by Shana Galen
She did not like to think Armand would allow that, but what did he know of Society’s rules and their consequences? And it was not as though he loved her. What if this passion for her was fleeting? She sighed. She supposed she would have to go back to her aunt’s. There she would not only be a burden but a ruined woman, forever scorned by her upstanding neighbors. And what if Charles followed her there, demanded more money? Would her aunt demand she do her duty and marry him?
Armand put his hand on her shoulder, and she turned and smiled at him, not wanting him to see her worry. “I’m sure your brother and sister-in-law are searching for us. We should go in before they find us.” She intended to hide for as long as possible.
He nodded, and she started back for the town house. He was right behind her. “I will tell Julien we marry tonight.”
She sighed. “Armand, that’s impossible. We need a license and a minister.” And she would never consent. She was legally betrothed to another man. Would Armand want her when he realized she had kept that from him? If she tried to explain, would he even understand?
She felt heavy, thinking of the ramifications of what she had done tonight. Was the lovemaking they had shared worth the cost?
She glanced back at Armand, and he gave her a warm—a very warm—look. Yes, she decided, it was worth it. When they were close to the house, Armand took her arm. “We will marry as soon as possible.”
She gave him a wan smile and wished that could be true.
“And then we will go to the country.”
Now she frowned. “The country? Why?”
“There is a house there, in Southampton. That is where I want to live. I don’t care for the city.”
Felicity smiled. She could easily picture the comte living happily on an estate in Southampton. He would love the open space and the fresh air. And she knew he enjoyed working the soil, growing all sorts of flowers and plants. The country was the perfect place for him.
“We’re in agreement on that point,” she said. “I don’t like the city either. But Armand, I can’t—”
He put a finger over her lips. “We will have a dog or two or maybe more. And we can…” He gestured to the gazebo. “What is that called? What we did?”
She swallowed and felt her skin heat.
He put his hand on her cheek. “Why does your face turn red?”
“Because I’m embarrassed.”
He frowned at her. “That is like shame?”
She nodded. “A little.”
He stepped back, his eyes flashing. “I shame you?”
“No.” She laid a hand on his arm. “No, but your question makes me uncomfortable. It’s not something people discuss. The rules again.”
He nodded, and she thought he must surely grow tired of all of her rules. “But to answer your question, it’s called, well, I suppose we could call it making love.”
“Love? That is what my mother says to me.”
“Hmm. Well, that is a different sort of love. More physical.”
“I see.”
But Felicity wondered if he did see. Surely he had been loved and cherished as a child, but what did all of those years without love, without any human contact, do to one’s capacity to receive and give love? Had she managed to fall in love with a man utterly incapable of loving her back? A man who did not even understand what the word meant? Perhaps all he knew was lust—primitive and instinctual. Was that all they had shared?
And then he leaned forward, cupped a hand to her cheek, and gave her such a look of tenderness she could not help but think he must have some understanding of love. He wasn’t looking at her with lust now. There was a gentleness that made her heart clench, made her want to wrap her arms around him and kiss him until they were both breathless again.
He must have sensed her mood, because he ushered her toward the door to the town house—the same back door they had used the first night he had led her to the gardens. She could go to her room using this path without anyone seeing her. At least he had understood there was a need for discretion. She pulled open the door then noticed he did not follow.
“Aren’t you coming inside?”
“Later,” he said, his eyes tracking over the dark garden. Felicity followed his gaze.
“You think they’re still out here somewhere? The two men who dug up the garden and threw the brick?”
He didn’t answer, but she could see the way his shoulders tensed.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Your brother hired men to watch the house. You don’t need to patrol all night.”
“They will never give up. Never go away.”
“Not until they have the Treasure of the Sixteen.”
He gave her a sharp look and his lips thinned. His eyes grew haunted, and she could see her words had caused something to flicker in his mind. A memory? She should not push him, not after the magical time they had spent together tonight. She didn’t want to ruin it.
And yet, would he ever be whole and complete if he did not face some of the demons that plagued him? Perhaps if they faced them together, it would be easier for him.
“What is the Treasure of the Sixteen, Armand?”
He began to turn away, and now she was the one who pulled him back.
“I know you don’t like to think of it, of that time, but if you could tell us what this treasure is, then maybe we would know how to deal with those men.”
“No.” The word was harsh and simple and brooked no argument. He would not discuss the treasure. Felicity sighed. She had been foolish to think he would talk about it with her, foolish to think that together they could conquer his past. She would most likely be dismissed and out on the streets by tomorrow afternoon anyway. Perhaps it was better if they did not complicate the matter any further.
“Good night, Armand,” she said.
He bowed. “Good night.”
Felicity started up the steps, alone and shaking her head. His dismissal had been so formal, but then what had she expected? She had taught him well.
Her body still burned from his touch, and pleasure still thrummed through her, but had he been affected the same way? And what was she going to do tomorrow when the duchesse sent her away?
Curses but she was a fool! You had to fall in love with him, she scolded herself. You couldn’t just be his tutor. Well, she was no stranger to the rules of Society and the consequences for breaking those rules. Now she would pay the price.
She slipped into her room and closed the door behind her, feeling lonely and lost—and more in love than she had ever thought possible.
***
Armand walked every inch of the garden and the area around the town house until he was satisfied the small man and his son were not hiding on the property. Felicity had been right. They would not give up until they had the Treasure of the Sixteen. And was he so much the coward he could not allow himself to go back, to remember what the treasure was, why these men sought it?
But the snatches he did remember haunted him. He had no fear for himself—there was nothing they could do to him that hadn’t already been done. He did not fear torture or death. But he feared for his family and for Felicity.
He wished he could have held her all night. Parting from her had been agony. He needed her skin against his, her lips against his. He needed to be inside her again, to feel her wrapped around him. He wanted her more than he could ever recall wanting anything—light, food, water, air, freedom…
He would do anything to protect her.
With that in mind, he marched up to the town house’s front door, opened it, surprising the butler who had been standing in the vestibule, obviously attempting to overhear the discussion taking place in the dining room.
Armand paused, glanced at the closed dining-room doors. “My brother,” he said.
The butler recovered quickly. “In the dining room, my l
ord.”
With a nod, Armand walked past him, opened the doors, and stepped into the room. His brother, his mother, and his sister-in-law looked up at him. “What happened to you?” His mother was the first to speak. She rose. “Where is your coat, your shoes?”
Armand gestured toward the garden. “I took them off.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Julien rose now, his scowl fierce. “And where is Miss Bennett? Do you know the problems you’ve caused?”
Armand shrugged, pulled out a chair, and sat. He was tired suddenly. “Rules again. I do not care about The Rules.”
“Where is Miss Bennett?” Sarah asked, cutting Julien off before he could speak again. “Is she well?”
“She went to her room. She is fine.”
“I’m going to go see her.” Sarah rose, but his mother waved her back down.
“Let us first hear what Armand has to say. You know that you have caused quite a bit of trouble. You may not care about yourself, but now you have compromised Miss Bennett. This is serious.” Her tone was stern, but it did not have the angry sound that Julien’s did.
Armand nodded. “I want to marry Felicity.”
Julien threw up his hands. “Oh, she’s Felicity now, is she? Just what exactly happened after you left Lady Spencer’s?”
He was tempted to tell them, but Felicity had seemed against it, and she knew The Rules better than he. “I want to marry her.”
His mother actually looked pleased, but Sarah plopped down heavily in a chair and put her face in her hands. “Of course you’ll marry her. What other choice is there?”
Armand ignored her. “But she says there is still a ceremony.”
“There are many choices,” Julien said. “Armand’s actions tarnish the girl, but he is not required to marry her.”
Sarah wrinkled her nose at him, but he shrugged. “It’s not my fault Society has a double standard. Besides, she’s obviously looking for money or to advance her position.” Julien folded his arms across his chest.
“Rubbish!” his mother said, “She was not the one who carried him off. Why should she pay? Besides, have you seen the two of them together? I think she is in love with Armand.”
Julien scowled. “Ma mére.”
“Love.” Armand nodded, recognizing the word. “Yes. I want to take her to the country after we marry.”
“You’re not marrying her! Haven’t you heard a word I said?” Julien ran a hand through his hair. “And what exactly are you going to do in the country? Up until a few weeks ago, you couldn’t even speak. And now tonight—well, how can I let you out of my sight?”
Armand stood slowly and advanced on his brother. “Just because I did not speak, does not mean I am an idiot. All of you treat me like I’m an idiot.” He looked at each in turn, and Sarah lowered her gaze, but his mother nodded.
“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Armand,” Julien said, “but I don’t think you know anything about running a country estate.”
“I can learn. I learn fast. I used to learn faster than you ever did.”
He saw his mother purse her lips as though she wanted to say something, but she remained silent. No matter. He knew it was true. Julien may have been the eldest and Bastien the most adventurous, but he, Armand, was the smartest.
Julien sighed. “I don’t know—”
“Did you take me from prison just to lock me in this house?” Armand turned to look at the dining room with its cushioned red chairs, its dark wood, and the sparkling light above the huge table. “This prison is beautiful, but if I can’t leave, it’s still a prison.”
Color jumped into Julien’s face, and he reached for Armand’s shirt. A chair fell over as he lunged, but Armand did not flinch. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Julien roared, slamming Armand into the wall. The soft red curtains crashed down behind him. “Do you know what I sacrificed to get you out? Do you know how many years I searched for you? Do you know I am still searching for Bastien?”
Armand had not known, and it gave him a moment’s pause. But he was still angry. “Do you want to lock him up, too?”
“You ungrateful—”
“Stop it!” His mother did not raise her voice, but the tone had them both backing down. “This fighting will not accomplish anything. Armand, you are not a prisoner here, and Julien, you are too overprotective. Your brother will do just fine at The Gardens. Give him a month, and he will probably run the place better than the steward you have there now—possibly better than you ever did.”
Julien shook his head. “I’d like to see that.”
“Give him the house. You do not care for it anyway. And that is not all.” She raised a hand when Julien would have turned away. “If he wants to marry Miss Bennett, I think we had all better give him our blessing. Armand was always a stubborn child and a decisive one. When he saw what he wanted, he usually got it. And he was usually right about it, too. He wants Miss Bennett. If she wants him, as well—and I think I have seen them together enough to know that she does—then why not condone the marriage? That will end the scandal broth tonight’s incident caused.”
Sarah raised her brows and glanced at Julien. “She has a point.” But Julien still looked undecided. Armand shook his head. He was done with being treated as an idiot.
“You can’t keep me here, and you can’t keep me from marrying Felicity. You want to protect Sarah, Julien. I want to protect Felicity. There won’t be any bricks through the window at The Gardens.”
Julien raised a brow. “Really? You don’t think the men who did that will follow you there? They found you here.”
Armand clenched his fists because he knew Julien was right. It was his own weakness that he had not wanted to think of that possibility. He wanted to pretend he could escape from his problems. But there was no running. He looked at his mother and Sarah. Even if he and Felicity did manage to escape the father and son, that would still leave those here in danger. He could not allow them to pay for his sins.
Armand leaned down, righted the chair, and sat. He did not want to do this. He did not want to have to remember what he had seen, what he had done. The first few years in prison, he had driven himself mad going over and over everything in his mind. Finally, he had pushed everything down, everything away until his mind was all but a clean slate. It was the only way he had survived all those years of caged solitude. But now he would have to dredge all of it up again. There was no other choice. And hadn’t he promised he would do anything to protect Felicity?
“I know something about the Treasure of the Sixteen,” he said finally.
Everyone in the room grew still, and Armand could feel their eyes bore into him.
“I will tell you what I know. I will remember,” he said, closing his eyes to keep the memories at bay for the moment. “Tomorrow.” He was too tired, too drained to allow that blackness to seep in tonight. He needed to rest, to be sure this was the only way. He would need all his strength for what lay ahead.
“Tomorrow?” Sarah whispered. “You’ll talk to us about—before?”
He nodded. His mother rose and put her hand on his shoulder. There was a stab of pain, but it was less than usual. He could almost ignore it. “Tomorrow will be soon enough. You need your rest. After all, we now have a wedding to plan.”
He trudged to his room, feeling heavy and weary. He all but collapsed on the floor, forgoing even the luxury of a blanket tonight. The lights in the room burned bright. The window was open, but still the dreams started as soon as he closed his eyes.
Paris. He was a child again, and he was afraid for his father. There were more and more executions every day, and there seemed to be nothing anyone could do to save the doomed aristocrats—not that anyone wanted to do anything.
The peasants wanted blood, and there were days it ran in the streets like wine.
The first time he saw the small man an
d his large son, they had not appeared to notice him. Many men and women went in and out of the prison yard where his father was being held. Few paid any mind to a small, mute boy.
But he made the mistake of going there too often and at the same times, and soon, when Armand stood in the prison courtyard, he could feel the eyes of the small man on him. He was watched, assessed.
Armand knew he should stop coming to the prison, but how could he leave his father alone in there? He had never yet seen his father, but he had not been one of the haggard men and women loaded into the carts as fodder for Madame Guillotine. The duc must still be in the prison, and Armand hoped one day he would catch a glimpse of him.
He stood in the courtyard for an hour each day and stared at the windows, hoping to see his father’s strong, dignified face. Instead, one day another man’s face appeared before his. “You are beginning to attract attention, mon ami.”
Armand blinked at him and then followed his gaze to the small man and his large son. The small man was staring at him, his gaze malevolent.
Armand glanced up at the new man. He was an average-looking man, dressed in peasant clothing. He had a kind face but hard eyes that seemed to miss nothing. “I see you here every day, mon ami. Do you have a friend in the prison?”
Armand shook his head. To have a friend in the prison would mean he sympathized with the aristos.
“Then why do you come here, mon ami?”
Armand shrugged and looked down. He wanted to leave now, to go back to the tavern and busy himself until he was invisible again.
Now another man joined the first. They looked remarkably alike. “This is my brother, mon ami. His name is Jacques. My name is Jacques, as well. You can call me Jacques One and him Jacques Two.” He laughed, showing a mouth full of uneven teeth.
Armand frowned. Both brothers named Jacques? But then he remembered many of the revolutionaries used this name in order to hide their true identities. Jacques Two leaned close to study Armand. “Do you have a name, mon ami?”