Mary Blayney (6 page)

“He is busy with the mayor this evening.”

Gabe watched them, listened and pretended he was invisible.

“While a prisoner is on the loose?”

“The colonel is a law unto himself,
ma chérie.
I will tell him that you are sorry to have missed him.”

Charlotte laughed, and Gabe realized that the colonel was not a friend of hers.

“You know, Raoul, I was near the prison this evening. A friend had sent for me. She asked me to spend some time with her son.”

Gabe had no trouble glowering now. If she used the line about his being inexperienced, he would go from glowering to angry.

“His wife died six months ago and he has lost all interest in women.”

“But with your help he has recovered completely, eh?” The captain never once looked at him. Charlotte had all his attention.

“No, I am sorry to say the evening has been a failure. Why else would we be sitting here at this hour? I even took him to Madame Rostine’s to watch the live vignettes.” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

Rising on tiptoe, she whispered in the captain’s ear, though loud enough for Gabriel to hear. “I have listened to stories all night. And the tears…” She shook her head.

Gabriel could feel his color rise along with his temper. He began naming Lavoisier’s thirty-three elements, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached.

The captain dismissed him with a flick of his hand. “You will be free tomorrow?”

“I am sorry, but I must go to Paris. My patron there is annoyed I have been away so long.”

“Delay one more day,
chérie.
” He ran his hands up her arms. “Come to me here tomorrow.” The captain smiled and stepped closer to kiss Charlotte. It was a long, deep kiss. The captain stepped back and ignored the round of applause. The captain bowed to Gabriel, more insult than deference. “Will that help, monsieur? Jealousy is a powerful aphrodisiac.”

6

A
S
C
HARLOTTE SMILED
and kissed the captain lightly, Gabriel kept his seat, reminding himself that this was a private drama in which he had no part. The captain’s words were not a personal insult.

“Perhaps, Raoul,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps I can stay a day longer.” She stepped away even though he had not yet let go of her arm.

Then again, seeing another man kiss a woman who was with you would arouse something in a man if not lust.

Before the guard captain could press her further, his sergeant came up to him. “No one here knows anything.”

Raoul let go of Charlotte’s arm and turned away, but the new man stood off to the side and could see Gabriel more easily. He looked at him with hard eyes.

Gabe wanted to raise a hand to rub at his forehead, but taking a cue from Charlotte, he did not move to hide his face. The soldier was about to say something when his captain told him to check the private rooms upstairs. The captain turned back to Charlotte.

Surely, Gabe thought, the man he was pretending to be would try to assert himself into this scene. Doing his best to separate his character’s feeling from his own, Gabe stood up and stepped beside Charlotte. “Why are you searching here for the escaped man, Captain? This place is a good distance from the prison.”

“The jailer who disappeared was last seen here. It had to be investigated.”

“I suspect the truth of it is that you hoped to find Charlotte here as well.” He took her arm. “But as you can see, she is already occupied.”

He felt the pressure of Charlotte’s other hand on his arm. It was a painful pinch. Was she angry at him or afraid of the captain?

“I am sorry to have missed you, Raoul.” She raised her hand from Gabriel’s arm to trace a finger down the captain’s cheek. “If I can delay, I will see you tomorrow. Here, in the evening. But I think we must be going now.”

“I am expecting you, madame,” the captain said as he stepped aside so they could leave.

The words struck Gabe as a command. He was considering the implications of that and missed what the captain said next. A ribald burst of laughter followed them out the door.

The street was quiet, the air heavier, the sky showed no stars. Would it rain?

Charlotte did not head directly for the harbor and Gabriel reasoned she was taking a more circuitous route there. The silence was exactly what his frayed temper needed. Soon he would be away from this nightmare. That last encounter had come too close to ruining it. Fear, dislodged by temper, crawled through him again. The near-empty street, the heavy skies did nothing to allay it. He needed a distraction or he would go mad.

“How long did it take you to do it?” The soft gray light of dawn seeped into his voice.

“To do what, monsieur?” Her voice matched his.

“To perfect the ability to distract men with your body, to bend them to obedience without a word.”

She was silent a moment, but the smallest bit of tension echoed down her arm and through him.

“I notice details.” He laughed a little. “It is how I proved my worth to Wellington’s staff.”

“Yes, you use your talents and I use mine.” He could feel her nod as she spoke.

“I bow to you, madame. Your talent is a formidable weapon.”

“I hope so. It would not be worth the sacrifice if it was not.”

Sacrifice?
The word stopped him in the middle of the quiet street. He waited until she raised her eyes to his. “Who is
your
jailer, Charlotte?”

Those usually guarded eyes showed that once again he had come close to a truth.

“No one owns me.”

She spoke with such challenge, such conviction that he did no more than nod.

“When I am paid, it is for my services.” Lest he should have any doubts about what services she meant, Charlotte pressed her body against his.

“I am as susceptible to distraction as any other man.” This was not the time or place for revelations. But the word
sacrifice
etched itself into his memory even as he spoke.

She relaxed, at least the tension around her mouth eased. Good, he thought. Let her think she was still in control. But each time he grasped a truth about her, each time he voiced it, the power shifted. In his experiments he had learned to accept small steps to success. He could be patient when he had to be.

“You must do as I tell you,” she said with irritation. “I told you not to speak unless you had to.”

“No man could be silent in the face of such a challenge. I had to say something. No man, even one struck with grief, will tolerate having his shortcomings discussed openly.” They had been walking slowly. Now they were standing in the street. Gabriel looked back toward the tavern. It was still in sight.

She looked up at the night sky. It was a long time before she looked at him again. “I told you to be quiet because your accent is so cultured, more suited to court than a tavern. And I did my best to make you angry because it gives you color. You are too pale, and I doubt grief for a lost wife is enough explanation except in a Minerva Press novel.”

“You could not tell me this before?”

“It is better for you not to know the details. More than your life is at stake.” She began to walk again.

He did not move with her, compelling her to stop too.

“Exactly what else are you risking? Who? Do you mean Georges?”

“It does not concern you.”

“Everything about this concerns me, Charlotte,” he said, closing the small gap between them.

“Very well.” Her sigh was resignation and still she was silent a moment more. “There are other people who will be served by this effort. People still trapped here in France who will have a chance at freedom if I am successful.”

“That is the vaguest of explanations possible, madame. Which is the only reason I believe it at all.” He offered her his arm. When she took it he wondered if she felt the same burn of awareness.

“If we are captured and they torture you, my lord, now you will have something to tell them.”

“A lovely thought, madame. Thank you,” he said, using that same acerbic tone she had. They walked on in silence and slowly. “Is this tediously slow pace a torture devised to drive me insane or is there a reason for it? There is no one else on the street. Who are we performing for now?”

“There is a reason. The discomfort is an added gift.”

He waited.

“I had planned for us to stay at the inn until it was time to leave. Your confrontation with Raoul now means we will walk until dawn. The fact that it is torture for you is a small punishment for interfering.

“I never took into account that a man of science would have a temper so easily roused.” She spoke so softly that he was not sure he was intended to hear it.

“You consider that a grave mistake?”

She nodded without looking at him. “It is one of several mistakes I have made. It reminds me that it is dangerous to assume too much. The only interest we share is keeping you alive.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Gabriel agreed, wondering if she was reminding herself or warning him. “How odd. To be bound together as intimately as lovers with nothing else in common.” He laughed a little. “Is it significant that we have finally found something we agree on?”

Before she could answer him, they were startled by the swell of sound that meant the door to the tavern had opened and swung shut.

Charlotte looked back. Shook her head. Gabriel followed her gaze. Two of the squad was behind them. Hard to tell if they were following them or on some other mission.

Pushing him into a nearby doorway, she put her arms around his neck. “Kiss me.”

Her lips were cool against his, as though she was only vaguely interested in the experience. Gabe more than made up for her lack of enthusiasm. Not only because his life depended on it. Her soft mouth pressed to his obliterated fear, replacing it with lust. It was as irrational as it was irresistible.

He moved her so that she was the one against the door and pressed his body to hers while his mouth demanded more. A demand that drew nothing from her. He could feel the tension in her and was almost sure it was not only because she was anxious about the footsteps coming closer.

Raising his head, he saw anger in her eyes. “Give in to it, Charlotte. I know you feel this too.”

He touched her lips again, wooing her, moving his lips and tongue along her mouth as though he had only to find the right spot to unleash what she guarded so desperately.

She held still until he thought he had lost the siege and then an absolute torrent of feeling poured from her. She was fierce in her passion, holding his head with her hands, her mouth opened to him. He felt her body fit with his as she raised her leg so it wrapped around his hip. He buried his face in her neck as he tried to retain some control over his body.

Time and place faded and his world was filled with the aching pleasure of passion edged with darker feelings. He felt her need match his own and wondered what he had unleashed.

“We both know what they will be doing tonight.” The soldier’s words carried to where Charlotte and Gabriel were sheltered, the doorway gathering in the sound so they could hear. It brought them back from their erotic adventure in an instant.

Charlotte was actress enough to hold her pose. His face buried in her neck, Gabe drew in her scent as they listened to their audience.

“His eyes were red and his clothes ill-fitting. I was sure he was the spy.”

“His wife died. He was prostrate with grief.”

“Not anymore.” The suspicious one relented. Gabriel could feel Charlotte relax. She raised his head with her hands and looked into his eyes. She rested her lips on the corner of his mouth. Neither one of them was thinking about sex.

“Where is the justice? He’s with her and we are awake all night, in the rain, watching the harbor.”

Charlotte drew away. He could see she was surprised. If they knew enough to watch the harbor, what else did they know? She let go of him, no longer paying him any attention at all.

“Charlotte is too smart to be taken in by a lying, cheating spy.”

Gabriel missed the rest of their comments as the two soldiers lost interest and moved on.

“Madame Rostine would pay us well for our pose, monsieur.”

“You weren’t acting any more than I was. I would say that we were both…” he paused,…, and then finished, “…we were both distracted.” He chose the word quite deliberately, making a lie of her claim that she could not be so influenced.

She made a small sound that was agreement or dismissal, but not denial.

“Charlotte, I have no doubt discovery is one of the possibilities you considered. What are we to do now?”

She cupped his cheek with her hand in that gesture that was not nearly as affectionate as it appeared to be. “We are going where they think we are going and we will do what they expect us to do.”

7

E
XPLAIN WHAT YOU
mean by that.” He reached for her hand, lowering it from his cheek in a grip that was tighter than necessary.

Charlotte could feel his anger. Was it always so close to the surface? “We are going to Madame Rostine’s, where I will put you in the care of one of her girls.”

“Oh no.” He shook his head for emphasis. “You and I are together until we reach England. I
would
be a fool to let you out of my sight before I can kiss the dirt of home.”

The rain began, little more than a light drizzle. And the dense clouds promised more. That would work in her favor. “Listen to me. The soldiers will not stay long at the docks in this rain. I must go home and try to salvage what I can of my plan. I will come for you later today.”

“No.” He let the single word hang between them. It was enough to make her see that he would not be persuaded. “We can stand here all night, or stay at the brothel together. Or go back to your house.”

“None of my men come home with me. I always use Madame Rostine’s. If I took you home, it would rouse suspicion.” It was the absolute truth but not the whole of it.

“You took me there once tonight.”

“It was necessary. We went in the back door and only to the kitchen. For reasons I explained at the time.”

“Yes, because anyone could tell I had just come from prison.” He was silent a moment. “It could be that was your first mistake, Charlotte Parnell. Leaving me at the brothel, or anywhere else, will be your second mistake, because I can, and will, find you.”

He released her hand and waited with that way he had of staring at her. Could he find her house on his own? He was such a fine observer she could not discount his ability to work the puzzle successfully.

The mist turned to a steadier shower and made the decision for her. “Madame Rostine’s,” she said with a nod. “The rain will start in earnest any minute. Hurry or we will both be wet through.”

She pulled her shawl around her head, as Gabriel began to take off his jacket. “Wear this,” he said. “The weave is tight. It will keep you dry. I am used to the cold.”

“Stop,” she hissed. “Keep it. Madame Rostine’s is only a few streets away.” She tugged on his arm and pulled him along. “I am a prostitute and exist only for your comfort. What I feel or need does not matter.”

“I have a vested interest in keeping you healthy, Charlotte.” He kept pace with her, both of them moving purposefully as the weight of the rain grew.

“You are playing a role tonight and your part is to see me as something to be used and forgotten.” By the time they reached the front steps of Rostine’s, Charlotte could feel water dripping down her back, soaking through her dress, ruining it. The wet silk trapped the cold against her skin. She had to hold her body rigid to keep from shivering.

“Not afraid to show her success, is she?” Gabriel said as they hurried up the wide rise of steps leading to the portico that framed the front door.

Yes, it was an elegant house, with columns, marble, brass and windows. It was more grand than anything else on the street. Rather like Madame Rostine herself.

Charlotte ignored the brass knocker, shaped like a naked fairy, and found the familiar spot she knew would echo best.

The door opened quickly and the porter stepped back without speaking. Charlotte hurried in out of the rain, as the downpour worsened.

The servant stepped away as Madame Rostine herself came down the stairs, dressed as though she were still welcoming business, complete to the feathers rising from an elaborate coiffeur.

“Charlotte,” she said with surprise, “I had not expected to see you this evening.” She gestured to the porter and he moved from the door and up the stairs. “Come into the salon and warm yourself. I will have your room ready in a moment.”

Charlotte swept ahead of them and into the drawing room, well aware that Madame was doing her best to flirt with Lord Gabriel. She could only hope that he would be tempted by Madame’s robust beauty. She gave them a moment and then turned as they followed her into the room. He moved from the door to the fire, glancing at her with more exasperation than interest.

“I think we will be here for most of the day and perhaps into the evening.”

“You have paid for the room, Charlotte. It is yours for as long as you wish.” With a nod, Madame Rostine made to leave.

“Will you have someone bring Charlotte a robe so that she can change out of her wet clothes? They are an invitation to illness.”

“But of course, monsieur. I will send a maid immediately.” She glanced at Charlotte and with a slight tilt of her head conveyed amusement at his solicitude.

Charlotte shrugged. “He is a physician and given to detail.”

“Lucky you.” With that, Madame Rostine swept out, taking her cloying scent with her, leaving her cynicism behind.

Charlotte walked quickly to the fire. Gabriel went to the table and poured two brandies. Handing her a glass, he raised his to his lips.

“Drink it slowly,” she said.

“Shall I call you nurse as well as jailer?”

She watched as he took one sip and then another. He closed his eyes and breathed a long, slow “Ahhhh.” He took one more taste and set the glass aside.

“I am well aware that it has been months since I have had anything but watered ale.”

She had been reminding herself as much as speaking to him. This situation was ripe enough for folly without fueling it with spirits. Charlotte bent to put her glass of brandy on the table, but the fabric of her dress pulled across her back, the cold of it making her gasp. A convulsive shiver overcame her, and instead of setting the glass aside, she took the brandy like medicine in one long swallow. Oh, it felt wonderful, burning its way through her, calming the chattering of her teeth against the glass.

“Let me free myself from this,” he said, as he struggled out of his coat, “and I will pour you some more.”

Standing with her back to him, Charlotte held her hands out to the fire. She toed off her shoes. That was a mistake. Without shoes she felt even more vulnerable.

There was a tap at the door and Lord Gabriel answered it. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. A woman, older and leaning heavily on a stick, handed him a robe. He thanked her with quiet gravity, closed the door, strode to the fireplace and, without asking, began to work the laces arrowing down the back of the blue dress.

Charlotte stiffened, but could not deny it was the only way. It proved to be slow work. The feel of his fingers at her neck made her shiver as much as the cold did. “Rip it off,” she said. “It is ruined anyway.”

He hesitated only a minute and then did as she ordered. The sound of the tearing fabric brought a memory, a child crying as she was pulled from her mother’s arms, the woman’s dress tearing as the child refused to let go. Charlotte blamed the brandy for the image. It was one of her dreams and, please God, nowhere near the truth of what had happened.

The dress dropped in a pool around her feet. He turned her to face him, his fingers leaving a warm imprint on her cold shoulders. It was all she could do to keep from stepping into his embrace, the warmth of him almost worth the risk. She hated being this cold.

He began to undo the front-fastening corset. Charlotte raised a hand to stop him. He pulled his fingers from under hers. “Yours are still shaking,” he said, his eyes kinder than his tone. “Let me help you. Or is this another way you have of courting death?”

She returned his look while she considered a choice that should have been easy. Finally, she gave up the debate, dropped her hand and looked over his shoulder.

“I’ve never seen stays that lace in the front,” he said as he made quick work of the closure. “From the same modiste who made your gowns?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, smiling a little, still avoiding his eye. “She is quite inventive. I expect someday every whore will own one.”

He finished and the unlaced stays slipped down her arms. His chest brushed against her breasts and she pressed closer.

Lord Gabriel shook his head as he stepped back. “I know your game now, Charlotte.” His smile was not lecherous, not even appreciative. “And I am immune to it.”

She looked down his body to where the evidence of his arousal made a liar of him.

“I correct myself,” he laughed, “my mind is immune. My body is all male. And you are not a jailer but a witch.”

She wore only her chemise now. It was no more than damp in spots, but wherever it touched her the cold came back. He bent down to take the edge of it. She ended that with a firm
“Non.”
When she had his attention, she added, “I am not a child. This much I can manage.”

With a nod, he went back to the table and finished refilling their glasses.

“My lord?” She timed her question so that when he turned to her she was beginning to cover herself with the robe, naked except for her stockings and the black embroidered garters that were her favorite.

He came closer, but merely handed her the refilled glass. “This is not about sex, Charlotte. This is about keeping you from an inflammation of the lungs.”

“You lie.” She spoke without rancor. “Between a man and woman it is always about sex.”

“Is that so, Charlotte? Then your world is much too small and I feel sorry for you.”

“Sorry for me? You self-righteous prig.” She did not even try to control the rush of fury. “Your privilege is no more than an accident of birth. Don’t you dare judge me.”

He smiled and she knew the anger was a mistake.

“You misunderstand me,” he said, lifting her chemise from the back of the chair, folding it carefully. “You are quite right. My birth was a lucky accident, but there are men who have made their own opportunity, many of them from humble circumstances. I am not self-righteous, only disappointed the choices women have are so limited.”

Charlotte nodded, regretting the anger more than the misjudgment. She belted the robe but did not button it closed.

He pulled a chair closer to the fire and gestured for her to sit.

“Do you think you are the one in charge now?” She took a seat, cradling the brandy between her palms. “Need I remind you that you remain in mortal danger and I am still the only one who can lead you from it?”

“I have not forgotten. All the more reason for me to see that you are not taken by illness.”

He knelt down beside her and took her foot in his hand.

“My stockings are already dry,” she said, pulling her foot out of his hand.

“Maybe, but your feet are as icy as the Thames in January.” He cradled first one foot and then the other, and began massaging warmth back into them.

It felt so good.
She took more than a sip of brandy.

“The cold was the most persistent discomfort in prison,” he began. “I came up with a list of ways to describe it. ‘The Thames in January’ was one. ‘A privy in Scotland’ was another.” He smiled at her.

Charlotte Parnell smiled back at him. “As cold as Austria in the winter.” She swallowed more brandy and rested her head on the back of the chair. “I know this has everything to do with power and nothing to do with seduction.” Having said it, Charlotte let herself relax enough to lose herself in the pleasure of it.

He did not answer her. Continuing his massage, he ran his fingers down the center of her foot. She closed her eyes. He used his thumb on the pad of flesh under her toes, stroking the skin, pressing harder and harder.

He worked his hands up her leg, and she had to bite her lip to hold back a moan. When he reached the garter, he did not stop, moving an inch or two higher until she thought he must feel her heat as surely as she could feel the warmth of his fingers.

He pulled the garter down her leg quickly, bringing the stockings with it. He draped the bits of lingerie on the floor near the fire and left them to dry. He took one foot in his hand again.

She reminded herself at least three times that he was a spy and a traitor. She would spend the night with him as a means to a fortune that she and her family needed.

“Charlotte Parnell, you are no more a prostitute than I am.”

She opened her eyes with a start, realizing that she was almost asleep. Had she gone mad? This man was only one step away from being the enemy.

“Think what you will, my lord,” she said, pulling her foot from his hand. “I may not be a prostitute, but I am a whore.”

“Whore, prostitute. Is there a difference?” He stood up, towering over her. The robe was cinched in the middle but open to her waist from both the top and the bottom.

She did not cover herself, but kept her head resting on the high back of the chair. “Prostitution is a profession.” She thought a moment, giving him a chance to see what she was offering. “A whore…you see a whore is rather like a man of science. Something you do for enjoyment, because it fascinates you, and only occasionally for money.”

Bending toward her, he began to button the robe. She pushed his hand away.

“Why do you make yourself to be of so little worth?”

His tone showed mild interest, but there was temper simmering in his eyes again. He took a step back to the table, picked up his glass of brandy and finished it quickly. Charlotte felt the power begin to shift her way.