  "Seven brothers… yet six were taken. Now we have seven again. An amusing conundrum. No one seems to know which brother was not taken."

  The Cyndreacs remained silent. Malleaux turned to the marquis. "And you, monsieur—a little old to be playing hero, but perhaps you see a need to liberate your friends from their just punishment."

  "Their just punishment?" Maurice sneered. "For what? The crime of being born into families that trace their lineage back centuries?"

  Malleaux ignored Maurice's distaste for him and his regime.

  "He might be English," he continued, "which matters naught if he is caught on French soil, or somehow finds himself there."

  The implied threat was there. Malleaux would kidnap such a man if he had to, simply to render what he considered justice.

  "An Englishman?" Chloe wondered about that herself.

  "Yes. Take our host, for instance." He focused his malevolence on John.

  The green eyes of Lord Sexton coolly returned his look
.

  "The viscount has a reputation for being daring; he has been known to laugh in the face of convention; and he has repeatedly flaunted authoritarian mores. He is an excellent rider, an accomplished swordsman and, by all accounts, a crack shot. His escapades with the gentler sex are known even in France."

  John raised his eyebrows. "Thank you," he murmured. The table laughed.

  Unperturbed, Malleaux continued, "His wife is half-French; his uncle is French. One might draw a conclusion from that."

  "And what would that conclusion be?" John helped himself to a slice of beef.

  "That you feel a responsibility to them. Your background is well known, Lord Sexton."

  John sliced into his meat. "Surely not all of it." His eyes flashed with humor and a glint of steel as well.

  "Where have you been those times when the rescues took place?" Malleaux asked straight out.

  The diners gasped at his rudeness.

  "Not that I am bound to answer you, Malleaux, but I was with my wife."

  "Surely not every time?"

  "We are newly wed; yes, every time."

  Chloe blushed. He didn't have to be that honest!

  "Nonetheless, I believe the Black Rose is sitting at this table."

  So do I, John agreed silently. Why not let the bastard think it's me?

  John despised men like Malleaux. He stared at him tauntingly, daring him to make a move against him. "Perhaps he is."

  "Perhaps he despises the new order you have found," Adrien Cyndreac spoke out, bravely shifting the focus from Lord John to himself.

  "Perhaps he recognizes you for what you are," Jean-Jules added to further shift his suspicions.

  "Perhaps he detests oppression," Deiter enjoined, surprising everyone. The men of Chacun à Son Goût were banding together against this threat.

  "Perhaps he enjoys the minuet," Maurice supplied provokingly as he proudly added his name to the list of suspects at the table.

  Percy took out his snuff for a flamboyant snort. "Perhaps he simply detests English cuisine and must do something to preserve a decently prepared meal."

  The entire table roared with laughter.

  Malleaux endured the mockery, a smarmy grin on his weaselish face.

  Despite the brash joviality at the table, John sensed a viper waiting for the right time to strike lurking beneath Malleaux's thinly veiled civility.