“And if this letter is true, Renée?” he asked with a sneer. “What if Bernard was indeed the one who killed Corinne? That still doesn’t change the fact that Maximilien murdered your brother because Etienne could not leave his pretty little wife alone.” “Why would Maximilien have resorted to murder if he desired Etienne’s death?” Renée demanded. “Etienne gave him every opportunity to do it honorably! Maximilien could have killed him at the duel—but he did not. He could have demanded satisfaction at the Leseur ball and ended it with a sword right then, and no one would have thought the worse of him. But he did not. Severin, be reasonable for once!” After prying the rope from his neck, Lysette pillowed Max’s head and shoulders in her lap. His shirt was in tatters, his clothes wet and muddy. She searched beneath his jaw and found the weak rhythm of his heartbeat. “You’re safe now,” she whispered, using a fold of her gown to wipe the blood from his face. There was an annoying trickle of hot liquid over her cheeks, and she wiped at it impatiently, but the salty tears continued to leak from her eyes.
