The Duke of Andelot

by Delilah Marvelle

  That concern, so soft and genuine, made his chest unexpectedly tighten. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone care. He searched her face. “Do you really care? Or are you pretending to care because I am paying for it?”

  She said nothing.

  He tapped his chest, almost missing it. “Lie here.”

  She hesitated.

  “Thérèse, cease being angry about something that cannot very well be changed. Now come here.” Grabbing her waist hard, he yanked her down onto him and with a hand, set her head on his chest.

  She stiffened.

  He smoothed her hair in assurance, reveling in its silken and rain-softened strands that had yet to dry. “What will be, will be. I will care for you and the babe. I swear it.”

  Those shoulders and body relaxed. A soft breath escaped her. She tucked herself better against him, her hand circling his waist. “In the morning, when you are yourself again, we will talk,” she whispered.

  Swallowing hard, he stared up at the blur of stars that peered through the branches of the darkness and wondered if it was at all possible to hold onto her despite his vices.

  If anything, he knew his money would make her stay. Either way, she had to. He had entrusted her with too much. Enough to destroy him.

  She was bound to him whether she liked it or not.

  The sound of a determined boot thudding hard into the ground made her snap open her eyes. Thérèse paused, realizing the dark wool of Gérard’s blanket had been folded, tucked and wrapped around her. Her throat tightened, knowing he had done it.

  She had agreed to be his own personal actress. And now? This son of a duke was intent on taking far, far more than her body. If she let him, he was going to reach past her breasts and into her chest and rip out her beating heart with one hand and merrily drink his brandy with the other.

  Whilst she hadn’t given into his original game of ‘come-hither-and-play-spy-with-me-while- we-make-love’ thinking she would end up finding a husband or love, she was not settling for getting pregnant by a drunk, either. The inn-keeper’s wife had dealt with a husband just like it. Sweet, darling, devoted, overly generous, but one who staggered around and drank inventory, completely useless. Reliable only half the time.

  Scrambling up, she averted her gaze from Gérard, who was still intently scattering last night’s charred remains and burying it. She cringed against the soreness between her thighs and tried not to panic knowing he had spilled seed into her.

  A child would bind her to this man for life.

  Grudgingly removing her stockings, she bundled them and tossed them into her basket. She chalked her teeth in an effort to remove the taste of stale brandy from her mouth and spit out the grit into a pile of leaves.

  There. Fresh breath. Now she could take him on without making either of them faint.

  Shaking out and folding the blanket that had been wrapped around her, she marched over to him and held it out. “We are lovers no more. You are never touching me again. Ever.”

  He paused from his endeavor of using leaves and debris to cover the char, his steel blue eyes capturing hers.

  Their startling clarity assured her he was the man she first met. The brandy was gone.

  He didn’t take the blanket. He simply turned his tall, broad frame toward her and stepped in close. “Good morrow to you, too,” he rumbled out.

  Thérèse dragged in a breath, determined not to let those gorgeous eyes or that good-looking rugged face sway her. She wagged the blanket, pushing it into his chest. “Your drinking is a problem, Gérard. And I think you know that. The man I met yesterday morning was capable of being everything I could have ever wanted in a man. As for the man I met last night? It was like being at sea with a pirate who drank a barrel of rum and decided he wanted to have a baby.”

  Gérard leaned toward her. His voice softened. “Try to keep your voice civil, mon ange. My head hurts. I promise to make it up to you. When we get to Paris, whatever you want, I will ensure you get it.”

  She gasped. “Is that how you usually deal with women? You buy off their anger?”

  He lingered.

  God keep her from strangling him. “What you did last night was irresponsible. You are not allowed to touch me again.” She held his gaze. “Because I need someone I can depend on all the time. Not half the time. Are we understood in this?”

  His features darkened. “Are you saying we are done?”

  “As lovers, yes. Our alliance, however, will stand. Because unlike you, I keep the end of every bargain I make. I also need money and a career if I am ever to survive in a world you men continue to stupidly dominate. My only hope is that when I do have to send you that blue ribbon, you actually show up sober.” She rattled the blanket at him, trying to keep her voice calm. “Now take your blanket. Because I am walking to Paris. The last thing I want or need is to ride on your lap for over an hour.”

  His expression stilled. “You belong to me now, Thérèse. Me. Because you said yes to me. Do you remember? You said yes. Not suppose. You said yes. And in saying yes to me, you are no longer allowed to say no.”

  Oh, this was going well. She had said yes to fornicating and now had no life.

  She narrowed her gaze and hardened her tone. “I cannot and will not belong to a man who does not respect my body.”

  His brows went up. “Whatever are you— I respect your body.”

  She gave him a withering look. “Not when you are drunk.”

  He swiped his face with a hand. “If you are with child, I will take full responsibility.”

  She angled toward him. “Damn right you will. If I am with child, you had better believe, I am no longer playing mistress. You will marry me. You will take me straight to church and make the whole world stand up to see it. Why? So they can clap and call me duchess. Because my child, Gérard, will not be growing up scorned by society. Not when all of France is already going to hell.”

  His voice quieted. “Thérèse. I cannot marry you given who I am. Even if I set aside my own distaste for the sort of marriage society approves of, my father would never allow for it. And he…the man is not right in the head since my mother died. But I can and will provide for you. You and our babe will never want for anything. I promise.”

  Thérèse stared. “So you will only throw money at me and the child? And nothing else? Is that what you are saying? Despite the fact that you spilled yourself entirely into me knowing I had not wanted children at all?”

  He said nothing.

  Gritting her teeth, she jumped toward him and punched his arm. “That is what I think of you and your brandy. That!”

  He lingered for a moment, then grabbed the blanket and tossed it into the forest. Muttering something, he stalked away, the long tails of his coat shifting against the movement of his body. Tightening the straps on the last of his belongings to the horse, he grabbed the saddle and swung himself up onto it.

  Gathering the reins, he said in a low hard tone, “If you wish to walk to Paris, so be it. Simply know that I will follow you by horse while you walk. Regardless of whether we ever share a bed again matters not to me. What does matter is that I confided in you, and as such, you and I are bound for however long this revolution lasts. So get used to it. Get used to seeing my face. Because I am now yours. Brandy and all.”

  She had no one to blame but herself. She wanted to be wealthy and famous, and now she would have it all, including a baby but no husband.

  May she never lust for another man again.

  “We will address this again if the need arises.” Whipping out the velvet mask from his pocket, he unfolded it, still holding her gaze. “Sa Majesté needs me. I am therefore depending on you to help me save him and his family. And because the people I love have a tendency to die, I have to ensure he lives even if it means I die. And that is the sort of devotion I offer you despite my being a drunk. How many men do you know would take on all of France to save the life of a man everyone despises? How many?”

  Her
chest tightened. Not a single one.

  Tying on his mask, he adjusted it over his eyes and nose. “No one can know who is behind this mask. And I mean no one. I am entrusting you to protect my name when we ride into Paris and expect you to be the ever brilliant actress I hired and convince everyone I am nothing more than a highwayman who came to your rescue. Can you do that?”

  “I suppose.”

  He glared. “What did I tell you about ‘suppose’? Never and none of that. It is either yes or no. Which is it?”

  This man was going to end more than her career. “Yes. You are now a highwayman.”

  “Thank you.” He snapped out a rigid hand. “Now get up here, Thérèse. And do not test me. Because I am not leaving you to walk to Paris. Especially if you are pregnant with my child. I would sooner take you by force. And I will. Is that what you want?”

  A breath escaped her. She could continue to parade her pride and walk to Paris for who knows how many hours or…she could be there in an hour with a masked drunk who was gruff, stubborn, animalistic, yet…darling.

  Life was so unfair.

  She grabbed up her basket. “There is no need for threats. I hardly wanted to walk.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” He set his shoulders. “What street in Paris are we riding to? So I know what road to take.”

  “Rue St. Antoine. Number Twenty-two.”

  His brows shot up as he veered his gaze toward her. “Hell on earth. Are you— That is a spit-fall from the Bastille.”

  Well, well. He knew the city. And not just the wealthy sections. “Yes, I know. Apparently, it started bringing quite a bit of traffic past the theatre and is making my cousin incredibly popular. He calls it free advertising.”

  “Christ. I…” Gérard dismounted the horse, still muttering. “I will ensure I get you into Théâtre Française as soon as possible. Before you end up dead. Free advertising, indeed.” Without asking for permission, he grabbed her corseted waist and effortlessly lifted her onto the saddle so she sat as a lady should. Hoisting himself up behind her, his large hands yanked her possessively against himself as he grabbed the reins and positioned them both into the saddle.

  His unshaven chin brushed against her braided hair, causing her bonnet to tilt forward.

  The heat and flex of hard muscles at her back made her pulse roar. It was like sitting against a rock at the bottom of a valley. She tightened her hold on the basket, feeling squeezed.

  “Are you comfortable?” he rumbled out.

  She tried to push back her bonnet with a hand, but his head kept pushing it forward. She leaned forward in exasperation. “Not really. We are sharing one saddle.”

  He tsked. “If only this mere steed were a zebra, you might appreciate its breadth.” He cued the horse into moving.

  “I find your humor sorely lacking this morning.”

  “I was not placed on this earth to entertain you, my dear.”

  “Oh, well, thank goodness for that or I would have died of boredom by now.”

  “Are you done nagging me?”

  “Quite.”

  They trotted through the remaining forest and out into the open fields, the cool wind rushing at their faces. The sun brightened the expanse of the blue sky, pushing away the few remaining dark clouds that had disappeared toward the horizon.

  He tightened his muscled hold around her, one arm resting dominantly beneath her breasts.

  She swallowed, her breaths growing more and more uneven. He was holding his arm beneath her breasts. Was he doing it on purpose? Or was she being overly suspicious?

  They kept riding, the pace of the horse remaining steady.

  Pushing down on his arm so it wasn’t quite so close her breasts, she eventually offered, “I appreciate the ride.” It was the right thing to say.

  “Are you still angry with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be nice to me while you can. I may not be here tomorrow. Have you thought of that?”

  She stared out at the dirt road before them, her body swaying against the quicker movements of the horse. Her throat tightened. How was it she already cared what happened to him? How was it— “What if I am with child?”

  “Then you are. We cannot very well change that. Either way, I will not abandon my responsibilities.”

  Was he too blind not to see the horizon? “If we take on the Republic and anything goes wrong, the babe will have no father.”

  He seethed out a breath and trailed his hand farther beneath her breasts, better positioning her. “I do not plan on dying, ma biche. I have survived too much in life to die.” His large fingers cupped one side of her breast.

  She stilled. “Must you grope me?”

  His head leaned in and down from behind her. “I am keeping you from falling off the horse. Would you rather I let go?” His lips brushed against her ear and cheek twice.

  She almost fainted against the warmth of those full lips nudging in with the heat of his breath. Because it reminded her of what those lips were capable of. “Can you not lean in so close?”

  He shifted sideways. “Would you prefer to straddle me from behind?”

  “Straddling will not be necessary.”

  “Are you certain? You could…oh…hitch up your skirts and wrap your legs around me. And seeing you do not plan on giving me anymore poom-poom, I would like that.”

  She tried glaring back at him, but annoyingly, her bonnet kept bumping into his face and head. And she still couldn’t see past the large straw rim to be able to glare at him.

  Releasing the rein he was holding, he reached around her and yanked on the ribbon beneath her chin hard, tugging it loose.

  She tried slapping his quick-moving hand away. “What are you—”

  He grabbed her bonnet and whipped it aside, sending it fluttering behind them onto the road. “There. Now you can glare at me all you want.”

  “Did you just—” She turned her shoulder and head toward him. “I rather liked that bonnet. I—” She captured his gaze, realizing their faces were almost cheek to cheek. Her heart skid.

  Why was it even her pulse betrayed her? What was it about this man that made her want to give him everything every time she looked at him?

  His jaw tightened. His blue eyes through the slits of the velvet mask flicked past her features back to the road ahead of them. “What was it you were going to say? It seemed important.”

  She stiffly turned back. “It was not.”

  “Ah.”

  They rode in silence for a long time. So long, the dirt path turned into a cobbled one and sloped them down a small hill leading toward a massive sprawl of overcrowded buildings with smoking chimneys that stretched beyond sight in and around a river.

  Paris. Her eyes widened. It looked nothing like the city she used to visit.

  Random, billowing black plumes of burning buildings smeared and hazed the vast blue-grey sky, blocking any view of the valley beyond it.

  “Are those fires from the riots?” she rasped in disbelief.

  “Yes.” He sighed. “New ones break out every few weeks depending on the mood these idiots are in. I keep writing to the Legislative Assembly about it, but they do nothing. They encourage it. Which tells you they care nothing about the people. Because they are putting everyone in danger. Everyone.”

  A shaky breath escaped her. “France has lost the last of its mind thinking it can burn down Paris. After all, who under heaven is going to be able to live in that city once everything is burned? Maybe I ought to visit a few places before it all goes.”

  “I would,” he muttered. “I plan to leave France once I oversee this mess. Because there will be nothing but ash left by the time they are done.” He was quiet for a moment. “Maybe you and I could go to Russia together? You know…see those Russians chew glass? I could wrap you up in furs and take you through the snow of Saint Petersburg. We could even live there for a while. Would you like that?” The tips of his gloved fingers nudged away her braid from her shoulder, grazing her thr
oat. He skimmed her shoulder.

  A shiver rippled through her body straight down to her inner thighs.

  This man was dangerous. He knew how to make her body and her soul tingle in too many places. He knew how to control her very breath.

  She couldn’t allow herself to love him. She couldn’t. For she knew full well what happened to women who knelt to real passion. Her poor mother ended up with eleven children because of it. Something she swore she would never do. Even the idea of one child scared her.

  She had always been ungovernable in nature. Having sex with a complete stranger was proof of that. But she certainly didn’t need to push herself into the realm of insanity by falling in love with a man intent on putting out the fires of Paris with his bare hands.

  She gently tapped his gloved hand. “I would rather you not do that.”

  His hand stilled against her arm. “I would be forever grateful, ma biche, if you could forgive me. I will refrain from ever drinking around you again.”

  Damn him for wanting to amble into her life with promises he wouldn’t be able to keep. “It will take more than a promise. I have met men like you back in Giverny. There is not an hour you do not think about drinking your beloved brandy.”

  “True, but—” He nudged her. “I thought you wanted those diamonds and those pearls.”

  Of all the—

  He shifted against her. “I was thinking.”

  “Should I be worried knowing that?”

  He flicked a finger at her shoulder. “Cease being rude. I was thinking you and I ought to…well…get to know each other more. Outside of being lovers. If we become parents, after all, we should be on good terms for the sake of our child. Do you not think?”

  Why did he have to be a drunk? He was too beautiful for that. “Perhaps I am not ready to get to know a man who has no desire of ever marrying me even if I do end up pregnant.”

  He sighed. “Thérèse. My father would never allow for it. His disdain for the lower classes aside, he and I barely get along. He forgives me nothing and holds everything against me. Everything.”

  A breath escaped her knowing he was not on good terms with his father. Whilst, yes, she had left her own family behind in less than good circumstance, they had all loved each other very much. She knew her parents would eventually forgive her. In a year or two or three. That was what people did when they sought to love each other.