The Consequences of That Night (At His Service #6)(35)

“Monsieur Bouchard is not happy with you, mademoiselle,” Gustave said flatly.

She stopped. “Were you—following me?”

The man jutted his chin upward, toward the house. “He’s waiting for you.”

Emma had meant to tell Alain her news in the most gentle way possible. Instead it seemed he already had a good guess what was coming. Well, fine. She narrowed her eyes. He shouldn’t have had her followed.

Going upstairs, she walked right past Alain’s office, but not before she saw him scowling at his desk. First, she went to check on her baby, and found him sleeping in his crib. For a moment, she listened to his soft breath in the darkness. Tenderness and joy caught at her heart. Smiling to herself, she whispered aloud, “You’re going to have a family, Sam. You’re going to have a real dad.”

Creeping out, she closed the door, and went to the next-door sitting room, where she found Irene Taylor reading tranquilly in an armchair.

“How was everything?” Emma asked.

“Oh, he was perfect. An angel.” Smiling, Irene tucked her book, a romantic novel by Susan Mallery, carefully into her handbag. “Did you have a nice evening?”

Wordlessly Emma held out her left hand. Irene gasped, snatching up her hand and staring at the ring.

“Are you kidding?” She made a big show of rubbing her eyes. “Ah! It’s blinding me!” She looked up at Emma with a big grin. “You sly girl, I didn’t even know you were dating someone.”

“Well—I wasn’t. But Sam’s father came for a visit, and one thing led to another...”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Irene sighed. “True love prevails.”

“Um. Right.” Emma’s cheeks went hot. She couldn’t tell Irene that love had nothing to do with it, that she’d kept her pregnancy a secret and now they were only getting married for Sam’s sake. “Well. I’m leaving for London with him right now. Would you mind helping me pack Sam’s things?”

“I’d love to. All his cute, tiny baby things. And now you’re off to London, swept away to be wed like a princess in a story.” Irene looked wistful. “I hope I find a love like that someday, too.”

Her friend’s idealistic notion of love, the same dreams she’d once had for herself, cast a pall over Emma’s heart. How could she tell Irene that she had nothing to be envious about—that Emma was settling for a loveless marriage so her baby would have a father?

Sam deserves it, she told herself again. She tried to remember the calmness she’d had about her decision just a moment before, when she’d stood in her baby’s room, listening to him sleep. She turned away. “I’ll be back.”

Squaring her shoulders, Emma went down the hall to Alain’s office. She took a deep breath and went in.

Her employer was sitting at his desk. He didn’t look up. When he spoke, his voice was sour. “Have a good time at the Tour Eiffel?”

She was glad he was taking that tone with her. It made this so much easier. “Yes, I had a wonderful evening,” she said sweetly. “Thank you.”

Alain glared at her. “I don’t appreciate you staying out so late. I was worried.”

“I don’t appreciate you having me followed.”

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“Safe,” she said.

“I don’t trust Falconeri. You shouldn’t, either.”

“Right. Well. I’m sorry to tell you, but I have to turn in my notice.”

Alain’s eyes widened. He slowly rose to his feet. “What?”

“And by notice, I mean I’m leaving right now.” Her cheeks flamed. “I am actually sorry to do it to you, Alain. It’s not very professional. In fact it’s completely rude. But Cesare and I are going back to London with the baby....”

“He’s stringing you along, Emma, toying with you! I can’t believe you would fall for his lines. He’ll leave you high and dry when...”


“We’re getting married,” she said flatly.

Alain’s mouth literally fell open.

“What?”

Emma held up her engagement ring, then let her hand drop back to her side. “You’ve been good to me, Alain. I know you deserve better than me leaving you like this.” She swallowed. “But I have to take this chance, for Sam’s sake. I’m sorry. I’ll never forget your kindness and generosity over the past year....”

“I’m sorry, too,” Alain said shortly. “Because you’re making a mistake. He ruined Angélique’s life.”

“Your sister’s death was a terrible tragedy, but the coroner ruled the overdose an accident....”

“Accident,” he said bitterly. “Falconeri drove my sister to her death. Just as surely as if he’d poured the sleeping pills down her throat.”

“You’re wrong.” Steadying herself, she faced him in his office, clenching her hands at her sides. “He loved her. I know that all too well. He loves her still,” she said quietly.

“She gave him everything,” Alain continued as if he hadn’t heard. “He lured her into marrying him. She loved him. Trusted him.” His eyes were wild. “But from the moment they were wed, he neglected her. So much so that she told me she meant to divorce him—then she mysteriously died before she could.”