Thief of Hearts

by Leda Swann

  What was more, the woman who had tricked her wore a gown, not breeches. She had been cozened by a woman in a gown, who did not hide her sex, but used it to her advantage.

  She could see that there was much merit in being a woman in certain circumstances.

  There was no longer, however, any merit in pretending to be the Marquise’s lover. Five francs for an entire evening? She would say goodbye to that entanglement with some relief. Metin, too, would no doubt be pleased with the news. She would have to be sure and take all the credit for her brother’s decision, and claim a suitable reward.

  Miriame looked up at Metin through her lashes as they walked once more, together but not touching along their favorite path on the river bank, and gave him a half smile. It was one of the Marquise’s favorite tricks, one that she thought might be worth adopting for use in her own arsenal. She hoped she could use it with rather more effect on Jean-Paul than the Marquise had used it on her.

  She wanted Jean-Paul to want her. She wanted to drive him as mad with desire for her as she was for him. She could barely eat or sleep for wanting to see him again when they were parted. She was infatuated with him, she knew, but she could not help it. “My brother has promised me he will give up the Marquise.”

  He smiled back down at her, though his gray green eyes still looked troubled.

  “He has?”

  “He swore to me that he would.” She linked her arm into his and pressed against his side, his very nearness making her heart beat faster. “I do believe him.”

  He touched her cheek with the tip of his finger, sending a shudder of desire coursing through her body. “You believe everything your brother swears to?”

  God in Heaven, how she wanted this man. How she wanted him to take off her gown, smooth his hands over her bare skin, touch his mouth to her breasts, spread open her legs and...She felt herself blushing at the saucy turn her thoughts were taking. Just as well he could not read her desires. “No. I am not that foolish. But sometimes I believe him, when I think he is telling me the truth.”

  His eyes searched hers, those green eyes of his that made her think of cats in the night. “You think he is telling the truth in this?”

  “I think he will be pleased to be rid of her. For all your fears that she would break his heart, he does not care for her overmuch.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” His smile at last reached his eyes, clearing them of the clouds that had darkened them momentarily.

  “So you will not tease him any more about it?” She leaned in towards him until the tip of her breasts just grazed his arm and felt her nipples harden and tighten in response.

  “Has he been complaining of me?”

  She had to hide her smile in his shoulder. “He swears that you follow him wherever he goes, that he cannot escape you for more than two minutes together.”

  “I do not trust him.” He sat down on the bank and took her hands in his. “Miriame, if I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?”

  “It depends on the question,” she said flippantly, while inside her heart was sinking. She had known she could not put this moment off forever. Foolish woman that she was, to fall in love with the man she had robbed.

  “Your brother...” His voice faded away to silence.

  “What about him?”

  “I do not want to hurt you, Miriame, but your brother – he...he is a thief.”

  She bowed her head. She could hardly deny it.

  “Why did he do it, Miriame? Why did you let him do it? I cannot believe you are such a woman to encourage him. He robbed me of my horse and my clothes when I was lying wounded in the gutter. He took my letters and joined the Musketeers in my name.” It was a statement, not a question.

  She sighed. There was no point in denying her guilt. She could only try to make it easier for herself. “You have no proof of that. You cannot have him hanged for your suspicion.”

  “You have known of this before now, I gather? You knew all along that your brother was a thief?”

  She nodded her head, not wanting to speak. She could not bear to tell him the truth. Not now. She was not ready to lose him.

  “Why? Why did you not tell me?”

  She let her hair fall over her eyes so he could not see her face. “He did it for my sake.”

  “For you?”

  Tears prickled on the back of her eyelids and she fought to keep them at bay. “I was hungry.” She had not admitted so much in a long time.

  He looked at her as if her words made no sense. “You didn’t tell me your brother was a thief because you were hungry?”

  “My brother and I are all that is left of my family. Before he stole from you and became a Musketeer we never had enough to eat. He earns a fistful of money now. I have not been hungry since he has turned soldier.

  “You cannot know what it is like to be poor on the streets of Paris. I was hungry, so hungry that my stomach hurts even now to think on it. I was dressed in rags. I had no shoes for my feet, but had to walk barefoot in the snow. He was no better than I.”

  “What of your parents? Where were they?”

  “My parents?” She shook her head. “I never knew my father. My mother died of a wasting fever when I was scarcely more than a child. Ever since then, my brother has cared for me – and stole food when he could not earn it to feed our bellies. Without him, I would have starved long since.”

  “Your brother has always been a thief?”

  “You thought I was a lady because of my fine gown?” She sighed. “It takes more than a fine gown to make a lady out of a gutter rat. We found your body lying in the street – those who tried to kill you had not even bothered to rob you. You had a purse full of gold. It was as if God had opened the heavens and showered manna down on us.”

  “You are all alone in the world save for your brother?”

  “I am.” She lifted her head and looked straight at him. Let him dare despise her now, and she would bid him farewell with a light heart. He would not deserve her love.

  Jean-Paul sat in silence, his head in his hands. Finally he raised his head and looked at her. “Believe me, thief as he is, I have no wish to see your brother hanged.”

  The clearness of his eyes told her that he spoke truly. She felt her heart begin to lighten from the worst of her fears. “Then what will you do with him?”

  “I will have to ask that rapscallion, I suppose, for your hand, though I would as soon horsewhip him.”

  Miriame felt her breath stop in her lungs. “You what?”

  “You are all alone in the world and need someone to look after you. I would be that man if you will have me.”

  “You cannot be serious.” Of all things, she had not been expecting this.

  “I am. Perfectly serious.”

  “But I have just told you that I have nothing. No dowry, no prospects, no relatives even bar the brother who stole all he owns from you. How can you want to marry me?”

  He took her hands in his. “You think the Marquise Francine would be a better bet for me?”

  She shrugged. “She is pretty enough, and rich, and has a fine position at court. You would never want for anything if you were to wed such a one as her. Of course, she has a husband already, but why should such a trifle as that put you off? No doubt she would slip him a poison in his morning chocolate if the stakes were worth the risk.”

  “I would have nothing that was worth having. I would not have truth or love or honor. They are worth more than all the Marquise’s jewels together.”

  She smiled to herself. Most things were worth more than the Marquise’s jewels. She’d just had a lesson in that herself. Still, her conscience smote her. She had hardly been truthful with him herself. “Can you be sure what you would get with me?”

  He captured her chin in his hands, forcing her head up to meet his gaze. “Tell me truly, Miriame. Tell me without fear, knowing that I will not ever harm you or yours, whatever the answer you give me now. Do you love me?”

  How should s
he answer that question? With the truth, or no? “Yes, I do.”

  He looked as satisfied as a cat that had stolen a dish of cream from underneath its mistress’s very nose. “Then with you, I will at least get love. While you loved me I would at least not need fear poison in my chocolate.”

  She may love him truly, but what was love? Was it the desire for his body that she felt within her every time he was near? Was it the way she craved his presence when he had gone? Such foolish fancies were a shaky foundation on which to build a life. They would not last. She could not risk putting her life in his hands. She had too much to lose. “I do not know what to say.”

  “Say yes. Just that one word, and you need nothing more. I will look after you from that moment on. You need worry about nothing.”

  He had odd notions about what would appeal to a woman. To be looked after and not have to worry about anything? Once, she might have wed him for good food to eat and fine clothes to wear, but not any longer. She was above that now. She had made her own way in the world. She had no need of a man to look after her. He would try to put her in a cage and suffocate her, forbid her being what she most longed to be – her own mistress. “I will think on it.”

  His face was desolate. “Can you give me no hope?”

  She touched her hand to his cheek, refusing to give in to the pity she felt for him. One day, one day soon, she promised herself, she would tell him that she and her brother were one and the same person. Then he could decide whether he still loved her. “Maybe, when you know me better, you will ask me again. Until then, I cannot answer you.”

  “That is all you can say to me?”

  “That is all.”

  “I swear, that whatever secrets you are hiding from me, I will love you despite them all.”

  “If I were you, I would wait until you know them before you make rash promises.”

  He held her by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at his face. “That was not an idle boast. You are a good woman, Miriame Dardagny, whatever secrets you have. I love you, and I always will.”

  She thought of the boots she was wearing, boots that she had taken from his body as he lay on his deathbed. Would he be able to forgive her once he knew how deeply she had trespassed against him? “May God keep you still of that mind.” She rose from the bank and brushed off the grasses that clung to her velvet dress. “Fare thee well.”

  He stayed her with one hand. “Wait. You have made no promises to me.”

  Promises? What use were promises? They were merely empty words, but she would not make him one regardless. She had deceived him enough already. “And will make none.”

  His hand clasping hers did not let go as he leaped lightly to his feet. “I will not let you forget me so easily.”

  She looked up at him as he towered over her, blocking out her sun. “Can you stop me?” she asked, one finger gently tracing the lines of the scowl that marred his forehead.

  “Yes. I can. With this.” He lowered his head to hers and claimed her mouth in a kiss.

  Expecting fierceness and rage, she received only warmth and tenderness. Expecting a bruising attempt to dominate her and force her into submission, she received instead a gentle persuasion, a sweetness with only a hint of the passion he held back so carefully.

  Her resistance was no match for his soft caresses. They would not harm her. She opened her mouth under his, opening herself to him.

  She had never known a kiss could be so beguiling in its sweetness. He tasted her as if she had been a fragile blossom in early spring and he was the bee who came, ever so gently, to steal her nectar.

  He made her feel cherished, loved, protected, and filled full of wonderment that he would want to take her, gutter rat as she was, to his heart. His kiss made her feel warm and wanted. She clung to him as if he were her savior, as if he would protect her from all that threatened her. If only he would go on kissing her like this forever...

  His kiss deepened then, slowly demanding more of her. The more he asked of her, the more she wanted to give him, and the more she wanted in return. Shivers of delight skittered down her spine as he pressed her body against his. She could feel him, all of him, against her. His body was hard and strong, like a fine marble pillar that stood its ground and would not move for aught.

  The passion in his kiss tormented her with its sweet promise of more to come. He held her in his arms and made her respond to the seeking of his mouth. She could not refuse his asking. She had no will to refuse him anything. He was her lover, the man she wanted to cling to and to cleave to until Death swept her out of his arms.

  She moaned and clung to him, kissing with a fierce intensity that she no longer wanted to control. Let him feel how much she loved him and wanted him. Her kisses, at least, did not lie.

  He broke their kiss, and she whimpered softly, bereft. “You will not forget me now?”

  She shook her head. She could not forget him now, were she to try for a thousand years. His kisses had branded her soul forever.

  He took a gold chain from under his doublet and looped it around her neck. “The person who gave this to me told me I should give it away in my turn to the woman who would love me as I deserve.”

  She put her fingers to the gold and touched it reverently, loving it not for its exquisite workmanship or its value, but for the sake of the man who gave it to her with such sweet words. “I have not deserved it yet.”

  He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them one by one. “You will, my love. You will.”

  Chapter 7

  Miriame made her way home again in a daze. Jean-Paul Metin, the most handsome of Musketeers, had kissed her until she was almost fainting from desire. How could she tell him the truth now? Maybe she could kill off her pesky brother the Musketeer and wear nothing but a gown from now on. Then Jean-Paul would never have to know the truth about her. He could continue to love her and she would bask in that love for ever, until the stars fell out of the skies.

  He had even asked her to marry him. Of all things that was the most unexpected. If she were to arrange a fatal accident for her brother, she could marry her Jean-Paul and he need never know how she had tricked him.

  He had kissed her until she was breathless with wanting him. How could she not tell him the truth now? He knew she was a gutter rat, that she had been brought up in poverty and knew nothing else. He knew she had no money, nothing that would tempt a lesser man to marry her, and yet he had offered to wed her. How could she repay his generosity and his faith in her by making him live a lie?

  She had to tell him. She had to tell him that she was a thief, that she wore breeches and lived as a man. She had to tell him that she had no brother – that she was her own brother. Only if he still wanted her after her confessions could she possibly accept his love. If he cast her off when he realized she was not the sweet innocent he thought her to be, well, so be it. She would live. She would challenge him to a duel and whip his sorry hide for his foolishness, maybe, but she would live.

  She would have to choose her moment well to tell him the truth. A moment of calm and peace. A moment when she would be able to explain all that he meant to her and how happy his company made her.

  First of all though, she had to do as she had promised and break with the Marquise. That, at least, would be an unadulterated pleasure.

  Jean-Paul watched the figure of the lad as he made his way towards the western door. So, the wretch lied to his sister along with everyone else, did he? He was not surprised, indeed he had suspected as much, and had lain in wait in the street outside Francine’s door for confirmation of his suspicions for two long, cold hours. The only thing that surprised him was how such a lowlife rascal could have such a beautiful woman as Miriame for a sister. They had both grown up in the gutter, but Miriame was as untouched and unspoiled as a rosebud in the spring. All the dirt had fallen to her brother’s part.

  The boy needed someone to take him in hand before he made a total mess of his life. He supposed as Miriame’s husband-t
o-be he would have to step up to the task. He couldn’t see anyone else volunteering for the duty. It would be a thankless task all right, and one almost guaranteed to fail. Still, if he were serious about wedding Miriame, looking after her brother would become his duty, and one that he must not shirk.

  He had not meant to ask Miriame to marry him. The words had slipped out before he had fully realized what he was saying, but now that the offer was made, he did not want to retract it, even if he could. Her life had been so hard and full of suffering, but she was so full of dignity despite her situation, that nothing else but marrying her had seemed possible. He would not insult her by asking her to become his mistress. He could not bear to lose her. He would make her his, before the eyes of God and man, and they would cleave together as one.

  Then he would take her brother in hand. The thought of playing mentor to the lad wearied him right now. With the memory of Miriame’s kisses burning sweetly on his lips, he had no desire to teach her brother the lesson he so sorely needed. The pup had to learn, though, that his sister had a protector now. He would not let the boy lie to her one more time, if he could help it.

  He stepped up behind the boy just as he raised his hand to knock on the door, and placed his hand heavily on the boy’s shoulder. “You told your sister you were giving up the Marquise, did you not?”

  The boy at least had the grace to blush at being caught in his lie, though in the fading light of early evening he almost missed the telltale color that struck his cheekbones. “I have to tell her so, do I not? I can hardly run off without a word.”

  A feeble excuse for one last visit, and one he would have made himself not so very long ago, before he learned what kind of a woman Francine really was. “I know how she works. She will ensnare you again so you will not want to leave.”

  “Ensnare me?” The boy shrugged off his hand and had the ill grace to laugh in his face. “You’re a fool if you think so. It would take more than she has to ensnare me. Come, let me pass.”