by Shana Galen
Alex smiled sheepishly. “Lucky you two could find a more pleasant way to hide. Besides, you look nothing like the duc.”
That was true. The duc was a man of perhaps fifty, with a large nose and receding hair. He managed to retain his air of nobility, even dressed in rags and smelling of the prison he’d recently escaped.
“Come with me.” Alex gestured to the duc. “You must keep moving.”
“Is it safe for him to be out on the streets?” Gabrielle asked, ashamed that a few moments before she had wished the man anywhere but here. Wished she were home and safe in London.
“No,” Alex answered. “There are other ways to move about Paris.” She shooed them with her hands. “Now back to bed, the two of you. Sleep while you have the chance.”
Ramsey took Gabrielle’s arm and led her from the drawing room. “Probably a secret passage,” he said as they started up the stairs again. “She doesn’t want us to see it, and that’s for the best. The less we know, the better.”
Gabrielle wasn’t sure if she agreed. Knowing where the secret passage was might come in useful. Ramsey opened the door to their small chamber.
Especially if she needed to escape.
She looked at him, remembered the feel of his skin under her hands, the touch of his mouth on her breast, the warmth of his body. In his arms, she’d felt safe.
“I can sleep on the floor.” He arched a brow as though he knew what she was thinking.
“Don’t talk,” she ordered, and stepped into his arms.
He didn’t seem the least surprised. His mouth took hers, plundering her as though he was a pirate and she the treasure. He parted her lips, his tongue delving into her, filling her with the taste of him. He stroked her tongue with his, making her shiver, then withdrew, nipping her mouth lightly. So lightly that she dug her nails into his shoulder to force him to give her what she needed.
She didn’t want playful tonight. Tonight she wanted to be held and touched until she forgot all the horrors she’d seen today. She wanted to be kissed until she could pretend she was safe.
Though she knew she would never be safe in Sedgwick’s arms.
“Gabrielle, this might not—“
She pulled back, put a finger to his lips. “Don’t speak. Don’t warn me. Just kiss me.”
“You’re upset,” he said, stepping back. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I don’t want to think clearly,” she said, following him. Why was he stepping back? Why did he insist on playing the nobleman now, when she didn’t want him to? Now, when she needed a rogue more than anything? “If I think too clearly, I’ll probably dissolve into hysterics.”
“No, you won’t. You’re stronger than that.”
He was probably right, but she didn’t feel strong at the moment. And how mortifying to show him and herself how weak she truly was.
He took another step back, and she knew she had to take drastic measures. Her sheet had begun to slip, and she hauled it back up again, then paused and looked at him.
He shook his head. “Gabrielle…” But he didn’t finish, and she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
She opened her hand, and the sheet fell in a snowy puddle on the floor. It had been far easier than she would have ever thought. She’d agonized for weeks before her marriage about the possibility of George seeing her unclothed, and then he had rarely taken the time to divest her of her shift. At the moment she didn’t feel self-conscious in the least. It was hard to worry about all of her flaws when his eyes had grown huge and he was looking at her as though he wanted to lick every inch of her.
Now that was a thought…
“We shouldn’t do this,” Ramsey said, his voice low and husky.
She took a step forward. “Why not?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
And then she was in his arms, his mouth on hers, and his hands…his hands were everywhere. She had been cold when the sheet dropped, but now she was burning up. His kisses had always had the power to drug her, and they did so now. His mouth slanted over hers, taking her in a way that gave her no opportunity for resistance. Not that she wanted to resist, but with Ramsey there was no doubt who was in control. She liked not having to think, not having to do anything but feel.
And oh the things Ramsey made her feel. Her whole body was taut with anticipation. How would he kiss her next? Where would he touch her? She tried to focus on just one thing—on his mouth.
His lips were soft but confident. One hand cradled the nape of her neck as his mouth took hers roughly. His tongue slaked along her tongue, the friction making her shiver. And just when she thought she was almost sated, he pulled away, tracing her lips with his.
And then she wanted more.
She grabbed his hair, pulled his mouth back to hers, but he didn’t oblige her. Instead, he chuckled. “Slow down.”
“Stop telling me what to do.”
“Why don’t I show you what I’d like to do?” Before she could agree or disagree, he bent and swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. It was only three or four steps, and her heart thudded harder with each one. Why was he not kissing her? She was starting to think. Perhaps this wasn’t…
And then he laid her on the bed and his body covered hers. She opened her mouth, ready for his numbing kisses again, but this time his mouth caressed her neck, his lips tickling her just below her ear. She started to laugh, and then his mouth moved and the laugh turned into a moan. His lips moved downward, creating a path of tingles as he did so.
When he reached the rise of her breast, he looked up at her. “I didn’t have time to take a proper look at you earlier.”
“You’re wasting time now,” she said, afraid reality would crash into the moment.
He chuckled again. “I don’t think so. I always thought you were beautiful, but I had no idea…” He lowered his head and kissed the tender skin of the top of her breast. His hand cupped her, thumb rubbing over her nipple, and she jumped slightly. “I thought you had reacted to that earlier. Or was it this?” He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked lightly. Gabrielle almost arched off the bed.
How did he know what to do with his mouth? How did he know just how to make her come undone?
This was what she had wanted, how she’d known it would be, but that didn’t stop her from being scared out of her mind. She liked this too much, liked him too much. She couldn’t afford to become attached to a man again. That had been a disaster the first time. It would be even more of a disaster with Sedgwick. Everyone knew he was little better than a rake. No, she didn’t believe all the stories, but during her marriage she’d read her share of the scandal sheets. How else was she to know where her husband was spending his time? The Earl of Sedgwick’s name had been linked with every Cyprian, every vice, and every scandalous affair.
That was years ago, but she had no reason to think he’d changed. She would have to trust that he had changed to stay in his arms.
Which was a huge mistake. What was she doing?
And then his mouth moved to her other breast, and she knew exactly what she was doing. And she had to stop this before it went too far.
Even as the thought occurred to her, his hand delved between her legs. Her body answered yes, even as her mind thought no. He stroked her, and she could feel the heat rising in her belly, could feel the impulse growing to open her legs and let him touch her, really touch her.
Abruptly, she pushed away from him and sat. “I can’t do this.”
He raised a brow, looking not at all surprised by her sudden reversal of course. “Do what?”
“This.” She gestured to the bed. “I can’t do this.”
“Madam, might I point out that you’re not actually doing anything?”
She glared at him, pushed up, and fetched the sheet. Lord, she hoped he hadn’t been watching her walk across the room—but she knew, of course, he had. “I’m consenting,” she said, wrapping the sheet about her body. “And I might begin to participate if t
his goes on much longer.”
“Pray tell, what does this participation involve? And please go into detail.”
“You’re not amusing.”
He rose hastily, fists clenched and jaw tight, and she realized he was angry. “Neither are you. You practically attack me when we come in here, and when I resist, you stand naked before me.” He paced, speaking quick, clipped English. “And then when I capitulate, you tell me no. What the hell is this?”
She covered her face. “I don’t know. I wanted to forget what I’d seen today. I wanted to think about something else.”
“And I was a convenient distraction?”
“Yes. No!” She sat on the bed, feeling dejected. He was right. She had behaved abominably. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He sat next to her. “I want you, Gabrielle, and I think you want me too. Why can’t we give in to the desire?”
“Because…” She couldn’t tell him the truth—that she was afraid she’d fall in love with him. “I don’t trust you,” she said finally. And that was true as well. She didn’t trust him. Not only did she not trust him with her heart, she didn’t trust him here in Paris. It was too convenient that he happened to be traveling to France at the same time as she. He had too easily insinuated himself into her mission. Why was he really here? What did he really want?
Ramsey had told her she couldn’t trust him. Why hadn’t she sent him away then?
Oh, she knew why…she wanted to be near him. And she needed his help. She would not be here in this bedroom, reasonably safe, if not for him. But was she not trading one element of danger for another?
“You don’t trust me,” Ramsey said, echoing her words. “No, why should you?” He sounded bitter.
“I know you saved me today, but—“
“Don’t argue, madam.” He stood. “I’ll be the first to tell you not to trust me. You’re right to keep your distance. Just as you always have.”
He strode to the door, and she called out, “Where are you going?”
He yanked it open. “To sleep.”
The door closed with a thud, and Gabrielle fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. And she had thought marriage was difficult.
Chapter 11
La Force did not look like Ramsey’s idea of a prison, and he was a man who had thought quite a lot about prisons. He supposed most men who lived their lives one false step away from incarceration imagined life in prison. La Force did not look so bad—on the outside.
Alexandra Martin, who had insisted upon accompanying him and Gabrielle this morning, had played tour guide on the way to the Rue Roi de Sicile. She informed them, in a pompous, nasally voice, that La Force had originally been the private residence of the Duke de la Force. Some dozen or more years ago, the residence had been converted to a prison.
It still had the look of a private residence, Ramsey thought as he stood across the street, studying it. Gabrielle and Alex had walked down the street a little ways because Alex said she had a friend who lived nearby. Ramsey didn’t quite trust Alex Martin’s “friends,” so he kept the women in sight as he lounged—the pixie and the regal beauty. They made quite a pair, both dressed in redingotes and stylish hats. They looked fashionable, even in this desultory city, though Alex had been careful to make sure their tricolor cockades were pinned prominently to their coats.
Ramsey heard the clop of a carriage nearing and turned to watch as a conveyance paused outside the prison. Guards approached and took charge of a new prisoner. Ramsey wondered idly what the man had done, if anything at all.
“That might be you tonight or tomorrow,” a woman’s voice said. Ramsey turned sharply. He’d been standing with his back to another, seemingly abandoned residence, and he could not think where the dark-haired woman had come from. Inside the house? But he had not heard the door open. He would have seen her approach if she’d come down the narrow lane of the Rue Roi de Sicile.
“I’ve been watching you,” the woman said, her red lips barely moving.
That simple statement chilled him to the bone. He was half ready to declare her some sort of apparition. But she stepped closer, and he smelled her perfume.
It reminded him of someone…
“Have you?” he said.
She nodded. She was actually quite attractive, dressed in a blue robe á l’anglaise—at least he thought that was the term women bandied about—with a simple bonnet and the ever-present tricolor cockade. Her patriotic symbol was larger than most, covering a good deal of her bosom, which he supposed was fortunate, because the day was chilly and she showed quite a bit of cleavage. Her hair was dark as were her eyes and her complexion. She looked to be from the south, perhaps Gascony, though he never could remember all the regions of France. It seemed they were always and forever changing hands.
For an apparition, she was not unpleasant to look at.
“You are staying with Citoyenne Martin, the actress.” She said the last disdainfully, as though she had no use for actors and their ilk.
Ramsey had not gone to trouble to hide where he and Gabrielle were lodging, but he did not like being at a disadvantage. He shrugged easily, disguising his irritation and the rising anxiety beneath it. Who was this woman, and what did she want? She was a woman of power, he decided. She held her head high, looked him in the eye. And the perfume she wore…
“As you see, Citoyenne Martin and Citoyenne Leboeuf are just there.” He indicated the two women at the far end of the street, who were standing and conversing with a man who looked, by the stains on his apron, to be a butcher. Was that Alex’s friend?
“Leboeuf? Is that what the viscountess calls herself?” She laughed when he blinked suddenly, unable to suppress his surprise.
“And you, Lord Sedgwick. You are called Citoyen Delpierre. It must be exceedingly difficult to remember all of your names.” She held up a gloved hand. “Earl of Sedgwick.” She ticked off one finger. “Citoyen Delpierre.” She ticked off another. “And Ramsey Barnes.” She ticked off a third, smiling at him all the while. “Tell me, which name will you give when the jailer asks you at La Force?”
“I had hoped I would not have to make such a decision,” Ramsey said stiffly, hoping his face betrayed none of the turmoil he felt at the moment.
“I have that hope as well,” the woman agreed. Color had risen in her cheeks now, giving her a sort of violent beauty. “La Force is not a place where prisoners live long.”
Ramsey knew that well. He remembered reading the account of the mob riots on La Force in the Times a year or so ago. Mobs had broken into the prison, hauled the prisoners into the courtyard, and one by one, beat, bludgeoned, decapitated, and butchered them.
The Princess de Lamballe was the most famous of these casualties. She was the particular friend of Queen Marie Antoinette, who was still imprisoned and certainly doomed. Ramsey had never met the princess, but he knew others who had. They described her as kind and gentle. And yet, according to the article in the Times, and the stories he’d overheard here and there, she’d been insulted in every way imaginable by the mob, been cut to pieces, and had her head and the pieces of her naked body dragged about the streets of Paris for two days.
He glanced at Gabrielle, still standing down the street, again. It was not a fate he wanted for her.
“Yes, look long and hard at your lady friend,” the woman beside him murmured. “Because if you want to save her, you had better do as Madame Fouchet instructed.”
Ramsey cut his gaze to the woman. He knew why her scent was so familiar now. She wore the same rose fragrance as Madame Fouchet. Why didn’t he expect that she would have spies watching him in Paris? Her reach was long and wide.
God, he was a fool. He should have never even spoken to Gabrielle. He should have avoided her at all costs. Now he’d involved her in this business as well. “She”—he indicated Gabrielle—“has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, but she has everything to do with your business, and I applaud your cunning in using her,” the woman
said. Ramsey noted her teeth were rather jagged. Not at all attractive.
“I’m not using her,” he said, knowing it was a lie.
The woman laughed. “She will lead you to the Scarlet Pimpernel, but you’d better convince her to do so soon.” The woman moved closer, running a finger down his cheek. He recoiled.
“Madam grows impatient.”
Ramsey grabbed her wrist, holding it in what must have been a painful grip, but she did not flinch. “Do not threaten me,” he warned her. “I’m not a man who tolerates threats.”
“Oh, the guillotine for you and Viscountess McCullough is not a threat,” the woman whispered. “It’s a promise. Now release me or I scream, and you will see the inside of La Force much sooner than you hoped.”
He all but threw her wrist back at her. Unfazed, she backed away from him, smiling. “Goodbye, Mister Barnes…“
He watched until she turned on her heel and flounced away. He closed his hands into fists and resisted the urge to pummel the brick behind him. He would kill Madame Fouchet for this. How dare she expose his secret?
But that was all part of her plan. Threats, promises, fears of reprisal…those were the means with which she ensured her minions did her will. Oh, and they did her will. Look at all he had done for her. Look what he was doing now!
He watched Gabrielle turn and start back toward him, leaving Alex and her friend behind. Gabrielle gave him a quick wave, and he nodded in acknowledgment. He’d had that beautiful creature naked and in his arms twice last night. The second time, he allowed her to slip away from him. He might have convinced her to accept him as her lover, but she had mentioned trust, and he’d felt that twinge of guilt.
Of course she couldn’t trust him. No one who knew him outside of his home village in Cumbria could trust him. He’d lied to everyone in London, even those he considered friends. But they weren’t his friends. They didn’t even know him. And here was a woman he wanted to know him, and he was as trapped behind a false facade as he had ever been. He’d added more lies, more deceit to his growing list of transgressions.
