Dangerous Desires

by Louise Clark

  And why were the French officers no longer leading their troops? Because most were members of the nobility who had chosen to abandon their responsibilities rather than serve the revolution. Lord Lougheed might be right—the Austrians might be in Paris by September—but in the meantime, would the people of France turn on the remnants of the very aristocracy whose desertion had opened the way to defeat?

  Stephanie fiddled with the handle of a Limoges teacup and wished that Lord Lougheed would take his very dull sister and leave. He meant to be kind, of course, but each of his pronouncements rang with false hope, emphasizing the fears that had nagged her for months.

  As the Dowager Countess was busy entertaining Lougheed's sister, Stephanie was forced to listen to his chatter for another twenty minutes before the earnest young man announced that he must not overstay his welcome. She watched him go with great relief.

  "You look upset, Stephanie," Madeleine said when they were alone. "I thought Lord Lougheed had good news of France to impart to you."

  Stephanie looked down at the full primrose skirt of her gown and fiddled with the silken sash. "He merely repeated what I have heard a hundred others say: France cannot win a war against Austria! Bah! The man has no understanding of the politics of France. It seems no one in England does!" Her expression softened. "Except milord Nicholas."

  Madeleine laughed. "Poor man, he only wanted to impress you. He has been trying to fix his interest with you for months and now, I suppose, he thought he had the perfect opening."

  Surprised, Stephanie said, "I have met him of course, but I do not remember him particularly. Surely you are wrong, Tante Madeleine. If a man wanted to approach a woman, he must needs be more forceful than Lord Lougheed."

  The Dowager controlled a twitching lip. "You are quite right, my dear. It is a man's responsibility to make his feelings clear to the lady he desires. Ah, Nicholas, we were just speaking of you," she continued smoothly as her nephew strode into the room. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

  Unlike Lord Lougheed, the Earl's presence was immediately felt. The two men were dressed similarly in double-breasted coats, contrasting waistcoats with wide lapels arranged over the coat, and close-fitting breeches. But the pearl gray of the Earl's coat enhanced the vibrant black of his hair and the deep blue of his eyes. The perfectly cut clothes molded a physique that was muscular and fit, making the lace at his wrists and neckcloth more the political statement it was, rather than a fashion accessory. In all ways, Lord Lougheed was a pale creature in comparison to the Earl of Wroxton, and with Nicholas in the room, the future seemed suddenly less dark to Stephanie.

  Nicholas smiled a greeting to the Countess, but his eyes went immediately to Stephanie. "Tea, Aunt Madeleine? Yes, I suppose so," he said absently. A frown appeared between his brows as he took note of the shadow behind Stephanie's welcoming smile. Sitting down beside her, he asked, "Is something wrong, Mademoiselle? Have you had bad news?"

  Stephanie's smile faded. "We have just had a visit from Lord Lougheed. He was telling us that France would surely be trounced by Austria in the coming war. He was... jubilant."

  Anger sparked in Nicholas's eyes. "Such talk is useless." He took Stephanie's hand in his, gently rubbing the soft skin of her palm. "Brissot and his followers in the Girondin faction pushed to have France declare war on Austria because the revolution is crumbling from within. The Girondins have lost favor, but a cause is still needed to join the country together. If King Louis listens to his more sensible advisors"—Nicholas smiled at Stephanie—"men like your father... he will use this crisis to build support among the people. By supporting the war and putting France above his own personal beliefs and safety, he could be seen as the savior of the nation. The French people would follow him once more."

  "Can that be possible?" Stephanie whispered. "The Queen sees her brother as their salvation. Even last summer, when the royal family tried to escape, it was with the Austrians that they planned to seek refuge."

  Nicholas had to resist the urge to stroke her cheek. Since coming to London, they had acted with the utmost propriety, and he missed the right to caress and hold her whenever he chose. He contented himself with the small pleasure of holding her slender hand in his. "Moderates like your father still work to bring the King and the government together. The old ways will never return, but peace within France will."

  She brightened. "Do you think so?"

  Nicholas's voice was husky with the warmth of affection. "Yes, dear Mademoiselle de la Riviére, I do. There have been many times during this upheaval when the revolution could have followed one path or another. I believe this is one of those turning points."

  On the other side of the room, Madeleine watched her goddaughter's glowing countenance with considerable satisfaction, for her sharp eyes had caught an intimacy that went beyond the boundaries of courtship. Quietly she placed the cup of tea she had poured for Nicholas to one side. Now was not the time to interrupt the two young people. She sat back and contemplated the pleasures of planning a large and triumphant wedding.

  * * *

  "You must go to the Continent? But why?" Unable to hide her agitation, Stephanie's voice rose.

  Nicholas resisted the urge to sigh. He had been dreading this discussion since he had spoken to Gideon that afternoon.

  "We need to know the true situation on the French side of the war front, Nick," Gideon had said flatly. "We must have accurate information."

  Nicholas had demanded bluntly, "Why send me, Gideon? Why not use one of the royalists on your payroll? The eastern frontiers are full of them."

  "Because we can trust you, Nick. We are never sure with our French agents if the information they send out is tainted with optimism, or worse."

  "Gideon, my situation has changed. I've acquired responsibilities here in England. I cannot just disappear the way I used to."

  "Stephanie de la Riviére," his brother-in-law had said, grinning. "Am I to take it that congratulations are in order?"

  Nicholas returned the smile. "Soon, I hope. But surely you can understand, Gideon, why I would rather not continue such assignments as I have undertaken in the past."

  Gideon had nodded. "One last time, Nick. The Austrians are claiming that with Prussia about to commit to an alliance, France will be taken within months. That could be bravado or it could be the truth. We need to know the actual situation on the French side of the border." He had stared steadily at Nicholas. "One last time."

  One last time. Nicholas hated the idea of leaving Stephanie in London with nothing settled between them. Perhaps, though, his visit to France could be used to serve more than one purpose. "Very well, Gideon. I'll go. But I have a condition."

  "Name it."

  "I want diplomatic papers identifying me as a member of the Embassy staff sent to our ambassador, Lord Gower. After I've finished my observations of the frontier, I'll brief him, then I'll need a few days for myself in Paris before I return to London."

  The twitch at the corner of Gideon's mouth became more pronounced, then was ruthlessly suppressed. "I have no doubt that it can be arranged, Nick. We are agreed then?"

  "You have my word on it."

  Now, as Nicholas looked into Stephanie's dark eyes and saw the loss and despair there he had to harden his heart against the desire to throw his vaunted honor to the wind and refuse to go after all. He had given his word to Gideon, but more importantly, he had vowed to Stephanie that he would get her father out of France, if the Marquis were willing. He intended to use the trip to discover Mont Royale's wishes, for the political situation in France was rapidly deteriorating.

  "Sweet Stephanie, I will be gone but ten days, a fortnight at the most." They were alone in the Green Salon, seated together on the forest green sofa that faced the windows overlooking the street, but neither was paying attention to the activities outside. The late May sun streamed in, its bright cheer mocking the anguish on Stephanie's face. Nicholas considered telling her he would be going to Paris to see her father, but thought
the better of it. She was worried enough already. If she knew that he was actually in France, not on the allied side of the border, she would drive herself mad fretting over his safety. He drew her into the shelter of his arms. "You will not even have time to miss me before I am back again."

  "I will miss you!" she said passionately. "Without you I am alone. Oh, Nicholas!" She clung to him, her head cradled on his shoulder, her agitation soothed by the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms.

  "Sweetheart, I must go. I have promised Gideon that I will do this for him. I have also told him it will be the last time."

  Stephanie looked up, a small frown on her forehead. "The last time? Do you mean the reason you went to France was to do dangerous missions for Lord Broughton?"

  He raised his brows and smiled. "This is not dangerous, my love. I'm merely observing the military preparedness of the revolutionary army."

  Stephanie drew a sharp breath. "It is dangerous in France for any right-thinking person, but for an Englishman! A foreigner! Mon Dieu, Nicholas, why?"

  "It is my own way of trying to influence the affairs of the world. I am too impatient to sit in the House of Lords and debate every minor issue of the day, and too honest to survive the Byzantine politics of the court."

  "What have you been doing?" she asked, reaching up to stroke his thick, black hair.

  "I cannot tell you," he said. "At least not yet. Once this is over...."

  She leaned her head against him. Beneath her ear she could hear the steady beat of his heart. "So I was right that night I discovered you pretending to be the Silverbrooke highwayman—you have experience few Englishmen do. Those other times, were they truly dangerous?"

  For a moment he considered lying to her, but he knew that he could not. "Occasionally. Often it was boring and uncomfortable."

  She searched his vivid blue eyes and saw that he spoke the truth, as he saw it. "Vraiment, I assumed the scar on your chest was from a duel. It is not, is it?"

  "No."

  Words urging Nicholas not to go on this possibly perilous mission hovered on the tip of her tongue, but Stephanie swallowed them, though it almost choked her to do so. She was the daughter of the Marquis de Mont Royale and she understood the duty and the obligations laid upon honorable men.

  Raising her hands to his cheeks she said brokenly, "Come back to me, Nicholas. Come back with no new scars and with your honor intact."

  "I shall count the days." He bent to kiss her, uncaring at this moment whether they were seen or not. Their mouths met and melded, the nearness of their parting needing some sort of release. Nicholas was not surprised by the fierceness of Stephanie's response, but he was surprised by the wellspring of tenderness it opened in himself. There would be no hysterical weeping from Stephanie. She was as valiant and brave as the men in her proud family line.

  In that moment, he knew that he could not wait until he returned to have things settled between them. Gently ending the kiss with light, tantalizing nibbles, he caught her shoulders, holding her away from him. "Stephanie, I cannot leave you without telling you what is in my heart. We come from different nations, you and I, and we each have obligations to our lands and people. But, for once, I want to scatter duty to the winds and follow my heart. And my heart leads me to you. When I return will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

  Stephanie was silent. Her lips trembled and her dark eyes shimmered with something Nicholas was terribly afraid were tears.

  He said hastily, "I know you are your father's heir, and that Mont Royale would go to your husband's rule, and eventually to your children if you married a Frenchman. I cannot hold out any promise that, wed to me, you would ever receive your inheritance. What I ask you to sacrifice is great, but—"

  She put a slender forefinger on his lips to silence him. The tears shimmering in her eyes overflowed to trickle down her cheeks, but from her parted lips he heard a chuckle. "For a man who is always so cool and in control of himself, you sound very uncertain."

  His passionate mouth quirked in a rueful half-smile. "I am. I am asking the lady of my heart to give herself to me, over all else that she holds dear. I'm not sure I'm worthy of her."

  Stephanie's smile warmed him more thoroughly than the sun pouring in through the window. "I'm sure," she said. "Yes, I will marry you, Nicholas, for I love you above all others."

  They sealed their pledge with a kiss that would burn in their memories until they were united once more.

  * * *

  Talk of the war in Europe was on everyone's lips. Prussia, it was said, would have troops in place on the border by June, when it officially declared war on France. Fear of an allied invasion was reputedly goading the Paris factions to dangerous extremes. Everyone in France was suspect. By the end of May, reports from the British Embassy stated that all foreigners had been placed under surveillance, and that the Assembly had disbanded the King's bodyguard. Now the Royal Family was watched over by partisan National Guardsmen whose loyalty to the Crown could not be guaranteed.

  Rumors abounded in London—the King would be deposed; the Austrians would march on Paris and save him first; a strong royalist party was simply waiting for the right moment before rising up to destroy the revolution; a republic was about to be declared. There was no sense or logic to the speculation and the same person might spout two contradictory stories, one after the other, and expect both to be believed.

  Stephanie listened and tried not to let the general atmosphere of panic overcome her reasoning. Times were dangerous in France, it was true, but fear and anger had risen to a fever pitch before, when the weather was hot and bread scarce. A little rain, a good harvest, and the crisis would fade.

  In her heart, though, she feared that her cool logic was flawed, but she continued to use it as a bulwark as she anxiously waited for Nicholas to return. He understood France as well as she. Between them, they would be able to decide how desperate was this present situation.

  But Nicholas did not return. May turned into June, and still he remained on the Continent, a sennight beyond his promised return time and not a word from him. Stephanie's fears multiplied. What if he had been injured during his investigations? What if he were dead?

  She took her questions to Gideon. He reassured her as best he could. He had had no news either, but he was not surprised or worried. Nick would return when he had done a proper job, Gideon assured her. He would not bother sending a message, for he would probably be back in England before it reached them.

  Gideon's firm assurances produced a temporary calm in Stephanie. She knew that the Prescott family members were close, and that if Nicholas were in any danger, Gideon would have moved heaven and earth to save him, especially now, when Honoria was so near to delivering her child.

  So Stephanie continued to attend parties and balls with at least the appearance of a serene countenance. It was at one such event that she was approached by Regine de Trouville, St. Luc's old and dear friend whose reputation was dark with the hint of licentious behavior and the stain of consorting with the members of the revolutionary France's embassy.

  Regine was dressed with rich elegance, as always, in an open robe which boasted a deep violet petticoat under a cream-colored overskirt. At her throat was a black velvet ribbon holding a cameo cut from amethyst. With her auburn hair lightly powdered and a patch at the corner of her shapely mouth, she was the picture of a grand lady of the old style. But deep in her large brown eyes there was a hard, calculating glint. Stephanie mistrusted her, but short of a deliberate snub, she could think of no way of avoiding a short conversation with the woman. "An insipid affair, is it not?" Regine observed, lazily waving her ivory and silk fan.

  As this was nothing more than a statement of truth, Stephanie saw no reason to disagree. She said, however, "Perhaps, Madame, you should seek out your more interesting friends if you are suffering from ennui."

  Trouville examined her over the top of her fan. "So, you do remember your visits to my house. So much the better. Perhaps
you would like to gamble with something other than cards."

  Stephanie eyed her warily. "My final visit to your establishment cured me of any desire to stake my future on mere luck, Madame. Indeed, I very much doubt that we have anything further to discuss."

  "I am disappointed." Trouville furled the fan, pouting innocently. "My dear friend, St. Luc, told me you were a bold creature, whose heart did not flinch at the thought of flouting society. Perhaps he was wrong."

  "The Vicomte de St. Luc does not know me at all," Stephanie retorted grittily. "Now, Madame, if you will—"

  "Then you have not heard?"

  Stephanie stopped midstep, the emerald skirts of her gown swirling over the paler green of her petticoat as her impulsive departure was abruptly arrested. "Heard what?"

  The calculating expression in Madame de Trouville's eyes deepened. "Why, that he was expelled from England several weeks ago. They actually forced him to return to France! Can you imagine? The barbarians! You know, of course, that émigrés who return can be prosecuted." She shivered. "He is probably in prison right now."

  "Mon Dieu," Stephanie said. "I had no idea. But what had he done to deserve such a fate?"

  Regine de Trouville knew exactly what he had done, because she had helped him with his plots and plans. However, she replied negligently, "I do not know. Perhaps he angered some great lord by winning too much from him at cards."

  Stephanie sensed the unlikelihood of such a possibility. In France, during the old regime, such unfairness might well have occurred, but the English lived by different rules. If St. Luc had been deported, it must have been for a much better reason.

  "The political situation in France becomes graver each day for people of our sort," Trouville continued. "I still have family in Paris and the letters I receive terrify me. I have cultivated a relationship with the Chargé d'Affairs in the embassy so that I may receive up-to-date news and have my letters pass untampered with." Her large brown eyes were clouded with inner pain. "The man spouts republican zeal, and there are times when I hate myself for associating with him, but my dear Papa and Maman are in Paris, and my brother. How can I not do all I must to ensure their safety?"