Passion and Pride (A Historical Romance)

by Amelia Nolan

  Evan heard her voice before he saw her.

  “Please, dear sirs, address me as mademoiselle rather than citoyenne – else how shall the single young men know that I am available?”

  Even in French, the musical quality of her voice was unmistakable.

  A cold sweat broke out on Evan’s brow, and he wondered if coming here was perhaps a terrible mistake.

  “Ah, mademoiselle, you break my heart!” a man to Evan’s right cried out in jest. “Why only the single men?”

  “Because, Marquis, I fear your wife more than I do even Citizen Robespierre,” Marian replied.

  The crowd laughed.

  “And why only the young men?” asked another man, who appeared to be well past fifty. “As you should know, wine gets better with age!”

  “Well I do know, dear sir, from firsthand experience. But I fear for your health; should I lavish my affections on those unable to handle them, I might accidentally claim as many lives as Madame Guillotine.”

  “Ah, but what a way to go!” one man exclaimed.

  “Indeed, for I assure you, I am interested in a different head than Madame Guillotine is,” Marian purred.

  Every man in the group laughed raucously. A few ladies near the periphery of the group looked away in disgust.

  “I will make you a deal,” Marian continued from behind her wall of would-be suitors. “If you can read my forthcoming novel and not have a heart attack, I shall consider handling your bottle and popping your cork.”

  “Hear, hear!” the crowd of men roared and hooted.

  “When will it be published? I must begin reading right away!” an older man joked, to the enjoyment of the crowd.

  “In two weeks,” Dardanelle said from where he stood shoulder to shoulder with Evan.

  “Ah! I believe I hear the voice of my publisher!” Marian cried. “Gentlemen, please part the Red Sea for my very own Moses!”

  The men looked around at Dardanelle, most of them grumpily, and stood aside.

  As the bodies cleared, Evan got his first view of her.

  She was sitting on a sofa, languidly waving a fan in front of her face. Her ornate, ruffled gown deliciously exposed the uppermost swell of her bosom. She had on a white wig styled in the French fashion; though Evan did not care for it, it did bring greater attention to her face, which was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her skin was only lightly powdered, and it glowed with joy and health. Her eyes sparkled, and her ruby lips smiled when she saw Dardanelle.

  “Laurent, I am so glad you have come! And you have brought a frien– ”

  Her voice caught in her throat as her eyes met Evan’s.

  Her fan tumbled from her fingers, and her skin blanched whiter than any powder could have made it.

  57

  “My lady!” one of the men exclaimed. “Are you all right? You look as though you have seen a ghost!”

  Marian recovered herself well. She smiled at the crowd and laughed as she picked her fan up from her lap. “For a second, I thought I had – unfortunately, he is very much alive! Messieurs, allow me to introduce Evan Blake of England.”

  Evan swallowed; his mouth was bone dry. He bowed slightly. “Miss Willows, it is good to see you again.”

  “I wish I could say the same, Mr. Blake, but then I would be lying,” Marian smiled. “Or is it Lord Blake yet?”

  “No, it is not.”

  “I see. How is your charming father?”

  “Alive and well.”

  “How nice for him, how inconvenient for you.”

  “I bear my father great love, Miss Willows.”

  “No doubt. I am sure you bear his title great love, as well. At least, that was my impression when last we met.”

  Evan clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

  Marian looked over at the publisher. “Did you bring him along, Laurent?”

  “I did, my dear,” Dardanelle said, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Really, Laurent, you should know better than to take in stray dogs from off the street. You never know when they’ll turn on you.”

  The men in the group had all turned their attention to Evan. Their expressions ranged from curious to openly hostile.

  “If he is bothering you, mademoiselle, I would be happy to remove him for you,” offered one of the bolder members of the group.

  “Oh, good heavens, no!” she exclaimed. “In fact, gentlemen, you should all thank Mr. Blake, for without him, I would not be here, and there would be no L’Anglaise!”

  “Who is he?”

  “Why, he was… ‘research.’”

  Evan’s stomach twisted.

  Some of the men guffawed. Others fixed Evan with a jealous gaze.

  “Surely not very good research, mademoiselle! After all, he is English!”

  “Yes, English suitors are to French lovers what English cuisine is to… French lovers.”

  The group laughed.

  “Bland and tasteless!” one of them piped up, not quite realizing that Marian had intentionally scrambled her analogies.

  “But gentlemen, I am English,” she cooed. “Surely you do not think so poorly of me?”

  The crowd could not trip over themselves quickly enough to compliment her.

  “You are an honorary Frenchwoman, mademoiselle!”

  “You are the very embodiment of all that is French!”

  One man seemed to win the contest: “You are neither English nor French, mademoiselle – you are a goddess!”

  The crowd of men roared its approval.

  “That’s funny,” Evan said, “I seem to recall someone calling you a parrot once.”

  The entire group of sycophants glared at him.

  Marian grinned. “How is dear old Pemberly?”

  “Far less obsequious than your friends here.”

  The group muttered and cursed under their breath. Dardanelle began to look very nervous indeed.

  “You offend my admirers, Blake,” she said lightly.

  “Perhaps they will leave, then, and I can talk to you alone.”

  “Whatever will you have to say to la Citoyenne, I wonder?” said a familiar, arrogant voice.

  Evan turned around and found himself staring into the eyes of Lt. Villars.

  58

  Behind a desk at the guardhouse, the soldier had looked formidable. Standing, he was even more so. An inch taller than Evan, Villars looked down on him slightly. His broad shoulders and muscular arms strained beneath the spotless jacket of his uniform.

  “Lieutenant,” Evan said in a controlled voice, though his heart was racing. “What a surprise to see you here.”

  “What an even greater surprise to see you here, Anglais,” Villars said, his gaze boring into Evan’s face. Then he stared at Dardanelle. “Especially in the company of men whose dedication to the Revolution is questionable at best.”

  Dardanelle blushed furiously. “That is not true! I love the Revolution, like every good citizen!”

  “Is that so,” Villars smirked.

  “I would lay down my life for my country!”

  “We shall see about that.” Villars turned back to Evan. “More puzzling to me, though, is that you told me upon your arrival you had met Citoyenne Willows before, but not that you were intimately familiar with her. Why would you lie to a representative of the Revolution?”

  Evan noticed in the periphery of his vision that all the crowd surrounding him and Dardanelle had edged away, as though afraid of being tainted by contact.

  He could understand why.

  Suddenly Evan felt a small, feminine hand wrap around his arm.

  “To protect the honor of a lady,” Marian said gaily as she pressed against his side.

  Her touch was electric. After a year and a half of dreaming about her body, to have it pressed against him now sent a shudder of ecstasy through Evan – and a pang of heartbreak, as well. In one instant he felt all that he had lost, and all that he longed to regain.

  There was an immediate change in Villars, a
s well. His eyes flitted to Marian and softened. For an instant, his face lost the cruelty that marred its handsomeness.

  “Though I admit his concern was misplaced, as I am most certainly not a lady,” Marian purred. “Ah, Lt. Villars, it is so good to see you again!”

  “Gerard, Citoyenne. Please call me Gerard.”

  “Well then, Gerard – can you not forgive a long-lost friend of mine a tiny indiscretion? Especially as his intent was pure, and no less an act of gallantry than I am sure you would have done in his place.”

  Evan almost believed that her spell would work.

  Then Villars’ gaze trailed down to the tiny hand around Evan’s arm, and the softness in his eyes hardened again into steel.

  When he smiled, it was like his voice – smooth and melodious on the surface, but dark and dangerous beneath.

  “For you, Citoyenne, I would forgive anything… if we were speaking only of myself. But as a representative of the Revolution, there are many things I can never overlook, much less forgive.” His eyes shifted to Evan. “Including lying to a representative of the Revolution.”

  “I did not lie,” Evan said, a snarl creeping into his voice. “You asked if I had ever met her when she lived in England. I replied that I had. You made no further inquiry. How is that a lie, Lieutenant?”

  Marian’s hand tightened around Evan’s arm. She was either trying to signal him to back off, or reacting in alarm.

  But Evan had run into his share of bullies through the years, and Villars was certainly that. Everything inside Evan urged him to stand up to the man with a display of strength, rather than weakness.

  Villars’ eyes narrowed. “It was a lie of omission.”

  “It was an exercise of discretion,” Evan said, and gave him the same smile a mongoose gives a cobra. “Surely you would not ask a gentleman such private questions about his relationship with a lady?”

  “If it is pertinent.”

  “In this case, I assure you it was not.”

  Villars stared Evan down – the same look the cobra gives the mongoose before it strikes.

  For a split second, Evan wondered if he had not made a terrible mistake.

  Marian saved him.

  “Oh Gerard, you are such a cruel tease!” she laughed, and threw herself into Villars’ arms before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  The shock of it was enough to cause the entire group to gasp – and Villars to react in confusion. And pleasure. From his expression, Evan guessed that this was something Villars had been longing for, but which Marian had never bestowed upon him. Until now.

  The lieutenant’s face brightened, and he smiled as he looked down at her face. Evan was momentarily forgotten.

  “You are incorrigible, Citoyenne.”

  “Only around very handsome men.”

  Villars’ eyes flickered up to Evan and lingered there for a brief instant before he looked back at Marian. “You should keep your friend on a short leash. He has the air of a mad dog… and in France, we shoot mad dogs.”

  “I shall chain him and beat him unmercifully, and he shall bother you no more,” she cooed, tracing one finger down Villars’ jacket.

  “Oh, that I might be your dog, Citoyenne!” one of the men from the group said, and all the group roared with laughter. Villars smiled along with them, but whenever his gaze returned to Evan, it seemed as though the lieutenant were seconds away from pulling out a pistol.

  “Let us speak later, Gerard,” Marian said, and turned away with one last, coquettish smile. She then took Evan’s arm and led him away from the group.

  59

  As they walked away, Evan leaned his head closer to Marian’s. “I suppose I should thank you for – ”

  “Quiet,” she whispered in English, though she kept her smile plastered on her face. “And don’t look back.”

  Alarmed by her tone, he did not say anything until they had passed into another room that was largely deserted.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “That was you passing an arm’s breadth from Death,” she hissed.

  “He’s a lieutenant,” Evan scoffed.

  In England, military officers – though respected – were nothing to be feared by the average Englishman. Unless that average Englishman happened to have a young, pretty daughter who might be seduced by a smart uniform and a handsome face.

  “It is rumored that people who displease Villars have a curious way of dying,” Marian whispered.

  Evan stared at her. “He is a murderer?”

  Marian glanced around her. “Could you perhaps not use that word? And so loudly?”

  “He should be reported to his superiors!”

  “Why? They would only commend him, perhaps even promote him. In case you haven’t heard, people are dying at an alarming rate in Paris these days. One more is of no account – especially if he is an Englishman.”

  “This is madness!”

  “Yes – and you were doing your best to incite it.”

  Evan took a second to compose himself, then sighed. “Well… then I suppose I owe you a great debt of gratitude.”

  She glared up at him. “Actually, yes you do, but you can repay me with a simple answer: what the hell are you doing here?”

  Evan groaned inwardly. This was not going as well as he had hoped.

  “I have come to escort you back to England.”

  She stared at him, her face utterly shocked. Then she let out a single laugh.

  “Are you serious? You? After all this time, you’ve come to take me back home?” she asked mockingly.

  “Pemberly thinks that – ”

  Immediately her face hardened. “Ah, Pemberly. I should have known he was the one concerned about me, and not you.”

  The vitriol in her voice took Evan by surprise.

  “I was the one who traveled four days to get here, not Pemberly – and I was the one who braved that murderous lieutenant of yours – ”

  “And who had to be rescued by yours truly,” she hissed.

  “Well… yes,” he admitted.

  “What I can’t determine is why on Earth Pemberly would send you, of all people.”

  “He thought you might listen to me.”

  Here Marian sailed into a gale of laughter, and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Apparently he miscalculated,” Evan snarled, his face reddening.

  “Apparently. No – not just ‘apparently,’ but conclusively. Completely. Stupendously.”

  “I get the general idea, Madame Thesaurus.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. I have half a mind to march you back in there in front of Villars’ one-man firing squad and – ”

  “Um, excuse me?” a plaintive little French voice spoke up. “I, uh, am not interrupting?”

  They both looked over – Marian in high dudgeon, Evan in relief – at Dardanelle fidgeting a few feet away.

  Marian sighed loudly, her anger momentarily abating. “Laurent, did you willingly participate in this folly?” she asked in French.

  “I am sorry, cherie, I did not think you would be so extraordinarily opposed to seeing the gentleman,” Laurent said, abashed.

  Marian crossed her arms. “I expect stupidity from Pemberly, but not from you, Laurent.”

  “Again, my most sincere apologies, cherie.”

  Marian scowled as she glanced at Evan, then turned back to Dardanelle. “You know why he is here?”

  Laurent looked around as though to make sure Villars was not eavesdropping. “I do, Marian, and I cannot say that I disapprove. Paris is not safe.”

  “Then why aren’t you leaving, Laurent? What of little Cecile and Guillaume, and your wife? If Paris is so dangerous, why are you not taking them and leaving?”

  “I do not think the authorities would let me leave. They would accuse me of fleeing my country. But you – your home is England. You have a reason to leave.”

  “This is my home now, Laurent. There is nothing for me in England.”

&nb
sp; As she said it, she cast a bitter look at Evan that stabbed his heart.

  The publisher shook his head. “You can go anywhere and be L’Anglaise, Marian. The world is your home. Me, all I know is publishing in France. What would I do in England? Start again with nothing, at my age? Everything I have is here – my property, my mother and father and sister and brothers… I cannot leave for fear of what might befall them. And I am a Frenchman in France. You are an Englishwoman. Despite your fame, your beauty, and your money, it is more dangerous for you than for me.”

  “Laurent, you worry far too much.”

  “I fear you do not worry enough, cherie.”

  “All will be well.” Her jaw set, and she glared at Evan. “But I want you to take this… this fool away from my sight, and keep him away. As long as he stays in Paris, he is a danger both to me and himself. Do you understand me, Laurent? I do not want to see him again. Ever.”

  “It shall be as you say, cherie,” Dardanelle agreed, and lightly tugged on the arm of Evan’s jacket. “Come, Monsieur Blake.”

  Evan resisted. “Marian – for God’s sake,” he pleaded in English, “you must see the danger you are in – be reasonable!”

  Suddenly her face flushed red, and her eyes glittered like the fires of hell themselves.

  “‘Be reasonable’? Be reasonable?” She laughed bitterly. “Do you forbid my staying in Paris, perhaps?”

  He paused, taken aback by her fury. “I do not know where this sudden anger has come from – ”

  “Recall our last conversation – nay, our last words – in England, sir, and you might understand,” she whispered, her rage barely contained, before she stalked off into the salon, leaving Evan and Dardanelle to stare after her.

  60

  Marian, stop – be reasonable!

  I forbid it.

  If you truly do love me… if ever you did… then let me go.

  He remembered it now. He remembered it all.

  Evan groaned inwardly. He could not have used a worse choice of words.

  The carriage clattered away from the salon, just ten minutes after his fight with Marian.

  “So, that did not go as planned,” Dardanelle said neutrally.

  “Not as well as it could have, no.”