Bisclavret

Chapter 11

I shudder and take a step away from Lord Giroux. What in the name of God was I thinking, blurting that out?

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm just very confused. I don't know what you and your father want from me, and the people here, they're strange."

Shut up! Some part of my mind screams. I listen to it.

Lord Giroux takes a step toward me, and this time, his eyes don't flash like an animal's. When the torchlight hits them, they are an animal's, a baleful gold instead of black. I gasp and back away from him.

"Isabelle," he growls, my name spoken so low it's almost mangled, as if the throat it came from isn't entirely human.

I turn and flee, wrenching the door open without a backward glance. The baron's men still block the balcony from sight, and I slip between them, not looking up at their towering frames because I'm terrified of what I'll see in their eyes. I half expect Lord Giroux to stop me, but I make it past the men and back into the crowd without incident. My eyes land on Livy. She's so close that she must have been looking for me.

"There you are," she says, grabbing my arm and leading me away. "I can't believe Emanuel dragged you off like – Belle? Are you all right?"

Isabelle, I hear Lord Giroux say, and I shiver.

"I don't know," I tell Livy, trying to calm my breathing as I glance back toward the balcony. Those large men have dispersed, giving me a clear look at the baron. He turns toward the balcony door as his son slips inside and rejoins him. Lord Giroux says something to his father, and they cast their gazes out into the crowd as if looking for me.

I duck down and pull Livy past a group of women who eyes us speculatively. I'm sure the pair of us make an odd sight, but that can't be helped.

"What on earth has gotten into you?" Livy says.

"Shhh," I warn her, knowing that even in this crowd, there's a chance the men could learn what we say, either with their own ears or through someone else's spying. I must seem desperate enough because her eyes soften, and she reaches up and fixes my hair when we pause, smoothing away the strands my flight from the balcony pulled free.

"We should find Mama," she says. Unspoken is, "We'll be safer with her."

I nod, trying to focus on her words, on her face, but all I can see is Lord Giroux's eyes, and all I can hear is him speaking my name in that guttural tone. Livy is forced to lead me through the fray.

"Ah, there you are," the marquise says as we approach.

Jacques is beside her, along with a man I don't recognize. Jacques offers me a smile, proffering his arm. I pace to his side, grateful for his familiar company, and pray he won't say anything about how my fingers tremble as I slip them through his arm. Even with the press of so many bodies, a chill seems to pervade my very bones.

Jacques' brow twitches like he can tell something is off with me, but he remains blessedly silent about it. "Olivia, Isabelle, I'd like to introduce you to the Marquis de la Rouerie."

My eyes widen as I take in the white wigged man just slightly bowing to me. He's whip-thin, in his mid-forties, and his features are marked by intelligent brown eyes, arched brows, and a chin that's just a tad too long. His thin mouth has laugh lines on either side, which surprises me a little.

"My lord," I say, curtsying low. Livy does the same on my other side.

The man in front of us is better known as General Rouerie. He and the Marquis de la Beauchene served together in America. Though their paths never crossed, Jacques and Livy's father used to tell stories about this man's cunning and ingenuity that have stayed with me. He's good friends with President Washington, and helped him route the British from the shores of the Chesapeake when the leader of the now free world was still just a general. Rouerie is also one of the founders of the Breton Association and is widely considered the key instigator in our rebellion. I've always been curious about him. How can a man who fought so valiantly for the freedom of one country turn around and fight just as hard for ours to remain a monarchy?