"Did you love her?" Eleanor prayed he did.
"Ah, amour. It is such a perplexing emotion, non?" The smirk appeared on his face again. Something about that was all wrong. The man was supposed to be jealous, angry, and wanting Angelique all to himself.
"I agree," she said. "Sometimes intense desire can masquerade as love."
"You are a wise lady, I see." His attention focused on her completely, delving down to that sensual side she tried to keep hidden, except before the right man.
Excitement charged through her. "I thank you." Oh, who cared if he had only one arm? The man was intriguing and debonair. With his slender physique, he could never measure up to Lachlan and his burly muscles, but he could keep her entertained in the meantime.
"Angelique took something from me," Girard said in a secretive tone. "Perhaps you would be willing to help me retrieve it?"
"Perhaps. If you will help me in turn. She stole something from me, as well…my lover. And I would like him back."
Girard threw back his head and laughed. Once he'd calmed, he lifted her hand and kissed it. "I think we have a deal, madame."
Chapter Twelve
"Let Angelique sleep as long as she will. When she wakes, take the bath in for her," Lachlan told the servants. He must keep her occupied, after all. Hopefully, questioning Philippe wouldn't take long and he'd be back in time to share her bath before it was cold.
After taking almost an hour to bid their departing wedding guests farewell, he descended the steps to the dungeon. Rebbie and Dirk followed.
"We're here to see the French lad," Lachlan told the armed guard.
"Aye, m'laird." He led them further along the dank, underground passage and opened a wooden and metal door. Dirk carried a torch into the dark cell, Lachlan entered, unsheathing his sword and Rebbie followed.
Lachlan eyed the small fellow cowering in the corner, squinting at them. He might pity the weasel if he hadn't tried to steal Angelique. "What is your name?"
"Philippe Descartes, my lord." He crawled forward a few inches and remained in a submissive kneeling position.
"And why have you come here to Draughon?"
The boy's eyes were so wide, Lachlan feared they'd pop from their sockets.
"I am but an old friend of Angelique. I wished to congratulate both of you on your marriage." He bowed his head briefly.
"Humph. What a lie," Lachlan muttered, remembering the goblets from Girard. "Did you bring a gift?"
"A…a gift? Pray pardon, my lord, I did not. But I shall send you one if—"
"Nay, I mean, did you deliver a gift from someone else?"
"Non." The boy's gaze remained steady for a few seconds, then dropped to the glinting blade of Lachlan's sword. Perhaps he told the truth, but who could tell? The gutter rat probably knew not how to be honest.
"Who did you travel from London with?" Lachlan asked.
"No one."
"I'll tolerate no more lies, laddie! I want the truth."
Philippe turned jittery, his hands trembling, gaze darting about.
"You traveled with someone or spoke with someone. Now, who was it?" Lachlan demanded.
"Eleanor, countess of Wexbury, my lord."
Rebbie muttered a curse, and Dirk sent him a concerned glance.
"I see," Lachlan said. Now what was that witch up to? "And who else?"
"Her servants and that is all; I swear it." The lad's voice broke, making him sound no more than a dozen years old, but he had to be around twenty.
"What has Eleanor said to you?" Lachlan asked.
"Sir?"
"I know you and Eleanor are plotting against Angelique and me. Planning to destroy our marriage. Tell me of these plans."
"There…there were no plans, my lord."
"You're lying again," Lachlan growled. "Would you like me to show you how dangerous lying is?" He lifted his sword before him, as if examining the sharpness of the blade.
Philippe trembled and gave his head a spasm-like shake. "She wished to…to visit with you. I wished to see Angelique one last time before I return to France."
"And what did she say about Angelique or me?"
"She has a most keen interest in you, my lord."
"Why?"
"I believe she has a great affection for you. Perhaps she loves you, though she did not say."
Rebbie snorted. And Lachlan felt like doing the same.
Eleanor wouldn't know love if it bashed her on the side of the head. Dallying with her had been one of the biggest mistakes of his life. "What did she tell you to do here?"
Philippe cleared his throat, his gaze darting from Dirk, to Rebbie and back again to Lachlan and his sword.
"If you tell me the complete truth, we won't harm you."
His breaths were so harsh as to be audible. "Eleanor wished me to…to lure Angelique away from you."
"I see." Lachlan had suspected the woman could be evil and cunning. "Do you suppose Eleanor went back to London when she left?"
"I know not…but I was to meet her at the Breakstane Inn in the village if we were separated."
"Do you know Baron Kormad?"
"I have seen him, but never talked to him."
"What about a French count named Girard?"
"I have never met him. I only know he asked for Angelique's hand in marriage but she refused to go through with it."
Lachlan kept his malevolent glower on the squirming lad several moments longer, hoping to frighten him one last bit. "I shall release you if you promise never to set foot here at Draughon and never approach Lady Angelique again. She is my wife and will remain so. My advice to you is to return to France and stay there."
"Oui, my lord. I shall. Merci." He bowed again, which put his face close to the floor in his kneeling position.
Lachlan and his two friends strode out. Near the top of the dungeon steps, Lachlan spoke in a low voice to the guard. "Release him but send two men to secretly follow him. See if he meets with a countess named Eleanor Stanhope at the Breakstane Inn. If so, see if they can find out what the two discuss. Have one man report back to me tonight."
***
"Where have you been?" Angelique asked when Lachlan entered her room minutes later.
He paused, observing her in the large wooden tub. Firelight gleamed off her wet, ivory skin. Her scrunched nipples flirted with the surface of the water. The sight arrested him, making him instantly hard.
"The remainder of our guests left." With much haste, Lachlan disrobed and dropped his clothing into a pile on the floor.
"What? I did not get to say good-bye." Angelique might have been talking about guests, but her gaze devoured the more intimate areas of his body.
"I conveyed your good wishes and your gratitude." He knelt by the tub, observing her in closer detail. Her face was rosy, either from the hot water or a blush. Damp ringlets of hair teased at her neck, as he wished to do with his kisses. "How long have you been soaking in there?"
"Not long."
"Do you suppose there's room for me?"
"Perhaps." With a shy grin, she scooted back, lifting her upper body out of the water and drawing her knees up. He was pleased to see she was no longer shy about exposing her breasts.
He stepped into the tub, then sat. "Ahh, nice and hot."
"Oui."