"Sire, I would strongly advise against this course of action."

"Your opinion is noted," the king replied, "but I am determined. If the Duc de Cassel is in league with an unknown entity to bring about my downfall, the closer we keep him, the better for us. Besides, with Reynaud no longer amongst the living, someone new needs to be appointed as Justice Minister. I see this opportunity as somewhat fortuitous."

Fabien, Bontemps and His Majesty were sequestered within the war room. The other ministers had not yet been summoned or even appraised of the king's newest appointee to the French cabinet. Fabien knew there was sure to be a riot. None of the nobles liked, respected or trusted Cassel. But if they hoped to trap the duc and his accomplices, then no one save the three of them could know the king's true motives for the dubious appointment.

"And what of you, Bontemps? Do you share Fabien's concerns?" Louis asked from his seated position at the head of the table. Dressed in sumptuous style in a deep blue coat with tasteful accents of gold brocade, and surrounded by sheaths of parchment that required his royal seal of approval, His Majesty looked every inch the intimidating monarch.

Bontemps glanced briefly at Fabien from across the table. "I can see the merits of both arguments, Sire. It certainly makes sense to keep Cassel close, but if he is as guilty as we suppose he is, it would naturally also increase the risk of potential harm to either Your Majesty or any other member of the royal family. I would venture to say that therein lies the greater concern."

Fabien nodded in approval. Bontemps was a shrewd man who was wholly devoted to the king, but he was no fool. He was also not afraid to voice his opinions. Thankfully, while Louis did not always like hearing his thoughts contradicted, he seemed to respect Bontemps all the more for having the courage to voice them.

"Then as always it shall fall upon you and your men to keep us all safe." The king's piercing blue gaze fixed Fabien in place. "I expect you to succeed, Marchal."

Quelling his own inner frustration at the lack of progress he'd made thus far, Fabien nevertheless dutiful replied, "Of course."

The king proceeded to pour himself some wine from a crystal and silver carafe. "Good. I will make the announcement this evening."

"Sire, if I may, I would like your permission to take leave of Versailles for a few days to travel north to the duc's estate near Calais. His holdings have been searched before, but never in my presence. I feel there might be something of importance there that my men have overlooked."

Louis stared at Fabien over the rim of his wine glass. "You think it an appropriate time to forsake me?"

Fabien schooled his features to resemble a blank slate. Inducing guilt was a regular strategy the king employed when he wanted his way. But Fabien was determined. He'd faced too many dead ends of late to let this opportunity slip by unexplored. Ordinarily, he would not want to leave with king without his personal protection, but they were running out of time. If Cassel was hiding something within the boundaries of his home, Fabien would find it. "I would never forsake you, Sire. I would be gone for no more than a week, and my most trusted men will stay behind. They are well trained and will not fail in their duty. I would not suggest this course if I was not certain all would be well while I was away."

The king glanced at Bontemps with a raised brow. The older man folded his hands behind his back. "Sire, if you are determined to follow through with this plan, then while Cassel is distracted by his perceived victory, I doubt he would notice Fabien's absence from court."

Expecting the king to raise a few more objections, Fabien was surprised to hear him say, "Very well. I trust you to be discrete." Fabien inclined his head. "I have been meaning to ask," Louis continued, a hint of curiosity in his eyes, "how is your young spy faring?"

Fabien's pulse leapt unexpectedly at the mention of Sophie. He scowled. "A little rattled. I happened upon the duc accosting her in the palace gardens this morning."

"My God!" Bontemps exclaimed.

The king's jaw clenched. "I take it you intervened?"

"I did," Fabien stated with an outward calm that did not reflect the tumult inside of him. Even hours after the fact, he still had the burning desire to slam Cassel into a stone wall.

"Is she alright?" a concerned Bontemps asked.

"She is."

Louis tilted his head to the side, his index finger tapping on the arm of his gilded chair. "Did Mademoiselle de Clermont not accompany Athénaïs to the duc's estate some time back?"

Something in the way the king asked the question put Fabien's instincts on alert. "They jointly summoned the duc on Your Majesty's instructions to join the festivities at Versailles."

"Ah, yes," Louis replied, before taking a slow sip of wine. Placing the glass carefully back upon the table, he added, "I suggest you take your intrepid spy with you. Her having been there before might be of some use."

If Fabien had been a man prone to external displays of emotion, his chin would have hit the floor. "Sire, I do not think—"

"An excellent idea, Your Majesty," Bontemps interrupted, ignoring the glare Fabien sent his way. "I am certain the lady will benefit from some time away from the confines of the palace."

"I am not suggesting a restorative retreat, Bontemps," the king retorted. "Her presence might be of strategic importance." The older man looked somewhat chastised, if unrepentant. "Then it's settled."

"But Sire—" Fabien protested.

"I will expect you back within a week, Marchal, no more. You may leave at your earliest convenience but I do not want anyone to know that you or the Mademoiselle are not here, or worse, that you are together." Before Fabien could once more voice his discontent at this unfortunate turn of events, the king turned to his valet. "Bontemps, see that you make the necessary excuses for the lady's absence from court proceedings over the next few days. Also, advise all of my ministers that I require their presence here this evening."

"Consider it done, Your Majesty."

Satisfied, Louis started leafing through the official documents before him. "I would also have you arrange…"

"I do not think this wise," Fabien interjected. "The lady will only be a hindrance to my progress—"

"Go with her, or do not go at all," Louis instructed in a manner that told Fabien he was no longer interested in discussing the matter further. "Now, unless you have something else of vital importance to impart, you may leave us."

Fabien stood mutely for a few seconds before bowing and exiting the room. Once outside, he cursed. He could not imagine what use Sophie would be to him other than being a wearisome irritant. Instead of focussing all his attention on Cassel and the unravelling of his secrets, Fabien would now have to keep a close watch on her too. Who knew what chaos and disorder she'd wreak if left unattended? His plan had been to travel incognito with only one other man. Now, for his own self-preservation he'd have to arrange a carriage, lest he want to hear the woman's relentless complaints about the discomforts of travelling on horseback. He'd also have to take another guard, for her protection, he thought resentfully. If he was not so certain that this journey was absolutely critical, he'd call the entire investigation off and spare himself the inevitable vexation. But it had to be done. And so she had to accompany him.

And as a result, they'd be trapped together, in close quarters, for an entire week. At the thought, his gut clenched almost painfully. Fabien knew intuitively that the king's decision would prove to be disastrous – if not for France, then certainly for himself.

With this all too disturbing realisation playing on his mind, he reluctantly went in search of his charge.


Sophie sat at her ornately carved wooden dresser, attempting to put her hair back to rights when there was a brisk knock at the door. She froze, her heart lurching in her chest. Hands shaking slightly, she called, "Who is it?"

"Claudine," came the muffled reply. Relieved, Sophie permitted the breeches-and-doublet clad physician entry, closing the door firmly behind her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in surprise.

Claudine's eyes, awash with concern, raked over Sophie from head to toe. "Fabien sent for me."

Astounded by her tormentor's thoughtful gesture, Sophie folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to stop their incessant trembling. "He should not have troubled you needlessly."

"Needlessly?" Claudine echoed. "If that is so, then why are you shaking like a leaf?" Her sharp, steely gaze clearly missed nothing.

Sophie's breath shuddered as she sank back onto the padded satin stool she'd vacated moments before, her woollen skirt bunching beneath her thighs. "What did Monsieur Marchal tell you?"

"Nothing of your situation. He merely sent word that I should attend to you without delay."

Perhaps the beast was not so beastly after all, Sophie thought as the sting of tears burned behind her eyes. "I had an unpleasant encounter that…" She could say no more.

Without words, Claudine placed her bag on the floor and dragged a single, ornamental chair across the room. When she was seated beside Sophie, she asked, "What happened?"

Sophie swallowed past the lump in her throat, loathe to recount the morning's events. But she knew that remaining silent gave the duc a power over her that he did not deserve. Methodically she recounted all the events leading up to her stroll with Cassel. When she got to the part where he had her trapped, her voice trembled so badly that she stopped, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay.

Claudine lay a gentle hand against her arm. "Did he force himself upon you?"

"No, no," Sophie assured her. "Monsieur Marchal arrived in time to stop him."

"Thank God," Claudine whispered. "The duc is a depraved man. I have heard the servants talk. They all try to avoid him as much as possible but it would seem that since his fall from grace, he has become even more immoral and corrupt." Her voice grew darker, tinged with anger. "There is a special place in hell reserved for men like him."

"There is an evil in him, a cruelty that frightens me, Claudine," Sophie confessed. "I do not know how, I, with my limited knowledge of men, am supposed to best such a villain." She paused. "I do not think that I can."

Claudine's fingers squeezed. "You have chosen to follow a path that not many in your position would have dared to. You are stronger than you think."

Sophie took some comfort from that. "There was a moment when I believed he would rape me."

"You are lucky Fabien was there," the physician said softly.

"I cannot recall a time when I was happier to see anyone in my life." Then, thinking of her rescuer, Sophie frowned. "Though why he would bother to come to my aid when he clearly despises me, I cannot say." Claudine opened her mouth, but Sophie continued, "I do not understand him. He has done nothing but bully and humiliate me since the start of our association. Then, when I least expect his help, he saves me from a fate that does not bear consideration."

Claudine's expression softened. "Perhaps he is not as heartless as you think."

"This from the woman who warned me against him?" Sophie asked, incredulous.

Claudine's lips curved slightly and her false moustache drooped to one side. Exasperated, she grasped the limp end and pulled it off, scowling down at the ghastly piece of fluff. "Fabien is a dangerous man, make no mistake. But I do not believe him to be without a conscience. Though I imagine he'd like to believe he possesses none."

"How is it that you've come to know him so well?" asked Sophie, curiously.

The older woman shrugged. "Our paths have crossed many times in service to His Majesty. I would call Fabien a friend, though I do not think he would permit me the same liberty."

"He says he has no friends."

Claudine nodded, leaning forward to draw her bag closer. "I think that he believes that in his line of work forging an intimate relationship with anyone would compromise his ability to think rationally and logically."

It made sense. Though it struck Sophie that it must be a very lonely existence to keep one and all at arm's length. To always be suspicious of everyone's motives. It had to be terribly exhausting too - constantly being on guard, watching and waiting. Perhaps they were not so different, Sophie thought. They were both alone in the world, with very few people they could actually trust or rely upon. For a moment she felt an odd twinge of sympathy for Monsieur Marchal - a kind of kindship - before she swept it away, cursing her own folly. He would neither want nor appreciate her oversentimentality. "I sense from your demeanour that you do not agree with his outlook?"

"I think that every person, regardless of their past mistakes or current life path, deserves to be loved. Or at least to experience real love. It changes you." Claudine stilled, the ghost of a past memory flittering across her face before she added, "Though I admit, not always for the better."

Sophie wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but she sensed that it was a personal matter and perhaps Claudine would not appreciate an inquisition. So she let it go. "I suppose in the end it does not really matter why he came to my aid. I am only glad that he did."

"Quite so," Claudine agreed as her hands dove into her bag. Sophie could hear the clink of glass bottles knocking together as she rummaged through the contents. "Are you quite certain you are alright? I can provide you with a herbal tonic to alleviate any anxiety."

"Thank you, but no," Sophie replied. "I think I would prefer to keep my wits about me."

At her assertion, Claudine ceased her search. "So what happens now?"

Sophie wished she knew. "When I left Monsieur Marchal, he was going to see the King. Apparently His Majesty wants to promote Cassel to Justice Minister."

Claudine's eyes widened. "The King is calculating."

"What do you mean?"

"What better way to keep all eyes on Cassel than to bring him into His Majesty's inner sanctum? You do know the saying about keeping your friends close—"

"—and your enemies even closer," Sophie finished, comprehending.

"Precisely. Perhaps if the King gives Cassel the illusion of trust, it might induce him to play his true hand earlier than expected."

Sophie fervently hoped so. The sooner that vile man was removed from Versailles, the sooner she'd sleep more soundly. "What do you think will happen to him if he is found to be plotting against the crown?"

"He'll be executed," Claudine stated firmly. "The King will not pardon anyone who is a risk to his reign, even someone of high noble rank."

Sophie shivered, remembering her own mother's fate. She did not think she'd ever get used to the casual manner with which treason and death were mentioned in the same sentence.

"But that is of course assuming he is caught," Claudine continued. "Though I have no doubt that Fabien will do all that he can to ensure the safety of the royal family. He takes his responsibilities very seriously."

"His Majesty trusts him?" Despite her better judgement, Sophie was fascinated to know more about the man who seemed so elusive and mysterious.

"Implicitly," Claudine confirmed. "I do not know their full history, but there is a bond of loyalty between them that appears unshakable."

Sophie pondered that in silence. She wondered what could have induced such devotion from a man like Fabien Marchal. A man who appeared not to love anyone or anything. Indeed, he seemed without emotion or vice. And yet, he fought ruthlessly for his king and crown. Did that make him honourable? She was pulled from her thoughts when she heard Claudine say, "You had best prepare yourself. Cassel will try again."

Sophie's stomach plummeted to the ground, knowing exactly to what the other woman alluded. Instantly she remembered the duc's wet mouth on hers, the sickening thrust of his tongue against— She shook her head to dispel the awful memories. "I know. And I cannot rely on Monsieur Marchal to be there to rescue me next time."

"My advice would be to arm yourself. Find a weapon that's discreet enough to hide on your person and make sure you keep it with you at all times. That is the only way you can ensure your own protection."

Sophie balked. "You are not serious."

"You would not believe the array of injuries men at court sustain at the hands of women who refuse their advances," Claudine said with a satisfied smirk.

Dark brown eyes met blue, understanding flowing between them. "What weapon do you have?"

"Too many to count," Claudine quipped, giving her medical bag a gentle nudge.

The room erupted with laughter and for a moment Sophie's spirit was restored. "Thank you for coming to see me. It means so much."

"We women need to stick together if we are to survive at Versailles." Claudine squeezed her arm one last time before standing. "Now, I must go. I have a few more patients awaiting my care and attention." She leaned into the mirror affixed to the dresser behind Sophie's stool. Carefully she reapplied the strip of flaxen fur across her upper lip. "There. Am I presentable?"

Sophie rolled her eyes, but grinned nonetheless. "Barely. But I suppose you'll do."

After seeing Claudine out, Sophie wondered back into her bedchamber contemplating the other woman's words. She did need a weapon. In fact, she was fairly certain Madame de Montespan had mentioned possessing something similar once, though Sophie had not paid her much attention at the time. She would have to investigate the possibility of acquiring a small dagger, something light and easy to disguise. She could not afford to be caught without a means of self-protection. And even if she was not entirely sure she could actually injure or maim Cassel, the threat of violence might be enough to give her time to escape him when next he tried to force himself upon her. And she was certain there would be a next time.

Exhaling slowly, her gaze fell on the brown heap lying across the foot-end of her bed. Monsieur Marchal's cloak. She'd forgotten to return it to him after they'd parted ways earlier. Stepping forward she reached for it, lifting the heavy woollen fabric into her hands. It was a plain and serviceable garment, unadorned with any kind of elaborate embellishment, save for the inner lining of soft silk that alluded to it being expensive and well-made. Unconsciously she raised it to her face and rubbed the sleek fabric against her cheek. It felt so soft and smooth, almost comforting. She stood like that for a moment, clutching the cloak to her, welcoming the flood of warmth that enveloped her as she savoured the feeling of nostalgia. It reminded her of a time now long gone, when she'd been someone else, living someone else's life. Instinctively she turned her nose into the silken folds, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

It smelled just like him – a mix of leather and starched linen and something else, something primal and masculine and entirely unique to Fabien Marchal. Her belly flipped.

Shocked, she let go of the cloak as though it had scorched her fingers. She stared at the offending garb, trying to understand why she'd felt the need to touch it at all. Perhaps it was his unexpected kindness, or perhaps it was merely her own innate curiosity about the man that had prompted her to do something that was not only unquestionably maudlin, but completely unwise. And yet, for just a fraction of a second, she'd felt soothed, comforted, at peace. Sophie sighed. She must really be lonely to have found a moment's solace from the source of her most acute misery.

Taking a step back, she hopped in fright when someone pounded on her bedchamber door. Heart hammering, she watched as Monsieur Marchal barged in, eyes searching until those unnerving dark orbs settled on her.

"We leave for Calais tonight. Ready yourself," he declared without preamble.

"W-Whatever for?" she gasped, trying to get her heart's manic thumping under control. "And what do you mean by we?"

Monsieur Marchal was stalking about her bedchamber, his eyes wandering over the baubles and trinkets dotted across various surfaces. He paused before her dresser and lifted a small glass phial of lavender scent, taking a sniff. "I must travel to Cassel's estate and since you have been there before, the king seems to think you would be of some use to me. I do not agree, but neither of us have any choice in the matter, so I suggest you prepare. We leave at midnight."

Sophie could barely keep up with what he was saying. She was still recovering from the fact that he'd nearly caught her with her nose buried in his cloak. Good Lord. How would she have even begun to explain that? Her mind in a fog, she tried to focus on his words. "I do not understand. Why Cassel's estates? And has the King appointed the duc as Justice Minister?"

He was making her nervous, roving about as he was, touching her things as though she was the one under investigation. It struck her that the room, quite generous in size, seemed smaller somehow with him in it. "Since we are unable to retrieve any more information from Cassel without alerting him to our suspicions, I want to search his property."

Sophie supposed that made some sense. "And his appointment?"

"Decided," he stated, his back to her.

Sophie's mind reeled. To give such a man more power… "We must find evidence against him. He cannot be trusted and the longer he remains within His Majesty's inner sphere, the greedier he will become and as a consequence, more dangerous."

He turned to face her. "I agree."

Her jaw dropped. Were they truly in accord? She was still recovering from the rarity of such an occurrence when he made to leave. "Make sure you are ready when I send for you."

As he stepped past her, Sophie instinctively reached out to stop him, her hand grasping his upper arm. He froze and glanced down to where her fingers curled around his bicep. Cheeks aflame, she snatched her hand back. "But what about my lady's maid? Do I tell her where we are going?"

"No maid, no hordes of gowns," Monsieur Marchal warned. "We will be travelling fast and light, with the utmost discretion. It would take me less than twelve hours of hard riding to make the full journey. With you, I imagine it will be longer. I would prefer we incur no additional delays minding the contents of multiple trunks containing unnecessary women's accoutrements. Bring necessities only."

Sophie hated how he never failed to sneak an insult into their every exchange. Biting her tongue, she asked, "We will be travelling alone?"

"With two others."

So practically alone, she thought with an uneasy pang. "Your men, I presume?"

"Yes."

She cleared her throat, forcing herself not to fidget under the immensity of his stare. Damn him for making her feel so….on edge. "How long will we be away from the palace?"

"A week at the most, but I'd prefer to aim for five days. Bontemps will see that your absence is excused." Suddenly his eyes narrowed. "Why all these questions? Is there someone you need to appraise of your whereabouts?"

Sophie's mouth fell open. "Shall I apologise for wanting to know where I'm going and for how long I shall be gone?" The man was intolerable! "And as for appraising anyone of my whereabouts, who exactly, monsieur? You are well aware that I have no connections of any importance and barely any friends. And the few I do possess take no interest in my comings and goings."

"What about your builder?" he asked coolly, watching her closely.

"My builder?" she gaped in disbelief. "You mean the one who just today called me a fool and a whore? Yes, I can see how you'd think I was clamouring to inform him of my every move."

"Watch your tone," he cautioned, taking a step towards her.

"I would if you asked less absurd questions," she snapped back.

For a moment Sophie wondered if she'd gone too far, challenging him so directly. Her own daring shocked her, but at that particular moment his unfounded suspicions annoyed her more than her fear of rousing his ire. Determined not to cower, she lifted her chin higher and held her breath. They were nearly chest to chest so she had to tilt her head back just to maintain eye contact.

Up close, he was even more intimidating, looming large above her. The dark slash of his brows were drawn together in displeasure, as were his lips, pressed together in a thin, harsh line.

"You become braver by the day," he drawled.

"I am no coward, monsieur," she said, proud of the conviction in her voice. "I may possess nothing of value, but I still retain full ownership of my dignity."

His stance was rigid, his eyes hard as flint as they drilled into her, watching, judging. "Tell me, are you more lost sheep than scheming vixen?"

"Are those my only two options?" Sophie asked with a humourless laugh. "I am either to be cast as a helpless victim or a devious manipulator?"

"If the shoe fits…"

"It does not fit," she denied with a hint of heat. "I am neither sheep nor vixen. I am merely a woman who is trying her best to survive. Our current arrangement, though highly undesirable was of my own choosing, so I am no sacrificial lamb. Furthermore, I may not be as shrewd or as cunning as my mother, but I am clever and resourceful. You've said so yourself."

"So I have," he said, the timbre of his voice lower than she'd ever heard it before. The combination of his penetrating stare and the low pitch of his tone, had a strange effect on her breathing.

Nervously, she rambled, "I have no objections to accompanying you to Calais. On the contrary, after this morning's encounter I'd be only too happy to get as far from the château as humanely possible."

His expression darkened instantly. "I take it you've not run into the duc again?"

"No." If she'd thought him daunting moments before, it was nothing compared to the sudden chill that entered his eyes. The only thing that gave her the courage to refrain from lowering her gaze was the hope that his icy demeanour was directed at the duc and not at her.

Sophie licked her lips uneasily. "I did have another visitor." His eyes flashed with something she could not identify – discomfort perhaps - but she could not be certain. "Thank you for summoning Claudine. It was kind of you."

He remained silent, his eyes searching hers. Neither spoke as they took stock of each other, weighing the strength of their allegiance against the depth of their enmity. In the stillness, the air seemed to thicken around them, her corset suddenly uncomfortably tight, making it hard to breathe. She could feel her cheeks flush, hated it, but could do nothing to prevent it. Despite her weakness, she refused to look away first, refused to let him see how he wreaked havoc with her senses and muddled her mind.

Of course he gave nothing away. He remained as stoic and impassive as ever. For some inexplicable reason Sophie suddenly wished she had the courage to rouse some emotion in him – real anger or even hatred – anything save the constant indifference. She wanted to see him act in any manner that proved him to be as human as her, as vulnerable, as emotionally needy. But as quickly as she wished it, she dismissed the foolhardy idea. She knew that someone like her did not have what it took to bring a man like Fabien Marchal to his knees. If a woman as smart and wily as he mother had failed, what hope did a naïve daydreamer have?

Without taking his eyes from hers, he moved. "Midnight. Tell no one."

Sophie nodded.

It was only once he'd left her behind, quietly closing the door behind him that she realised the truth of her predicament. She and Monsieur Marchal would be spending the next few days together, mostly alone, with no one to run interference between them. At the thought, her heart lurched uncomfortably against her ribcage. His men were trained to be alert, stealthy and invisible, so they were likely to ignore her completely. In fact, she was fairly certain that they would not interact with her at all unless absolutely necessary. Which meant that their master would be her one only source of companionship, assuming he did not overlook her as well.

Bracing her hands against her midriff, she took a deep, fortifying breath. What on earth had she gotten herself into? God alone knew what lay ahead of her, or whether she'd make it through this entire ordeal wholly intact – physically or emotionally.