Was that why she kissed him? London wasn’t sure. She found her lips against Denis’ and her body pressed hard up against him.
Shock held him rigid for a moment. Then he gathered her up in his arms and kissed her with a passion that was pure Remi, hot and hard and driven. After that, London could deny him nothing.
She didn’t want to.
Chapter Seventeen
In the mid-afternoon, a thunderstorm turned the sky dark. Rain lashed at the walls of the barn. It was warm in the hay, though, and comfortable. Denis felt no desire to move a single inch, not when Lucienne laid against him. She was warm and pliant, with a scent so heavenly his heart pounded each time he caught a hint of it. The softness of her flesh was not limited to her face. She was a heavenly creature. A heaven-sent one, surely.
Lucienne stroked her fingers over his chest. “We should leave soon,” she breathed.
“Soon,” he agreed, but did not move.
She laughed and slapped his chest. “You are without shame. More, Denis?”
He turned her so she rested over him and he could examine her face and absorb one more time the lines and curves. He caught a strand of the deep red hair in his fingers and tucked it behind her ear and over her shoulder. “You really came back here for me?”
Lucienne sighed. “I did not know that until I said it, but yes. I did. You asked me to save your children, Denis. This is how I can save them. How you can.”
“By giving up every possession I own…” he muttered.
“Not everything. Only everything you do not truly need…and that is quite a lot. The poor people of Sauveterre need it more than you do. They are starving, Denis. Starving and cold and sick from both. You can make such a huge difference in their lives.”
“And this will save me and my family?”
“You and your children and Carole.”
He turned his head away. “How can I bring myself to marry her now?” he muttered, dread settling into his chest.
Lucienne touched his cheek, drawing his gaze back to her. “I cannot stay here. I must go back, and you must marry Carole as you intended. That is how all this will resolve itself.”
“Even though the marriage will be a lie?”
“Your children will not be a lie. You will love them, Denis. You will do anything for them. You already have. You listened to me speak of the future and time travel, and you believe me, because you already want to protect them.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I do.” Aimée, Edgard and Micheline. He ran the names through his mind. He would never forget them.
With a jolt that jerked him into sitting up and dislodging Lucienne, he put together random thoughts. “He…Remi…that man out there. He is…is he me?”
Lucienne sat up and plucked a piece of straw from her hair, which tumbled down her back in pleasing waves and curls. He sensed her caution as she said slowly, “He is sort-of you, Denis. It is complicated.”
Denis picked up her hand. “And he came back here to save his children, too, didn’t he? You and he are working to ensure they live.”
Lucienne’s gaze met his. Her nod was infinitesimal.
She stood, brazenly naked and glowing in the low light from the storm. She shook out her hair, bent and picked up her linen shift and dropped it over her head.
Denis was caught by the elegance and gracefulness of her movements. He sat and watched her dress, absorbed by her movements, until she lowered herself to the straw in front of him. She pulled her hair back over to the front of her shoulder and presented her back. “Would you mind fastening my dress?”
Denis picked up the strings and drew them, tightening the bodice. “You did not put your corset back on. Not that you need it,” he added, his gaze dropping to her small waist.
“I won’t need any of these clothes when I return,” Lucienne admitted softly.
His heart squeezed and jumped. “I will never see you again, will I?” His voice came out hoarse.
She turned to him. “Yes, you will. In the future.”
Denis caught his breath. “In the future, when the children are in greatest peril…” he breathed.
“They will not be in any peril at all, if you can bring yourself to do what I have asked you to do,” Lucienne said. Her eyes were grave.
Denis took in another breath. Then another. “I will do what you say.” And in that instant, he committed himself to the promise completely. “If only to see you once more.”
Lucienne gave him a lovely smile. “You will,” she assured him, yet she seemed sad.
She held out her hand. “Up you come. You must get dressed. See, the rain is easing. We will walk you home, Remi and I. You can say truthfully you were caught out in the rainstorm and took shelter in a barn. If the servants find straw in your clothing, they will not wonder what you have been up to.”
A chuckle rose in his chest. He squashed it. “Then you will leave,” he said flatly.
She rested her hand against his cheek. He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm.
“I promise you, Denis. You will see me again.”
He nodded. “I believe you.”
Lucienne kissed him once more. “Now, let’s get you dressed. Then I will introduce you to Remi.”
It was the strangest journey Denis had undertaken, the short walk home through damp fields.
Lucienne walked on one side of him. The man who he would become, yet was not really him, walked on the other side.
“The thieves won’t bother anyone else, ever again,” Remi assured him, as they reached the road and Denis looked to the far left, toward the village.
“And when their bodies are found?” Denis asked, studying Remi’s face. Is this how he appeared to people? It was unsettling to see Remi move with such confidence, his hand on the hilt of the great sword.
“They won’t be found,” Remi said, his tone casual.
They moved out upon the road, where the going was easier. They still needed to step around puddles and over rivulets of water running into the ditches on either side of the road.
The chateau was visible, ahead, when another thought struck Denis and brought him to a standstill in the middle of the road.
Remi and Lucienne turned back to him.
Denis pointed at Remi. “Me, but not me…you are…your children are the ones who perished.”
Remi glanced at Lucienne. Lucienne’s eyes glittered. A single tear slid down her face. “Yes,” she whispered.
Remi swallowed, as Lucienne cried. He looked at Denis. “You can save yours,” he said, his voice rough.
Denis nodded. “I will,” he said. “No matter what.”
Remi nodded back.
They left Denis at the gate and walked back down the road silently. London’s heart was still squeezing.
“We made him what he becomes,” Remi said. His tone was pain-filled.
“Yes,” London whispered and suddenly, she was crying again. “I can’t stand it, Remi. Please, can we leave? Right now? I want to hold you and Neven and the children and…and go back and hug Jason, too. I just want to go home.”
Remi turned to her and held her. He trembled. “Yes, let’s go home,” he breathed. He brought his arms around her, two iron bands.
She flexed her knees and jumped.
As she scanned the timescape, looking for the bookmark where Neven waited for them, London felt the yank of another bookmark, near to him. She tried to ignore it and reach for the place where Neven was. The other bookmark boomed in her mind, drowning out everything else.
London fought the pull, only it was too strong. She fell toward it, taking Remi with her…
The roar of angry people, thousands of them, registered like the boom of canon. London flinched and clapped her hands to her ears.
Remi’s arms tightened around her waist. “God, not here!” he breathed, horror thick in his voice.
London looked about. They stood in a narrow alley between two tall buildings with white walls. Beyond the alley was a to
wn square London recognized. “This is Sauveterre-Saint-Denis!” she whispered. The whisper was lost beneath the roar of the crowd gathered in the square. They surrounded a high platform and on the platform was a device London had only ever seen in illustrations.
It was a guillotine.
Men were working on the construction at the bottom of the guillotine, surrounding it. Five more official looking men stood at the back of the platform, observing the proceedings.
One was Brusard. He looked smugly pleased with himself, as he watched the men working on the contraption.
London couldn’t see beyond the workers’ backs and legs. Her horror built anyway, because she suspected that—
She sheered away from the awful thought. “Remi?” She gripped his satin coat and shook him.
Remi stared at the high platform, horror and pain in his eyes. “Why here, London? God, why here?”
“Remi!” She caught at his face and tried to turn it toward her. “What is happening?”
He didn’t look at her. It was like trying to move a mountain. His gaze stayed on the platform. “That is my father up there,” he whispered. “I can’t watch, London. Not again.” He swallowed. “Please…” he whispered.
London hammered at his chest. “Look at me! Look…at…me! Now, Remi!”
The crowd screamed. A dreadful squeaking of wood and rope sounded. Her heart hammered. She would not look, either. She couldn’t.
Remi’s chin swung around. His gaze settled on her face. “Jump. Now,” he begged.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Not when I’m rushed. I have to think it through. Remi, no, look at me.” A horrid whistling sounded.
London reached up and held his face. She used all her strength to keep his gaze on her and not let him glance to his left, where the guillotine dropped.
The sigh of satisfaction and…yes, pleasure, too…it rose in the air and sickened her.
London couldn’t help but glance toward the platform. Her heart was racing with a hard, sick beat.
Movement in the closest coach to the alley caught London’s eye. She stared, horrified, as Carole turned her gaze away from the platform, her hand over her face in despair.
Their gazes met. Carole’s eyes widened and her hand dropped from her mouth.
London realized what Carole would see—her husband, in the arms of another woman, who held his face with intimate familiarity.
I first saw her ten years ago. I saw her in Denis’ arms. While his father was being executed, he was off in an alley, holding her.
Carole’s voice came back to London now. Her cold voice describing a long ago wounding.
The woman in the coach raised her parasol and rapped on the roof of the coach. She cried out something London did not hear. The crowd roared approval as another hapless victim was marched up the steps to his execution.
The coach jolted into motion and moved out of sight.
London closed her eyes, a moan rising in her throat. She dropped her hands from Remi’s face, slid them under his arms and held tight, bent her knees and jumped.
The main room of the private apartment formed around them. London released Remi and staggered to the low sofa. She dropped onto the cushions and hung her head, hyperventilating.
“What the fuck?” Neven breathed, coming into the room in a rush. “Remi, Christ, you look like… What the hell happened?”
London couldn’t catch her breath. She leaned on her hands, listening to her heart pound in her head. Black flecks danced in her vision, as she whooped, her breath shallow even though all she could think of was the need to breathe.
“London,” Remi croaked.
A hand on her back. She sensed Neven crouching beside her so he could see her face. Her vision was blurred, the flecks growing thicker.
“Let go of the tension in your gut and your chest and take a deep breath,” Neven said, his voice soft and deep. Calming. “One breath is all it takes to unlock everything, but you must will that breath to come. You must let go of everything damming it up. Whatever it was, we’ll deal with it, London. Just take the breath. Let go and breathe.”
London’s arms weakened. Neven raised her shoulders and rested her back against the sofa. He laid his hand on her belly, over her diaphragm. His fingers drummed on her flesh. “Feel the tension?” he said.
“What’s happening, Neven?” It was Aimée’s high voice. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She had a bad fright,” Neven said. “When she can talk, she can tell us. Help Remi, Aimée. He looks as though he would appreciate your company.”
Normal, domestic concerns. She was frightening the children.
Neven stroked her torso through the dress. “Let it go,” he breathed.
Abruptly, the tension loosened. She drew in a shuddering, great lungful of air. Air never tasted so sweet.
Neven made a soft sound of relief. He stood and kissed her temple. “Keep breathing, my love. Let me check on Remi.”
London was happy to obey. With each full breath, the dots dancing in her vision faded. Her strength returned.
Still focused upon breathing deeply and trying to will herself to relax, London turned on the sofa and put her back to the arm of it and her shoes upon the cushions. She trembled and was not in a hurry to get back on her feet.
Remi sat on the floor. From where she sat, London saw he was shaking violently, his gaze upon the floorboards. Neven kneeled beside him, a hand on his shoulder as he spoke so softly not even London could hear what he was saying.
Aimée squatted beside Remi, her expression scared.
Edgard stood near London’s sofa, his eyes—green, like his father’s—were wide. He had his thumb in his mouth.
“Edgard,” London said softly.
He looked at her, his expression bewildered.
London found the will to move. She put one foot on the floor and leaned and picked Edgard up. “It’s all right, little one. Everything will be fine. You wait and see. Sit with me and we’ll watch together, okay?”
She settled the little boy on her lap, his back against her, where he would feel her heat and solidness. London brushed his hair back, then simply held him.
After a while, his stiffness eased. He relaxed and leaned against her.
Meanwhile, Remi still shook.
“Kiss him, Neven,” London said softly. She didn’t have to speak up. Neven and Remi could both hear her perfectly well across the room, even if she whispered.
Neven glanced at her.
“Classic treatment for hysteria,” London said. “You could slap him if you prefer.” She was still weak. Speaking that much drained her. She sighed and let herself rest against the arm of the chair.
Neven shook his head. “At this point…” He lifted Remi’s face up and kissed him. Neven held nothing back when he kissed. London was familiar with the way his kisses halted her thoughts and stole her attention. It worked that way for Remi, too.
Aimée watched the two men kissing with a complacent expression, as if she had seen such things many times before. Or perhaps she was just bewildered.
Remi shuddered and gasped against Neven’s mouth. His hand came up to curl around the back of Neven’s head and hold it there.
Neven drew back. “Hey, this is medical treatment,” he complained. “That’s taking advantage of me.”
Remi gave a laugh, a soft one. It grew into a hollow, hard expression bereft of humor, as his face worked. He gripped Neven’s collar, his knuckles white, as he shook with it.
His eyes glittered. Tears. Remi had been pushed too far.
London shivered.
Remi let go of Neven and brought his knees up and held his hands over his face. “Ah…God help me,” he breathed and gave a great shiver. He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes and took in another gusty breath. He rested both arms on his knees, one on top of the other, and put his chin on them. “I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze shifting from London to Neven. He drew Aimée to him and kissed her cheek. “Most es
pecially I am sorry I scared you, little one.”
“Are you not afraid, anymore, Papa?”
“No, sweet one. I’m not scared anymore. I wasn’t scared in the first place. I was upset. That is leaving now.” He looked at Neven. “Two hundred years…and I don’t think I ever let myself mourn the arrogant bastard.” He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair. “I hated him…but I hated what they did to him, too. I couldn’t show any of it, in the days which followed. I had to be as pleased as everyone else that another Royalist had been eliminated.” He gave a great shudder. “Seeing it again…it was a shock. And it made me face what I’d blocked up inside all this time.”
“What were you doing there?” Neven breathed, shifting to glance at London.
“There was a bookmark. It was big and compulsive and I couldn’t get away from it,” London said. “It sucked me in.”
Neven rubbed his chin. “I’ve heard about such bookmarks before. They’re imperative demands to obey.”
“Yes! I couldn’t not go there. It wouldn’t let me.”
Remi sucked in another deep breath and let it out. “All evidence to the contrary, I’m glad we landed there. I apologize for the hysterics.”
Neven shook his head. “Shut up, idiot.”
Remi gave him a fond look. Then his humor faded. “Landing there…seeing that again, it reminds me of unfinished business.”
“What business?” Neven asked, faint alarm in his voice.
“Brusard,” London said. Her own voice was strained and weak.
Neven opened his mouth to protest.
“He was on the platform, Neven,” London added.
“And he was laughing,” Remi said.
“For sheer pleasure,” London finished.
Neven closed his mouth.
“Screw the timeline. I intend to deal with the man,” Remi said. “I picked up his scent in the old house. It was fresh. I can follow it from there.”
“I can jump you to the cave where he was last,” London said.
“Even better,” Remi said. “That will save time.”
“And what do you intend to do when you find him?” Neven asked.
Remi rolled his eyes. “What do you think? I will gut the bastard, watch his entrails spill upon the ground, then dance a jig in them.”
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