Little Red Writing

by Lila DiPasqua

  Unable to turn back, constrained to push forward, Nicolas moved his leaden legs and approached the room he’d find his Anne in.

  Stopping just inside the threshold, he was met with a jarring sight. Anne stood with her back to the windows, her eyes glistening with tears.

  The moment her gaze met his, he lost his breath. She knew. It was etched on her expression and in the silent condemnation in her eyes.

  He had no idea how she knew. But she did. Dieu, she did.

  His eyes darted to his left. Henriette was seated on the settee with her arm around Camille. While Camille quietly wept, Henriette glowered at him with open contempt.

  “Well, who do we have here?” A woman’s voice snared his attention.

  Nicolas’s gaze shot to the right. There in the corner of the room stood a thin older woman. A lady, as her clothing indicated. His instincts told him this was the Comtesse de Cottineau.

  His grandmother.

  Anne approached him slowly, her breaths quick and shallow, her expression incredulous.

  She stopped before him and stared at him as though he were a complete stranger, as if she were seeing him for the first time. As if he’d never been her lover. Had never held her in his arms. Had never loved her through the night. Many nights.

  “You’re …” She paused and took a deep breath before she began again. “Are you a Musketeer?” That last word was laced with a mixture of distress and disbelief.

  He wanted to lie. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until the pain inside him subsided. But he couldn’t do either.

  He swallowed. “Yes.”

  Her beautiful mouth fell slightly agape. “Why—Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Nicolas clasped his hands before him to keep from reaching out and pulling her to him. He knew it was the very last thing she wanted at the moment. “Because I was—am—on a mission for His Majesty.”

  “A mission?” Her voice escalated. “What sort of mission are you on?” Her tone and demeanor told him she knew the answer—or at least suspected it. He glanced at the Comtesse.

  Her expression hardened, and she had a knowing look in her gray eyes. He realized she’d been the one to tell Anne these details about him, but how did she know?

  “Answer her,” the Comtesse demanded. Nicolas would have done nothing, absolutely nothing the old woman asked of him, for he owed her nothing more than his disdain, but the request was for Anne. And for Anne, he’d do anything.

  “I’m to determine who Gilbert Leduc is and bring him before the King,” he said softly.

  “So your coming here had nothing to do with getting to know your grandmother,” Anne stated. It wasn’t a question.

  “No.” He answered just the same. He owed her the whole truth.

  “And you spent the entire time lying and scheming,” Anne accused. He could tell she was fighting back her tears, trying to maintain the semblance of composure. He knew this was going to be bad, but in the thick of it, it was far worse than he’d imagined.

  Nicolas lowered his eyes, because it was too painful to see her pain. “I have a duty to the King.” He found himself despising those words more and more each time he uttered them.

  “A duty?” She laughed, without mirth. “I see. And was it part of your duty to bed me?”

  His gaze shot up to hers. Her eyes were narrow and she trembled with outrage.

  “Anne, perhaps we can have this conversation in private.”

  “Why? My sisters and the Comtesse know what a fool I’ve been. What is there to hide? I must congratulate you. Your skill at duplicity is excellent. I actually believed you were different from other men. In truth, you are by far the most contemptible of the lot.”

  The lump welling in his throat rendered him momentarily speechless.

  “You did not answer my question,” Anne pressed sharply. “Was it part of your duty to bed me? Did the King request it of you?”

  Dieu. “I am expected to do whatever it takes to accomplish my mission His Majesty.”

  “Well then, how wonderful for you. You got to indulge in some carnal diversions while you worked on your ‘mission.’”

  He hated the disgust in her tone, especially since she was speaking of their lovemaking. “What began as casual copulation became something … special.”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Spare me more lies. What we did meant nothing to a man like you.”

  “That’s not true. It meant—means a great deal to me. You mean a great deal to me.”

  She gave another hollow laugh. “Oh, of course. I mean so much to you that you have been conspiring and plotting against me, my sisters, and my patroness, stooping to trickery at every turn. Pray tell, when were you going to tell me the truth?”

  “Today.”

  “And why today? What makes today so special?”

  He didn’t want to say it, but he didn’t have a choice. He forced the words from his mouth. “I have to … make an arrest today.”

  Camille let out an audible sob and buried her face in Henriette’s shoulder.

  Anne didn’t flinch. Stock-still, she said, “Well, it looks as though you are going to disappoint the King. Gilbert Leduc is not here. You’re mistaken.”

  “That’s right,” Henriette concurred. “You are sadly mistaken.”

  “He is here,” Nicolas gently countered Henriette. “He’s in this room.” He dragged his gaze back to Anne. “You are Leduc.”

  To her credit, she didn’t crack or crumble before him. “You have no proof.”

  This was only becoming more and more torturous. “The proof is in your room, Anne. In your desk drawer. Your latest story about the Duchesse de Falloux is ready to be sent to the illegal press for printing.”

  She blanched. “You got hold of the desk key?”

  “On a couple of occasions, yes.”

  “Dear God …” She jerked back, her hand covering her heart. He saw the dawning on her cherished face. “You took it from me in the library, didn’t you?” Her bravado cracked, as did her voice. “After what happened in that room, after the intimacy we shared there, you stole the key from me?”

  Unable to speak, he simply nodded.

  She stepped forward and cracked her palm against his cheek. “You are vile!”

  Nicolas briefly closed his eyes. He’d never allowed anyone to strike him, but with self-recrimination slicing through him, he’d made no attempt to raise his hands and ward her off, even though he’d seen the blow coming. The sting from her slap was barely noticeable in comparison to the consuming anguish wracking him.

  “Henriette, go upstairs and burn everything incriminating in Anne’s desk,” the Comtesse ordered.

  Henriette and Camille rose together.

  “I’ll help her,” Camille said.

  Nicolas shook his head. “Burning the contents of her desk won’t make a difference. If I don’t bring Leduc to the King today, members of the Guard will be here to arrest you all. They are aware that Leduc is among you. You will be interrogated until there is a confession. If the King feels it’s warranted, torture can be used, even on a woman.”

  They looked at him with dread and fright.

  What they didn’t realize was that those very same emotions were among the many goring his heart.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. Those words weren’t enough and didn’t begin to express how he felt. There was so much more he wanted to say—to Anne. He wanted a private moment to talk.

  Would she even give him the chance?

  “If the King wants Leduc, then that is what we shall give him,” the Comtesse announced. “I will tell him I’m Leduc.”

  Surprised gasps pierced the silence. But no one was more surprised than he. His coldhearted grandmother, a woman who’d been indifferent toward her own daughter, was willing to take the blame here and spare Anne?

  Hope soared inside him. The Comtesse was hardly guiltless in the Leduc matter. This was good. No, this was an excellent solution.

  “No, madame
, I cannot let you do that,” Anne said.

  “Nonsense.” The Comtesse approached and placed her arm around Anne. “I am your patroness. I encouraged—strongly encouraged—you to write these stories. I am not blameless here. And when the King sees me—an old woman—I doubt he’ll have the stomach to do much to me.”

  “I’ll say it was me.” Henriette spoke up.

  “What? No!” Anne shook her head, dismayed.

  “Anne.” Henriette approached her. “I’m the one who is constantly reminding you how dire our finances are.”

  “Yes, and I have been a burden, too,” Camille said. “Henriette and I have both made it impossible for you to quit, Anne.”

  “I didn’t wish to quit,” Anne said. “I still don’t intend to quit. I will be the one who appears before the King as Leduc. I will explain to him what I have done and why.” Her jaw was set.

  Nicolas’s heart constricted. “And what will you say? That you have been besmirching the reputation of prominent men because you once suffered a broken heart? Do you think the King—who happens to be a man and prominent—will understand? Let the Comtesse take your place. It is the best option.”

  Pain seeped back into Anne’s eyes. “You know the details of what happened with Roland, too?”

  Nicolas approached and stopped before her. “He never deserved your affections.”

  Tears in her eyes, she squared her shoulders, took in a ragged breath and let it out. In a cold voice she said, “You need to make an arrest today. I will get my things. You will arrest me and only me.” She stalked from the room, her sisters on her heels.

  Her words knifed into him. He had to reason with her. Jésus-Christ, he had to tell her how he felt about her. And that he refused to let anything happen to her.

  Nicolas turned to leave.

  “Just a moment,” the Comtesse de Cottineau said, stepping in front of him. “I’d like a word with you.”

  “I have more pressing matters to attend to. So if you’ll kindly step out of—”

  “You searched my desks, I presume,” she injected.

  “Yes. So?”

  She nodded. “Then I suppose you read the contents of the yellow box in that desk over there.” She gestured toward the ebony and gold desk near the windows.

  “You wrote some letters to your daughter. You didn’t send them. What of it?”

  “There are facts about what happened between your mother and me that I’m certain you’re not aware of.”

  “And I’m not interested in learning about them either.”

  She sighed. “You despise me, Nicolas. I suppose if I were you, I’d despise me, too. You must have been quite gleeful when you learned I was mixed up with this Leduc matter. Not only could you bring in the elusive Leduc, but you could legitimately sweep me up in the mess, too.”

  Though prolonging his conversation with his grandmother was the last thing he wanted to do, he couldn’t help but ask, “How did you know I was on this mission?”

  “I didn’t. Not for certain. I knew you’d been appointed to the King’s private Guard. When I arrived this morning and was told you were here and that you wanted to forge a relationship with me, I didn’t believe it. Given the controversy Leduc’s stories have stirred and that you are a Musketeer, it seemed the only logical explanation for your presence was that you were looking for Leduc. I knew you were brighter than most. Other men have tried to locate Leduc and never came close.”

  He was about to respond when she raised her hand to silence him. “You sent me on a fool’s errand, and for that alone, I should be furious with you, not to mention the other things you’ve done here in the name of your ‘mission.’ But I’m not angry with you—for two reasons. The first reason is—”

  “As I said, I have more pressing—”

  “Because you’re in love with Anne.”

  That froze the words on his tongue. Merde. Where the hell was she going with this?

  “You are suffering, as much as Anne is. I can see the anguish in your eyes. What you have to do is difficult. I’ll not condemn you for your actions, for I can see that you are efficiently condemning yourself. I’m sorry you are both in this predicament.”

  He hadn’t expected this—the soft sadness in her gray eyes, the compassion in her tone. This was not the woman he envisioned his grandmother to be.

  She gave him a sad smile. “You have my Joséphine’s eyes, you know.” To his surprise, she touched his cheek. “You look like her. I’m glad. I feared you’d turn out to be like your father.”

  “No, I am not like my father.” His late brother David was.

  Her smile turned brighter, seemingly pleased by his answer. “The second reason I’m not angry with you, Nicolas, is because I don’t want to make the same mistake with you that I made with your mother. I learned a terrible lesson: words said in anger can cause irreparable damage. I said things to your mother in anger I should never have said. Things I have regretted ever since. I was furious with her for running off and marrying your father. I knew it was a terrible match. And your father loathed me for my low opinion of him. Within a few months of their marriage, I began writing letters to Joséphine, letters of apology, hoping to make amends. I never heard back from her. She ignored them. Ignored me. Never bothered to tell me of the births of her sons. But still I wrote and wrote, hoping that she’d break her silence and forgive me. I was informed of her death by your father. In his letter he also advised me that he’d been intercepting my letters. He returned each and every one to me in the yellow box. Your mother never saw any of them. She went to her grave thinking I hated her.” Tears welled in her eyes and quietly slipped down her cheeks.

  He was speechless. Every fiber in Nicolas’s being told him that what the Comtesse said was true. All of it. His father was just the sort of man who’d do such a thing. Of that he had no doubt.

  “What your father did broke my heart, and I’m certain he often broke Joséphine’s heart. Though I could not communicate with her, I made certain I was kept abreast of the goings-on in her home. Coin placed in the correct palms will garner much information. I was well aware of his heavy-handed ways, that he kept her isolated in the country, away from me and friends. I knew of your brother’s death and of your recent appointment to the Guard.” She shook her head. “It is because of your father and men like him that I encouraged Anne to write the kind of stories Leduc writes.”

  His brows shot up. “My father helped inspire these stories?”

  “I’d say your father and Roland d’Orsay were the inspiration, yes. Anne suggested the idea of Leduc and I fully endorsed it. I helped by supplying her with trustworthy women to offer similar tales of woe for Leduc to write about.”

  The lump in his throat was huge.

  “You don’t believe me?” she asked quietly.

  Nicolas had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I believe you, madame. I know what kind of man my father was and how unhappy he made my mother.”

  “Well, I must confess that for the first time ever, I find myself unable to utterly despise the man.” The Comtesse took his hand. “He sired you. Now that I have you near, I’ll not lose you. You are my family. You are all I have left of Joséphine. I hope we can have the relationship I have always prayed for.” Fresh tears were in her eyes.

  Nicolas’s head was spinning. Emotions were inundating him. There was so much to absorb with this newfound information about his grandmother. Feeling discomposed, he held his tongue. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, Nicolas squeezed her hand, then covered it with his other.

  She smiled through her tears. “Now then, Nicolas, you have some important matters you must attend to—or as you called them, ‘pressing matters.’ First, you must convince your beloved that you are not the contemptible man she accuses you of being. Next, you’ll have to keep her out of prison.”

  Dieu, why didn’t she ask him to part the Red Sea?

  *****

  Anne waited with her sisters near the carriage to be escorted
to Versailles. The day had grayed, and by the angry look of the dark clouds, there was a threat of rain. The gloom inside her was mirrored by the skies. In a few hours she’d be before the King and face the consequences. She was afraid. Terrified. She wouldn’t lie about her role as Gilbert Leduc. However, when it came to the women who’d offered their stories to Leduc, she was prepared to do whatever it took to protect their identities.

  A gasp from Camille yanked her from her thoughts. The Comtesse and two men wearing the distinct uniform of the King’s private Guard were descending the stairs in front of the Comtesse’s home. Thomas and Nicolas. It was the first time she’d ever seen them in uniform. Her heart pounded as she took in Nicolas’s blue tabard with its silver cross, blue breeches and black boots. His baldric rested on his right shoulder and crossed over his chest to his left hip.

  With his powerful form, his confident stride and his fierce expression, he looked intimidating. Dangerous to cross. There was no doubt about it—Nicolas made the perfect King’s protector.

  The sight of him made her ache. She turned away.

  Strong fingers curled around her arm. She was yanked sideways. Suddenly, she was stumbling along behind Nicolas as he dragged her back inside the hôtel. The door slammed shut and he pushed her up against it.

  Her mouth fell open, stunned by his actions. She was just about to offer up a few choice words when he crushed his mouth against hers, giving her a hot open-mouth kiss. A mindless rush of desire surged over her. Her knees practically buckled.

  She fisted the front of his uniform. What are you doing? Push him away! But shamelessly her mouth was still latched to his, and she was trembling.

  Abruptly, he pulled away. His strong hands clasped her cheeks, his breathing as quick as hers. “I love you.”

  Her heart lost a beat.

  He released her and pressed his palms against the door on either side of her head. “I love you, Anne. So much. A maddening amount! I’m so very sorry for every lie. All the deceit. And for the pain I’ve caused you. Knowing that I hurt you is destroying me. I came here to do the King’s bidding. I didn’t care about you, your sisters, or the Comtesse. You’re correct there. I wanted to impress the King. I wanted a promotion. All I ever wanted was to rank highly in the Guard. But you, you have a way of affecting me.” He shoved himself off the door. “I have no understanding how you manage it. But you do!”