Passion and Pride (A Historical Romance)

by Amelia Nolan

  Part of her wished that she did have something to hide. That she had saved a life, that she had hidden someone. She wished that she could have saved someone, the same way she longed to be saved.

  In her bedroom, she smoothed down her clothes and made herself as presentable as she could for the soldiers.

  She walked into the main room of the apartment and saw her maid – and behind her, Blake.

  Marian burst into tears and ran into his arms.

  71

  Lt. Villars was having an excellent day.

  His men had joined forces with the rioters at the Tuileries earlier that morning, as had most of the National Guard. A fellow lieutenant had told Villars that as the King was inspecting the four thousand men ordered to protect the palace, thousands deserted right there on the spot! Villars wished he could have been there to see the look of surprise on the fat bastard’s face!

  Of course, almost immediately afterward, the King had fled with his bitch and his whelps to the Assembly. Louis hadn’t bothered to alert the Swiss Guards to stand down, though – and they paid dearly for the King’s oversight. Three hundred dead in the palace itself, and hundreds more slaughtered in the street as they fled.

  Villars had cornered one of the Swiss Guards in a bedroom, a man he knew and despised. And owed money to, incidentally.

  The redcoat spat in Villars’ face and called him a traitor.

  To return the favor, Villars ran him through with his sword.

  Idiot. The aristocracy cared nothing for the soldiers, less than nothing for the common man. Louis’ willingness to let the Swiss Guard be massacred while he himself fled was proof of that. Oh, the King had supposedly ordered a ceasefire; pity he didn’t think to do it before the killing actually began.

  It was a long, glorious day for the Revolution. Villars had personally killed three men, and his regiment had dispatched another seven.

  Now the clock had struck ten o’clock, the curfew had fallen, and the house-to-house searches had begun. They would soon find the rest of the Swiss Guard, as well as the missing Monsieur Chansenets, the governor of the Tuileries who had somehow escaped.

  And then they would arrest them.

  A pity they could not kill them on the spot, as they had earlier in the day.

  Villars looked on approvingly as his men ransacked the house of the Vicomte de Noilles, a pompous little ass who watched with a combination of terror and indignation. Villars doubted the Vicomte would harbor any of the Swiss Guard – the aristocrat was much too selfish to stick his neck out for a fellow nobleman, much less a nobody – but Villars hoped he was wrong. It would be such a joy to march the little aristo down to jail. He might even get the pleasure of personally escorting him up the scaffold.

  Of course, if it were up to Villars, the Vicomte would be guillotined for simply being an aristocrat. No other justification was needed beyond that, in his opinion.

  One day, little man, Villars thought. One day, your time will come.

  “Lieutenant, this man is asking for you,” one of Villars’ soldiers said.

  Villars looked over to see Baffert, the ragged little tramp he had paid to follow the Englishman.

  For an instant, all Villars’ joy disappeared as he remembered what he had witnessed the evening before: the vile foreigner walking out, his clothes all disarrayed…

  The light in his beloved Marian’s window going out…

  Villars dismissed the soldier and pulled Baffert aside. “So, Citizen, do you have good news for me?”

  Baffert nodded his head and scratched his beard. “I saw the Englishman escort a man and his family through a crack in the wall on the other side of the Seine. Down by the Invalides, right by the Military School.”

  Villars’ hand went automatically to his sword as rage poured through him.

  Gone?! Gone, and I could have had him killed?!

  The little scamp must have seen the murderous look in Villars’ eyes, because he shrank back in terror. “Now he’s gone back to the building we were at last night. That’s when I came to get you.”

  The rage disappeared, replaced by a savage hope.

  “He’s there?! Now?!”

  The bearded man nodded.

  Villars grinned. “Excellent, my friend. You have outdone yourself. Now give me the paper.”

  The bearded man handed over the folded paper. Villars inspected it to make sure the beggar had not switched it out:

  By the order of Lieutenant Gerard Villars of the National Guard of Paris,

  Allow the bearer of this notice to pass any military barrier or checkpoint undisturbed, as he is acting in the service of the National Guard and on behalf of the Revolution.

  The handwriting was Villars’ and the official seal was beneath. The beggar had not tried to substitute a copy, which would have been worth its weight in gold right now to a Swiss Guardsman.

  Villars folded the paper up again and pocketed it in his jacket. “Excellent, Citizen,” he said, and put a smattering of coins in Baffert’s hand before turning away.

  “Lieutenant…” the ragged man said timidly.

  “What?” Villars snapped.

  “This is only twenty sous… I followed him all day and night, I did not sleep – ”

  Villars stepped within inches of the beggar, who shrank back in fright. “Are you aware, Citizen, of what occurred today?”

  “Y-yes, Lieutenant – ”

  “Do you know how many good citizens were wounded today? Do you know how many died today in service of the Revolution?”

  “I – I am sure many, Lieutenant – ”

  Villars’ hand went to the grip of his sword. Baffert did not fail to notice this, and shriveled even further.

  “Do you know how many would have been delighted to receive twenty sous and escape with their lives?”

  Baffert trembled but made no answer.

  “I think you have been well paid, Citizen,” Villars snarled.

  “Yes, Lieutenant… my mistake, my mistake,” the little tramp moaned.

  “Get out of here. You disgust me.”

  Baffert bowed and scraped, then scampered out the door like a frightened rabbit.

  Villars turned back to his men. “Attention!”

  The soldiers stopped what they were doing and faced their officer.

  “Fall in. We’re finished here, but we have a new destination…”

  72

  “Are you all right?” Evan asked, alarmed, as he held her in his arms.

  “Yes,” Marian said through her tears. “It’s just… it’s horrible!”

  “Do you believe me now?”

  She pulled away, her face angry. “Is this really the time for ‘I told you so’s’?”

  He didn’t mean to, but stress and fear got the best of him. “I think it’s the perfect time.”

  She untangled herself from his arms and stepped away. “If that’s your attitude – ”

  “Damn it, woman, I’ve risked my life coming back for you!”

  “And put me at risk, I’m sure!” she shouted.

  “More than you know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I am almost positive I was followed. By whom I do not know, but I doubt it was a friend.”

  “From where?”

  “The other side of the Seine. There is a break in the wall around the city. I got Dardanelle and his family out of Paris.”

  “You… you saved them?”

  “Yes. And I’ve come back for you.” He took her hands and stared into her eyes. “I just need to make sure you’re coming with me.”

  She trembled. “Do you know what you’re asking me to give up?”

  “Yes,” he snapped, “a world gone mad. A country that murders its citizens. I saw it out in the streets, three dozen times over.”

  She thought back to the Swiss Guards, their terrified eyes as they died at the hands of the mob…

  “All right. Let me pack a few things.”

  “Money and th
ings that will arouse no suspicion, nothing more.”

  Marian nodded, then turned to her maid, who had been listening to the whole exchange with a terrified look. “Francoise, I must leave… I will give you money for the rest of the year, but you must not tell anyone where I went or with whom, do you understand?”

  The middle-aged woman nodded in terror.

  “Please, go and pack us something to eat,” Marian asked.

  “Bread and water, and only what can be tied together in a small cloth,” Evan called after her.

  Marian hurried to her bedroom, and Evan followed after her.

  “Do you have anything simple, something that will allow you to blend in?” Evan asked.

  “With the rabble, you mean?” Marian asked sarcastically.

  “With the people who will kill you if you wear something that smacks of wealth and privilege,” he snapped.

  She looked back at him and grew pale. “Are you serious?”

  “I wish to God I were not.”

  She thought and nodded. “I can ask for some of Francoise’s things – she is close to my size.”

  “Then hurry. For God’s sake, hurry.”

  Marian disappeared, and Evan began to watch the street from next to the curtain. Marian returned after a minute carrying a simple grey dress. She laid it on her bed in the alcove and began to remove the more sumptuous clothes she wore.

  When she was down to her shift, Evan glanced over. “Very nice,” her murmured.

  “Only a man would think of such things at a time like this,” she scoffed.

  “Only when the woman is you.”

  In spite of herself, she blushed the tiniest bit.

  Out in the street came the clomp clomp clomp of boots on the cobblestones.

  Marian froze.

  “Damn it,” Evan whispered. He turned to her. “I’ll leave – I’ll get out of here – ”

  “There’s no time! Why are we even afraid? You have done nothing – ”

  “I was followed, remember? I helped a family escape Paris! Villars was ready to guillotine me for concealing my relationship with you – what do you think he will do if he knows I have defied a direct order and helped a Royalist escape the city?”

  “We have to hide you – ”

  “Is there an attic?”

  “No – at least, I don’t have access to it – ”

  Evan looked wildly around the room. “Under the bed?”

  “It will be the first place they look!” Marian looked at the bed nestled in the alcove. “Unless… unless we could put you inside the bed…”

  “What?”

  “Take off the sheets! I’ll be back!” she commanded, and left the room carrying the grey dress.

  Evan shook his head, then quickly stripped the sheets and padding off the bed.

  It was an elaborate wooden frame supporting four thick mattresses. He stood there wondering what the hell she was up to when Marian reentered sans dress, followed by the maid.

  “When the soldiers come, you must tell them I threw him out angrily, that we had a lover’s quarrel – do you understand?”

  “Yes, madame.”

  “Here, help me with the top mattress!” she said to Blake.

  The pulled the top mattress off completely, then slid the one underneath it out a couple of feet, so that its edge overlapped the two beneath it.

  “Get in,” Marian directed.

  Evan stared at the gap. “And do what?”

  “Hide, of course!”

  “Are you mad?! I’ll die of suffocation!”

  “Get in, or we all die together!”

  He pulled out his dueling pistol.

  “What’s that for?!” she cried.

  “If they find me.”

  “One pistol against twenty muskets and swords?”

  He grumbled, then rolled across the mattresses and dropped into the gap.

  “Quickly, Francoise, put the other mattress on top of him!”

  “Leave me a little room to breathe, for God’s sake!” Evan hissed as they laid the mattress on top of him.

  There was a loud banging from the front door.

  “Help me quickly!” Marian cried, and they hurriedly threw on the padding and sheets.

  The banging intensified.

  “I can get it from here – go, go!” Marian said, and shooed her maid out of the room.

  73

  It was no good. The bed looked like it had been slept in, the sheets were so disarrayed.

  “Then I’ll just have to sleep in it,” she declared, and got into bed.

  There was the sound of dozens of heavy footsteps on the floorboards of the main room, followed by a slight knock on the door.

  You can do this, Marian thought to herself. There is nothing wrong, you are in bed, it has been a long day… you can do this.

  Still, her heart was hammering in her chest, and the fear that ran through her was greater than any she had ever felt.

  “Come in,” Marian called out.

  The door opened and the maid peeked in. She looked absolutely terrified.

  “Madame?”

  “You may show the soldiers in,” Marian informed her.

  The maid nodded and withdrew.

  Within seconds, Lt. Villars strode into the room. He would have looked exceptionally handsome in his uniform, except that a cruel and brutish smile marred his face, and his eyes were full of malice.

  He stopped short when he saw her in bed, though.

  She was still wearing her shift, and nothing else. She was quite aware that the neckline was cut low, and that the plunging neckline exposed a great deal of her chest. That was why she had it tailor-made. If there was one thing Marian knew from her experience over the last two years, it was where men’s eyes wandered, and what they always looked at, no matter how hard they tried not to.

  As though to confirm that fact, Villars’ eyes dropped to her breasts. He struggled to look into her eyes, but his gaze kept dipping back down.

  “Citoyenne,” he said curtly.

  “Lieutenant,” she said, allowing some of her fear to show through. She crossed her arms as though she were trying to protect herself – but it had the added benefit of pressing her breasts together and swelling their size.

  Villars still continued the pretense that he was not looking at anything other than her face – but the dozen soldiers who followed him into the bedroom did not bother to play games. They were mostly farm boys and commoners, and their manners betrayed it.

  It started with a low whistle.

  “I’d keep that warm in the winter!” one of them quipped.

  “I’d make her hot right now!” another one laughed.

  “Lean forward a bit, Citizen!” a third hooted.

  The entire company laughed – all except for Villars, who turned on them in jealous fury.

  “QUIET!” he roared, and the men immediately went silent – though their eyes pawed Marian’s body like invisible hands.

  He turned back to her, and she could see the possessiveness burning in his eyes.

  That was another thing she had learned – to read men like open books. And then to pluck their emotions like violin strings.

  If she played this right, she and Evan might just escape the guillotine yet.

  “To what do I owe this honor, may I ask?” she said coolly.

  “A routine check, nothing more, Citoyenne,” Villars said, and gave her a smile that managed to be both unctuous and mocking at the same time.

  “And what are you looking for?”

  “Members of the Swiss Guard.”

  “I assure you, I am not harboring any of them, if that is your concern.”

  Villars looked even more smug. “We have information that someone entered your apartment within the last thirty minutes.”

  “Yes, Evan Blake,” she said simply. “The Englishman. You met him last night at the salon.”

  The shock on Villars’ face was priceless. He had not expected her to be so forthright.


  “But I made him leave,” Marian continued. “You can ask Francoise.”

  The maid nodded her head mutely. She looked like she might faint dead away any second.

  Before Francoise could do anything to ruin things, Marian barreled along. “He tried to get me to go with him. When I refused, he became verbally abusive. He left when I threatened to call the Guard – and here you are, thank God! Did you see him in the street as he left?”

  “No, we did not,” Villars said, visibly less pleased.

  “Did he do something?”

  “We believe he has helped a traitor to the Revolution,” Villars said.

  “If you go now, you might catch him.”

  A light sparked in Villars’ eyes.

  Marian’s stomach twisted in fear – fear that she had overplayed her hand.

  “We shall need to search your quarters first,” he said. “A mere formality, I assure you.”

  “Of course. Please, go ahead.”

  “Will you get out of bed?”

  “I – ”

  She let her eyes flit to the men standing behind Villars, who were all waiting with bated breath. Then she let a fraction more of her fear show through, and clutched her arms even tighter across her chest.

  Which served to only push her breasts tighter together.

  “If… if you so wish it, Lieutenant,” she said timidly.

  Following her gaze, Villars glanced to the side and saw the wolfish lust in the faces of his underlings.

  Just as Marian pulled back her sheets, Villars put up a hand.

  “That will not be necessary. You may stay in the bed, Citoyenne.”

  She clutched the sheet to her chest, obscuring the view. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  Cheated of their show, the crowd of soldiers began to mutter angrily.

  “QUIET!” Villars roared. “Search the room!”

  The men began a thorough search – inside her closet, her wardrobe, her boudoir. They moved furniture away from the walls, they stuck their arms between her hanging gowns, they pulled back curtains. They searched beneath the bed, sweeping their bayonets under the frame. They even pulled back her pillows and sheets, making sure no one was in bed with her.

  The one thing they did not do was pull the bed out from the alcove.

  But, without fail, they all managed to walk by the bed and try to peer down the front of her shift.