Gérard choked as every burly man, including the ticket seller, known as her cousin, turned in unison to gape. “What are you—”
“Play along.”
“Right.” Leaning back, he grudgingly slid off the horse and landed onto the cobbled street with a thud. He ensured his mask stayed in place by tugging at the binding and knot behind his head twice. Removing the satchel which held the documents, he bound it tightly around his shoulder and chest to ensure it was protected.
He wasn’t in the forest anymore.
Without meeting her gaze, he tied the horse to the lamppost with the leather reins. Taking her basket, he set it onto the uneven pavement leading to the entrance of the small theatre and reached up for her waist. “Lean toward me, if you please.”
She pertly leaned toward him to make the descent possible. “Like so?”
The tops of her round, large breasts pushed against the fabric of her décolletage, giving him an overly generous display that made him all too aware that if he willed it, they could be his. Every night. For the rest of his life.
His chest tightened. “You did that on purpose.”
Her mouth quirked. “Enjoy the view while you can.”
It was like she was putting on a far bigger show than he wanted.
Grabbing her, he lowered her and settled her bare feet onto the pavement, releasing her. He leaned in. “Try not to overexert yourself, dearest.”
“You paid for it.”
He shifted his jaw, wishing she would let him see past the tawdry actress she always seemed to play. “Is this who you really are? Is money all you care about?”
Her ocean blue eyes softened and took on the persona of someone he had yet to meet. She leaned in close. “If money was all I cared about, I would have never kissed you.”
He swiped at his mouth in an effort to keep calm. He could tell she meant it. Leaning in close, he whispered, “Be careful. Never allow yourself to be alone with any of these men. They will only want one thing from you.”
“The same thing you did?”
He stared her down, his heart pounding. “I will ensure nothing happens to you. I will be watching over you even when you think I am not.”
She searched his masked face, her features softening. “I appreciate that.” She hesitated. “Despite what I said earlier—” A breath escaped her. “Maybe we can still make time for each other outside of all this smoke and fire business. We probably should get to know each other.”
He angled toward her and almost grabbed her face and kissed her, sensing she was giving him another chance. She was…forgiving him. “I would like that.”
A few whistles from the man standing in line drifted toward them. “Show us that there talent, citoyenesse! Come now and lift that skirt and shake an ankle at us!”
Gérard rigidly swung toward the men who were rattling their tickets and legs toward her. His gloved hands fisted.
“Refrain and say nothing.” She squeezed his arm hard. “Welcome to the elaborate farce known as my life. Men act like this around me even when there is no stage. And that, mon grand, is a sad truth I have long accepted.” She patted his arm one last time. “Until we meet again…” She sashayed past and over to her cousin, abandoning the basket she left at his booted feet.
A breath escaped Gérard as he watched her shapely figure make its way toward the crowd of men. Her derriere swayed beneath the wool fabric of her skirts tauntingly matching the jiggle of her corseted breasts. He almost bit his hand in an attempt not to keep looking at it.
She spread her slim arms wide, greeting the long line of men as a beautiful melody, almost too lush and perfect to be real, suddenly breezed from her lips. “I have at last found loooove…and now that I have seen what it can dooooo…all I will ever ask…is that you neveeeer break my heart…in…twooooo.”
Gérard couldn’t breathe.
Everything about her was surreal. It made him want to believe in the beauty of everything again. A beauty he didn’t think existed amongst the chaos of Paris and his life. And twisted though it was, he…well…he actually wanted her to be pregnant. Just so he could see her singing to their child at night, its small head peacefully cradled in the crook of her ivory arm.
He had never thought he would ever want that. Ever.
There was a moment of stunned silence, which Gérard shared in, followed by a roar of men hollering and clapping feverishly as they scrambled toward her.
He swallowed. This woman was going to make him kneel to far more than he was ready for. He could feel it. He could see it. He could taste it. She was full of so much mettle and warmth and wit, it was spilling onto the very pavement she walked on.
It made him want to worship and adore even her shadow.
Rémy jumped toward her with a playful half-squat and pointed. “Ah, now, there she is! The Republic’s greatest talent and the only cousin I have who can shake more than a fist!” He grabbed her and folded his thick arms around her tightly, swaying her. He kissed the top of her head twice then grabbed her hand and quickly ushered her past the whistles, toward the door. “I say we give these animals time to regain themselves after that performance. I have cheese and wine on the table right off stage. Go greet the girls you will be working with inside.”
Edging forward, Gérard mentally willed her to look at him before she went inside. To give him a whisper of hope that beyond their alliance there could be…more. More than the sex. More than what he had ever shared with any woman.
She excitedly chatted with Rémy, giggling about something and tapping his shoulder.
Not once did she look his way. Not even once. Resentment bit into him. It was as if they had never fallen asleep in each other’s arms under the stars.
Opening the door wide, Rémy revealed a candlelit parlor unevenly draped with shoddy, smalt- colored fabric. Women garbed in floor-length robes peered out from where they lounged on chairs. Thérèse was ushered inside as men scrambled to look at her, bending far forward and whistling.
Gérard wanted to beat the pulp out of every last one of them.
Thérèse turned against the hands of her cousin and enthusiastically blew the men kisses as if she knew each and every one of them. “Friday night, I shall see you all!” She pertly kept at it, blowing more and more kisses to ensure no one felt left out.
Why did he feel like all of this was a very bad idea?
Something told him if he allowed her to enter the theatrical world, and play the dangerous game he was instructing her to play, this bright-eyed girl who literally gave him a slice of heaven in the silence of the forest would be taken from him. She would be swallowed by lies and lust-ridden admirers. He would never be able to compete with them, because it was obvious money was only a sliver of what this creature wanted.
She wanted to be esteemed and loved in the grandest manner possible. And she was using her beauty and talent to get it.
So what now?
Did he have her coo at men so he could save his godfather and help other aristocrats? Or should he yank her from the stage and find another way? But what other way? Even if he set aside his belief that marriage was nothing but a legal document, he was not the spare anymore. He was not able to marry into whatever social circle pleased him. Because equality did not break the foundation of what his father and his ancestors and lineage expected of him and the name. He was heir. And with his father’s deeply rooted loathing of the lower classes and bourgeoisie, the man would never—
Merde. As always, Gérard would have to keep living one life for his father and the other for himself. He stalked over to her basket she had abandoned on the pavement and removed the additional leather satchel attached at his waist, opening the strings on it. He emptied all of his coins into it and covered it with her gown. Now she had well over two thousand. Not just the one. He quickly tied his satchel back on and carried it to the door she had entered.
Rémy swung toward him and put up a hand, his features becoming all too playful. “Whether you delivered
her on a steed or not, citoyen, you and that mask still have to wait until Friday for the performance.”
Well over a dozen faces now stared him down, collectively announcing they would see to it.
There was nothing in the world like Paris to make a rich man feel poor.
Gérard inclined his head. “I would never dare impose. I am merely delivering the basket she left behind. Am I allowed to see her one last time and return it to her?”
Rémy eyed the basket and puffed out a breath. “That girl will one day be the death of me. And the worst of it? She knows it.” Tapping his blue felt hat back with a thumb, he yelled over his shoulder. “Thérèse! Your highwayman seems to think he can continue making love to you right in front of a crowd. Is there something I ought to know?”
Thérèse hurried out and settling herself beside her cousin, sighed and took the wicker basket. “Oh, dear.” Those azure eyes mockingly met his. She tsked. “Will you look at this besotted fool? He thinks he stands a chance because he was kind enough to keep me from walking all the way to Paris.”
Ouch. Why did this feel real?
She gave Gérard a look of pity before turning to her cousin. “As much as I would like you to toss him on his nose, Rémy, given he robs people for a living, that would be rude. And you and I both know being rude will never resolve anything. So give this unshaven, outdated gallant a free ticket in honor of us being related. ’Tis the polite thing to do.”
Rémy’s brow furrowed. “A free ticket?” He glanced at Gérard and then at her. “Thérèse. Setting aside that he robs people for a living, and can probably afford said ticket, this here is a business. Every time I give away a free ticket, I lose more than respect.”
She leaned in and nuzzled her cousin’s shaven oversized cheek with the tip of her nose. “If you give him a free ticket, I promise I will make you whatever you want for supper tonight. I know how much you love freshly made beef bourguignon.”
Rémy paused, setting a large hand on his protruding belly. “Beef bourguignon?”
“Oh, yes,” she cooed. “With carrots and potatoes. Like your mother always used to make. Remember how we used to eat straight out of the cauldron?”
Rémy hissed out a breath and grudgingly smoothed a hand over her braid. “You always did know me best in our family. And I always give into you because of it. One of these days, you will be the—”
“Death of you, I know, I know.” She grinned. “What is a ticket to you or him anyway? If all the men in the theatre beat up on him or kill him due to his profession in life that will no longer be our problem but his. Right?”
Gérard’s pulse roared in disbelief. Her acting was a little too good.
Rémy grudgingly held out a ticket toward him. “Here. In honor of what you did. Though I suggest you bring more than a pistol if you plan on making it through the entire show. We here do not approve of robbing anyone. Not even those that deserve it. The world is insane enough.”
Everyone around him widened their stance as several men whispered to each other behind bare hands that had been visibly battered.
It was like receiving an admission to one’s funeral. “Merci, citoyen.” Taking the ticket, Gérard crushed it in his gloved hand, knowing the more distance he kept from Thérèse, the better off they would both be.
She averted her gaze and disappeared back inside.
A breath escaped him. He would miss the woman he met in the forest.
For he knew the moment Thérèse took the stage she would no longer be his.
She would belong to the people.
Damn them.
Fourteen days later – well past midnight
At a masked ball celebrating the instatement of the National Convention
Between the slits of her gold-painted mask, Thérèse did her best to navigate through the crowds of people gathered in the great hall. She angled her body to better squeeze through drunken men and women who staggered and laughed with crooked masks.
Someone swatted her derriere twice. “Is that padding or your bum?” a man slurred from behind. He gathered her skirts, trying to shove them up.
She gasped and swung toward the man who was fumbling to adjust his elephant mask in between grabbing her skirts. Stepping toward him, she whipped off his mask, to ensure she had better access to his bearded face and using her reticule, which she had purposefully weighted with a book of poetry, thwacked him upside the head.
He stumbled off to the side, falling into a bunch of men who shoved him to the floor and started laughing.
She set her chin and kept walking.
Being a spy was hard work.
Fortunately, she was done for the night.
Violins tried to play, but were drowned out by too many voices.
Despite hundreds of candles illuminating the uneven stone walls, there were still more shadows than light. And she had just lost her damn escort for the night. Where on earth had her cousin gone? He’d been right behind her barely a few minutes earlier.
Searching for his massive horse mask, she wandered about the great hall, moving past peacocks and giraffes and other countless misshapen animals. Her cousin was nowhere in sight.
Gathering her skirts, she whisked her way toward the alcoves and veered into the nearest corridor. She scanned the tables laden with fruit, cakes and bottles of wine and champagne, where crowds pushed to grab whatever they could. Several apples rolled toward her feet from the shoving chaos.
A tall gentleman wearing a patched grey velvet ensemble veered in and swiped up one of the apples at her feet. He bowed, turning his gloved hand in her direction to present the apple. His zebra mask leaned in closer. “An apple for a kiss, mademoiselle?” he rumbled.
She eyed him and was about to thwack that apple out of his hand with her reticule, when all too familiar masculine blue eyes met hers through the slits of the mask.
Her lips parted, realizing it was Gérard.
Her breath hitched in astonishment. He was breaking his own rules. “Are you— Whatever are you doing here?”
His full lips smirked beneath his zebra mask as he tossed the apple from one gloved hand to the other. “Ensuring my investment is paying off.”
She grabbed his arm and hurried him toward the farthest curtained alcove, away from the crowds. Draping aside the frayed curtain to ensure no one was occupying the small space, she bustled them both inside and yanked the curtain shut behind them.
Gérard leaned against the wall opposite her, adjusting his velvet coat. “Naudet was busy tonight. So I came in his stead. I have an hour before I have to get back.”
She pushed up her mask to better see him and smirked, realizing he was wearing a zebra mask. “My. I inspire you every day.”
He pushed up his own mask, his blue eyes brightening and set his broad shoulders against the wall. “I thought maybe it would inspire you to ride me.”
She snorted. “Unlikely. I am still waiting for my pearls.”
“They are much closer than you think.” He skimmed her coral gown, lingering on her breasts. “Any new gossip?”
Thérèse tapped at her face. “Up here.”
His eyes captured hers. “You make it difficult for a man to focus. That gown is…” He let out a low whistle. “My money is being well spent.”
Biting back a smile, she closed the distance between them and draped herself against him, causing him to drag in a breath. She smoothed her hands up his waistcoat, noting the buttons were made of tin. So clever, as always. No one would ever suspect him of having a single sol.
She flicked each tin button. “According to Monsieur Moquin, there will be another shift in power. Robespierre and a few others are trying to persuade the Convention Nationale to permit the creation of a committee that would basically be in full of command of guillotining anyone they deem a threat to the Republic.”
He stilled, intently searching her face. “When are they going to establish it?”
Thérèse lifted her gaze to his. “There is no word
on that yet. It is a relatively new idea. But from what the man was saying, the moment it is implemented, the guillotine in the square would be falling every two minutes.”
He stared. “I have to ensure the right people in my circle know about it.” He leaned in closer. “Did you learn anything else?”
“No,” she grouched. “I spent the rest of the time listening to Monsieur Moquin talk about his cats. He has eight of them and renamed them all in honor of the revolution. They are now called Justice, Liberty, Equality, Rebellion, Fraternity, Vengeance, Morality and by far my favorite Quietus. Which means death. The poor things. They are being forced to bear the very name of chaos.”
Gérard smirked, gently set her aside and yanked his mask back on. “Cover your face. We have been in here too long.”
She yanked down her mask, adjusting it into place. So much for romance. It was back to being a spy. Not that she was wanting to engage him after he had so drunkenly—
He grabbed the sides of her masked face and captured her exposed mouth, forcing her lips apart with his tongue.
She staggered and returned his kiss by working her tongue against his, their masks catching on each other.
He shoved her into the wall, causing her to gasp. Kissing her harder, he finally broke away and stepped back. “I had to see if you would kiss me,” he rasped.
Her eyes flew open, her pulse roaring. “I suppose you got your answer.”
Adjusting his crooked mask, he smoothed his lace cravat. “I did.” He cleared his throat, angling toward her. “Are you up for dancing with me? I have about a half hour. Honor me.”
She bit her lip, which was still moist from the contact of his mouth, and traced her gloved fingers longingly against the wall behind her. It was so unexpected to know outside of the money she was getting and what they had left behind in the forest that he was trying to embrace more for them.
It seemed inevitable that they would never be able to stay away from each other. Fortunately, everyone here wore masks tonight. “I would like that.”
He grinned and swept aside the curtain, gesturing toward the great hall beyond.
The Duke of Andelot Page 11