Page 84 of Romanced By the Orc

“Has Albion divulged our itinerary? I insisted we tour the continent. After spending several months with my relatives in America, I developed a strong taste for adventure. I’ve seen so few countries closer to home. Why I’ve never been to Paris, all thanks to that dastardly Napoleon and his war-mongering.”

“Lady Higgins,” Reginald began. “I refuse to believe that you both—”

“I positively begged Albie to take me to Paris, but he rightly suggested a trip to the coastal areas of France before moving further inland. Isn’t it splendid? You must agree, as you have also taken advantage of this humble inn. Who knew Monsieur Bacri’s modest establishment here would be so popular with the English? In another fortnight or so, we shan’t be able to come here without expecting to see it completely flooded by the ton. Why, this very spot might rival Brighton in June.”

From his little gestures and slight parting of the lips, she could tell that Sir Reginald was keen to interrupt her babbling. But raised as a proper English gent, he was not well-positioned to disrupt even the most inane chatter of a lady. Even so, she detested his smile, which remained that of a predator before making the final leap to sink its teeth into its prey.

As she rattled off all the reasons it would be most unfortunate if London Society were to decide that the coast of France was perfect for holidays, Albion hovered over Reginald. Her husband’s eyes roamed the room, focusing at last on the sideboard near the table and the various condiments laid out for use during meals.

“Why don’t we join my wife, Reg?” Albie suggested, waving his hand carelessly, the lace at his cuffs fluttering about in playful contrast to his large hands. “Where is our dratted host? Dais, you must call for him. I’ve heard it said he does not take kindly to orcs, though I intend to change his mind on that matter with all the powers of my charm.”

“Before we sit down, we should discuss—”

Before Reginald completed this thought, Diana called out in her loudest voice: “Monsieur Bacri! My husband is here with an unexpected guest. Might we have two more bowls of pease soup?”

Bacri re-emerged from the kitchen. Seeing Albion, he gasped and drew a hand to his chest, crying out a word shared by both French and English. “Abomination!”

“Now that’s hardly sporting,” Albie commented.

“Mon Dieu! You, sir!” Rather than confronting Albion, Bacri headed straight to Reginald, barking in heavily accented English. “You bring such a thing to my house without the courtesy of asking my permission? Tell him to leave. At once! Or I’ll call for the gendarmes to haul you out of this place.”

“I assure you that will not be necessary.”

Though her focus remained on the man she most hated, Diana stole peripheral glances at the man she most loved. Albion reached into a side pocket of his riding coat and withdrew a familiar mother-of-pearl ornamented container. Diana forced herself not to react.As they were coming in, he must have taken Reginald Addington’s precious snuff box.

While Reginald’s attention was diverted, as he insisted that gendarmes were on their way regardless and he had naught to do with bringing an orc into the inn, Albie turned to face the sideboard. He fiddled with a spoon before returning to the scene before him with his customary expression of dull interest.

“I have business with this fellow that will necessitate escorting him out of this house myself.” Reginald raised his hands to appease the furious innkeeper, allowing Albion to slip the mother-of-pearl box back into his pocket without detection. “He shall not spend more than another five minutes under your roof before he is brought to account for his crimes.”

“I refuse to bring more food or drink,” Bacri snapped. “Get out of my sight. All of you.”

With another horrid glare directed at Albion, Monsieur Bacri returned to the kitchen.

“Crimes?” Albion said. “Now, what’s all this then, Reg?”

“That’s Sir Reginald to you.” He stood taller, at an imposing height for a human. “Did you think it would be difficult to learn the whereabouts of an orc heading for Chamberly?”

“I venture to say not,” Albie replied.

“I know who you are, Lord Albion Higgins. The elusive Phantom. Not so elusive anymore, of course.”

Diana’s pulse raced. Reginald could not possibly apprehend Albion, who was nearly twice his size, on his own. He kept glancing toward the door. She assumed he had already forewarned the gendarmes that they needed a strong league ofmen to capture a powerful orc. Albion would put up a good fight, but he was outnumbered.

Regardless of the circumstances, Albie managed a hearty laugh. “Clearly, there has been some misunderstanding—”

“None such. Are you an orc, sir, or a coward? Can you not accept defeat with some measure of grace?”

At that, Albion’s entire demeanor changed. Neither she nor Reginald could harbor any doubt about who had taken his place. It was as she had always imagined in her mind’s eye. The strong jaw. The steely gaze. The self-assured manner of a gentleman who had found an honorable purpose in this life.

The Phantom of Chamberly.

It thrilled her, even as she was frightened nearly senseless. If only she had more time to enjoy the sight of her husband in his truest form. Her Albie.

“Very well,” Albion said quietly. “I suppose there’s no sense in denying it any longer.”

“No!” Diana cried. “Albie, don’t do it. Stop protecting me.”

She turned to face Reginald. Only one option remained left to her to save her husband and her sister. “He is only trying to confuse you. It’s me. It was always me.”

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