Charlotte stopped washing him and he paused as well. “You were willing to do that, my lord? Be a spy, knowing no one would receive you if they found out? That you could be imprisoned, tortured and executed without the protection of a uniform?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said without hesitation. “There are some things more important than who will invite me to their next ball.” He looked at her over his shoulder as if she would challenge what he said. When she began washing his back again, he turned from her and continued.
“They insisted that my interests were a good enough excuse to give me entrée almost anyplace. I had learned Portuguese. I was welcome in society and could go to the meanest tavern or the finest balls in the name of science.”
She had finished bathing him, but held on to the sponge, washing already clean spots so that he would continue. All details were valuable. Already she saw him in a different light. His willingness to be a spy was not the conventional choice for the son of a duke.
“I was to go to…” he paused, “…a city where I would frequent a list of places they had me memorize, make myself known and see what I could learn. I went to the city I will not name and did as I was instructed.
“The ruse worked for a while. It is amazing what men will say when they are in their cups or think they are speaking to someone whose only interest is science. A few times I even found information on my own. Then one night I went to the tavern that was one of my regular haunts.
“When I arrived, there was a band of ruffians holding seven men as hostages. They asked me to identify my fellow spies. I refused, denying any wrongdoing. Without giving me a second chance, they shot and slaughtered all of them. I thought my body was going to be added to the corpses. They said that I was being spared even though I had betrayed those who had died. I was wanted for further questioning.”
He stopped talking, and she waited for him to gather his composure.
“They poured spirits on the dead and burned the place down. As an example to others? To cover their crime? I don’t know. Maybe both. They knocked me unconscious before I could do anything to stop them. I’ve thought about it for months now and have no idea what I did that served those men up to death.”
Charlotte sat back again, letting him relive his personal hell. If one had a conscience it was a worse punishment than years in prison. Finally he drew a deep breath and continued.
“We left on a small French cutter. When we reached France we traveled by foot. At Le Havre I was put in prison and forgotten. That’s my story, a total waste of more lives than my own.” He let out a breath and turned his head a little. “Tell me, Charlotte, what have you done to make the world a better place?”
“I know this much,” she said, not really ignoring his question, “self-pity is a waste.” She turned his head away from her, pretending that she was not finished with his neck. When the silence had dragged on, she prodded him, “Were you tortured? Is that how you came to have the scars on your back?”
“No. Those are from my three escape attempts. Ludicrous failures, every one of them.” He shook his head and went on. “My original captors said I was to be taken to Paris. The Minister of Police wanted to see me.”
“Fouché, the French spymaster?” She nodded. “That is impressive.” That part, at least, was exactly what the government had told her.
“Perhaps. I suppose so. Fouché has been in and out of favor with Napoleon and I cannot be certain he was the Minister of Police at the time, but even when he is out of favor, there are many loyal to him, or at least willing to do his bidding.”
“That has been true since before the revolution,” she said. “It is amazing how he is able to sell his services no matter who is in power.” She walked to the table to light the candles near the shaving mirror. “Why did Fouché wish to see you?”
“I have no idea. No, no, I have a dozen ideas. He wanted to execute me more publicly. A ducal connection would attract some attention.”
She shrugged. “You have only to convince Viscount Sidmouth to be set free.”
“It is the truth, damn your skeptical mind.” He picked up the sponge and threw it into the fire. It sizzled and was gone quickly, rather like his temper, she thought.
“It is a near version of the story Viscount Sidmouth passed on. With a critical difference.”
“What is it?”
She shook her head. “You will find out when you reach London.” When he would have protested, she raised her hand. “Those are my orders.”
He slid back into the water.
“I can tell you that about six months ago word reached the War Office that you were alive. They dismissed it as unreliable information.” She was surprised when he did no more than nod. Where was his temper now? “Your brother was willing to pursue it. I was sure you were dead and that he was behaving for absurdly sentimental reasons.”
“You didn’t say that to his face, did you?”
“No, I did not insult him, not once. We were civil. Both of us were at our icy best.”
“And everyone within ten feet covered with frost or standing close to the fire, but unwilling to leave, in case they had to save one or the other of you.”
“Just so.” She smiled at the lanterns. This Pennistan was the youngest son. And as different from his oldest brother as possible.
“Lynford did not know that the promise of money was the best way to secure your help?”
“I convinced him.”
“I wish I could have seen it.”
She heard the laughter in his voice and envied him his family and their camaraderie. His brother and sister had stood with the duke, Lord Jessup insisting any amount of money would be worth Gabriel’s safe return. That kind of loyalty was as rare as honesty.
She set the candles inside the reflecting lantern as she spoke, glancing back at him. “You know, if your brother were not my sponsor, I could use this information against you. I still could insist on more money to keep silent about your misadventures as a spy.”
“Lynford would find you and ruin you if you tried. Jess would snub you until no one would receive you.”
“It would only matter if I moved in society, and it must be clear I do not.”
“Not entirely. When I switched to English, so did you. You have been speaking perfectly cultured English for the last hour. You sound as though you often have tea with the Queen.” His smile invited her to share the joke.
Damn. How could she have been so careless?
“Perhaps I am the one who will blackmail you.” His smile turned wicked. “You are neither nun nor prostitute. But perhaps you are not completely a lady either. Based on all the data at hand, I would say you are an actress. I imagine you can play any role you wish.”
Let him think he had the best of her. His arrogance suited her at the moment.
He was watching her closely through narrowed eyes, and she realized the lanterns made the room brighter and her wet shift left little to the imagination.
“I’m wrong, you know. You could not play any role. No one would mistake you for a boy.”
She moved to the chair to gather her clothes. “You will shave while I change my shift and dress. There are clothes for you on the table. If you cooperate, you will be on your way to England before dawn.”
Hearing the water slosh, she stopped gathering her clothes and looked up, disappointed he had taken the towel and wrapped it around his waist as he stood.
When he saw her looking, he stepped from the bath and dropped the towel to the floor.
She shivered, but only because the room was cold. Gathering her clothes, she went through the door, stopping to pick up the cat, moving slowly so Gabriel would not know she was even a little tempted. A fool he might be. Harmless he was not.
5
CHARLOTTE AND GABRIEL stood at the door of the tavern, waiting for a group to leave. Each one of the men eyed Charlotte and did not even notice him. She was right. With her nearby he was invisible. He relaxed a little, though Charlotte
had insisted that an attitude of discomfort would suit their story perfectly. Hardly heroic, but at least he was the one with her. He would bet his left arm that she was the most desirable woman any of these men had ever seen. How would he feel if they had been to bed together? Smug, he decided.
“Do you come here often?” he asked.
She shrugged.
He’d realized that conversing in French required just enough concentration to divert his mind from his predicament. There was also the absolute pleasure in having someone to talk to.
“Are you one of the three birds that give Aux Trois Oiseaux its name?”
“When it suits me.”
“It does tonight. You are as exotic as the tropical bird Dr. Borgos kept as a pet.”
She did not respond to his compliment and gave her shoulder to a man who came too close.
“I thought that turquoise dress was striking, but this one is even more eye-catching.” He stepped back to watch her. “It’s blue, that changes to violet as you move.” She even wore a shawl of the same material. “Where do you find these gowns?” he asked as he admired the woman as much as the chameleon effect of the material.
“I have the gowns made at the modiste who works for whores.”
“I think not. I know any number of ladies who would envy you that gown.”
“Who ever said that ladies could not be whores?” She tucked her shawl more snugly under her shoulders and arms.
How many ways could she use her clothes to tempt? He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from what she was offering. “Were you doing some reconnoitering when we passed here twice before tonight?”
“Very good, monsieur. You are observant.” Her sultry smile made it seem as though she was captivated by something he had said. Her expression caused the next importunate man to abandon his suit. “I was hoping I had completely confused you.”
“Oh, you did confuse me. Just not completely.”
She gave him a genuine smile and he counted it a victory.
The common room was nearly full. He would bet Jess that this place was a brothel as well as a tavern and a place to eat. Every harbor town had as many as the traffic could bear. Like a posting house without horses, he decided.
The poor light was further compromised by the smoke from a dozen pipes floating up to the rafters. The smell of the tobacco kept company with unwashed bodies and the sweet perfume the prostitutes favored. He looked as though he belonged, if only because his clothes were similar to what the others wore. He was too blond and too tall but hoped that once they were seated no one would notice him any more than they did now.
Charlotte stood at the entrance, patting her hair and smoothing her skirts, before she took the three steps down into the room. He followed her. The high-backed benches with tables between gave as much seclusion as a private room. A good place to do business of all kinds. Even at this hour, closer to dawn than midnight. He could imagine the business being done up the stairs.
Gabriel scanned the banquettes, but it was too dimly lit to make out anything more than the shapes. Male and female. When Georges rose from the most private of the tables, Gabriel started. “How can he be here?” he whispered, so surprised he barely remembered to speak in French.
Charlotte did not answer. Gabriel had learned enough in the past year to keep silent as well. Moving to the table as she directed, he watched from the corner of his eye as Georges left through the back door.
There were tankards on the table as well as a plate of bread and cheese, untouched.
“Mangez!” she commanded.
He did not need to be told twice to eat. Charlotte sipped at the beer. Took a small bite from a piece of cheese. Gabriel made steadier inroads. “Cheese and ale have been the mainstays of my life this last while, but this cheese and ale are as different from that fare as you are from the Princess of Wales.”
“We are both named Charlotte,” she said, as if to challenge his analogy.
“I imagine that she speaks French as well as you do.”
“And the list of similarities ends there.”
“If your hair was not quite so red and your dress more discreet, I imagine that the two of you could easily be found at the same entertainments.”
“You persist in casting me as a lady fallen on hard times.” She sat back and shook her head. “I am exactly what I appear to be.”
He laughed. His life was hanging by a thread, a woman was his one hope for escape, but he could not help laughing. “I have not met a single woman, whether she be prostitute or princess, who is exactly what she appears to be.” Gabriel raised his tankard, saluting her. The beer was like a golden nectar, but he took only one sip.
He banished the laughter and spoke slowly. “How did Georges find a way out? Tell me,” he insisted.
She reached for her own tankard but did not raise it. Instead she ran her thumb along the side of the mug.
“Tell me the truth, Charlotte.”
“It was part of the plan all along.” She looked him in the eye as she spoke and he decided it was the truth, if only because it was half an answer.
Before he could press her, she asked a question of her own.
“Anyone can see that you are too thin, but how is it that you have maintained your strength? You were in that place for months.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I fully expected that you would be hard-pressed to walk as far as the boulevard. Prison can be completely debilitating. And you were described to me as a man of science.”
He waited for her to add more, but she did not. “You mean that you found my appearance and my interests at odds?”
“Yes,” she said, an edge of irritation coloring the word.
“You’re not the first woman to be intrigued.”
“I do expect,” she said, leaning closer, “that I am the first woman who is more interested in your learning than in your body.”
“Not the first,” he admitted, “but certainly the first who is even after bathing me.”
“Which of the sciences have you studied?” she asked, completely ignoring his comment.
“Whatever holds my interest.”
“You are, then, like a dilettante in the arts.”
“Yes,” he said with his mouth full, then fell silent while he finished chewing and swallowing. “I have spent the last few years on the study of astronomy. That was useless in prison.”
He washed the food down with a long swallow of ale. Then he pushed the empty plate aside. “But before that I spent all my time studying anatomy and how the body works. That is how I knew that I would lose my physical abilities if I did not move. Not to mention going mad from the lack of intellectual company. At first I had some money and I bribed the guards to let me out into the courtyard. When the money was gone I made myself walk my cell from my first meal to my last. I would pull myself up on the rings in the wall, grateful that was the only use they were put to. I studied the rats to see if they emulate human behavior in any way. I may write a paper on that.”
“You would write of rats? What a waste of time.”
“I have heard that before too. But science embraces all manner of creation and all subjects. The rat’s very existence makes it of interest.”
She shook her head and said no more. Gabriel allowed the silence to lengthen, hoping she would add some details of her own life.
She remained silent. So she was not a woman who was easily manipulated. She pushed her bread and cheese toward him.
Reaching out, Gabriel pretended intimacy, taking her hand instead of the bread and cheese. “Tell me how Georges escaped.”
He turned her hand and began caressing the skin between her index finger and thumb.
Charlotte pulled her hand from his, reached for the bread and tore off a piece. He could play the game too, he thought, as he watched her tear the bread into crumbs.
“You planned the riot, didn’t you?” The idea struck him with such clarity that he felt an idiot for not realizing it sooner.
&nb
sp; “Very good, monsieur.”
“If you knew there was to be a riot, why not let me escape then?”
“Because there was no guarantee you would survive it.” She brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “And I will be paid double if you reach England alive.”
“Double what?”
“A thousand pounds.”
“How odd to know what your life is worth.” He sat back and tried to decide if the amount was insult or compliment. “So, I am worth two thousand pounds and Georges is expendable.”
“Never.”
The edge to her voice and the sharp look she gave him was as good as calling him a fool. What was Georges to her? It was obvious he was more than a servant. From his observations Gabriel would say they were not lovers. There was not enough information to conclude anything more.
“Georges knows that his life is more valuable to me than yours, monsieur. Your brother understands that as well.”
Her words were enough to remind him that despite the comfort of clean clothes and food he was still not guaranteed escape. It took all his discipline not to stand up and leave the room. Take his chances. At least he knew the language, was clean and was wearing a wonderfully nondescript set of clothes.
What could she do if he left? A number of answers came to mind, all of them unpleasant enough to have him keep his seat. “How many people do you know here? Or, perhaps I should ask, how much of Le Havre is in league with you?”
“Enough.”
“Odd. I would have thought the French would be more difficult to suborn. Loyalty to the Emperor and all. But then, ‘enough’ could be two or two hundred.”
“If you had been held anyplace else, your brother would have had to pay me much more, with less certainty of success. Le Havre is a natural gathering point for all sorts of intrigue,” she said, with a fondness that convinced him deception was a favorite hobby of hers.
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