“Besides,” Lucia added, “your search can’t have been exhaustive. You were at Alex’s town house the night before we were abducted.”
“How very observant.” Camille’s voice was glacial.
“But Camille was in Paris before that, and up until now she’s had the advantage of more freedom of movement since she is not being actively sought.”
It wasn’t what Lucia wanted to hear, and she swallowed hard. Alex shoved away from the wall, giving her a sympathetic look. “I’m not ready to give up yet. If he’s here, I’ll find him.”
“Or I,” Camille added.
“No,” Alex said. “Now that De´charne´ knows who you are, I want you in hiding. You’ll leave Paris as soon as possible.”
“But I’ll go with you tonight to make inquiries,” Camille said, and Lucia heard the plea in her voice.
Alex shook his head. “Stay here with Lucia. I’ll feel better knowing you’re both here and safe.”
But that would make Alex vulnerable. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to go out, Alex?” Lucia asked.
“I can’t find your brother if I stay here all night,” he answered, retrieving a greatcoat and hat from the chair where he had left them.
Lucia bit her lip. Her lover or her brother. She couldn’t bear to lose either, and she very well might lose them both. How had it come to this?
Alex strode out the door, closing it behind him, and Lucia stared at it for a long time. Behind her, Camille was still sitting on the couch, and Lucia noticed a pair of crossed medieval swords and shield mounted behind her, a nod to the masculine owner amid the otherwise feminine furnishings. Lucia almost chuckled seeing Camille under them; they were only too appropriate for the battle she knew was coming. With women it was usually a battle of words.
Camille made the first move. “However did you manage it?” She smiled, her eyes wide and innocent.
“Manage what?” she parried, not fooled by Camille’s act.
“Manage to make him fall in love with you, che´rie.”
The blow hit home, but Lucia did not lower her guard. “I hardly think that’s the case.”
“Oh, I assure you it is. I have never before seen him look at a woman that way.” Though her tone was light, Lucia saw the flash of jealousy, of hurt. Noting her opponent’s vulnerability, Lucia struck back. “Is there something between you two now?”
Camille’s eyes flashed fire. The woman obviously wanted to answer yes. Wanted to flaunt an affair with Alex in front of Lucia like a victory banner. They were feelings Lucia was coming to know well.
Camille studied her, then smiled enigmatically. “What do you think?”
“I think no,” Lucia answered. “Not anymore.” Lucia lowered her defenses a little. She’d seen the sadness and hurt in her pretty brown eyes.
“Have you known Alex long?”
“Years.”
Cautiously, Lucia moved forward, perching precariously at the opposite end of the couch.
“I was born an aristocrat, like you,” Camille continued. “My family went to the guillotine, but Ethan helped me escape. I worked with him for years and then with Alex after Ethan married.” Lucia shook her head. How many stories of death, destruction, and the blade of the guillotine was she to hear? How could she have paid so little attention to France’s bloody revolution? How could she have cared so little? “I’m sorry about your family.” She touched Camille’s arm gently.
“Thank you.” Camille glanced at her fingers, and Lucia withdrew them.
“And I do hope that your brother is alive. I pray you will not face a similar pain. But if anyone can find him, Alex can.”
“I know.”
“You care for him a great deal, don’t you?”
Lucia frowned. “Of course. He’s my brother. My twin.”
Camille smiled thinly. “I meant Alex.”
