by Shana Galen
Dewhurst swore a particularly offensive oath, then he scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “Mackenzie is waiting with the princess. You take his place and escort her across the French border. Mackenzie and I will go back to the safe house and make a plan to rescue Miss Blake.”
“No,” Laurent said.
“What do you mean, no? All you have talked about was saving the princess. Go and save her. Mackenzie will leave without you if you don’t find the carriage in the next”—he squinted at his pocket watch—“ten minutes.”
“Let him go. Marie-Thérèse will be in good hands with him.”
“Don’t tell me you want to rescue Miss Blake. It’s probably a suicide mission.”
“I don’t care. I love her.”
Dewhurst stared at him, and it took Laurent a moment to realize what he’d said. He’d never said anything like it before, but he had no desire to take it back. He did love her. He’d die for her, and if he couldn’t save her, he’d die with her. There was no life without her beside him.
Why hadn’t he told her that when he’d held her in his arms? He’d save her if only to be able to tell her he loved her. He’d never loved anyone in the way a man loves a woman. Love was not something he gave freely. Now he wanted a chance to give it to her. He’d shower her with it—every day and every night.
“I see,” Dewhurst said slowly. “Then you’ll come back to the safe house with me and help make a plan.”
“I already have a plan,” he said.
Dewhurst’s expression turned pained. “You’ll go right back in.” And get yourself killed was the unspoken implication.
“No. I have to go to the Palais-Royal first.”
Dewhurst raised a brow, obviously intrigued. “The Palais-Royal? Why?”
“Because they sell everything there. They sell fireworks.”
Dewhurst’s face broke into a grin. “Do you want assistance?”
“I could definitely use it.”
He clapped Laurent on the back. “Then let’s go shopping.”
HONORIA WAS WEARY. So weary. She didn’t know how long the leader of the Temple guards had questioned her or how long the representative from the Committee of Public Safety had been present, but she knew she would give anything to lay her head on the table and sleep. That was all she wanted. A few minutes’ rest. Her eyes stung when she blinked from fatigue and her head felt light from thirst. She’d been offered no food or water or any respite from the constant barrage of questions.
“Who are you working with?” the man from the Committee asked.
“I told you,” she said, her voice hoarse now. “My brother and I wanted to catch a glimpse of the royal family. That was all.” She’d given her false name and made up a false brother. Guards had left to search the false address she’d given them, and when they returned she knew she would be in more trouble.
The commander flattened his palms on the table where she sat. They’d brought her to the ground floor of the Temple, which housed offices for some members of the government as well as about forty of the National Guard. The room was unadorned, stone walls, scarred wooden table, uncomfortable wooden chairs. The windows were small and barred, and the light from the fireplace was weak and gave no heat.
“I don’t believe you, citoyenne. I believe this was a carefully orchestrated plot to attempt to rescue the dauphin. How did you manage to get in?”
She shrugged, too tired to speak.
The commander banged his hand on the table. “I’ll not ask again. How did you manage to get in?”
“We walked in,” she murmured.
His hand cracked across her face, setting her off balance and tumbling to the floor. The representative from the Committee made a tsking sound, but it wasn’t the first time they’d slapped her and she knew no one would come to her aid.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine where Laurent was right now. Had he escaped Paris and started on the road leading toward the border with Austria? How long until he and the princess were safely away? She would never reveal the switch they’d made—that Mademoiselle de Lambriquet now sat in Marie-Thérèse’s cell—but she feared she might say something unintentional as the hours of torment grew longer and the slaps more frequent. Would it hurt anyone if she revealed the room that overlooked the Tower garden? Perhaps she could give that as her residence when the guard returned.
“Get up,” the commander ordered, then pointed a finger at one of the guards watching the interrogation. The young man hauled her to her feet, none too gently, and shoved her back into her chair. She laid her head on the table, and the commander yanked her up by the hair. “You had better start telling us what you know, citoyenne, or we might grow...unpleasant.”
“I don’t know anything,” she lied. “I told you. I only wanted to catch a glimpse of the princess—”
Another slap.
The world faded for a moment and from somewhere far away, Honoria heard a voice. “She is Citoyenne Capet. All titles were abolished.”
“Right,” she said, her voice slurred. “We’re all equal now.”
“Tell me the truth now,” one of the men ordered her. She could no longer stop the room from spinning. “If you don’t speak, I’ll see you guillotined.”
Oh, the lies. She would be guillotined regardless. But they’d make her suffer first. Perhaps if she went to sleep for a little while, she could escape the pain in her cheek where she’d cut the inside with her teeth or the lump on her head where the commander had slammed it into the table. The room looked so gray now, and her eyes were so heavy...
Suddenly, the world exploded in a shower of light and sound. Honoria’s eyes popped open, and she wondered if she imagined the pops of sound and the smell of gunpowder. Were they under attack?
She jumped as more shots rang out and more explosions sounded. Her jump sent her tumbling to the ground, but this time no one lifted her back into her chair. She lay under the table, the sounds of chaos and the smell of burning wood and gunpowder searing her nostrils.
She was vaguely aware of the guards running out of the room to fight against the attack and defend the prison. She hoped it took hours to subdue the threat. It was so lovely to lie on the floor, under the table. She would close her eyes...
Pain lanced through her as she was dragged upward. “No,” she said pushing the guard away. “Let me lie here.”
“I can’t do that,” a familiar voice answered. “That would defeat the purpose of this rescue.”
Honoria opened her eyes. “I’m dreaming,” she said.
Laurent shook his head. “No, you’re awake, and we have to move now. It won’t take the guards long to realize Dewhurst is setting off fireworks and there’s no real threat.”
She touched his cheek, then pinched it.
“Ow! What the hell?”
She really was not dreaming. “Why are you not with the princess on the way to the border?”
“Because I won’t leave you behind. Mackenzie will escort the princess.”
“And you came back for me?”
“I did, though I’m fairly certain at this rate we will both find our necks under the guillotine before week’s end.”
“Oh, Laurent!” She tried to wrap her arms around him, but they wouldn’t reach quite that high.
“What did they do to you, mon ange?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, making an effort to gain her feet as he pulled her up. “I’m thirsty and tired.”
“You will drink the best champagne if only you run with me.”
He clasped her hand and pulled her out of the room. They had to step over the bodies of two guards who had been left behind to keep watch over her. Honoria stumbled after him. A bright light lit the sky, and she looked up to see green streak the darkness. Could the dauphin see the fireworks? Madame Élisabeth and Mademoiselle de Lambriquet? Did they know someone still cared?
Honoria’s legs crumpled, and she fell to her knees. She pushed up with her hands, trying to rise, but the wor
ld spun again and she had to lower her head and close her eyes to stop the wave of dizziness. “Go without me,” she told Laurent. “Please.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, lifting her into his arms and making her head swim so violently she felt nauseous. He started to run, carrying her, the dark stubble on his chin and the bold green of his eyes lit by the explosions in the sky. She laid her head on his chest, felt his heart beating hard. If they didn’t make it, she would go to her death remembering the feel of being held in his arms.
And then the night sky was obliterated by the shadows of trees and she was shoved into a carriage, rough hands taking hold of her and pulling her across the seat.
“Ready, monsieur?” a voice she recognized as Dewhurst’s asked.
“Take us away, my lord.”
A moment later the carriage lurched away, the sounds of the prison growing fainter as they distanced themselves. Laurent gathered her in his arms again and stroked her hair.
“We’ll be back at the safe house soon. We have to take the long route, but I promise when we arrive you’ll have food and water.”
She looked up at him and stroked his cheek. He was so handsome.
“I’ll probably scandalize Mademoiselle Martin because there is no way I’ll leave your side tonight.” He pulled her close in an embrace that took her breath away and made her grunt with pain. He looked down at her. “I will never leave you again.” He touched her jaw, and she knew it must be bruising because his light touch hurt. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Scared you, did it?” she said with a smile.
“Terrified me. I love you, Honoria.”
She sucked in a breath. The dizziness, the fog the world had sat in seemed to dissipate and she could see him clearly in that moment. She had better not be dreaming. “Say it again,” she ordered.
“I love you, mon ange.” And he kissed her.
Twenty-Three
“If I am to understand correctly,” Ffoulkes said, pacing back and forth in the dining room of the safe house in the Rue du Jour. “You ignored a direct order from—” He gestured vaguely as he rarely risked speaking the name of the Scarlet Pimpernel aloud.
“FR?” Laurent supplied helpfully.
Ffoulkes scowled at him. “You ignored a direct order and went back for the dauphin, endangering all taking part in the mission. As a result of your...arrogance, Miss Blake was captured and the princess’s escape was put in jeopardy.”
“Now wait just a moment,” Mackenzie said, hands on hips. He’d returned only hours before after rendezvousing with another member of the League and transferring the princess to his custody for the last leg of the journey out of France. “The princess was never in jeopardy. I kept her safe enough.”
“My apologies,” Ffoulkes said to the large Scot. “There is no question as to your abilities, Sir Edward.”
“But there’s some question as to Montagne’s intelligence,” Dewhurst added. “He risked all our lives by going back for the dauphin.”
Honoria, seated at his side, held up a hand. “And how was Laurent to live with himself if he did not at least try to rescue the boy? Louis Charles is like a brother to him.” Her face had turned quite red, and as Laurent knew she still was not entirely recovered from her ordeal, he put a hand on her arm.
“Mademoiselle, please do not tax yourself on my account.” He looked at the room of the Pimpernel’s agents. “And they are correct. It was foolish of me to go back. I am determined to free His Majesty, Louis XVII.” Laurent would do anything to save the little boy, but he could also see the wisdom in taking the time to plan the king’s rescue. There could be no room for error. “We will save him, but I am not willing to risk losing you.” He took Honoria’s hand and kissed it.
Dewhurst rolled his eyes. “Not more of this. If I have to witness one more lovesick look from either of you, I’ll cast up my accounts.”
Alexandra Martin elbowed him in the stomach. “You’re just jealous because you have no lady to exchange looks with.”
Dewhurst snorted. “If I had a lady, I wouldn’t waste my time exchanging looks with her.”
Ffoulkes cleared his throat. “As fascinating as this conversation is, might we return to the point? Our leader, FR if you will, has directed us to move locations. We can’t stay too long in any one spot without arousing suspicion. Miss Blake and Montagne have requested to stay in France and work with the League until the dauphin can be liberated. FR has left the decision up to me, and I have decided to put it in your hands. Do we allow Montagne to join our ranks and Miss Blake to stay in Paris? Or do we send her back to England and Montagne to...” He looked at Laurent, brow raised.
“I go where she goes.” He kissed Honoria’s hand again.
Dewhurst made retching sounds.
“Show of hands then for all who vote for the couple to stay.”
Laurent looked around the room. No one moved, no one’s eyes met his. Finally, Alex raised her hand. “We can use Honoria’s forgery skills.”
Mackenzie raised his hand as well. “Her documents held up against scrutiny at every checkpoint. Marie-Thérèse might be in revolutionary hands and ma neck under the blade of the National Razor if not for the lass.”
“That’s two,” Ffoulkes said.
Hastings, who had returned from his last mission while Laurent and Honoria were at the Rue de la Corderie, raised his hand. “I don’t know either of them well, but we can always use a good man.” He nodded at Honoria. “Or lady.”
“That leaves you, Tony.”
“I say send ’em home.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t trust him.”
Laurent gave him a cold stare. He hadn’t counted on Dewhurst’s vote, but he didn’t appreciate the man’s implication that Laurent would turn traitor.
“What about you, Sir Andrew?” Honoria asked. “Would you prefer we go?”
Laurent held his breath. He had made his choice and would go with Honoria, but he would rather not be forced to leave Louis Charles behind.
Ffoulkes looked at her for a long moment, then glanced at Dewhurst. The two were obviously old friends, and Laurent could not read the silent exchange between them.
Finally, Ffoulkes said, “I think you should stay. Both of you.”
Laurent squeezed Honoria’s hand. He would see the little king free of the Temple after all.
Ffoulkes continued, “We may need you for what FR plans next.”
“And what is that?” Alex asked.
Ffoulkes smiled at her. “Funny you should ask that, Miss Martin, because it involves you.”
LATER THAT EVENING Honoria opened the door to the room she and Alex had shared to find Laurent lying on her bed, fingers linked together and under his head. His chest was bare and the bedclothes stopped at his waist. She wondered if he wore anything under the covers. From previous experience, she doubted it.
She closed the door, and he rose on one elbow to watch her progress across the room. “Did Ffoulkes say anything else about the new mission or the Pimpernel’s orders?”
“Nothing.” She began to take the pins out of her hair. As she set the first few on the dressing table and her hair began to uncoil, she heard him take in a breath.
She loved that he had that reaction to her. Once she would have hated the effect her beauty had on him, but now she knew he saw her as more than an attractive face and body. He cared for her, Honoria Blake—the person she was inside. And thank God she’d finally seen the person he was behind the façade. He, too, was more than a pretty face. He had flaws aplenty, but he had good qualities too. The good qualities—loyalty, selflessness, courage, cunning—were stronger than his arrogance and entitlement...most of the time.
“What are you thinking?” he asked as she finished taking her hair down.
She smiled at him. “About your flaws.”
“What flaws?” he asked, his voice indignant. He sat up, the sheet falling down about his slim hips. He was definitely not wearing anything beneath.
>
“Oh, I don’t know.” She began to unpin her bodice. “Your arrogance?”
“How is that a flaw?”
She shook her head. “Only a member of the French nobility would think arrogance a virtue.” She opened one side of the bodice and began unpinning the other.
“It isn’t modesty that helped me into your bed.”
She looked up at him. “Is that all you want? A place in my bed?”
“Hardly.” He rose, crossing to her without any regard for his nudity. Not that she minded. He was a very fine specimen of masculinity. He had reason to be arrogant in some respects. “What I want,” he said, taking hold of her hands, “is a place in your heart.”
“You earned it,” she said, the heat of his hands warming her fingers and her entire body. “I think I fell in love with you at first because you loved the princess and dauphin so much. No man who loves like that, so wholly and unselfishly, could be all bad. Or so I reasoned.”
He lifted her hands to his lips, kissed her knuckles. “And I first fell in love with you when you threw that wineglass at my head. No one had ever thrown anything at me before. No one had ever dared.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe you. You mistake love for lust. Don’t think I don’t know how much you enjoyed having me cuffed in your bed.”
“You are too clever by far.” He kissed her gently. “And I suppose you are correct that I cannot pinpoint the moment lust became love. I just know you have become as necessary to me as the air I breathe.” He leaned in to brush his lips over her cheek and nuzzle her ear. She shivered.
“You Frenchmen and your charming words.”
“Shall I cease speaking?” His hands began to loosen the ties of her corset.
“Maybe just for a little while,” she agreed. “You should busy your mouth with other duties.”
And she kissed him, wrapping her arms around him. When she’d left the British Museum, she had hoped for adventure and excitement. But in Laurent, she had found so much more. She’d discovered love and fulfillment and purpose. In the midst of the turmoil outside, his arms were an island of peace, and she relished the joy and sanctuary of his love.
