Chapter Twenty-Three
Then came the dawn.
Consciousness was not, William decided, something he welcomed at that moment. He fought it as best he could, cuddling close to the warmth at his side, shifting when something soft tickled his nose. He drifted again for a long while, the events of the previous night a pleasant blur as he dozed, everything soft and warm and very, very comfortable.
As with all good things, however, the long, contented moments had to come to an end. One nagging thought then another entered his consciousness, however hard he tried to push them away, and finally he opened his eyes, where he found himself staring at the sleeping face of Alexandre Gaudet.
The Frenchman’s arm was flung around William’s waist, hand still resting rather firmly on his bottom and somehow, despite sleeping in full makeup, Gaudet’s powder and rouge managed to be utterly immaculate.
He wondered for a second if he might be able to extricate himself without waking his companion, to leave the bed and dress so that when Gaudet finally stirred they could both pretend that nothing had happened.
The thought was chased from his mind a moment later, though, when Gaudet snuggled closer, giving a contented sigh as he buried his face against William’s shoulder. Gaudet’s hand squeezed his bottom just a little, no doubt in response to some dream or other, and his breath caught in response, his body treacherously reacting even as he froze, heart hammering. Stirring slightly, Gaudet pressed a soft kiss to William’s shoulder, causing his heartbeat to grow faster than ever.
Hell. He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes briefly. Hell and damn everything. With that thought, he pulled back as much as Gaudet’s grasp allowed, telling him as firmly as he could, “We need to get up.”
“Do we now?” The words were mischievous, and Gaudet slid his fingers lower, slipping them into William’s breeches.
He almost gave in, wondering whether there could really be much harm in it, before he shook himself firmly and reached down to catch Gaudet’s wrist as he remembered, “We have an early start.”
Gaudet’s eyes sprang open at the sharpness in William’s tone and the strength of his grip, and he asked without any guile, “Something is wrong?”
“We need to go.” William managed to keep his voice steady. “We’ve already slept in.”
“No one has summoned us?”
“They will soon.” William carefully but firmly returned Gaudet’s hand to his side. “So we should be ready.”
“Oh, I see.”
There was no way that Gaudet really could see, for he was certain he didn’t really understand himself, but he took the opportunity to sit up, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “And we’ll need breakfast—”
“Will you kiss me?”
“We should be ready—” William met Gaudet’s gaze before darting away again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”
The very air seemed alive with something for several moments, Gaudet’s eyes fixed firmly on William. Even though he refused to meet it, he could feel the furious gaze, and the Frenchman said, “Curiosity satisfied, was it?”
“That’s not—”
“Go away.” When Gaudet spoke, William felt a stab of regret at the words, at the hurt in his companion’s eyes. Yet he forced himself to harden, managing a curt nod as he left the bed. “And tell your Professor Dee that I will not go to Le Havre or anywhere else with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Tell him, please.” Gaudet left the bed, fishing for his clothes. “You need not tell him why, just that I will not.”
“Then what on earth do you intend to do?” William demanded. “You are being utterly absurd—”
“Get out of my room!” Gaudet shrieked with a stamp of his foot, Pap leaping to her feet and joining in with a shrill bark. “I will not be used to sate your drunken curiosity. Get out!”
Without quite realizing how, William found himself outside of the room, half-dressed, disheveled and cursing as he knocked on the door, shouting as loudly as he dared, “I need my shirt.”
“Put some clothes on, man,” Dee commented sardonically as ever as he strolled along the hallway. Clearly, he had not overindulged last night, or any night, the spymaster never more than utterly composed.
“He’s thrown me out.”
“Get dressed and come downstairs to the kitchen.” Dee’s voice was sterner and he knocked on the bedroom door. “Give the man his damn shirt or I shall put you through the bloody window, Gaudet.”
At that, William gingerly tried the handle, relieved to find the door opening as he peered inside.
A moment later, the shirt hit him full in the face and Gaudet snapped, “Get out!”
William retreated with the shirt, pulling it on as he found himself, once again, outside the door. At least he had his clothes, he reasoned, and that had to count for something. He made himself as tidy as he could before he gave a final glance to the door and set off downstairs, hoping to eat and make sense of the things he was trying very hard not to think about.
As William reached the kitchen, he had no idea what he was going to say to Dee, who stood at the stove, watching water boil. The silence was a good thing and he hoped that it would remain, taking a seat without speaking or doing anything to alert the watchful spymaster to his presence. The rest of the house appeared to still be sleeping and Dee said nothing as he tended to his drink.
Minutes passed before he turned from the fire, cup in hand, and asked, “Well?”
“Are we just going to sit here and say that at each other all morning, or can I have some tea?”
“Do you forget, sir, who pays you?” Dee asked with studied politeness. “Is it above the call of duty to afford me a little civility?”
“My apologies.” William got to his feet, managing to keep his voice calm—with effort. “I find myself no longer hungry.”
“Oh, good Lord, my daughter is not yet fifteen and is less temperamental. What on earth has happened?”
He would not know how to begin to explain, William realized, even if he wanted to, as he could hardly explain it to himself. Instead he shook his head, anger deflating as he sank back down into his chair, asking meekly, “May I please have some tea?”
“Sure that coffee wouldn’t clear your head more efficiently?” Dee’s tone was softer and he added, “I knew he would be trouble—what has happened?”
“Coffee.” He nodded, suddenly hoping that might solve everything. “Yes. Yes, coffee would do very well.”
“So,” he went back to the stove, “tell me?”
“I think,” William managed carefully, “too much wine was drunk last night. That is all.”
“Has there been an argument?”
“Yes.” He decided that was the easiest explanation. “You know what these Frenchmen are like.”
“Would you like to tell me anything?”
“Not particularly.” The tabletop was suddenly fascinating, pitted and telling a hundred stories in its surface. “I would like to forget everything.”
“Do you wish to leave the group?”
“Good God, no.” William looked up sharply, the thought one he would not countenance now. “Why would you think that?”
“Because it is right you have the option.” Dee set a cup down before William, the scent of coffee strong and a little sickening. “Otherwise, whatever has happened, mend it?”
He made it sound, William thought with irritation, so wonderfully simple. “That would be a good idea, yes.”
“Good man.” Dee patted William’s shoulder, glancing to the door in time to see Bastien darting in. “And I shall leave you with young Master Dupire and go and prepare the carriage with Adam.”
“When do we leave?”
“Later today—find me in an hour or so. We need to discuss another matter.”
“Another matter?” He frowned, the words too innocent, too loaded, yet Dee’s reply was a friendly nod, the conversation over.
As the spymaster left the kitch
en, Bastien hopped up into one of the seats at the table and fixed William with his large eyes. The boy took an enormous red apple from the pocket of his tattered jacket and took a bite. “Adam married?”
“Probably a dozen times over.” William took a long sip of coffee. “Keep out of trouble today, you hear?”
“You reckon?” Bastien sighed, scratching his head. “You married then?”
“Not a chance of it.”
“I’m after for someone for Ma,” the boy explained. “Professor’s nice and all, but I don’t see them as a pair—she likes someone a bit more…well, you know, cabinetmaker, boot mender, lamplighter. So, I thought Adam cos, apparently, he’s got a stable yard and she’d do all right with him?”
“You’re a good lad,” William found himself telling the boy. “Enjoy your apple and spend less time worrying.”
“We just need to find one that she’ll stick with.” Bastien shrugged, taking another bite. “And will stick with her.”
Or that keeps his head.
“If you come back to England with us,” William said, “there’ll be a place for you, I’m sure.”
“She gets her hand on that diamond, you won’t see her for dust,” Bastien confided with a shrug. William was surprised at Sylvie’s son’s all-too-honest opinion of his mother. “But I’d settle for a yard like Adam’s got.”
“Plenty of those in England.” He had to smile slightly. “One less thing for you to worry about.”
“Do you want an apple?”
“No,” William told the boy as kindly as he could. “But thank you for the offer.”
“He’ll come round,” Bastien said as he slipped from his seat in response to a knock on the window from Adam, “when he stops shrieking.”
“I should go and see.” William sighed, getting to his feet.
“That pal of yours.” Adam appeared in the doorway, leaning with one shoulder on the frame. “What’s he shouting about?”
“He’s French,” William informed the coachman as he hurried to the door. “They are always shouting about something.” With that, he hurried out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time as he hurried to their room. At the door, he paused to wince at the hellish noises from within then, gently, pushed it open to peer into the room.
Gaudet’s ranting had taken on a more general form as he sat before the mirror applying fresh makeup, now in plainer clothes made rather more lively by the addition of the crimson coat he had retrieved from the molly house. At William’s appearance, Pap began barking furiously and Gaudet’s annoyance resurfaced, his voice enough to shatter glass when he shouted, “I have been ill-used, sir, most ill-used.”
“Will you stop yelling?”
“I will not. Have you told him?”
“Told him what?”
“That I will not go on with you.”
“Of course I didn’t tell him that.” William shook his head. “Because that is absurd.”
“You have used me as surely as many a young lady has been used.”
“There was no using.” He felt a flicker of hurt despite himself at the accusation. “What happened—it was enjoyed. On both sides. But that doesn’t mean—”
“After what I said to you, how I have wanted—” He turned back to the mirror, breathing deeply. “You looked at me this morning as though I were dirt.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did. Now Pap is distressed, nothing will calm her.”
“I did not mean to cause any upset.” William ducked his head. “For goodness sake—”
“I have no wish to speak to you,” Gaudet replied haughtily. “I will travel on alone—please tell the professor I wish to see him.”
“You can tell him yourself,” he decided, temper rising. “I am not your servant, sir.”
“No, because if you were, I would turn you bloody out.” Gaudet rose to his feet imperiously, more than a hint of his Versailles background in his manner. “Summon the professor, now, and take mistress Pap for her toilette.”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll do either.”
The Frenchman was really more than beyond reason and William sat himself firmly on the bed, unwilling to be moved.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said”—he glared at Gaudet—“that you can summon whoever you wish. I wash my hands of it.”
“Come along, Mademoiselle.” Gaudet scooped up his portmanteau in one hand and Papillon in the other. “Good day.” With that, he stalked through the door and slammed it behind him.
“Well,” William declared loudly. “Well, bloody well.” Finding himself alone, he did not quite know what to do next, his heart hammering as he resisted the urge to throw something across the room. Another door slammed elsewhere in the house a minute or so later, followed by blissful, empty silence.
He flopped onto the bed, covering his face with his hands as he wondered how on earth he was going to get out of this mess, much less sort through his own thoughts on the matter. Minutes passed before there was a knock at the door of the bedroom and Dee called, “Ready, gents?”
With a curse, William sat up, sighing heavily as he forced himself to open the door. “He’s not here.”
“He’s what?” Dee peered around the room. “Then where is he?”
“He went, I thought, to find you.” William gestured helplessly.
“No—he has simply gone.” With that, Dee turned from the room, already calling, “Adam! Saddle a horse!”
Muttering under his breath, William found himself following, certain that there was no one who could get into more trouble than this Frenchman.
“You are off this job as of now,” Dee told him with a glance back. “You’ll still be paid, but you can sit it out.”
“I’ve done nothing.” This fresh outrage was more than he could stomach. “I’m not off anything.”
“Horse,” Adam called from the yard, children swarming from the house at the excitement, the promise of trouble. “Saddled and ready.”
“He can’t have got far,” William protested. “He’s on foot with a dog.”
“He took the gray,” Bastien helpfully supplied. “Fast one, that gray.”
“Bloody hell.” William was on his way to the horse prepared by Adam a moment later. “That bloody Frenchman—”
“Headed off to the village.” The boy took a bite from another apple, larger than the first, and leaned on the doorframe in a clear imitation of Adam. “But it’s a fast horse.”
With an effort, William pulled himself up onto his own mount, certain Dee would have something to say but little caring as he made to leave the yard.
“Don’t you get lost as well,” the professor called after him, though there didn’t appear to be any anger in the words. “And bring us back a playwright!”
Gaudet, however, had not got far and was sitting in a most stately manner atop the gray, declaiming on the benefits of a decent steed to three adoring young milkmaids who were listening intently to his words. From somewhere, he had acquired a pale blue scarf that was tied in a bow about his neck, whilst William could hardly help but notice his own handkerchief, once again spilling rakishly from the pocket of the other man’s coat.
“Monsieur,” William called, ignoring the women. Gaudet did not even glance round, though Papillon turned in his arms, dark eyes fixing on the newcomer, who now approached closer, determined not to be ignored. “You are to return with me immediately.”
Gaudet dismissed the ladies with a few gentle words then reined his horse round to address William. “Pardon, sir?”
“The professor says,” William forced his tone to soften, “that you are to return to the house, sir.”
“I will come back because I will not risk my sister and her boy,” he decided haughtily. “But I will not speak to you.”
“Then ignore me all the way to Le Havre.” William shook his head. “If that is what pleases you.”
“You have used me,” Gaudet said again, kicking the horse into a canter. “You
are lucky that I am a chap who knows the meaning of discretion.”
“I was not worried about that—”
“And I will tell you one thing,” Gaudet declared. “You will never know what a wonderful lover you have turned your back on—there is no man like a Frenchman.”
He had nothing to say to that, pushing away the sense of opportunity lost as he said gruffly, “Let’s get back to Dee.”
With a shrug, Gaudet urged his horse on, galloping away toward the house and leaving William with little choice but to follow, cursing as he did so the day he met this particular dandified playwright.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the house that had become the hideaway of his tracking party, Tessier clutched the letter that bore Robespierre’s signature in a white-knuckled hand. He had not thought his fury could grow any deeper, any more inflamed and yet he was wrong. This simple, curt note had achieved what any amount of sleeping in hedgerows, riding hours per day and existing on subsistence could not.
Recalled.
Recalled to account for your reckless actions in pursuit of a diamond that likely does not even exist.
He would not obey the command, of course, would not go back to Paris until the Star was in his grip, then he would ride through the city in triumph and that diamond, that royalist myth, to use Robespierre’s words, would be proven as fact.
Tessier threw the letter into the fire, knitting his scarred hands before he returned to the window and stared out into the fields. He thought of Sylvie again, of how she had returned to his life, of what they might be to one another again if she could quell the ambition that so consumed her.
And she would—she would be his Sylvie again.
As if his thoughts had summoned her, a knock came at the door then, firm, assured, with a hint of impatience, heralding the arrival of the woman who held his thoughts.
“Enter!”
The door opened, and there she was, the day brightening as she entered the room, closing the door behind her. “What, no smile?”
“My correspondence brings no cheer,” he told Sylvie thinly, though her very presence was a balm to him. He crossed the room to greet her with the courtly bow that she so appreciated. “What news?”
The Star of Versailles Page 20
