The Duke of Andelot

by Delilah Marvelle

  Knowing full well he expected her to cross the room for it, she sighed and did exactly that. Pausing before him, she reached out to take it.

  He jerked it back.

  She straightened and gave him a pointed look.

  He tapped the edge of the card against his lips. “Sit beside me, Madame. You and I have a few things to discuss.”

  Why were men so predictable? She turned and seated herself beside him, ensuring there was an arm’s length between them. She set her hands on her thighs, just above where her blade was hidden beneath her robe and undergarments.

  Sade kept tapping the card against his bottom lip, inspecting her. “The stench of vomit you so cleverly hoped to erase with your perfume still clings to the air. Are you not well?”

  She inwardly cringed. Someone was overly observant. “I am much better, thank you. The meal I ate earlier tonight before going on stage did not sit well with me. Too much…pea soup.”

  “You poor creature. Pea soup ought to be banned.” He turned his wrist toward her, presenting his card. “I am here to inform the duc’s dashing blue-eyed heir who is ‘hiding’ behind the screen that I am on to you both and have been for about a week. I simply was not expecting your ‘benefactor’ to appear on the same night I planned to talk to you about it.”

  Her eyes widened. He knew!

  Sade glanced toward the screen and lifted a grey brow. “I suggest you come out.”

  Gérard swept aside the screen, sending it clattering to the floor. He stared the man down from where he stood, perfume bottle still in hand. He widened his stance. “To what do I owe this honor, Citoyen?”

  “The honor, I assure you, is all mine. The perfume bottle says it all.” Sade smirked and wagged the card at Thérèse, signaling impatiently she had best take the card.

  She groaned and tugged it from his fingers.

  Sade continued to intently observe Gérard. “You may find this difficult to believe, but I admire what you are attempting to do. As such, if you help me, mon grande, I will help you. Why? Because I do not particularly care for the direction this new government is taking. Mass death is but the beginning of what these mouth-breathers have planned. Not a single church or even the word God will be allowed to stand by the time they are done. For God no longer exists in their eyes. God, after all, is the reason they all suffer. And whilst I myself am well known for being incredibly partial to allowing for freedoms most deem too demented to be allowed, the moment we allocate death to even God, it means nothing remains. Not even the glory of pain. Which…pardon the expression…pains me.”

  Rising from the chaise, he angled his hat onto his frayed wigged head and announced in a low, low tone that dripped with malevolence, “I am and will always be at heart an aristocrat despite my having denounced my name and title of Marquis. The only reason any of these men trust me is because I have spent half my life in prison under letters de cachet, which as you know, is the royal decree of imprisoning a man without trial. Hardly fair. To them, I am a glorified martyr of the ancien régime and have set a good example of rising against its overall conventions. And whilst, yes, I am endlessly touched by their new endearing trust in me—” his tone turned lethal, “—I fucking despise every last one of them so much I would gladly rape and whip their women to death and do it all over again.”

  Thérèse swallowed and edged back against the chaise, sensing he meant it.

  Sade eyed them both, his dark, playful eyes penetrating the space. “Allow me to get to the point of this visit. I will give you both whatever information you want, when you want it and how you want it. In return you will both help me write a book. Because I am struggling with trying to give it meaning. It lacks a certain…substance.”

  Thérèse lowered her chin. Was he serious? “Are you referring to an actual book?”

  Sade’s full lips curved. “But, of course, my puce. I am first and foremost a writer. The more I observe, the more I am able to write. How do you think I survived prison?”

  Gérard narrowed his gaze. “You are about to be elected into the same committee and section as Robespierre. How am I to trust you?”

  Sade rolled his eyes. “Do toss aside being coy, my dear boy. Trust has nothing to do with this. Ask yourself why I did not already report you and your actress given you and she are busy shuffling people out of the country like coyotes herding sheep.”

  Gérard stared. “How the hell do you know? I have been impeccably—”

  “Careful. Yes, I am well aware of that. But you and I share a mutual friend: Naudet.” He tapped his lips with a forefinger. “Did you know that gruff, burly, quiet and dependable man of yours loves being sodomized and whipped so damn much, and so damn hard, he tells me everything? And I do mean…everything.”

  Thérèse cringed and lifted a hand to the side of her face so she wouldn’t have to look at Gérard. It was always the quiet ones.

  Gérard hissed out a long breath. “So you and Naudet are—”

  “Involved. Yes. Naudet is my whipping whore. Marvelous man. His oversized back can take a four-inch whip with nails embedded into it without even flinching. And he comes to me each and every week because I know how to make him flinch. I ask you not blame the oaf for what I know. Pleasure and pain have a tendency to tap into the brain a bit too much. I was asking him questions about his life during a session and it simply rolled out.”

  Gérard threw back his head and groaned.

  With the self-satisfied smack of lips, Sade rounded them. “Given there is a clear issue of distrust between us, which I completely understand, allow me to toss a branch of my genuine offer of reliance by sharing a sliver of what I know and what I can share.” He cracked his knuckles, one by one. “This has yet to be announced to the public, but the upcoming trial of Sa Majesté has been set and will take place this December third. A full thirty-three charges will be set against him.”

  Startled, Thérèse met Gérard’s gaze.

  Gérard quickly stalked toward the man. “Thirty-three charges? How can there even be that many?! Christ, he— Are they mad?”

  Sade inclined his head. “Oh, yes. They are, in fact, loons. Every last one of them. Why do you think they are about to put me on the committee?” He let out a self-pleasured, over-enthused laugh, rolling both hands as if listening to applause. “Of course, Citoyen Robespierre, bless his missing heart, is what I call the ultimate loon of a lawyer in the guise of death itself. Given all of the charges set against Sa Majesté it most certainly will result in deportation or death, and I know deportation is not an option. That would be too risky for the stability of our new government and allow uprisings this country does not need. Which means…most votes will go toward overseeing Sa Majesté’s head in a basket; so, whilst it is endearing for you to think you can save him, more than a few royalists have already tried, and they are all dead, dead, dead.

  “You would need an army of about two hundred. Because forty guards are outside the king’s doors and a hundred more are inside overseeing several iron doors. They have orders to butcher anyone who even walks down the corridor leading toward any of those doors. Which means…Sa Majesté will stand trial and die.”

  Gérard closed his eyes and staggered.

  Disbelief punched Thérèse. Oh, God. He was barely standing.

  Scrambling to her feet, she hurried over to him and grabbed him, wrapping her arms around his waist in an attempt to keep him from falling. Tears stung her eyes knowing his godfather was the one person he wanted to save out of all of this. It was the sole reason why they had created their alliance.

  Citoyen de Sade heaved out a soft breath. “You have my condolences.” Setting his shoulders, he rounded the room, glancing at everything as he walked. He strode over to the vase, paused, peered into it and wrinkled his sharp nose. “Life is anything but pretty. It reeks.”

  She smoothed her trembling hands across Gérard’s linen shirt. “I am so sorry,” she choked out. “I know what he means to you.”

  Gérard set her he
ad against his chest and mashed her cheek against his broad chest. “The Assembly will not even let me see him. I tried.” His voice was half-smothered. “I failed him. I…”

  She tightened her hold, knowing this strong man was breaking. “There must be a way for you to see him,” she gently offered. “If only once.”

  Rounding them, Sade peered in. “Unfortunately no, madame. Too many attempts to rescue him have banned his right to visitors. However, he would be permitted a one-sentence missive. It would be reviewed by five men before being delivered into the king’s hands. As long as the missive passes the approval of public safety and is free of any mischief, it would be delivered directly to the king. But that would only be allowed prior to the trial. Not during or after. So I suggest you do it soon. It would have to be written in the next week.”

  Gérard released Thérèse and scrubbed his face in a clear effort to rid himself of any emotion. He dropped his hands, revealing an anguished, tear-streaked face. He sniffed hard, turned away and half-nodded. “Better a one-sentence farewell than nothing at all.”

  “I will ensure it gets the extra nudge it needs.” Sade inclined his wigged head. “Whilst I cannot assist in saving your godfather or his family, I can continue to share whatever information you require. Though I honestly cannot say for how much longer. There are several ongoing debates in the chamber right now about Robespierre, Danton and seven others forming a committee for public safety.”

  Sade turned toward them. “Which means no one in this country will be safe. Not even me. So I suggest we make use of each other whilst we still can. For whilst you, Madame de Maitenon, are not in any danger given your newfound popularity with the Republic and on stage, I am afraid your uh…son of duc will eventually find his way to the guillotine given his father is so closely related to Sa Majesté. All but three days ago, Robespierre announced plans to take the duc’s money, his lands, and apply all funds into the new government. And in order to do that, he will have to make an example of the duc by creating a long list of charges. They have yet to decide what those charges will be, but rest assured, these greedy little chévres always come up with something. Your father’s neck and your neck will be theirs. Count on it.”

  Overwhelmed and half-panicked, Thérèse grabbed Gérard’s arm.

  He dragged in uneven breaths. “I knew things were getting worse. I have seen the changes on the streets. My father and I recently dismissed our servants in an effort to keep them from harm.” He hesitated. “How much time do I have before the charges are set? Do you know?”

  Sade tsked, wagging a large forefinger. “I do believe I have already supplied you far more than you have supplied me. Are you ready to negotiate?”

  Dread seized Thérèse sensing whatever this Sade wanted would not be good.

  Gérard squeezed her hand and released her, fully turning to Sade. “What do you want?”

  Those dark eyes brightened. Citoyen de Sade smoothed his lace cravat twice. “Not very much. A mere bit of inspiration. A one-time affair. Hardly anything.”

  Gérard narrowed his gaze. “What do you want? Say it.”

  Sade grinned, his gaze skimming Gérard from queue to boot. “I was hoping to get a private showing of you and your actress…oh…how shall I say this politely? Fucking. I need a few sketches for my upcoming book, and I rather envision the both of you in it. Publication is set for this June.”

  Thérèse gasped.

  Gérard stared at the man. “Allow me to respond to your offer, citoyen.” Leaning toward her, Gérard drawled, “Pardon me, ma biche. You may want to close your eyes.”

  Gérard swept out a dagger attached to the inner leather belt of his waist hidden beneath his coat. Stalking over to Sade, he angled the large blade out. Jumping forward, he grabbed the man by the throat hard and whipped him toward the nearest wall, causing the entire room to shake as Sade’s hat and periwig tumbled off to the side.

  Thérèse flinched.

  Citoyen de Sade burst into maniacal laughter despite the blade now resting dangerously against his throat. He gleefully tapped at the edge of the blade with a gloved hand. “Oh, yes, yes, yes. Do go and slit my throat in a theatre, no less. How whimsical! I can see all of the pamphleteers yelling it already, ‘Marquis de Sade murdered for nothing!’”

  Sade’s aged, sharp features almost twitched from continued amusement. Leaning far forward against the blade, he drawled, “Are you really that opposed to giving an artist something to write about? You mean to say you prefer death itself over supporting the arts? How demented are you?”

  Gérard’s hand visibly trembled as the dagger almost scraped that face.

  Swallowing hard, Thérèse knew full well Gérard was thinking about doing it. And although a part of her wanted him to, she knew if it happened here in her dressing room, the entire committee would ensure they both die.

  Pulse roaring, she scrambled toward Gérard and grabbed at his trembling wrist hard. “Gérard,” she choked out. “You cannot do it. You cannot!”

  Sade further extended his throat.

  Gérard released Sade with a shove. “’Tis obvious your mother sucked animal cock for money, you—” Gritting his teeth, Gérard whipped the blade aside, sending it clattering against the farthest corner of the room. He slammed a full fist into the man’s gut, causing Sade to gasp and fall into the wall.

  Thérèse winced and genuinely hoped it hurt.

  An exasperated grin overtook Sade’s flickering features as he casually staggered up. He pointed at Gérard. “You, my fellow aristo friend, define a true hero. So angry and obscene toward the wicked. But will it save you from the guillotine that now sits in the square? I dare say no. You need me in order to survive. And all you have to do is help me write a book.”

  She edged back, unable to decide if this man was deranged or wanted to be deranged.

  “I need these sketches,” Sade grouched. “You two are the epitome of what I see in my head. I promise it will be genuinely worthy of your approval.”

  Gérard swung away, raking his hand several times through his hair, while adjusting his queue. He stalked across the room. “This is— No. Absolutely not. Especially if she is with child. Are you— no.”

  Citoyen de Sade let out a breathy, half-disappointed sigh. Swiping up his periwig and hat, he set each on his head and wiggled it back into place. “I wish to assure you our session would have been done tastefully. I usually sit behind a viewing screen. It allows for more natural interactions. Whenever I sketch, you see, I cannot play. I think I am being perfectly reasonable and would only require one session. If you give me what I want, I will give you the secrets of the committee. Or...I can take your scheming to the committee. You decide.”

  Maybe she was used to men being mad or maybe the idea of death just didn’t appeal to her. Either way, knowing that Sade was not going to be joining in on any of it and would be hidden behind a screen, sketching, made it more—

  How difficult could it be? Sex was sex. She cleared her throat. “Gérard, dear?”

  Gérard turned toward her, his gaze capturing hers.

  She gave him a prim and pointed look. “All that matters is that we would have an ally on the committee. I can easily survive one session. And if I can, I know you can.”

  His shaven face flushed. “Setting aside that I do not want this maggot seeing us together in that way, I am not taking a whip to you. Do you think so little of me, Thérèse, that you would allow for any of this?”

  She edged back. Apparently, she was far more sexually liberated than he was.

  Citoyen de Sade cleared his throat. “I have no trouble counter-offering. All you had to do was ask. Given her pregnancy, which a vase full of pea soup has more than verified, I will grant leniency. I rather like the idea of giving this book a new perspective. Usually the women sustain most of the injuries. So she can whip and cane you instead. It matters not to me. There will be plenty of food and wine on hand, including whatever salve you need to ease your pain. Are we in agreem
ent?”

  Gérard choked.

  Food and wine and salve and pain. How utterly fitting. It was the epitome of the revolution at its finest. And the fact that the committee was about to instate this man into the chambers of the new Republic said it all.

  Sade drew in a well-satisfied breath. “So. Shall we plan for early next week? Say…Monday, early evening? I should be done sketching shortly after midnight, depending on how well things go.” He smiled and leaned toward her. “Madame, you still have my card, yes?”

  One would think they were making soirée arrangements. She tried not to let on that she was mildly amused, lest Gérard think she was deranged. “I am afraid this rests with Gérard. I am not the prude here. He is.”

  Gérard stared, betraying no emotion. “I am more than fine with it. Monday at seven.”

  She dropped her hands to her sides. Holy God. They were doing it?

  Citoyen de Sade swept up her hand and bowed over it, kissing it once. “I foresee this publication being a success and promise to alter your features enough to hide your identities from the public.” He thumbed toward the vase set on the side table. “You may want to put a few flowers into that. The stench is overtaking the room.”

  She gave him a withering look.

  Striding up to Gérard, Sade snapped out a hand. “Until Monday, my beloved prude.”

  Gérard narrowed his gaze. “You are not touching me. Get out.”

  Sade smirked and adjusted his coat. “Long live the Republic, and adieu to you both.” With that, he strutted to the door, whistling. Yanking open the door, he winked at Thérèse and slammed the door after himself.

  Gérard swung toward her and glared. “You, Thérèse, are outrageous. Do you know that? Outrageous. You encouraged him!”

  She gaped. “I did not! How did I encourage him? Are you saying I gave him the idea of turning us into the committee if we did not entertain his sexual delusions?”

  He still glared. “You know full well what I mean. You clearly want that man watching us copulate like animals in a cage rattling shackles. And whilst I have no trouble with us using shackles and whips and whatever the hell you want, I am not doing it in front of an audience!”