The Duke of Paris (Tales from the Grand Tour Book 1) by Merry Farmer

Author:Merry Farmer [Farmer, Merry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-02T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 7

It wasn’t until Marshall led Dorothy out of the Louvre and toward the busy Rue de Rivoli that it dawned on him they were behaving ridiculously. The wrath of Asher McGovern was certain to rain down on them as soon as they returned to the rest of the group. He was already persona non-grata with Asher after his escapades the other night, and any further wrong turns would only make things worse. He paused as they stepped out of the archway separating the Louvre complex to the street, contemplating putting an end to their mission, admitting he was behaving like a fool, and returning Dorothy to the bosom of her cousins.

“There she is,” Dorothy gasped, gripping his arm tighter.

She pointed off across the crowded street to the unmistakable, retreating form of Miss Solange Lafarge. The young woman moved at a quick pace, glancing this way and that furtively, as though she expected to be caught and dragged to the Place de la Concorde and marched up the scaffold to the guillotine at any moment.

“She’s up to something,” Marshall said, shifting his grip to take Dorothy’s hands and start off in pursuit of her.

“I hope she’s not in trouble,” Dorothy said as they ducked and dodged their way around fellow tourists, young men and women hawking silly trinkets to unaware foreigners, and dirty children who appeared innocent until they rushed passersby to pick their pockets. Mingling with them were people of every color, speaking in every tongue and with every accent known to man. The Paris street was a hodge-podge of ethnicity and excitement, which only served to make Solange’s retreat easier for her.

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Marshall said as they joined a crush of people waiting to cross the street.

Dorothy stood on her tip-toes to look over the heads of the people around her. “I won’t. I don’t want her to be hurt.”

Marshall glanced sideways at her, doubt pulling at the corner of his mouth. He admired her optimism and her good nature, but he still wasn’t certain about the young lady’s maid. He hadn’t suggested her guilt to Dorothy earlier because of her nationality or the color of her skin, but because she had been acting damn suspicious from the start. Why would someone hired as a companion hang back from the group, from the woman whose job it was for her to accompany? Why would she take the first opportunity to steal away and dash through the Paris streets, as though she knew where she was going.

“She’s trying to hail a cab,” Dorothy gasped as they reached the end of a block and were forced to wait for the street to clear so they could cross. “If she gets one before we catch her, we’ll never know where she’s going.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Marshall said.

He pushed ahead when the crowd surged across the street, his gaze fixed on Solange. The woman had apparently caught the attention of a cabbie, who was working to pull his carriage to the side of the street toward her.

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