La Flamme (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  "It's about her, isn't it?"

  "Yes. I need to know what your feelings are for her. If they're deeper than friendship, I'll return to England without seeing her again."

  Stephen pondered how best to answer Garreth. "I have always been a practical man. At one time, I fancied myself desperately in love with La Flamme. She saw what my feelings were, and to spare me hurt, made me realize that all we could ever be was friends. But I have told you this before."

  Garreth lowered his head, studying the floral pattern on the teacup. "I am not as practical as you, Stephen, and it's already too late for me."

  "I am sorry now that I brought the two of you together. Mayhap, we should both return to England, then you can put her from your mind, Garreth. You are both my friends, and I see no happy ending in this for either of you. She has already suffered because of what some man did to her."

  "So you believe that the boy is her son, and that his father deserted them?"

  "I didn't at first—lately, I'm not so certain. The mere fact that she keeps her past so secretive makes me question."

  Garreth stood. "I won't hurt her, Stephen, and I may even be able to help her."

  "You can't offer her marriage." Garreth walked to the door and turned back to his friend. "What makes you think she'd have me?"

  Garreth presented his card to the butler. "Is mademoiselle receiving callers?"

  The man glanced at the card. "She is not in, Your Grace."

  "When is she expected?"

  A woman came up behind the butler and Garreth recognized her as the one who always accompanied La Flamme.

  "See to your duties, Cholet, I will speak to his grace," Ysabel said.

  Garreth looked into the faded blue eyes of the woman. How better to learn about a person than through a personal servant?

  "Madame, we have never met. I am—"

  "I know who you are," Ysabel said, looking him over carefully. Her eyes stabbed deeply into his. "Cholet told you the truth, Your Grace. Mademoiselle La Flamme is not here."

  He had the feeling as he stared at the old woman that she was no mere servant. She gave him the impression that she had a canny insight that could probe his mind.

  "Could I come in and talk to you, Madame ... ?"

  "Just Ysabel. And to talk to me would be fruitless. After you inquired about my health and I assured you that I am hearty, we would have come to the end of our conversation."

  He grinned. "It appears that you are well able to handle any gentlemen who come to mademoiselle's door. She has a protector in you."

  "It is well that you remember that."

  "I do not suppose it would benefit me to ask you where I might find mademoiselle?"

  Ysabel was silent as if she were deciding something. At last she nodded. "This is Thursday, so she will be with her fencing master, Monsieur Daymond."

  Garreth was not surprised to hear that La Flamme was doing something as unconventional as fencing. "Where might I find this Monsieur Daymond?"

  Again there was a long silence as Ysabel studied the duke intently. "You will see his school once you cross the Pont-Neuf bridge."

  "Thank you, Madame."

  Ysabel saw the relief in his eyes that was quickly replaced by uncertainty. This handsome devil had never met anyone like Sabine—he was completely bewitched by her. Ysabel was beginning to believe that Garreth Blackthorn might be innocent. She was a good judge of character, and she could find nothing in him that suggested deceit.

  "If you go to Monsieur Daymond's school, you may not find a welcome."

  He smiled, and she could see how a woman would lose her heart to him. "I shall take my chances, Madame." He swept her a bow and turned away to mount his horse.

  Ysabel was wise enough to know that nothing could stop Sabine from colliding with her past. Today, Ysabel had made certain that the duke met Sabine on her own grounds, thus giving her the advantage in the battle that would surely come.

  Garreth was admitted to the fencing school by a servant who led him to a small sitting room.

  "I would like to see the fencing master—is he in?"

  "Oui, Monsieur, but he is with a special student and cannot be disturbed. If you have come to inquire about lessons, you must wait."

  Garreth could hear the sound of clashing swords coming from the thin walls. When the servant departed, he moved into the hallway and entered a long gallery with high windows that caught the afternoon sunlight. Standing in the shadows, he watched two gentlemen fencing. One was tall and moved to sidestep the shorter slender swordsman, but the lighting quick blade caught him and he laughed heartily.

  "Again you have mastered the master, Mademoiselle La Flamme. Shall we try again?"

  Garreth stared in astonishment at the slender figure who wore the garments of a cavalier. Her breeches and doublet were rust colored, her cuffed boots were of the same color. Never had he seen a woman in men's apparel, but it suited her. On closer inspection, he saw the soft curves of her body—how could he have mistaken her for a man? He could not see her face because she wore a protective helm.

  Fascinated, he watched her graceful parry turn into lethal lunges. She was damned good, he thought.

  The two crossed swords, and then La Flamme went on the attack. Wielding her rapier, she struck, once, twice, thrice, driving back her opponent. When the instructor advanced toward her, she agilely sidestepped his thrust, turning it to her advantage. She was poised as she wielded the deadly blade, driving him against the wall.

  "Enough, enough, Mademoiselle." He chuckled and threw up his arms in surrender. "You need no more lessons from me. But if you ever decide to give up acting, I could use your talents."

  She flourished her rapier in a salute, then laughingly removed her protective mask, allowing her crimson hair to spill down her back. "You are the master, and I believe you only let me win out of pity."

  "No so. I told you when you began the lessons that I would not show mercy just because of your sex. Nor have I. You defeated me last week, and today you became the master swordsman."

  Garreth clapped his hands together slowly as he walked toward her. "Quite an exhibition, Mademoiselle La Flamme."

  She turned around quickly, her eyes meeting his. "I did not expect to have an audience, Monsieur le due," she said with composure.

  "I know of no other woman who would have dared such a venture." He stopped in front of her, his eyes sweeping down her slender form.

  The fencing master excused himself, but neither Sabine nor Garreth noticed.

  He did not flinch when her sword snaked through the air to pop loose the gold button on his jerkin without even damaging the fabric. In a smooth motion, she speared the button from the floor and offered it to him on the tip of her rapier. "Perhaps you would like a contest, Monsieur?" she asked daringly.

  "Keep the button as a memento," he said in a deep voice. "When you and I meet in a contest, it will be of a different sort, Mademoiselle."

  She took the black cape that was draped across a chair and threw it about her shoulders. The long folds fell to her feet, concealing her slender figure. She pulled on leather gloves, glaring at him all the while. "How did you find me here, Monsieur?"

  "I have my informants," he said with a slight smile.

  She swept him a stiff bow. "I'll give your regards to Ysabel. Au revoir, Monsieur."

  When she turned to leave, his hand came down on her shoulder and he turned her to face him. "Since I have gone to all the trouble to find you, could we not dine together tonight?"

  "I have a performance."

  "Afterward?"

  She stared into those fathomless eyes, feeling as if she were being dragged into their depths. "I think not."

  "When can I see you?"

  "Tomorrow," she said, taking him by surprise. "I have a chance to purchase a pair of matching grays that have long interested me. Stephen has an eye for good horseflesh, so I want his opinion. As his houseguest, you may join us if you choose."

  "Does Stephen
know?"

  "I sent him a message."

  "Do you like dangling Stephen along and the other poor devils who will beg for any crumb you toss their way?" Garreth asked with growing frustration.

  Her golden eyes bore into his, and for a moment she could not answer. "He understands our relationship, and no matter what you think, I don't dangle him. Good day, Monsieur."

  She rushed across the gallery, her cape flying out behind her.

  He didn't know what demon had possessed him to insult her. Why must he always try to provoke her? Anger guided Garreth's steps out of the gallery. Once outside, he mounted his horse. He had made a fool of himself today and every day since he'd met La Flamme. As soon as it could be arranged, he would leave for England and put her forever from his mind.

  Sabine stood in Monsieur Daymond's office, watching Garreth ride away. It was becoming increasingly difficult to act indifferently to him. She remembered the day he had come to her and held her in his arms while she cried out her grief at the death of her mother. She must not be seduced into trusting him, for that would surely cause her downfall, and do harm to Richard.

  Sabine heard a man speaking to Cholet, and descended the stairs, thinking it would be Stephen. She paused on the bottom step when she saw Garreth.

  "So," she said, going forward to greet him, "you decided to come with us. Is Stephen waiting in the carriage?"

  "Stephen didn't come."

  She eyed him suspiciously. "Did he not get my message?"

  "When I arrived home, your message was on the entry table."

  "Then why did he not come with you?"

  He took her arm and guided her toward the door, giving her no time to protest. She stopped when he would have handed her into the open carriage.

  "I demand to know why Stephen isn't here."

  Garreth's hands spanned her tiny waist and he lifted her into the carriage. "It's cloudy. I hope it doesn't rain to spoil the day."

  "I was asking about Stephen."

  "It's quite simple." He climbed in beside her. "I did not give him your message."

  She could hardly believe his impudence—how dare he do such a thing! "You are devious, sir. You deliberately kept my message from him."

  "I did," he admitted. He smiled, leaning back and looking into her golden eyes. "How could I miss this chance to have you to myself?"

  "This is ... is... abduction."

  "That's not the way I see it. Did you or did you not ask me to come with you today?"

  "I. . . oui, but not—"

  "I merely accepted your invitation."

  "You, Monsieur, are bold beyond belief."

  "I'm merely an opportunist." His eyes seemed to soften when they rested on her face. "Be warned, La Flamme, when I see something I want, I usually get it."

  "If you think you can win me by tricks, Monsieur, you are mistaken. I do not like men who take what they want, no matter who they hurt."

  He blinked his eyes in astonishment. "If that is the way you see me, I shall just have to change your opinion. The driver waits. Will you not give him direction—the team grows impatient."

  Reluctantly, Sabine instructed the driver. When they started off, she refused to look at Garreth, but instead stared straight ahead.

  Soon the coachman was aptly maneuvering the carriage through the crowded streets. After an uncomfortable silence, she turned to Garreth. "Tell me about yourself, Your Grace, so that I might know you better."

  "I find it tiresome talking about myself. Let us instead speak of you."

  She shrugged. "My life is uneventful. I would like to hear about the women in your life."

  "What if I said that you are the only woman in my life?"

  "Then I would pity you, for I am not in your life."

  He nodded toward the coachman. "We will speak of this later, when we are alone. Unlike you, I do not perform before an audience."

  "I am not certain I want to be alone with you." She batted her eyelashes. "Can a woman trust you, Monsieur?"

  He laughed at her coy little trick that was most enchanting. "I believe I'm the one in peril."

  To Sabine's surprise, Garreth turned his attention to the Paris countryside, asking her questions and showing marked interest.

  A short time later they reached the Tournes' estate. Monsieur Tourne was a gentleman short in stature and wide in girth. He was obviously impressed by La Flamme and was almost too ingratiating in his attentions.

  "May I offer you, refreshments?" he asked.

  "Thank you, no, Monsieur," Sabine said. "My time is limited and I would like to see the grays."

  He nodded eagerly, leading them to his stables.

  Garreth surveyed the animals. "They are magnificent," he said, running his hand over the muscled flank of one of the grays.

  "Then I would not be making a mistake if I added them to my stable?" Sabine asked.

  Garreth examined both horses' mouths and teeth, then he walked around them, lifting each hoof. "They are in excellent health. They are of Arabian blood, spirited, and no doubt swift."

  "You have a practiced eye," Monsieur Tourne said. "I would not let them go to anyone except Mademoiselle La Flamme."

  "How much, Monsieur?" Sabine asked.

  "For you, they are a gift," the Frenchman said, bowing before her.

  "Non, Monsieur. I will not take them without payment. What is the price?"

  He shrugged. "Whatever you think is fair."

  Sabine turned to Garreth and spoke in English. "Help me, so I do not cheat this man. What price would you give for the two grays?"

  "Why do you not take them as a gift and make the man happy?"

  "I will accept no gift from a man, so I owe favors to no one."

  "A hundred francs for each would be generous." Garreth smiled. "You wouldn't want to sell them to me, would you?"

  She looked at him for a moment, and then turned to the Frenchman. "Monsieur, I will leave with you my marker for two hundred francs. Kindly have the grays delivered to my stables within the week."

  "If that is your wish." There was disappointment in the man's eyes because La Flamme had refused his gift. Then he brightened. "When word reaches Paris that La Flamme has favored my horses, everyone will flock to my stables."

  Sabine turned away from him. "Au revoir, Monsieur."

  She walked to the carriage, and Garreth helped her inside. "Poor man. You dealt him a blow by refusing his tribute."

  The clouds had moved away and she angled her hat to protect her face from the sun's rays. "It is always the same. I have heard that he has a wife. He would have done better to bestow his favors on her."

  Garreth settled beside her. "You have an objection to being admired by married gentlemen?"

  Her golden eyes bore into his. "I have an aversion to being used, for whatever the reason."

  He stared at her with a strange expression on his face and then shook his head as if to clear it. "For a fleeting moment, you reminded me of someone, but I can't think who. It's like a vague memory, but the illusion is gone."

  She lowered her eyes, fearful that he was beginning to remember her. "We are almost home," she said, trying to sound lighthearted.

  "May I see you tonight?"

  "If you like," she said, turning to look at him, jarred by the heat of his eyes. "You may dine with me at my home, this evening after my performance."

  A rakish smile curved his lips. "Does it make you feel safer to invite me to your home?"

  "Does it make you feel unsafe, Your Grace?"

  19

  Garreth was waiting for La Flamme beside his coach. When she came out of the theater, she was dressed in a white velvet gown with slashed sleeves inlaid with gold. Around the hem of the skirt were dozens of tiny golden rosebuds.

  He became irritated when she was immediately surrounded by admirers. She smiled to each of them and exchanged greetings. At last she was beside him, and he opened the door and whisked her inside.

  When the coach pulled away, they could stil
l hear the loud chant of those who revered her: "La Flamme! La Flamme!"

  Sabine was very aware of Garreth's irritation. He was so near her that she could feel his breath stir her hair. A strange yearning came over her, and she had an urge to lay her head against his shoulder and have him hold her as he once had. She looked down at the hand that rested on his knee. It was the hand of a gentleman, long tapered fingers, with strength she could only imagine.

  She was glad that the coach lights were dim so Garreth could not see how badly her hands were trembling. She stuffed them into her white velvet muff and turned to face him.

  "Your countrymen have made you famous," Garreth said, still annoyed for reasons he could not say. "I had even heard of you in England. Mostly from Stephen, I admit. Before I met you, I was skeptical that anyone could be as exceptional as he claimed you were."

  "And now?"

  "I agree with him." The way Garreth said the words, they did not sound like a compliment. "How does it feel to be adored by so many?"

  "I have little interest in such absurdities, Your Grace. I only care to give a good performance. I owe no one more than that."

  "Your Jacques de Baillard is also famous in my country—there are many who speak well of him. You mentioned the night we met that his acting troupe has been invited to perform for Queen Henrietta—will you come to London?"

  Sabine put on the face of a coquette and drew her white muff across his face flirtatiously. "I do not know. It has not yet been decided."

  He clasped her hand and took the muff from her, tossing it on the seat. "I would like to show you England."

  "Jacques makes those decisions, not I. If he says we go, then I shall go."

  "Why did you agree to dine with me tonight?"

  "I'm not sure I know." She gave him her most beguiling smile. "Perhaps it is because of your extraordinary charm."

  His hand moved to her chin, and he turned her to face him. "Do you mock me?"

  "I," she said with exaggerated surprise, "who am merely a helpless woman, mock a great titled gentleman like yourself? I would not dare."

  His hand moved to the side of her face, and he brought her further into the light so he could see her eyes. No woman had ever held him so captivated. "It is my belief that you are merely toying with me, and I don't know why."