by Blake Ferre
Perrin de Vesey,
You’ve been marked for a visit with the National Razor. A “knight” of the Revolution is at your heels. It’s only a matter of time before his friends join the hunt. Gather your belongings and flee Paris immediately.
The Scarlet Crest
Perrin straightened his shoulders and blinked as the candlelight flickered over the parchment. Philippe’s hand shook while illuminating the page.
“A knight of the Revolution? I don’t understand.” Perrin had a distinct sense that it referred to Chevalier. Had this Scarlet Crest person been following them this whole time?
The candle dripped a splotch of wax over the sender’s signature.
“I’ll be damned if I allow some stranger to scare me out of my own home.” Perrin scratched his head, messing his wavy hair into a rat’s nest. A few twigs from Duclos’s garden were still entangled in the tresses. “I’ll not allow this person to toy with me like this.”
“My lord, after all we’ve endured, surely you can see the city is lost. Duclos has fled. It’s time for us to do the same.”
“We don’t know that he’s safe. I won’t leave him.”
“And what about Quill?” Philippe asked.
“What about me?” Quill rubbed his sleep-worn eyes as he stepped down the stairs.
Perrin smacked his hand on the letter. “It’s not fair. Don’t make me choose.” But he already knew the choice was made. Perrin couldn’t risk Quill’s safety on the mere hope he’d find Duclos in time to help him.
“Sink me. I leave the two of you alone for a few measly hours of sleep, and you’ve all but deserted me. What’s not fair? What choice?” Quill planted his hands on his hips and lifted his chin. “Will one of you please tell me what’s happened?”
“Apologies, dear friend.” Perrin offered a brief summation of the evening’s misadventures, including the new warning from the Scarlet Crest.
Quill plucked the page from Perrin’s grasp and groaned. “Please tell me we’re leaving immediately.”
“First thing in the morning,” Philippe assured without waiting for Perrin’s agreement.
“So, it’s decided? Without my say? You’ve a plan to get us back to England?” Perrin asked, though his ribs tightened at the thought of leaving.
“My sister’s home is just outside the city, in Le Pecq. Quill, you’ve already mentioned two of our friends from London’s Crimson Rose await with a ship on the coast?”
Quill nodded enthusiastically.
Perrin tipped his head back. He wanted nothing more than to help Duclos, but he’d not risk losing Quill and Philippe. “All right. Let’s pack what we must. See to it that the staff is well paid.”
“Of course, my lord. We’ll prepare to depart tomorrow at dawn.”
Chapter Five
Henri guided his horse past the vibrant orange leaves that still clung to the frost-kissed trees lining the Tuileries Gardens, leaving the expansive palace and the Committee’s meeting rooms behind him. Yesterday’s exertions had taken a toll on him. His legs strained, and his back was stiff from the rocking motion of his ride. The horse’s every forward step led Henri closer to the Place de la Révolution. The guillotine was still far from view, but Henri could smell the scent of blood in the air. Planting one hand over his stomach, he willed himself to think of happier things.
Sunsets in summer before watching the stars. Chocolate paired with a fine wine. De Vesey straddling him on the cobblestone…
He winced, wishing he hadn’t spent most of the night fantasizing about that insufferable aristo. At the very least, his irritation over that unfounded attraction pushed Henri’s squeamish stomach further from his thoughts.
Last night had been a complete disaster. Luc’s ill-planned raid had scared Duclos off and ruined Henri’s chance at eavesdropping. De Vesey had been within reach of Duclos’s home, on the cusp of leading Henri directly into the inner workings of their operation.
“Splendid, isn’t it?” Luc appeared at his side, sliding his tongue across his crooked teeth. With his sly grin, it almost looked like he had fangs.
“I’m sorry?” Henri blinked, trying to figure out why his partner was in such a grand mood.
“I was close to snagging that traitor, Duclos, last night. I can taste his flesh under my teeth.”
Henri shuddered. “Must you use such words?”
“I jest, my squeamish companion.” Luc barked a laugh. “If you stick with me long enough, you’ll become a master of deceit.”
“I could only be so lucky.” Unlike Luc, who’d never seen battle, Henri had encountered far too much destruction on the field. Even after he’d been pulled from the front lines, he hadn’t been able to escape the gore, nor the loss of close comrades.
While people such as Luc relished in the guillotine’s bloodshed, Henri found no joy in death. Blood was a constant reminder of his own loss. Whether traitor or friend, all violent ends looked the same. One moment, life sparked within the body; the next moment, emptiness. Just like his father. His sister. His nephew.
“Don’t pout, Chevalier. Two nights ago, while you remained in that dreadful club, Crimson whatever it was, I had my eye on a different flower. That night, at Duclos’s residence, I flirted with one of the household maids. She lured me back to her quarters, and I dove into the most delightful of blossoms.”
“What promises did you make to her that you had no intention of keeping?” Henri fumed, sensing that Luc might have wronged the poor woman.
“Don’t look so shocked. Some women do happen to enjoy my services.” Luc sucked on his teeth. “Foolish thing shouldn’t have left her master’s key in her skirts.”
Henri tightened his fists. “You stole her key and snuck through Duclos’s home without the Committee’s permission? Out of uniform?” Henri choked. Seducing people and obtaining evidence in an ill-gotten way went against his fundamental belief in justice. Not even his father would have stooped to that level in the Comte de Bertram’s home.
The law does not exist so that we might use it to punish our enemies. It is there so we might seek justice and place the punishment in the hands of those who are impartial. Even our greatest enemies deserve a fair trial. It is what separates order from chaos.
Henri’s stomach twisted as he recalled his father’s teachings. His interactions with de Vesey had left him teetering on a fine line between justice and revenge. What was it about that particular aristo that drew out the most animalistic side of him?
“Sometimes, my honorable friend, you must perform underhanded deeds to gain success. That night, while you failed to produce anything of use, I found a rolled parchment with a drawing upon it. Hidden within the artwork were the names of four citizens who recently fled the city—each one having conveniently escaped before an arrest could be made.” Luc’s voice poked its way into the forefront of Henri’s mind.
Rolled parchment? Henri bit his tongue before he asked Luc to repeat the information. He didn’t want to let on that he was interested in that particular item. His mind immediately jumped to de Vesey and what Duclos had handed him.
“The names are proof that Duclos was helping counterrevolutionary conspirators out of the country,” Luc continued.
“I see.” Henri sucked his lower lip, caging the irritation that gnawed at his ribs. Luc, the sly bastard, had cheated. And he’d found a drawing with hidden messages. Henri could only conclude that the parchment Duclos had handed to de Vesey must have contained a damning communication of some sort as well.
Luc picked at a blemish upon his nose. “One thing I can’t quite piece together is a ruined note I found last night within the ashes of Duclos’s fireplace. The message, sadly illegible, was clearly signed by The Scarlet Crest. Perhaps it’s the name of their organization.”
“It could be anything. A form of code?” This wasn’t good at all. De Vesey had a similar not
e delivered only the day before. Not that he’d share such information with Luc.
“No. I’m positive it’s a whole organization.”
Evidence of a larger group was just what Henri had feared they’d find. If more traitors remained hidden, they might very well succeed in bringing foreign enemies to attack Paris itself.
Henri clenched his reins, sensing Duclos was the leader of the whole venture, helping suspected traitors flee the city before the Tribunal could lay judgment upon them. If that was the case, de Vesey had to be one of Duclos’s English supporters, perhaps helping dangerous conspirators out of the city at this very moment. Why else the mysterious notes?
“The handwritten names matched Duclos’s penmanship. Between that and the denouncements, we had enough to trigger last night’s warrant for arrest,” Luc said. “Citizen, I know your morals won’t allow you to use an easy woman to advance our cause. But you can leave the task of seduction to me.” Luc flourished his skeletal fingers in a decorative bow, waggling his eyebrows. “More to the point, happy to accept my pending promotion.”
That sniveling, cockade-flaunting fiend. Henri dragged his knuckles over his jaw, unable to ignore the nagging itch that spread across his skin like a wildfire.
Luc puffed his chest. “Oh yes, we’ve enough to condemn the treasonous fool. The question is, where is he? And who’s working with him?”
Superbe. If Henri wasn’t careful, he’d be reporting to Capitaine Luc Cyrille within the next few months. He needed to find something, anything, that might help him catch Duclos first.
De Vesey.
Memories of that irksome rogue’s weight over him, last night in front of Duclos’s estate, shivered through his body with irritating tingles. Henri had fantasized about that sweet pressure. The friction. Merde.
Though the very notion prickled his skin with guilt, he’d have to swindle his way inside de Vesey’s home and find the parchment from Duclos. If Henri could prove de Vesey was an enemy, perhaps he’d rid himself of this pesky desire brewing within him.
Henri groaned at the long line of carts clogging the streets on the way to the city gates. Most of them were worn, the horses aged and shabby. But a fine coach caught Henri’s attention. More ornamented than the others and in exquisite condition, the coach was exceptional enough to make Henri wonder why the owner hadn’t simply placed a target upon it.
As they neared the coach, Henri recognized two prison guards from the Conciergerie. A man with a round, pockmarked nose handed the other a small leather pouch.
“Are those guards over there accepting bribes? Perhaps to sneak traitors out of the city?” Henri mused, hoping to draw Luc’s attention from their target. “What if one of our own is helping Duclos slip out of the city?” He pointed at the men in question.
“Chasing officers won’t earn you a promotion. Several of the Committee members welcome bribes with open arms.” Luc hacked several times, the sound resembling a snicker.
Henri blanched.
Luc laughed all the harder. “You’ve much to learn. Don’t worry yourself over those guards. They might turn an eye here or there, but they’d not allow an aristo to flee. Besides, this looks far more interesting.” He pointed to the very coach Henri had been eyeing. “You there.” Luc’s bellowing rasp roused the attention of those nearby.
The driver turned around, hands twisting the reins.
“Allow me to handle this,” Henri snapped, sliding off his horse.
“Have it your way, Chevalier. I’ll give you the advantage. But I’ll still win the race.”
Henri ignored Luc’s taunting cackle and tapped on the carriage door. When the door swung open, he met a pair of deep emerald eyes.
“De Vesey.” Parfait.
“You again?” The aristo sneered, just as displeased to encounter Henri. “What are you doing here, you irritable sneak?”
Ignoring the petulant insult, Henri raised a brow at the small trunks nestled under the cramped passengers within the compartment.
“I see you’ve decided to flee.” Why did the very notion of de Vesey’s departure roil his insides?
Already sensing his control slipping, Henri closed his eyes and breathed in a few huffs, mindful of Luc’s presence. His thoughts calmer, he gazed directly into de Vesey’s eyes. Yesterday, the aristo had received a note—one that had clearly bothered him. Then, Henri had followed him not only to Crimson Rose, which was suddenly closed for business, but also to Duclos’s home. Now, with Duclos missing, de Vesey was fleeing. The foul bastard had to be involved in some manner, and now he’d get away.
“Are you expecting me to write? I can assure you, the interest isn’t returned.” De Vesey’s snipped response sent pinpricks down Henri’s skin. The aristo knew precisely how to rile him.
Henri let out a small exhale and glared at the arrogant prig. “I must inspect your belongings to make sure you’re not hiding traitors.” Henri would bet his last cockade that Duclos was somehow stowed within the carriage. “Perhaps under the floorboards?” He tapped the compartment with his knuckles.
“Seems a horrible waste of time…” De Vesey yawned—the nerve. “We can hardly fit anything amongst the three of us.” He leaned forward and winked. “Though we’ve room for a fourth passenger.”
Henri’s chest surged with frustration—and a flicker of lust—when the rogue patted his lap.
A flighty chuckle drew Henri’s attention to the feathery fellow, who bobbed his head with a flicker of proud amusement in his bright gray eyes. To hell with the rich bastards and their pompous, primped—everything.
“Hurry along. Some of us got places to be,” a man growled from behind them. Henri whipped around, searching the clustered line of carts. An irritated merchant scowled at him, clutching citizenship certificates in his fist.
Shooting a fierce glare at the unruly citizen, Henri was pleased when the man closed his mouth and lowered his fist. Henri turned to de Vesey, ignoring the companions.
De Vesey crossed his arms over his absurdly embroidered chest. “That man has a point. Hurry it up. We’ve nothing to hide.”
Henri’s stomach twisted. “If not through the floor, perhaps there’s a compartment under your seat.” He crouched, tilting his head to further inspect the velvet-lined bench.
De Vesey chuckled and patted the cushion. “You’re welcome to place your head under there anytime you like.”
The infuriating aristo spread his thighs, and curse it all, Henri’s mind spun a heated fantasy of grabbing hold of them and… Non. Those legs were mere obstacles to Henri’s true purpose. Finding Duclos.
“Tell me, did you swoop on my friend’s home last night after you eavesdropped on us?” De Vesey’s easy smile faded.
Henri blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Though he owed this man no honesty, the lie filled his mouth with a taste so acrid, he imagined the filthy water from the Seine might be more enjoyable to drink.
De Vesey scoffed and leaned forward, bringing their noses closer together. “You conniving wretch. I opened my home, yet you used me to leverage yourself against my friend. I can assure you, Duclos is a good man. Whatever you think he’s done, he’s no more treasonous than you were that day in the street.” Henri cringed at the reminder of what this English viscount held against him. “I was wrong about you. You’re not a good person, Chevalier.” For some reason, the words knocked Henri’s heart to the ground.
He backed away, eager to distance himself from de Vesey’s anger. But when he tried to stand upright, Henri bumped his head against the doorframe. “What does it matter? You’re obviously leaving.” Henri’s voice cracked as he righted his hat. He hated that de Vesey had seen him at his weakest. It was best the man left. He’d find another way to nab Duclos. “I don’t want to see you in Paris again.”
The bastard stretched his neck, offering Henri a peek of his smooth skin, just
beneath his cravat. When de Vesey’s eyes lowered, his knowing smirk drew Henri’s attention to his pouty lips.
“Y-You haven’t packed many belongings.”
He peered at the other passengers inside the carriage. Two sets of eyes met him with a sparkle of amusement. Cheeks burning, Henri begrudged the fact that the rest of the world disappeared when he was near de Vesey.
“Perceptive. Soon you’ll be asking to search the clothes on my body. Shall I remove them for you?” De Vesey’s annoyingly wicked grin made Henri’s heart flutter. Flutter?
Incroyable. De Vesey had turned him into an ogling mess. The aristo’s grin grew larger, and Henri had a feeling that smile was the most dangerous weapon in all of France.
“Is that all, then?” His hypnotic lips spread wider, if that was possible. It suddenly dawned on Henri that de Vesey looked nothing like the man Henri had seen only two days ago at Crimson Rose. The dark circles were less noticeable. His skin held a healthy flush. He was beautiful. For an aristo.
Henri let out a puff of air. “I’m not finished with you.” His body heated with the imagery of a great many things he’d like to do with the aristo’s lean limbs. “I’ll not allow you to leave without searching you…your things,” he snarled, desperate to regain control.
Unfortunately, Henri soon realized how idiotic he’d been to search the trunks. They barely held enough space to store a few supplies, let alone a former marquis.
“Hurry it up,” the flustered merchant behind them barked, waving his papers in the air.
“Clear.” Henri cursed his weakened voice. He huffed that he had no other excuse to hold de Vesey. “I hope, for your sake, you won’t be gathering troops against France,” Henri snapped, firm and commanding. “I have my eye on you, de Vesey.”
“Ah, so you’ve marked me?” The bastard lowered his voice into a sultry rumble. “I look forward to having your eyes on me…”
Henri nearly choked at the innuendo. His eyes fell to the aristo’s lap. But what he spotted between the man’s fingers caught his eye. The corner of a parchment poked through. The only writing he could see held that nonsensical name. The Scarlet Crest.