Atonement

Chapter 2

Sophie fled from the room, her heart beating wildly in her chest, a lump of misery burning in her throat. Running back the way she'd come, she grasped her voluminous skirts with both hands to prevent from tripping over them. She had gravely miscalculated the situation she was in. Fabien Marchal did not have a sympathetic bone in his body and she would find no compassion from him. He was a hard, cold man and he could crush her without even trying.

And she was completely and utterly at his mercy.

She'd also just struck him.

Sophie stifled a sob. She was not prone to fits of violence, but his cruelty had provoked something alien inside of her and she'd allowed instinct to take over. He'd said the most vicious things and attacked her character in a manner that was grossly unfair. She hated that his malice had hurt, deeply. It was clear that he actually believed her capable of all he'd accused her of. And damn him, she'd be lying if she did not acknowledge that in a hidden corner of her sundered soul, she wondered if he was right.

Hastily drying her tears, she carefully navigated her way back to her apartments, making sure to avoid any late-night partygoers before locking herself in for the night. Her maid had long since retired, but she did not care about having to undress herself. She had bigger concerns. Throwing her cloak onto a velvet stool, she paced restlessly. The things Monsieur Marchal had said...the way he'd looked at her, with so much contempt it bordered on hatred. And all because of her mother.

Mother. Sophie's heart squeezed so tightly in her chest that for a moment it was hard to breathe. A murderer, he'd said. And a whore. Sophie could not comprehend it, could not reconcile the mother she'd known with the sadistic woman he'd described. Yes, her parent had been an ambitious social climber, but a killer? Sophie stopped pacing, her face dropping into her hands in despair. Dear God. She seemed to be trapped in a nightmare, only there was no hope of waking up and leaving it all behind. She took a deep breath and swallowed. She had not even asked where her mother was buried. Though it did not really matter. Beatrice was a traitor and she'd died a traitor's death. There would be no grave to visit, no physical monument left behind for Sophie to direct her grief towards. It was as if her mother had simply vanished, never to return, leaving Sophie alone to navigate a world she feared would swallow her whole.

Who had Beatrice de Clermont really been? Had she worked alone? Surely not, Sophie thought. So who were her accomplices? Were they still at court? And more importantly, were they responsible for Princess Henriette's illness? An unsettling thought flitted through her mind. Had her mother used her as a means of striking at the heart of the monarchy? Yes. Instinctively she knew it to be true. Her eyelids prickled with renewed tears. The sense of betrayal was crippling.

A fresh tide of misery threatened to overwhelm, but she stopped short of bursting into tears. She straightened and sniffed. She could not afford to rail against her misfortunes, at least not yet. She needed to plan. Her very survival depended upon it. She resumed pacing, thinking.

The Duc de Cassel...

Sophie already knew that the he found her attractive. She'd endured enough of his leering to make that abundantly clear. So getting close to him would not be a problem. But how would she be able to extract information without having to...? She shuddered at the thought of allowing such a man to touch her intimately. Instinctively she knew Cassel would hurt her, even enjoy doing so. No, she would not let him have her. She would rather die. There had to be another way. Since he was out of favour with the king, rumour had it that he was staying in very cramped quarters somewhere in the palace. She needed to find out where. Perhaps she could gain access while he was in the salon playing cards, or drinking, to see if he was hiding anything in his rooms. Though she did not feel particularly hopeful. Monsieur Marchal would have been thorough in his investigation of the fallen duc. His rooms would have been searched, his belongings ransacked. Her heart sank. Cassel would have to be stupid to leave anything incriminating in plain sight. But at least it was a start. And it might give her an opportunity to check if he was hiding any recent correspondence. That was really the only avenue she genuinely believed might yield results. She would have to make the man her study, follow him, get to know his habits, determine whom he favoured at court. And she'd have to do it quickly. Her usefulness depended upon her ability to gain information. If she failed...no, failure did not bear thinking about.