To Tempt a Rebel (The Scarlet Chronicles, #4)

by Shana Galen

  “Where will they be?”

  But Dewhurst didn’t speak. He was looking at Leroy. “You’ve probably guessed we’re not soldiers. We rescued you for the work of the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  “The Scarlet Pimpernel! I thought he was a myth.”

  “He’s real, and he can take you safely out of Paris. We’ll ask one favor of you first.”

  “Anything.”

  Tristan pressed his lips together, sure the man would not feel so eager once he knew he would have to enter the Temple.

  “Our friends will decide when to reveal that to you, but right now, we have to find shelter before curfew. If I remove your bindings, will you go with us willingly?”

  “Of course.” Leroy turned, and Dewhurst removed a dagger from his boot and cut the bindings.

  “Let’s go.” Dewhurst started back he way they’d come.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere you won’t leave if I find out you’re the traitor I think you are.”

  JUST AFTER CURFEW THEY arrived at the Cimetière des Errancis. The cemetery stunk of the dead, the smell of decay only slightly muted by the limestone thrown into the mass graves where the victims of the revolution were buried. Tristan covered his nose with his sleeve and followed the dark shape of Dewhurst. He must be mad indeed to follow the man into a cemetery, but at this point he would have followed the man anywhere if Alexandra might be waiting at the end.

  Leroy was much less eager. The poor man must have dreamed of a thousand things he would like to do if he ever gained his freedom from La Force. A trip to Errancis had probably not been one of them.

  All the way here Tristan had not been able to think of anything but Alexandra. His mind had gone over and over every possible scenario until he had wanted to scream with rage and frustration. He hadn’t felt this helpless since—

  No. He couldn’t allow himself to believe she’d been taken or harmed. But she was the most likely of all of them to be captured. She didn’t generally hide in the attic. She might have opened the door to the soldiers or even been caught moving about the house. If she could have sacrificed herself so the others could escape, she would have done so without a second thought. Where was she now? Had she been taken to La Force? Or perhaps she’d gone straight to the Conciergerie?

  Tristan tripped over a rock and jumped, imagining it had been a skull. “Dewhurst, I’ve had enough. Where are you taking us?”

  When Dewhurst didn’t answer, Tristan froze. “I won’t take another step until you tell me where you are leading us.”

  Leroy seemed torn between following Dewhurst and taking a stand with Tristan. But finally he slipped past Tristan, head down.

  “Stay out here, if you want,” Dewhurst called as he began to move into the darkness, toward a mausoleum with a stone angel on top. “But then you won’t see if Alex made it out or not.”

  Swearing, Tristan followed, stopping short when Dewhurst tapped on the large stone sealing the entrance to the mausoleum. Tristan, Leroy, and Dewhurst stared at the stone. Then Dewhurst tapped it again.

  “They’re dead,” Tristan muttered. “They can’t answer.”

  “Citoyen,” Leroy began, his voice full of concern.

  But then the stone slid against the base of the mausoleum, and a sliver of darkness became visible.

  Tristan took a step back. It was foolish to fear spirits. He didn’t believe in the supernatural, but neither was he eager to see who lay inside the grave.

  “Tristan!” Alexandra stepped out of the mausoleum. “Hurry inside!”

  His heart clenched so painfully he almost bent double. She was safe. She was free. He hadn’t lost her. “Alexandra!” His voice was hoarse with emotion. His throat tight and his legs gone suddenly weak. He reached for her, touching her, pulling her hard against him.

  Dewhurst moved behind them, grumbling as there was really not room for three. Tristan didn’t care. He had her in his arms again. Finally, Alexandra extricated herself. “I must push the stone back.”

  He helped her, and then they were alone in the passage with only the flickering candlelight. He cupped her face and kissed her, then looked down at her, knowing the chances he would lose her only increased going forward.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

  He shook his head. This was no time to tell her he’d just realized he was in love with her.

  Seventeen

  Tristan pulled Alex into his arms again, his hold so tight, the little remaining air she had was squeezed out of her lungs.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he said into her hair.

  She could barely see him. She’d brought only a weak candle with her to the passage. They’d lit torches in the adjacent chamber, not wanting to risk any light seeping under the stone entrance in case a soldier was patrolling the cemetery.

  “I’m far too clever for Robespierre,” she said. His tone possessed more emotion than she could allow herself to feel at the moment. She feared she would break into tears of fatigue and fear. She’d been afraid she might never see him again, and waiting for him to come to the cemetery, knowing he might not come at all, had been exhausting. But he was here now. They had this night, and she would not think about the future or the danger they faced in the days to come.

  “Of course, you are.” He kissed her neck, causing warmth to flow through her. “But that was too close.”

  She took his hand. “Let me take you in to the others.” She started toward the antechamber, but he resisted. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Are there...Is that where the dead are laid?”

  “It would be, but there aren’t any dead there now. We moved them months ago in case we had need of shelter.”

  “How macabre.”

  “Exactly.”

  She knocked on the second stone slab, and it slid open, revealing a small huddle of people bathed in torchlight. Tristan surveyed the faces, accounting for everyone.

  “How did you manage to escape?”

  Ffoulkes shrugged. “Robespierre’s men barged in. Alex pulled the cord to ring the bell in the attic, then took the hidden staircase up herself. We were all gone before the soldiers had finished searching the ground floor.”

  “What I want to know is how Robespierre knew where to find us,” Dewhurst said. He crouched in a corner, his expression dark. “If we have a traitor among us, I say we kill him now.” He gave Tristan a menacing look.

  “I think I’m to blame,” Alexandra said. “Ffoulkes must be right. When Chevalier and I were at the Tuileries, the guards who spotted me climbing out a window recognized me.”

  “They did not see Chevalier. One ran to fetch the others and Chevalier hit the other from behind. But he saw me. He must have known who I was.”

  Dewhurst grunted, looking annoyed that he didn’t have a reason to strangle Tristan.

  Because of her career on the stage, she was not as anonymous as she might have hoped. She’d hoped the dark that night coupled with costumes, stage makeup, and wigs would have made her impossible to identify. But she’d been wrong and should have realized she could be identified and the house, even though in Hastings’s name, invaded.

  “We’re all here now,” Ffoulkes said, changing the subject. “And I propose we move forward with the plan.”

  “We are hiding in a cemetery,” Tristan said. “We are in no position to undertake a mission as big as freeing the little boy.”

  “I disagree,” Ffoulkes said. “We strike now while their attention is on finding Alex and trying to discover what her mission in the Tuileries might have been. Not to mention, Chevalier, you were seen in her company more than once and she was discovered climbing out of your office window. You are no longer a free man. You must hide like the rest of us.” Ffoulkes waited for Tristan to object, but Tristan sat back, seeming to have accepted this conclusion. Alex took his hand, and he laced his fingers with hers.

  “But you are correct in one thing,” Montagne interrupted. “We cannot li
ve in my mausoleum. It lacks the comforts to which I’ve become accustomed. Therefore, I propose we make our way, in small groups, to my pied-à-terre.”

  Honoria was nodding her head now, as though in agreement.

  “It’s not far from our previous quarters, on the Boulevard du Temple. No one has taken possession of it, and there’s more than enough room for all of us. Of course, it cannot appear to be occupied, so we must be careful, but I assume it will do for a day or two.”

  “Thank you, Montagne. That’s generous of you,” Ffoulkes said.

  “Before you call me generous, understand that Honoria and I will be taking the largest bedchamber and not sharing it. I’m almost glad Robespierre found the house, so I no longer have to sleep on that pallet in the attic.”

  “Now that the important matters have been settled”—Ffoulkes said wryly—“this is what I propose. We travel in small groups in the morning to Montagne’s pied-à-terre. That way we don’t risk being caught after curfew. Montagne will tell us the most unobtrusive way to enter the residence. We sleep and eat and prepare for our mission. Dewhurst, you are to provide transportation in the city and once we’re outside. How much time do you need?”

  He shrugged. “Everything is ready. I only need to tell our men where to be and when.”

  “Good. Alex, you will be climbing the Temple. Do you have all you need?”

  “I have special shoes in my trunk with the costumes. I wasn’t able to take them.”

  “And I don’t have my forgery supplies,” Honoria said. “I made all the passes and passports, but they are hidden in the attic.”

  “So one of us must return to the attic to collect the papers and the shoes. I will do that.” Ffoulkes looked at Montagne. “You and Alex have mapped the secret passages and your route?”

  “We’re ready,” Alexandra said.

  “And we are only rescuing the boy?” Tristan asked. “Not the little princess?”

  Everyone exchanged looks before Alexandra nodded. “Just the king.”

  Tristan opened his mouth to ask why, but the way everyone was avoiding looking at him made him close it again. There was something the league wasn’t telling him. A separate plot to rescue Marie-Thérèse? He wouldn’t put it past them.

  Ffoulkes tapped his chin, seeming to consider what else must be done. “I will discuss with Citoyen Leroy his role. If he agrees and I am able to retrieve what we need from the attic, can we act tomorrow night?”

  The group exchanged looks and nodded. Alex glanced at Tristan, and her throat tightened. “What about Chevalier? If he’s in hiding, is it safe for him to present himself at the Temple as an agent of Robespierre?”

  “I thought of that.” Ffoulkes rubbed a hand down his face. He looked as though he hasn’t slept for several days. “As Chevalier is so close to Robespierre, I do not think Robespierre will want to publicize his suspicions until he’s able to speak with Chevalier. That’s another reason we must act now. As time goes on and Chevalier’s disappearance must be explained, Robespierre will have no choice but to publicly condemn him. But I doubt the guards at the Temple will have any reason to suspect him.”

  “And if you are wrong?” Tristan asked.

  “Then I suppose we all go to the guillotine.” Ffoulkes looked at each of them in turn. “Are you willing to risk it?”

  Every single person, save Tristan and Leroy, gave an enthusiastic aye.

  “Dewhurst, tell us about the arrangements after we’ve freed the king.”

  Dewhurst moved forward, taking Ffoulkes’s place. “I will drive one conveyance and Ffoulkes the other. Montagne, Miss Blake, Chevalier, and Leroy are with me. We’ll exit the north gate, travel to Calais, and take one of our ships to London. Our papers will identify us as farmers from Normandy, and we’ll be in a cart that has recently been used to transport produce. Once Ffoulkes retrieves the passports, you can study your new identity so you answer to it at the gate.”

  “That’s not what I agreed to,” Montagne argued. “I want to travel with the king.”

  “You are a marquis and might be recognized as such. Do you want to put the boy in jeopardy?” Ffoulkes demanded.

  Montagne pressed his lips together and sat back, obviously not pleased but concerned with the king above all else.

  Dewhurst looked at Alex and Ffoulkes. “You two will take the second conveyance, a carriage, along with the king. Ffoulkes will play your husband and the king your son,” he said to Alex. “You’ll exit the west gate and change horses and conveyances at the posting houses I have noted on the map.” He patted a pocket where he had secured the maps. “Then you’ll make haste to cross the Austrian border and take the king to his family there. No one must see the boy. It’s best if he says nothing and does not leave the carriage when others are around. We do not want what happened with the royal family in Varenne to happen to us.”

  Alex waved a hand. “I think I am smarter than Louis XVI. We’ll be careful, and we’ll see His Majesty safely to Austria.”

  “Wait a moment.” The conversation continued, but Tristan pulled her back slightly. “You are traveling to Austria?”

  “Someone has to take the king, and it makes sense for a young boy to be traveling with his mother and father. Honoria is far too pretty. She’ll attract attention. Montagne would also insist on traveling with her, and he might be recognized as the marquis. Undoubtedly, the king, who knew Montagne before, would be more comfortable with him, but we can’t risk it. They go to London. I go to Austria.”

  “And then where?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll travel with the king’s party to Vienna. Surely they need actresses in their theaters.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and she knew what he was thinking. Tonight was their last night together. Tomorrow they would separate, possibly forever. But if she thought he might offer her tender words or beg her to come to him in London, she was wrong. He released her hand and sat back, seeming to pay rapt attention to the discussion. Alexandra didn’t know why she should feel so disappointed.

  IT WAS BARELY EIGHT in the morning when Alexandra and Honoria arrived at Montagne’s pied-à-terre. “This really is the perfect place,” Alex said. “I’ve walked the Boulevard du Temple hundreds of times and never even noticed it.”

  “Wait until you see the interior,” Honoria said, leading Alex through a gate and into a small garden that had grown quite wild, but had probably been lovely when tended. It was lovely still, if untidy and shadowy. But the overgrowth served their purposes, and Alex was glad to slip under the cover the gloom provided.

  Montagne and Leroy were already inside. The locksmith had agreed to the plan and his part in it, seemingly without reservation. Alex didn’t think she would have been so eager. But she hadn’t spent months in La Force either. Leroy was grateful for his rescue.

  Ffoulkes had gone to the safe house, and Tristan and Dewhurst would arrive later, after Dewhurst secured the transportation for the night.

  “Nothing to do now but wait,” Montagne said as Honoria went to stand beside him. “I, for one, plan to sleep for a few hours. If I’d known I’d be spending the night in that mausoleum, I would have furnished it.”

  Alex was not deceived. Laurent and Honoria would probably not be sleeping in the marquis’s bed—at least not right away—but no one knew what tomorrow would bring. She was tired as well, but someone must keep an eye on Leroy, so she volunteered to wait in the salon that opened onto the garden for the others to arrive.

  The salon possessed chairs upholstered in cream and blue. They did not look comfortable, but Leroy promptly fell asleep in one. Alex paced to keep awake. She hadn’t slept well either. She tried to lean against Tristan, but he had not been able to settle all night. She ended up trying to sleep propped up against a cold stone wall.

  About an hour later, Ffoulkes made his silent entrance. Alex had been watching for him, else she wouldn’t have seen him. He nodded at the sleeping Leroy. “Are you on guard duty?”

  �
�Yes. Dewhurst and Chevalier haven’t arrived yet.”

  Ffoulkes pulled a stack of papers from his waistcoat and laid them on a table. “I imagine Montagne and Miss Blake went straight to bed.”

  “I can hardly blame them. If all does not go as planned tonight—”

  Ffoulkes lifted a finger to his lips. “Don’t even think there’s a possibility of failure. We will succeed. We have to.” He reached into his coat pocket and removed the slippers she’d described to him the night before. “Are these what you need?”

  She took them. “These are perfect. I saved them from the days I traveled in the troupe. They are what all the rope walkers use to keep their feet from slipping. In what state did you find the house?”

  “Ransacked. Mattresses slashed. Cupboards left open and all the dishes smashed.”

  “Did they discover the attic?”

  “They did, but they must have exhausted most of their energy by then. It had been searched but not vandalized. Of course, the soldiers didn’t find our hidden compartments. I moved some of the materials to another location and brought these here.”

  Alex knew better than to ask for any details, but she suspected it might be the location Mackenzie or the Pimpernel were using to hide in Paris.

  “Why don’t you find a room and get some rest,” Ffoulkes suggested. “I’ll watch Leroy. I need to speak with Dewhurst as soon as he arrives at any rate.”

  “Are you sure?” But she had already found a large jug and was on her way to the fountain in the garden to fill it. She disliked wearing the same clothes for days, but she could tolerate it if she had a chance to wash.

  Water in hand, she found a small bedchamber that was still bright, despite the curtains being drawn. She would have liked to open them so the sun flooded in, but she contented herself with the slivers of sunlight and the little warmth the winter sun provided. Alex stripped and used the dusty linens she found in a clothespress to wash her body. Then she washed her undergarments and laid them over chairs to dry.