Where was she?

With a jolt of horror, she realized that she didn’t know. She had escaped her family home, running into Hippolyte’s carriage and his arms. He had kissed her passionately all the way to a small chapel, where a cheerful abbé had married them.

After that, back in the carriage, Hippolyte had pulled her to him. She had no idea how much time passed, how far they’d traveled. By the time the carriage stopped, they were burning with desire. He kept laughing and kissing her, even when introducing her to the servants.

Now they were all gone.

It felt like a horrid fairy tale. Perhaps a cackling witch would stroll in the door.

Just as that notion presented itself, she heard carriage wheels crunching on snow. With a little cry, she ran to the entry. Hippolyte had come for her. She stopped and composed herself.

She was Madame Charles now.

Hippolyte had said she had new dignity. He had said—

The door flung open, and a man walked in, his fur-lined cape billowing behind him, his face set in lines of rage and disapproval.

Yasmin dropped into a low curtsy. “Votre Grâce.”

“I knew your mother was an intrigante when I married her,” her father snarled, advancing a few steps. “An élégante, to call a spade a spade. The daughter of a duke mad enough to sell herself for a small emerald.”

Fury poured down Yasmin’s spine. “You disrespect ma mère!” But she stopped there. Could she say aloud that her father owed his title to her mother’s affaire with Napoleon—which began with that emerald?

No.

“I knew who your mother was when I married her,” the duc said, ignoring her exclamation. “In truth, who could say ‘Non’ to an emperor? God knows your mother was only one of a string of women. I expected more of my daughter. What an imbécile I am!” He jerked his head toward the door. “Vite! I don’t want my horses to take a chill.”

Yasmin’s mind reeled. “How did you find me? But no, I cannot come with you. I am married!”

His lip curled. “You’re disgraced, not married. For God’s sake, Yasmin, did no one ever tell you that Hippolyte Charles is a fortune hunter?”

Yasmin’s mouth fell open. “No.” The word squeaked from her throat.

“The truth is widely known.”

“No one will gossip with me,” Yasmin said numbly. “Because of . . . of Maman.”

She thought a trace of sympathy softened her father’s face. “Your so-called husband came to the house and informed us that he’d ‘had’ you for a week, and that you believed yourself a wife.”

A sob tore out of Yasmin’s chest. “No!”

“He will marry you in truth only if we hand over the Cassan estate. We certainly will not relinquish the estate that your mother earned from the emperor.” The duc gave the word “earned” sardonic emphasis.

“Hippolyte loves me!” Yasmin cried. “This can’t be true!”

Her father gave a bark of laughter. “I blame your mother for not watching you more closely.”