The Duke of Andelot

by Delilah Marvelle

He gritted his teeth and slammed his cock into her in reprimand. “Say the words.”

  She gasped. “No.”

  He rammed into her again.

  If she said it, it would give him a reason to stay. And she was not that selfish. “No.”

  He stilled against her. Leaning in until they were nose to nose, he savagely held her gaze and said in a raw tone, “Allow me to gift you with what I am feeling right now due to your inability to proclaim what I know you feel.” He lowered his head and then bit into her shoulder hard.

  She winced, feeling those teeth pinching far more than skin.

  He clamped down even harder. And harder and harder still.

  Tears now stung her eyes from the pain. She shoved him.

  He released his hold on her shoulder, heavy breaths escaping him. “If you refuse to say the words,” he rasped, resuming steady, hard strokes, “then you had better use the strength of your hand. Either way, you are telling me that you love me before I leave tonight.”

  She swallowed, the pleasuring sensations making it impossible for her to focus. She gasped, knowing she was about to climax.

  His cock pushed harder into her. “Do you love me?”

  “I am not about to—”

  He rode her harder. “Say it, damn you. I need you to—”

  She could barely breathe against his urgency and those strokes. Without thinking, she choked out, “I love you.” She cried out in disbelief, her entire body trembling.

  He trembled with her, hissing out a breath as his pleasure and seed filled her womb.

  She clung to him, and he clung to her, their breaths jagged.

  “Thérèse.” He kissed her lips hard, his fingers tracing her face. “I knew you loved me,” he whispered against her mouth. “I knew all along. The dream of us and how we first met kept me alive. Do you know that?”

  She wanted to cry.

  He lifted his disheveled head, glancing back at the clock on the side of the room. He paused and quickly withdrew. “I have to go.” He kissed her lips hard one last time, lingering for a long moment as if to ensure they both remembered it, then rose, sliding his hand across her face, throat and breast. He watched his hand and searched her face. Averting his gaze, he dragged away his hand and rose, sliding off the bed with a thud.

  He quietly buttoned his breeches. “I love you, too.”

  She scrambled to sit up, not at all ready to let him go. Still naked, she slid off the bed and rounded him, taking both of his hands into hers. She kissed the scars on them and lifted her eyes to his. “Gérard, we will be together again. I know it.”

  He didn’t meet her gaze.

  She kissed his hands again. “I will always belong to you. And if God wills it, we will be together. I love you. And by saying it, I pray you take the words and save yourself. Swear to me you will leave tonight and never look back.”

  He snapped his gaze to hers, the feral intensity in his expression overwhelming her. “I have to stay a bit longer. Just a few days. There is a family I have to help.”

  Panic gripped her. “No. You cannot stay. If you do not leave tonight, Sade told me tomorrow will never come.”

  “Thérèse. I will only stay long enough to help. I am bound by the promise I made to Larouche when I saw him dead on the street. He has a family. I have to—”

  “Gérard. Sade will not be able to protect you beyond another night. You have to go.”

  “Thérèse—”

  She shook him. “You have suffered enough! I am begging you to fight for yourself, damn you. Fight! Forget about what you owe to the world and remember what you owe to yourself.”

  He averted his gaze. “Fine. I will leave tonight.”

  A breath escaped her.

  He grabbed her face and kissed her lips hard, his breaths uneven. “I should have married you. I should have married you the moment we arrived into Paris after our time in the forest.”

  She grabbed his face. “Gérard,” she whispered. “Like you had said, marriage is nothing more than a piece of paper. It does not decide if two people end up together. Paper will burn, but what we share will remain strong. It will last forever.”

  He lingered and touched a finger to her bare shoulder, tracing the still sore bite mark he had left. He leaned in and kissed the bite mark. Twice. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “I am not the same man. I…they murdered me.”

  “No. They did not. You are here with me. You are still the same man. Never forget it.” She cradled his head against her shoulder.

  The clock chimed ten times.

  He removed her hands from his head. “Tell Henri when he is old enough to understand that the only reason his father is not in his life is because he was not as strong as his mother.”

  Smoothing away her tears with his thumbs, he searched her face. “Stay in Paris and never leave. I will find you. No matter where you are, I will find you. In the meantime, Sade will look after you and protect you.” Gérard released her face. Letting out a slow breath, he turned and quietly strode toward the door.

  Glancing back at her one last time, he disappeared.

  Frantically padding after him, almost too blind to see past her tears, she swung into the corridor in one last effort to see him before he disappeared from her life. To her astonishment, he re-entered Henri’s room. In the deafening silence, and through the open door of Henri’s room, she could hear him whispering to their son, “You were born of love. Remember that.”

  She clasped a quaking hand against her mouth to keep herself from screaming at the horror of knowing that this amazing, beautiful man, and whatever was left of him, was being forced out of her life and his country because of vile people in a corrupted government wanting nothing more than what the last government wanted: power.

  When Gérard re-appeared into the corridor, she swung back into her room, knowing if she looked at him again, if even for another breath, she wouldn’t be able to let him go. And she had to. She had to let him go. So he might live.

  She heard Gérard’s heavy footsteps go down the corridor and down the stairwell. Those steps paused as if he stopped near her reading room. More steps and thudding, no longer within the corridor below, made her realize he had gone into her reading room. He noisily rummaged for something, books thudding onto the floor.

  She edged out into the corridor, heart pounding, wondering what he was looking for.

  He kept rummaging.

  The noise eventually stopped.

  His heavy footsteps went through the rest of the house until they faded.

  A door opened and closed, announcing he was gone.

  Sliding down the frame of the doorway, naked, she numbly stayed there and stared at the garnet ring on her finger. She was never going to love another man again.

  Tucking the leather bound book of Voltaire under his arm, which his beloved Thérèse had carried in her basket when they first met in the forest, Gérard glanced down and fingered the small knitted boot in his hand. The tiny knitted boot he had slipped from his son’s foot to have something to remember him by. His pulse roared.

  He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He would have to carry this disgusting anguish with him knowing he would not be there for Thérèse or for his son. They would be living life without him.

  He crossed into the shadows of the narrow road covered by the fog.

  Savagely pressing the knitted white boot that achingly smelled of powder and freshly starched linen which spoke of how much Thérèse tended to their child, he shoved it into his coat pocket and yanked open the door to the waiting coach. Hauling himself up and into it, he slammed the door and fell onto the upholstered seat across from Sade who quietly sat in the shadows opposite him. Gérard fingered the leather bound book before setting it beside him.

  “There is a connecting coach waiting for you outside of Paris,” Sade announced. “We will part ways from there.”

  Grabbing up the flask of brandy from the seat beside him, Gérard uncorked it. Taking a long swallow, he drow
ned himself in its all too familiar taste and flavor that he hadn’t indulged in since well before prison. He swallowed as much as he could without breathing and then broke away from the rim of his flask with a hiss, letting the fiery heat of that smooth liquid coat his throat and stomach.

  A strange sense of clarity overtook him. One that made him realize brandy really did not have the power over him he thought it did. The greater power belonged to the beat of his heart and doing what was right.

  Despite the promise he made to Thérèse, he had people to save. He had made old Laroche a promise from that cart. He would give himself five days to find them and help them.

  Leaning forward in his seat, Gérard took another quick swig and announced in between ragged, brandy-fired breaths, “I want those fucking papers back. Because I am not leaving until I know Laroche’s entire family has been spared along with anyone else I know. You will tell Thérèse I left and darted across that border so she does not have to worry about me again. In the meantime, you and I are going to strike a few people from the guillotine list before I go. Do you understand?”

  That tone hardened. “Your death is assured if you stay and try to help people.”

  “Not if I do it right.” Gérard corked his brandy and set it aside. “Where are the papers?”

  Sade muttered something and then grabbed the leather valise from beside him, tossing it at him. “Now what?”

  Catching its weight, Gérard gripped the edges of the leather hard. “You tell Robespierre I hold thirty-two pages of documents collected by royal spies that will damn well turn all of France against him and this revolution. You tell him I will give him a single page for each person he lets me strike from the guillotine list. The names will be of my choosing, not his. He will then let me get those people out of the country before he can put them back on that list. Thirty-two pages equals thirty-two lives.”

  “Are you including yourself in any of those pages?”

  “By the time half these pages are released to Robespierre, I will be long gone. Which is why I need your help. Negotiate this for me with Robespierre. Can you do that?”

  Sade snorted. “You must seem to think I am God. And whilst I genuinely appreciate your newfound faith in me, I—”

  “My godfather died in the name of this country. And with the papers he bestowed upon me, I intend to honor him by saving more than myself.” Gérard slowly let out a breath. “I need money. Are you willing to lend me a few hundred more? So I can start gathering resources to shuffle people out?”

  Sade sighed. Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a massive wad of bound money that required a few tugs before it was able to make its way out. “This was supposed to be allotted for your journey to London.” Wagging it at him for a moment, he tossed it into his lap. “Try not to spend it all on rescuing others. You have to get yourself out, you know.”

  Gérard blinked, picking up the weighty assignats. He dragged in a breath and thumbed through it in the shadows that were barely lit by the street lamp fingering its way in through the glass window of the coach. “Christ. This is—”

  “Five thousand. No need to count.”

  “Thank you, Sade.”

  “Do not thank me, Monseigneur. Every last livre came from Thérèse’s own pocket. She wanted to give you more but I talked her out of it. Moving such large amounts of money from her accounts would have raised a few brows from the bankers who are closely connected with the Convention. Be aware that this money was supposed to get you out of the country, so I suggest you put away enough to enable that to still happen.”

  Gérard swallowed, knowing his woman was now taking care of him given he couldn’t do it. It was as bitter as it was sweet. For while his pride hated it, his heart reveled in knowing she loved him enough to want to save him.

  He brought the money to his lips, kissing its edges, wishing to God it was her. Wishing to God he could carry her in his pocket much like a wad of paper. “I am the luckiest bastard alive.”

  Sade was quiet for a moment. “If you do not want her knowing about you staying in Paris, I suggest we settle you into your own quarters separate from my own given she visits me often. I will inform the Committee of Public Safety of the move to ensure there are no misunderstandings and will hold a private meeting with Robespierre about striking people from the list. I cannot guarantee he will agree to it.”

  Stuffing the money into his inner coat pocket, Gérard tightened his hold on the valise. “I understand.” He pointed. “You, Sade, have a friend in me to the last breath. If you ever need someone to swing a fist for you, call on me. I will do it without even asking you why.”

  The man’s cane thumped the roof of the carriage, signaling them onward. “You and I both know people betray each other when it matters most.”

  “When your own father betrays you, trust is a relatively non-existent word.”

  “Then why trust me?”

  “If Thérèse trusts you, there is a reason for it.”

  Sade swiped his face. “So you intend on staying?”

  “Yes. I have to.”

  “I need you to leave tonight, boudin. I am asking you to leave tonight.”

  Gérard took another swig of brandy. “I will leave once the Laroche’s family is safe.”

  “Even knowing you may die?”

  “Especially knowing it. I will not be the coward my father was and seek to only save myself.”

  “Allow me to respond to your righteousness.” Sade jumped up and whip-lashed the cane against Gérard’s thigh so hard, Gérard felt as if the muscle in his leg had leeched out more than blood.

  The flask clattered from Gérard’s hand, spraying everywhere. Choking on blinding pain that reminded him all too well of endless days in prison, Gérard jumped up and grabbed that cane with every riled beat of his heart.

  Unsheathing the blade from within it, Gérard used his leather boot to shove Sade down against the seat. Angling the tip of the blade into the man’s chest just below his lace cravat, he bit out, “Do not think you can intimidate me. Unlike the rest of this godforsaken world, I will always do what is right.”

  Sade grabbed the blade with his bare hand and turned it, spurting blood as the man whirled the blade back into his own gashed hand. He shoved Gérard back onto the seat with the bash of a shoulder and used the tip of the blade to now hold Gérard in place. “What is right can sometimes be wrong,” Sade bit out, blood leaching its way down his hand and sleeve. He leaned down and grabbed Gérard’s face with rigid fingers. “Do you understand?”

  Gérard cringed in between disbelieving, ragged breaths. He paused, realizing he could feel Sade’s…erection digging into his outer thigh. “I said friends. Not lovers.”

  Sade straightened and smacked him upside the head. “That is for making me gash my hand.”

  Sitting down with a mutter, he swept the blade back into the cane and tossed its blood-slathered handle. Grabbing up the flask of brandy, Sade poured it onto the open slit of his wound with a loud hiss, then gulped the rest of the brandy with the tilt of his head. He whipped the flask at him. “Next time you rile me like that, you will no longer be a virgin.”

  Gérard cleared his throat. “I will remember that.”

  Sade methodically yanked off his cravat and wrapped the white lace hard around the wound, securing it tightly into place. “Doing the right thing is not always the best thing. I should know.” Shoving his hand into his pocket, he withdrew a lock of dark hair tied with a red ribbon. Wagging it at him, he kissed it and then shoved it back into his pocket. “A woman’s heart can only be tested so many times before it ceases to beat for you.”

  Gérard shifted his jaw, slowly rubbing at the pinching, raw soreness of his thigh that still seared his skin from the blow Sade delivered. There was a measure of comfort in that pain. It meant he was still breathing. “Who was she?”

  Sade averted his gaze to the night darkened window. “My wife.”

  Astounded, Gérard leaned toward him. “You were m
arried?”

  “Still am. I preferred every last woman over her, and yet she haunts me the most.” That voice became detached. “She lives in a convent and will not see me. Like you, I have loved greatly, but love does not fucking keep the world from burning. In fact, sometimes, it becomes the very reason why everything burns. Remember that.”

  Closing his eyes, Gérard eased out a breath knowing that although he was leaving his Thérèse behind, he would never let her go. Not until his soul and his body were dead.

  Eleven days later – afternoon

  Residence of Citoyen de Sade

  “Cease panicking.” Sade angled in. “Have more faith in me as a teacher and as your friend. I promise you will be in control of how this ends. Now set those books aside so I may begin.”

  Thérèse frantically pushed aside piles of obscene books from Sade’s desk to make room for the small silver tray he was holding. She patted the open space.

  Setting the tray before her, Sade nudged it into place with a bandaged hand that covered a wound that had been threaded shut from ‘an accident’ he did not care to explain.

  She refused to ask. She had a feeling a quarrel with a lover was at fault.

  Leaning in, Sade tapped at the silver edge of the tray that displayed a beautiful array of over eighteen cinnamon-sprinkled sweets piled like a pyramid. He peered toward her, his dark, deeply set eyes becoming ominous. “These, mon coeur, are from my days of youth. When I used to truly have fun at the expense of every whore around me. They will ensure you remain in control of whatever this evening with Robespierre brings given you two will be alone. They are called ‘slumber cakes’. I am giving you a personal and full guarantee that with one cake, Robespierre will flop on the dock at whatever hour you clock. He will lose consciousness for at least three hours.”

  Thérèse blinked. “Can I give him the whole tray?”

  A maniacal laugh escaped him. “Now, now, before you get overly excited, understand that with these cakes come a measure of responsibility. Lesson one: it takes about twenty minutes for its effects to set in. Lesson two: if you offer any wine or cognac to go with one, it will take about eight minutes, instead of twenty. And yes, my little flea, I have counted. So keep an eye on that clock if you wish to stay out of trouble. Once he falls into unconsciousness, you have anywhere from about three to five hours of no movement. Aside from maybe some twitching.”