Counterfeit Lady Read online

  “You lived there with your parents?”

  “Grandfather lived in the east wing, and I lived in the main house with my parents. Of course, we kept the west wing for the king’s visits.”

  “Of course,” Clay answered. “What happened to your parents?”

  Silently, tears began to run down her face. Clay held the glass and gave her another sip of sherry.

  “Tell me,” he whispered.

  “Grandfather was home from Court. He was away so often. He came home because so many people were unsafe in Paris. My father said we should all go to England until the people calmed down, but my grandfather said that Courtalains had lived in the chateau for centuries, and he was not going to leave it. He said the rabble wouldn’t dare oppose him. We all believed him. He was so big and strong. His voice alone could scare anyone.” She stopped.

  “What happened that day?”

  “Grandfather and I went riding in the park. It was a beautiful spring day. Then we saw smoke through the trees, and my grandfather spurred his horse forward. I followed him. When we broke through the trees, we saw it. My beautiful, beautiful house was going up in flames. I just sat there and stared. I couldn’t believe it. My grandfather led my horse to the stables and lifted me off it. He told me to stay there. I just stood there and stared and stared, watching the fire turn the pink bricks black.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They’d gone to a friend’s house and didn’t plan to get back until late. I didn’t know my mother had torn her gown and they’d returned early.” The sobs became stronger.

  Clay cuddled her close to him. “Tell me. Get it out.”

  “Grandfather came back, running through the garden hedges to the stable. His clothes were dirty with smoke, and under his arm was a little wooden box. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the stables. He threw all the hay out of a long box and pushed me into it. Then he climbed into it, too. We lay there for only a few minutes before we heard the people shouting. The horses were screaming from the smell of the fire. I wanted to go to them, but my grandfather held me still.”

  She stopped, and Clay gave her more of the sherry.

  “What happened when the mob was gone?”

  “Grandfather opened the hay box, and we got out. It was dark, or it should have been. Our home was blazing, and it was nearly as bright as day. Grandfather pulled me away when I looked back at it. ‘Always look ahead, child, never look back,’ he said. We walked all that night and most of the next day. At sundown, he stopped and opened the box he’d taken from the house. There were papers inside it and an emerald necklace that belonged to my mother.” She sighed, remembering how they’d used the emeralds to help the miller. Then she’d sold the remaining two to buy a partnership in her cousin’s dress shop. “I still didn’t understand what was happening then,” she continued. “I was such a naive, sheltered child. My grandfather said that it was time I grew up and heard the truth. He said that people wanted to kill us because we lived in a beautiful, big house. He said that from now on we must hide who we are. He took the papers and buried them. He said that I must always remember who I am, that the Courtalains are descendants and relatives of kings.”

  “Did you go to the miller’s house then?”

  “Yes,” she said flatly, as if she planned to say nothing more.

  Clay handed her the glass of sherry. He didn’t like getting her drunk, but he knew it was the only way to get her to talk. For a long time, he’d sensed she was hiding something. This afternoon, when he’d asked her about her family, there’d been a quick look of terror across her eyes.

  He stroked her hair back from her forehead, the curls damp with perspiration. She was so small, yet she carried so many things inside her. Today, when she’d gotten so angry at him, he realized how right she was. Since she had arrived, he’d never looked at her without wishing to see Bianca’s blond features. Yet now, when he thought of all the things she’d accomplished since she’d been in America, he knew she wasn’t second-rate to anyone.

  He took the empty sherry glass away from her. “Why did you leave France and the miller’s house? You must have been safe there.”

  “They were very kind.” Her accent was growing thicker. Some of her words seemed to be pronounced more inside her throat than in her mouth. Each syllable came out as if it had been covered in cream. “My grandfather said I should learn a trade and that milling was a good one. The miller said a girl could never understand stones and grain, but Grandfather only laughed at him.”

  She stopped and smiled. “I could run that mill of yours. I could make it pay.”

  “Nicole,” he said in gentle, commanding tones. “Why does the storm bother you? Why did you leave the miller’s house?”

  She stared at the window as the rain began to beat against the glass. Her voice was very quiet. “We had plenty of warning. The miller had come back from town before he’d even sold the grain he had in the wagon. He said there were some troublemakers down from Paris. Many people knew about my grandfather and me. He had been an aristocrat all his life, and he said he was too old to change. What no one understood was that my grandfather did treat everyone equally. He treated the king the same way he treated the stable boy. He said that after Louis XIV died, there’d been no more men born.”

  “The miller came back in a hurry,” Clay urged.

  “He told us to hide, to escape, anything so we’d be safe. He’d grown to love my grandfather. Grandfather laughed at him. A storm came and with it the townspeople. I was in the top attic of the mill, counting feed sacks. I stared out the window, and when the lightning flashed I saw them coming. They carried pitchforks and scythes. Some of them I knew. I had helped them with their grain.”

  Clay felt her body shudder, and he held her closer. “Did your grandfather see them?”

  “He bounded up the stairs to where I was. I told him I would face the angry people with him, that I was a Courtalain also. He said he wanted more Courtalains, and I was the only one left now. He spoke as if he were already dead. He grabbed an empty feed bag and put it over my head. I think I was too stunned to speak. He tied the top of it, then whispered that if I loved him I wouldn’t move. He piled full bags of grain around me. I heard him go down the stairs. Minutes later, the mob entered the mill house. They searched the attic and several times came very close to finding me.”

  Clay kissed her forehead, held it against his cheek. “And your grandfather?” he whispered.

  “I worked myself free when they were gone. I wanted to get out and make sure he was safe. As I looked out the window—” Her body contracted violently, and he wrapped her closer to him.

  “What was outside the window?”

  She jerked away from him, pushing at him. “My grandfather was there. He was there, smiling at me.”

  Clay stared in puzzlement.

  “Don’t you understand? I was in the attic. They’d cut his head off and stuck it on a pike. They’d carried it high over their heads like a trophy. The lightning flashed, and I saw him!”

  “Oh, God,” Clay moaned, and he pulled her back to him even though she fought him. As she began to cry, he held her, rocked her, caressed her hair.

  “They killed the miller, too,” she said after a while. “The miller’s wife said I had to get away, that she could protect me no longer. She sewed three emeralds into my dress and put me on a ship to England. The emeralds and my locket were all that was left of my childhood.”

  “And then you stayed with Bianca and were kidnapped by me.”

  She sniffed. “You make it sound as if all my life were bad. I had a very happy childhood. I lived on a great estate, and I had hundreds of cousins for playmates.”

  He was glad to see she was recovering. He hoped that talking of the tragedy would have some lasting effect. “And how many hearts did you steal? Were they all in love with you?”

  “None of them were. One cousin kissed me but I didn’t like it. I wouldn’t let any of them kiss me again. You’