by Shana Galen
He’d caught a flicker of movement and stared at the far end of the palace intently, hoping he’d been wrong.
He hadn’t.
Two members of the guard walked, lantern in hand, surveilling the area. Tristan had little fear they would discover him. They wouldn’t venture into the gardens, but if Alexandra emerged from the window now, she would be caught. And since they were on the opposite side of the palace, if she emerged before they’d walked the entire length, quite a long trek, she would be caught. He had no way to warn her.
He crouched, wanting to act but not knowing what he should do. One thing was certain. He would not leave her to be captured as she’d suggested. By the same token, he couldn’t reveal himself or negate all she had fought for.
Tristan was not a praying man, but he began to pray now. He prayed Alexandra would stay inside until the guard had passed. But all too soon, he saw her form at his window. She wasn’t visible to the guard yet. They still had several yards until they reached the window, but they could not help but notice her climbing out.
Tristan tried to signal her. He waved and made a slashing sign, but either she couldn’t see him or she hadn’t looked. He couldn’t do anything so overt as to jump out of the garden. Then he would be seen.
His window slid open, and Tristan’s gaze went from the guard to the window and back again. She didn’t even look to check if anyone was coming, not that it would have helped. If she’d been seen looking out, the alarm would have been raised.
She stuck one leg out, balancing on the sill. Tristan pivoted toward the guard, who stopped short, obviously seeing exactly what he was and trying to make sense of it.
Quite suddenly, the one with the lamp turned and ran the way he’d come while the other moved against the wall of the building and continued forward. The men were no fools. They didn’t want to risk their quarry retreating into the palace. It was a maze of salons and passageways. It would take more time to find an intruder there. So one guard stayed and the other left to sound the alarm and fetch reinforcements.
Unaware she’d been spotted, Alexandra climbed out of the window and pulled it closed. He knew the moment she spotted the guard approaching because she stiffened and then looked his way. If she was gauging the distance between the guard and herself and the gardens, she must know she would never make it.
She gave a last fleeting look at the gardens, then raised her hands as though in surrender.
Tristan couldn’t hear the conversation, only the low barks of the guard and Alexandra’s muffled replies. The guard edged out from the side of the building, blocking her escape to the gardens. In doing so, he also turned his back to Tristan. His friend hadn’t returned yet. It was a long way around the building and it would take time for him to find his superior.
Tristan didn’t wait. He moved out of the cover and ran as soundlessly as possible toward the guard. Alexandra saw him and shook her head, but he ignored her. The guard asked her something and she replied in a low voice, obviously trying to keep up the pretense that she was a boy. The guard must have had suspicions, though, because he knocked the hat off her head and peered closely at her face. Tristan was closer now, and he slowed to a walk, silence of the essence. He could hear the conversation.
“You’re not a boy at all. You’ve been lying this whole time.”
“I’m sorry, citoyen. I was scared.” She even sounded scared, though Tristan doubted she had the sense to be as frightened as she ought to be.
“What were you really doing in the palace? Stealing? Or maybe something worse?”
If Alexandra saw Tristan nearing, she didn’t let on. Her attention was wholly on the guard. “I admit I did take a few baubles. I’ll give them back. I’ll empty my pockets. Then we can forget this ever happened.”
“I’ll decide about that.”
She reached into her pocket, and Tristan who was within striking distance now, landed a hard blow to the back of the guard’s head. He went down, and Tristan hit him again. The man didn’t move, and Tristan could only hope he’d rendered him unconscious.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Alexandra demanded. “I told you to—”
“We don’t have time to argue. There’s another who ran to sound the alarm.”
“Bloody hell! Run!”
They started back toward the gardens, but had taken no more than a few steps when they heard clanging and the shouts of men.
“They’re coming,” she said, unnecessarily. He could hear them coming, and his belly roiled with nervous nausea. Even reaching the gardens didn’t make him feel relieved. The guard would follow, and there were more of them.
“Not that way.” Alexandra grasped his arm and pulled him toward her.
“But this is the way to my apartments.”
“And if we lead them that way, we’ll never make it. We lead them away, then double back.”
“That’s if we manage to evade them.”
“We’ll evade them,” she said moving into thicker brush and shadows. “We have to. At least you have to.”
Tristan took her hand. “I know what you’re thinking, and I won’t allow it.”
“If I go back—”
“No. The king needs you just as much as he needs me. We both escape.”
“Fine.”
He could still hear the guards behind them, but he and Alexandra had enough of a lead that the guards couldn’t be certain they weren’t hiding in the gardens. They had to move slowly, checking under benches and behind trees.
Tristan emerged from the gardens, still holding Alexandra’s hand, and the two ran toward a cluster of buildings. “We have to find a way to access the roofs,” she said.
“Not the roofs again.”
“If we stay down here, they’ll find us. No one else is out after curfew.” She tried a door, found it locked, and moved to the next. Tristan tried one and then another. The third opened.
“Alexandra.”
“Good!” She looked over her shoulder before moving inside the building. “I don’t think we were spotted.”
The building they’d entered had once been the home of a wealthy family. Tristan assumed it would have been someone who often wanted to curry favor with the Bourbon family, as this was an ideal location if one wanted access to the royals when they visited Paris. It appeared to be empty now, all the valuable items looted. Alexandra pointed to a staircase, and they ran up it, then up again, finally taking a small attic door out onto the roof. She closed the door after him, then went to the edge and looked down.
“They’re searching one street over,” she said, moving back again. “But they won’t think to look up here.” She sat, then lay down, her chest heaving as she gulped in breaths.
“Now what?” he asked, sitting beside her. “This roof doesn’t appear to connect to any others.”
She pointed toward the neighboring building. “It’s close to that one.”
“Not close enough that we can jump.”
“Once the guard moves away, we can go back inside and look for something to bridge the gap.”
Wonderful. They stared up at the stars for a few minutes, then he said, “Did you get it?”
She turned her head and smiled. “It was right where you said it would be.” She patted her pocket.
“I hope this is worth it,” he grumbled.
“It’s already been worth it to me, just to hear you call Louis Charles the king.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. You said, the king needs you just as much as he needs me.” She sat and placed a hand on his cheek. “A lovely sentiment by the way, even if it’s not true.” Her hand dropped. “And don’t think it means that I’m not angry with you for disobeying my orders.”
He snorted. “I was never going to follow those orders.”
“Why, Chevalier, can it be that you’re starting to care for me?”
He ignored her teasing tone, but her arrow had hit too close to the mark. “I don’t want you to be guillot
ined.”
“It must be love.” She turned away. “I’ll check on their progress,” she said, starting to rise, but he pulled her back down and into his lap. If this was the end, he should say something, at least assure her he didn’t hate her any longer.
“You’re right that I do feel something. I care about you. I—”
The sound of footsteps made them both jump.
“Over there!” she hissed, indicating what appeared to have once been an aviary. They moved behind the dilapidated structure and ducked down. The guard must have found the unlocked door and entered the building. Alexandra took Tristan’s hand, holding it tightly. He glanced at her face and couldn’t be certain whether her expression was one of fear or excitement. Perhaps both.
The door opened, and someone stepped onto the roof. A moment later, the door slammed shut again. Alexandra looked at Tristan, and he gave her a questioning look. Had the man gone back down or was he searching?
Neither dared breathe for several moments. When they heard no other sound, Alexandra moved to the side of the aviary. Tristan tried to pull her back, but she shook him off. She peered around the structure, then stepped back.
“He’s gone. Another quarter hour and we can look for something to use to get away.”
His apartments were but a short distance from the Tuileries, but it felt as though they must traverse mountains. And then she still had to return to her house and deliver the pass to be forged. It was exhausting work.
“Is this what you do every night?” he asked. “Break into buildings, steal documents, travel over roofs?”
“Sometimes I have to use the sewers.”
He wrinkled his nose.
“Of course, I don’t do this every night.” She started back toward the door leading into the house. “Only the nights when I’m lucky,” she called over her shoulder.
Fifteen
It was later than she liked by the time they entered Tristan’s apartment. He’d insisted on using the door, rather than the window, and she’d agreed because he was a high-ranking official and thus his neighbors were less likely to report him.
She knew she should be bone-weary, but her blood thrummed with excitement, which she hoped lasted long enough to see her back to the safe house.
After he locked the door behind her, he lit a candle. “Can I get you something?”
“Wine, please. I’m thirsty.”
He poured two glasses and handed her one. His hand grazed hers, and she inhaled sharply. Their gazes met and held. Hand trembling, she brought the wine to her lips, barely tasting it. The hunger she saw in the way he watched her was unmistakable and mirrored her own. The danger and tension of the night had built inside her, and she needed a way to let it out. That was it. That had to be the only reason she wanted him again.
She didn’t know if he took the wineglass from her hand or if it fell to the floor. She only knew she needed him, needed to touch him, taste him, feel his hands on her. Their bodies collided in mutual need.
She drank him in, moaning as his lips slanted over hers and shivering as his hands roved over her body. She yanked at his coat, eager to remove it, to touch bare skin. He yanked at her clothing, his mouth searing her skin as soon as he bared it.
His need was as great as hers. And though she understood their clawing of hands at clothing and tangling of tongues was a natural response, it didn’t feel like merely a reaction to her. She wanted him, Tristan, not any man. Him.
They were both bare to the waist by the time they surfaced for air. His touch was rough on her sensitive skin, and she raked her hands down his back, making his muscles bunch.
“I want you,” he said.
“I want you more.”
He lifted her and carried her into his bedchamber, dropping her none too gently on the bed, then coming down over her. In between kisses he divested her of her boots and trousers, then kissed a path from her breasts to her navel. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t stop moaning. He shoved her legs open, his mouth nipping at the tender flesh of her inner thigh. She was already quivering for him. When his mouth touched her, she bucked in response, her body wound so tightly she knew it would take very little to bring her to climax. His tongue lapped at her, teased her tight bud, and she came apart. She was still in the throes of pleasure when he flipped her onto her stomach. He pulled her hips up, then had to pause to unfasten his trousers.
Alex tried to flip back over.
“No.” He pushed her back down. “I want you like this.”
She kicked out and flipped over anyway. “And I want to look at you.”
“I told you I won’t be dominated.”
She gave him a look she hoped appeared innocent. “I’m lying on my back with you towering over me. That’s hardly dominating you.” She reached out and unfastened his trousers. “Besides, I want to see you again.”
His gaze was wary, but he gave in, shoving his trousers over his hips. He was beautiful, and it was no lie that she’d wanted to see him again.
He covered her with his body, his flesh hot and hard and as tight as her own had been a few moments before. He grasped her wrists in one hand and yanked them up, effectively imprisoning her. She allowed it, but arched her hips to tease him. He groaned, and his mouth captured hers. He kissed her deeply and with such passion that it took her breath away. And then he was inside her, making her gasp with pleasure and surprise.
He wasn’t the patient lover he’d been earlier that night. This time he moved hard and fast, and she urged him on, matching his thrusts and the rhythm he set. He broke from the kiss and stared down at her, his eyes dark and intense. She freed her hands from his grip and slid them up the tense muscles of his arms, down his chest, and back up again, fastening her hands behind his neck.
“I. Can’t. Hold. Back,” he ground out, jaw clenched tightly.
“I don’t want you to.” She lifted her hips, taking him deeper, and he groaned. And then suddenly he was gone, pulling away to spill his seed outside her.
He crashed down beside her, dipping the bed so she slid against him. She draped a leg over him and kissed the stubble on his jaw.
“I didn’t mean to be such a brute.”
“I liked it,” she murmured. “I should put you in danger more often.”
He laughed. “No, thank you.”
She lay in his arms for a few moments, listening to his heart slow back to its normal pace. She wanted to do it all again, this time slowly and leisurely. Instead, she gritted her teeth and sat up. “I have to go.”
“I know.”
She was glad he hadn’t argued. She did not want to leave, and if he protested it would only make her departure more difficult. She rose and dressed, conscious that he watched her with an appreciative eye. “You seem to always be leaving me.”
“I’ll be back.” She opened the bedroom window and sat on the sill. She would have to pull herself up to the roof, then make the long trek back to her house.
He rose and put his hands on her waist. It was a sweet, caring gesture. She longed to fall back into his arms.
“Be careful,” he said.
“Always.”
She thought he rolled his eyes, but the light was behind him and she couldn’t be sure. He squeezed her hands and let her go. A moment later she was running across the rooftops of Paris.
SHE MET HIM IN THE morning, passing close to him without acknowledging him, and pressing the pass and a note into his hands as they moved in opposite directions on the street near the Tuileries. His gaze lingered on her longer than she felt was safe, but she resisted the urge to do the same.
She moved on, wishing she could sleep for several hours, but knowing she had too much work to do to prepare for the evening. When she arrived home, she locked the door and went straight to the attic. Honoria sat with two candles burning on the table, illuminating the paper she used to create false passes into La Force. Ffoulkes was out, tasked with identifying a locksmith who was imprisoned. The plan was to free him and
then ask for a return favor—helping them break into the king’s cell in the Tower.
Montagne sat with the map of the Tower, moving small objects about on it. He’d been assigned the task of determining the best way to reach the king’s cell undetected. Only Dewhurst was unoccupied. He lay on one of the beds, tossing an apple into the air and catching it. When Alex entered, he was the only one to acknowledge her. “Don’t make me a girl this time.”
She removed her cloak and scowled at him. “Hello to you too.”
He took a bite of the apple. “My mood isn’t as cheery as yours. I didn’t spend half the night rolling around in bed.”
“Jealous?” Montagne asked from across the room.
“Not really.” Dewhurst took another bite of the apple. “He’s not the sort I fancy.”
Dewhurst was notorious for favoring pretty but vapid young ladies. Alex went to the trunk where she kept her costumes and theater makeup. “That’s probably because he can string three sentences together at a time.”
“Too bad they’re all about the glory of the revolution.”
That was too bad. She couldn’t argue there, but she was beginning to hope Tristan might be seeing things differently. He must know that after they rescued the king, he would have to leave the country. The guards would mention that he had been at the Temple with a pass, and he would become a traitor to the republic. Alex doubted anyone but Robespierre and a handful of Jacobins would know of Chevalier’s duplicity, though. They couldn’t afford to let it be known that Louis Charles had been rescued from under their noses.
Alex considered her costume options. She’d wait until she saw the locksmith to choose a costume for him. She had no idea whether he’d be short or tall, robust or puny. Instead, she focused on the costumes for Dewhurst and herself. They would go as members of the National Guard charged by Robespierre to move the locksmith to the Conciergerie for immediate execution in the morning. The lists of the condemned were read daily and those whose names appeared were sent to the Conciergerie for their last night. The list had probably already been read for today, and she and Dewhurst would pretend the locksmith had accidentally been left off.
