The Courtesan (22 page)

Gabrielle smoothed back her hair, straightened her collarette, struggling to recover her customary élan. “Well!” she said as soon as she could trust herself to speak. “That—that was quite a performance, Captain Remy. Your acting is much improved.”

“I’m learning,” he replied. He leaned up against the tree, folding his arms and watching her, looking so blasted calm it irritated her. As though it was nothing to him to risk being caught by the Dark Queen, to narrowly avoid the guards . . . to kiss nearly senseless a woman he regarded as an enemy.

She was suddenly conscious of how quiet and deserted it was here in this part of the grounds, so far from the main palace, the moonlight barely touching where they stood beneath the tree. Never had Gabrielle ever imagined she would become flustered at finding herself alone in the dark with Remy.

Her hand fluttered toward her throat. “The danger of discovery appears to be over, but it is unwise for you to linger here. You should go and—and I need to return to the salon before I am missed.”

But when she gathered up her skirts, preparing to sweep past him, Remy uncoiled away from the tree. His hand shot out to grasp her wrist.

“Not just yet. I want to talk to you first.”

Talk to her? Gabrielle gaped at him incredulously. The man truly was mad.

“Your pardon, Captain,” she said with some asperity. “But this hardly strikes me as the best moment for a chat. I believe we have said all there is to say to one another.”

“This won’t take long.” Remy drew her nearer, his cloak falling between them like a shadow. The fashionable habit of wearing a cape slung off one shoulder gave many of the courtiers a dandified look. But it had a far different effect on Remy, drawing attention to his broad shoulders, a feeling of power barely leashed in his hard, masculine frame. His eyes were no more than dangerous glints through the slits of his mask, but the shiver that coursed through Gabrielle had nothing to do with apprehension.

“Just one question, milady,” he said. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” she faltered, wondering what he meant to accuse her of now.

“Why did you lie to the Dark Queen, tell her that I was your lover, that de—de Lanfort?”

“
Former
lover,” Gabrielle said with a haughty lift of her brows, although she scarce knew why it felt so important for her to correct him. “What would you rather I had told her? Oh, that is only Nicolas Remy, Your Grace. Remember him? The one you used to fondly call the Scourge.”

“I would rather you had stayed out of it and let me take my chances,” Remy snapped. For the first time Gabrielle realized that far from being grateful for her intervention, Remy was annoyed with her, even a little angry.

“It certainly was not to your advantage to become involved.”

“You hardly need to tell me that.” Gabrielle grimaced. Even now Navarre was probably back in the salon, looking for her. If the king had noticed her stealing off with another man, she was going to have some clever explaining to do.

As though he’d been able to read her thoughts, Remy’s jaw tightened. “So what the blazes did you do it for, then? Why did you protect me?”

“What does it matter why?” She tried to squirm away from him, but Remy’s grip on her wrist only tightened.

“It matters to me.” When she attempted to avoid his eyes, Remy seized hold of her chin, forcing her gaze back to meet his own. “You claim to be so determined to seduce my king. It would surely have been more in your interest to have me out of the way. So why were you at such pains to save me?”

With a hard yank, Gabrielle managed to free herself. Backing away, she rubbed her bruised wrist and glared at him. “Considering that I am the only one who knows who you are, it would also be in your interest to be rid of me. Perhaps that’s why you really accompanied me out here. To strangle me and dump me in the bushes.”

“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. No matter how much you infuriate me, you know damned well that I could never hurt you.”

“Then you should know equally well that I could never betray you!”

But he clearly didn’t or he wouldn’t feel the need to ask her such questions.

“Oh, I see how it is,” she said bitterly. “You are the great hero, positively stuffed with honor. But I am only a lowly harlot, capable of any base thing.”

“I never called you that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your contempt for me is obvious.” Gabrielle was horrified to feel a lump rise in her throat. Before he could see just how badly he’d wounded her with his doubts, she tried to dart past him. But Remy was too quick for her, stepping into her path, his hard muscled frame an impassable barrier.

“I express no contempt,” he said. “But I
will
have an answer to my question.”

He clearly did not mean to let her go until he had one. Remy’s hands closed over her shoulders not roughly, but holding her fast all the same. There was no escaping him, short of engaging in an undignified and probably futile struggle.

“Why did you protect me, Gabrielle?” he persisted.
“Why?”

“Because . . .” she began.

Because she still cared about him far too much, an inconvenient emotion for a woman who was determined to feel nothing but cold ambition. Gabrielle swallowed hard, glaring helplessly up at him.

“Damn you, Nicolas Remy. You never plagued me with such questions on Faire Isle. You never worried why I protected you from the Dark Queen then.”

“I am fully aware of what you did for me that summer, but so much has changed since then.
You
have changed.”

“No, I haven’t,” Gabrielle muttered. “Obviously I am as big a fool where you are concerned as I ever was.”

Remy’s grip on her gentled, his voice softening as he said, “I am sorry, Gabrielle. But you can hardly blame me for being confused. I find you so altered, so different from the girl I remembered. You are like a stranger to me now.”

“You are a fine one to talk about strangers.” Gabrielle said. “The Nicolas Remy I knew would never have been such a bully. Holding me prisoner, interrogating me, hiding behind that damned mask like a public executioner.”

Remy responded by whipping off his feathered cap. As his fingers moved toward the strings of his mask, Gabrielle was horrified by what she had goaded him into. She cut a frantic glance around her, the shadows of the trees, the shrubbery taking on a sinister aspect, alive with eyes eager to see, to report back to the Dark Queen.

“No, don’t—” she cried, but Remy’s mask had already fallen away.

A shaft of moonlight picked out the glints of gold in his dark hair and played over his profile. The finely chiseled bones of his cheekbones stood out prominently, the sensitive curve of his mouth starkly defined. His jaw was sculpted on hard, bold lines somewhat softened by the faint indentation in his chin. No longer hidden behind his beard, his features appeared at once stronger and strangely more vulnerable.

Gabrielle forgot her hurt, forgot her anger. She scarce remembered to breathe. She drifted closer, her fingers tingling with the old urge to capture such indescribable masculine beauty on canvas, her heart despairing over the magic that was lost to her. She stroked Remy’s face, her fingers sculpting that near-perfect bone structure, the smooth, warm texture of his skin, the faint hint of roughness from the banished beard threatening to reassert its dominance.

Remy’s eyes widened at her touch. He made no move to stop her exploration, but he looked self-conscious beneath her avid stare.

“My God,” she murmured.

“What?” he asked anxiously.

“You are beautiful. That is what.”

Gabrielle could not be certain in the semidarkness, but she thought the man actually blushed. Remy caught her hand and removed it from his face, but he made no move to release her, his fingers engulfing hers.

His lips twitched into a reluctant grin. Remy’s own particular sweet smile, the one Gabrielle had never expected him to bestow on her again. Gabrielle smiled tremulously back at him, her heart aching with the realization that this could be no more than a temporary truce between them, his smile all the more precious because of that.

He raised her hand lightly to his lips. “Er—I thank you for your compliments, milady. But beautiful was not exactly the look I was striving for tonight.”

“And what were you striving for, idiot?” Gabrielle teased to cover the rush of tender emotion that surged through her.

“I was just trying to pass myself off as a nobleman, one of these court fops. I fear I never was much good at play-acting.” Remy’s mouth twisted ruefully. “So exactly what was it that gave me away to you?”

His eyes. The sound of his voice. The feel of his hand.

“Oh, nothing in particular,” she lied. “Everyone here knows everyone else, even when disguised. You were bound to stand out. A masquerade at court is just another pretense, an intrigue, a game.”

“And you enjoy all this intrigue? Are you truly happy in this new life of yours?”

Gabrielle started at his question. Remy had acquired a bad habit of asking the most damned uncomfortable things. Was she happy? That was something she had never taken time to think about in her quest for power. She didn’t
want
to think about it.

She shrugged. “Of course, I’m happy. Paris, the court, this is my world now.”

Remy shook his head as though he could not quite accept that. “It’s a very treacherous world, Gabrielle, and dangerous. When I watched you with the Dark Queen, it made my skin crawl. I wanted to snatch you away from her.”

“You needn’t worry for me. I know how to deal with Catherine.”

“But why would you want to? How can you endure being near that evil woman day after day, forced to curtsy to her, trading false smiles?”

Gabrielle had wondered the same thing many times herself. She replied hesitantly, “Perhaps because I—I have grown to understand her better whether I wished to or not.”

“
Understand
her? She once set witch-hunters after you, tried to destroy your entire family.”

“No woman is born cold and ruthless, not even Catherine. She was no doubt as young and innocent as any girl once. Perhaps she even believed in fairy stories until she discovered there were far more dragons than knights in the world. Fiery monsters to reduce your dreams to ashes, to scorch you with betrayal until you wither and die or let your heart be forged into steel. I imagine that Catherine also knows what it is like to be hurt and humiliated by someone she loved, made to feel weak and powerless.”

“Also?” Remy frowned, giving her an odd measuring look.

Gabrielle stiffened. She didn’t know what had impelled her to defend Catherine. Perhaps because in so doing she was also defending herself. She was straying dangerously near the ugly wounds on her soul she had kept hidden for so long.

“Yes, also—like—like many another woman foolish enough to trust her heart to a man.”

“Something you’ve never done?” Remy asked softly.

“No! Never,” Gabrielle denied. Rather too fiercely she realized. She withdrew her hand from Remy’s grasp and retreated deeper into the shadows beneath the trees.

To her dismay, Remy followed her, his hands lightly caressing her shoulders.

“Gabrielle?” The tenderness in his voice made Gabrielle fear he had glimpsed too much in her face during those few unguarded moments.

She stiffened beneath his touch, saying with a forced brightness. “How reckless we both are being. It is hardly wise for you to linger on here, or me either. Navarre will be wondering what has become of me. I had to promise him practically every dance this evening. He is growing so possessive of me, His Grace would not have it otherwise.”

Remy’s hands stilled. For a fleeting moment, she could feel the warmth of his breath stirring her hair. Then his hands fell away from her.

“Yes, Navarre,” he repeated, his voice a strange blend of grim resolve and regret.

The mention of the king had put the distance back between them. She felt bereft as Remy stepped back from her, but she rallied, drawing herself up briskly.

“I really must return to the salon.”

“And so must I.”

“What!” Gabrielle exclaimed, praying she had misunderstood him, but he was already drawing forth the mask he had tucked into his belt.

“You didn’t betray me. You actually provided me with an identity, so I do have to risk going back there.”

“Remy! No!”

To her horror, he began to fasten the mask back in place.

“You
are
insane.” She ripped the mask out of his hands. “I have never seen a man so determined to get himself killed.”

“Gabrielle,” Remy said, his voice part plea, part warning. “Give me that.”

“No!” Gabrielle whipped the mask behind her back, stumbling away from him. “What was the point in my protecting you if you are only going to march right back into the witch’s lair again?”

Remy stalked after her. “It isn’t that I am not grateful for what you did—”

“I don’t want your gratitude. I just want you to go away.”

He cornered her against the tree, his arms reaching around her for the mask. Gabrielle crushed it desperately between her fingers.

“Oh, Remy, please. You can’t—”

“I have to. Now that I have seen my king in this cursed place, I am more determined than ever to have him out of here.”

“It is not as though anyone is torturing him.”

“No, they are doing something far worse. They are stealing his soul. What little I saw of him tonight, I could tell how he is being seduced by this place, by—”

By
you.
Remy did not come out and say it, but she could read the accusation in his eyes as he sought to wrench the mask away from her, his sinewy frame bearing hard against her. “Navarre is losing all sense of who he is, becoming just another of these court fools, a prancing puppet dancing to the Dark Queen’s tune. I see how he is mocked on all sides.”

“It won’t always be this way for him,” Gabrielle pleaded, despairing as she felt Remy’s fingers prying loose her grip on the mask. “I know you don’t believe in augury, but Navarre is destined to be king of France one day. I swear it’s true.”

“With you as his mistress?” Remy’s lips thinned. “I am sorry, Gabrielle, but he is already a king. The king of Navarre. His people have borne with enough persecution and hardship. They have been left leaderless for three years. He needs to return to his own country and I intend to make sure he does.”