He favored her with a warm smile. “Yes, it’s true. The very first time we met, Madame Givet, she stole a part of me.”
With a dramatic gesture he touched his heart. Then, as his hand slid down to rest on the pocket where he’d put his knife, he smiled again at Topaze. “Isn’t it so, my charming one?”
Topaze nearly choked, swallowing the oath that sprang to her lips. The black-hearted devil!
“We’ve only just met, I know. Yet I find myself growing so fond of her. A charming girl. Sweet. Gentle-natured. I’d intended to wait until she knew me better, knew her own heart. But, seeing your unease, madame, perhaps I shouldn’t.” He caught Topaze’s hand in his and kissed it with fervor. “Topaze. My sweet. Will you do me the honor, the extreme pleasure, of becoming my bride? For I swear, by all that I hold most dear, that you’re precious to me. My very future, my happiness, depends on you.” Only the flash of his blue eyes betrayed the cynicism behind his words.
“Name of God, I do protest!” cried Ducellier.
Topaze was having difficulty finding her voice. She tried to free her hand from Lucien Renaudot’s grasp, but he held her firmly. “This is…so sudden, monsieur,” she said at last. “Maman, have I your permission to speak to the gentleman in private?” At Madame Givet’s assent, Topaze pulled him to one corner of the room. It was clear that Ducellier itched to join the conversation, but Renaudot motioned him away, giving him a reassuring nod at the same time. Topaze glared at Renaudot. “Now, damn your eyes,” she muttered in a low voice, “what are you about?”
“Sweetling,” he murmured, still holding fast to her hand, “try to look pleased. For your mother’s sake. It’s quite simple. I think we’re both eager for the challenge of duping the Chalotais family. Not to mention the money. For Martin and me. And your family.” He glanced about the bare room. “I begin to understand your thievery.”
“Of course I want what’s best for them, you poxy knave,” she hissed. “But not at the price of my virtue, damn you!”
“Lord!” He sighed in exasperation. “I’m not in the least interested in your virtue, your person, your maidenly body.” He smiled, a world-weary grimace. “If indeed you haven’t sold that as well, for a few coins.”
“You villain! Maman—”
“—is, I suspect, a truly pious woman, with a simple heart, who sees good in everyone. And would scarcely fathom the trickery of which her daughter is capable. So spare me your protestations of innocence.”
“You scoundrel,” she sputtered.
He shrugged. “The tiger recognizes its kin. You’re no more God-fearing than I, for all your training at that woman’s side. Now, as to the matter of the marriage. I have no wicked designs upon you. I only wish to placate your mother. If she needs a marriage with one of the ‘roguey’ gentlemen, she shall have it. It will only be a civil marriage, after all. And I swear it will remain unconsummated. When we’ve plucked the Chalotais feathers, I’ll return to Guadeloupe and Adriane de Ronceray. You’ll never see me again. As for you, with your share of the Chalotais money as a dowry, you can marry well. And properly, in a church, which should please your mother.”
“But it’s wrong.” Topaze frowned. It was her duty to protest such a wicked scheme. She knew it. Then why was she even considering the possibility of such madness? She found she couldn’t look him in the eyes.
He laughed softly. “Since you’ve already tarnished your immortal soul with all manner of lies and thievery, I doubt that the minor breach of a civil law will prick your conscience.”
She winced. What was it he’d said? The tiger recognizes its kin. Damn the rogue, for giving her conscience no hiding place! She turned to Madame Givet. “With your blessing, Maman, I’ll send Michel to fetch a notary to perform the marriage.”
“Lucien, you’re mad!” said Ducellier.
“Trust me, Martin. I want this girl. I must have her.” His true meaning was clear to Topaze, though Madame Givet seemed somewhat comforted by the ardent tone of his voice. “Send for a notary, if you please.”
“Alas, not a priest?” asked Madame Givet.
“There isn’t time.”
‘‘But…”
Topaze crossed the room to the older woman and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “As soon as we can, we’ll seek out a priest, and repeat our vows,” she lied.
“You swear it, Topaze?”
She glanced up at Lucien Renaudot. He was smiling in triumph. She was a liar and a thief. “I swear it, Maman.”
“Will you be happy, my child?”
“Oh yes, Maman. Monsieur…Lucien has shown himself to be a good and kind man. I’m sure I’ll not regret it.”
Madame Givet looked bemused. “It’s so sudden. I don’t know…”
“Maman, it’s a wise choice for me. And for you and the little ones. Think of what you can do with two hundred and fifty livres! Can it be wrong to take advantage of the gentleman’s generosity?”
Lucien grinned. “Yes. Two hundred and fifty. I confess even I was surprised at my generosity.” Topaze felt her heart thud. The wicked gleam in his eyes reminded her that he expected a reckoning for her trickery.
Michel had listened in silence to all that had gone on. Now his small voice piped up, his mouth twisting unhappily. “But we’ll never see you again!”
Topaze bent to him and held the small body against her bosom. “Foolish boy. Of course you will! I’ll be back in June.”
“To stay in Bordeaux?”
“To stay in Bordeaux. Yes.”
Madame Givet beamed at Lucien. “Why then, we look forward to greeting you again this summer, monsieur.”
Lucien’s face betrayed nothing. “Yes. It will be my pleasure, madame.”
At Madame Givet’s bidding, Michel was dispatched to bring back Monsieur Teissier, the notary. Topaze noted with alarm that Maman had begun to droop, her fragile strength drained by the events of the afternoon. Gallantly Ducellier offered a small flask of brandy, and the use of his greatcoat to warm the poor woman until firewood could be fetched. While Topaze saw to Maman’s comfort, Ducellier drew Renaudot’s to one corner of the room. By their animated expressions, Topaze could see that they were scarcely in agreement over the propriety of the marriage.
She found herself examining Martin Ducellier more closely. He was extraordinarily handsome, almost beautiful, with soft, sweet features, a straight nose, boyish dimples in his tanned cheeks. A gentle man, that was clear. And kind to Maman. Her heart reached out to him. If he had proposed marriage, even in sham, she thought, she wouldn’t have protested for a second. But he was reserved, he spoke little. So she’d be yoked to that devil instead. And despite her boldness, she had to admit that Renaudot frightened her a little.
She sighed unhappily, half regretting the madness of the whole scheme, then shrugged in resignation. Ah, well. Best to put as good a face on it as possible. Maman and the children would be comfortable. And in four months’ time (God protect her!), she’d return to them with more riches than she could have hoped for. She’d return alone, of course, without the husband they were expecting. But seven thousand livres should help to ease Maman’s disappointment. She could always lie and say that Renaudot had died. After the deception that was planned for the Chalotais family, one more lie wouldn’t damn her any further to Hell than she already was!
Monsieur Teissier, out of breath, arrived with Michel. Seating himself at the table, he produced pen, ink, and a small piece of parchment, upon which he proceeded to write in a florid hand. He smiled at Martin Ducellier. “The groom’s name?”
Ducellier blushed, a bright glow suffusing his handsome features. “Not I, monsieur. That man, there.”
Monsieur Teissier glanced at Renaudot. He seemed clearly disappointed in what he saw. The smile faded from his face. “Your name, monsieur?”
“Lucien-Armand Renaudot.”
“And the bride?”
“Topaze Givet,” said Renaudot.
“No.” Topaze shook her head. “Topaze-Cla
ude Benoîte.”
“Very good.” Teissier continued to write. “And now, if the witnesses will sign…” He drew a line on the parchment, then held it out to Madame Givet. Though she took the pen from his fingers, she waited until Michel had read the paper and nodded his approval before making a large X on the page. Ducellier signed next, then Topaze. Renaudot was the last, signing with a defiant flourish, and such a satanic leer on his face that Topaze half expected to see the paper burst into flame.
“I’ll keep this, if I may,” he said.
“Oh, but…” Madame Givet was clearly unhappy.
“Can you make a copy, monsieur?”
“Of course. Upon the instant.”
Renaudot produced a coin from his pocket and handed it to Teissier. “Do so, then. And send it to this lady.” He fished out several more coins. They were gold. “After that, I want you to forget this visit, this marriage, and the names you have written on the papers.” He dropped the coins into Teissier’s hand. “Do you understand?”
The notary clinked the gold in his palm and smiled his satisfaction. “I’d forget my own mother for this, monsieur!”
Renaudot watched him go down the stairs, then turned to Topaze. He grinned. “Come, wife, give us a kiss.”
Topaze squirmed. Damn the wicked man, she thought. He would be revenged for the two hundred and fifty livres! She felt herself blushing, shamed before the gentle eyes of Martin Ducellier. “Really, Monsieur Ren…Lucien. Not now. Monsieur Ducellier… Maman…” she stammered.
The villain seemed to be enjoying her discomfiture. He laughed, a laugh filled with sly mockery. “Your mother will think you regret this day’s work, my dear. Come.” He held out his arms.
Madame Givet’s eyes shone with piety. “You have a duty to your husband now, Topaze. Don’t forget that.”
There was no way out of it. Not without alarming Maman. Reluctantly she moved into Renaudot’s arms. “The Devil will have his due, I see,” she whispered.
He grinned again. “Indeed.”
While Madame Givet beamed, Topaze slid her arms around Lucien’s neck. His hands encircled her waist. She was small in his embrace, smaller than she would have guessed. She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him softly on one cheek, then moved to the other cheek, in the formal salute.
His laughing voice was against her ear. “Is my wife a coward?” he said quietly. “Is that all I’m to have?”
By Sainte Suzanne, if the man wanted more, he would get it! She stretched an inch or two more, until her lips were at his vulnerable earlobe. This for your arrogance, monsieur! she thought, and nipped sharply at the tender flesh. He grunted in pain and surprise and pushed her away. His eyes were blazing in fury. She smiled, but took care to move out of his arms’ reach. “Come now, husband. If you frown like that, I’ll think that you regret this day’s work!”
She wasn’t sure she’d dampened his anger, but Ducellier stepped forward in haste. “We have a long journey ahead. Shouldn’t we be going?”
Lucien relaxed and even managed a smile. “Yes. Of course. Get your hat, girl, and say your farewells.”
The hat was an old battered straw that had been too shabby to sell; Topaze tied it on with her scarf so the wide brim curled around her face and shaded her features. She kissed Madame Givet repeatedly, hugged Michel in her arms, warning them again of the necessity of keeping silent. She charged Michel with the care of the little ones, and cautioned him to apply himself to his work. She promised that they would meet again in June. “In the cottage,” she said with pleasure, as Lucien counted out two hundred and fifty livres and placed them in Maman’s hand. “Please go back to our dear cottage. I’ll look for you there when I return. And that’s where Papa will want to find you.”
Madame Givet nodded. “Papa. Yes, of course.” Her eyes betrayed her own uncertainty.
Topaze smiled, hope on her face. She would maintain the pretense. “Yes. You and Papa in the cottage. Think of me, as I’ll think of you. And tell the little ones I’ll see them soon.” It would be too painful to say goodbye to the little ones.
As they started for the door, the children came bursting into the room. “It’s cold out,” cried Anne-Marie. “It looks like snow.”
Lucien muttered a soft oath and pulled Ducellier into a dim corner of the room. The two men turned their backs, shielding their faces from the little ones’ view.
Matthieu pointed with a grimy hand. “Who are them?”
Topaze knelt and gathered the children into her arms. “Just strangers, seeking their way,” she said. “Pay them no mind. Now I must leave you for a while. Be good and do as Maman says. Anne-Marie, keep up your sewing. Baptiste, you study your lessons. I want Michel to tell me that you’ve learned to read when I return.”
Matthieu began to cry. “Leave? When will you return?”
“Before you know it. When it’s warm again.”
He sobbed and rubbed his sleeve against his nose. “It aren’t never going to be warm.”
“You foolish darling,” she said tenderly. She led him to the grimy window and scrubbed a spot clear. “You look out there. Look for the sunshine. You’ll see. It will be spring before you know it. Warm and sunny. And I’ll be home before summer, I promise.”
“Alas,” whispered Madame Givet. “You’re the sunshine, Topaze. And what will we do without you?”
She gulped. “You must search for it yourselves.” She turned and fled down the steps, waiting in the bleak cold until she was joined by the two men.
Ducellier frowned down at her, his brown eyes filled with sympathy. “Are you all right?”
She fought back her tears. “Thank you. Yes. When they’re fed and warm, they won’t miss me so much. But leave me to my own thoughts for a little, I beg you.”
They set off down the narrow street and stopped at a secluded tavern, where the two men retrieved their portmanteaus and boxes. By the time they had reached the wide boulevard that led to the square of Sainte-Croix and the public coach, she’d recovered her spirits. When she thought of the family safe and warm, it heartened her. This was the right thing to do. Whatever it cost her—the lies, the dishonesty, the cheating—it was worth it. When this adventure was done she’d spend a week in church, on her knees, and make her peace with God and her conscience.
But, God forgive her, it was exciting as well! To contemplate the danger, the risk, the great prize if the ruse was successful. She glanced up at Lucien Renaudot as they strode along. He too was excited. She could see it in the set of his broad shoulders, the unexpected bounce to his step, the satisfied smile that played about his lips.
He seemed suddenly aware of her scrutiny. He grinned down at her. “Well, Madame Renaudot, does your courage still hold?”
“For the scheme? Yes, of course.” Remembering his attempt to embarrass her with the kiss, she laughed softly. “For the prospect of being wife to you, however…I’ll need more than courage. I’ll need the patience of a saint!”
He fingered his earlobe and chuckled. His expression softened for a moment, so that he was almost handsome. “It will be amusing, I think. The next few weeks.” He rubbed at his scar, the blue eyes grown thoughtful. “By the bye, why did you have the notary write you down as Benoîte? Was Madame Givet married before?”
“No.”
“Ah. Monsieur Benoîte, then, had a”—he cleared his throat delicately—“a dalliance with Madame Givet?”
She shrugged. “I never knew Monsieur Benoîte. Perhaps I am a bastard. As for the Givets…despite my devotion to them, they aren’t no kin of mine. Nor ever were.”
Chapter Five
“You! Girl! Get up the stairs. Your master’s waiting for you.”
Startled from her reverie, Topaze looked up at the toothless innkeeper. She nodded and rose from the little stool in the chimney corner. Ignoring the innkeeper’s coarse snicker, she slowly made her way up the staircase.
By Saint André, she was tired. They had traveled all afternoon and into the evening
, in a crowded public coach along a bumpy side road. Ducellier had explained that they wanted to stay far from the highroad and the danger of recognition. But what a ride! She was stiff from sitting squashed between the two men for hours, her head down so her face was hidden by the large brim of her hat.
At last they’d reached this inn, near Libourne. Ducellier had gone at once to visit a banker, from whom they hoped to obtain a loan, if the Chalotais scheme should fail, the men would still need money to expand their plantation. Renaudot had deposited Topaze by the fire, and gone to arrange for their room. He and Ducellier had already decided that the girl should be passed off as a family servant. The shabbiness of her clothes would have made any other explanation suspicious. Renaudot had assured her—with a leer, the plaguey devil!—that he’d see to it that she slept in chaste solitude on a truckle bed, while the two men shared a large bed in the same room. Still, it rankled her that the innkeeper should assume that she was the fine gentlemen’s plaything, rather than a mere servant.
Renaudot was sitting in a large armchair, his feet propped up on a table, when Topaze entered the room. He had removed his several coats and his waistcoat, his sword, and his white linen stock; now he took his ease, his ruffled shirt unbuttoned at the neck, its voluminous sleeves rolled back on his deeply tanned arms. He didn’t bother to rise as Topaze closed the door behind her; he simply raised his glass of wine in offhand acknowledgement of her presence. “I’ll order up supper when Martin gets back. Take off your clothes.”
She gasped, feeling her heart stop. “You lecherous villain! To take. advantage, while Monsieur Ducellier is away! You promised…”
“Lord! How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not in the least interested in a tumble with you. Look.” He pointed to the blazing fireplace, before which a deep wooden tub had been placed. It was filled with soapy water that sent a fragrant steam into the air. “Now take off your clothes. All of them.”
“Blast your liver. You want me to climb in there naked? All of me at once? I aren’t never taken a whole bath but one time, when I was sick. It aren’t natural!”
Louisa Rawlings Page 5