“Yes.” Jack ground out the word. Prince Raoul had seduced Clara but refused to marry her even after she bore his child. Then, like a coward, he’d abandoned them to the hostilities of the Paris rabble and left them unprotected while he escaped to the safety of his kingdom.
“He is fully to blame for her death. He knew the dangers she faced—a woman alone, a foreigner, an aristocrat during the Reign of Terror. He knew she would never return home to England. She wanted to be close to him, even if he would never wed her as she deserved. He should have remained to protect her, or taken her home with him, or removed her from Paris. In truth, he should have married her. An honorable man would have done so. He chose to save himself instead.”
Jack was aware how hard his voice had grown. He never thought about his father unless he was forced to, but the fury was still there inside him. As were his long-smoldering thoughts of vengeance. He had a serious score to settle with his father.
“I always vowed that someday I would make Prince Raoul pay for his sins. But now … Now I am actually considering giving up my revenge in exchange for gaining his throne.”
All for Sophie’s sake.
An incredible shift of perspective, Jack reflected grimly. It was also remarkable that he was revealing his most painful, most private secrets to her. But the firelit darkness of the room, the quiet intimacy, was loosening his tongue, as was Sophie’s unmistakable sympathy.
Her voice was full of compassion when she spoke again softly. “I can understand why you would loathe him, Jack. He was
also to blame for what happened to you after your mother was killed. Skye said when you couldn’t find your way home, you were taken captive by a brute of a tavern-keeper.”
Jack didn’t dispute that account. Compared to losing his beloved mother, his captivity had been minor, but he did indeed blame Raoul de Villars for his torment.
“You were right. My life was shattered that day,” he said quietly. “So at first I didn’t care what happened to me. Later, I fought my captor, but he was much too strong for me. And twice I tried to escape. He caught me both times and made me pay.”
“W-What did he do?” Her question held a note of dread.
Jack didn’t answer. He could still feel the cut of the lash on his back and legs … never his face, for that would have left marks that would bring down his price when he was sold. “He was good with a whip,” he said finally.
“Dear God.” Sophie’s voice shook. “Thank heaven your uncles rescued you in time.”
“Yes.” His mind went back to the day his uncles had come to rescue him from the despicable Gaspard Gautier.
He could hear the fierce argument coming from two floors below, although he couldn’t make out what was being said. Some time later, two strange men opened the attic door where he was being held prisoner. He was crouched in the corner with his pet dormouse, trying to make himself small and invisible.
He flinched when the strangers approached, which made them both halt abruptly.
“Dear God …” the darker haired man murmured quietly, unable to conceal his shock. “Jack, my child, you needn’t fear us. I swear we won’t harm you. I am your Uncle Stephen, and this is your Uncle Lionel. Your mother was my sister.”
He ventured another frightened glance at the strangers. The other man was fair-haired, but both were tall and richly dressed.
“Do you remember us, Jack?” the one called Lionel asked gently. “The last time you saw us was when we visited your maman two years ago, right here in Paris.”
He had vague recollections of both men, the laughter and affection they had shared with his mama.
When he nodded tentatively, his Uncle Stephen carefully bent down and held out a gentle hand to him. “Jack, you needn’t be afraid any longer. By God, you will never have to be afraid again. You have a family in England who loves you … cousins who are near your own age. Please, come with us, my dear boy. We will take you home.”
Shaking himself back to the present, Jack wondered how he had come to be discussing such agonizing emotional subjects with Sophie. Why had he revealed his most private wounds to her? Why had he shared stories that he’d never told another soul?
Clearly he trusted her far more than she realized. His past was so painful to remember that even his family had had to piece together what had happened to him before he came to England to live at Beauvoir.
But his childhood traumas weren’t important. What mattered was changing Sophie’s mind about traveling with him to Navartania. The truth was, he needed her with him, for reasons he couldn’t fully explain to himself.
And yet the choice had to be hers.
Her anger seemed to have eased in significant measure, at least, so he resolved to try again.
“Sophie …” Jack said in a low voice. “I want you with me when I face my father, but the decision must be yours. I meant what I said. Whether or not I accept the throne depends entirely upon you. If in the morning, however, you still don’t wish to come with me, I will return you to Paris.”
Sophie remained silent for such a long time, he wondered if she had fallen asleep.
But then she surprised him by finally speaking. “Jack, you needn’t sleep on the floor tonight.”
His heart slowed, then skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”