by Shana Galen
“Because it’s so easy to see she’s been hurt before. Do not hurt her again.”
She was correct. Honoria Blake had been hurt before. The way she hid her beauty and insisted she was more than a pretty face hinted at a past that still troubled her. Who did not have a troubled past in these days? But it angered Laurent to consider it might have been a man who’d hurt her.
“What happened to her?” he asked, keeping his voice level.
“As though I’d tell you.” Mademoiselle Martin huffed out a breath.
“You don’t know.”
She sighed. “She won’t tell me anything.”
“Then perhaps she merely wishes to forget it. Put it behind her.” Laurent shrugged. “I think we all would like to do that with aspects of our past. Perhaps the best way to help is to allow her to forget. That might even be the reason she came to Paris in the first place.”
Alex blew out a breath. “For a spoiled noble, you have some ideas that make sense.”
He laughed. “I have many ideas that make sense. After all, we have been ruling this country for nine hundred years.”
“Yes, well, just as long as your ideas have nothing to do with seducing Honoria.”
“Or you will have my head.”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you, mademoiselle.” He indicated the door. “You have been most entertaining.”
She scowled at him before returning to her chamber and slamming the door. Gingerly, he removed his clothing and lay in bed, listening to the quiet murmur of female voices in the room across the hall. Then all in the house was quiet.
Although he tried to sleep, rest eluded him. He wondered what Marie-Thérèse was doing at the moment. Was she lying awake, worrying about her mother? Did she know her father had been executed? Did she curse Laurent for failing to keep his promise?
And then he wondered if Honoria Blake slept, and if she did whether or not she dreamed of him.
Finally, he rose and dressed. The sky was still dark, but he could sense dawn would be upon them soon. He tried the latch on his door, found it locked, and cursed Ffoulkes. The man was taking no chances.
A few moments later, Ffoulkes opened the door and motioned Laurent to follow him downstairs. Laurent followed silently and found Honoria standing in the cold dark of the dining room. A small bag sat at her feet, just large enough to hold a change of clothing and a few toiletries. “I haven’t heard the carriage,” she murmured.
“The driver will be here any moment,” Ffoulkes told them. “Remember to keep your heads down, but do not look suspicious. Be friendly with any neighbors you encounter, but aloof.”
Laurent shook his head. “How the hell is one friendly and aloof or did I translate incorrectly?”
Honoria’s smile told him he had not mistaken the words.
“Just be careful,” Ffoulkes said. “Communication between us should be kept at a minimum. Lord Anthony or myself will come daily to collect notes you make and observations. When we’ve formulated the plan, we will alert you. Do not, under any circumstances, act without us.”
“You have my word, Sir Andrew,” Honoria promised. Laurent would promise nothing. He could not. He’d promised Marie-Thérèse he would save her, and his loyalty was always first to her.
The clop of horses’ hooves sounded on the street outside. Ffoulkes peered out of the window and then shut the curtains again. “He’s here.” He handed them tricolor cockades. “Go quickly and remember what I said.”
To Laurent’s surprise, he embraced Honoria, whispering something only she could hear. Words of love? Laurent had not suspected the two of them of being lovers. Had he missed some sign?
And then Ffoulkes grasped his hand. “Bonne chance, monsieur.”
“Merci, but I don’t need luck. God is on my side.”
Ffoulkes gave him a sad smile. “I pray you are correct.”
Laurent led the way from the dark doorway of the safe house to the coach. Once Honoria was inside, he closed and locked the door and made certain the curtains did not gap. Then the vehicle jerked to a start, and he felt his heart pound as they moved inexorably closer to the Temple and the princess. Today he would watch the prison and begin to formulate a plan. He might even see her walking in the courtyard. Among the discussions had been a suggestion that while Laurent watched the prison, Honoria sleep and vice versa.
“When we arrive,” he said, “you go back to bed. I will take the first watch.”
She nodded, stifling a yawn. “Sir Andrew wants us to take copious notes. I brought paper, ink, and pen. You should write down everyone you see entering and leaving and the approximate times.”
“I don’t have my pocket watch any longer.”
“Sir Andrew says the lodgings are furnished. Surely it will have a clock. If not, we will purchase one.”
“Very well. We work in four-hour shifts. While one observes, the other sleeps, but—” He waited until she looked up at him and he had her full attention. While it had grown lighter beyond the curtains, the interior of the carriage was still dark and her expression was hard to read. Her eyes merely looked dark and large, their color obscured. “If you should glimpse the princess, you must promise to wake me. I need to see her.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
And then to his surprise, she reached across the carriage and took his hand. “We will save her, Laurent. I know we will.”
Fifteen
The four hours she slept felt like only a few moments. The bed was comfortable enough and quite large, but she had not slept well the night before and the exhaustion had finally caught up to her. If she hadn’t been exhausted, she would not have slept so well. She still didn’t fully trust the marquis, though understanding his motives and knowing about his sister Amélie had helped.
They occupied two rented rooms on the third floor of a well-maintained building on the Rue de la Corderie. The residents were merchants and prosperous tradespeople, and Honoria could not complain about the furnishings, but the accommodations were small, especially if one hoped to stay out of another’s way.
The first of the two rooms possessed two windows that overlooked the gardens of the Temple. Honoria finally had a clear view of the Temple. It was every bit as imposing up close as it looked from afar. The Temple Tower was a tall dark mass flanked by four imposing turrets with pointed roofs. The exterior bore no ornamentation. The few windows the gray stone structure boasted were narrow and small. It looked like what it was—a dungeon.
The marquis had shoved a small table next to one window, arranged paper, ink, and quill, and did not move again. In the meantime, she’d explored the rooms—not much to see—and finally retired to the other room, which housed a bed and a privacy screen with a chamber pot and washstand.
The bed had been made with clean linens, and Honoria only removed hat, gloves, and shoes before climbing under the covers and falling asleep. She awoke again when something touched her shoulder. She opened her eyes and gazed into the marquis’s soft green ones. “It is your turn. Are you still tired? I can watch longer.”
He would too. He would exhaust himself and never sleep. Already, he had bruises under his eyes, and she doubted he had slept at all the night before.
“No. I feel quite refreshed.” She pushed the covers away and rose. “I shall take my turn. Did you see anything interesting?”
He shook his head. “It’s been quiet. I saw a woman leave with a market basket. I thought she might be the wife of the gaoler overseeing the care of the dauphin, but she might be the cook or a servant. She returned about an hour later. Nothing else.”
“Please try and sleep,” she told him. “I promise to wake you if there is any sign of the princess. When my watch is over I will go out and buy us something to eat.”
As she spoke, he’d taken the chair across from the bed and had begun to remove his shoes. Now he looked up. “I should go to the market. You must be famished.”
Honoria gave him a look of warning. “Sir Andrew said
it would be dangerous for you to be seen. If the residents of this area are familiar with you because of your association with the Comte d’Artois, then it would be better if you stayed inside and out of view.”
“And I should send you out and into danger while I recline in safety?”
“What danger is there for me in walking to the market? I have never had the luxury of maids or footmen to shadow my every movement. I’m quite capable of buying goods and transporting them back without any assistance. I have done so for years in London.”
Seeming mollified, the marquis began to remove his shoes again. “This is not London, and you are not a Frenchwoman.”
Honoria shrugged in the way the French always did. “I will wear the patriot’s cockade, and as you know, I speak French perfectly.”
“Ah, yes. Your parents from Brussels.” He stripped off his coat. He began to unfasten his shirt at the throat. Apparently, he intended to sleep without it. Honoria did not know what else he intended to remove, and she did not want to find out. She backed out of the room. “Now I had better go to my post.”
Coward, she chided herself as she scampered away, closing the bedchamber door behind her. Her real fear had nothing to do with the bloodthirsty peasants on the streets, but with the irresistible noble in the room a few feet away.
Honoria sat at the table near the window, pleased to note the marquis had positioned it so she might see out, but anyone passing by would not have a clear view of those seated there. The day was cloudy and overcast and the lack of sun meant the temperatures had dropped. It would be a long winter in Paris—and a bloody one—if the harvest was as poor as it had been in recent years.
The draft from the window made the seat beside it less than ideal, but Honoria was thankful for the small fire in the hearth and made a note to buy more wood when she went to the market. She rubbed her hands together to warm them, then turned her attention to the notes the marquis had made of his observations from the early morning.
He’d sketched his view of the Tower and the gardens surrounding it. As everyone in Paris was ravenous for information about the royals, their location in the Temple had been published. He’d made notes pointing out the location of the Grande Tower, where the royal family was being held. From all accounts, the ground floor housed about forty National Guard. The third floor had been the king’s before he had been sent to his death. The princess and her aunt occupied the fourth floor. The dauphin had been separated from his mother and sister in early July and moved to solitary confinement.
At one point the family had been in the smaller tower, the Petite Tower, but they had been moved to the Grande Tower by order of the government. This was all noted and on a separate sheet of parchment he had begun a map of the interior of the Tower. Some sections were dark and in a definitive hand while others were lighter, indicating the marquis was less certain as to his memory of those. Perhaps given more time and sleep he would recall more.
His notes indicated there really had been very little activity at the Tower. Guards stood outside the entrance, and more had arrived shortly before he’d woken her. These had taken over for the others. The marquis suspected the next change would be in the late afternoon. The only other activity had been the exit of the woman.
To Honoria’s pleasure, he’d also sketched a picture of her. The marquis was a rather talented artist. All of the drawing lessons he’d taken with Madame Royale must have been to his benefit. His sketch of the Tower was very well executed, and Honoria thought his drawing of the woman detailed enough that she would recognize her if and when she returned.
The first hour of her watch was rather tedious, and only the cold from the window kept Honoria from dozing off. The woman the marquis had sketched returned the next hour. Honoria could not see what she had in her basket, but she thought she saw at least one bottle of wine and perhaps more. If the gaolers spent much of their evenings drinking or inebriated, that could work to the League’s advantage. She made a note of her observations and put her chin on her hand to continue the surveillance.
“That is certainly a lovely picture,” said a deep voice.
Honoria turned to see the marquis standing in the bedchamber door. The movement of her head made her realize how stiff she was. She should remember to stand up and move at intervals. “You are supposed to be resting,” she said.
“I slept,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. She might have accused him of lying, but his hair was rather adorably tousled. His hand moved to the stubble on his chin. “What I wouldn’t give for a razor.”
“Perhaps I can purchase one in the market. You should go back to bed. I have only been watching for an hour.”
He gave her an odd look. “It has been more than three.” He gestured to the clock on the table beside one of the chairs near the hearth.
Honoria rose in surprise. She must have been daydreaming and lost track of time.
“I hope you did not fall asleep.”
“I did not,” she assured him. “Nothing has happened, and so I suppose I allowed my thoughts to drift. I was always good at losing focus—or so my papa used to say.”
The marquis moved into the room, lifting a chair and carrying it to the window so he might sit across from her and still see the Tower. “Is that the papa who taught you so much about Roman artifacts?”
She smiled.
“You thought I would forget.”
“I thought it would not interest you.”
He sat back. “Everything about you interests me, mademoiselle.”
“I can’t think why.” She stared out the window at the foreboding exterior of the Tower. “I haven’t been anywhere or done anything. My life is exceedingly tedious, especially for a man like yourself.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“I’m certain I would much rather hear about some of your travels. You have no doubt been all over the Continent and beyond.”
He wagged a finger at her. “That might work with other men, but I am not yet so vain as to believe the sound of my voice is more pleasing than birdsong. I will tell you about my life, if you tell me of yours.”
“I’m sure we should be watching the Tower and not wasting time conversing.”
“We have the time to waste, mademoiselle. I shall watch, and you will talk.”
She sighed. “Very well. When Papa died, I went to live with a cousin of my mother’s in the English countryside. He was married and had three children, all younger than I. This cousin had come to my father’s funeral and offered to care for me until I was of age. He wrote to his wife, and she was pleased to have me live with them. She welcomed the help I would be with the children and with all the other chores.”
His green eyes were on the Tower, but now he cut his gaze to her. “But?”
“But her attitude changed when she saw me.”
He nodded, his gaze once again on the Tower. “She had not expected you to be so beautiful. She was jealous.”
“She did not trust her husband, but he had been nothing but courteous to me. I tried to make her like me, truly I did. I helped with all the cooking, the laundry, the children. They did not have enough money for a servant, and I became little more than their servant. I barely had time for my studies and more often than not, I fell asleep with my head on my book.”
“And what did your new mistress think of that?”
Honoria sighed. “She did not like me to flaunt my knowledge. She said it was unwomanly to know so much. She wondered, aloud, how she would ever find me a husband if I persisted in attempting to prove I was more intelligent than the eligible men.”
“Jealous again.”
Honoria traced a finger over the map the marquis had drawn earlier. “She had a point. Men did come to call on me, and I had a bad habit of correcting them when they used poor grammar or made some comment about art or mathematics that was incorrect.”
“I doubt that deterred them as much as you think. For a face like yours, a man will endure muc
h—even intellectual inferiority.”
“I suppose that became apparent to everyone because it seemed men were always vying for my attentions. This angered the wife of my cousin, and she used to lecture me mercilessly.”
Now he turned his gaze directly on her. “What did she say? Did she blame you for the attention?”
How did he see it all so easily? He seemed to know what she would say before she said it. “Yes, more or less.”
“She thought you were too flirtatious.”
Honoria laughed. “Even she could not credibly claim that. I have always been shy with people I do not know, especially men. But she said beauty was a gift from Satan to tempt men to sin.”
The marquis’s demeanor changed from relaxed to stiff. He sat forward in his chair. “And who were you tempting? More than the men from the village, I wager.”
Honoria looked down at her fingers on the map. “I should go to the market before we both perish of hunger.” She rose. “Do you have the assignats?”
He leveled her with his gaze. “We will talk more when you return.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew several paper bills. “I would give you more, but it might look suspicious for you to carry too much.”
She held out her hand, and he placed the bills in her palm, his hand brushing against hers. Cheeks flushing, she pulled her hand away. “I will be back in an hour.” She started away, all but stumbling to the door.
“Mademoiselle?”
She paused. If he told her to stay, she would, and then she would tell him everything. It was too much to bear, seeing the look of disgust on his face.
“Wear your cockade.” He pointed to the red, white, and blue pin peeking out of her small bag. Honoria hurried to it, and with shaking fingers, pinned it to her bodice and placed a small basket on her arm. Then she ran, not breathing until she was on the other side of the door.
LAURENT SMILED RUEFULLY when the door closed. She made more sense to him now. No wonder she hated any attention called to her beauty. She had certainly never benefitted from it. Perhaps he could show her that beauty was not evil but a great gift, especially when one had beauty inside and out, as she did.
