Supper she knew. Supper and lunch and breakfast. Truffled roast chicken. Hot, crusty bread with butter and sugar and cinnamon. Potage de poissons. A steaming cup of chocolate on a winter night. Artichokes and asparagus and haricots verts. All those words had meaning. Wonderful, delicious meaning.
Her stomach growled as she lay there, and she could only wonder where she had eaten those foods. Where? When? Home? Her lower lip quivered. She certainly hadn’t eaten anything like that here. All the guards brought each day was water, bread, cheese, and thin, soupy mush.
How could she remember food when she couldn’t remember her life? A single drop of moisture slipped from her lashes and streaked down the side of her face.
Thump, thump, thump.
All she wanted was to go home.
A small sob escaped her. Tears slid over her cheeks, one after another, dampening her tangled hair.
Until a sound outside the door made her go still.
Barely discernible, but unmistakable beneath the clamor of suffering and misery that ruled the night, came a soft oof. Then another.
Like someone in discomfort.
Puzzled, she listened intently…but heard nothing more. After a moment, she tried to relax. No one ever came to her room at night.
But a few minutes later she heard the familiar sound of the key in the lock.
Startled, she closed her eyes and turned her face to the wall, pretending to be asleep. She did not want her guard or Sister Ratface to see that she had been crying.
The key turned very quietly. So quietly that no one could have heard it—except a person accustomed to listening for that sound with dread.
The door opened…then closed.
She held her breath. Whoever had entered had done so in a very cautious, silent fashion.
It frightened her. This wasn’t normal at all.
And whoever it was didn’t say a word.
Her heart began thumping hard in her chest. It was almost as if she had imagined the sounds…but she hadn’t. She was not mad!
She was no longer alone. There was definitely a large presence in the tiny cell with her.
“Darling?”
The whispered voice was deep, masculine, and completely unfamiliar. She didn’t understand the word he had spoken.
“Darling…areyou here? I can’t seeathing.”
She could hear him moving closer now, slowly, as if searching in the darkness. Her heart hammered wildly.
“Marie? It’s memax.”
She opened her eyes, slowly turned her head toward the voice. But she could make out only a tall shape in the shadows. The window in her cell was boarded up, allowing not one speck of light in.
Suddenly a booted toe connected squarely with the end of her bed. The man uttered a sharp word and stepped back. Then he reached down and felt his way along the edge of the bed…the edge of the mattress…his fingers very close to her body.
She couldn’t breathe.
Her lungs burned but she couldn’t take a single breath.
He touched her hair.
She almost cried out, but the sound would not come. Panic held her paralyzed.
“Marie, areyou allright?” He knelt beside her. “Say something. It’sme.”
His voice was hoarse and she could barely make out what he was saying. Like everyone else, he spoke much too quickly.
He reached for her hand—and encountered the leather bindings that fastened her wrist to the side of the bed. “Damn. Whatthe devil havethey done toyou?”
He started to undo the straps, his long fingers working quickly. He seemed to be in a hurry.
Stunned, she couldn’t say a word. Her breath came out all in one shuddery exhalation. Who was this man and what in the world was he doing?
He untied her legs as well. She winced as sensation flooded back into her hands and feet.
“Mydarling don’t you rememberme?” When he had her free, he came back to the head of the bed, a daunting form in the darkness, looming over her. He bent near, his body radiating heat, and she caught the scent of leather and other spicy, unfamiliar fragrances she couldn’t name. He touched her, laying his palm against her cheek. She stiffened.
She didn’t think she could run. Or fight him. Her hands and feet were too painful…
But he wasn’t hurting her.
Not at all. His touch was gentle, his hand very warm and strong and…careful. The feel of it, that soft caress, made a shiver go through her. An unfamiliar, tingly-hot shiver.
“It’sme. It’s your husbandmax.”
“H-husbandmax?” she whispered unsteadily. “What’s a husbandmax?”
“Is it truethen? Youmust tellme,” he said urgently, stroking her tangled hair back from her forehead. “You don’tremember anything? Notme? Noteven your ownname?”
Name. The sisters were always asking her to repeat her name. Was this some new method of questioning they had decided to try? It was far different from the abuse they had heaped on her before.
“They told me my name is…” She searched her mind for the long, awkward word. “Marienicolelebon. But who are—”
He took her in his arms before she could finish the question. Sat on the bed and gathered her close, holding her. She braced herself against it, utterly taken by surprise. Not even the physician who had examined her had touched her like this!
She was too shocked to summon a protest. The stranger buried one hand in her hair. His other hand splayed wide across her back, his fingers hot through the thin fabric of her chemise. She could feel the roughness of his shirt against her cheek, the solid muscles beneath the cloth, the hard, angular shape of his body. Her breasts flattened against his chest—and that sent all sorts of incredible little sparks sizzling through every inch of her.
She trembled, wanting to pull away…yet not wanting to pull away. It was a shocking, dizzying…
Not entirely unpleasant feeling.
“P-please let me go,” she asked, her words muffled by his shirt. Her heart was beating too fast. Not only because she was afraid of him…but because of the strange, shivery-hot sensations that welled up from somewhere deep inside her.
He set her away from him. “Didn’t they tellyou that you havea husband?” His voice was sharp, tense. He felt for her hand in the darkness, her left hand. “Thosebastards took yourwedding ring?” He stood. “It’s allrightmarie. You’ll be allright. Just as soonas we get—”
“You’re…you’re…” She still couldn’t seem to catch her breath, though he wasn’t holding her anymore. “You’re talking too fast! I can’t understand you.”
His hands—those large, strong, gentle hands—moved to cup her face. “I’m sorry. Did they tell you how you came to be here?” He spoke a bit more slowly now.
She swallowed hard. Her mind felt all muddled…a different sort of muddled than she was accustomed to. She found it terribly difficult to focus on his words, even though she could understand him better now.
She couldn’t think of anything but what it felt like to have him touch her. The sensation was at once soothing and stimulating, so very…singular…remarkable…
Marvelous.
“Marie?” he urged.
“They…they said there was an ‘accident.’ Something to do with a ‘carriage.’ That’s all they would tell me.” She wet her dry lips with her tongue. “Who are you?”
“Your husband,” he replied softly.
Husband. The word had no meaning.
“You really don’t remember me?” His thumbs brushed over her temples, wiping away her tears. “Or anything at all?”
Her answer seemed very important to him, and for some reason, she didn’t want to disappoint him. But she didn’t remember ever being held this way before. By anyone. But the feelings, the overwhelming sensations—the roughness of his palms, the texture of his skin against hers, the heat of his touch, the way he sent all thought spinning away—affected her so strongly. Surely he must be someone she had known before.
But she di
dn’t remember him at all.
“No. I’m…sorry.”
“It’s all right.” He didn’t seem nearly as upset as the sisters did when she couldn’t answer their questions. In fact, he bent down and brushed kisses over her cheeks and forehead. “I promise, I’llexplain everything—but right now wehaveto get out of here.”
Her stomach became all fluttery at the feel of what his lips were doing—but her mind fastened onto what he had just said.
Out! Now that was a word she understood!
“You mean…we’re going to leave?” she asked unsteadily, barely able to believe it. “You’re taking me away from this place?”
“As far away aspossible.”
“We’re going home?”
With a swirl of movement, he handed her a bundled cloth. “Yes. Put thaton and we’llbe on our way.”
It was his cloak, still warm from his body. She didn’t bother to ask why he wanted her to wear a cloak when it was so warm. Whoever he was, he was taking her home!
“Hurry,” he prodded. “You canhardly go about the streets of Paris with nothingon but…uh…whatever that is you’re wearing.” He stepped away from her a bit.
“I would wear Sister Ratface’s pointy white hat if it meant I could leave here!” She laughed—the first time she had done so since awakening in this place. It was a very good feeling. Tying the cloak’s fastenings at her neck, she jumped to her feet.
And immediately sat back down with a sharp inhalation of pain. Her feet, which had been numb so long, now hurt like fire.
“Husbandmax, I don’t know if I can walk.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. He stayed where he was, as if he did not want to come near her again.
He wouldn’t leave her, would he?
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath. Abruptly, he came back to the bed. “Wedon’t have timetowait.”
He reached down and helped her to her feet.
And then he lifted her in his arms!
She gave a startled gasp as he slid one strong arm around her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. Her bare knees. He moved toward the door, holding her as if she were lighter than the wisp of cotton she wore. Her chemise and his cloak had bunched up around her thighs—and his shirtsleeves must be pushed up, because she could feel the bristly hair on his bare arm against the sensitive skin on the backs of her legs. It felt very scratchy and ticklish and…
Remarkable.
It made her blush. All over.
“H-husbandmax?” she whispered when he stopped to open the door. He must be quite tall. She seemed to be an awfully long way from the ground. “Could you—”
“Shh. If anyone notices us, this is allover.” His lips were very close to her ear, so close she could feel them like the touch of a butterfly’s wing. The heat of his breath against her earlobe and neck made her shiver. “Andit’s justmax,” he said tightly, adding, almost as an afterthought, “darling.”
He shifted her slightly and opened the door.
She didn’t question him further. Out. Freedom. Home. Those were the most important things on her mind at the moment. Everything else could wait.
He moved almost soundlessly, stepping through the door and closing it softly behind them. Her guard, Victor, wasn’t in his usual spot. She didn’t ask what had happened to him, because she sensed instantly that it had something to do with the quiet oof noises she had heard earlier. Husbandmax—or rather justmax, she corrected herself—must have done something to him.
The thought made her uneasy. In order to overcome brawny, hot-tempered Victor, the stranger who now carried her in his arms would have to be rather…formidable.
Even dangerous.
She trembled but forced herself not to worry about it. The scream—the one that had tormented her all night—shrieked again through the black corridor, rising. She could feel husbandmax shudder at the sound.
Hiding her face against his shoulder, she huddled closer. To be free of this place, she would face any risk.
The moans, cries, and shouted rantings of the building’s occupants made more than enough noise to cover their escape. He walked swiftly through the darkened corridors, his grasp so strong it felt as if he would never let her go. Being held against him made her entire body feel just as tingly as her awakening fingers and toes.
He moved confidently, as if he knew the way, despite the fact that it was almost pitch-black. All the windows had been boarded up, like the one in her cell. She couldn’t see his face, could gather only impressions of him in the darkness: his body, powerfully muscled but more slender than either of her guards, the only two men she had ever seen; his scent, a tangy blend of leather and…
The sea. That was it! That was the other scent that clung to the soft fabric of the cloak wrapped around her. She trembled, frightened and relieved and upset all at once. Every little memory that came back to her only made her wonder how many others remained cloaked. And why.
How much was there that she didn’t know?
Husbandmax came to a short corridor, a great distance from her cell, and he stopped at the far end.
“Can you stand?” he asked softly.
“I can try.”
He set her on her feet, steadying her with his arm. She felt him searching in his waistcoat for something, then heard a key in a lock, a door opening. He helped her into a room, one much larger than her cell. She leaned on an upholstered chair. He went to the far wall. She could hear him opening…
Curtains. That was the word.
Moonlight flooded in. She squinted against it, blinded for a moment, her eyes too accustomed to darkness.
He opened the window and glanced out, his movements quick but cautious as he looked left and right. “We don’thave muchtime. Canyou walk?”
She took one tentative step, then started toward him. “Yes, I…”
He turned to face her and she didn’t finish the sentence.
Not because of any discomfort in her feet, but because she could see him in the flood of moonlight. Could see him for the first time. Clearly. Perfectly.
Perfect. That was the only word that described him. She kept moving toward him, feeling as if she were drifting through a dream. She couldn’t remember ever having seen anyone like him before—and the thought pained her.
How, oh, how could she have forgotten such a man?
He was slender, as she had guessed, but the open neck and rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt revealed taut muscles. He wore a black waistcoat as well, and breeches and boots. All black. The color only set off the paleness of his hair and eyes: hair of the lightest golden blond, tousled over his forehead, long enough to touch the collar of his rumpled shirt in back, and eyes…
Oh, those eyes. She gazed into them as she drew near. Bright as stars, they were. A soft, silver gray that gentled the stark lines of his sharp cheekbones and square jaw. Fringed by generous lashes, crowned by dark brows that were now lifted as he regarded her with an expression of…surprise.
She came to stand beside him, still feeling as if she were floating, as if she were no longer entirely connected to earth, but treading clouds in heaven. With an…
Angel.
A fallen, black-garbed angel in the moonlight.
She stared up at him, wide-eyed with wonder. “You’re…you’re…” She couldn’t think of the word.
His expression became guarded. Wary. His whole body stiffened. “What?”
She settled for the closest word she could think of. “Beautiful.”
He looked startled, as if he had expected her to say something else entirely. Then his mouth curved in an embarrassed grin. “That’s the firsttime anyone’s ever calledme that.”
“Handsome,” she corrected herself, pleased as the word fell into place in her mind. “You’re very handsome.”
“Thank you. But you’ll haveall the time youwant to admire me later. Firstwe have to getout of here.” He gestured to the window. “It’s a bit ofa drop tothe ground. I’llgo first, then
you jump down to me. Do you understand?”
She kept gazing up at him, entranced. Beneath his mussed hair, she noticed a bruise on his forehead. And a bleeding cut. “Does that hurt?” Concerned, she reached up to touch him. “What happened to you?”
He dodged her fingers and caught her hand. “A bit ofa disagreement with your guard. I didn’t want to lethim keep you. Now we haveto—”
“It makes you look like a…a ruffian.” Suddenly she became frightened again. “Sister Ratface warned me about ruffians. She said there were a lot of them in Paris, and I should be grateful that she allowed me to stay here, where she could protect me from them.” She tried to pull her hand from his. “Are you a ruffian?”
He wouldn’t let her go. “No, I’mnot a ruffian, I’m a husband. Your husbandmarie.”
“I thought you were my husbandmax,” she said nervously. “Or justmax. Who exactly are you?”
“Marie, please.” He released her hand and tipped her face up to his, those strong fingers gentle but firm beneath her chin. “I promise I’llanswer all your questions later, but we don’t have time for them now. As soon as they findyou missing, a greatmany people are going to be looking foryou. If we don’t leave right now, if we’re caught, they’ll keepyou here. Or put you someplace worse. Is that what you want?”
“N-no.” His words and his touch brought a flutter of warmth and a rush of uncertainty.
“You must stay close to me. Don’t strayout ofmy sight for even asecond. Will you promise me that? Will you trust me?”
Trust him? Of all the questions she had been asked since awakening in this place, that was perhaps the most difficult to answer. But she had only two choices: stay here, or risk vanishing into the night with this ruffian angel.
Which was really no choice at all.
“Yes.”
He smiled, and the brilliance of it melted her right down to the soles of her bare feet. He didn’t spare another second explaining anything more. Drawing her closer to the window, he darted a glance outside, then slipped over the sill and dropped to the street below.
She leaned out, looking down. All the streetlamps near the window had burned out—or been extinguished. Standing in the shadows, he lifted his arms and motioned to her, urging her to hurry. She climbed up onto the sill, gathered his cloak around her, hesitated a moment.
A Scoundrels Kiss Page 5
