Silver-Tongued Temptress

by Sara Ackerman

  Cosette’s face joined her own in the mirror, her dark-haired beauty a sharp contrast to Bea’s fair complexion. “I have seen your blemishes, mon amie, and I have witnessed your pain. We share a common history, forged in adversity and tempered by respect and friendship. You tell me your beauty is a shell, but I am alive because of the compassion in your soul. A beauty such as yours cannot be contained within. It shines for all to see. You do not see the remnants from the ravages of life because you have risen above the opposition and created your own way. You are all woman, Beatrice, whether you needlepoint and sing or you ride bareback and steer a ship. So I say yes, you are angel and temptress and strategist and spy.” Cosette tapped her on the nose. “But whoever said you must choose one?” Standing, she bustled about the room, straightening the bedclothes and putting away the rouge and kohl.

  Bea studied herself for several minutes before setting the glass aside. “Thank you, for all your help. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  “My Beatrice, you’d have found a way. You always do, but it wouldn’t have been as much fun, non?”

  Bea stood and hugged the smaller woman, laughing as she said, “No, you are right.”

  “Come. The girls await, as does your Luka. He sounds most fascinating, not at all serious like your Mr. Wickes.” She frowned. “I cannot forgive him for how he treated you.”

  She agreed, though she did not dwell on Thomas and what had happened. Since the chilly October day when they’d talked in the park, she’d not seen him. He’d sent a formal apology and passed along any news he heard about Luka and Michelson, yet he did not return to Madame Cosette’s. Thomas remained in Paris, though. He’d sent word a few days ago saying he had a solid lead on Michelson. The two of them would have to meet soon, for Michelson had been clear—he wanted Thomas in exchange for information about her son.

  “He has apologized. I cannot stay angry at him forever.”

  Cosette paused on the landing and linked her arm through Bea’s. “You are too kind. He does not deserve your forgiveness.” They descended the remaining steps and walked to the foyer.

  “I may have forgiven, but I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Smart. A woman’s memory is her only defense against such injustices.”

  A strangled giggle caught in her throat, and she coughed to hide her amusement. If Cosette knew what injustices I forgot with Luka, she’d not be sending me off with a smile to rescue him.

  “Have you your knives?” Cosette asked as one might ask a lady if she has her reticule.

  “Two, strapped to my thighs,” she said before putting on her cloak and situating the hood. Babette and Nicole waited for her in the front foyer, the basket tucked under Nicole’s arm.

  “Ladies?” She ushered the two brunettes out the front door and into the chilly night. “Let’s be off.”

  “Have fun taking over the garrison, my girls!” Cosette yelled from the door.

  Beatrice grinned because, in spite of the potential for disaster, her heart was light. Terror did not consume her as it had been wont to do in the past. Planning this escape and working with Cosette and the other women of the house had given her a renewed sense of self. This purpose had lifted her lethargy and brightened her spirits. She was going to embrace who she was and save Luka. Maybe, as her friend had suggested, she’d even get the keys to the garrison. After all, an angel, even a reluctant one, had gates open before her.

  Chapter 28

  Paris, France, December 1810

  The garrison was easy to find, despite the late hour and the falling snow, located near the center of old Paris. The three woman passed over the Seine, by the silent, towering Notre Dame, and along the Left Bank. After almost half an hour, they approached the crumbling stone edifice. Large gates surrounded the garrison, and two sentries patrolled the perimeter. The cold weather and the proximity to the holiday meant the garrison had a meager supply of guards. Taking these two out would be easy. Fifteen minutes later, she had timed each sentry’s movements and was able to take them unaware. Some gentle pressure on each man’s neck rendered them unconscious. Bea tied their wrists and ankles together before placing them in a nearby empty building so they were out of the cold.

  “Come on,” she whispered to the two ladies. “Time to enter the gates.”

  Bea stayed behind the women while the two brunettes approached the wrought iron fence. They lowered their hoods and unclasped the frogs holding their cloaks about their shoulders. After a cursory fluffing of their voluptuous assets, they called out to the guards by the front door. “It is so cold, chéris, and we have come with wine, a present from your General Reynard.”

  A husky older man with graying hair stepped from the door’s shadow and shone his lantern about the clearing. The light illuminated the two women and provided Bea with an approximate distance between the front gate and the exterior fence. The man with the lantern scowled. “Be gone with you. This is no place for ladies.”

  “Is that you, Claude?” Nicole said, cupping her hands over her eyes. “You know I am not a lady. Come, it is cold, and you know the best way to warm me.”

  A second man stepped away from the door, this one younger and leaner. “Nicole? Babette? What are you doing out on such a cold night?”

  “Philippe,” Babette all but purred. “We bring tidings of comfort and much joy. Let us in, and we will help you forget this wretched, cold night.”

  The older man hesitated. “Chérie, you know we would love to, but we are working. No one is allowed in or out without the general’s orders.”

  Not one to be deterred, Nicole shoved aside her bodice and plumped her breast in her hand. “Are you saying you wish to pass on these? C’est dommage. More for Philippe.”

  With an odd grunt and a hasty jangle of keys, Philippe pushed aside Claude and opened the door. “Let’s retire inside.”

  The three women followed Philippe through the gate and into the garrison, where a roaring fire blazed in a cozy room. A quick glance showed four cots, two of which were unmade. A table with the remnants of a meager supper ran in front of the fireplace, surrounded by several wooden chairs. “Who’s your friend?” Claude demanded, pointing to Bea, who had not lowered her hood.

  Babette removed her cloak, tossed it onto a chair, and warmed her hands by the fire. “A new girl. Madame sent her with her compliments.”

  Phillippe slapped Bea’s rear. “Let’s taste what Madame has offered.”

  Lowering her hood, Bea removed her cloak and gave Philippe a sly smile. “First some wine,” she said, pouring five glasses. “You may sample all you like.”

  “À votre santé!” She sipped her drink while the other four drained theirs in a swallow.

  Philippe whispered in Babette’s ear, pulling her to an unmade cot. Soft laughter and muted moans arose from the bed, and Nicole straddled Claude. The man assessed Bea with banked suspicion.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Claude asked, turning away from his lover’s avid kisses. “She’s not participating.”

  Nicole yanked the man’s face back to hers. “She’s never done this before, so she’s going to watch, and afterwards you can try her out.”

  Obvious excitement at the prospect of bedding an inexperienced courtesan refocused Claude’s attention, for his excited grunts increased, and he shoved Nicole’s gown about her waist. Bea sat back and watched, more than a little bored, judging time’s passing by the amount of firewood in the hearth.

  The sounds of coupling rose above the crackling fire and howling wind. How are the two guards conscious? The drugged wine should have taken effect, but both men were alert and engaged with two of Madame’s finest. Unable to watch the couples in front of her any longer, she turned to the fire, whose warmth soothed her, and she slept. Sometime later, Nicole jolted her awake.

  “They are asleep. Finally. I’ve got the keys from Claude’s belt. You need to go down the stairs and to the left.”

  “How did you—”

  “Trust me. It
’s better if you don’t know what I had to offer to discover those details. Thank God he passed out before I had to deliver.”

  “Thank you, Nicole. You remember the rest of the plan?”

  “You English worry too much. We shall be fine. A whole night of uninterrupted sleep? Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

  Keys and lantern in hand, she thanked Nicole, who waved a hand and shuffled to curl on a cot near Babette. She shut the door behind her and locked it, not keen to have an interruption as she searched for Luka’s cell.

  Following Nicole’s directions, she descended the stairs, took a left and shivered. Her flesh dotted and she rubbed her arms, wishing she’d brought her cloak with her, but soon enough she’d be gone from here.

  “Luka?” she hissed. “Are you here?”

  “I’ll be your Luka, pretty lady.”

  “Shut up,” she yelled to the prisoner on her left. “Luka, where are you?”

  “Tris?” A faint voice near the end of the cell block came to her.

  She raced over the stone floor, her feet slipping on the icy rocks, and shone her lantern in the last cell in the row, fumbling with the keys in the lock as she spied Luka on the stone floor, cold and shivering in his thin shirt and breeches.

  “What have they done to you?” she asked, kneeling by his side. Careful not to let him see how his appearance affected her, she remained impassive as she surveyed his swollen and bruised face and the dried blood staining his face, shirt, and the soles of his feet. Someone had taken a knife to the soles of his feet, the flesh cut to ragged ribbons. Her stomach rebelled, and she swallowed to avoid vomiting. How was she going to get him out of here?

  “God, Tris. It is you.” He clasped her arm with surprising strength. “You have to get out before they come back.”

  “Shh. I’ve taken care of the guards. I’m here to get you out.” She helped him to a sitting position and looped her arms about his waist. With a giant heft, she helped him to rise, his body stiffening as his feet made contact with the floor. “Can you walk?” she asked as she wrapped her arm about his waist.

  “Yes,” he said on a ragged exhale. “Take me out of here.” They hobbled through the passageway and up the stairs, the tension from Luka’s body unmistakable. Once above stairs, she unlocked the officers’ door, grabbed her cloak, and left, ensuring the door was once again locked. It was essential the two courtesans not be found guilty for colluding with her. If they were asleep and locked in the room, they’d no more be suspect than the officers locked with them.

  Wrapping Luka in her warm woolen coat, she dragged him the rest of the way out of the garrison. They stood outside the gate, snow falling about them. “What are we waiting for?” Luka said, slurring his words. “We need to be away.”

  “Our ride is coming.” She crossed her fingers and prayed the other gamble she had taken two weeks ago would be fruitful.

  Another fifteen minutes passed, and she worried she had pushed too hard, until horse hooves announced their ride’s arrival.

  “You’re late. Help me get him in the back of the wagon.”

  The baker jumped from his seat and supported Luka’s other side. Between the two of them, they hoisted him into the hay-filled wooden wagon. Bea tucked an extra blanket around Luka, took her cloak and wrapped it around her own shivering shoulders, and climbed onto the seat next to the driver.

  “I almost didn’t come.”

  Bea unstrapped a knife from her thigh and proceeded to pick her nails. “I know.” She plunged the knife into the wood between them. “I would have killed you.”

  Even in the muted light from the storm, she saw him gulp. “I know.”

  The rest of the journey passed in silence. By the time the wagon arrived at Madame’s home, the sun was poking purple and orange fingers in streaks across the horizon. Madame stood in the doorway, wringing her hands. “You are late,” she whispered to Bea as she and the baker maneuvered Luka in the front door.

  They went to the front sitting room, where a cot was ready, and deposited Luka on it. The baker straightened and said, “Our business is concluded?” he asked.

  “We are through. You keep my secret and I’ll keep yours. If not—”

  “Yes, I know. I’m dead.”

  “Glad to see we are in agreement.”

  “Mon amie, what did you do?” Cosette asked after showing the baker the door. She brought with her a basin of warm water, some washing cloths, and several lengths of linen.

  Bea carried the basin to the bed and dipped in a cloth. With gentle strokes she wiped away the blood and dirt marring Luka’s face. He remained silent, his eyes closed, though his shallow breaths told her he was yet awake. “I used my unique talents, as you suggested.”

  “You’ve accepted your strengths as well as your limitations?” Cosette dipped a rag in the wash basin and wiped his hand.

  “I’ve accepted I’ll never be a normal woman.”

  “Thank God,” Luka whispered.

  Both woman burst out laughing as a smile tugged the corner of Luka’s mouth. Tension fled from Luka’s body as Bea pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. His brown eyes flickered once and closed, his breathing deep and even.

  Chapter 29

  Paris, France, December 1810

  “He’s grouchy,” Amy said as she exited Madame’s front sitting room. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

  Bea ruffled Amy’s hair and propped the door open with her hip, balancing a tray holding Luka’s noonday meal. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll do my best to manage.”

  “He called me a gabby little magpie,” Amy said in a huff.

  “I’ll talk to him and suggest he apologize,” she said.

  “Don’t bother. I told him he was an odiferous swine with the sensibilities of a weevil.”

  She laughed. “What did he say to such flattery?”

  “Hmpf. He grunted and said for a verbose baboon, I was both insolent and gutsy.”

  “Sounds like you handled him,” she said, pushing the door farther open and sliding a foot through.

  “What does insolent mean?”

  “Ask Madame. His food is getting cold, and you know he’ll grouse if it gets much colder.”

  “You’re going in?” To Bea’s nod, Amy said, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She entered the room and set the tray on a table by his bed before sitting in a chair near his head. He scowled.

  “Did the magpie squeal on me?”

  “Amy mentioned you were in less than an amiable mood.”

  “Noisy girl. She prattled on for hours about one thing or the other, and when I suggested she close her mouth and listen for a change, she compared me to a pig. Someone needs to teach the girl some manners.”

  “The girl has fine manners. You happen to provoke the worst in her, though I don’t know why. You are two of my favorite people, and I’m delightful.”

  “You meant to say we’re delightful.”

  She grinned and poured him a cup of tea. “I rarely say what I don’t mean.”

  “Fine. I’ll apologize to the girl tomorrow.”

  “I’ve brought you luncheon.”

  “Is it something more than the broth and toast Cook’s given me for the last week?”

  She removed the warming cover with a flourish. “Voilà! Porridge. I made it myself.”

  Luka’s pale face blanched even more, and she had to bite her cheeks to prevent herself from smiling. “I’m not hungry,” he said, turning his face to the wall opposite her. “I’m tired.”

  “Too bad. Cook will be so disappointed you didn’t try any of her coddled eggs or the strawberry preserves she found in the root cellar.”

  “Coddled eggs?” he asked. Lifting himself on his elbows, he scooted until his back pressed against the bed’s headboard. Bea helped him arrange his pillows before showing him the other delights Cook had prepared for him.

  “Hmm, smell this apple tart. Cook’s a bit sweet on you and told me she’s going to pu
t some fat on your bones.” He licked his lips and snatched the tart.

  “I wouldn’t want to hurt Cook’s feelings,” he said, his mouth full of food.

  “Of course not. If you do find yourself hungry after all this, Cook did prepare the porridge, too. I’m well aware of your opinions on my cooking.”

  “I’m too satisfied with all this food to feign anger at your slight deception. You are a horrible cook.”

  “It has come to my attention,” she said. “However, I possess other skills and enough money from my dead husband’s estate to ensure I never starve or go without clothing.”

  He paused, an egg-laden fork suspended between plate and mouth. “This is the first time you’ve mentioned your unfortunate marriage to me.”

  “In all fairness, our time together was a bit surreal, and when I regained my memories, I left for France, and you were captured. With your sickness, there hasn’t been an opportunity.”

  “Do you want to talk about him?”

  Surprise rendered her mute. “What? No one has ever asked me to talk about what happened. Thomas was one of the few people who knew about it, and he insisted it was healthier to push the events aside and focus on the present.”

  “Thomas isn’t here, so what do you want?”

  “I’d prefer to never mention him again, but I might have to.”

  “Events such as what you experienced can infect a person’s soul. They fester and spread the longer they are ignored. Sometimes it’s better to purge all the ugliness to kill the infection, allowing for growth and an opportunity to heal.”

  A decade had come and gone, a decade fraught with pain, danger, and self-doubt, yet less than ten minutes in Luka’s company and he already pinpointed what had bothered her about her relationship with Thomas. She had needed to talk about the events of her marriage, but Thomas assured her there was no need; she was safe with him and never had to relive those awful moments again. Yet the same comfort had caused the rift between them to increase until his love had smothered her, and she was stifled by his over-protectiveness. Luka read her like a well-loved book. After all these years, he understood her story, her motivations, and her desires. She would tell him what she could.