Renauld let out a winded 'ouf!', doubled over, and fell to the ground where he was subdued by the other two men at the brazier. The other men, innocent bystanders who sensed this was no simple brawl, took off for fear of being swept up into who knew what.
The ‘drunk’ looked over at James and Selina, and gave a salute.
* * *
Aged forty-one, Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, Comte de Mirabeau, was far from being a handsome man. A bout of childhood smallpox had left his face severely disfigured with scarring, but he made up for his disadvantage of appearance by being persuasively charming.
A shrewd individual, he was careful not to speak too long to any one man at the party held in honour of the new British Ambassador, but did not spare the women the benefit of his company.
This was how Selina found herself dancing ever more regularly with the notorious Comte even as her husband watched intently from the sidelines.
It was the kind of setting Mirabeau could not resist—seducing a woman right before her husband's eyes.
As the dance ended, he whispered an improper suggestion in Selina's ear. She saw her chance. Taking a cue from Black Hat just three nights earlier, pretending to be tipsy and adding flirtatious giggles, she led Mirabeau away from the ballroom and towards a quiet drawing room.
“The reputation that the Englishwoman is a cold fish is dead for me now that I have met you, ma cherie,” he said with an exaggerated gravity.
Selina walked into the middle of the dimly lit room as he closed the door.
“Perhaps there is still French blood in your veins,” he lulled, crossing to her and talking her hand. “Let me see in the flesh what has only been hinted at under your gown as we danced.”
“I can promise you an experience you'll never forget,” she murmured huskily. She indicated a nearby gold velvet studded chaise longue. “Sit there and close your eyes while I prepare.”
He released her hand and sat.
Selina backed away and lights in all four corners of the room were lit simultaneously.
“What the devil!” Mirabeau cursed, momentarily blinded.
As his eyes recovered, he saw not Selina but the English Ambassador, Earl Gower, in front of him. To Gower's side, the delectable Lady Mitchell was in the arms of her husband.
“Brava madame, you would make an excellent spy,” he said.
“And you would make an excellent corpse,” said Gower, “but we need you alive and more cautious Mirabeau. France is dangerous these days and England does not want a war close to its shores.”
“We bring you a message from His Majesty’s Government that you would be wise to observe for your own safety,” said James.
“We have foiled an attempt that was to be made on your life, but there may be others. In fact, you owe my wife a debt of gratitude. She was the one who identified your would-be assassin as a member of the revolutionary Club des Lumières.
“A stiletto between the ribs is not the most pleasant way to end a party such as this.”
Mirabeau nodded and rose from his seat.
“And grateful I shall always be, despite your trickery,” he told them.
He bowed to Selina and James, then to the Ambassador.
“May I leave now?” he smiled.
“Of course,” said Gower.
Mirabeau crossed to the door then paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“What a strange world we live in when a friendly warning should come from an enemy and the danger of an enemy should come from a friend,” he mused without turning.
“Welcome to the Age of Reason,” said James.
Chapter Thirty-Three
James watched Selina doze beside him, gently jostled by the motion of their private carriage as they entered the third day of their journey from Paris to Calais. By this time next week, they would be back in England.
He stroked a lock of her chestnut hair, feeling its silkiness through his fingers. It had been a late start this morning; Selina had more difficulty than usual in rising and her appetite had waxed and waned.
And for that James was anxious to leave France.
He stroked Selina’s cheek tenderly before pulling a blanket up over her shoulders to ward off the November chill. Was it too early to know if she was expecting their child? He wondered. When would she know?
Despite Mirabeau’s confidence in his certainty of being elected President of the National Assembly this month, James was still uneasy.
Winter was likely to bring further privation to the people of France and the promise of a brighter tomorrow was hollow hope indeed on an empty stomach.
He and Selina would not travel to America before the New Year, so they would return to London and spend their first Christmas together there. The Christmas Eve Ball was a highlight of the Season, James reflected; Selina would enjoy that.
James' musings were interrupted by the sound of galloping horses catching up to the carriage.
He parted the back curtain slightly and counted four men, about fifty yards behind. They all wore long riding coats that flapped in the wind.
He frowned as he took in their features. The riders’ hats were low across the brow and scarves covered their lower faces.
James redrew the curtain and turned to Selina.
“Wake up,” he whispered urgently, shaking her shoulder.
She woke quickly. “What’s amiss?” she asked, sitting up.
“Highwaymen, I'm afraid. Four of them,” James told her tightly.
He banged on the roof of the carriage to attract the driver and his off-sider's attention and instructed him to pull up when it was demanded.
Alarm showed in Selina's eyes, but not in her voice. “What do you need me to do?” she asked.
For that, James loved her all the more. No panic, no hysterics; she was more self-possessed than most women he had met, and even some men. But she was his wife and worth more than his own life. He would not risk any harm coming to her.
“Put on your cloak,” James told her as he reached under the seat for a small wooden box. As she dressed, James loaded a pistol.
“Have you ever used one of these?” he asked.
Selina shook her head as he pressed it in her hand.
“Grip it firmly but don’t clutch it,” he hastily instructed as the sound of the four horsemen drew nearer.
“If you can, support your wrist with your other hand because the recoil is fierce. Only put your finger on the trigger if you intend to shoot. Point where you intend to hit and squeeze the trigger.”
Selina nodded her understanding.
James kissed her swiftly on the lips before sorting some small, insignificant pieces of jewellery, coins, and a watch whose chain could be seen dangling from his gloved hand.
“What are you doing?” Selina asked.
“If they’re ordinary highwaymen, they’ll take this to be a good enough haul.”
“What do you mean, ‘if they’re ordinary’…”
James put a finger to his lips as heard a shouted demand from outside the coach.
“Arrêtez vous!”
With that, the two coachmen slowed the vehicle to a stop on the quiet country road.
James whispered stay here! to his wife before cautiously opened the carriage door and stepping down.
All four men, dressed in long trousers in the sans-culotte peasant style, had dismounted.
To James it was not a good sign.
One was holding the reins of their horses; two held pistols aimed right at his heart. The fourth stood slightly forward of the rest, just three or four yards away. Silently, the man parted his coat with one hand to show a pistol tucked into his belt.
James held his hands up in the air, showing the sacrificial items he gripped in his left, drawing attention to them as they glittered in the sunshine before tossing them on the ground in front.
He let his hands fall in front of himself, the left loosely covering the right.
The man stepped forward and scooped up the lo
ot, thrusting it in his coat pocket without so much as a second glance.
“I’m not so much of a pauper that I need your charity, Penventen,” the man said in English from behind his scarf, his tone laden with disdain.
James placed the voice and his heart beat faster in dread.
“Then what do you want, Geoffrey?”
Geoffrey Dobell, the Viscount Canalissy, pulled his scarf down to uncover his face. He nodded to a point above and behind James, and the two coachmen dropped from their seat.
“Bring the woman out here,” he told them in French.
Before they could carry out their order, Selina exited the coach herself to stand half behind her husband. The coachmen stood to one side.
Selina considered their situation.
A glance at the two coachmen told her that they were ready to flee at the very first opportunity and leave their passengers to their fate.
That left her and James facing four armed men, one of whom hated them with a passion.
She pointedly met Geoffrey’s eyes and lifted her chin, determined to show more courage than she felt.
Provocatively his eyes raked up and down her form.
“Darling Selina, it’s been so long. Have you missed me?”
A dozen angry words of abuse welled in Selina to hurl back at him, but she heard James whisper under his breath, “Don’t respond.”
Selina kept her mouth shut. Geoffrey was furious.
“You steal her from me and now you steal her voice too? No! I will not have it,” he yelled. “Give me sweet words of love from your lips, my darling.”
Ignoring the thudding of her heart in her ears, Selina shook her head slowly.
Geoffrey screamed in rage, venting his fury towards James.
“I have nothing left to lose! My title, my father, my fortune…you've stolen it all from me, but you’ll not live another day to enjoy what is rightfully mine,” he shouted and stepped forward, drawing his fist back to strike.
James was faster, deflecting the blow with his left hand and jabbing hard in Geoffrey's middle with his right. As he doubled over, James swiftly kicked his shoulder and sent him tumbling into the dirt.
The two men with pistols drawn rushed at James. With determination born of nothing more than fear and instinct, Selina raised her right arm from beneath her cloak, revealing the pistol.
She fired and her aim was true.
To her dawning horror, one of the brigands staggered, dropping his pistol on the ground. He clawed briefly at his chest in silent agony, then fell to the ground and was still.
The harnessed horses panicked at the close report of the gun and bolted; so too did the coachmen.
Geoffrey’s remaining two men leapt at James with flailing fists.
Without hesitation Selina grabbed the pistol dropped by the dead man. She lifted it and fired again, but her shot was wide this time.
James staggered from the raining blows.
Blinking back tears, Selina could see that her husband could not last long against the onslaught, so she turned the pistol in her hand and marshalled every ounce of strength she possessed to drive its butt down on the back of one man’s head.
He staggered back, but as Selina prepared to deliver a second blow, her arm was pinned painfully behind her back and she cried out in pain.
“Hold!” Geoffrey commanded loudly.
The melee died down and there was silence but for the men panting from their desperate exertion. The man she had struck with the pistol hauled himself to his feet and rubbed the back of his head ruefully to find it was bleeding.
The click of Geoffrey's switchblade was disturbingly loud in her ears, and the sharp steel cold against her flesh.
Unbidden, a whimper of fear passed her lips and she looked at James. A trickle of blood ran down his chin from a split lower lip; his cheek was red and swollen. He held her eyes, offering her courage and love, although there was fear for her there also.
“Tie him and get the horses!” barked Geoffrey. “You can leave him with me; he won't try anything...”
She watched as the two men bound James’ hands behind his back with a leather thong which bit deep into his flesh before forcing him to his knees. Selina knew Geoffrey was right for once. James would not risk moving a muscle while the crazed Canalissy held a blade to her neck.
The two men quickly gathered in the skittish horses.
“Get Louis off the road. Hide him,” Geoffrey grunted, nodding at the body of the dead man. “You know where to go. Take Penventen and wait for me. I’ll join you tomorrow morning.”
Geoffrey pulled her tight against him squeezing air from her lungs and she could only whimper to give voice to her fear.
As he dragged her across to his horse, the two henchmen pulled James to his feet and forced him towards the horse of their deceased companion. Her husband yelled and struggled in the grip of the two men until one of them, fed up with the resistance and angry at the death of his partner in crime, punched James hard in the solar plexus. Searing agony flashed across his face before he sagged against his assailants and stilled.
“James!” Selina screamed, her breath leaving her entirely. Black spots danced in her vision as she gasped for air.
Selina was aware of being roughly hauled up onto a horse which, at its owner’s urging, galloped off the road toward a wood.
She clutched her stomach in fear as the horse plunged through the wood into a hollow. They travelled for about half an hour in Selina’s estimation, but not knowing the area and with canopy of the spreading trees hiding much of the sky from view, she couldn’t tell in which direction they had ridden.
Mercifully, Geoffrey had spoken not a word since the road and she kept her silence also, feeling it wise not to speak even as he dismounted and signalled that she should do also.
Their destination was a small stone cottage with thatched roof and, with the knife now directed at her kidneys, Geoffrey impelled her forward to open the door. It was just a single room, enough for a stove, a rough hewn table, a stool and a bed—the thought of which now terrified Selina. A single window was shuttered on the outside.
She slowly turned, wondering if Geoffrey was too far gone to reason with. She found his face now radiated a tranquillity that was more frightening to her than his anger.
“You’re here, at last you’ve come to me,” he whispered in seeming awe.
“Why have you brought me here?” she asked, forcing calmness into her voice.
“You don’t know?” he asked, clearly surprised.
Selina shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“You are too innocent and too lovely to know what kind of man he is,” Geoffrey explained gently. “But you’re free of him. I’ve rescued you.”
“From whom?”
“From him,” he said, becoming agitated. “From Penventen.”
Selina continued to shake her head.
“I don’t need rescuing from James.”
“He won’t steal another thing from me again,” said Geoffrey, trying to ignore her words.
“You can’t steal something that was never yours,” she countered.
Geoffrey screamed in frustration and Selina jumped back in fright.
“He’s bewitched you! That man lives a charmed life. He is evil!”
“That’s not true Geoffrey,” she told him. “He’s my husband and I love him.”
A sneer bloomed across Geoffrey's face.
“Too bad he’s dead, or at least he will be tomorrow,” Geoffrey told her. “I intend to watch him die...”
Selina was close to tears. Panic flooded through her, overwhelming her determination to remain calm and find escape.
“Don’t hurt him please,” she begged. “Let us go, and I’ll promise not to say another word about this.”
Selina felt sick at the thought of trying to bargain with the clearly insane man, but she didn’t know what else to do. The eerie calmness he'd displayed when they first arrived at the cottage set
tled over Geoffrey’s face again as he regarded her with a sickly parody of tenderness.
“You dear sweet thing, you’ve given your heart so readily to someone who isn’t worthy of you.”
He stroked her cheek and Selina forced herself not to flinch.
“I can show you what love is. An emotion Penventen knows nothing of.”
His caress fell from her face and onto her hollow of her shoulder, then across to where her cloak was fastened. He tugged at the cord, releasing it.
“I will show you such passion and devotion…”
Her stomach roiled. Selina wondered how he might react if she vomited on him.
“No,” she whispered as Geoffrey’s hand slid under the cloak to her shoulder, causing the garment to dislodge and fall down her back. He drew his fingertip down her arm.
“No,” Selina said more firmly. He didn’t stop, so she slapped him hard across the face.
The hypnotic stare disappeared and the man shook with an unnatural fury. With a yell, he shoved her back toward the bed, but she stumbled on her dropped cloak and fell short of the mattress.
Geoffrey hauled her to her feet and she felt a deep fear course through her. Then she remembered there was more to protect than just herself.
“I’m pregnant,” she said softly.
Geoffrey frowned as if not understanding her words, so she spoke again.
“I’m with child. James’ child.”
The man shook again, worse this time, as though he was having a seizure. Geoffrey raised his arm and slapped her hard across the face. She tumbled onto the bed.
Selina whimpered in fear, waiting for the inevitable assault.
It didn’t come.
The sound of a slamming door and a bolt sliding shut drew Selina’s eyes open. She was alone and wept with relief.
* * *
A number of hours must have passed since Selina cried herself to sleep.
The light which earlier filtered round the edges of the window shutters and doors had disappeared completely. The room was as black as pitch, but to her unutterable relief she was still alone.
The pressure on her bladder suggested a great deal of time had passed. Feeling under the bed, she found a chamber pot and used it. A corked bottle on the table held a watered wine and Selina drank deeply before dragging the table across to bar the front door.
Moonstone Obsession Page 30
