To Ruin a Gentleman (The Scarlet Chronicles)

by Galen, Shana

  She looked at him sharply, but the scolding words he expected didn’t come. Instead, she broke into a smile. “I didn’t like you either.”

  “And now?”

  She shrugged. “I’m still considering.”

  “Bloody hell. What does a man have to do to claim your good graces?”

  “It’s not as though you like me.” She glanced at him shyly. “Do you?”

  “I do, actually. I find I like you even more as the night has progressed.”

  “Really?” Her dark eyes glittered. “Why is that?”

  “The mud, I think.” His tone was serious but his expression full of humor. “It’s hard not to like a woman who slaps mud all over herself without a second thought.”

  “I had second thoughts. I had third ones as well, but I’d rather be dirty and alive than clean and dead.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  “I’m sure most women would feel the same. Not most women of my acquaintance, but most women with any sense of reason.”

  “The nobility is sorely lacking in reason, I fear.”

  “But not you. You tried to warn me, to warn all of us, and we didn’t listen.”

  “It’s difficult to believe the earth is round when all you see before you is flat.”

  “I wish I’d listened.”

  “And what would you have done differently?”

  “I might have questioned why so many of my footmen were ill. I might have worried at one of my quartet being absent. Surely these were warning signs for anyone looking.”

  “I didn’t see them, and I was looking.”

  “It wasn’t your household.”

  True enough, but it troubled him now that there had been signs he hadn’t seen.

  “Why do you think my servants turned against me?”

  “They didn’t all turn against you.”

  “Didn’t they? Even if they were not carrying an axe or torch, they didn’t warn me. Surely they must have known what was coming.”

  He didn’t speak because he didn’t have the answers. He lay back again and looked at the sky, now streaked with traces of pink and orange.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “There’s no need.”

  “There is. You didn’t have to help me. You could have left me in the ballroom.”

  “And what sort of gentleman would I be then?”

  “Perhaps you did act out of chivalry, but I am still grateful.”

  Hugh should have allowed her to continue with her delusions. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but his body didn’t obey the order. “It wasn’t chivalry that made me grab you.”

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know, exactly.”

  That wasn’t true. He knew exactly what it was.

  “If you didn’t like me, then why would you help me, other than chivalry?”

  “I might not have liked you, but I’m still a man.”

  She frowned and then her brow cleared. “Oh,” she said simply, her tone full of wonder.

  “You find it difficult to believe I might be attracted to you?”

  “I suppose I’m not used to thinking of myself in that manner. I’ve been in mourning for so long.”

  “And I am a brute for bringing it up.”

  “No.” She sat up, making an adorable picture as leaves clung to her disheveled hair. “I should not say this, but I am too tired to think straight. I like that you are attracted to me. When I first became a widow, I thought my life was all but over.”

  “Nonsense. You’re young and beautiful. You will marry again.”

  “It’s not marriage I miss so much.” She turned away from him, but not before he saw the flush on her cheeks. She had been a wife and was therefore no innocent. If she blushed now, it must be because her words were too forward. Which meant he understood them completely. She missed a man in her bed. At any other time this would have been welcome news to Hugh. But here in the woods, potentially surrounded by mobs of angry peasants, there was not much he could do to satisfy his lust or hers.

  “As I said, you are young. There will be other men.”

  “I think it’s a sin to want...what I want.”

  He sat and took her hand. “It’s not a sin to be human and have human needs and desires. You’ve been through an ordeal, and at a time like this, you need comfort.”

  Her gaze met his, and he realized how his words could be taken. He should squeeze her hand or kiss her knuckles and say that at least he could provide that, but he wanted more. He looked at her face, pink in the dawn, her mussed hair, and the creamy expanse of flesh exposed below her neck, and he could hardly resist. Cupping her chin, he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers.

  She was absolutely still as he kissed her, so very lightly, once, then twice. And then her hand was on the back of his neck, cupping it tightly and pulling him closer. Heat surged between them, and when their mouths met, the kiss seared them together. Frantic lips, hot, probing tongues, and nipping teeth made his senses reel. He’d kissed women before, but never like this. Nor had he ever been kissed like this.

  Suddenly, the exhaustion, the thirst, the ache in his feet didn’t matter at all. He put his arms around her and pulled her close and there was nothing in his world but the scent of apples and pine and the heat of her soft body merging with his. Hugh could think of hundreds of ways he’d like to pleasure her in that moment. He could think of even more that would be mutually pleasurable, but he pushed them all aside and grasped at whatever wits remained. Forcing himself to exercise restraint, he pulled back from her.

  The comtesse—he should probably think of her as Angelette after that kiss—stared at him with unfocused eyes so blue as to be almost violet. She gasped in a breath, her chest heaving as though she’d been running for miles.

  “I apologize,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Whatever it was, it overtook us both. We’re both exhausted and tense. We were not ourselves.”

  She gave him a long look as though to say she had been acting exactly as herself. Did she always kiss like that? Was she always so passionate?

  Not helpful thoughts, Daventry, he reminded himself.

  “It will be light in an hour or so.” She glanced at the dove-gray sky. “Do we still try for Versailles?”

  Hugh took his time before answering. Now that the sun was rising, he was reminded that he was supposed to have departed for Calais in the morning. Had his man escaped the château? Daventry had no way of knowing. He might still start for Calais, but how could he go back to England and leave her in France unprotected?

  Of course, if she refused to go, there was little he could do to force her. As he was not a relative and she was more or less an independent woman, he had no authority over her actions.

  “I would rather we start for Calais,” he said carefully. “I can secure us both passage on a packet to Dover.”

  Her brows lowered. “You want me to leave France? Run away as though I am the one who has committed a crime?”

  “It’s not safe—”

  “My friends may be dead. I owe it to them to stay and make certain those who killed them and burned my home are punished.”

  He shook his head. “You really are blind, aren’t you? Don’t you see what is happening? This is just the beginning. The lower classes have been oppressed for years. They will rise up and take their revenge by the only means available to them—blood.”

  “The king—”

  Hugh jumped to his feet. “By your own admission, the king is weak and indecisive. It may be too late for him already. It may be too late for all of you. After all, the Third Estate vastly outnumbers both the clergy and the nobility. Look at what happened in America.” He pointed in the direction he assumed was west. “Revolution is in the air, and once it takes hold, you and your precious friends will be wiped away.”

  She rose to her feet. “That may well be. And if the peasants do revolt, I can hardly blame them. I’ve seen some of the abus
es and hardships the poorest of this country have suffered, but not every member of the nobility has treated his or her tenants and servants abominably. Some of us have advocated for reform. Some of us are kind and compassionate.”

  “And you will die alongside the cruel and unfeeling.”

  Her shoulders straightened. “Then so be it. I won’t leave my friends when they need me the most. If you are for Calais, then go. I will travel to Versailles alone.”

  She lifted her skirts and marched away. Hugh watched her go, then turned and started toward what he assumed was Calais. If she wanted to die, let her die. But he had responsibilities and duties in England, and he had done what he’d promised her sister. He had tried to persuade her. There was nothing in France to keep him.

  Five

  Angelette was so angry that she’d walked for several minutes before she realized she had no idea whether she was turned in the direction of the palace or not. She had to stop and think this through, but it was difficult at the moment when she was boiling with rage inside at Daventry. She should never have kissed the simpering coward. A few shots had been fired and he fled before ever returning fire. She would not run, could not run. She might be half English, but France was her adopted country. She must warn the king and her friends and relatives. She must see them safe.

  She looked about her, but nothing in the woods surrounding them looked familiar. A similar perusal of the sky also provided no clues. She might as well be walking in circles. She had to find the road and follow it to the Palace of Versailles. That was the only way. The sun would be up in an hour or so, and she could see which way was east from the direction it rose. The palace was north of her château, and the woods Daventry had led her to were south. It stood to reason if she walked north, she would eventually find herself either at the palace or on the road to the palace. After a quick calculation, she turned herself north and began to walk.

  But now that the sky was lightening she did not have to concentrate so completely on where she stepped. She could see the roots and low-hanging limbs to avoid. She had far too much time to think about Daventry.

  She’d been right to dislike him. Why had she changed her mind? Why had she kissed him? She must have been, as he’d tactfully suggested, overwrought. But then he was overwrought as well because he’d kissed her back just as passionately. Even now the memory of that kiss made her toes curl and her cheeks heat.

  Too much time to think, indeed. She should think about what she would say to the king and queen. She should devise an explanation to give to the palace guards when she arrived in a stained bodice and petticoats. She could only hope they would believe she was indeed the Comtesse d’Avignon. She could only hope she might persuade the king to take action against the men and women who had attacked her friends and burned her house. She must persuade the king that he must act now or risk losing his country.

  And of course her thinking was nothing more than wishful. If the king would not listen to his ministers or his brothers, why would he listen to her? Why would anyone listen to her? After all, Daventry had tried to warn her, and she had ignored him and then tried to silence him. Why would the king or her friends and relatives be any different? Perhaps it was folly to stay in France. Perhaps she should have gone with Daventry.

  As though her thoughts had conjured him, he stepped out from behind a tree in front of her. She gasped and her heart jumped. “Where did you come from?”

  “I circled back around to find you.”

  Angelette took a calming breath, uncertain whether her heart pounded at the surprise of seeing him or because he was such a handsome man that seeing him could not fail to produce a quickened heartbeat and shallow breaths in her. She could not help but think of their kiss.

  That kiss.

  Angelette closed her eyes and fumbled for control. “If you think to try again and talk me into traveling to Calais with you, you are wasting your time.”

  “That’s not my purpose.” He started forward, and she forced her feet to stay rooted in place rather than shuffle back.

  “What is your purpose?”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I left you here in the woods. I’ll see you safely to the palace and then make a start for Calais.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t want to keep you from leaving the country as soon as your cowardly legs will take you away.”

  His hands went to his hips. “It’s not cowardice but practicality. I see the storm coming. Even the most foolish would take shelter when he saw the clouds overhead and heard the thunder in the distance.”

  “So I’m a fool then?”

  His hands dropped to his sides. “No. You’re loyal to your adopted country. That’s as it should be. I have no doubt I would feel much the same were we in England. I’ll take you to the king.”

  He held out his hand, but she didn’t take it this time. It seemed more dangerous to touch him than to stumble over a rock. Better to make her own way and not rely on him. After all, she’d learned men were not to be trusted. They left, just when one needed them, and though Daventry had come back, in the end he would leave as well.

  An hour later they reached the road. Angelette knew exactly where they were as she recognized the trees as well as a small brook just before the curve up ahead. As soon as she saw it her heart sank. For all the walking they had done the night before, they had not made much progress. The palace was still miles away. They were still very much in danger.

  “I suggest we walk in the woods, keeping the road in sight, until we’re closer. We can hide among the trees. The road leaves us completely exposed.”

  She nodded and followed him back into the shaded coolness of the woods. Now that she knew they had miles to go, the exhaustion she’d been trying to ignore crashed down on her. Her aching back and feet would find no relief any time soon. Daventry peered over his shoulder, giving her a questioning look, and she straightened immediately. If he suspected how tired she was, he would want to stop and give her time to rest. She knew they must continue walking. The luck they’d had since the night before wouldn’t hold out forever.

  They paused at the brook to drink, and Angelette splashed water on her face, savoring the cool wetness on her overheated cheeks. When she rose, she found Daventry studying the brook.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “It’s too deep to cross, and too wide to jump. If we cross it, we’ll be walking the rest of the way in wet, cold clothing.”

  “An unappealing option. What do you suggest?”

  He gestured to the road. “We walk on the road until we’re past it and then duck back into the woods.”

  “The problem is that the road curves on that section.” She gestured across the brook. “We won’t be able to see what’s coming or what lies ahead.”

  He gave her an approving nod. “I hadn’t realized that.”

  “We are left with the option of walking into what might be a trap or trying to make it the rest of the way with wet feet, which will surely blister and rub raw the further we go.”

  “There’s a third choice.”

  She raised her brows and motioned for him to continue. “We build a bridge across. If I can find a downed branch or limb long enough, we can lay it across the water and walk over that.”

  Angelette looked about and saw nothing that would suit their purposes. “How long do you think that will take?”

  “I think I saw something that might suit our purposes some ways back.”

  “How far back?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “That’s twenty minutes back and twenty here again. By the time we have the log in place, we’ve lost an hour, and then we assume we don’t fall off it when crossing and rendering all our efforts for naught.”

  “A man might wish you weren’t half so clever.”

  “Perhaps a man who wanted to waste time or end up soaked to the skin.” Her tone was acidic, but inside warmth
spread through her like the morning sunlight. No one had ever called her clever before. No one had ever complimented her on anything but her pretty eyes or her lovely complexion or her stylish coiffure. She’d never known she wanted to be complimented on her intelligence...until now.

  “True enough,” Daventry said with a grin. Apparently, he found her clever and amusing. In a few moments she would forget why she didn’t like him again. Calais, she reminded herself. Calais. Coward.

  But he wasn’t a coward. A coward wouldn’t have come back for her. A coward wouldn’t have risked his life to save her in the ballroom.

  “So we take the road,” she said. “And pray for the best.”

  He nodded and gestured up the rise that led to the road. “After you.”

  At the top of the rise, she dropped her skirts and paused to catch her breath. She looked down the road one way and then the other. It was surprisingly quiet and deserted today. The road from Paris to the palace was much busier than the road the local gentry traversed to see the king, but she would have expected to have seen or heard at least one carriage pass now that the sun was up and it was truly morning.

  “It doesn’t feel right, does it?” Daventry asked from beside her.

  “There are no carriages, no horses.”

  “I have a feeling your château was not the only one the peasants visited last night. I imagine everyone is staying inside.”

  “Or they’re dead.”

  He looked at her sharply, and she bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “It’s a possibility we may have to consider. I think we’ll know more when we reach the palace.” His mouth set in a grim line.

  “You don’t think the peasants could have gotten through the Swiss Guards, do you? They couldn’t have hurt the royal family.”

  “No. I don’t think that’s likely.”

  But she heard the note of uncertainty in his voice. She felt it as well.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped out onto the road. It appeared clear in both directions, but of course the curve ahead limited her vision in that direction. She started to walk, but Daventry put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me go first.”