by Jackie Ivie
He waved outward at the gardens below them, and beyond that, the lights of Paris.
“You’re certain, Gil?”
She stood beside him and looked out over what had been a pleasant, peaceful, slightly romantic view a few moments earlier.
“More than certain, darling. You would be, too, if you’d heard.”
“And no word to me? You could’ve said something, Gillian.” She tried not to sound defensive, but failed. “I have no great love for the Bonapartes, and I wouldn’t have told anyone. You had all day to tell me about Colonel Fontenelle.”
“I did try, remember? I asked if you considered his absence, and you tossed me some flippant remark about your boudoir.”
“Oh, fine. Toss that in.”
He grinned, and her heart lurched at the sight.
“Oh love. I considered it, but I needed you to act as blissfully annoyed and ignorant as you did. And you must admit, it was rather diverting to spend some time at a French dress shop, wasn’t it? Oh. And I like your new hairstyle, if I haven’t told you yet.”
‘But we lost so much time, Gillian!”
“Actually, we’ve gained it. I’d bet my last shilling that Colonel Fontenelle won’t waste any more time on us than he would on any other British citizen this eve. I only wish I had the resources to alert all of them, but they wouldn’t believe me, anyhow. The countess thought I’d lost my mind when I told her, and she, at least, should know to trust me.”
“What...fate, Gillian?”
She almost didn’t get it out. Her voice was choked sounding, and the words stumbled. And it was because she was so jealous at the moment, the Countess of Tilbury wasn’t safe.
“They’re arresting every British citizen, Helene. They’ve been doing it all day. Why do you think I kept you away from Peacockville?”
“To tire me,” she admitted.
“You believed that? I may have to amend my opinion of my abilities.”
“Oh, Gillian! What will we do?”
“I already told you. We’re escaping, and you’re to thank that it will work. It has to.”
“Why are we standing around, then?”
“We have to wait until midnight, darling. Renee can’t get a coach here until then. Oh. Bother. It does appear that I’m in the wrong balcony, however.”
He looked over her head and frowned. She matched it
“Renee? Evette’s Renee? I don’t understand. What does he have to do with anything? And what do you mean, the wrong balcony?”
Her voice rose, and she no longer cared.
“One question at a time, love. Here. Hold this for me, will you?”
He stripped off his tailored, black, superfine wool jacket and held it toward her. Helene stepped back in horror.
He wouldn’t! Not in the countess’s balcony!
“Please, Helene, try to focus on the job at hand. I’m readying myself to leap off a balcony, not tear off our clothing. I won’t have time to consider that until much later.”
He kissed the tip of her nose and pressed his jacket into her hands. She held it close as his words sank in. And then she was at the railing, watching him balance atop it.
“Gillian! Stop. Please. You have lost your mind.”
“As long as that’s the only thing I lose. You don’t have to watch, you know.”
She couldn’t turn away. He swung his arms twice and jumped. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she heard his grunt and then a bit of cursing at how badly he’d miscalculated. He should’ve had Brandy do it. At least, she’d had practice.
His leap had been short, and he barely gripped the other balcony floor. She watched as he pulled himself up to distinct sound of tearing cloth and another bout of cursing. He was lucky the ballroom behind them was as loud as it was. It drowned out the sounds of his act. And it was for what? Stupid man. Why couldn’t he just walk out into the ballroom? She sincerely hoped this barbarian act wasn’t for her benefit, especially with how poorly he did it. He slung a leg over. And she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until he was fully on the other balcony and grinning over at her.
At the sign he prepared to jump back, she found she couldn’t just stand there and wait for him to miss on the way back. She turned around and listened for him to fall into the trees below them. Curse from there. Perhaps break a limb.
A moment later he was speaking right behind her.
“Well. That wasn’t…pleasant. I can’t say my tailors will be...overjoyed...at the abuse...my wardrobe is taking, either. But, what do you know? I made it.”
He threw something at her feet after the words. He sounded so pleased with himself her hands curled into fists. After stopping her heart with fear, he exulted?
“You’re an unprincipled cad, My Lord.”
She said it from over her shoulder and he had the nerve to sound offended.
“What do you want me to say? That next time, I’ll have the presence of mind to escort you to the correct balcony? Is that it?”
“What the devil’s wrong with just walking there?”
“Didn’t it occur to you that no one is bothering us right now, because they think we might be trysting, darling?”
“I never heard of anything so…embarrassing!”
“Oh…I have. But, I won’t bother listing them, at present. And – be honest here – is it so unbelievable? Explain what you’d think if a couple just waltzed off the dance floor into a balcony and didn’t come back?”
“No one noticed us,” she said weakly.
“I have to keep you occupied for another seven minutes or so, Helene, and I’d really prefer it if we weren’t arguing. I thought I did rather well.”
She laughed cynically. “That was the most inept display of physical prowess I ever saw.”
“You’re a judge?”
She should’ve taken heed of the warning note in his question.
“You looked like a drunken thief, My Lord.”
“Forget the seven minutes. We’re leaving now.”
He spoke through clenched teeth, and she watched as he picked up a rope and fastened one end it to the balustrade.
“Oh, no. We’re not. I’m not. I can’t.” What was wrong with her? She couldn’t finish one sentence?
“We’re climbing down, love. That’s what the rope is for. I’d send you first, but I’m afraid the sway is a bit difficult to get used to.”
“You’re making all of this up, Gillian, aren’t you? Come on. You just want to see me shinny down a rope in the middle of the night in an ensemble that probably cost a fortune. Admit it.”
“Wrong. I’m getting us out of Bonaparte’s clutches, Helene. Now. Are you going to help, or will I have to climb down that rope with you across my shoulder? Don’t think I won’t do it. If you recall, I’m quite a hand at that particular act, even if I don’t leap balconies with the best of them. And you can quit laughing! I’m not particularly fond of it.”
“What awaits us at the end of this rope, Gillian? If this isn’t a jest, what’s the rest of your brilliant plan?”
He sighed exaggeratedly and tested the rope. “Time’s wasting, Helene, and you haven’t given me your answer. Which will it be?”
“Tell me the rest of your plan, and I’ll go. Well…I promise to think about it.”
“Christ, Helene! I’m trying to save your life, and you act like this is a stage production from a very bad playwright. I don’t have a plan except to get us out of the city gates and book passage out of Le Havre!”
“Le Havre? You’ve decided to dispense with the usual ports, too? Calais is the fastest way to England, Gil.”
“Don’t you listen to anything? I already told you I knew it was risky to come here. I’ve checked passage from all the ports. We can’t use Calais. That road will be watched, damn it!”
“You’re serious?”
He threw his hands in the air. “You think I enjoy exiting buildings down ropes? What blasted reason could I have for doing so tonight
if not for the purpose I just gave you?”
“To tire me further?”
She said it in hopes of seeing his smile again.
“You’re impossible, Lady Tremayne. And we’re out of time.”
He had her over his shoulder with her thighs locked under his arm before she could react. And once she saw the blackness of space under him, she didn’t dare. She kept her eyes closed and her limbs locked about him, the entire time wondering at her stupidity. She rather slide down hundreds of ropes than have to rely on someone else. Even him. And his strength.
“Rescuing you...is a bit...of work, My Lady.”
The words were huffed between breaths once they’d reached the ground.
“Put me down, Gillian.”
“What? And risk…another argument? Trust me with some sense, Madame.”
The gate that led to the back of the palace loomed ahead, but Helene barely noticed. She wasn’t aware of anything except how much her head throbbed and how hard Gil’s shoulder was against her waist.
“God damn everything. He isn’t here.”
Gil set her down amid the straw and refuse any good coach house would’ve swept up. She longed to point out that not only didn’t it look like they were expected, but no one else had been for a long time, either.
“Blast the bastard! Oh darling. This isn’t good. If Renee turned coat on us, it might be a powerfully long time before I see you again. How many years will it take to defeat Bonaparte this time, do you think?”
“Don’t jest about it, Gillian. It’s no longer amusing.”
“Give it a rest, would you? I grow weary of your lack of trust.” He looked worried enough that he might be telling the truth. “Damn him, anyway! I gave him and that maid of yours the necklace. What more could they want?”
“What…necklace?” Her voice was missing. He knows?
“Your diamond one, love. The one you used earlier to bribe those two. I said you were responsible for this escape, and in a roundabout way, you are. You found out who could be bought. All it took was Evette’s longing for a dowry and Renee’s greed…but blast everything! I was a fool to trust them. Now, we may have to move to another option.”
“You…gave them—?” Her mouth fell open.
“Your new diamond necklace, love. That’s the reason you’re wearing that monstrosity right now. I had a feeling English gold wouldn’t get us far, so you’re wearing our bank account, Madame.”
“Gillian, I’m beginning to believe you!”
The sound of a harness made them start, and Helene saw the relief on his face.
“Oh. He’s here. Thank God for greed.”
He grabbed her arm and raced into the alley.
“Monsieur!”
Two black horses whickered from their positions in front of a black carriage. Renee tipped his hat to them before he jumped down.
“You brought the uniform?” Gil asked.
“Of course, Monsieur. I’m afraid I couldn’t find one quite your size. Pardon the lack, if you will. Madame, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” He bowed in a courtly fashion.
“And a cloak for Madame?” Gil asked.
“Oui. It’s all in the carriage. I must go now. It’s a fair walk back to the Peacock Palace. They’ll be awaiting your return from the fest. I must be there.”
He faded into the night. Gil started stripping. Helene watched wide-eyed.
“Find my clothing, will you, love?”
He pulled off his satin-edged trousers and tossed them. Helene almost jumped at his words. There was a uniform folded nearly on the carriage seat. She handed it to Gil. It looked new and extremely official, but it fit Gillian so tightly he’d pop a button if he took a deep breath. The boots were worse. She couldn’t stifle her giggle as he tried to shove his feet in twice before giving up and donning his own boots again.
“He brought you a cloak, Helene,” Gil reminded her.
She looked back into the carriage. Ah. She’d missed it earlier. It was the brown traveling cloak Evette vehemently objected to that morning.
“So. What do you think? Will I pass?”
He finished buttoning the final one, and stood, waiting for her appraisal. She looked him up and down for flaws.
“You look just like one of Colonel Fontenelle’s pups. But, tell me. What am I going as?”
The cloak effectively covered her golden dress. After she tied the strings, the necklace made only a small bulge.
“Can you do Madame Bonaparte’s voice?”
“Josephine…Bonaparte?”
“Of course. That’s the only reason I let you keep your appointment today. And I never spent a worse ten minutes in my life.”
She couldn’t answer. She could barely contain the glow permeating her. At what he said. And what it might mean.
“Helene? What the hell? Can you do her voice or not? We’ve got…maybe two hours head start, no more, and you stand there gawking! Shore up, already. Don’t get tongue-tied on me now. If you can’t do her voice, just say so, and we’ll think of something else. Hell, even Colonel Fontenelle’s voice might get us out the gates unless they look at you closely.” He chuckled.
“Of course I can speak in her voice, Monsieur, but, as you can’t understand a word I say, let me tell you that I think you the basest numbskull born.” She chattered the words in French, airily waving her hand exactly as Madame Bonaparte had. “Furthermore, only a dim-witted fool would think he could pass as one of Colonel Fontenelle’s guards without a smattering of the French tongue!
“You, Monsieur Tremayne, are that fool, aren’t you? This is your plan? We’ll see the inside of a prison yet. Why, if you really wished this plan to succeed, you’d have put me in a soldier’s uniform, while you donned a dress to act as a mute Madame Bonaparte. That would have worked better!”
“Oh…quite the contrary, Madame Tremayne,” he replied in perfect elocution. “I have more than a passing knowledge of the tongue, because French was one of the first languages I excelled in at Eton. In fact, I converse so well in this tongue, I should have no difficulty fooling anyone. Even my dear wife.”
She gasped. She probably paled. “You speak French?”
“Oui. And quite well, actually. How else would I know what Colonel Fontenelle’s orders were this morning?”
“You understood...every time?” she choked out.
“Oh yes. And it was most appreciated during our supper at Maison L’Amour, too.”
“You bastard!”
He grinned, and she did the only thing she could think of — she slugged him.
***
That pleasant memory soothed some of the throbbing in her knuckles but not enough. She wondered if she’d broken them. Not that Gillian would stop the carriage for her, but she hadn’t realized a man’s chin was so hard or that it would hurt her more than it did him.
The bloody bastard!
She half-smiled in the dim light through the curtains, recalling the shock on his face. That’s when she decided that even if she’d broken her hand, it had been worth it.
Gillian’s plan worked. She had to talk only once before they were free. For a city committing villainous acts against foreign tourists, the guards at the gates were surprisingly lax in their security.
If only she wasn’t so bone weary. She could try to sleep, but Gillian seemed to deliberately hit all the potholes he saw. He probably did it on purpose. He’d do anything to get back at her. The man was worse than barbaric. He was cruel, merciless, dominating....
What am I thinking?
He hadn’t reacted in any fashion she was assigning to him. He’d merely moved from a shocked look to an undecipherable one as his fingers rubbed the spot on his chin. Then he’d moved. He hadn’t cursed her or retaliated in kind, or anything she’d expect. He’d merely taken her elbow, escorted her to the coach, and when her legs failed her, he’d lifted her inside.
The carriage stopped. Helene gathered her cloak about her, wondering why. Perhaps the great Lord Trema
yne needed rest. There wasn’t any other reason to stop driving after nearly seven hours. She tried to have a disinterested sneer firmly in place as he opened the door, but failed.
“Come along, My Lady. The horses need rest, and I’m fagged enough to fall into the bloody road.”
“Is that a request to vacate my well-sprung coach, Monsieur?” she asked in her most aristocratic French.
“You aren’t still fuming about that, are you?”
He rubbed his chin, but there wasn’t even the hint of a bruise. She didn’t answer.
“Come along, Helene. Spare my ears. I’ve been driving all night and sorely need rest. Can’t you argue with me later?”
“You, Sir, are in sore need of manners. I wouldn’t stoop to argue with someone like you.”
He sighed and shoved his hair off his face. If he wanted to look official, he shouldn’t have let it come loose from the small queue he’d worn earlier.
“It’ll be full light soon, Helene. I have to find a place to hide the carriage. Are you going to help or hinder me? I’m not at my best when I’ve had no sleep, remember?”
‘You don’t have a best, Gillian. Don’t look at me for a place to vent your anger. I’ve had no sleep, either. One could hardly attempt it the way you drove.”
“I don’t know why I continue to ask. I really don’t.”
He reached for her. And if she hadn’t grown so soft, she wouldn’t have gasped as he grabbed her hand. It would’ve been much simpler to face him afterwards, too.
“I’m perfectly capable of climbing from the carriage myself, Lord Tremayne.”
“Let me see your hand, Helene.” He motioned with his fingers.
She tightened her grip on the cloak with her uninjured hand. It was bad enough he suffered no ill effect from her temper without his knowing how badly it had hurt her. That would be too ignoble for words.
“No.”
“Helene, I’m warning you.”
“Waste of breath,” she answered.
