Traitor in Her Arms

by Shana Galen

  And now he’d lost her again.

  With a growl, he swung his other arm up and clawed at the exit to the sewer. Using sheer strength he didn’t know he possessed, Ramsey drew his body up, sliding an elbow onto the street. Before he could shift it forward, a man grabbed his shoulders and hauled him out.

  Ramsey looked up from the wet street and into the narrowed eyes of an auburn-haired man. This must be Hastings. “Where’s Alex?” he asked in English.

  “She went back to distract the soldiers. She said she’d meet us.”

  The man uttered a French oath, then pointed first at Ramsey then at Gabrielle. “Stay here. Do not move.”

  Ramsey was relieved to see Gabrielle standing in the shadows of a building that had bowed slightly over time and whose roof blocked out the light from above and sheltered her from the persistent rain.

  “You’re leaving?” Ramsey asked.

  “I’m not leaving a man behind. Wait for me. You’ll never find the boat or be allowed on board without me.”

  Ramsey grunted assent, then watched as the man sprinted off. He replaced the grate on the sewer, then wiped his hands on his trousers. They had to be close to the Seine. He could smell it—the stink of rotting fish and offal and blood.

  Eyes on the street and the few windows in the building above, Ramsey crossed to Gabrielle. She took his arm and pulled him into a doorway, which sheltered them even further. If soldiers passed by the alley, they wouldn’t see anyone loitering.

  “Do you think we can trust him?” Gabrielle asked, looking up at Ramsey with those large blue eyes, and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms again.

  “I don’t trust anyone but you,” he answered. Reaching up, he pushed a piece of her hair the razor had missed off her face and behind an ear.

  Like a person just waking from a dream, she reached up and touched her ruined cap of hair. “They cut it. To make the work of the guillotine easier.”

  Ramsey tilted his head, pretending to study it. “The Conciergerie needs a new barber. This one can’t seem to cut in a straight line.”

  She smiled, though he could see the tears in her eyes. “To be fair, he had rather rudimentary tools, many victims, and not much time. I’m certain I look a fright.”

  Ramsey caught her chin before she could lower it. “You look lovely, as always. A bit older without all that hair, but the maturity suits you.”

  “You’re lying. Again.” She jerked her head, moving away from his touch.

  “Not this time.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned one shoulder against the door. Her pale skin and dark eyes made her look so fragile and fatigued. Neither of them would be able to continue much longer.

  “Do you expect me to believe you have reformed and can now be trusted?”

  “I don’t expect anything.” He said, bristling despite himself. He deserved her scorn and her skepticism. Why had he been foolish enough to believe she could forgive him? Love him?

  “Why did you do it? Denounce me?” she clarified. “Why did you betray me?” Her voice was even and calm, but he could see the flash of anger in her eyes and the quick tinge of color in her colorless cheeks.

  “It is a long and sordid story.” He glanced out at the street again but saw no sign of Alex or Hastings. Perhaps the two of them were taken and now he and Gabrielle were also doomed. This might very well be his last chance to confess, to tell his story.

  “I have time, and at this point, I doubt much would shock me.”

  He gave a short laugh. “You underestimate me.”

  “Then shock me.”

  “Very well. I’m not the Earl of Sedgwick. I’m the oldest of eight children born to Mr. and Mrs. John Barnes of Cumbria. My parents were tenant farmers on the old earl’s land.”

  Her brow had creased, but she looked more confused than shocked.

  “I knew the earl. He had no heirs of his own, and he took me under his wing. He taught me to read and write. I often sat in his library while he looked over accounts, and in time I learned arithmetic too. I was not ignorant, simply poor.” He slid down the wall of the alcove, crouching so he could rise quickly but giving his back and legs some relief. “Perhaps the earl was lonely or perhaps he saw something in me. He treated me like his son. We would walk for hours some days, and he would talk of music and art. He wanted nothing in return, and all I wanted was a respite from the endless days of hard labor and my aching belly when I went to bed hungry.”

  “I don’t understand.” Gabrielle’s voice broke the sound of the soft patter of rain on the streets.

  “When the earl died, his estate was in shambles. He’d loved books, not farming. He’d spent the last ten years searching for an heir, but none could be found. I knew this. And on his deathbed, he told me the estate would surely be sold off in parts, all of his tenants made their own master.”

  Gabrielle inhaled sharply.

  Ramsey cut her a look. “He was a fool, yes, but a kindly fool. He didn’t understand money, didn’t realize none of his tenants would have the money to buy the land they farmed, pay off the earl’s creditors. Without an heir, we were consigned to homelessness. My elderly parents and my seven younger siblings would have nowhere to go. They would have starved or had to resort to theft or prostitution.” He rose again, gave Gabrielle a direct look. “And so I took the only option available to me. I became the earl’s heir.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “It is not legal, but it is possible. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say I took what blunt the earl had and used it to hire the most unscrupulous men I could find. I created a new identity for myself and made an appearance at the earl’s London residence, just as the will was to be read. I had all the documents I needed to prove I was the earl’s legitimate son, from a marriage that took place when he’d been on the Continent. I knew the earl. I could fill in all the details of his life, his mannerisms. I told you he’d been searching for heirs; I had letters from him to me after his man had found me. I must say, if I ever decided to write poetry, Byron would be put to shame. The letters portrayed a beautiful reunion between father and son. Unfortunately, the earl died before he could add me to his will, but no matter. The law is clear on the point. All of his property went to me. Have I shocked you?”

  Her wide eyes and heavy silence answered his question.

  “My father and mother were good people. Had they known, they would have never allowed me to continue with such a ruse, but once the deed was done, if they spoke out, they would have condemned me to death. I think that is my greatest regret. My parents died with my sins on their conscience.”

  Gabrielle blew out a shaky breath. “This is beyond belief.”

  “Is it? I was young and rash and thought I was invincible. I didn’t believe I would ever be caught. I didn’t understand guilt or shame or regret. The earl had shown me a life I hadn’t known existed. I saw what I wanted within arm’s reach, and I took it. Damn the consequences.”

  He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. “You were almost a consequence.”

  “How? How does any of this relate to me? To Paris?”

  He raked a hand through hair damp from the rain. What he wouldn’t give for a warm bath and a hot meal of good British fare. He would be happy never to see France again. After this confession, he imagined Gabrielle would be happy never to see him again.

  “My treachery was discovered, of course,” he said, staring into the alley. The rain fell harder now and a little river of mud ran through the center. “And by the worst sort of woman, a woman who used the knowledge to her own advantage. Somehow she acquired documents that proved who I really was—the son not of the Earl of Sedgwick but of John Barnes. She threatened to expose me unless I paid her. The problem was—“

  “The earl’s estate was all but bankrupt,” Gabrielle interrupted.

  He inclined his head. “I have been working for years to restore the estate to what it once was, and though I have had some success,
I don’t have the kind of funds Madame Fouchet sought. Once again, I turned to a life of crime.”

  “Yes, it all makes sense now. That is why you were at the Beaumonts’ ball. That is why you wanted Cleopatra’s necklace.”

  He stared at the flowing mud, not wanting to meet her gaze. “Yes, but though she told me the necklace was the last item I would have to steal, she lied. She always lied. But this time she didn’t want an artifact or a jewel or a painting. She wanted the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  He heard her sharp intake of breath. Never had he felt more shame than at that moment. He hadn’t seen himself as a traitor before. He’d told himself he was doing what he must to survive, but now he knew that had been a lie. He was a traitor to his country, to himself, and to Gabrielle.

  “That is why you seduced me.”

  “No!” He turned sharply, cornering her. “Never. I had no idea you were involved with the Pimpernel. When I realized it, I did all I could to stay away from you and to distance myself from you.”

  Her eyes burned with bright blue hatred. “You didn’t do enough.”

  “I didn’t, no. I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself, and yes, I admit, I thought you might lead me to the Pimpernel. Would I have betrayed him? I don’t know.”

  She let out a disgusted huff, but when she would have turned away from him, he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “I never meant to betray you. You must believe that. I never wanted any harm to come to you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that is why you signed my arrest warrant.”

  The hatred in her eyes slayed him. He would have given anything to wipe it away, to wipe all of his past sins away and come to her an innocent, honorable man. The difficulty being that if he had never sinned, never impersonated the earl, he would never have met her.

  “I didn’t sign it.” He released her. “Madame Fouchet’s assistant followed me here. Or perhaps she was here already.” He ran a hand over his burning eyes. “She followed me and issued the warrant to punish me for not acting quickly enough. Not wheedling the name of the Pimpernel from you.”

  “You want his name?” She moved closer, and he could feel the heat of her and the rage. “Here is the irony, Ramsey—if that is even your name. I don’t know the Pimpernel’s identity. I never did.”

  He’d already come to that conclusion on his own, and yet he hadn’t abandoned her. At some point, protecting her had become more important than protecting himself.

  “Just answer one more question.”

  He raised his gaze to hers.

  “Was it always an act? Years ago, at the Exeter garden party, when you kissed me in the greenhouse. Was that part of your grand performance too, Lord Sedgwick?”

  So long ago. He felt as though he had been another person in another lifetime. How could he answer? Playing the part of the Earl of Sedgwick had become so much a part of him he forgot where Ramsey Barnes ended and Sedgwick began. “Kissing you has never been an act, Gabrielle. My feelings for you have always been genuine.”

  “Why didn’t you ask for my hand?” Her voice sounded close to breaking. “Surely you knew I would have chosen you over George.”

  “I did not ask you because I knew you would have said yes. I couldn’t marry you, Gabrielle. I would have dragged you into my lie as well.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Even a thief has some honor, some scruples, few as they might be.”

  She began to speak but closed her mouth at the sound of footsteps approaching. Ramsey pushed her back into the shadows and peeked around the corner of the alcove. Alex and Hastings ran through the rain, heading toward them.

  “Let’s go!” she called, barely slowing. “The guard won’t be fooled for long.”

  Ramsey grabbed Gabrielle’s hand, holding fast when she would have pulled away. She might hate him, but until she was safe on English soil, he would not let her out of his sight.

  They ran through the rain, Ramsey keeping Gabrielle close. Her skin was wet and cold as the rainwater chilled skin heated from exertion. Despite being damp and cold, he was thankful for the shower. The streets of Paris had all but emptied and they ran unmolested all the way to the Seine. There, tethered to a small quay, was a fishing boat with a single fisherman huddled under a coat to keep dry. He looked up when the small party came into view, his face a mass of wrinkles and grooves.

  “Took you long enough,” he said in French.

  “We are here now,” Alex answered. “I have your cargo.” She gestured to Ramsey and Gabrielle, who stood panting and looking very much like a bedraggled kitten.

  “And my payment?”

  Alex withdrew a purse from a pocket hidden inside her skirts and tossed it to him.

  “More when I receive word they made it safely to the ship.”

  He nodded, seeming satisfied. With a wave of his hand, he gestured them onto the boat. Ramsey pushed Gabrielle forward, but she resisted. “I can’t leave you in France, Alex. I fear you are in danger.”

  “God damn it, Gabrielle. Don’t be ridiculous!” Ramsey barked. “Get on the boat.”

  She scowled at him then focused on Alex.

  “He’s right,” Alex said. “You are in far more danger than I. You’ve been compromised.”

  “Please come with us,” Gabrielle pled.

  Alex shook her head. “My work is here. I have missions yet to complete. One day I’ll go home to London, and when I return, I’ll possess a new identity. That’s my gift.”

  Gabrielle moved forward, embracing the other woman. Over Gabrielle’s shoulder, her face was a mask of shock and surprise. Ramsey almost laughed. Gabrielle never ceased to surprise him either. Alex’s arms came up and she patted Gabrielle stiffly on the shoulders, then set her back. “Please hurry.”

  Ramsey stepped off the quay and into the bobbing boat. Gabrielle took his hand and joined him. Alex moved back to stand beside Hastings.

  “Get under this,” the old fisherman said in French. He held up a heavy canvas tarp that had been lying on the floor of the boat. Ramsey helped Gabrielle move to the center of the boat then joined her, both of them crouching in order to fit into the small space. Before the tarp covered them, he took one last look at Alex.

  But she was already gone.

  —

  Gabrielle did not know if she slept or merely dozed, but despite her discomfort under the sodden tarp on the bottom of the small fishing boat, she could not keep her eyes open. Ramsey was warm beside her. She might hate him, but she did believe she could trust him.

  At the moment.

  He’d told her he loved her. She didn’t know quite what to think of the statement. If he had an ulterior motive in proclaiming his affection, she could not think what it might be. And no one could have concocted the story about impersonating the earl. She’d told him she was not easily shocked, but he had shocked her. He was not at all who she had thought him to be.

  Perhaps she had never known him at all.

  And yet, she knew three facts about him without question.

  One: he had risked his life to save her.

  Two: he was a thief and a liar and a traitor.

  Three: she still wanted him.

  If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she might have thought it amusing that she even presumed to pass judgment on one who stole or lied. She’d done the same, many times. Who was she to judge? And hadn’t his motives been much nobler than hers? She had only wanted to save herself. He had an entire family, an entire estate, to think of.

  She wanted to hate him. She did hate him. And the more she clung to that feeling, the more it slipped away.

  At some point the small boat must have docked at another quay, and she and Ramsey were shepherded to a cart filled with barrels of wine. She’d been instructed to keep her head down and under the tarp—the heavy, wet tarp she was rapidly coming to hate. But she’d managed a quick look around, and in the distance she’d seen the lights of Paris.

  They’d made it out of the city. She could almost believe they wer
e saved.

  She and Ramsey were squeezed between barrels of wine underneath the dratted tarp. She could not fall asleep on this leg of the voyage. The roads were too bumpy and her fear of discovery too great. But no one called for the cart to halt. No one demanded to search the contents of the conveyance. They stopped briefly along the road to attend to bodily functions, and the driver gave them each a hunk of bread and a cup of wine. He didn’t speak to them, and she and Ramsey did not speak to each other. But when he reached out and took her hand, she held his tightly, thankful for the small comfort.

  Finally they reached a port. Gabrielle assumed it was Calais, but she did not ask, did not raise her head from the protection of the tarp. It was dark, and she was not sure how long they had been traveling. When Ramsey finally urged her out of the cart, her legs ached and she all but hobbled up the gangplank of the ship and then down into a hold filled with more wine barrels. It stunk, but at this point so did she. All she wanted was her little home on Audley Street, her own bed, and a bath. And all seemed impossibly far away.

  She must have dozed again, because a loud creak woke her, and when she opened her eyes she blinked against the bright sunlight.

  “Good afternoon!” a man said in a voice too loudly. He sounded brash and very…English after she’d become accustomed to the soft lilt of French.

  “What is good about it?” Ramsey grumbled beside her. Obviously, she was not the only one who felt this journey had lasted an eternity.

  “We’re in the English Channel,” the man said. “You can come up and out of there. Walk on the deck.”

  Gabrielle blinked at him, uncomprehending. She could walk in the sunlight?

  “Unless you prefer to stay in this rank hold. I’ll tell the cook you don’t need any hot water for a bath in my cabin.”