The Duke of Andelot

by Delilah Marvelle

  His pulse roared, knowing it was not his lawyer or anyone he knew, based on the color of those stockings alone. Where the hell was Thérèse? Had she sent someone else to fetch him?

  Crushing the parchment in his hand, he jogged toward it, and skipping over the unfolded stairs and onto the landing, he sat on the upholstered seat opposite the man, ready for whatever the hell this moment brought.

  The door slammed shut.

  It took Gérard a few astounded half-breaths to realize that the dark-eyed man with the side-curl periwig sitting across from him was none other than the man who had originally unraveled his entire life: Citoyen de Sade.

  The blood from his head drained and for a moment the world swayed.

  After everything he and his mind and his body had been through, he couldn’t and wouldn’t live knowing he hadn’t been there to protect his Thérèse from this vile piece of—

  Gnashing his teeth, Gérard jumped to his feet, letting the parchment flutter from his hand and rigidly snapped up a fist. “You have three breaths to tell me where the fuck she is. Three!”

  Sade angled his gold-headed cane and unsheathed its length, revealing a thin sharp blade within it. He pointed it at Gérard and gently tapped at the sleeve of his raised arm with it. “Sit. You have no quarrels with me. I come on behalf of more than Robespierre. I come on behalf of Thérèse. She is waiting to see you.”

  The trembling in Gérard’s arm and fisted hand gave way to a long breath he’d been holding. Relief cascaded through him as he lowered his hand. He fell back onto the upholstered seat. She was waiting. He almost couldn’t believe it.

  The carriage clattered forward, rocking him into feeling as if he might lose consciousness.

  Sade swept the blade back into his cane and thudded it against the floor of the coach. “My nose is bleeding from the stench you give off. Christ. When was the last time you bathed?”

  Hissing out a breath, Gérard admitted, “I have no idea. I had to damn well barter to even get chalk for my teeth, yet alone soap.” He sat up. “I need you to take this carriage straight to Nineteen Soubise. There is a young girl being imprisoned for throwing a rock at soldiers who were shooting at a dog. Her parents need to know about it. You are part of the Convention. What should her parents do? I would hardly think you bastards would want to wage a war against all of England. The girl’s father is a marquis.”

  “You seem to think I am here to take orders,” Sade tossed back in agitation. Thumping the roof with his cane, he was quiet for a moment. Unlatching the window, he yelled out to the driver, “Nineteen Soubise! Make haste!” He glared at Gérard. “The only reason I am assisting you with this girl is because I am making up for sins I committed in my youth. Nothing more.” He sighed. “Whilst there are no guarantees, have the marquis send a lawyer straight over to Fouquier-Tinville. Given she was only rescuing a dog, Fouquier will hardly hold her. The man is forever complaining about the amount of executions that keep him from going to dinner. He will wave it through for that alone.”

  These men were nothing more than maggots squirming into people’s bodies. “He complains about the amount of executions keeping him from fucking dinner?” Gérard echoed.

  “Robespierre keeps us very busy. We are merely trying to keep up with the all demands.”

  However long his freedom lasted, Gérard needed to settle the last of his rattled mind. “There is an elderly gentleman I once knew. I saw him dead on the street when I was coming back from deposition. He had a wife and four grandchildren and a widowed daughter. I need to know what happened to them. ”

  “How about we assume they are dead? Hm? It would make life so much easier for all of us.” Sade grudgingly leaned over and was about to latch the window of the coach again, but instead, paused and nudged it back open. Wide open. “My eye sockets are burning. Your stench is worse than a cunt filled with cheese curds and chopped onion.”

  Gérard gave him a withering look. “Compared to some of the other men I met, I am wearing incredibly expensive cologne.”

  “Yes, and along with that cologne, you have a beard the size of woman’s arse.” He tsked. “Not at all attractive. Not. At. All. You most certainly will not be getting fucked tonight.”

  Gérard glanced down at himself, the gnarled tendrils of coarse, black facial hair covering the wide expanse of his chest in a manner he had long stopped paying attention to or caring about. Until now. He swallowed, refusing to imagine what he looked like or what Thérèse would think or say. While he knew he would never be the same man he was before going into prison, he still had his pride. And he’d be damned if he’d arrive looking like a broken man.

  Pointing to Sade’s cane with the blade hidden in it, Gérard wagged his fingers. “Hand it over. I need it.”

  Sade’s brows went up. “Oh, now, now, there is no reason to kill yourself over the fact that she will not fuck you.”

  Gérard glared. “She and I never fucked. We made love. There is a difference.” Leaning forward, he snatched the cane from the man’s hand and unsheathed the blade using the gold head. Tossing its bottom onto the seat, he angled the blade toward himself and grabbing his beard hard, held it out and sheared it as close to his chin as he could.

  Sade smirked. “Hopefully, there are no holes in the road or I foresee this ending badly.”

  Ignoring him, Gérard finished shearing his beard. He tossed it all to the floor.

  A boot kicked out toward him. “I hardly want your hair all over my carriage.”

  Gérard swept the blade back into the casing of the cane and tossed it at him. “You should have told me before I started.” He scrubbed his face, his fingers digging past all the hair he still needed to shave. “Christ, this all has to go.”

  Gérard heaved out a breath in complete exasperation. “After we make this stop over at this girl’s house, take me to my estate. Because I am not seeing Thérèse like this. I need a bath, a fresh set of clothes and something to eat. A roast, at the very least. I am also not showing up empty handed when I see Thérèse. I may have been in prison, but I am delivering myself to that woman in style. Do you know that woman once made me buy her a waist-long necklace consisting of two hundred and thirty-nine pearls that cost me almost eight thousand? And that does not include the diamond necklace I got for her. I am about to put both to shame and buy her a ring with a garnet the size of my mouth. I am going to ask her to marry me. Today.”

  Sade fingered his cane and tilted his head, observing him. He casually sniffed and then smiled. “I would not bother with flowers or a ring or cleaning yourself up, for that matter. ’Tis a waste of your breath and time. I would focus more on…praying.”

  Leaning forward so he could set his elbows on each knee, Gérard stared the man down for a pulsing moment. “Maybe you do nothing to impress your women – or men – but I need a bath. Why? Because I need to feel human again. Why? Because I doubt I will ever be human again. But I can fucking try. Is that difficult for you to understand, you tosspot? After I visit this poor girl’s house, you will take me to my estate, after which I will tend to my appearance, buy a goddamn ring and go straight to Thérèse. In that exact order or I will give you what you clearly want and love most: pain. Lots of it.”

  Using the handle of the cane to scratch at his own chin, Sade’s mouth quirked. “Allow me to return the favor of pain, tosspot. You have no estate. Not a single million. Not even a single sol. Everything you ever owned, right down to the buckles on your shoes, now belongs to the Republic so it can further grow this ever glorious nation dedicated to liberté, égalité, et fraternité. You are now a true citoyen, neither above or below the rest of us. Which means you cannot give orders or buy your woman a ring because you only own the beard on your face and the stench of your body. Rather depressing, is it not?”

  Gérard’s throat tightened.

  The lawyers had lied. Much like they had about everything else. They had never been on his side, and now his entire life was gone. The estates. The house he grew u
p in. His horse. He froze, the portrait of his mother that had been hanging in the gallery of his home flashing within his mind. It was the only known portrait he had of his mother. “What about the portraits on the walls? What did they—”

  “All of it is being sold in the next few weeks.”

  No. No, no— “They intend to sell my mother’s likeness?” he rasped. “Surely that is worth nothing to the Republic. Surely—”

  “The frames are worth several livres a piece. The portraits themselves will most likely be burned.”

  Everything swayed, and Gérard knew it had nothing to do with the carriage he was riding in. All that had once been his life no longer existed. And now the Republic was trying to erase far more than his mother and the father they had executed. They were trying to erase him.

  Dragging in uneven breaths, he whispered, “Does Thérèse know?”

  “Yes. I told her this morning.”

  Closing his eyes in disbelief, Gérard set his head back against the seat and for a flicker of a moment, considered putting a bullet through his own head. Not that he ever would, for in doing so, he would only let these fuck-tarts win; and win they most certainly would not.

  Keeping his eyes closed, for he was too tired to even want to use his sight for anything, he quietly asked, “Am I a father?”

  “Yes. You have a boy. She named him Henri Rémy Maitenon.”

  He set trembling hands against his head. He had a boy. And his darling Thérèse, had named him Henri Rémy Maitenon. After his mother’s father, after her all too jolly cousin he genuinely admired, and…her stage name.

  What should have been the greatest moment of his life, knowing he was a father, was, in fact, nothing but a vile nightmare. Because he couldn’t even provide his son or the woman he had been hoping to marry with the life a true Andelot deserved.

  He was nothing. He was worth nothing. And his son would grow up knowing it. Without money, how was he going to provide for his family? He didn’t have the means to.

  Lowering his hands, he lifted his head and glanced toward the small glass window of the coach that displayed blurred, brick buildings with shattered windows and charred doors.

  This was the world his son would be growing up in. This. “How has she been providing for herself and my son? Did she have to sell the jewelry I gave her?”

  Citoyen de Sade tapped his knee with the cane. “No. The woman is worth almost forty thousand a year and is doing quite well for herself. She is not only the most sought after actress in all of Paris, but has become every man’s cock-hard fantasy to whom they all masturbate to and openly revere. Even Robespierre has a twitching fancy for her. She is, after all, in his eyes, the very symbol of what a woman should be: the French flag in one hand and a dead aristocrat in the other. She fainted into a flag she had been earlier holding as a weapon against a certain aristo who got carried away. It made news.”

  Gérard dug his fingers into his thighs in an effort to remain calm. He was beginning to believe getting his skin lashed on the hour for not giving up those papers might have been far, far better than facing this. Evenly spacing his words so as not to betray his disbelief, he asked, “Are you saying Robespierre is calling on Thérèse?”

  Sade was quiet for a moment. “Yes. They have been publicly associating for some time and have gotten to know each other rather well.”

  His eyes widened. “What the hell does he want from her? Is she in any danger?”

  Sade hesitated. “No. She is not in any danger. Far from it. She is merely an ornament he uses to elevate his name. She attends every gathering he asks her to. Last week, the two attended a gathering commemorating an upcoming ménagerie of all the exotic animals that were seized and collected from Versailles and other estates across the land. There are plans to create a zoo for the citoyens of Paris so they might freely enjoy seeing creatures such as…zebras. For some reason, she wanted me to mention zebras to you.”

  The darkness in his head now became the darkness in his heart. For it was a message from Thérèse herself. It was over. She had taken her zebra from another man, embraced the Republic, and her fame, and betrayed him.

  That bright-eyed girl who had literally given him a slice of heaven in the silence of the forest had indeed been taken from him, as he had predicted. And now Robespierre, the same man who had taken his freedom, his money, his life, his mother’s only known likeness, was set to take the last of what was his: Thérèse. And Thérèse, damn her soul, was letting the man do it.

  Given she was not in any danger, it meant she was doing it to save him. All at the cost of her body, her mind and her soul.

  Gérard could barely breathe. “Is she already bedding him?”

  Sade eyed him. “No. Not yet.”

  Dragging in a breath, knowing he hadn’t lost her soul yet, he slowly let it out. “I know what she is doing and I am not letting him touch her. Not in my name. Not to save me. I would sooner die than ever let that happen.”

  Sade lifted a brow. “You heroes tout death to be the ultimate form of sacrifice, yet you fail to recognize what we – the all-knowing wicked – take the most glee in. If you are ignorant enough to die for her, tosspot, that means Robespierre gets everything he wants, including the woman you died for.” He tsked. “Not a very brilliant plan if you ask me.”

  Fuck.

  The coach came to a halt as the driver called out, “Nineteen Soubise!”

  Too many people to save and only one man willing to do it. What the fuck?! Throwing open the door, he jumped down and stalked his way with bare feet to the door of a small château whose windows had all been boarded up and nailed with thick pieces of wood to protect the glass. He pounded on the door.

  Panicked, hushed voices from within made him pause. His pounding would hardly get anyone to open the door.

  Setting a shoulder against the door, he yelled out in English, “Although the Republic refuses to acknowledge my title and right to it, I am the Duke of Andelot. I was just released from prison and came to tell you that your daughter, Lady Madeleine, is being held in La Force. If you do not open this door, she will most certainly die because the Revolutionary Tribunal is sending everyone in the holding cells straight to the guillotine. Do you understand?”

  The scrambling of booted feet came to the door and the latch was hit.

  Gérard stepped back as the door opened.

  A dark-haired gentleman of about forty and a petite woman of the same age, both dressed in expensive clothing, scrambled toward him.

  Angling closer, Gérard confessed, “I was beside your daughter in prison before I was released. She is alive but God only knows for how much longer.”

  The woman let out a wail, clamping a bare hand over her mouth.

  The gentleman quickly ushered her back inside and stepped back out, closing the door behind himself. He intently searched Gérard’s face. “Why are they holding my daughter? She was playing with friends and dolls earlier. How— What are the charges? They cannot— She is only fifteen!”

  Gérard puffed out a breath. “Apparently, she threw a rock at soldiers who were shooting pistols at a dog.”

  The man grabbed his head. “The girl has grown a bit wild given everything she has been seeing on a regular basis. She is not herself.”

  “Believe me. I understand and am here to help. I was told if you send a lawyer straight over to Fouquier-Tinville, they would consider dropping the charges. But I suggest you do it now. Because they start lining people up for the next guillotine cart in an hour.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Dearest God.” He swung away and flung open the door with trembling hands and was about to run inside, when he swung back, his chest heaving. “I am indebted to you, Monseigneur. Where can I find you? I wish to repay this favor in any manner you require.”

  He could use favors. Glancing back at the open door of the coach, he yelled out in French from over his shoulder, “Sade! Where the hell will I be staying? Do you know?”

  Sade leaned forward in h
is seat and called back, “My house at Thirteen Place Dauphine! Courtesy of Robespierre until further notice!”

  Oh, hell no. He rigidly pointed at the man and boomed in French, “Go tell Robespierre to slice his prick off with a dagger!” He swung toward the man, cleared his throat and politely said in English, “Thirteen Place Dauphine. Though I know not for how much longer.”

  The man grabbed his hand with both of his and shook it. “Thank you.” He ran inside, yelling for the servants to ready a horse.

  Gérard puffed out a breath, hoping to God the girl got out. Stalking his way back to the coach, he climbed inside, slammed the door behind himself and fell into the seat. He pointed at Sade’s head. “I am not staying with you. Hell, I would feel safer going back to prison and being tortured. Because at least there were no attempts at sodomy.”

  Sade stared him down, those black eyes taking on an all too serious nature. “That is what they all say before they bend over.” Sade patted the flap of his trousers. “Come sit on it.”

  “Why not call on Naudet and have him take care of it?”

  “That one is dead. He shot himself in the head when you were arrested.”

  Gérard’s startled gaze flew to Sade’s. “What?”

  “He was loyal to you. He was a good man. That is all you need know.”

  Gérard swallowed. Everyone around him was dying. “I need to see Thérèse,” he choked out.

  With the smack of already bored lips, Sade set his shoulders against the upholstered seat. “Unfortunately, you will not be able to see her until nightfall. Which is probably how long it will take to clean you up anyway. I strongly caution you against thinking you have any further claim to her. She no longer belongs to you but the Republic known as Robespierre. And Robespierre, as you well know, is still very much in charge of every guillotine and how fast that blade falls. Which is why you will only have one hour with her, after which you leave France for however long it takes for peace to return. One hour and you and she are done.”