The Mistress
Page 50
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
But the stars hadn’t been the only witness.
Marie-Laure sighed heavily, angrily.
“I knew then that I had been lied to, that I had been betrayed even worse than I’d thought. It should have been me underneath him that night, not you. I am his wife, not you.”
“He thought you were dead. You can’t blame him.”
“He killed me,” Marie-Laure said, her voice so flinty with bitterness Nora could swear she saw sparks coming off her words.
“You killed yourself. You ran away.”
“I had no choice. I loved my brother. I wanted him to be happy. I was in the way of that happiness.”
“You didn’t want him to be happy. If you did, you would have gotten the marriage annulled or gotten divorced and gone back to France or even stayed married, taken the money and run. You had a thousand options that would have let Søren and Kingsley be together, be happy. You took the one option guaranteed to break them up. You wanted to punish Kingsley because he made the mistake of being the one Søren was in love with, not you. Don’t act like you faked your death for some noble purpose. You wanted to destroy their relationship by making them think they killed you.”
“I did destroy their relationship,” Marie-Laure said with pride. There it was. Nora saw it. The real motive coming out. She’d been right and Marie-Laure wasn’t going to deny it. She’d faked her death to punish Kingsley and Søren for daring to love each other. “I know what happened. Kingsley quit school and joined the French Foreign Legion right after I died. My husband went to Rome and began training for the priesthood. That kiss of theirs, the one I witnessed, it was their final kiss.”
And Marie-Laure grinned so wildly Nora wanted to rip it off her face with her fingernails. And she’d do it, too, but not with her hands—she had a much better weapon at her disposal.
“You didn’t destroy their relationship, though, despite a very good effort on your part.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know my husband. I read your file. You’re the only person he’s been with sexually since becoming a priest.”
“Kingsley writes the files and he’s a very unreliable narrator. He decides what goes in, what stays out.”
Marie-Laure narrowed her eyes at Nora, and despite the fear in her heart, Nora refused to look away.
“What do you mean I didn’t destroy them?”
Nora searched deep within herself for the courage she needed. She searched for it and she found it. She gave Marie-Laure a smile of her own.
“Let’s just say that tonight, if you want it, I’ll have one hell of a bedtime story for you.”
18
THE KING
Kingsley drove through the dark all the way to Elizabeth’s house in New Hampshire. He drove alone and took no calls. He needed the company of his thoughts to plan his next step. Søren had forced a promise out of him. He could try to get Nora out of the house if Kingsley swore he would kill no one in the process. He knew Søren couldn’t care less if Marie-Laure’s compatriots ended up with their brains on the carpet. But the priest didn’t want him killing his own sister. A nice thought but Kingsley had seen battlefields and bloodshed of the kind Søren had never even dreamed. He’d made the promise and had no intention of keeping it. No room for sentimentality on a battlefield, not if Søren wanted Nora back.
By dawn Kingsley arrived at the house and parked the car in the woods off the road. He slipped through the trees, a high-powered rifle strapped to his back. Would the children of his kingdom even recognize him now if they saw him? Gone were his Regency- and Victorian-era suits and military coats. Gone were his riding boots. Gone was the roguish smile that seduced all comers. He’d changed into jeans, a black T-shirt, pulled his hair back into a low ponytail to keep it out of his face. He left his shoes in the car, far preferring the sensitivity and silence of bare feet. And instead of a smile he wore a look of grim determination.
He saw the house through the trees. Ducking down behind thick branches, he pulled out a spyglass and studied the windows. Laila had said she and Nora were held in the library. With all the curtains closed he couldn’t see anything, not even the hint of movement.
His sister...what the hell was she doing? She had to know taking Nora was simply a slower form of suicide. Did she think she would get her revenge against them and live to enjoy her victory? No, of course she didn’t, and that’s what scared him most. If Marie-Laure had no intention of surviving this gambit, then she had nothing to lose. If she wanted to die, planned to die, there would be no stopping her from taking Nora and anyone else with her to the grave.
If he tried to get Nora out and Marie-Laure caught him, there would be no more nights with his Juliette, no more days. He’d never see her again. And the last time he saw her, they’d fought over his insistence she leave him. Now he couldn’t be more grateful for what seemed like paranoia at the time. And yet, what he wouldn’t give to have another chance to look in her eyes and tell her how much he loved her.
“Ah, Jules...” he whispered to nothing and no one, a smile flitting across his face, “your timing is atrocious.”
If only he could tell her how sorry he was that it had come to this. His Juliette, his Jules, his Jewel... He’d dreamed all his life that he would find someone like her, someone who understood who he was. Not only did she not judge him for what he was, she loved him for it. What they had, he treasured it above all things and for that reason alone he’d sent her away. A week ago she accused him of overreacting, of letting his fears for her get the better of him. But still, she submitted to his wishes and had flown to Haiti where she still had family, where she could disappear, blend in and be safe. Now he thanked God he’d had the foresight to send her away. If Marie-Laure had stolen Søren’s most precious possession, no doubt she considered stealing his, as well. Sister or not, if Marie-Laure had laid a hand on his Juliette, his lover, his property, his...
Marie-Laure sighed heavily, angrily.
“I knew then that I had been lied to, that I had been betrayed even worse than I’d thought. It should have been me underneath him that night, not you. I am his wife, not you.”
“He thought you were dead. You can’t blame him.”
“He killed me,” Marie-Laure said, her voice so flinty with bitterness Nora could swear she saw sparks coming off her words.
“You killed yourself. You ran away.”
“I had no choice. I loved my brother. I wanted him to be happy. I was in the way of that happiness.”
“You didn’t want him to be happy. If you did, you would have gotten the marriage annulled or gotten divorced and gone back to France or even stayed married, taken the money and run. You had a thousand options that would have let Søren and Kingsley be together, be happy. You took the one option guaranteed to break them up. You wanted to punish Kingsley because he made the mistake of being the one Søren was in love with, not you. Don’t act like you faked your death for some noble purpose. You wanted to destroy their relationship by making them think they killed you.”
“I did destroy their relationship,” Marie-Laure said with pride. There it was. Nora saw it. The real motive coming out. She’d been right and Marie-Laure wasn’t going to deny it. She’d faked her death to punish Kingsley and Søren for daring to love each other. “I know what happened. Kingsley quit school and joined the French Foreign Legion right after I died. My husband went to Rome and began training for the priesthood. That kiss of theirs, the one I witnessed, it was their final kiss.”
And Marie-Laure grinned so wildly Nora wanted to rip it off her face with her fingernails. And she’d do it, too, but not with her hands—she had a much better weapon at her disposal.
“You didn’t destroy their relationship, though, despite a very good effort on your part.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know my husband. I read your file. You’re the only person he’s been with sexually since becoming a priest.”
“Kingsley writes the files and he’s a very unreliable narrator. He decides what goes in, what stays out.”
Marie-Laure narrowed her eyes at Nora, and despite the fear in her heart, Nora refused to look away.
“What do you mean I didn’t destroy them?”
Nora searched deep within herself for the courage she needed. She searched for it and she found it. She gave Marie-Laure a smile of her own.
“Let’s just say that tonight, if you want it, I’ll have one hell of a bedtime story for you.”
18
THE KING
Kingsley drove through the dark all the way to Elizabeth’s house in New Hampshire. He drove alone and took no calls. He needed the company of his thoughts to plan his next step. Søren had forced a promise out of him. He could try to get Nora out of the house if Kingsley swore he would kill no one in the process. He knew Søren couldn’t care less if Marie-Laure’s compatriots ended up with their brains on the carpet. But the priest didn’t want him killing his own sister. A nice thought but Kingsley had seen battlefields and bloodshed of the kind Søren had never even dreamed. He’d made the promise and had no intention of keeping it. No room for sentimentality on a battlefield, not if Søren wanted Nora back.
By dawn Kingsley arrived at the house and parked the car in the woods off the road. He slipped through the trees, a high-powered rifle strapped to his back. Would the children of his kingdom even recognize him now if they saw him? Gone were his Regency- and Victorian-era suits and military coats. Gone were his riding boots. Gone was the roguish smile that seduced all comers. He’d changed into jeans, a black T-shirt, pulled his hair back into a low ponytail to keep it out of his face. He left his shoes in the car, far preferring the sensitivity and silence of bare feet. And instead of a smile he wore a look of grim determination.
He saw the house through the trees. Ducking down behind thick branches, he pulled out a spyglass and studied the windows. Laila had said she and Nora were held in the library. With all the curtains closed he couldn’t see anything, not even the hint of movement.
His sister...what the hell was she doing? She had to know taking Nora was simply a slower form of suicide. Did she think she would get her revenge against them and live to enjoy her victory? No, of course she didn’t, and that’s what scared him most. If Marie-Laure had no intention of surviving this gambit, then she had nothing to lose. If she wanted to die, planned to die, there would be no stopping her from taking Nora and anyone else with her to the grave.
If he tried to get Nora out and Marie-Laure caught him, there would be no more nights with his Juliette, no more days. He’d never see her again. And the last time he saw her, they’d fought over his insistence she leave him. Now he couldn’t be more grateful for what seemed like paranoia at the time. And yet, what he wouldn’t give to have another chance to look in her eyes and tell her how much he loved her.
“Ah, Jules...” he whispered to nothing and no one, a smile flitting across his face, “your timing is atrocious.”
If only he could tell her how sorry he was that it had come to this. His Juliette, his Jules, his Jewel... He’d dreamed all his life that he would find someone like her, someone who understood who he was. Not only did she not judge him for what he was, she loved him for it. What they had, he treasured it above all things and for that reason alone he’d sent her away. A week ago she accused him of overreacting, of letting his fears for her get the better of him. But still, she submitted to his wishes and had flown to Haiti where she still had family, where she could disappear, blend in and be safe. Now he thanked God he’d had the foresight to send her away. If Marie-Laure had stolen Søren’s most precious possession, no doubt she considered stealing his, as well. Sister or not, if Marie-Laure had laid a hand on his Juliette, his lover, his property, his...
