by Shana Galen
More bubbles seemed to burst inside her as their lips met over and over. Bursts of excitement and fear and hopelessness—but mostly she felt desire. She had never wanted anything as much as she wanted him. She put her arms around him, burying her fingers in his thick, dark hair. She pulled him closer, and he growled in her mouth.
“Give me a moment or I shall behave more like a schoolboy than the man you deserve.”
She ran her hands down his back and pulled his shirt from his trousers. “I want the schoolboy. I want the man. I want every part of you, Laurent.”
Her words seemed to unleash a torrent of passion from him. Before she knew what had happened, he’d pushed her against the wall, lifting her hands and pinning her wrists to the wall with one hand. His mouth came down on her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Several pins sprang free from her bodice, and he freed her breasts so he might stroke them with his tongue and tease them with his lips.
“I want to touch you,” she murmured, trying in vain to loose her hands.
“Later.” His free hand was not idle. He lifted her skirts and pressed the hardness of his rod against the bare flesh of her center. Honoria could not help but rock against him. The coarse fabric of his trousers provided a friction that made her heart race.
“Mon Dieu!” He buried his face in her hair. “I may not even last until I can free myself. Have mercy, mademoiselle.”
She smiled, but gave him no quarter. After all, he’d given her none earlier. Between their bodies, his hand fumbled with his trousers, and then she felt him—warm and thick—against her flesh.
His fingers parted her legs, sliding across her slick entrance. He hissed in a breath. “You are ready for me.”
“Always.”
“Put your legs around my waist,” he ordered, dropping her hands to cup her rump with both hands.
“I don’t understand. I’ll fall.”
He touched his nose to hers. “My sweet innocent. I will hold you.” He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs about him. He adjusted slightly, moved her skirts, and then he was inside her. The sudden thrust of his member took her breath away. This was not like the last time. He hadn’t prepared her, and she rather liked the sudden shock of him. He thrust again, harder this time until she could feel the wall at her back and his fingers digging into her buttocks.
“Hold on,” he murmured in her ear.
She had no other choice. He moved fast and hard, bringing their bodies together and then pulling away just when she wanted him closer. She tried to catch her breath, but she could manage no more than a gasp before he was inside her again, filling her. He moved his hips with a skill she might have admired if she’d been able to think coherently. Instead, she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Don’t play the retiring miss with me,” he rumbled against her ear. “Scream for me.”
“I can’t,” she gasped as her body tightened impossibly.
He thrust again, moved his hips. “You can. Come with me.”
She was drunk on pleasure and the world teetered out of control as the climax hit her. She did scream then, his mouth taking hers to muffle the sound. She dug her hands into his back, seeking purchase. With an oath, he jerked back and she felt his seed on her thighs.
Always protecting her. Always protecting everyone but himself.
She turned her head to stare at the shadow of the Temple on the floor of their flat. Perhaps it was her turn to protect him.
Twenty
Laurent lay with Honoria in his arms. After his rather brutish behavior, he’d stripped her and made love to her slowly and thoroughly in the bedchamber. Now he held her, her lush curves and soft skin making him wish he had time to take her again. He didn’t know why he should not be satisfied, but it seemed the more he touched her, the more he wanted to touch her. The more he kissed her, the more he wanted to kiss her.
It was past dawn. The door to the main room was open, and he could see the first rays of gold peeking through the windows where the Temple did not shadow the building.
This was the day he had waited for since the royal family had been moved from the Tuileries to the Temple prison. This was why he had returned from the safety of exile and risked imprisonment. He’d survived, and now his only mission was to ensure Marie-Thérèse was delivered safely out of France. The dauphin would be more difficult to free, but Laurent had to at least attempt to save him. He and Ffoulkes had discussed where to take the children, and they’d both decided Vienna would be safest. Honoria, in turn, would be sent back to England, where she would be safe. As eager as Laurent was to see Madame Royale free and delivered safely into the hands of her cousin, the Holy Roman Emperor, he felt a pang of regret at having to leave Honoria.
When he’d abducted her at the safe house a mere six days ago, he had not anticipated ever developing feelings for her. She was beautiful, but he’d known many beautiful women. She was clever and compassionate, but he’d known women cleverer and equally compassionate. He’d never developed any sort of feelings for any of those women.
But none of them had been Honoria.
None had her lovely violet eyes or her dark hair or a smile that suffused a room with light until everyone else smiled with her. None blushed when complimented, but made love with a sensual abandon that belied all modesty. None had told him they loved him—him, a worthless wretch who had spent his life and his livres on wine and women and jeweled shoe buckles. Laurent didn’t even know if he was capable of love. Honoria certainly deserved better than he. It would be better for her if he went to Vienna and they never met again.
She stirred and he willed himself not to pull her tighter against him. He wanted to press his lips to the slope of her shoulder and part her thighs with his knee to feel the heat of her.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
“I heard the church bells toll seven,” he answered. “We should rise and dress. I want to observe the Temple to make certain nothing is different this morning.”
She sighed, and he wondered if she lamented leaving his arms as much as he. “No doubt Sir Andrew will be here soon. It’s best if we are ready. We have a long day ahead of us.” She disentangled herself from his embrace and slid to the edge of the bed. But when she sat up and began to rise, he grasped her wrist. He looked up at her, so beautiful in the gray light of the room with her long dark hair falling over her pale breasts.
“Honoria, if the mission today should fail—”
She tensed. “You mustn’t think that way. We have a solid plan.”
“Yes, but if it should fail, I want you to know...” He paused. What did he want her to know? This might very well be his last chance to speak to her alone, but what should he say? He had no experience discussing his feelings with women—not with any honesty at any rate.
She stood looking down at him, probably growing cold, and still he did not speak. He gripped her wrist and searched for the right words.
“You want me to know what?” she prodded.
“That I care for you. That you matter to me.”
Her expression didn’t change, but slowly she drew her hand away. “Thank you. You know my feelings.” She looked away and he could not see if pain lanced her features at the fact that he hadn’t told her he loved her as well. She straightened. “But this isn’t adieu quite yet. Excuse me.” She disappeared behind the privacy screen, and Laurent was left in the bed where the place she had occupied was now empty. He wished he’d damned the rising sun and taken her one last time.
Because for all intents and purposes this was adieu.
An hour later he was seated at the table, his gaze on the Temple, his fingers resting lightly on a sharpened quill. Honoria sat across from him, dressed in a plain dark blue dress and white fichu. She’d rolled her hair at the nape of her neck and pinned a cap over it as many of the lower class women in Paris wore their hair. On her breast she wore the tricolor cockade.
When the knock sounded on the door, neither of them jumped. Laurent was alm
ost relieved at the interruption. The silence had gone on too long.
Honoria rose to answer it, but Laurent shook his head. “Let me. Stay out of sight in case it’s not who we expect.”
He crossed the room and opened the door, but instead of Ffoulkes, Marie-Thérèse stood in the doorway. Laurent’s breath whooshed out, and he gripped the latch so tightly it cut into the skin of his hand.
Without thinking, he dropped into a deep bow.
“Oh, good God,” a man’s voice hissed. “Do you want to kill us all?”
Laurent looked up at the scowling face of Lord Anthony directly behind Marie-Thérèse, except now he realized it wasn’t Marie-Thérèse at all. “Mademoiselle de Lambriquet?”
“Can we dae the introductions within, dae ye think?” That was the Scot.
Laurent stepped back and Mackenzie and Dewhurst pushed Ernestine de Lambriquet and a large hamper inside. Once the door was closed, Laurent gave both men a piercing look. “What is this about?” He feared he already knew, and it had not been part of the plan. His chest tightened when Honoria came to stand beside him. “Mademoiselle de Lambriquet, allow me to introduce you to Mademoiselle Blake.”
The two women exchanged nods. “Where is Sir Andrew?” Honoria asked.
“He’s nae coming,” Mackenzie said.
“Change of plans.” That was from Lord Anthony.
“Change of plans?” Indignation shot through Laurent. “Why the hell did we spend hours making plans if Ffoulkes intended to change them at the last minute?”
“It wasn’t his decision, Monsieur le Marquis,” Mademoiselle de Lambriquet said quietly. “I begged him to give me a role in this escape. He refused, but the man known as the Scarlet Pimpernel opposed him. I’m afraid the change in plans is my fault.”
“And what is the new plan?” Laurent asked, although he already knew.
She looked him in the eye. “I am to take Madame Royale’s place.”
HONORIA FELT A STRANGE sense of disorientation. She had seen the princess walking in the garden just yesterday. Today this Mademoiselle de Lambriquet appeared in these lodgings, looking remarkably like the imprisoned daughter of the late king and Marie Antoinette.
“No,” Laurent said without asking any question. “Absolutely not.”
“We already told her nay, but she willnae listen to reason.”
“She’ll listen to me. I’ve known you since you were a child, Ernestine, and your father would not want you to do this.”
Honoria felt as though everyone had been having a conversation, and she’d just walked into the room. “Who is her father?” she asked. “I don’t understand why the plan has changed.”
Laurent turned to her, his mouth tight. “Mademoiselle de Lambriquet is the natural daughter of King Louis XVI and Philippine de Lambriquet, a chambermaid at Versailles. When her mother passed away, the king and queen adopted her. She has grown up alongside the royal children.”
“They are my brother and sister,” the young woman added. “And I will no longer walk free while my dear sister languishes in prison.”
“I cannot allow you to trade places with Madame Royale. Do you know what that will mean? You may be imprisoned the rest of your life. You may be sentenced to death and die by the guillotine,” Laurent argued.
Madamoiselle de Lambriquet’s set expression did not change. “Then so be it. I will gladly die if my sacrifice allows the blood of the Bourbons to survive.”
“And if Madame Royale refuses to trade places?” Laurent argued.
Madamoiselle de Lambriquet smiled wryly. “We both know she is not that selfless.”
Honoria swallowed hard. She loved her country and her king and queen, but she did not know if she would have been willing to do what this young woman was willing and eager to do. But then Ernestine de Lambriquet knew the dauphin and the princess and loved them not as figureheads but as her siblings. Honoria looked at Laurent and knew she would sacrifice herself for him.
That was what love meant.
Laurent plunged his hands through his hair, obviously trying to think of a new argument to dissuade Mademoiselle de Lambriquet. But Honoria would rather not waste any more time. “What is the new plan?” she asked.
“The marquis takes three of us into the prison via the secret passage while one of us waits outside and keeps watch,” Lord Anthony said. He seemed eager to move ahead as well. Honoria imagined he’d already heard all the arguments put before Mademoiselle de Lambriquet and knew she was resolute in her decision.
“If the National Guard has not found the secret passage and blocked it,” Laurent murmured.
“Once inside, we hide in the underground dungeons until dusk falls.”
“This is unchanged,” Honoria remarked.
“Now comes the change,” Sir Edward said. “Since we hae two lasses, Miss Blake an Miss de Lambriquet will go tae Madame Royale’s cell. The marquis knows where it is an knows the princess, so he’ll escort them, playing the role o’ a guard.”
Lord Anthony picked up the explanation. “The ladies will play the role of maids and bring fresh linen into the cell. While they are inside, pretending to change the bedclothes, Miss de Lambriquet and the princess change clothing and the princess leaves with Montagne and Honoria.”
“You have the necessary disguises?” Laurent asked.
Sir Edward tapped the woven basket he’d set at his feet. It was as high as his knee and resembled a sort of hamper. “In here.”
“Then I take Madame Royale and Honoria back to the dungeon. Who is waiting there?”
“Dewhurst,” Sir Edward said. “I’ll be the one waiting ootside an making sure we hae a vehicle to whisk the princess tae safety.”
“I’ll deposit Madame Royale in Mackenzie’s safekeeping,” Sir Anthony said. “With Mademoiselle de Lambriquet in her place, no one will know she is missing. No one will search for you, and you should have a much better chance of escaping to Austria and then on to Vienna.”
“But once they discover the dauphin is missing, they will be after us,” Laurent said. “Which means there’s no point in leaving Mademoiselle de Lambriquet behind.”
Dehwurst and Mackenzie exchanged looks. “The Pimpernel does not think we stand a chance with both children. He wants Madame Royale safely away before we try for the dauphin.”
“No.” Laurent fisted his hands, his face turning red. “I won’t leave him.”
“You hae nae choice, man,” Sir Edwards said. “Austria hasnae agreed tae take him. Only the princess.”
“Cowards!” Laurent stalked about the room, and Honoria worried his loud voice would attract the attention of their neighbors.
“The Holy Roman Emperor is afraid of war, so he’ll willingly take Marie-Thérèse, who is not heir to the throne. But he will not shelter the rightful king for fear of angering the new French government.” Laurent turned blazing green eyes on all of them. “Do I have the right of it?”
“The emperor might be persuaded yet,” Lord Anthony said. “If not, we take the dauphin to England. But not tonight. I give you my word and that of the Pimpernel that we will come back for the boy.”
Laurent looked as though he would argue further, but then his gaze swept the men’s expressions and he seemed to know he had been beaten. Honoria could see it as well. The men’s faces were set in stone. The decision was made. “I can go along with the plan to change Mademoiselle de Lambriquet for the princess or leave Madame Royale to rot. Is that about right?”
Lord Anthony sighed. “If that’s the way you want to see it.”
“That’s the way it is.” He rounded on Mademoiselle de Lambriquet. “Much could go wrong with this plan. Are you sure you want to be part of it?”
“There is not a doubt in my mind,” she said with a decisive nod.
Honoria showed the young woman to the bedchamber, bringing the hamper with them. They changed into the clothing resembling that worn by the handful of women Honoria and Laurent had seen entering the Temple prison, donning the s
imple petticoats over their plain chemises and heavy corsets. Honoria squeezed her feet into sabots that were a bit too small and then helped Miss de Lambriquet pin on her cap and tricolor cockade.
“I wish we had aprons,” the young woman lamented. “No maid would go about without an apron to protect her skirts, even if the skirts are poor quality.”
“Perhaps we will find one in the prison,” Honoria said. The men had done their best with the costumes, but they were men and did not think of the details of women’s clothing.
When the women emerged, the men had finished dressing in the uniforms of the National Guard. Laurent’s was too short for him, while both Sir Edward and Lord Anthony could barely squeeze their shoulders in the coats. Well-fed, athletic English nobles were more robust than the poor and hungry men who’d been recruited for the National Guard. But it would have to do. Laurent had said the Temple was dark, and hopefully the defects in their disguises would not be terribly apparent.
Lord Anthony pulled a pocket watch from inside his rough coat. “It’s quarter past eleven and the guards change at noon. Shall we go?”
“We leave two at a time and wait five minutes between groups. Go directly to the wall of the south garden and wait near the yew tree. When we’re all assembled, I’ll show you the hidden entrance. I’ll go first,” Laurent volunteered.
“I’ll go with you,” Honoria said.
“I’ll follow alone,” Sir Edward said.
“Then Mademoiselle de Lambriquet and I will come last.” Lord Anthony looked at everyone in turn. “May God be with each of you.”
Laurent held his arm out to Honoria. She took it, wrapping her arm around his. When they stepped out of the lodgings, he ducked his head, and she knew he still worried about being recognized. But hopefully the uniform, not his face, would attract the most attention. As they descended the stairs, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder one last time. She feared she would never see this place again.
