Page 101 of Scandalous

D’Armand’s eyebrows rose. “Such august friends you have. Oliver Chenier will call on Exley, and we will meet in the morning, before first light.”

“I will require some time to get my affairs in order.”

D’Armand’s mouth twisted. “Such an important man of business. Very well. The day after tomorrow and no later. I have no desire to waste any more time on you.”

Martín ignored the insult, instead thinking about Exley’s nosy little wife. “I do not want this matter sullying my friend’s house. Exley will call on your man. Now, I want a few moments with Valerie. Alone.”

The only sign that the Frenchman was annoyed at being ordered around by his slave was a very slight flaring of his nostrils. “By all means. There is no spiriting her out of the house—I have more men than you have seen. In any case, I have the boy.”

Martín ignored the threat and went to sit across from the woman. He waited until the door closed behind d’Armand before he spoke.

“How old is he?” he asked in French, looking into a pair of dark eyes he recalled well.

“He is thirteen.” Her voice was low and sultry and fit her person.

“You have had no others?” He could not believe d’Armand would have resisted his base urges.

She looked down again. “There was a girl. He sold her a year ago.”

Martín stared. “Good God—she could not be more than—”

“Yes.”

Martín was not surprised; after all, his own father had sold him. Here was yet another man who treated his own children like livestock.

“D’Armand needs money—he is barely one step ahead of the law himself.”

“I am sorry I never came to find you after I escaped,” Martín said, speaking words that had caused him shame and grief for over a decade.

She gave a laugh that chilled him. “You were in no position to save anyone—not even yourself.”

“I could have tried,” he persisted.

“And how is that? Did you know it was the marquis who bought me?”

“No, but—”

“You knew nothing and could do nothing, Bouchard. You were given a chance to escape and you took it. I would have done the same as you. Besides, you could not have known about the child.”

He hadn’t known, but he should have guessed. Madam Sonia had not been shy about putting them together.

“Do you know how d’Armand found out it was me who killed his father?”

But Valerie was not interested in small talk now any more than she’d been fifteen years earlier. “He will kill you.” She spoke the words with a quiet certainty that made every muscle in his body tense.

Martín bristled. “I am no mean hand with a pistol.”

“It doesn’t matter what you choose. He has killed many men. That is all he enjoys—killing. Blades, pistols, it does not matter; he is a killer.”

Her stoic acceptance of d’Armand’s superiority with weapons was annoying, but Martín chose to ignore her lack of faith in him.

“After I kill him we will have to leave immediately. You can never go back home. You know that?”

She stared at him with her unnerving, dead eyes. “I have no home.”

“I have a property in Italy that will be suitable. I have money. You will not want for anything, and neither will the boy.” Again she shrugged, the gesture so fatalistic it made him boil inside. “Do you have no desire to escape him? Or have you come to enjoy his attentions?” He knew the question was cruel before it left his mouth.

This time he saw an expression: raw hatred that made him recoil. “Only death offers an escape. Had I been stronger I would have killed Gaston, the girl, and myself long ago. But I was pitiful and weak.”