Rachelle stooped and threw her arms around her. “I love you dearly for such a thought, but if I am imprisoned, they will not keep us together. The best thing you can do for me now is to protect yourself and Philippe.”
The door from the outer corridor opened into the antechamber; there were footsteps. The summons had come. Rachelle stood, clutching the sides of her skirts, but she was determined to keep her dignity.
A formidable figure in black paused in the doorway of the antechamber, then entered the salle de séjour.
A little moan nearly escaped Rachelle’s lips. Fabien! She wanted to cry with joy, and fought back the desire to run with relief into his arms. If anyone could help her now, it was the marquis, but she dare not run to him to show the delight she felt at his presence, for that would assume the familiarity she had so boldly discarded. Still, she could not help the growing excitement in her heart that maybe she was the reason he had chosen to return to Paris. But was she rushing to conclusions? His unexpected presence was no proof he had come for her, nor that he would not be leaving again.
Was it possible that Sebastien and her sisters were escaping to England on his ship ? Her hopes sprang anew. But how would he know that Sebastien even had plans to escape the palais of Catherine de Medici? He could not — unless Sebastien had contacted Fabien in London.
The marquis swept off his hat and bowed. “Mademoiselle,” he said too gravely.
She dipped her head with restrained dignity. “Monseigneur.”
She read a challenge in his violet-blue eyes, one that she could do without under the circumstances. A suggestion of a sardonic smile showed on his lips before he turned and spoke to Nenette and Philippe. They bowed and scattered into the next chamber. As Nenette was closing the antechamber door, and Philippe was peeking from under Nenette’s arm, a look of relief and excitement showed in the glance she cast to Rachelle. This is your opportunity, Nenette seemed to say, ask him for help!
Rachelle was alone with the marquis. She saw that he stood watching her with affected seriousness. “Are you not going to ask the reason for my unexpected arrival?”
“That, Monseigneur, is assuredly your private concern.”
“How cool and indifferent you are, Mademoiselle.” He tossed his hat and cloak aside, taking her in with a glance that suggested he did not accept it.
Rachelle looked away, turning her shoulder toward him. She pressed her palms together tightly. This was maddening. Her nerves curled inward.
“I have risked my head, left my ship and buccaneers to come to Paris, and this is your response, Mademoiselle? I am gravely disappointed.
Which sorely tempts me, Mademoiselle, to prove your manner false!”
She slipped behind the crimson velvet chair with gold tassels and held to its back with a dignified stare.
His smile was disarming. He folded his arms.
“Your head, Marquis?” she asked with raised brows. “I wonder who would wish to have your most noble head?”
He bowed. “Philip of Spain, to name one. But as he remains at El Escorial in Spain on his throne, he has sent the Duc d’Alva here to France demanding action from the Queen Mother against me. I will doubtless hear from her soon on the subject of the duc’s galleon. We sent the scoundrels of the sea to a watery grave.”
She was alarmed. “You sank the Duc d’Alva’s galleon?”
“Among others. It was gloriously satisfying, I assure you. We gave no quarter. You may be heartless enough to take some satisfaction in the fact that I honorably drew sword against those who empower the Duc de Guise to war against your fellow Huguenots.”
Rachelle’s alarm was now not for herself but for him. He was in more danger than she, and yet he had risked coming to Paris.
“Do you not know that Duc d’Alva is in France and will be entertained by the king and Queen Mother at Fontainebleau? He may be there now.”
“I have word that he is.”
“You have walked into a trap!”
“One that I entered with full understanding. Sebastien also knows about it.”
“Oh! Then you know about Sebastien?”
He lifted a brow. “Know what?”
“Not now, please do go on with what you were saying.”
“It is indeed a trap, plotted by the Queen Mother to lure me here.
I sometimes think Catherine de Medici is the greatest intriguer in all Europe.”
She was appalled, but perhaps she should not have been by anything Catherine did to further her aims at Court. “Then did the Queen Mother lure you here to hand you over to the Duc d’Alva?”
“Non. I have come to duel your fiancé.”
She stared at him. Was he serious? From the hard gleam in his eyes, he appeared so.
“Where is the dashing Comte Maurice Beauvilliers?” he asked wryly. “I went to his chamber, but the fastidious rogue is not there. A pity, for I should have had him pinned to the wall then and there and been done with it.”
Shaken, her lips parted and she stared at him. How outlandish — her whirling thoughts came to a crash. Duel Maurice!
She came swiftly from behind the chair. “Surely you do not think that Maurice and I — ”
He stepped toward her, caught her hands, and lifted one to his lips, kissing her wrist. The romantic challenge in his violet-blue eyes did not relent.
She stepped back, hands behind her skirts. “Did Sebastien tell you the Queen Mother promised Maurice that she would arrange my marriage to him?” The very thought left her appalled.
“He mentioned it in his lettre. The facts were brought to me by the French ambassador to the English court. Before the Queen Mother flagrantly arranges the marriage, I will have an understanding with her that will disappoint Maurice. He will become so angry he will demand of me an affaire d’honneur. And then?” He sighed with mock regret. “I will need to grant his boastful request and teach him some humility.”
“And I have nothing at all to say about this absurd situation?”
“Non. You are like all the daughters of nobility at Court, to be bartered for the best political prize to enhance the power of the throne of France.”
“I see. And who does the Queen Mother wish to win this romantic battle?”
“Your servant, Mademoiselle, of course.” He bowed lightly. “I am of more use to her than Maurice. He is but the unsuspecting pawn; so aptly used because of his vanity.”
She felt the heat grow in her face. “I do not see what I possibly can bring the Queen Mother.”
“It is not what you bring her personally, chère; it is what she wants of me. It is not a flattering thing to say of one so belle as yourself, but you are the bait for the trap, the one thing she knows will bring me back to deal with her. So perhaps I shall play along with her and make a bargain. I will tell her I want the silk couturière with the honey brown eyes and the dimple by her mouth . . . And she will say, ‘Anything you want is yours, all you need do is murder the Duc de Guise.’ ” He stood back and looked at her gravely through narrowed dark lashes, one hand on his hip.
She trembled. So that was it. This was the horrid reason for Maurice’s recent confidence toward her. The Queen Mother had indeed implied the marriage could come to fruition to lure Fabien to Paris. But that would imply she believed the marquis cared enough to take her bait. Rachelle glanced at Fabien, then turned away, distraught.
“It is atrocious — kill the Duc de Guise? And have the House of Guise forever plotting your death in revenge? It is unthinkable.”
“It would fit her plans very well, I assure you. I would rid her of her chief enemy, and in turn be killed by the Guises. She would be rid of two enemies. Quite Machiavellian, her most cherished style of plotting.”
She turned to search his face and found it momentarily inscrutable, deliberately, or so she believed. “You — would not cooperate with her. It is foolish of me to even ask.”
“If I refuse, chérie, she will arrange your marriage with Maurice.”
She tos
sed up her hands in frustration and paced. “I will not marry him.”
“You will have little choice if she insists. King Francis will do whatever she expects of him. You cannot turn down the king’s choice. So you see my dilemma, do you not?”
She paused and looked over at him. What was he thinking?
“Your dilemma?” she asked uneasily.
“The dilemma over cooperating with Catherine. Tell me, you have not led Maurice in any way to let him think you will oblige him in this marriage?”
“How can you imply I would be so foolish? I would never lead him on, nor want him for a husband!”
As you well know, she could have said but kept silent.
He folded his arms, and his direct gaze and slight smile brought a flush to her cheeks. She turned her head away with more indignation than she felt. She was hardly able to control her anxiety.
“As matters now stand for me, your dilemma, Marquis, may already be of no consequence. I have even more dangerous matters to contend with than Maurice and his notions of amour.” She whirled and faced him openly. “I could be sent to the Bastille. Then what will become of your duel with Maurice?”
He looked at her as though trying to weigh whether she was serious. The look on her face must have alerted him. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, and something changed in his manner as his gaze became perceptive.
He walked up to her, taking her by the shoulders so she was forced to look up at him.
“What is it, Rachelle?” His voice was quiet, but not what she would call gentle; rather, it demanded the truth.
“It is Sebastien and my sisters. They escaped. They left France late last night or early this morning for England. No one knew of Sebastien’s secret plans until Nenette brought morning tea for Madeleine and found them all gone. My sisters left me a message, but I’ve burned it as requested.”
After she explained what Madeleine had written and about Sebastien’s plans, she wondered that Fabien did not seem surprised.
“I knew of his plans to leave France,” he said, “but I expected it in the fall, during the religious colloquy at Fontainebleau.” He looked off toward the window, frowning to himself and apparently forgetting her for the moment. He said as if speaking to himself, “He must be nearing Calais now. His secret must be kept at any price lest Catherine discover it and send elite guardsmen to overtake him at the port.” He looked at her. “Who else knows of this other than yourself and your maid?”
“No one that I know of, just little Philippe.”
“The boy I saw?”
“Yes. He lost his family in the attack in Lyon and I — we have taken him in as an apprentice in my work. But Fabien, there is more, for me, the worst.”
His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Go on.”
“I played recklessly with the Queen Mother — ”
She paused and bit her lip. His jaw clamped. He was upset with her, and she loathed having to tell him.
“I was so sure she murdered Grandmère — that when Philippe told me about the poison shops on the wharves and how the Queen Mother is said to masquerade herself as a shopping woman, I knew I must follow her.”
She heard his breath escape. His gaze narrowed. “Rachelle!” he gritted.
“I know, I know, and well, this morning the opportunity came and I followed her to the wharf, to the shop of the Ruggerio brothers. I overheard her demand poison from them. She plans to murder someone else now — ”
He swiftly put his fingers to her lips, restraining her. He glanced toward the door. “Not so loud.” He looked at her. “So she saw you?”
“Madalenna did. How did you know?”
“What else could go wrong?” he said fiercely. “Why did you do it? Did I not warn you to stay away from her? You are no match for her diabolical wits!”
Then suddenly he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, stroking her hair gently. “This complicates matters. Tell me everything. Leave nothing out,” he ordered quietly, his mood completely changing. “When did this happen?”
She tried to pull her thoughts out of the warm mesmerizing pool she found herself in with his arms around her possessively. She buried the side of her face against his fragrant jacket. “This morning, about an hour ago. It was Madalenna who saw me.” She looked up quickly. “Do you think she will inform Catherine?”
“Without question, she has no mind of her own. She is naught but a slave. Are you sure of this? You are not exaggerating just a little out of alarm? Madalenna saw you?”
“Yes, yes! I mean she saw me, and I am not exaggerating.” Her teeth chattered despite herself. “She knows I was there, that I overheard. I could be sent to the Bastille.”
“Not if I have anything to do with your future. But we must leave here at once.” He turned her loose, frowning, deep in thought. “Let me think . . .” He tapped his chin and paced, then looked at her evenly, scanning her. “Speaking of a disguise, that may aid us both at the moment. Can you make yourself — ” he gestured with his hands, as if measuring her girth — “heavier, here and there?”
She looked down at herself. “Yes, I am sure I can.”
“We will go straight to my palais at Vendôme.”
Vendôme. Her thoughts rushed back to an earlier time when she had fled there for safety and remembered his promise of amour in the garden.
“But will she not send guards after me at Vendôme?”
“Undoubtedly. She may even come herself. That is good. I shall have her on my own terms.” He let the drape fall into place, looked over at her, scowled, and came to her.
“We will need to leave your maid and the boy here until I can find a way to send for them. They should be safe. I’ll tell them to admit that you ran away with me if she questions them. That will give her pause. She needs me to get rid of Guise. She will not do much to anger me until after the assassination. So I must delay.” He walked over to the window and moved the heavy velvet drapery to look below in the courtyard. “Go and change. Do what you can to disguise your appearance.”
Rachelle, heart thudding with excitement and fear, rushed to her bedchamber for a dark dress and cloak, stuffing lighter undergarments beneath the dress until she looked broadly rounded. She started to smile, but was sobered when she imagined the face of the Queen Mother peering at her. A few minutes later she came out and stood in the doorway expecting his approval.
He turned and took her in from head to toe. He put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. Rachelle smothered a laugh.
He gestured toward the door, bowing deeply, and she walked past him with dignity, head high.
CATHERINE DID NOT RETURN to the Louvre as expected but boarded the royal coach for the ride to Fontainebleau, content with what she had accomplished at the Ruggerio brothers’ shop. As the horses raced along the wooded countryside of Orléans and Fontainebleau, she laughed to herself, for a message from one of her chief spies had reached her by rider. Marquis Fabien de Vendôme had docked the Reprisal at Calais and was on his way to Paris to stand against Comte Maurice Beauvilliers. There would most likely be a duel over the belle des belles Mademoiselle Rachelle, unless Catherine decided to stop it. She chuckled. She was in no mind to stop so entertaining a spectacle.
She would make certain they met at Fontainebleau, and she would rile them up first like two poisonous snakes and then arrange to have them meet by chance.
She pressed her kerchief to her mouth and chuckled.
Later that afternoon within her royal appartement at Fontainebleau, Catherine received another message, this one from Paris. A cold fury wrapped around her until she yelled: “Madalenna!”
The girl appeared at once from the shadowy recesses of the chamber. Catherine stalked toward her shaking the lettre in her pale, stoic face.
“Why did you not tell me this? You little fool. You have failed me. I should throw you to the snake pit, you worthless creature. How long have you known Comte Sebastien fled Paris, taking his family?”
The rou
nd dark eyes, empty, like deep pools stared up at her.
“I did not know, Your Majesty. I swear I knew nothing of this news until you just told me.”
“Lies!” She slapped the thin girl, and she fell backward, bumping her head against the wall. “You fool,” Catherine said again. “He is on his way to England. You will pay for this failure, Madalenna. I will have you beaten. What else do you know that you are keeping from me? Out with it, or I vow you will wish you had spoken all the truth to me.”
Madalenna crawled to her knees, wiping blood from her lips. She looked up at Catherine.
Catherine scowled down at her. “Well? You had best tell me. I have all the truth here on this piece of paper. If you hold anything back I shall know it.”
Madalenna pushed the lock of ebony hair away from her cheek.
“I saw Mademoiselle Rachelle at the wharf. She followed you to the Messires Ruggerio. She saw me and ran away.”
Catherine felt her heart turn to ice. She could not speak. She stared, unblinking, down at Madalenna, then turned slowly away and walked with leaden feet over to the window. She looked out at the forest and gazed at the circling crows, cawing.
She must suspect me of the grande dame’s death.
Danger, her mind whispered, danger. No one must know of her secret dealings with poison.
Spying on me. Following me? She will pay for this indiscretion. Ah yes, she will pay a weighty price for this treachery.
So be it. Rachelle must die. But not before I use her lover, the marquis, to destroy Duc de Guise. Then I will alert the duc’s devoted son to the fact that the marquis assassinated his beloved father. Young Henry will not rest until he reaps revenge on the marquis. I will be rid of two enemies and no one will suspect my involvement. After the marquis is no longer here to defend her, I will have my way with Rachelle the spy!
Together . . . at Last
VENDÔME
AT THE GRAND BOURBON CHTEAU AT VENDÔME IT SEEMED TO RACHELLE that all the schemes to entrap her and Fabien for personal and political gain had been left behind in Paris.
Written on Silk Page 35