by Shana Galen
And though many women had chosen him over the years, he had never cared half as much as he did at this moment for this one woman’s opinion. This one woman’s choice.
Finally, she looked back at him, her violet eyes troubled. “I don’t know. That is the honest answer.” She started for the door, and he followed, slamming his hand on it to keep it closed.
He also unintentionally boxed her in.
Or was that his plan all along?
“Think on this then, mademoiselle: two children are suffering in that prison. I have been inside. Artois refurbished much of the palace, but the Tower is still much as it was when it was built in the Middle Ages. The Tower is cold”—he moved closer, forcing her to look up at him and press her back to the door—“dark, and damp. Their father is dead. Their mother has been taken from them and will surely follow her husband to the grave. If you are not on my side, can you at least be on their side?”
Her eyes met his, and he saw the flash of fire. “Do not use those children to attempt to manipulate me. We do them little service if we are killed or stage a failed rescue attempt.”
“We do them no service if we sit on the Rue du Jour day after day doing nothing! And I will use those children’s circumstances to manipulate you. I’ll use whatever means I have available to save their lives. Just like your precious Pimpernel, I will lie, steal, cheat, or seduce to save innocent lives.”
She raised a graceful brow. “Seduce?”
Laurent shrugged. “Perhaps he does not have that talent.”
“And you do?”
Oh, she wanted to play with fire. He stroked a finger down her cheek, watched her porcelain skin grow pink under his touch. “I most certainly do.”
She turned her head away, and he actually had to clench his hand to keep from touching her again. When he touched her, was this close to her, he forgot the shame of his past life. He forgot he’d been indolent and spoiled and vain. He only saw what he could be now. Who he could be with her. But he needed her to believe in him.
“And would you seduce me to hold sway with me?”
“At one time, I would have.” He stepped back, giving her room. She looked back at him, and the sight of her lovely face and the distrust fading from her lovely eyes was a reward he had not anticipated.
“And now?”
“No. I want you to take my side because you believe in me and this cause.” He took her hand, and when she tried to pull it away, he said, “This is friendship, not seduction.” He looked directly at her. “I need your help, mademoiselle. I need your skills. Your parents named you Honoria for a reason. I pray you see my cause as honorable enough to warrant your faith and your support.” He dropped her hand, and she stared at him for a long moment.
“You obviously did not waste your time at Versailles. You are as skilled with words and diplomacy as any courtier.”
He inclined his head. “I mean what I say.”
She nodded slowly. “I believe you do. Very well.” She turned to the door and lifted the latch. “I will talk to Sir Andrew. I will make him see the necessity of your cause.” She passed through the door, and he held it, watching her walk away.
“Then I shall thank you in advance.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t have your gift with words.” She descended the stairs.
But she had passion, and that was more important than words.
Fourteen
She paced all afternoon, waiting for Sir Andrew and the rest of the League’s men to return. The marquis kept to his room while Lord Anthony prowled the ground floor. Lord Anthony’s eye had swollen and turned reddish purple, but she refrained from commenting on it. She spent most of her time replicating the work she’d done earlier on the false orders from Robespierre that Mackenzie had requested.
As a rule, Honoria did not ask about the League’s missions, but she had to assume Sir Edward was attempting to free a priest from one of the prisons. The orders she had forged from Robespierre would ensure the priest could leave the city. Once he was out of Paris, it would be easier to smuggle him out of the country.
Finally, she heard steps at the front door and Alex and Lord Edward Hastings entered. A moment later, the rest of the party came through the secret passage. Today Alex wore a long wig of curly brown hair with a jaunty hat pinned on top, and now she removed it and stared at Lord Anthony.
“Did you run into a wall?”
He glared at her, arms crossed over his chest.
“Good God, man,” Sir Andrew said, sweeping his hat from his head. “What happened?”
“He ran into my fist,” said a voice from the landing. Honoria turned to see the marquis descending the stairs. “We had a slight disagreement as to French cuisine.”
Alex gave Honoria a look, which Honoria knew meant Alex wanted all the details later.
“I am happy it was only a slight disagreement,” Sir Andrew said. The men started upstairs, no doubt to wash and change before dinner. Sir Edward carried a large basket Honoria assumed held their dinner for the night. He attempted to hand it to Alex, but she held her hands up.
“I hope you do not expect me to cook for all of you! I have a rehearsal at the theater, and I will be late as it is.”
Honoria took the basket. “I will prepare dinner.”
“Thank God,” Lord Anthony said.
“Why do you never thank God when I cook?” Alex demanded.
“Because Miss Blake can actually make the food palatable.” The squabbling continued as the two started up the steps.
“Excuse me,” Sir Andrew said, making to follow them.
“If you have a moment, Sir Andrew,” Honoria said, “I’d like to speak to you.”
“Very well.” He changed direction, pulling out a chair at the dining room table.
Honoria cut her gaze at the marquis, still standing near the stairs. “In the kitchen, if you do not mind.”
Now Sir Andrew looked at the marquis. “I’d rather not leave him alone so close to the door to the secret passage.”
She’d forgotten the marquis was still being kept under watch. She gave Montagne a long look. “He will not attempt to escape. I promise you.”
Sir Andrew looked at her and then the marquis. “I have your word, sir?”
The marquis nodded, looking quite bored with the whole exchange. “My word as a gentleman, sir.”
“Very well.” Sir Andrew followed her into the kitchen. “Please speak quickly, Miss Blake. I’m not certain how much claim to the title of gentleman our Monsieur le Marquis can boast of.”
“He will not attempt to escape,” she said, uncovering the basket and beginning to empty it of its contents. “At least not until we’ve spoken.”
Sir Andrew sighed. “Then this is about the Temple and the princess. I thought I made my position clear.”
“You did, but I am not certain I made my position clear.” She set the bread on a large wooden table and looked directly at Sir Andrew. This was something she rarely did because she was all too aware of the strange color of her eyes. Men tended to stare at her too long or look away.
Sir Andrew met her gaze directly. Whatever he saw in her gaze must have convinced him of her determination because his annoyed expression fell into resignation. “Is there anything I might say to convince you to abandon this suicide mission?”
“No. As the marquis has pointed out to me, there are innocent children suffering. I will not stand by and do nothing.”
“We do not have proof they are suffering.”
She gave him a look of incredulity. “The proof is in the Place de la Révolution, where innocents are killed daily for the public’s amusement. If this new regime does nothing to stop the blood flowing through the streets, why should they care what happens to two children, son and daughter of the king and queen they hate? Sir Andrew, if we do not step in, those children will surely die.”
“Our mutual friend—”
“He is not here, but surely he would want us to proceed. After all, he
organized the release of the marquis because he wanted more knowledge about the Temple.”
“To rescue Marie Antoinette.”
“And do you think the queen would have gone without her children?”
Sir Andrew pressed his hands on the table. “No. From all accounts, she is a good mother and dotes on those children. She would send them in her place before going alone.”
“Then certainly our friend intended to rescue all of them.”
“Then we wait until he returns to France. He is our leader.”
Honoria removed cheese and several eggs wrapped in cloth from the basket. “It could be weeks or months before he is able to return.” She did not have to point out that there was always the possibility he would be caught and never return. “The situation in Paris is already volatile. Power changes hands daily and each new leader has sweeping reforms. We must act now before it is too late.”
Sir Andrew held up his hands in surrender. “Very well. If you insist on this course of action, at least take every step to ensure it will be successful.”
“And how should we do that?” Montagne asked, coming into the kitchen. Honoria frowned at him. He had obviously been eavesdropping, though he didn’t look in the least contrite.
Sir Andrew glanced at him, then back at Honoria. “We must make a plan and arrange for the children’s escape. That takes some time.”
“We don’t—” the marquis began.
“You have a few days. That’s all I need,” Sir Andrew said, cutting him off. “Give us the map of the Temple, and we will work on a plan to rescue the dauphin and Madame Royale. We must organize transportation, disguises, bribes, false documents.”
“None of that will be very useful if we don’t know more about the prison guards and their schedule. Who is allowed in and how? When are the children allowed outdoors, if at all? Where are they being held?”
Sir Andrew pointed to the marquis. “It will be your task to determine all of that.” He held up a finger. “But safely and from a distance.”
“Explain.” The marquis crossed his arms over his chest.
“We have a room on the Rue de la Corderie, which overlooks the southern garden walk.”
Montagne dropped his arms. “And you can see the Temple from there.” It was not a question. “Yes, you can see the gardens quite well. Does the princess walk there?”
“I do not know. We only recently rented the lodgings, and they did not come cheap or without some negotiation. It seems there are many who would pay to gawk at the princess.”
Laurent uttered a curse.
“I had planned to send you there to observe if I could not convince you to leave Paris,” Sir Andrew continued. “Of course, I would have paired you with Lord Anthony, though I see now that arrangement will not do.”
“I want to go,” Honoria said.
“I bloody well knew you would say that,” Sir Andrew grumbled. “And I will approve the arrangement, though I have my reservations.”
Honoria’s cheeks heated. “I assure you, I do not need a chaperone.” She could not be ruined by being alone with a man any more than she already was by being in Paris.
“Perhaps you were not the one I thought of chaperoning.”
Montagne raised a brow. “My sole purpose is to rescue the children. I have no intention of seducing Mademoiselle Blake.”
“That may not be your intention, but you will be alone for hours, perhaps days. Can I trust you to behave as a gentleman?”
Honoria glanced at Montagne. She felt very much like a child whose parents were discussing her fate.
“I am always a gentleman, and you have my word I would never force myself upon Mademoiselle Blake nor touch her without her consent.”
A long moment of silence followed. Sir Andrew looked at Honoria, and she was well aware the marquis did not promise not to touch her, only not to do so without her consent.
“The final decision is yours, Miss Blake.”
“I will go.”
“Very well. You two will travel tomorrow in a closed carriage we have access to.”
“And if I want to go tonight?” the marquis said. “Now?”
“I will tell you to go on your own and strongly urge Miss Blake to stay here. You will have neighbors at these lodgings, and it’s far better they see you arrive in daylight with nothing to hide. Not to mention, I imagine Miss Blake must pack the few things she brought with her from England as well as eat dinner. There is no food in the rooms on the Rue de la Corderie. Better to wait until tomorrow than to risk being out after curfew.”
“One more night,” the marquis muttered under his breath.
“We will go at first light,” Honoria assured him. She understood his impatience. She felt it too, but she could see the wisdom of Sir Andrew’s instructions.
“I will see that the coach is here in the morning,” Sir Andrew said, “and I can provide you with a few assignats to buy bread and cheese. Miss Blake, you will have to go. If Monsieur is seen, he could very well be recognized.”
“I don’t need your assignats,” the marquis said. “I have my own cache.”
Sir Andrew’s brows lifted. “I see. Apparently, you did not think to volunteer those for the cause.”
“I am volunteering them for my cause. If, after the princess and the dauphin have been liberated, I have assignats to spare I will happily donate them to your worthy charity, monsieur.”
Sir Andrew inclined his head. “Then if you will excuse me, Miss Blake, I will make myself presentable for dinner.”
Honoria looked down at the vegetables, bread, eggs, and cheese spread on the table before her. Her head spun at the thought of this new venture. Montagne and Sir Andrew left her to begin preparing the meal, and her hand shook as she lifted a knife and began to slice vegetables. Was it fear that the revolutionaries might discover them and imprison them or have them guillotined that made her hands shake?
That was certainly part of it. She did not want to be caught.
But Honoria suspected the real reason her hands shook was because she could not quite contain her excitement at being alone with the Marquis de Montagne.
He would not touch her without her consent.
But how long would it be before she gave in to her desire?
MADEMOISELLE BLAKE could certainly cook, Laurent thought as he sat at one end of the long dining table, Mademoiselle Martin on his right and Sir Andrew on his left. Honoria sat across from him, her eyes on her plate.
The meal she’d prepared—a vegetable soup, cooked eggs, and bread—paled in comparison to the sumptuous meals he had enjoyed at Versailles or when dining with friends at their homes on the Champs Élysées. But it was a marked improvement over the food he had paid for at La Force, and though it was simple it was flavorful. She had a way with seasoning and a talent in the kitchen. The vegetables in the soup were neither too crunchy nor too soggy and it was just salty enough with hints of other herbs in it.
He was eating his third serving before he realized he should not have taken so much. But when he paused in the act of serving himself more from the pot on the table—they were dining à la française—Sir Edward motioned for him to go ahead.
“Eat,” the Scot said. “Ya need it mair than we after yer time in La Force.”
Laurent did not argue. He had grown so used to hunger he’d forgotten what it was to be full, and now that he’d had a taste of real food, his belly could not get enough. Honoria barely ate, though. She pushed her spoon through the soup and pretended to sip it, but her bowl was as full as when they’d sat down.
After dinner Ffoulkes explained the new plan. Laurent answered several questions, while Honoria kept her eyes on the table. Finally, Ffoulkes suggested they all retire early. When the men all rose, Mademoiselle Martin pointed at them. “He means Honoria and Monsieur le Marquis should retire early as they must rise before dawn in the morning. The rest of you have dishes to wash.”
The men groaned, but they didn’t argue. As they tromped int
o the kitchen and Alexandra Martin followed Honoria and Laurent up the stairs, Lord Anthony poked his head back out from the kitchen. “And where are you off to, Miss Martin? There’s a dish here with your name on it.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I have to help Honoria pack.”
Lord Anthony scowled at her and disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Actually,” Honoria said, “I don’t need any help. I didn’t bring much.”
“Good,” the pixie said as they reached the top of the stairs. “That gives me a moment to speak with Monsieur le Marquis.”
Honoria paused in front of the room she shared with the petite blonde. Laurent could see her thinking of ways to save him, but he already knew it was hopeless. “Shall we speak in my chambers, mademoiselle?” he asked, holding his door open.
“Thank you.” She marched past him.
“Bonne chance,” Honoria said before entering her own room.
Left with no other option, Laurent stepped into his room, leaving the door open.
“Well,” Miss Martin said, turning to face him. “Your plan worked.”
“My plan?”
“Yes. You wanted Honoria alone, and now you will have her all to yourself. What designs do you have on her?”
Laurent barked out a laugh. “She needs no protection from me, mademoiselle. I have no designs on her. I simply want to rescue the princess.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He didn’t quite know how to answer that. He was unused to being spoken to that way by his equals much less an actress from the theater—and not even a very good theater in his opinion.
“I swear on my mother’s grave”—she moved until their faces were inches apart—“I will kill you if you dare harm her.”
“I have no intention of harming her. Why are all of you so intent on protecting Mademoiselle Blake?”
