by Shana Galen
Alex laughed. Hastings in love with her? He was more of a brother than a man to her. She might have been interested in Dewhurst at one point, but he was too angry, too tortured a soul for her taste. She liked the tragedy in her life to remain on the stage. “No. He isn’t in love with me, although I am certain he would be most aggrieved if you hurt me or attempted to kill me. I say attempted because you should know I am quite capable of defending myself.” She lifted the pistol from her skirts. “Even without this.”
“I noticed that at the gate. But I have no intention of hurting you. I only wanted to be certain he would not retaliate if I did this.”
And to her complete amazement, he took her chin between two fingers, turned her head toward his, and placed his lips gently on hers.
It was a far different kiss than he had given her in the carriage before he’d gone into the Conciergerie, but the effect was the same. Warmth spread throughout her body, from her lips to the tips of her toes. She had the urge to lean into him and deepen the kiss. Instead, she pulled back.
He looked down at her with those beautiful eyes, his hand still cupping her chin.
“Why do you keep kissing me?” she whispered, eyes narrowed.
“Why do you not kiss me back?”
“Because I don’t like you.”
“Liking has nothing to do with it. You are a traitor to the republic. I am a patriot. I don’t particularly like you or your cause, but like you or not, I am attracted to you. I think you feel the same.”
She didn’t believe him for even a moment. He wasn’t attracted to her. He thought she was the sort of silly woman who would melt into a puddle of adoration if a man kissed her and took her to his bed. But two could play this game.
“And if I am attracted to you?” Her tone was silky smooth, that of the perfect charlatan. But then it was not difficult to pretend she wanted him. Even as her brain reminded her of all the reasons she hated him, her body rebelled. She looked at him and was sinking into his lovely eyes, into those soft lips, into that warm velvet voice. She wanted him to kiss her again. She tried to tell herself that it was because the kiss was the first time she’d been truly warm all night.
But that wasn’t the real reason.
“Then kiss me,” he whispered.
And she did.
TRISTAN DIDN’T EXPECT to react the way he did when her lips brushed against his. He’d planned to seduce her with kisses and silly words and plodding attempts at friendship. It was clear to him the men treated her as an equal, and if he could gain her trust, her affection, he would have won half the battle. He would yet see these traitors riding in the back of a tumbrel.
And then she’d kissed him. Her lips so soft and, God, impossibly sweet. It was only a light brush of her mouth against his at first, but Tristan felt his control slip. And then when she pressed her mouth against his, when her hand came up to cup the back of his head and her lips parted and her small tongue lapped at his mouth, he found himself reacting as though he were a boy of fifteen, not a man approaching thirty.
His fingers on her chin fumbled, and he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. His cock was rigid and throbbing, and if he hadn’t been aware of the three men sleeping in the hayloft above them, he might have tried to push her down and take her there.
That was the strength of his need for her. Real need. Real desire, not feigned as it should have been
And then he felt a weight between them, and dimly, he realized it was the pistol. It had fallen from her skirts when she’d turned into him. He reached for it at the same time she did, and both of their hands closed over it, their fingers locking together.
He pulled back and so did she. Her green eyes were dark but clear. “Let it go.”
“And if I don’t?” he asked. Fool, he thought. He should let it go. This was no way to gain her trust.
“Then I’ll be forced to hurt you, and I’d much rather kiss you than break your nose. You do have such a straight, lovely nose.”
He felt his mouth curve into a smile. He liked her bravado, if nothing else. Yes, she had surprised him at the gate, when she’d punched that guardsman, but she’d taken the man unaware. Tristan was ready for an attack, and he had strength and size on his side.
Still, he released the pistol. Now was not the time to challenge her. They needed him for something bigger than the escape of an abbé from prison, and if he gave all away now some of them might be taken, but not all and, more importantly, the plan would be undiscovered. The longer he waited, the more he would learn about the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel and the more traitors he could catch in his net.
If he had not come tonight he would never have known about the Daudier family’s complicity. The more information he could give, the more likely he was to avoid the guillotine, though if he was to die, then he deserved his fate.
A picture of the little children peeking out the door of the house flashed in his mind. He was loath to leave those children orphans, loath to repay the goodness the family had shown him by turning them in.
But surely the husband and wife knew the consequences for their actions. They had freely chosen to betray the republic, a republic that stood for equality and liberty. He had not known either of those when he’d been made an orphan by the Duc du Mérignac, a man who had abused the privilege of his birth without ever thinking of the children or the families he harmed.
There was no such thing as a bloodless revolution.
He sat back, putting distance between himself and Alexandra Martin. She made him forget what was truly important: the ideals of the revolution must trump all.
Citoyenne Martin was looking at him. “You think I do not know your game?” she asked, placing the pistol back on her lap. “And don’t look at me and blink those innocent eyes. Do you think just because I argued against your murder and didn’t have you tied up for the night, that I trust you or would hesitate to put a pistol ball in your brain? You are trying to win my trust by seducing me, and it won’t work.”
She was certainly forthright, and while he liked that, it took him off guard. “Of course, I am trying to seduce you,” he said, equally forthright. “You are a beautiful woman.”
“Now I know you lie. Or perhaps I am suddenly beautiful because gaining my confidence would give you the opportunity to betray the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.” She leaned close to him, her breath tickling his cheek. “Believe me when I say before you ever have a chance to inform on any of the people you met here tonight, I will slit your throat myself.”
Her green eyes burned bright as she spoke, and her lips were red as blood. He believed her. She’d protect these men and the Daudier family with her life. It was just that sort of loyalty he admired and wanted to see burn in the heart of every patriot. But too many patriots wanted power and their loyalty was capricious.
When she would have leaned back, he touched her cheek with a finger, holding her in place. “Is it strange that your threats make me want to kiss you again?” That was not a lie. Her ruthlessness aroused him.
She gave him a quick smile. “Nothing scares you, does it?”
“On the contrary. Many things frighten me, but a strong woman is not one of them.”
She nodded, and her gaze dipped to his lips. The hard pulse of arousal that look shot through him caused his hand to flex on her cheek. Her skin was soft, and he could not help but wonder if she was that soft all over. He wanted to kiss her again, and this time it had nothing to do with the republic or gaining her trust and everything about wanting her as a man wants a woman.
He heard a thud above them. “No kissing on watch!” a voice called down.
She smiled and looked up. “We aren’t kissing, Dewhurst.”
“Not yet.”
“Stubble it,” another male voice muttered, probably Hastings, Tristan surmised. “I don’t care what they do as long as they do it quietly. I’m sleeping.”
“I care!” Dewhurst argued. “I’d rather not be taken by patriots while she has
her fun in a haystack. He’s a rebel, Alex. The enemy.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said sweetly. “I promise to behave.”
He muttered something that sounded like that I’d like to see and all was quiet again.
She sat back and trained her gaze on the door. “He’s right. I do need to keep watch and stay alert. You, monsieur, are quite the distraction.”
“And you, citoyenne, make it difficult for me to resist. But I shall endeavor to behave honorably for the next few hours.”
To his amusement, she sighed. “That sounds perfectly boring.”
“You do realize you make no sense. You claim you do not want me to seduce you because you believe I have nefarious purposes in mind, but then when I promise to behave, you are still not satisfied.”
“I’m a woman, Monsieur Chevalier. I do not have to make sense.”
That was true enough, and it only made him admire her a little more. How sorry he would be to send her to the guillotine.
But he would send her nonetheless.
Six
Tony woke her before the sun was up. He was his usual charming self, waking her by giving her a nudge with the toe of his boot. When she didn’t move, he nudged her again.
In the head.
She was up then, but her swipe at him just missed. He climbed down the ladder before she could try again.
Chevalier was awake as well, his hair tousled and falling over his shoulders. He looked like an angel who’d mistakenly tumbled down to the mortal realm. No man should look so handsome upon just rising.
Catching her looking at him, he smiled. “Good morning.”
“Not so far.”
She climbed down the ladder, listening to Hastings tell Chevalier that she was always surly in the morning. “I am not,” she protested. “Only when some nitwit kicks me in the head. Wait until I shove my boot up your arse, Tony,” she called.
“See!” Dewhurst said, opening the barn door to admit Nicole Daudier. “She is all sweetness and light. Mistress, you are too kind.”
The smell of coffee and fresh bread did wonders for Alex’s mood, and after she had gone outside to take care of her private needs, she returned and drank the strong brew gratefully. “You haven’t slept at all,” she chided the woman. “You didn’t need to provide us with food to break our fast.”
“But we’re glad you did,” Dewhurst said around a mouthful of bread.
“It is the least I can do,” Nicole said. “I can never repay your kindness to me.”
Alex gave the woman a hug. “You needn’t ever repay us. We set a wrong to rights.”
Nicole wiped a tear away and took her leave. The next few minutes were spent gathering the little they had brought with them and then the party split into two groups. Hastings and the abbé took two horses from the carriage, leaving the conveyance and the other horses behind. Dewhurst, Chevalier, and Alex started back toward Paris on foot. Alex would have liked to ride the horses back, but it would have been too conspicuous and drawn attention.
By midday, Alex could not feel her face. The breeze was chilly and damp, and they were forced to walk directly into it. The sun had yet to make an appearance, though she supposed she should be grateful it was not raining.
“Is no one else traveling to Paris today?” she lamented. They had yet to spot a single cart traveling in their direction, although to be fair, they had stayed off the main road for the most part.
“It’s not market day,” Dewhurst told her.
“If we have to walk the entire way—”
“Have either of you noticed we are being followed?” Chevalier said quietly.
Alex looked over her shoulder but saw nothing. “What do you mean?”
He nodded his head toward the trees in the little woods not far from the road where they walked. “Four men, perhaps five, have been keeping pace with us.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this before?” Dewhurst pulled out his pistol and Alex did the same.
“I wanted to be certain.”
The men must have known they’d been discovered because they emerged from the trees just then, their own weapons—mostly farm implements but at least one man had a rifle—pointed toward Alex and Dewhurst.
Despite Chevalier’s hiss that they were outnumbered, Alex did not lower her pistol.
“Bonjour citoyens,” the man in the center called. He was tall and the best dressed with a warm coat over his trousers, where the others were in thin shirts and threadbare coats. They were peasants, in their trousers and sabots, and though the violence in the provinces had not been as widespread as that in Paris, she did not trust these armed men.
Dewhurst nodded his head in response. “Bonjour. A cold day for travel, is it not?” he asked in his flawless French. “We are for Paris. And you?”
“Saint-Germain-en-Laye,” their leader answered. “You had better come with us.”
“You will forgive us, citoyens,” Alex said sweetly. “But Saint-Germain-en-Laye is not on the road to Paris.”
“And you will forgive us, citoyenne,” the leader said, moving closer, “if we insist on delaying you. Our mayor would speak with any strangers in the area. We are looking for the Scarlet Pimpernel and his accomplices.”
Dewhurst laughed. “The Scarlet Pimpernel? He is a myth. No Englishman could possibly evade our brave French forces for so long. Impossible!”
Alex considered Dewhurst might have made a career for himself on the stage. He was quite convincing. Several of the peasants even nodded their agreement.
But not the leader.
“Be that as it may, citoyen, you will come with us. I will take your weapons and return them to you after your interview with the mayor.”
“Interview?” Dewhurst demanded, looking offended. “It sounds much more like an interrogation to me, and we have done nothing. We are patriots.” He gestured to the wrinkled tricolor cockade on his coat.
Chevalier nodded at this, and Alex wished it would have helped their cause to reveal who he was. But his presence here would only raise more questions, and if word reached Robespierre, their hard work and plans were all for naught.
“I am sorry, citoyen—” the leader began.
“Sorry!” Dewhurst bellowed. Then out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered in English, “Run.” He stepped forward, speaking in French again. “Sorry? You insult me and my honor—run!—and all you can say is you are sorry? Run, damn you!” He hissed the last in English.
Alex had told herself Dewhurst was mad or perhaps she had heard him incorrectly. He could not possibly wish her to run when a rifle was pointed at them.
And then Dewhurst fired his weapon, above the heads of the peasants, and she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Chevalier’s hand and yanked him toward the nearest thatch of trees.
The peasants scattered, but it was only a moment before they returned fire. Dewhurst dropped and rolled and Alex dove behind the trees. They were all but bare of leaves and scant protection. But Alex bent and loaded powder and ball into her pistol to cover Dewhurst while he reloaded.
She fired, causing the peasants to duck, and Dewhurst gave her a hard glare. “Run!” he yelled again. Then he turned and fired at the peasants, running immediately after for the light cover provided by a nearby haystack.
“Now!” Chevalier said when Alex bent to ready her weapon. “Before they charge us.”
“I’m not leaving Tony,” Alex gritted out, shaking Chevalier’s hand off and loading her pistol. She primed it, aimed, and fired, making the peasants drop back down behind a rock outcropping, where they’d taken shelter.
“He told us to run. We have a better chance of escaping them if we split up.”
Alex could not argue with the truth of that statement. It was far easier to track three than one, and she could not allow Chevalier out of her sight. Without another word, she tucked the pistol in her skirts, lifted the hem, and ran. She followed Chevalier, who wisely did not head toward Paris but toward a small wooded area to
the northwest.
More shots rang out, but they seemed to remain in the distance. When they finally reached the trees, Chevalier leaned against one and she took another. They both fought to catch their breath.
“He’s leading them away from us,” Chevalier said between breaths.
Alex could only nod. Dewhurst might not care for Chevalier, but he would risk his life for the man because they needed the rebel. The little boy in the Temple Prison needed him.
“Do you always have this much trouble?” Chevalier asked.
“It’s not uncommon,” Alex said. “We had better keep moving. Dewhurst will lead them away, but there’s nothing to stop them from dividing and sending two men after us.”
Chevalier pushed up from the tree and followed her deeper into the woods, where the trees grew more densely and blocked out the gloomy afternoon light.
“You didn’t like to leave him,” he said, picking his way over fallen logs and jutting roots. “But he seems quite capable to me. I am certain he will meet us back in Paris.”
“I hope so.” She struggled to keep up with Chevalier, not easy in her heavy skirts and flimsy shoes that became mired in the mud more than once. “And I don’t like to leave him because he is my brother.”
Chevalier looked at her quickly, and Alex realized he misunderstood. “Not in that way. I only mean we have worked together for some time. We protect each other. Your new government loves to speak of fraternity, but I do wonder if you really know what it means.”
She would have sworn she heard him mutter, “So do I.”
Alex spotted a large log and pointed to it. “I think we’ve gone deep enough. We had better start heading south if we are to reach Paris. I don’t like the main road, but we need to find a farmer willing to give us a ride on his cart or those peasants will catch up to us again.”
“You think they will pursue us?”
Alex sat on the log and examined her shoe. It had been pretty once. Now it was caked with mud. She removed it and scraped the bottom on the bark, attempting to free it of some of the heavy mud. “What else have they to do? I am certain this is quite the adventure for them. It will make a good story to tell around their friends’ tables and at the local tavern. Under other circumstances, we would have simply gone with them and...” She trailed off, realizing what she’d said.
