Her father had lent him one of his old frock coats. Perhaps that was the difference tonight. In freshly starched lace, stockinet breeches, and newly cleaned boots, his long dark queue spiraling down the royal blue of his coat, Ian appeared the epitome of every gentleman she’d ever known. He sat with one long muscled leg sprawled out to the side of the chess table, the other boot tucked under his seat, as if he might leap from the chair at any moment.
All heads turned at his comment.
Not looking up from the chessboard, he continued, “I think it might ease all our minds if we traveled together.”
Despite his casualness, Chantal felt the force of his determination. Odd, that she felt it without using the piano to test his tones. She clenched her fingers into her palm so tightly that her nails bit through skin. She didn’t even know where to begin protesting his mad suggestion.
“You see the safety in that?” her father asked with a nonchalance to match Ian’s.
Again, Chantal sensed an undercurrent she couldn’t decipher, as if there were more meanings to see than she understood.
Ian moved his queen into position and glanced up, directly at her. His eyes glowed with an incandescence that held her captive and burned through to the places that he’d touched the prior night, inside and out.
“I See the danger of remaining here,” he remarked, answering her father with the same emphasis, but holding Chantal’s gaze as if he spoke only to her. “There’s safety in numbers. The journey is not so long that you couldn’t return later if you so desired.”
“Of course we so desire.” Chantal looked away first. Her fingers unconsciously stroked the keys, trying to play what wasn’t being said. Ian’s remarks were often cryptic, but her father’s participation unnerved her. “This is our home. We cannot just up and leave it.”
“But you understand the sense in traveling with your friends and the children until they have safely crossed into Austria?” Ian asked, not raising his voice.
The Austrian Netherlands were the closest country to Paris, a day’s ride away. Silence filled the room now that their thoughts had been said aloud.
“He speaks truth,” her father finally admitted. “The roads north are littered with checkpoints, and the soldiers are not always obedient to their orders. Thieves are everywhere. Larger parties aren’t as easily intimidated.”
Chantal stared at her father in surprise. His face seemed more lined with worry than usual, and the strain of his tasks had aged him. He rubbed his injured knee as he spoke, and her heart bled for him. He had lost as much as she had these past years. She wasn’t certain he’d even looked at another woman since her mother’s death last year. Her grief welled.
She usually played her piano or hummed to block out unpleasantness, but with all eyes on her now, she had to face reality. “Liberty and equality” had a different meaning to different people. Some thought it meant they need abide by no law. Although she felt safe in her small world, in reality, much of France bordered on anarchy.
She bowed her head in grief and acceptance. “I cannot bear to think of you and the children leaving us,” she whispered, holding back a sob. “You are all I have left of Jean. I would stay with you for as long as possible.”
Pauline openly wept, wiping her tears with her lace handkerchief. “Perhaps, by next year, we can gather in Le Havre and enjoy the simple pleasures we knew as children. I want that for Anton and Marie.”
Ian turned back to his chessboard as if he’d lost interest in the discussion now that he’d had his way. Chantal watched as he tilted his queen to knock over the black king. White had won. Why did she think this had some significance for him? She was surely losing her wits beneath the strain of all these upheavals.
“I will begin making the arrangements,” her father said with an unusual heaviness.
Chantal wanted to rush to him as he struggled to stand, but she knew her offer of aid would be brushed aside. Her father did not require her help, but the children would. And, perhaps, Pauline. More than anything right now, she needed to be needed.
“I will help you, sir,” Pierre said with a sad solemnity that indicated he’d accepted his banishment. “I sincerely regret the trouble I am causing, but I think it is for the best that Pauline leave.” He stood and followed his host from the room.
Chantal was torn when Pauline, too, rose to retire. She wanted to hug her friend and go with her to admire the sleeping innocence of her godchildren, knowing it might be the last time she saw them beneath her roof. At the same time, she was aware of Ian crossing the room. She felt desire for him coiling in her womb, causing her breasts to swell against the thin muslin of her chemise so that the sash at her waist was suddenly too tight.
He ran his hand proprietarily over the nape of her neck, and she was amazed that her hair didn’t curl from the electricity of his touch.
“I must go out this evening,” he said with regret. “I need to make arrangements for the return of my chalice.”
Of course, it was about the chalice. Always the chalice. The object was more important to him than she was. In this irrational world, that almost made sense.
“I will go upstairs with Pauline and look after the children, then,” she murmured, rising from the bench and meaning to walk away, just to show she retained her independence.
She couldn’t do it. His hand drifted to her shoulder, and she looked up to meet Ian’s dark eyes. The impact of what they had done together last night hit her when he pressed her closer, and she gravitated into his arms as if she belonged there. She circled his neck and stroked his nape.
“I know you have no reason to believe me,” he said gravely, “but leaving Paris is for the best. You will understand someday.”
“Shredding my heart into little pieces is for the best?” she asked, unable to keep the cry from her voice. “They are all I have left besides my father. This house will echo empty when we return. I think losing them may kill me.”
She refused to acknowledge the possibility that losing him might be the worst of all.
She disentangled herself and hurried away before she could melt into a puddle of tears beneath the concern and understanding in his eyes. He didn’t even have the decency to appear cold and proud in the face of her grief so that she could hate him.
* * *
Ian could feel his mate’s grief deep down inside him where he couldn’t work it off with a few spins of his staff or a good long hike through city streets.
He would have to offer her the opportunity to stay with her family in whichever country they settled. That meant giving up all hope of taking her home with him.
Providing he lived through his encounter with Murdoch, he amended. Best to take one obstacle at a time. Rescue the royal family and the chalice, pry Chantal and her father out of Paris before it exploded in rage, find Murdoch, then pray Chantal would come home with him. The odds of any of these happening were so close that even the stars could not predict the outcome.
Ian walked the city streets to the Palais Royale without encountering more than a rowdy band of revelers who demanded to see the revolutionary cockade in his hat. Forewarned about this symbol, he removed his borrowed chapeau from beneath his arm and waved it like a flag that allowed him to sail freely past their narrow straits.
He met Count von Fersen at the Royale as agreed upon. Ian’s ability to sense the emotions of Others verified Chantal’s judgment about the handsome Swede’s integrity. The count was their best hope of rescuing the royal family — and prying Aelynn’s chalice from the king’s possession.
The Palais Royale was another matter entirely. An arena designed for amusement and built by the duc de Chartres, it mixed drunken soldiers with lewd courtesans and men of political power in a crowd pulsating with discontent and greed. With so many people crushed together in one place, the cesspool of vile sins simmered and festered in the summer heat. It would be best if the royals were far from here when they did.
He did not need the stars to tell him he
was sitting on a powder keg.
Joining the count at a café table where they could keep an eye on the mob, Ian hoped his uncomfortable borrowed frock coat allowed him to blend in without notice. He’d even donned a sword rather than carry his staff.
“My party will be ready to set out by tomorrow evening,” Ian told the count. He nodded at the waiter to indicate he’d have a glass of wine, and relaxed into a lounging position against the chair back as he saw others do at nearby tables. “They will chatter of the gala wedding they’re attending. I will be certain to mention that we hope the rest of our party is close behind us.”
Von Fersen nodded his agreement. “The guards should recognize my carriage and let us pass without difficulty. But our company’s choice of the berlin for the journey is not the wisest and could cause you problems,” he warned. “They insist on traveling together in comfort. You will have to schedule many stops so you do not travel too far ahead of them.”
Ian had second thoughts about risking all for a royal couple so removed from reality that they thought only of their creature comforts while their country was perched on the brink of destruction, but he could see only more bloodshed should he leave them here. “If you have the Russian passports, there shouldn’t be any difficulty. They will smuggle out the chalice?”
“All is arranged, if you have the cash to exchange for it. They need money more than silver and gems. I have already provided them with attire suitable for a baroness and her servants and children. They have sent wardrobes ahead, and the carriage is well supplied. It is only escaping the palace guards…”
The count glanced around to make certain no one could overhear. “They practiced tonight and failed. Tomorrow, they must try separately, the children first. I cannot say how long that will take, but it may be in the early hours of morning before we can depart.”
“The roads are well marked?” Ian asked in concern. He’d learned that traveling at night was perilous in a country where the roads were often no more than dirt paths.
“The baroness has just come from that direction. She says they are safe and easily passable. The moon will be full, and we’ll carry lanterns. If the weather holds, the journey should take no more than fifteen hours to the first meeting place. I have notified all concerned of their schedule so no one lingers too long and arouses suspicion.”
Ian knew that von Fersen referred to the hussars and royal officers assigned to meet the carriage and escort it to the safety of the border fortress. He preferred not to mention the real danger that awaited them on the north road — not suspicious villagers, but Murdoch. Very little escaped Murdoch’s preternatural notice. He might currently be wearing the uniform of a royal officer, but that did not mean his loyalty lay with the king. Ian knew of a certainty that if Murdoch realized the Chalice of Plenty was within his grasp, he would seek it out. If naught else, he could hold the sacred object for ransom in exchange for concessions from Aelynn, forcing the Council to back his ambitions with wealth or power.
“I will do what I can to divert any obstacles,” Ian agreed, understanding that for the safety of the royal family it would be best if the chalice went one way and they went another. “Beyond that, we can only hope for good fortune.”
“After tomorrow, none of us will be able to return here safely,” the count warned, rising to depart. “Is your party prepared for that?”
Ian could not lie. He merely shrugged and looked unconcerned. “This is the best for all.” And that was the sincerest truth as he knew it. Chantal and her father might despise him when all was said and done — although he suspected Orateur already accepted the necessity.
“I will owe you a great favor when next we meet.” The count bowed, and his tall, striking figure strode off — a dashing, romantic hero who would sacrifice all he owned to save his endangered lover.
Ian sipped his wine and pondered philosophical thoughts of sacrifice and romance, but he did not feel particularly glorified about saving lives by driving a wedge of deception between him and the one he wanted most.
Fifteen
Chantal held back her tears as she completed each task on her list. It wasn’t as if she were leaving home forever, she reminded herself. They’d be back within a few days, and everything would return to normal, except Pauline and her children would no longer be in her life. Her heart already ached with grief at their loss.
Perhaps she should adopt a child of her own. There were orphans aplenty running through the streets. She would think of it later, when she returned.
Ian hadn’t said where he would go, but his gestures spoke what his words did not. He’d climbed into her bed in the early hours and simply held her tight until daybreak. She’d understood then that he would be leaving once he had his chalice.
She refused to cry over that as well. He was nothing to her. Could never be anything to her. Except the best lover she’d ever had or would ever have again.
They’d made love again at dawn, and he’d left her bed while she dozed afterward. On the pillow where his head had rested, he’d left her a perfectly pitched silver flute. She’d wept over its beauty and his thoughtfulness — and the fear that it might be a parting gift.
She’d barely seen him since, but then, she’d been as busy as he apparently was. She’d helped Pauline pack trunks for the children, advised the servants on the food to send with them, arranged for enough fresh linen for everyone, and carried out her father’s errands as if it were an ordinary day. There were spies everywhere, and if anyone surmised they were contemplating illegal actions, the militia would be at their door.
All except Pierre had proper documentation, and even he had the best facsimile her father could arrange. Her father had devised a story of their attending a wedding party in their home town, so she’d packed a small trunk as well. For Pierre’s sake, they must act relaxed. Pauline went to the palace to bid her adieu to the queen. Papa had gone to his usual political salon. The children chased each other around the house and kept the servants too busy to gossip.
Ian had returned from his tasks by dinner time, and they’d all sat down to enjoy the meal together. But the hours had passed swiftly, and the summer sun had set, taking with it the heat. Now it was time to depart.
For some melancholy reason, Chantal felt as if she’d never see her beloved city home again. The rising moon illuminated the clean lines of pillar and post, and the decades-old vines twining up the limestone. Watching the flicker of lantern light in the glazed windows, she tried to put herself in Pauline’s shoes and be grateful for escape. She could not. Pauline would not want to lose her home any more than Chantal wanted to lose her friends and godchildren. Or Ian.
So she hugged a sleepy Marie and passed her into the carriage; helped Anton in with his toy soldier; checked that the trunks were double-tied on top and that Cook’s basket was under the seat. Garbed in a coachman’s attire, holding a whip, Pierre huddled on the driver’s seat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her father and Ian talking quietly, holding the steeds they would ride beside the carriage. She still could not believe her father had agreed to this plan. There were important bills to be discussed, laws to be made. It was her father’s participation, more than anything else, that rattled her secure little world.
“See that the beds are freshly made before we return,” she ordered the head housekeeper. “And the brandy barrel is almost empty. Have the supply replenished. It will probably be late when we come home, so bread and cheese will suffice upon our arrival. That will give Cook time to go to market the next morning. Is there anything else you can think of?”
“The candles, madame,” the servant reminded her. “Shall I restock?”
“Yes, excellent thought. Girard will be in charge of purchases, so check with him. Just look at the moon! It will be such a lovely, cool night for traveling, don’t you agree?”
The housekeeper did not look reassured, but she nodded obediently.
Ian took Chantal’s elbow. “The horses are r
estive. We need to be on our way.”
“Of course.” She scanned his face in the light from the carriage lamps, but she could see nothing beyond the grim set of his lips to indicate his state of mind. He hadn’t shaved since morning, and his beard shadowed his jaw, adding a raw masculinity to his striking bone structure that tugged a primal chord inside her. “Thank you for the flute,” she whispered. “It is beautiful.”
His hand squeezed her elbow harder, as if he felt the same as she. It was unnerving how he did that. “I know you need your music with you. I am sorry we cannot bring more.”
Touched that he’d thought of her in such a way, she accepted his assistance and climbed into the shadowy carriage to take the seat facing Pauline. The city gate would be the first test of their documents and Pierre’s disguise.
As the carriage horses trotted into the open street and tension mounted, Chantal wondered if this was how the king and queen would someday attempt their escape. Rumors were rife all over Paris that the queen had purchased a berlin and sent an enormous wardrobe ahead to Brussels. Chantal did not understand why the king would want to leave his throne and people when France most needed a strong leader, but she assumed his brothers and the war cries on the border had much to do with it.
She hoped the royals would not be so foolish as to try to escape, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Putting herself in the place of the queen, she shivered uneasily at the sight of soldiers lounging on street corners, peering into every vehicle that passed. The little bubble of her secure world weakened as she finally realized that this task they undertook was not a pretty game.
The beautiful, sophisticated Paris she knew had become a tinderbox. Intellectually, she’d known any little incident could incite a riot. But until this moment, she’d not feared these skirmishes. She’d always thought of herself as part of the protesting crowd. She feared now that she’d been living an illusion. If the soldiers saw so much as a suspicious face or form, they would stop the carriage, and violence-prone mobs would descend to search them.
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