She turned away from the cabinet, marching across the room and looking for something to smash the glass with. There were no fire irons by the room’s large fireplace—which held several clocks, all of which ticked in relative unison—and nothing that could be used as a cudgel or club. She made a half-circle around the room, searching for anything to smash glass with, but almost everything in the room was locked up tight and could only be looked at.
Her frustrated steps took her to the low table between the sofas and the papers and ledgers it held. Her best chance was to use one of the ledgers to smash the glass with. She reached for the thickest of the books and picked it up.
As she did, a cascade of papers fell out from between the pages, scattering around her. She would have ignored them if the name “McGovern”, printed at the top of one of them, hadn’t caught her eye. She tucked the ledger under her arm and bent to retrieve that paper. After scanning the first few lines of what looked like a royal dispatch, her eyes went wide.
“No,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Asher, you didn’t.”
Her plans instantly changed, and she sat on the nearest sofa, dropping the ledger to its cushion. She scanned over the rest of the dispatch, then set that aside as well and began gathering the others. But there was no order to the papers that had spilled around her, or if there had been, there wasn’t now. The one that had caught her attention was about Asher, but the next was in French and detailed the illegal activities of a Comte de Grasse, and the one after that was a letter from a British royal duke about—
Solange clasped a hand to her chest as all the air left her lungs. The letter from the duke was a personal correspondence that had been sent to Lafarge outlining plans to install Lafarge in the French National Assembly, in a position that would place him in direct contact with the president. She scanned the full letter, then quickly folded it and tucked it into her bodice before searching the rest of the loose papers for more evidence of Lafarge’s political ambitions.
Blessedly, she found them, and the picture they painted was far more vivid than a bid by Lafarge to enter politics. She found a letter from a French cabinet minister that more or less begged Lafarge to stop blackmailing him in return for political support and a receipt for an exorbitant amount of money signed by the French foreign minister. She folded both documents and slid them between her bodice and her corset.
“Treason,” she whispered as she scooted forward on the sofa, intent on poring over all of the documents to find more proof of Lafarge’s villainy. “You’re not just a seducer and blackmailer, you’re a traitor.”
She had just pulled one of the files from the table to her lap when a shout rang from the hallway outside of the trophy room. “Unhand me!”
Solange shot to her feet. “Louis,” she called, abandoning the papers and ledgers and dashing toward the door. “Louis, is that you?” She banged on the door for all she was worth, gripping the door handle with both hands and rattling it as if her force of will alone could break the lock. “Louis!”
The blow that one of Lafarge’s henchmen had landed on the back of his head had been enough to stun Louis. It was a small miracle that he was able to recover before they could drag him to whatever dungeon Lafarge intended to have him killed in. He came around only seconds after blacking out, but he’d gone limp for long enough that Lafarge’s men let their guard down.
As soon as sense returned to him, he jerked out of their grip and tore down a side corridor. Durand and the two henchmen scrambled after him, but Louis was able to dash to the far end of the hallway before they grabbed him.
“Unhand me,” he shouted, twisting to jerk out of the larger of the two henchmen’s grip.
No sooner had he shifted to throw a punch at that henchman than he heard Solange call out, “Louis, is that you?” from behind the door closest to him.
“Solange,” he shouted in return.
The henchman took advantage of his moment of distraction and threw a punch that connected with Louis’s jaw. Louis reeled to the side, which ended up helping him as he was wrenched out of the henchman’s grip. He recovered fast enough to crack his fist against the man’s nose. The man jumped back with a roar, blood pouring down his face.
Durand shouted, “Allez chercher de l'aide!” pointing down the hall and reaching into his livery jacket.
Louis moved fast, knowing he didn’t have time to make mistakes. He lunged for Durand, tackling the man and pinning him against the wall as the henchmen dashed past. The two of them struggled for a moment before Louis managed to reach a small pistol that Durand had tucked away before Durand could get it. Louis used the butt of the gun to hit Durand’s head as hard as he could, knocking him out cold.
“What’s going on out there? Louis!” Solange shouted, pounding on the other side of the door.
Louis tossed Durand aside before running for the door and trying the handle. “It’s locked,” he said.
“I know.” Solange continued to thump the door.
Shouting rang from deeper in the house. Panic gnawed at Louis’s gut. He refused to leave Solange to save himself, but time was more or less up.
He glanced to Durand’s prone form on the floor, catching sight of a ring of keys on the man’s belt. Without thinking, he lunged for it and grabbed the ring, ripping it free. His hands shook as he tried one key after another in the lock, until at last, the tumblers clicked and the door swung open, revealing Solange.
“Hurry,” Solange gasped, taking his hand and running. “We have to get out of here.”
“You’re damned right about that,” Louis growled, gripping her hand tightly and sprinting forward.
They made it to the main hallway and started toward the front door.
“Ce que le diable se passe ici?” Lafarge demanded, stepping out of his office.
Louis twisted back to fire Durand’s gun at the man, but all he got was a hollow click. Either the gun wasn’t loaded or it had malfunctioned. Three men spewed out of a side corridor near Lafarge’s office, and Louis did the only thing he could think to do with his heart pounding in his throat and the need to get Solange to safety pushing everything else from his mind. He threw the gun at them and raced for the door.
“Arrête-les!” Lafarge shouted as Louis almost slammed into the front door.
Louis grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.
“Go, go!” Solange urged him, pushing him out into the cool afternoon and leaping after him. “We have to get away from here as quickly as possible.”
Louis could only manage a nod of agreement as he sped away from the house as fast as he could without leaving Solange behind. A gunshot rang out after them and he ducked on instinct, but wherever the bullet went, it wasn’t a danger. A woman screamed somewhere nearby, but Louis had no interest in pausing to see who it was or what would happen.
He and Solange sprinted as fast as they could to the river’s edge. Though cool, the weather was fine enough that Parisians and tourists alike were out in droves, strolling the streets and walking along the banks of the Seine. Louis and Solange didn’t slow or stop, though. They kept running, in spite of the curious and alarmed looks they were getting, until they reached the Pont de l’Alma and raced across.