A Daughter's Destiny (17 page)

“What are you going to do now?” she asked.

“You have gone on with your life after losing L'Enfant de la Patrie. I need to get on with mine after this setback in my dubious fortunes.” He shrugged with a nonchalance she could not believe. “Even Evan Somerset cannot be successful on every job. Lagrille cannot kill me if he does not catch me. All I need to do is stay hidden for a while, and he will not find me.”

“Come and call on us when you can. Grand-mère would be glad to see you.” She bent to pick up her bag. “I must be going, Evan, if I want to start the trip back to London. Thank you again for your help.”

He spun her to face him. “Do you think your pursuers will give up so easily, Brienne?”

Fear stabbed her. Again she could see he was being honest. “But why?” she whispered.

“I have no idea other than the daughter of a
duc
, a daughter who has a strong claim on château Tonnere du Grêlon, is a great prize.”

“A prize?” She stepped back. “Is that why you are still here with me, Evan? For the prize?”

His eyes burned like bright brands in a dark room as he closed the distance between them again. “Yes, I am still with you for the prize I would like to win, but it is not the blasted château.” His finger glided from her chin down along the front of her gown. When she trembled, unable to dampen the longing within her, he whispered, “I want a very special prize, honey.”

Brienne looked away before his gaze could captivate her in his spell. She was glad he had no idea that while she slept in his arms, her dreams had been of just what he wished.

In the same low voice, he said, “And I think you could use an ally or two on your way to London.”

“Two? Do you have another friend who might help me?”

“No one who would acknowledge me in the daylight, I'm afraid.” He patted the pistol under his coat. “I was thinking of this.”

Her laugh was genuine. “Two centuries ago, you could have been burned as a witch for speaking like that of something that is not alive.”

“You are trying to avoid giving me an answer.”

Yes, I am. I do not want to tell you how much I want you as my lover
. She silenced that mutinous thought. “I cannot ask you to risk yourself further for me.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek which was rough with whiskers. “When I get back to London, I will send you money to pay for your ruined coat.”

“Honey, I do not want your money.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “Heroes do great deeds for the honor, not the monetary reward.”

“Are you volunteering to be a hero?”

“I find it hard to resist damsels in distress, especially when they are covered with dirt and sand.” His smile faded. “Honey, you have to realize how much danger you still may be facing.”

“Some things are more important than doing what is safe.”

“I know.”

When he bent to kiss her, she drew away. She could not let him seduce her into his arms again. Today, she might not be able to resist. “Goodbye.”

In silence, Brienne walked out from beneath the trees and toward a path that should lead to a village. Evan had become too involved in her disasters. Now he could hide from Lagrille's vengeance.

She turned as she heard footsteps behind her. As she paused on the rutted road, she smiled when Evan hurried to catch up with her. “You are insane, Evan, but I am glad you are coming with me.”

“I just did not want to miss all the fun, honey.” He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her gently.

“I hope you think it is fun by the time we get back to London.”

“I am certain the fun is just beginning.”

She put her hand over his on her arm. It did not matter why he really was staying with her. What was important was that she was not alone. And even more important, Evan was with her. As he walked beside her, whistling the same light tune he had when they came ashore, she began to believe they might succeed at whatever they faced in the bright sunlight.

Chapter Eleven

Curious about the crowd gathering in the center of the small village, Brienne left Evan negotiating with an old man who was selling freshly baked bread. This coastal village was named North Seaside, but that still did not tell her where they were. Along the North Sea, or mayhap the name meant no more than another village was called South Seaside.

There was nothing unique about the village, which was a cluster of thatched cottages set around a green with a church at one end. It appeared to be a market or festival day, because the whole population must be gathered on the green.

She smiled as she glanced back at Evan. He was still busy bargaining for the bread. Although he had told her that he had no money, he either had a few coins or was using other skills to get the bread. He could get the best of anyone in a bargain and leave them remembering his smile. As her stomach growled, she wished she was not so eager for him to be successful in getting them some bread.

Moving toward the people gathered in front of a stone church that was more ornate than the plain cottages surrounding the green, Brienne listened to the excited children. She eased through the fringes of the crowd. Her eyes widened when she saw what was drawing the villagers like a lodestone.

Set up on the dusty lawn of the church were the props of a traveling theater company. A single man stood in front of the patched curtain which was a brilliant crimson. With a rumbling voice, he called, “Come and watch the Teatro Caparelli perform for your enjoyment and erudition.”

She chuckled as children rushed past her to get the best view of the stage. The man's accent and the name of the theater troupe told her they were from Italy. With the war raging throughout Europe, the actors must have decided that England was the safest place to practice their craft.

Leaning against a tree whose bare branches sifted the late winter sunshine, she watched as he disappeared behind the fluttering curtain. A set of cymbals and the
rat-tat-tat
of a drum announced the beginning of the play. She listened to the awed murmur as the curtain was pulled back to reveal a painted backdrop of a castle.

A slim woman came on stage in a garishly bright gown. As she introduced the play, Brienne realized they planned to perform a story very close to the one she knew as
Cinderella
.

When the woman disappeared behind the scenery, the play began. Brienne was surrounded by the excited children. She cheered with them for the poor heroine and laughed when they jeered the evil villain.

Maman had told her this story for the first time many years ago. As a child, Brienne could not have guessed that Maman's persistent cough would become stronger as she weakened or that, one day, she would oversee L'Enfant de la Patrie. Her life had been so simple … then. But, if she were to believe Evan, that life had all been a lie.

“What is this?” Evan asked as he came to stand next to her. He carried two loaves of bread.

Moving so he could lean against the tree also, she murmured, “A traveling show. They have just finished the first act.”

“Are they any good?”

“The audience thinks so.”

His finger played with the heavy braid draped over her shoulder. “What is wrong, honey?”

“How do you know anything is wrong?”

Sorrow tainted his smile. “Reading people's feelings is something I have learned to be good at.”

“So you can cheat them?” She tapped a loaf of bread. “It might be interesting to hear how you got these without any money.”

“Not very interesting at all. I traded the buttons off my coat.” He pointed to the front of his ruined coat. “What is wrong?” he repeated as he put both loaves under his left arm and slipped his right arm around her waist.

Trying to shrug it off, she found she could not without making a spectacle of herself. She sighed deeply. “Can't you just leave me alone?”

“I would like to when you are petulant, but I cannot. I promised your grandmother I would bring you back to her.”

“You did?”

He gave her a wry smile. “One of the stupider things I have ever promised.” He looked at the closed curtain. “What is wrong?”

Blinking rapidly to keep the weak tears dammed in her eyes, she whispered, “They are performing
Cinderella
. Maman used to tell me that story before I went to sleep.”

“You loved her, didn't you?”

“Of course! She was my mother. I cannot imagine not loving my mother.”

His lips became as tight as his fingers on her. “I can.”

Brienne stared at him in disbelief. Never had Evan revealed so much to her. She stroked his wool sleeve. “I am sorry.”

“It is not important. Don't let it bother you.”

“You do!”

“Brienne, I said 'tis unimportant. 'Tis …” His voice trailed away as the curtain opened to reveal the next act of the play. When he chuckled, his smile was genuine. “Well, by cock and pie!”

Evan knew a stroke of luck when it was right in front of him. Although he had spent the afternoon lambasting himself for staying with Brienne, it might all work out. He had promised Madame LeClerc to watch over her and bring her home safely. Now that might actually be possible and without walking all the way to Grosvenor Square. Then he would be rid of her and this absurd commission.

That would give him a chance to find a place where Lagrille would not look for him and stay there. In six months, he would be back to work again, worrying only about whether he could stay one step ahead of his past.

In spite of himself, he looked at Brienne, who was as bedraggled and ragged as a street urchin. But there was nothing childlike about her enticing body that beseeched him to forget everything but finding satiation of his gnawing need by being deep within her. Six months from now, if he abandoned her here, he would be wondering how she had fared in the hands of her foes, for without his expertise, she would become easy prey. Six months from now, he would be wondering if he would ever have a woman like her in his life again. She fascinated him with her little-girl naïveté and world-weary sophistication as well as with her response to his touch when he had held her in his arms last night.

Last night.… He winced as he moved and his ribs complained again with a sharp pain. If Marksen's men had not broken one, they had come close. He did not want Brienne to guess the truth of why he had let her sleep last night instead of making love with her as he wanted. Having her hover over him, scolding him for being so foolish, would be beyond vexing. Especially when he ached for her soft lips.

As the second act began, Evan noticed that Brienne remained as stiff as the tree behind them. He could not fault her. The problems of Cinderella and her prince seemed insignificant compared to the ones shadowing her. Again and again, he saw her glance at him when he laughed and booed along with the rest of the audience.

He asked, amid the clapping, as the actors bowed for a final time, “Did you enjoy that?” He readjusted the loaves and offered his arm to her as he led her away from the stage.

“Yes.”

“That does not sound too enthusiastic.”

When she put her fingers on his sleeve, she sighed. “I am not like you, Evan. I cannot push aside my emotions on demand. What I feel, I feel.”

“And now you feel confused?”

“You need not make that a question.” She smiled. “You can guess what I feel like inside, can't you?”

“I would like to discover what you feel like inside,” he whispered.

Scarlet flashed up her face, but he was not tempted to laugh. Every temptation burning within him was to find a private place and prove to her how much she wanted to discover that, too.

Her voice was as prim as a governess's as she said, “I was speaking of emotions.”

“Not sensation?” This time he laughed when her cheeks deepened to crimson, hiding those horrendous bruises that were a constant reminder of how he had made a shocking mull of this job. As he drew her farther away from the stage, he said, “You are not difficult to understand, honey, for you react strongly to everything. Like now. You are embarrassed because you think I am avoiding the lad who is passing the hat to collect money for the actors.”

“It is normal to pay for entertainment, but I forget that Evan Somerset does not play by the rules of others.”

“Nasty today, aren't you? Mayhap I can find a way to cheer you up a little. How about meeting some friends of mine?”

“Friends? Do you mean the Caparellis?”

He let her hand slide off his arm. Taking it, he squeezed her fingers. “You are catching on quickly, honey. I am going to have to keep on my toes to prevent you from discerning everything I think.”

“And why shouldn't I know what you are thinking?” she retorted. “Aren't we allies?”

“We are, and we have some more here.”

“Do you know everyone in England?”

“Not yet.” He smiled as he tugged on her hand. “Pietro and Sal are—”

“I know. Old friends.”

Nodding, he chuckled at her sarcasm. “C'mon. Let's go and enjoy some company unlike you have ever met.”

Brienne walked with Evan toward the shadowed side of the church. There, a trio of brightly painted wagons was parked. Gypsy wagons, she thought until they got nearer. These green and red wagons were different. Instead of obscure designs painted on their sides, the vehicles had been decorated with drawings of various scenes on a stage. The largest one had Teatro Caparelli lettered in broad script across it.

She tripped over something. Bending, she picked up a mask to discover it was the evil stepmother's face with its hideous grin.

A spurt of angry words in a language she did not understand froze her. A dark-haired man who wore nothing but a pair of baggy breeches burst out from among the wagons to snatch away the mask. He continued to shout at her, then paused in midword and cried, “Evan! Evan Somerset!” The rest was gibberish.