Hostage to Love

by Maggi Andersen

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and drew her along the path to where her father stood waiting. “We can discuss it later.” His smile was irresistible. “I shall demand to be told your story first.”

  “I doubt I’ll let you get away with that, Mr. Hartley,” Henrietta said. How wonderful it was to see him.

  “How extraordinary! It’s Mr. Hartley.” Her father shook his hand.

  “Christian, please, my lord.”

  “Yes indeed,” her father said with a wry grimace. “Anthony. Formality hardly seems important at this point, does it?”

  He turned to address Verity. “What about your father, did you learn anything?”

  Verity shook her head. “He died in the massacre at the prison.”

  “Sweetheart!” Henrietta’s father held out his arms and Verity walked into them. She rested her head against his chest. “I am so very sorry, Verity.”

  Henrietta saw he was not surprised. He had been expecting this. She gasped at the horror of it. Losing one’s father was too terrible to contemplate. How despairing she would be if she lost him. “I’m so sorry, Verity.”

  “Thank you, Henrietta.” Verity drew away. “I must go and inform my uncle.”

  She walked away her head bowed.

  “Come and meet Philippe, Baron St André,” her father said. “My brother-in-law will welcome company. He has been wounded but is much improved.”

  Henrietta was alone when Verity emerged from her uncle’s library. “Was he dreadfully upset?”

  Verity shrugged. “The news didn’t surprise him.”

  “He may not like to upset you.”

  “No. Uncle François is not one to show his feelings.”

  “How did you and Mr. Hartley meet?” Henrietta asked. “Tell me everything. I can’t take it all in.”

  Verity gave a weak smile and patted her cheek. “I will, but have patience, Henrietta.”

  Henrietta grinned. “You know I have little.”

  “Oui, I am aware of that. We have the trunk! Come and find something to wear.”

  Henrietta followed her up the stairs. Her hair needed a wash. But how she looked didn’t seem to matter nearly as much as it had in London. Nothing could crush her joy at seeing Christian. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure he was real.

  In the bedchamber, Verity bent over the trunk. “There’s the dress you wore to the theatre, but it’s sadly crumped. Nothing else suitably modest unless you wish to don your page costume.”

  “Absolutely not!” Henrietta laughed, but her laugh faltered at the pain etched on Verity’s face. “I’m most dreadfully sorry about your father.” She placed her arms around Verity and pulled her close for a hug.

  After a moment, Verity drew away. She returned to the trunk. “How about this?”

  Henrietta held up the green striped Polonaise with gold ruffles. “It’s garish but will do.”

  “The color suits you,” Verity said in an unemotional voice as Henrietta stood before the mirror arranging the skirts.

  Had Verity lost her spirit? It was understandable but to see her so down disturbed Henrietta more than she thought it would. “I don’t like to see you so distressed, Verity. I wish I could help.”

  Verity’s breath hitched. “I am about to tell your father the reason I was in London.”

  Henrietta discovered with surprise that she wished Verity wouldn’t. “He could be very angry.”

  “I expect so, but your father is a generous and fair man,” she said over her shoulder as they returned to the parlor. “I hope he understands.”

  “He cares deeply for you.”

  “I would find that surprising. I certainly don’t deserve it.”

  “What nonsense. Of course, you do.” Henrietta linked her arm through Verity’s when they reached the parlor. “You saved his life.”

  “Your jewels made that possible.”

  “But you found the man who helped us. My jewels would have been useless but for you.”

  While the men remained upstairs, Henrietta roamed the garden, thinking about her father and Verity and how difficult and complicated it all was. The air was fresher here than in the city, sweetened with the fragrance of poppies, and a tang of the river. She strolled toward the fields rimmed by woodlands, then stopped. Far ahead of her, François strode purposefully into the trees. When he disappeared, she hurried to follow.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Propped up on pillows Philippe greeted them warmly. “I heard voices. What goes on? Who is this?”

  Anthony performed the introductions. Phillippe had been anxious and beaten down at the loss of Josette, but he listened with enthusiasm to Christian as he outlined their possibilities for escape. How soon could they safely move him? They would all die if they waited too long.

  “François has promised to make discreet inquiries about the Chouans,” Philippe said.

  Anthony was unenthusiastic. He found it difficult to place his daughter’s life in the hands of strangers who might not consider rescuing the English of vital importance. Not when so many French were in need.

  When he and Christian left Philippe’s bedroom, Anthony paused and chose his words with care. “I made enquiries at the House of Lords. I expect you’re here on behalf of the government.”

  Christian’s forehead furrowed. “You inquired about me?

  Anthony nodded. “After Baroness La Trobe’s ball.”

  Humor lurked in Christian’s eyes. “Perceptive of you.”

  “I know my daughter. If you don’t wish to marry her, you’d best slip away during the night.”

  “Then I have your permission to court her after we return to London?”

  “You do.” Anthony doubted he would have agreed to this quite so easily if they had remained in London. This changed all of them, irrevocably it seemed.

  Christian’s lips twitched. “My plan was to retire to my country house and fish for trout.”

  “Is it still?”

  Christian scratched his head. “I can’t see your daughter agreeing to that. Can you?”

  Anthony paused with his hand on the stair rail. “Hetta grew up in the country and loves the life. She was excited to come to London too, but after this...” He shrugged, and his smile faded. “First, we must get her safely home.”

  “We’ll put our heads together, come up with a plan.” Christian shrugged. “I have some experience of finding a safe route out of France. Although it has become more difficult.”

  Anthony found Verity alone in the kitchen. “Come for a walk.”

  They left the cottage and strolled the front garden hand in hand. When he stopped and turned her face up to his, she sighed and leaned into him. “I couldn’t save him.” Her blue eyes flooded with tears. “He was doomed from the first. Nothing would have saved him.”

  “Oh, my love.” He held her close while she cried, her slim frame racked with sobs. Then he raised her chin and pressed a soft kiss on her lips tasting her tears.

  She wiped her eyes with a finger. “You shan’t want to comfort me when I confess all.” She slipped out of his arms. Swung away. Came back again. “Danton sent me to London to… lure you to France. If I failed, my father was to be guillotined.”

  Shock robbed him of breath. Then his stomach clenched with disappointment, and the first rumblings of anger.

  She reached out a hand to him, but didn’t touch him. “You won’t be able to forgive me that.” Her face crumped. “But I couldn’t do it, Anthony, because I came to care for you. I came to France to warn you, even at the risk of my father’s life.”

  At the distress on her face compassion flooded through him. She’d been driven to save her father from the first. If she’d wanted to sacrifice Anthony all she had to do was go and tell Danton, he was in Paris. Not carry out that dangerous rescue. A man was lucky to have such daughters. Like Verity, Henrietta had risked everything to save him. And they’d pulled it off, by God!

  He wasn’t a vain man. He felt no outrage that she’d
chosen him as her lover merely to save her father. “Your Papa must have been justly proud of you. You are the best of daughters.”

  She shook her head dismissively. “You are angry and offended about our time together in London. I can only say that after that first time, I wanted you. You’ve become very dear to me.” She looked at him imploringly. “Do you hate me?” she whispered.

  He took her by the shoulders to keep her still when she threatened to dance away from him again. “Never. That’s all in the past. I love you, Verity.” He smiled into her tear-washed eyes. “I should thank Danton for bringing us together.”

  “You are treating me with kid gloves,” she said, but she smiled a little.

  “What the deuce does Danton want with me?”

  “When I returned to Paris yesterday, I went to see him. I implored him to give me news of my father. He’d learned of your escape and was furious. He then told me something else.”

  “What was it?”

  She grabbed his hands and held them tight. “He was once in love with Anna. And now he wants Henrietta.”

  Anthony jerked away from her. “What? Damnation!” His eyebrows snapped together. “The man is mad.” He tried to recall something of Danton when he and Anna first met. Had she ever mentioned the man? Was there something Anna had failed to tell him? Had he frightened her? Anthony wished he knew.

  “Danton has been obsessed with your wife all these years. He fancies Henrietta is like her.” She rubbed her forehead. “He is fanatical and will stop at nothing. He demanded I bring you and Henrietta to him.”

  He set his teeth, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. She stared at him and shivered. “You four must leave here. We cannot delay.”

  “I won’t leave you here, Verity.”

  She shook her head and walked away.

  ***

  Henrietta followed the woodland path, the heels of her buckled shoes sinking into the damp ground. She heard men’s voices up ahead. Determined to find out who it was he met, she crept closer, and hunkered down in the shrubbery. François stood in conversation with three rough-looking men. Were they the same men she’d come across here before? Their voices were raised in disagreement, but the words were lost on the breeze.

  François made a dismissive gesture and turned away, but one of the men called him back. If he came this way, he could see her. Alarmed, she backed away and retraced her path through the trees. Once out in the meadow, she picked up her skirts and ran. Her lungs bursting, she didn’t stop until she reached the stables and dived inside. Bent double, her breath coming in gasps, she stole a look out the door. François crossed the meadow headed for the house.

  He was a suspicious man and she mustn’t be found here. Leaving the stables, she ran over the uneven path toward the cottage; her gown raised, her eyes on her feet. She came up against a hard body and looked up. Christian.

  Strong hands parenthesized her waist. “Is the barn on fire?”

  “We must leave before François arrives.” She was panting so hard she could barely speak. His touch didn’t help. “Come into the orchard.”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure why, but the idea is most tempting.”

  Annoyed that he didn’t take her seriously, she grabbed his hand and dragged him along. She stopped beneath a flowering pear tree then fought to regain her breath and her composure. She lost it again when he took both her hands.

  “Henrietta, what is this about?”

  “You… called me Henrietta.”

  “Yes, may I?”

  “It hardly matters.” She pulled her hands away and turned to point back the way she’d come. “It… it’s François. I followed him into the woods. He was arguing with brigands.”

  “Are you sure they were brigands?”

  “They looked like brigands.”

  “They might be gypsies. He might have refused to allow them to camp on his land. Why has this made you so nervous?”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  He frowned. “Because he has met with these men?”

  “No. It’s not just that. I doubt his attitude toward us is sincere.”

  His blue-grey eyes searched hers. “What reason do you have to think that?”

  “I can’t say exactly. It’s just a feeling. Finding him with those men…”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He is probably on his way back to the house.”

  “He said he would find out if there were Chouans in the area. It’s possible these people are they.” He turned away. “I’ll ask him.”

  She grabbed his arm. “You mustn’t.”

  “Henrietta, it’s the best way. Let’s see what he has to say.” His expression turned hard. “If he hedges, I’ll know.”

  It thrilled her when he acted so decisively, but she shook her head. “We cannot let him know we suspect him.”

  “I’ll handle him.”

  Henrietta studied his face. Once the charming gentleman was stripped away, he became someone else. Someone she didn’t know. He was yet to explain his own actions. “Why are you in France?”

  “Business.”

  “Business? When our countries hover on the brink of war?”

  “I work for the government, Henrietta.”

  Henrietta sighed. She’d suspected as much. A spy perhaps. This man made her head swim. She wanted to kiss him and curl up in his arms. She wanted the danger hanging over them, like the heralding of a storm, to vanish and allow her to concentrate on him alone.

  His smile reassured her. “Allow me to deal with François. I’ll get you all back to England safely.”

  “You’ll find out what he’s up to?”

  “I will.” He chucked her under the chin. “No more eavesdropping. Promise me?”

  Why couldn’t he take her seriously? She wished she wasn’t so young. She shrugged. “Unless I discover something—”

  He cradled her head with long elegant fingers and lowered his mouth to hers, stunning her into silence. At the touch of his cool lips everything faded into insignificance. She reached up to stroke his silky black hair, something she’d longed to do since she’d first met him.

  He would have stepped back had she not wrapped her arms around his neck. Her breasts rubbed pleasurably against his chest Her hand on his nape, she drew his head down to hers. “Kiss me again.”

  With a grin, he obliged, his lips teasing hers until warmth curled down to her toes.

  “Promise me?” he asked again, in between planting kisses on her forehead, cheeks and neck, his voice husky against her ear.

  She wasn’t about to promise. No matter how appealing and experienced he was. “I’ll try.”

  He tucked a curl behind her ear, disordered after her run through the field, and kissed her again, drawing her closer within the circle of his arm. His strong body against hers made her knees tremble. She leaned in to him, and when he released her, she almost fell.

  Christian steadied her. “Have a heart, Henrietta. For my peace of mind, I need your firm promise. Let’s not quibble over this. You must trust me, and I must be able to trust you.”

  “But to trust someone, you must allow them some freedom.”

  She pushed away from him, annoyed to find him smiling. He was so confident of himself. So confident she would obey him without question. Did he think because she was young she was naive? Country girls learned a lot at an early age.

  “Freedom?” He frowned. “We are not free until we reach England.”

  She plucked a blossom from a low bow and held it to her nose. How could she deny him? But she must be guided by what the gypsy had told her. Had she not been proved right when Molly’s betrothal came to naught? The crone had said it would be her responsibility to save them all. She and Verity had got them this far safely. She frowned. He had not declared himself. Was he just seducing her merely to make her compliant? France had changed her. She wasn’t ready to relinquish all control to him.

  As if he sensed her inner struggle, he attempted to draw her back int
o his arms.

  “You take liberties, sir.” Her faint voice lacked conviction.

  He gave that lop-sided grin that made her breath quicken. “Shall I take a little more?”

  Henrietta fought to ignore his effect on her, the wild and reckless desire to throw all to the winds. She stepped away. With some distance between them, her thoughts cleared. “You are taking advantage of this situation, sir.”

  He took her hand, raised it to his lips. “Would many red-blooded males resist? A lovely young lady beneath a perfumed bough? Yes, I want to kiss you, but my main aim is to protect you. To get you safely back to England so you can enjoy your London Season. It’s where you should be. What madness brought you here?”

  Her aunt was right. He toyed with her. She meant nothing more to him than a light flirtation. “I’ve heard it said that you’re a rake.” Henrietta pulled her hand free. Her heart felt strangely heavy as he turned back to the path.

  Before she knew it, he had pulled her back into the leafy bower. His eyes looked grave, the teasing smile gone from his lips. “I’m sorry. But this is not London, Henrietta. Forgive me?”

  “I don’t believe I care to.” Why did he have to be so attractive? Were all rakes so?

  He sighed and shook his head. “I wanted to wait until we returned to England. Hasty decisions made now are not always wise. You should enjoy the exciting life promised you before you marry. But heaven help me, I love you to distraction. It’s selfishly of me, but I want you to be mine.” He sank down on one knee on the carpet of flowers. “Marry me?”

  Henrietta gasped. She put her hands on her hot cheeks. “You love me?”

  He stood. “Have I not proven my love by coming to find you?”

  She tilted her head. “You came to France for an entirely different reason, not that you’ll tell me what that is.”

  His mouth twitched, and a gleam lit his eyes, as he stood and brushed his soiled knees. “You drove a trap past me through the barricade with Mademoiselle Verity. I returned to Paris because of you.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yes. And quite a shock you gave me.”