“He sends his regrets for not coming in person,” Gervais interjected and flashed a pointed look at Remy. Jayd recognized the message. Evrest and Samsyn exchanged one just like it when they were children, trying to talk her into bug hunts. “But he is…allergic…to the velvet in the furniture here.”
“Oh, yes,” Remy concurred. “Allergic. Very.”
“Then why did he pick it as our meeting place?” Jayd glanced to Requiemme, now starting to comprehend her maid’s ultimate wisdom. Maybe she, too, should have started at paranoia—an intuition that gained validation with Gervais’s flared gaze. Most cornered cats looked less intimidated.
“He likes it better out in the garden.” Remy’s explanation flowed with the opposite aura. A cat lazing on a sun-drenched balcony after killing every mouse for miles. “Not a stitch of velvet to be bothered with.”
“Exactly.” Gervais tipped his glass to his lips again, snapping into the same shaken-not-stirred energy. “Which is why, of course, he brought us.”
“Just to fetch us?” Requiemme fired. “Rather than send a waiter or maître d’?”
“Free drinks.”
The men were so synched about their tandem comeback, Jayd released a gale of laughter. No way could something like that be so perfectly rehearsed. The assurance spiked her trust—and then moved her feet.
“What are we waiting for, then?”
Requiemme caught her by the elbow as she checked her back pockets for her cell and spending cash. “Perhaps a texted confirmation from your fath—LaBarre—to clear our handsome escorts?”
“Fine.” But Jayd half huffed it, giving Emme an eye roll in verbal form. She obliged the woman by yanking her phone out and punching in a fast message to LaBarre. But at the same time, she started walking toward the exit. If she stood here for a moment longer, knowing her father was just some easy steps away… Impossible. She would get to him faster than the message itself.
She was determined now.
And trepidatious. And so damn nervous.
But nothing eclipsed her biggest sensation of all. Excitement.
What would he be like? Look like? Would he know her at once, despite how she’d changed her appearance to fool the press? Would he be welcoming and loving, grateful for the chance to finally meet her? Or would he be bitter and brooding, angry about being paid off to stay so far away from her? She would understand that. She would listen and commiserate about his frustration. It was everything she felt too.
Holy Creator. She was feeling so much…
Just when she channeled all that anticipation into a faster pace toward the door, she was grabbed by the elbow from behind.
“We, ahhh, forgot to tell you, ladies,” Gervais stated. “LaBarre is in the private garden. My deepest apologies for the oversight.”
In spite of his court-worthy overture, Jayd tugged out of his grip. She was no stranger to people physically at events, but this was no event. It was a life milestone, and it was turning her whole body into blown glass. One wrong touch and she would shatter.
“A private garden?” she prompted. “I do not recall them having one.”
“Neither do I,” Emme charged.
“It’s new.” Remy drained his drink before setting it down. “Very exclusive.”
Requiemme grimaced. “Perhaps we should wait on that text from LaBarre.”
“It is literally just outside,” Remy insisted.
“Come. I’ll show you the way.” Though Gervais offered a gallant elbow this time, Jayd was skittish about accepting. No. This feeling was beyond that. Emme had done right by her with the paranoia osmosis.
But damn it, manners also prevailed. They had to. Since she was two years old, they had. She gulped hard to push past the fear—and then curled her fingers around his forearm.
Right away, Remy tucked Requiemme’s hand under his own elbow. Jayd fought not to focus on the stiff set of her maid’s spine as they walked past a busy prep kitchen and then out a small side door. By then, her heartbeat was so strong that her whole body shook—but she was not certain the excitement was causing it anymore.
Because beyond the door, there was nothing but a narrow passageway. Stone walls rose up on both sides of the alley, which was no more than two meters wide. It was barely wide enough for flower boxes.
It certainly was not a garden.
But by the time she realized it and pulled in a breath to scream, Gervais clamped his free hand over her mouth. Remy had already flexed the same control over Emme.
Terror pushed at all her pores at once. A stiff wind cut down the passage and turned her sweat to chills. Then ice.
So cold…
Ohhh, no. What have I gotten us into?
She wasted no time waiting for an answer to that. Instead, she wrote her own solution and drove her knee straight upward. But Gervais, with a sixth sense too frightening for coincidence, caught her by the thigh and slammed her back against the wall. The brunt of the force knocked her windless. During the critical moments in which she choked to regain breath, the bonsun in front of her became the same one pinning her down.
“Not a word from you now, my sweet Hildegard,” Gervais crooned, his thighs like torture chamber restraints. “Or I shall give Remy clearance to do very painful things to your friend.”
A mewl erupted from Emme’s throat. Her eyes were wide and flooded with mortification. Jayd stared back, visually pleading with her beloved maid. Remorse was now her personal wraith, creeping through her with regret and anguish. The grief worsened as Gervais circled around, pulling out the silk tie she suspected him of ditching earlier. He deftly doubled the fabric back on itself and then pushed the midpoint between her lips. She nodded at him, giving a nonverbal acquiescence to his challenge, though hated herself through every moment of it.
Just as quickly, she ordered herself away from the mental noose. This was no time for self-judgments. No time to be wallowing either. No turning back any clocks. This was the world of now, not a week ago. She was not wandering the coastal paths outside the palais, with her only stress being how to entertain her nephew for an afternoon, or which designer she would commission for upcoming press tours.
Right now, she had to think with logic despite her terror. With clarity through her misery.
Conviction that sparked her with a new idea.
If she gave Gervais the impression that she was petrified with fear—not a huge stretch at this point—this might end up in her and Requiemme’s favor.
She hoped.
Dear Creator and all the angels, she prayed.
If just one of the bar’s employees came out to take a break…
If Louis LaBarre finally showed up and asked others if they had seen her…
If she could scramble enough of her brain together to actually remember what Samsyn had taught her about tactical fighting…about how everything around her could become a useful weapon in a time like this…
But this moment, all she could focus on was Remy, with his stovepipe neck and bulging forearms, pushing Emme into a filthy corner next to a large green bin. As a fearful mewl erupted from her friend, Jayd’s breath came in constant slices of ruthless pain.
But the extra agony was also her new energy. Galvanizing comprehension.
The giant bully intended on harming Requiemme, no matter what Jayd did.