The Paris Affair

by Teresa Grant

  Juliette’s eyes widened. Then she inclined her head. “I spoke the truth when I told you she seemed to really love him. But after his execution, Tatiana said it would be ruinous for it to be known she had a child by the man who had plotted the emperor’s death. Many would find it hard to believe she hadn’t been involved in the plot herself.”

  “But she wanted to keep proof of the boy’s parentage in case she needed it later?” Malcolm asked.

  “She thought it might be important if things changed in France. Paul was against it, but in the end he agreed. I didn’t know where she’d hidden the paper. I don’t think Paul did, either.”

  “You and your husband agreed to take in her and Laclos’s child.”

  “It was a bit more complicated.” Juliette tilted her head against the chairback. Her skin seemed to be stretched taut over the elegant bones of her face. “Paul and I weren’t married then. That is, we were when Pierre was born, but not when we agreed to take him. I put Paul through a great deal, as I believe I told you before. We joke about it, but in truth it was difficult for him. I didn’t just refuse the legal bonds of marriage, I wasn’t sure about trusting myself to a lasting relationship at all. We quarreled, as isn’t surprising, and I’m afraid I was more focused on what my choices meant for me than on what our quarrel was doing to Paul. It’s not surprising that he sought consolation. Given how close he and Tatiana had always been, it’s not surprising he sought it with her. With her grief over Étienne—It’s a wonder it didn’t happen sooner.”

  “And given her grief, I don’t suppose she was taking precautions with Monsieur St. Gilles, either,” Suzanne said. She was amazed how steady her voice was given the echoes of her own life.

  “No.” Juliette pushed loose strands of hair behind her ear. “At least not reliable precautions. Not that any precautions are entirely reliable.”

  “And then she learned she was with child.” Malcolm’s voice was gentle.

  Juliette tugged a strand of hair loose from her cameo earring. “She told Paul she couldn’t be sure who was the father. Paul believed her. So did I, when he told me.”

  “That can’t have been easy,” Suzanne said.

  “No.” Juliette’s mouth twisted. “But it forced me to face some facts about Paul. Such as that my feelings about him were so proprietary I should probably stop denying that I wanted an exclusive relationship. Paul told me he wanted to raise the child. I said that in that case we’d do it together. I hadn’t thought I wanted children. Well, to tell the truth I hadn’t thought about them much at all, one way or another. When we agreed to take Tatiana’s child I felt responsibility. A sort of debt for Paul’s sake. But I didn’t realize—” She broke off, frowning. “I didn’t have the faintest suspicion how I could fall so utterly in love the moment a squirmy human weighing eight pounds was placed in my arms.”

  Suzanne remembered the moment Malcolm had put the wriggling, bloody newborn Colin on her chest. Exhaustion had fled. “It was much the same for me when our son Colin was born. I still look at him sometimes and can’t quite believe I’m a mother. Yet within days of his birth it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t part of my life.”

  “I was afraid it would change me,” Juliette said. “In some ways it didn’t at all—I remember writing with Pierre in his basket beside me, realizing with relief that I was still the same person. But in some ways it changes everything.”

  Suzanne nodded. “One knows one will never make another decision without the child being part of the equation.” Which particularly changed decisions relating to one’s husband. “A new loyalty.”

  Juliette turned to look at her. “That’s an interesting way of putting it.”

  “It’s a bond that comes before everything else.” And yet the other, older loyalties didn’t go away. Which could make for complicated choices. “And it changes the way one thinks about the future. Marriage confers certain legal advantages on children,” Suzanne said.

  Juliette met her gaze. “Quite. And so I sacrificed my principles and married Paul.” Her mouth curved in a smile. “I haven’t regretted it once since.” Her brows drew together. “I quickly let a few strategic people know I was pregnant. Shortly after Tatiana left Paris, Paul and I left as well. We met Tatiana in the country for the birth. She gave us Pierre.” Juliette glanced at a child’s framed drawing of a dog that hung beside the fireplace. “It was soon hard to believe he wasn’t ours.”

  “Tania had made him yours,” Malcolm said. “There’s more than one way to be a parent.”

  “You’re kind, Monsieur Rannoch.”

  “Only going by observation. Did Tania ever see Pierre?”

  “Every few months. She could call on us as a friend of the family. She sent quite extravagant presents. But she always made it clear she considered me his mother.” Juliette folded her arms across her chest and gripped her elbows. “I’ll always be grateful to her for that.”

  “Yet she insisted on a document claiming Étienne Laclos was the boy’s father,” Malcolm said.

  Juliette’s fingers pressed into her arms. “She said it was in case the tables ever turned and it was dangerous for Pierre to be Paul’s son. I suppose you could say she was talking about now.”

  “Did she ever suggest approaching the Lacloses about the boy?” Malcolm asked.

  “Once. Obliquely. After Napoleon fell. She’d been to dine with us. The children had just gone up to bed, and Tatiana, Paul, and I were alone. We’d been talking about the Restoration and the way things were changing. Tatiana was cracking a walnut, and she suddenly said that now it might not be such a bad thing to be connected to a family of émigrés who would soon be flooding back to Paris seeking their forfeited lands. Such as the Lacloses. Paul said Pierre wasn’t connected to the Lacloses. He took the walnut from her and snapped it between his fingers. Tatiana just shrugged. But I know Paul worried from then on. It’s why he lied to you.”

  “It’s understandable you feared losing your son,” Suzanne said.

  “Yes, but it’s more than that. To own the truth, I think Paul couldn’t bear the idea of his son being turned into an aristo.”

  “I can understand that,” Malcolm said.

  Suzanne said nothing, a vision of Colin clutching a Royalist cockade sharp in her mind.

  Juliette’s fingers curled against the bare flesh of her arms. “Tatiana was at great pains to keep Pierre from being branded the son of a traitor. And now that’s exactly what’s happened.”

  “We have to see what we can do to get your husband out of prison,” Malcolm said.

  Juliette’s eyes widened. “ ‘We’?”

  Malcolm dropped down in front of her chair. “I hate what’s happening in Paris. I’d like to think I’d try to help him in any case. But I owe him a great debt for looking after Tatiana’s child. Your son is my nephew. And I can’t imagine better people to be his parents.”

  Suzanne reached across the fiacre and touched her husband’s arm. “Darling—”

  “I’m all right. More than all right.” His fingers curled round her own. “It means a lot to have seen the child and to know he’s safe and cared for. I still don’t see why Tania was so determined to conceal Pierre’s parentage. Possible parentage.”

  “Étienne had just been executed. That probably affected her sense of the situation.”

  “Perhaps. It’s like Tania to have wanted to hedge her bets and document her son’s connection to the Lacloses in case it was ever necessary.”

  “And if she loved Étienne as much as she seems to have, perhaps she hoped he really was Pierre’s father. Perhaps that’s why she wanted it in writing.”

  “Not very logical.”

  “Even Tatiana may have found logic eluded her with her emotions so strongly engaged.”

  Malcolm’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “Perhaps. In an odd way it’s a relief to think so. Though I have to say I much prefer the thought of St. Gilles as the boy’s father.”

  “Yes, but you weren’t in love
with Étienne Laclos. Do you think you can convince Wellington or Castlereagh to intervene on St. Gilles’s behalf?”

  His mouth hardened. “No. But I may have more luck with Talleyrand.”

  Talleyrand stared at Malcolm across his study. “My dear Malcolm, I understand your sympathies. But you can’t save every Radical on the proscribed list.”

  “I’m not talking about every Radical. I’m talking about Paul St. Gilles.”

  “I wasn’t aware you even knew him.”

  “Tatiana did.”

  “Ah.”

  Malcolm slammed his hands down on Talleyrand’s desk and leaned forwards. “How much do you know?”

  Talleyrand flicked a bit of powder from his sleeve. “She was close to him. She was close to a number of men. Is he the father of her child?”

  “Perhaps in biology. Certainly in fact. He and his wife are raising the boy.”

  “It’s a boy?”

  “With Tania’s hair and eyes.”

  “A great admission.” Talleyrand leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know whether to thank you for your trust or chide you for your carelessness.”

  “You’re the one who taught me the value of calculated risks.” Malcolm straightened up and leaned against the desk. “We both owe St. Gilles a debt, sir. And I think Dorothée would ask the same of you.”

  Talleyrand got to his feet. His gaze was direct and less hooded than usual. “I’ll do what I can, Malcolm. But my influence is precarious. I don’t know that I can get St. Gilles out. But I may be able to get information that will be of help to you.”

  “Of help?”

  Talleyrand moved round the desk and put a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “When you break St. Gilles out of prison.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “An aristo and a Radical.” Wilhelmine looked at Malcolm across the antechamber at Madame de Coigny’s to which she, Malcolm, Suzanne, and Dorothée had retired to talk, escaping the press of the political and artistic elite of Paris mingling in her salons. “Even in her fathering her child Princess Tatiana knew how to play both sides.”

  “Don’t be horrid, Willie,” Dorothée said.

  “No, it’s an apt comparison,” Malcolm said. “I’ve thought much the same myself. And I suspect Tania would appreciate it.”

  Wilhelmine got to her feet. “What can we do?”

  “My uncle—,” Dorothée said.

  “I’ve talked to him,” Malcolm said. “He was not unsympathetic. But he doesn’t think he has the power to get St. Gilles released.”

  Dorothée frowned. “But then—”

  “So we have to break him out,” Wilhelmine said. “I do hope you aren’t going to try to keep us out of it.”

  “On the contrary,” Malcolm said.

  Suzanne hesitated outside the door to the card room, weighing risks and consequences, while her heart beat a taut tattoo beneath her corset laces. But sometimes all calculations of risk and reward ceased to matter. Sometimes the stakes were so high one had to roll the dice and take one’s chances. She stepped into the room, strolled to the faro bank, and met Raoul’s gaze.

  Ten minutes later he dropped down beside her in the ballroom on a settee half-hidden by a pillar. “Mrs. Rannoch.”

  “Mr. O’Roarke. I fear I’m growing old. You find me taking a break from the press of the party.”

  “I’d say that’s more a reflection of the life you lead than your age, Mrs. Rannoch.”

  “You’re very kind.”

  Raoul turned his head and studied her face. “What is it, querida?”

  Suzanne swallowed hard, aware of just how much she was muddying her two worlds. But then keeping those worlds apart had always been an impossible challenge. “Paul St. Gilles has been arrested,” she said.

  “I heard. It’s a pity. A brilliant artist and an equally brilliant thinker. We need more men like him to speak out, not be silenced.”

  “Yes. And he’s . . .”

  Even now she fumbled for the words, knowing that once they were spoken they could not be taken back. And it wasn’t her secret, it was Malcolm’s.

  Raoul watched her with understanding but did not press her.

  “He was Tatiana Kirsanova’s lover,” she said.

  Raoul raised his brows. “I didn’t realize. Though I can see how he’d have appealed to her. She liked brilliance and challenge.”

  “And he may have fathered her child.”

  Raoul’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize—”

  “That she had a child? No, she kept it well hidden. Whether or not St. Gilles is the biological father, he’s been raising the boy. He and his wife.”

  “The incomparable Juliette Dubretton. The boy is fortunate in his parents.”

  “We owe them a great debt.”

  “ ‘We’?”

  For a moment she felt keenly what Malcolm must have gone through in Vienna before he told her the truth of his relationship to Princess Tatiana. It wasn’t her secret to share. And yet it had to be shared if they were to have a prayer of saving St. Gilles. “Princess Tatiana was Malcolm’s half-sister.”

  She expected the rare surprise to show in Raoul’s eyes again. Instead, he inclined his head. “Yes, I know. I presume Malcolm told you in Vienna? I’m glad he did so.”

  Pieces of seemingly solid information broke apart and swirled in her mind. All these years, and he could still shock her to the core. “How—”

  “Arabella confided in me. Malcolm’s mother,” Raoul said, as though Arabella Rannoch sharing this secret she had guarded so closely was a simple matter. “We were friends, remember. She was young and in distress. I was young myself and a sympathetic listener.”

  It made sense on the surface and yet did not begin to explain Raoul’s ties to the Rannoch family. Suzanne stared into his gray eyes with their unfathomable layers. “So all this time—”

  “It wasn’t my place to tell you what Malcolm didn’t feel he could share. I did try to tell you I was sure Malcolm’s relationship to Princess Tatiana wasn’t what it appeared on the surface if you’ll recall.”

  “Yes, but—” She shook her head, replaying a dozen conversations. “Damn you, do you have to know everything?”

  He gave a low laugh. “Every day I’m more and more convinced of how little I know.” He regarded her for a moment with that appraising gaze he’d worn when measuring the extent of her injuries after a mission. “What mattered wasn’t so much that you knew the truth of their relationship as that Malcolm was able to confide the truth to you.”

  She drew a breath, memories of those weeks of uncertainty in Vienna like glass in her brain. “You’re right of course. You have a disgusting habit of being right. It’s most provoking.”

  He gave an unexpected smile. “Good to know I still have my moments.” His gaze skimmed over her face. “Do you know who Tatiana’s father was?”

  “Lady Arabella didn’t confide that to you?”

  “No. It was a secret she guarded closely. I don’t think she told her sister, either.”

  Suzanne hesitated again, but he was going to have to know about Willie’s and Doro’s involvement. “Peter of Courland.”

  This time she did see surprise flare in his eyes followed by a flash of understanding. “I begin to understand Arabella’s secrecy. Almost like giving birth to a royal bastard. Do the duchess—”

  “Wilhelmine and Dorothée know. They’ve been helping us locate the child.”

  “An interesting alliance. And they too want to help St. Gilles?”

  Suzanne nodded. “We owe him a debt for looking after Tatiana’s child. Malcolm will never forgive himself if we don’t come to his aid. I don’t think I’ll forgive myself.”

  “Quite.” Raoul inclined his head. “I’d like to help as well. I’d been wondering if I could do something for St. Gilles as it is. You want me to talk to the Kestrel?”

  “If anyone can devise an escape plan—”

  “Precisely.”

  “But I don’t see how the dev
il we’re to explain it to Malcolm.”

  “You aren’t going to explain anything. That would be fatal. I shall have to offer my services—and my connections to the Kestrel—to Malcolm on my own.”

  “How will you explain—”

  “I’ll need a convenient rumor for how I heard he was looking for aid.” Raoul’s gaze drifted round the ballroom as though they were engaged in idle conversation. “Believe me, I can contrive something.”

  She shook her head. “It’s—”

  “My dear girl, after everything we’ve been through, don’t tell me it’s dangerous.” Raoul inclined his head to a stout lady with a headdress of purple ostrich feathers who was walking past. “If I cared a scrap for danger, I’d be raising horses in Ireland.”

  “But this isn’t—”

  “I’m risking myself for people I care about.” He leaned back and watched her for a moment. “Assuming you’re all right with the risk. I can keep you out of it, but it does circle closer to Malcolm learning about your past.”

  She gave an impatient shake of her head. “I’d never let that stand in the way of my obligations.”

  He smiled. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” He took a sip of wine. “Have you heard anything more from Fouché?”

  “No.” She drew the silk folds of her shawl about her, chilled despite the warmth of the evening.

  “Suzanne.”

  She shot a look at him. “There’s nothing to be gained from dwelling on it.”

  “Fouché told you he didn’t believe my threats, didn’t he? That he’d act against you anyway and if he was wrong, and I brought him down, you’d be responsible for my ruin.”

  Suzanne released a breath of fear and frustration. “This is why you’re impossible to defeat at chess.”

  “Fouché’s bluffing. Knowing what I can do to him, he wouldn’t dare expose you. Or me.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  “No. We can’t be sure of anything.”

  Her fingers tightened on the satin and steel of her reticule. Raoul had always protected his people, but it had been in the service of a larger goal. “You’re—”