by Nancy Gideon
“We must go,” he said at last. “De Sivry must know by now that I survived. How soon can we leave Paris?”
“As soon as you’re ready.”
“How? I haven’t the kind of money it will take to hire a carriage.”
“I’ll see to it,” she told him with a confidence she didn’t feel. Would Gerard help her escape Paris if it meant leaving him and Bianca behind? She had to hope so.
They dressed, and Marchand followed her from the satin-draped bower where they’d confessed and consummated their love. Nicole seemed to have no regrets; his only one was that their exchange of devoted words could not be followed by an exchange of sacred vows. For how could he offer marriage to this woman of privilege? He’d come from an early background of plenty so he knew what he’d be expecting her to surrender. True, she had never complained over what little he’d been able to provide for her and the others, but he knew she deserved better than the furtive life they led. He was a criminal in the eyes of the state. He could never rise above what he was. And what were the chances that her aristocratic family would accept such an alliance for their daughter? It went against every fiber of his moral code to continue as they were, as illicit lovers. He should never have begun with passionate intensity what could only conclude in shame. But how could he now resist the paradise he’d discovered?
Nicole looked up in question when Marchand tugged back upon her hand. His expression was so taut, she was alarmed. But then his fingertips caressed her cheek and the panic faded beneath that tender bliss.
“I love you, Nicole.”
Before she could respond, she felt a whisper of movement behind her and turned to find Bianca watching them with a sly smile.
“Nicole, introduce me to your . . . friend.”
Waves of hunger emanated from the seductive blonde whose black gaze fixed upon Marchand with a mesmerizing brilliance. Nicole angled in front of him, guarding him from her like a territorial beast of prey. Bianca smiled at her futile attempt to circumvent her power. She held out a languid hand.
“I am Bianca du Maurier, Nicole’s temporary guardian.”
Inbred manners brought Marchand forward to take her hand and lift it respectfully to his lips. “Madame, I am very grateful to you for seeing to her care. I am Marchand LaValois, at your service.”
“How—nice.” And her predatory gaze drifted over his handsome features to linger at the clean line of his throat. “Caring for Nicole has been no trouble. I have known her family for—oh, ages. You might say I made her father what he is today.” Her glance canted to Nicole, noting how pale and drawn her face became. “I am a very powerful woman, Monsieur LaValois, and fortune follows those in whom I place my patronage. It would please me to have you among the chosen. Nicole is like family now and I would see her happy.”
Nicole’s gaze darted between the two of them. Bianca was pouring on the charm, lulling him with her dazzling eyes, tempting him with her suggestive words. And Marchand seemed lost. For a moment. Then he blinked rapidly, throwing off her smothering hold. He took a step back, drawing Nicole with him.
“You are very kind, Madame. Nicole’s happiness means everything to me, as well. I’ll do all I can to see it fulfilled.”
Bianca smiled slowly. “I’m sure you will. Nicole, my dear, have you invited M’sieur LaValois to stay with us? You know how I delight in the company of handsome men.”
Nicole faced her coolly, her expression carefully impassive. “We were just going to retrieve the rest of his belongings. We will be back shortly.”
“Oh, but you needn’t go. It would be my pleasure to provide everything he desires.”
“We have other matters to attend, as well,” Nicole added for extra emphasis.
Just then, Gerard entered the parlor, his arms curled possessively about two voluptuous beauties. His eyes were bright with wicked enjoyment and his smile revealed genuine pleasure when he saw Marchand and Nicole. “Ah, buòna séra, signóre, signorína. Cóme stá”
Gerard, I must talk to you.
He nodded imperceptibly to Nicole to acknowledge her urgent unspoken plea. Then he looked to Bianca and basked in her annoyance. “Bianca, I have brought us guests for dinner.”
Her irritation altered swiftly and a flush of anticipation warmed her ivory skin. “How delightful.”
“This is Babette, and this lovely”—he paused to nuzzle the other young woman’s ear “—is Marie. Ladies, if you would follow Bianca, I will join you in a moment. Don’t start without me.”
The more than slightly drunk Marie giggled and murmured something slurry like she wouldn’t dream of it. He laughed with husky promise as he pressed a lengthy kiss to the inside of her wrist. To Marchand, the scene was somehow askew. He sensed a disturbing current beneath the playful pleasantries. It wasn’t a lustful perversion. It was something else. And he was exceedingly eager to leave.
“Come, Nicole. We must go.”
But Nicole wouldn’t budge until Bianca guided the two women from the room and Gerard approached.
“Now then, cara, what did you wish?”
“I need money.”
Nicole felt Marchand tense beside her. He wouldn’t like her going to another man for aid, but the situation was a dire one. She would not have Bianca preying upon her beloved. She was so concerned about Marchand’s response, she completely forgot to be on her guard with Gerard. She felt him probe her mind and frantically threw up a block, but with his superior skill, he peeled back the layers of her defense like skin from a ripe fruit. And he devoured her thoughts.
“You’re leaving.” And she intuited a surprising sense of sorrow instead of the expected resistance. “That is wise.” He reached into his coat and pressed a bulky wad of francs into her hand. “Stia attènda. Be careful. Go quickly and leave no trail. Do not come back here.” A pause, then his voice lowered to a passionate timbre. “I will miss you.”
And with a soft cry, Nicole flung her arms about his neck, hugging tight. She felt Gerard recoil, but she hung on to him and whispered, “Thank you for all you’ve done. You’ve been a most patient teacher. I shall never forget.”
Gradually, Gerard overcame his reluctance and his hand rose to stroke her hair. “Va bène. Remember me to your father.” He kissed her cheek. “And your mother.” His mouth commanded hers for a long, languorous moment.
“Nicole,” Marchand called with a cold hint of impatient jealousy. He tugged at her arm, pulling her back from the handsome Italian’s embrace. Gerard responded with a mocking bow and a razor-sharp warning.
“You take care of her.”
“MARCHAND!” NICOLE was nearly running to keep up with his long strides as he walked briskly toward the bridge where Gerard had saved his life the night before. He wouldn’t look at her, nor would he slow as she hung determinedly onto his arm. “Marchand, he is not my lover. You are!”
His hurried pace broke and she was able to put herself in front of him, forcing him to stop. She cupped his face in her palms and told him earnestly, “I love you. How could you doubt that?”
He took an unsteady breath and exhaled hard with the strength of his rage. It wasn’t anger directed at her. “I know you do and I don’t doubt it. How can I like the fact that he can give you the help you need and I can only bring you trouble?”
“March,” she crooned tenderly. “What you’ve given me, he could never, ever provide.” She leaned into him, rubbing against the hard masculine plane of him. “Gerard was my father’s best friend. He’s doing this for me out of loyalty to him.”
Marchand made a disagreeable noise. “Cher, you expect me to believe that? Why, I am older than he is! Did your father befriend him in the cradle?”
“He’s older than he looks.” She murmured that understatement with a somber face. “Please, can we forget Gerard? We must hurry.”
She pull
ed on both his hands beseechingly and finally he gave in with a resigned nod. Her effervescent smile was reward enough for his concession.
They had crossed the Seine and were winding through the Latin Quarter when Marchand came to an abrupt stop, his attention fixed upon a seedy café, outside of which tables brimmed with patrons drinking vin ordinaire and whispering revolution. At one of those tables sat Frederic LaValois.
Seeing his expression change from the blank of shock to a hot fury, Nicole caught at his arm.
“Marchand—”
He pulled free, unwilling to hear anything she could say in his brother’s defense.
Frederic looked up from his glass of wine and froze to see Marchand closing upon him. At his side, Musette clutched his arm, afraid of the confrontation to come.
“March—”
“Get up! Walk away from this nest of traitorous vipers. We’re leaving Paris. Now!”
Frederic’s features were very calm as he announced, “I can’t go with you, Marchand. I have work to finish here.”
Marchand pointed a finger at the indolently lounging Sebastien De Sivry. “Ask him what work he’ll be finishing if I let him have his way. Work he sent Gaston to do for him last night.”
Frederic glanced at him and De Sivry shrugged in pretended ignorance. It was then Marchand lost all patience. He gripped his brother by the lapels and began to haul him up off his chair.
“We’re leaving now.”
“No!” Frederic jerked free and restated firmly, “I have things to finish, Marchand.”
And Marchand understood with crystal clarity how his brother had deceived him. “And I’m finished with your lies.” He snatched up the glass from the table and dashed its contents into Frederic’s face before stalking off, shoving his way through the crowd of young bohemians who muttered at his rudeness.
Frederic took out his handkerchief and began to wipe away the wine. His manner was still composed though his eyes betrayed his upset.
“Go after him, Frederic,” Nicole urged.
“I can’t, Nicole. This time we’ve gone too far in our own separate ways.”
She knelt down beside him in desperate entreaty. “But Frederic, we’re leaving the city tonight. Do you want your last words with your brother to be those of anger?” She pressed his hand. “Please. Neither of you will ever forgive yourselves if you don’t at least try to make amends.”
Frederic stood and addressed his companions. “I’ll be right back.”
“Frederic, let him go.”
“No, Sebastien. He is my brother and I have wronged him. I owe him an explanation at least. Order more wine. On me.” That won an agreeable murmur. He gave Musette a quick kiss. “Wait for me, love.”
As they hurried after Marchand, Nicole asked tersely, “Was that Sebastien De Sivry?”
Frederic wouldn’t meet her glare. “Yes.”
“Then Marchand isn’t the only one you’ve played for a fool.”
“Nicole, you must try to understand. What we are doing is what’s best for France! Marchand accuses me of having no love for my country. That isn’t true. My heart breaks for the turmoil in this city. I’m doing what I can to assure a better future for us and for our children.”
“And De Sivry has a plan that will do that?”
“You sound so skeptical. Sebastien is not the best of men, true, but he has the means and the contacts to see the deed done. All I need is the money to prove we are sincere.”
“Don’t you care that the man you partner with ordered your brother killed?”
“Sebastien? No! Why do you say such a thing?”
“Marchand told me.”
“Perhaps that is what he believes, but I do not. Sebastien would not jeopardize our alliance that way. Marchand has many enemies in the Quartier. He is outspoken in his views and they are not exactly popular. If his life is in danger, then by all means he should not tarry in Paris any longer.”
“And if I can get you all the money you need, would you and Musette leave with us? I have a friend, Bianca du Maurier, who has expressed interest in your cause. You could introduce her to De Sivry and she could fund his revolution.”
“That is good news, Nicole. But I couldn’t leave. I want to be here to see it done before the July Monarchy reconciles with the old regime and all goes back to chaos.”
“Frederic—”
“No, Nicole. My mind is made up. I want to see things through.”
“You are both so stubborn!”
“But isn’t that what you find so irresistible about us?”
And she couldn’t resist his smile, for he was right.
About that time, they’d begun to climb the narrow steps to their flat. The light was on, so they knew Marchand had returned. But it was clear to them from the scuffle of sound above that he was not alone.
Nicole bounded up the last few stairs and burst through the doorway, careless in her anxiety. There, she saw Marchand stretched out upon the floor, unconscious, and a man bending over him ready to plunge a knife into his throat.
Chapter Fourteen
WITHOUT THOUGHT or hesitation, Nicole flung herself at the first assailant with a speed too rapid for him to comprehend. She grabbed the hand holding the knife, crushing fragile bones with a single wrench. Before he knew what had him, she tossed him bodily out the door, past an astonished Frederic and over the rail to the cobbles below. She was upon the other two who stood dumbfounded, seizing the closest and breaking his neck with a twist, then turning to the other with a savage snarl. He screamed in terror at the demon confronting him and ran, colliding briefly with Frederic before tumbling down the stairs. Battered but better off than his two associates, he stumbled up and fled at an awkward limp into the darkness.
Only then did Nicole realize what she’d done. She’d exposed what she was to four others. Two would never tell what they had seen. One would never find anyone to believe his ranting tale. And Frederic LaValois stood too stunned to know what to believe as the beast that had moments before set upon three thugs and had defeated them with an inhuman strength and a display of sharp white fangs and blood-red eyes became again, Nicole, who bent over worriedly at his brother’s side.
“Marchand! Marchand!” She was stroking his cheek, cradling his limp hands. A nasty contusion was starting to swell at his temple. Her face was streaked with tears when she lifted it in anguish. “Help me move him to his bed. He’s unconscious. Frederic! Help me!”
Numbly, Frederic did as she requested, but once Marchand was lying immobile upon the sheets, his thoughts lost their paralysis.
“My God! What happened to you? What kind of . . . creature are you?”
Nicole fought the overwhelming urge to come apart beneath his terrified scrutiny. Instead, she answered calmly, “I am the woman who loves your brother enough to do anything necessary to save his life. And what are you, sir, who claims to love him yet associates with his would-be murderers?”
That question shocked through his stupor. “You have no proof that these were De Sivry’s men. Perhaps the motive was robbery.”
“And what would they steal here?” She made a move and Frederic shrank back. Quietly, she said, “I won’t hurt you. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”
“I—I don’t understand. Am I going mad?”
“I wish the explanation was that simple. Do you trust me, Frederic? Do you believe that I love Marchand?”
“Y-yes.” But his gaze was wary.
“What I am is the victim of a cruel, inherited . . . affliction. It grants me my strength and allows me to alter my appearance into the fearsome being you observed. Please accept that and ask no more.”
But Frederic wasn’t satisfied. Nor was he frightened. He sat beside Nicole at his brother’s side and studied her curiously. “But what kind of beast i
s it that moves so fast it appears invisible?”
“An unnatural one. A creature of the night.”
“And your strength. Mon Dieu, it’s like that of at least ten men. To have power such as this . . . Are you the only one or are there others?”
“There are others. The two I lived with in the Place Vendôme, Bianca and Gerard, they are as I am.” Then she realized what she’d said; the sacred vow of secrecy that she’d broken with her careless admission. “Frederic, you won’t say anything, will you?”
“Marchand told me you had moved there. That mansion, I have seen it. But what of your nature—Marchand does not know?”
“He suspects something is not right, but how could he ever conceive of such a horror?”
But the philosophical Frederic asked, “Is it a horror or a gift? You’ve harmed no one who did not deserve it. Weren’t you afraid you’d come to harm at their hands?”
“With this gift or curse comes the promise of eternity.”
“Eternity . . . Do you mean immortality?” And a feverish light burned in his gaze as he mused aloud. “Just think of what a difference one could make, living for so long. And what such power could do to aid our revolution.”
Nicole grew frightened by his excitement. “Yes, good could come from such strengths, but also evil. Power corrupts, Frederic. It is dangerous, and this gift, as you call it, is not so easily controlled.”
“How does one—obtain this gift?”
“You must be mad! It’s not something you court. It’s something you hope to escape. Believe me, you would not want this particular blessing. Put such thoughts out of your head.”
Frederic only pretended to listen to her arguments. His mind had seized upon the fantastic, the impossible. But oh, the benefits! If by going beyond the boundaries of humanity, he could help to save it . . . Nicole was like Marchand, worrying too much, giving him no credit for the strength of his convictions. If such incredible power fell to him, he would not be tempted. He’d have the nobleness of his cause to direct him. And think of what he could accomplish!
