A Lily Among Thorns by Rose Lerner Read Free Book Online

Solomon said. “Sorry about the t-h. No, it’s no relation to Shakespeare’s wife that I know. We’re from Shropshire.”
    The marquis frowned and turned cajolingly to Serena. “You have given him my room,
ma sirène
? But I will be needing it.”
    She shrugged. “If you’d sent me word you were coming I could have saved it for you, but as it is, I’ll hardly ask Solomon to move. You can have the apricot room if you like; it’s just across the hall.”
    “He can have the room,” Solomon said, trying not to think of that connecting door. “It’s his, after all.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “No, the room is mine. I’m happy to put René up free of charge at any time, but, as I’m sure he will acknowledge, I bought out his share in the Arms when he left for France.”
    The marquis pressed his lips together, looking cornered. “It is that which I must speak to you about,
ma sirène
. I have not been able to recover my lands in France, Napoleon is back,
alors
, I am forced to return to your green island.”
    Serena’s birthmark lifted hopefully. “You must be disappointed,but of course I’ll be delighted to sell you back any share of the Arms you care to buy, up to fifty percent, or to hire you on as my assistant for a fixed salary if you’d prefer.”
    “I would be prepared to buy you out.”
    The birthmark hunkered down. “Buy me out, René?” she asked. “You know I won’t leave the Arms.”
    His gaze held hers unwaveringly. “You are sure that you do not want to consider it? I can give you double what we paid for it.”
    Her happiness was snuffed out now like a candle, and as jealous as Solomon had been, he felt a pang at its loss. “René, what is this about? If you’re in trouble, you know I’ll help you, but as for leaving the Arms, it’s out of the question.”
    He took a deep breath, then gave a slight Gallic shrug. “Is that any way to treat your husband,
sirène
?”



Chapter 3
    Surely René hadn’t just said what Serena thought he’d said. “Doing it a bit too brown, René. My husband? Come, what is all this nonsense?” Surely it was a joke. Surely in a moment René would laugh and hold out his hands for her to clasp, and there was no need for her heart to stutter in her chest like that. No need at all.
    René didn’t smile as he drew a paper from inside his coat. “It is not nonsense,
sirène
. Under your English law everything you have is legally mine. Even the Arms. Particularly the Arms.”
    She had missed him so much, wanted him to come back for so long. She had been so happy to see him. She had been worried by his stricken look, and he wanted to take the Arms away from her.
    She said, with a calm that frightened her, “Let me see that.” René handed her the paper without a word. The marriage lines looked undeniably genuine. Her signature was perfect.
    Five years
, she thought.
    For five years she had lived at the Arms, had got up every morning at dawn to consult with Antoine on the menus and gone to bed late every night after doing the books. For five years she had worked to make the Arms a success, and more, a fixture of the London scene. And all of it meant nothing, because some forger had written
Serena Ravenshaw married René du Sacreval
on a piece of paper.
    For five years she had been an independent woman with a reliable income. And she owed that, at the heart of it, to the two men standing in this room. Men had saved her, and men could destroy her. A woman couldn’t be independent, not really.
    She’d been staring at the paper for far longer than the most careful examination required. She had to say something, but she very simply could not move. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think.
    Solomon came to her side and pried the piece of paper from her fingers, squeezing one of her hands as he did so. “Are you really married?” he murmured. She shook her head dumbly.
    Solomon turned to René. “And if I should put it in the fire?”
    “Then what of the parish