He spoke softly, but Melun swallowed hard and nodded vigorously.
Striding past the man, Taliaris made for the taproom. The other man—Labeau—saluted, then opened the door for him and closed it behind him.
He did not find Diana Edgcot brandishing a poker. That instrument lay beside the empty hearth. But he wished he had seen her threatening Melun with it. She must have looked like one of the heroines of the Revolution.
Miss Edgcot and Lady Sandal sat next to each other on a wooden bench, sipping tea from china cups, hair brushed and pulled into simple chignons. They looked utterly respectable. Except their dresses looked from last century, and their bare feet showed from under their skirts.
His stare lingered longer than it should on Miss Edgcot's well shaped feet: she had small toes, he noticed, and delicate, high arches.
Warm now, he gave the women a short bow, and asked in English, "You wished to see me?"
Lady Sandal put down her teacup on a side table and rose. Her gown now lay smoothed and tightly laced. With her hair up instead of loose and wild, she looked a formidable matron. But he kept seeing her as she had been earlier—pale and hair loose and looking ready to fight like a Paris harlot out to defend her evening's conquest. Now, however, she had red-rimmed and puffy eyes as if she had been crying. He frowned at her.
"Captain Taliaris, I have a request of you. You have given your word already to see to our well-being."
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. These two had something planned. He knew it. "I cannot release you."
"I have not asked for that. What I wish for are a few moments with Mr. Marsett, to say good-bye."
He began to shake his head, but as he did the girl rose and came to him. "Please, Captain. If my aunt and I are truly your concern, then you cannot deny this request."
Taliaris looked from one woman to the other.
Alexandria kept her stare firm and fixed. With a gulp of air, she tried to calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. This had to work. It must. She had seen the attraction between Captain Taliaris and Diana—what young man of his age did not look at Diana with that dazzled expression? However, this young man now seemed made of harder materials than most. But she had worked this out with Diana. Now, she would have to trust her niece's skills.
Diana stared up at the man, her eyes imploring. Stepping forward, she touched his sleeve. "My aunt has known Mr. Marsett for a number of years, and has been in love with him—"
"Please, Diana, that is saying too much." Alexandria spoke the words, and wondered if they had come out too rehearsed. They had plotted this part as well. She would demure—and hope to heavens that the captain did not have such an insensitive nature that he responded by shrugging and turning away.
"No, Aunt Alexandria, the captain should know," Diana insisted, playing her part with passion.
The captain frowned. "Know what?"
"My aunt never had the chance to tell Mr. Marsett of her feelings. And if she is denied that now—well, sir, I fear it is possible that it might put her into a decline that could well end her life."
Alexandria tried to look pitiful. She knew she must have the pale skin for it, for her skin seemed cold as the barren hearth. And she had the frightened eyes—she did not have to act the anxiety that twisted inside her. "Please, Diana. We have made our request. If the captain cannot see to allowing me this small favor...."
She allowed the words to fade and she turned away. What would she do if he denied her this? She had to see Paxten. What if even now they were preparing to shoot him? Her skin chilled even more. Oh, what if she heard the shots echo and knew only by that sound that she would never hold him again. Never have his hand touch her face. Never hear his voice call her name.
Something thick lodged in her throat.
I never told him I loved him.
She shut her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek. She dashed it away, and realized she ought to have used it.
She looked back at the captain.
He stared at her for a moment, and glanced down at Diana again as the girl stepped closer to him. "I would be deeply in your debt if you could do this. For my aunt. For me."
Diana looked up at the captain, her lips parted. She willed him to believe her. She put on what she hoped might be her most seductive gaze—and an odd thing happened.
As she stared at him, he gazed back, his brown eyes open and searching. Shame for her deception warmed her cheeks, but she could not look away. She dared not. Too much depended on luring him in. She struggled to maintain her arch look, but it suddenly seemed not to matter.
He had the most amazing eyes. Deep brown. A true, solid brown. Like dark tea. She stared at him, her knees loosening and her breath quickening. She wanted—what did she want? She could not think with him staring at her in that fashion. As if no one else existed in the world. As if nothing but thoughts of her filled his mind.
He leaned closer.
He had thick, dark lashes. Long lashes that curled slightly. And dark eyebrows, expressive ones that quirked or flattened with his moods. They lifted just now with the faintest inquiry, as if he wondered if she would protest a kiss.
Her pulse quickened. Would he dare such a thing in front of her aunt?
A moment later, the look vanished and he straightened.
She put her shoulders back and blinked. Disappointment burned hot in her chest. She looked away and told herself not to be silly. It's only your pride he's hurt.
She frowned at herself. Of all the absurd things—to be infatuated for a moment by a pair of brown eyes as if she were a country girl with no experience of the world!
Well, she was not, and she would not be!
So why did this ache well in her?
All brusque tone now, the captain turned to Alexandria. "If this is some way you use to gain your freedom and his, I warn that it is my duty to bring justice to him. No matter what."
Desperation welled in Alexandria. "I swear to you, sir, on my honor and on my son's life that I do wish to speak to Mr. Marsett. I must. Please?"
His scowl deepened. "Do I have your promise that you will not attempt escape—that you do nothing to attempt to liberate Marsett?"
Alexandria drew herself up. "Captain, you know that would be foolish. And I have my niece to consider. I vow to you, I would do all possible to keep her safe from danger."
He nodded. The uneasy look did not leave his eyes, but he stepped back and opened the door for them.
Alexandria hurried forward before he could change his mind. And she prayed it would not occur to him until later that she had not actually promised not to attempt escape.
With Diana a step behind her, she hurried into the chill, pre-dawn air. Clutching her arms, she shivered and wished for stockings and shoes and a warm wrap. The sight of Paxten drove away such trifling concerns.
He stood ten or fifteen yard from the inn, his ragged figure easily recognized against all the stiff uniforms. His shirt hung open, showing the bandage around his chest, now stained and dirty. He seemed to have his arms behind him.
She hurried towards him, but her steps slowed as she neared. Her heart twisted. A new bruise—purple and swelling—marred his cheek. A cut ran diagonal across his chin under the shadow of his beard. Other bruises, barely visible under his tattered shirt, marked his shoulder. And his hands seemed to be tied.
Throat tight, she ached to reach out and sooth each cut and to pull loose those wretched ropes.
She looked up and met his stare.
He scowled at her, as if he did not want her here.
Of course, he would not.
Turning, she clutched at Diana as if for support.
"You must be brave now, Aunt," Diana said.
Alexandria glanced at her niece and saw in the girl's eyes that she was ready to carry on with the rest of their plan. Her mouth lifted. Had not Paxten said he always seemed to give her so few choices? This seemed the only one now.
She gave Diana's hand a squeeze, before she let go and
stepped closer to Paxten. She glanced at the soldiers around him. "Your captain said I might have a word in private with Mr. Marsett."
They stared at her. Oh, why could not these Frenchmen speak at least a little English!
Captain Taliaris said something to them, his French so fast that Alexandria understood none of it, and the soldiers moved away.
She glanced at Paxten. "We do not have long."
He smiled. "I wish I could hold you, but they've tied my hands."
Her expressions tensed, and Paxten wished he had not said anything. "Go back to the inn and close your ears and forget you ever knew me."
She shook her head. "I cannot. But I—" she stepped closer, and whispered, her tone urgent, "The boat we were to take, it must be in view. And I thought, well, with your daring and my planning, we must be able to make our escape. Diana is ready for anything, you know."
Frowning, he stepped back from her. "Go. There is nothing more to be done. It's too dangerous for you to even be here now."
She glanced over her shoulder. Diana stood between the captain and them, and she hoped their words would not carry on the breeze drifting in from the sea. She looked back at Paxten. "How can you ask that of me?"
"I can ask because I love you enough at last to let you go from my life. I did not have that before. Before, with me, it was all my wanting. It was, God help me, pride and lust. And I hated that another man had you."
He looked away. The sea breeze lifted a lock of his dark hair, fluttering it. He looked back at her, his eyes bright, a smile curving his lips. "Ma chére, I probably would not have been a good husband, anyway. Let us end with the memory of last night between us. That at least was good. That was love."
Her vision blurred. "I love you, Paxten. I always have."
"Ah, ma chére, don't make this harder for us."
"Hard? This is not hard. Hard is to be without you. Hard is to wake in the morning without you there. Hard is to not feel your warmth. Not to be able to press my head to your chest and hear your heart beating. Hard is to never again argue with you, or never hear you laugh. That's all impossibly hard."
"No, ma chére. You have done it before. You can do it again. You have a good life."
"Yes, I have done it, but not without regrets. Too many regrets. And I want a better life than my old one. I want one with you. But if you will not at least attempt to go with me, then I shall stay."
He frowned then. "Stay? What do you mean?"
She linked her arm through his. "I mean just that. I shall stay with you—no matter what."
"No. Do not be silly. You cannot." He turned and called out to the captain, "We are done. Please, take her back inside. She should not have to see this."
Alexandria tightened her hold on him. The wetness brimmed over her eyes, but the fear faded. As did the regret. "We found each other again last night, Paxten. I shall not let go of that. Nor of you."
She glanced at Captain Taliaris. He stood still a moment, and gestured for his men to advance. Alexandria stiffened and looked at Diana. "He will not go with us. It is over it seems. My dear, I never meant to drag you into such an utter disaster."
Diana's forehead tightened. She glanced at the soldiers, her lips thinning. She shook her head, and said, her voice only a little high and tense, "Nonsense. This is quite the best experience of my life. And is my privilege to be with you. And to do all I can for you."
She turned and took the poker out from under her skirts where she had hidden it. She brandished the length of iron before her like a sword, shouting, "Well, come on. Let's see who among you have courage enough to take on a real Englishwoman!"
Paxten swore. He glanced down at Alexandria, and at the captain who now strode towards them. And he gave up.
With a twist of his arms, Paxten freed himself from the ropes. His tensed muscles earlier had forced a looser knot—an old trick he had learned from a magician in Genoa, and one that still worked. Pushing Alexandria towards the docks, he shouted, "Go. This time, please God, go!"
She staggered a step and stopped.
Paxten swore. Taliaris shouted to his men and they closed. Diana swung at soldier while another man grabbed her about the waist from behind, lifting her from her feet. Two more soldiers grabbed Alexandria.
Red heat flared in Paxten.
He slammed a fist into one man's windpipe and the fellow went down gasping. The other let go of Alexandria and turned on Paxten with a grin. "Eh, come on you half-English—"
The rest of the man's curse ended in a grunt as Paxten's knee connected with soft groin muscles. Red-faced, the man crumpled. Paxten looked up to see muskets trained on him, but Taliaris shouted, "Hold fire! Hold until you pull the women out."
Alexandria glanced at Paxten. "You see, I am of some use."
He swore, and slammed a fist into the kidneys of the man holding Diana. The soldier dropped her and swung around, teeth bared. Diana's poker caught him on the back of the knees, dropping him.
Crouching into a fighting stance, Paxten turned again. Six men had dropped their muskets and now closed on them. Not good odds. Not even when he had been in his prime.
He glanced at Diana, now standing over the fallen soldiers like a modern-day Boadicea, at Alexandria, pale-faced next to him, but looking determined to keep herself between him and harm.
How had it ever come to this?
Desperate, he looked to Taliaris. There had to be some other way to resolve this—to get Alexandria and Diana out without their being harmed?
His hopes dropped at the clatter of steel horseshoes on cobblestones. Two columns of cavalry galloped down to the dock, coming out of the pre-dawn stillness like devils out of hell's gates. Dropping his hands, Paxten straightened.
The new troops drew rein, falling into attention, and behind them rumbled a black carriage drawn by a team of six steaming, dark bays. Harness rattled and the coachman slowed the team to a halt.
At this new arrival, the soldiers on the quay turned. Paxten watched. Of all things, the officer who a moment ago had been intent only on his prisoners now shouted orders for his men to fall in to attention.
Alexandria edged closer to him. "What is it?"
He frowned, and said, "I think it is more a who is it—the commander at Dieppe perhaps?" He took her hand and looked down at her. He flicked his thumb across the corner of her mouth. "Ah, ma chére, it has been a good fight. But it's done. You can't fight all of that."
He gestured to the troops now lining the quay, their horses hot from galloping, and tossing their heads, the soldiers' eyes forward and alert, and the faces under the plumed shakos rigid masks.
Alexandria's shoulders slumped. She glanced at her niece. "Dear, a poker will not do. Not any longer."
Nodding, Diana allowed the iron to clatter to the cobblestones. She came to her aunt's side, her hands shaking but her chin up and her face composed.
And Paxten muttered, his voice low and rough, "Mother Mary, it is worse than I thought."
Alexandria looked up at him, but Paxten could only gesture to the coach.
At first, she only saw a small man in a dark greatcoat. He stood beside the carriage, a black bicorn on his head and his glance sweeping his surroundings as if to take in everything in an instant. His plain clothes—dark coat, white waistcoat, breeches and cravat, and low-cut, black boots—seemed that of a merchant. He stood no taller than any man, but he had not the air of a merchant. Without effort, he dominated the scene.
He turned to stare at them and Alexandria's heart skipped. She recognized that swarthy, heavy face with the burning, dark eyes. She let out a breath. "The First Consul. It's Bonaparte!"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She had met him once, and only briefly at Lord Whitworth's embassy ball. Now she hoped Bonaparte would remember nothing of that occasion, though he was noted for his quickness of mind. However, she looked far different now, in her gray satin, her hair tousled and her bare feet dirty.
She glanced toward the captain, but she saw tha
t despite his focus on the First Consul's arrival, he had not entirely forgotten Paxten. He had two men to face them, muskets at the ready. The rest he put at full attention, arms presented.
From the column of mounted officers, Bonaparte gestured to one man. The fellow wheeled his horse from the others and trotted forward. Bonaparte said something to him. The man nodded, spun his mount again, spurring the horse to a gallop and plunging to a halt before Taliaris.
Alexandria found it difficult to watch anyone but the First Consul. He exuded power, and quick intelligence. Had he always done so? Or had his rapid rise from the ranks of the Republic Army given him such an aura. She could not admire the man, but she found him fascinating. What could he want here, of all places?
She leaned to Paxten. "Dare we attempt a departure?"
Paxten glanced at Taliaris, now conferring with the officer sent to him by Bonaparte. He glanced at the ships behind them. One vessel seemed to be raising its sails and making ready to draw anchor. He looked at the soldiers set to watch them and shook his head.
Frustration welling, Alexandria glanced back to Bonaparte. He had turned to his carriage and now helped out a woman—a lovely woman who smiled at him and laughed at something he said. The woman carried a small, white dog in her arms.
Alexandria's jaw slacked and shock rippled through her. "Paxten, is that—is that not—?"
"Madam D'Aeth. Well, well, I wonder what battle her husband, the general, has been sent off to fight and die in for the First Consul and for France, so that he will not be inconvenient, and madam's bed might be open to the First Consul as well?"
They turned and watched as Taliaris strode forward to meet the man who had fought his path to ruling France.
Taliaris gave a stiff salute to the First Consul. He towered above Bonaparte, but he had no illusions as to who held command. He also kept his stare away from the woman who hovered in the background behind Bonaparte. He had recognized her at once, and he was not certain how to now act.
Bright, dark eyes fixed on Taliaris. "I came to inspect my ports—but what am I inspecting here?"
"General, sir, we—that is I—"
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