by Shana Galen
Next she climbed into the chilly bed. The sheets smelled musty, but they were clean, and it felt good to lie on a soft mattress, her head cushioned by a pillow. She woke when the door opened, her hand immediately grasping the knife she’d placed under her pillow in case she needed it. But it was only Tristan at the door.
Only Tristan who made her heart thunder when she saw him. Only Tristan who made her forget to breathe.
He peered inside, and spotting her in the bed, moved inside and closed the door.
Alex released the knife. “I wondered when you would arrive.”
He looked for a place to sit, but seeing only chairs strewn with damp garments, sat on the edge of the bed. “Dewhurst dragged me halfway around the city.”
“Was that wise?”
“It was unavoidable, and we stayed clear of the Conciergerie and the Tuileries. He’s speaking with Ffoulkes now.”
She eyed the sunlight filtering through the curtains. “We have several hours until dark. Do you want to join me?”
His gaze settled on her bare shoulders. “To sleep?”
“If you like.”
His eyes darkened. “Are you naked under those sheets?”
“Come in and find out.”
Eighteen
She was naked under the sheets, her slim body smooth and soft to his touch. He’d undressed as well, and the feel of her body sliding against his was almost more than he could take. He gritted his teeth and forced his hands to move slowly, to explore. They had a couple of hours, at least. There was no need to rush.
He palmed her small breast, the nipple pebbling against his hand. Moving under the sheets, he took the hard bud in his mouth and sucked, causing her to moan and arch. She smelled like the usual heady mixture of spring flowers, and he kissed her skin from neck to navel, making her giggle and writhe and her flesh react with goosepimples. Finally, he kissed the pale hair between her legs, licking down until he tasted the essence of her. Her body moved more frantically now, seeking release, but he had control and prolonged her pleasure as long as he could. When she bucked and cried out, he flipped her over, lifted her hips and plunged into her. She cried out again, her sex clenching around him, still in the throes of climax. He thrust deep and hard, his knees trembling as the pleasure swirled through him. Finally, he withdrew and spent himself on a discarded piece of linen. With a groan, he collapsed and pulled her against him, her back to his chest.
She murmured something, but he was already half asleep. He hoped to God that Dewhurst and Ffoulkes were watching for revolutionaries because he could not have remained awake even if he’d had a pistol to his temple.
He woke an hour or so later, his hand on Alexandra’s belly, feeling the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of it. She was still sleeping, and he had to resist the urge to clutch her tighter. Tomorrow they would either be dead, in prison, or on their way to different countries.
Could he allow her to leave him?
Could he allow himself to tell her he wanted her?
Ever since the loss of his parents and the loss of his innocence at the hands of the Duc du Mérignac, Tristan had avoided vulnerability. He dared not attach himself to anyone or anything for fear it might be taken away. When he made love with a woman, he kept his distance, not looking her in the eye, leaving when the act was done.
He’d tried these tactics with Alexandra, but she’d managed to make him care for her anyway. Now he had a sick, churning feeling in his belly every time he thought about losing her. This was exactly why he’d kept to himself all these years, working hard for the revolution and not pursuing relationships. He knew what it felt like to lose the people he cared most about. He’d never wanted to feel that pain again.
But as she stirred and turned to face him, burrowing her cheek against his chest, Tristan knew it was too late. The pain was a foregone conclusion. Somehow he would survive it.
“I don’t ever want to get out of bed again,” she murmured sleepily. “Montagne may be an arrogant arse, but he has excellent taste. This is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.”
“Perhaps because I’m in it.” He ran a hand over her soft hair, ruffling it slightly.
“I won’t argue.” She sighed, then looked up at him. “I suppose I have to rise soon. Ffoulkes will want to go over everything, and I should have Montagne show me the map one more time.”
“I wish you didn’t have to do this. It’s so dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” She ran a finger over the scar on his jaw. “All I must do is climb the Temple. Once I’m in, it will be easy. You have the more difficult task.”
He didn’t agree, but there was certainly no guarantee he would even be admitted or that the guards would believe his lies. “You know that if even one part of this plan goes awry, we are doomed.”
“Then we make certain we don’t fail. We are the king’s last hope.”
“I never thought I would risk my life for a noble.”
“I never thought I would trust a revolutionary.”
He propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her. “You trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Because you have no choice.”
“I always have a choice.” She feathered his hair back from his forehead. “The question is whether you trust me.”
“If anyone can climb the Temple, it’s you. I’ve seen you on the roofs—”
She put a finger over his lips. “That is not what I mean.”
His eyes searched hers.
“I mean, do you believe I won’t betray you?” she asked. “Do you believe I care for you? That I’ll protect you?”
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, either, but I believe you will. I know you will.”
“I trust you,” he said.
She lifted a brow. “Prove it.”
“How?”
She rose, pushing him back on the pillow until she was looking down at him. And then he understood. Would he trust her to take the lead in bed, as she’d trusted him to do?
She leaned down to kiss him, moving over him. When he lifted his arms to hold her, she grasped his wrists, slid her hands to his fingers, and twined her fingers with his. He waited for the panic to seize him, for his chest to feel as though a vise tightened around it, for his breath to grow short and his throat to close.
None of that happened. Her skin was silky soft against his, her mouth tantalizing as she kissed him. And when she straddled him, the heat of her was impossibly arousing.
She looked down at him, clearly asking for permission as she settled his hard member at her opening. “Oui?” she whispered.
“God, yes.”
“You’re not uncomfortable?”
“I’m impatient.”
“You French are so impatient.”
He chuckled as she threw his own words back at him. His chuckle turned to a groan when she lowered her hips slightly, taking him slowly inside. He attempted to thrust deeper, but she was definitely in control and thwarted him.
“Will you trust me to give you pleasure?”
His fingers clenched around hers, and he nodded his head. She lowered herself farther, so he entered her inch by tortuous inch. Finally, he was sheathed to the hilt, his breath coming fast, his brow beaded with sweat.
Then she began to move, and his vision swam. She knew just the rhythm, just the depth he needed. Looking up at her, he felt no fear of dominance. No memories of the night the duc had taken his revenge returned. Tristan only saw Alexandra, her lovely body moving over his.
“I want to touch you,” he said, and her fingers released his hands. He slid his palms over her hips, loving the feel of her undulating under his touch. Then he dipped across her waist and up to cup the gentle swell of her breasts. When his thumbs grazed her nipples, she caught her breath and her movements faltered. He felt her clench around him and moved his hand back down her torso until he slid his fingers between their bodies. She arched back, g
iving him access, and he found the slick, hard nub of her pleasure.
He pressed his thumb to it, moved in circles, and her hips began to thrust more rapidly. She was impossibly beautiful. Why had he feared this? She wasn’t dominating him. She was loving him, giving herself to him so completely. Her body tightened, and he felt her clench him, just as her head fell back and a long, soft moan escaped her lips.
Before she could completely recover, he rolled them over so he was once again on top. Now he looked into her eyes. He slid in and out of her. He was loving her as thoroughly as she had done him. Her eyes were hazy from pleasure, her body still bucking with her release, but she met his gaze and held it.
Tristan realized that in his efforts not to be dominated, he in turn, had dominated. Only now were they truly equal, each taking and giving with trust and passion and...did he dare to think more?
He was close to climax and he drove deep into her, making her moan with pleasure. “Yes. Don’t stop.”
He drove into her again, and she cried out in pleasure. He never wanted to leave her, but she trusted him to protect her. He pulled out, spilling his seed outside her body, then collapsing beside her, out of breath and shaken.
The way he felt with her...He did not know what to do with these feelings. Hold them tightly or let them go as he must let her go.
Time and time again, he must let her go.
She rose first, taking the cloth he’d used earlier to clean herself. She moved about the room naked and unself-conscious. She was so lovely that in another time and another place he would have insisted she never dress.
She climbed back into bed, but sat on her knees, looking down at him. “If I lie down, I will never rise again.”
“Come here,” he said, half expecting her to object. She didn’t, and when she scooted closer, he pulled her down for a kiss. “Did I prove I trust you?”
“More than. In fact, if you keep kissing me, I’ll make you prove it again.”
“Little wanton.”
“I don’t deny it.” She looked down, and when her eyes met his again, she looked serious. “If anything should happen tonight, I want you to know—”
Now he put a finger over her lips. “Don’t say it.” If she loved him, and God, he hoped she would tell him she loved him, he couldn’t hear it now or he’d never be able to go through with the mission tonight. “You don’t need to say it.”
“If I never get another opportunity?”
“Don’t think that way. And besides, I already know.”
She arched a brow. “Do you?”
“I’m the best lover you’ve ever had.”
She laughed, breaking the serious mood. “If it wasn’t true, I’d hit you. And I thought Montagne was arrogant.”
Someone pounded on the door. “Get dressed and get out here before Ffoulkes comes in and drags you out.” It was Dewhurst, sounding as surly and rude as always.
“Five minutes,” Alexandra called.
“Two,” Dewhurst muttered, then clomped away.
They both washed and dressed, then joined the rest in the salon. The doors to the garden were closed and the room was cold, as no one had wanted to risk lighting a fire in the hearth.
Tristan was the last to arrive in the salon, and all eyes in the somber group turned to look at him.
“This is it then,” Ffoulkes said. “We either prove ourselves or die trying.”
ALEX WAITED UNTIL SHE was certain no guards were patrolling this side of the Temple, then scurried through the small group of trees where she’d been hiding. At the small wooden fence that surrounded what she supposed was a vegetable garden, she paused and removed her boots. The night was cold but not windy, for which she was thankful. Still she might have wished for her cloak and mittens, but neither were practical for what she was about to do.
She tugged the slippers over her feet. They were thin and flexible, much like what a ballet dancer would wear, and she made sure her hat was pulled low over her hair. The sun had gone down, but if the last rays glinted off her hair, she would too easily be seen against the shadowed hulk of the Temple.
She’d borrowed breeches from Montagne. They came to her ankles but were snug enough that the cord she’d tied about her waist held them securely. For once she was glad of the marquis’s love of fashion, which included tight, tight breeches.
Alex knew Montagne and Leroy watched from the tree-lined park and she gave them a quick wave before running across the open field between the Temple and the garden. She pressed herself to the wall of the Temple and looked up. About three feet above her was a stone receptacle that collected the rain water from the attached drain pipe. That pipe ended on the uppermost tower. If she could reach the top of the receptacle, she could shimmy up the pipe until she gained the small walkway that surrounded the steep triangular towers.
She’d only seen this side of the Tower from a distance, and she’d hoped she could jump and reach the receptacle, but now she saw it was too high. She would have to climb the bricks, until she could climb on top of the receptacle. No easy task, especially when a guard might round the corner at any moment and see her. She hoped Tristan had sought to gain entrance by now and was keeping the guards busy.
Taking a deep breath, Alex reached up and found a handhold in the ancient bricks of the Temple. She found another with her other hand and braced her feet against a pipe that, from the smell, presumably emptied a garderobe. The pipe was too thin to support her full weight, but she used it to push herself off the ground. Her biceps immediately began to burn as she pulled herself up. Her legs stayed steady against the pipe, but she wobbled as she sought another handhold.
Finally, she found one and, with a grunt, pulled herself higher. A couple more feet and she could climb on top of the receptacle. She would not look up at the long climb she had ahead of her. One step at a time. She sought the next handhold, grasped it, but her hands were moist with sweat now. Her fingers slipped on the stone and she began to lose her grip. She slid downward, landing hard on the earth below.
TRISTAN GAVE THE COMMANDER of the guard at the Temple his most imperious glare. He conjured Montagne in his head and added a look down his nose for good measure. His hands trembled, and he clenched them behind his back. “Citoyen, it is not your place to question why I’ve returned so soon. Citoyen Robespierre has sent me. That is all you need know.”
“Is Citoyen Robespierre displeased?”
“If he is, you will hear it from the man himself. I am merely here to look in on Citoyen Capet once again. As you see on the papers in your hand, I have permission from the highest levels to be here.” Now was when he would see if Mademoiselle Blake’s forgery was worth anything.
The guard looked down at the papers again. “I will fetch Citoyen Simon.”
“Good.” Tristan watched him move away, his fingers aching from the tight grip. Ffoulkes had told him Simon would be away from the Temple. He hadn’t said how he planned to accomplish that feat. Tristan had assumed another member of the League or the Pimpernel himself would take care of that matter. But it looked as though that effort had failed. Tristan wasn’t prepared to give up yet. The mission was not lost because Simon was present. It would just be made more difficult.
Was Alexandra inside yet? Montagne and Leroy? He didn’t think so. It felt like hours, but he had only been here minutes. He had to keep the guards busy so they were not inclined to wander.
“Have you had enough to eat lately?” he asked the small contingent standing about nearby. “What about your stores of wine? This has been a cold winter.”
The men were eager to give him a list of necessities, and he pretended to be vastly interested, promising them everything they needed and more.
Finally, the captain returned. He did not look pleased, but Tristan’s grip finally lessened slightly. Simon was not with him.
“Citoyen Simon has gone out and not yet returned, Citoyen Chevalier.”
“I see. Does he often leave his charge like this?”
&nb
sp; The captain exchanged glances with his men. “Not often, citoyen. He has taken his wife. I am certain the matter must be important. Perhaps a visit to family. They cannot have visitors here, you understand.”
“I do.”
The captain shoved the papers back into Tristan’s hand. “You will have to return when Citoyen Simon is present.”
“Why? Surely you can show me to the boy’s chamber.”
“Citoyen Simon doesn’t allow anyone contact with the boy unless he is present.”
“As much respect as I have for Citoyen Simon, I’m afraid I must insist.”
“And I’m afraid I must refuse you, Citoyen Chevalier. Good evening.”
Nineteen
This was her third try, and if she didn’t reach the receptacle this time, it wouldn’t matter if she did so later. She’d wasted far too much time and all but broken her neck on the last fall. She had to hurry.
Alexandra found the now-familiar handholds again and levered herself up. This was the point at which she’d lost her footing the previous time, so she was careful to find a wide brick. She’d rubbed her hands with dirt to keep them dry. Now as she moved upward, she let out a slow breath of relief that she held on. Just another couple of feet and she would grab the receptacle. She could rest a moment and then begin the climb up the drainpipe.
She was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted, but she put it all out of her mind. She could rest later, eat and drink later. The king was all that mattered.
She inched up, grasping at a small handhold and searching for another just as quickly. Her hand slipped, but fortunately, she caught a jutting brick and held on. Heart pounding, she reached for the receptacle. Her feet dangled for just a moment and then she had it and climbed on top.
Alex caught her breath and shook her arms to ease the burn. She wrapped both hands around the drainpipe and pulled on it, testing its strength. It was solid and did not pull away from the stone.
“Here we go.”
She began to inch up the pipe as one might a rope, arms pulling with all her strength, followed by knees. This action was familiar to her, and she felt more comfortable. Of course, the Temple was much higher than any tree she’d climbed. She had to pause halfway to the top of the Temple and rest, though it was not much of a rest when she was using every muscle she could to hold on to the drain pipe.
