The Duchess (42 page)

“Reynaud! In the name of
le bon Dieu,”
she pleaded.

“Tell me, you aristocratic bitch, or our discussions are over, and your children are gone on the morrow!” he snarled, slapping her.

“Please,” she begged him, and realizing that wasn't enough, she continued, “please fuck me, Reynaud. Oh, do it to me. I want it. I need it. Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!
Ahhhhhh!”
she shrieked as he rammed himself into her cruelly. His mouth mashed down upon her lips, kissing her hungrily, his tongue stabbing at her tongue as she struggled not to gag. She realized almost immediately
that if she didn't exhibit a measure of enthusiasm he was not going to be satisfied. She groaned beneath him, her nails raking down the broad back beneath his shirt. She wrapped his torso about with her legs. “Oh, yes,” she murmured into his ear. “Oh, yes, Reynaud! Do it to me hard!” And he did.

He grunted, and sweated over her body. The walls of her love sheath seemed to grasp him tightly, and he howled with his lust. He could feel her full breasts beneath his chest, their nipples hard as little iron points. Then his excited desires burst, and he was angry for a moment until he realized that he had an entire night ahead of him. He was going to suckle and bite those breasts until she screamed with both pain and pleasure. He was going to make her suck him to another stand, and then he was going to put himself into her rosette. That was something he knew his brother had never done, but he would do it. And she would love it, he was quite certain. He had always wanted Anne-Marie. Now she was his slave for as long as he desired her. He did not think he would grow tired of her too quickly. But when he was, he would sell her to a madame he knew in Harfleur, and dispose of her children exactly as he had planned to do. The boy would go first to the army, and the girl would serve her apprenticeship in Paris. But not, perhaps, before he violated her as his father had once violated his mother. Now that would be true revolutionary justice! He laughed aloud with his silent thoughts, and the woman beneath him trembled at the evil sound.

That she had lived through what was undoubtedly the worst night of her life amazed Anne-Marie d'Au-mont when she awoke the following morning. Reynaud d'Aumont lay snoring like a pig next to her. He had violated and degraded her in ways she had never imagined.
She crept from the bed, aching and sore all over. Finding a pitcher of water in the warm coals of the fireplace, she attempted to wash his filth from her flesh. She doubted that she could ever erase the memories, but if it would save her children she would do it all over again. As clean as she could be she dressed swiftly, and escaped from the room, hurrying down the stairs to the kitchen where her children were waiting to see her.

“Maman!”
they cried.

Then Marie-Claire, aged twelve said, “What is the matter,
Maman?
Why did Papa's valet eat with you last night, and then remain?”

“Monsieur Reynaud is now the new owner of Le Verger,” she began slowly.

“Le Verger is mine,” Jean-Robert cried indignantly. “My uncle is the bastard. I am the true heir.”

“Non, mon bébé.
Le Verger is now Monsieur Reynaud's. So the revolution has ruled. We are going to England soon, to my uncle's home in London. Ohh, you will like London,
mes enfants.
And Thérèse and Céline will come with us, Jean-Robert. Won't that be nice?”

“The English are our enemies,” the boy said stonily.

“Grandpapa was English, Jean-Robert. You are named for him,” she reminded her son gently.

“Stupid boy,” his sister said. “Monsieur Reynaud has stolen Le Verger, and there is nothing we can do about it.”

“I will go to the king,” the boy responded hotly.

“There is no king, Jean-Robert,” his sister reminded him.
“Not anymore.
They cut off his head just the way they did to Papa.”

Jean-Robert began to sniffle.

“Marie-Claire,” her mother scolded her, but she knew her daughter was being practical.

“When are we going?” the girl asked.

“Soon,” her mother promised her. Then she turned to her maid, Céline. “Take the children to
Père André
for their lessons,” she instructed the younger woman. “Do not come back for a while.”

“Oui,
madame,” Céline said, understanding.
“Allons, mes enfants.”
She led the two children from the kitchens.

“I have hot water,” Thérèse said. “I have filled the little oak tub in the pantry. Go and bathe, madame. Get the stink of that beast off of you now, or you will never get it out of your nostrils.”

The comtesse flushed.
“You know?”

“I know that dog, Reynaud, madame. You did what you had to do to protect the children, but do not trust him.”

“I do not. Ahh, Thérèse, I am so ashamed.” And she began to weep softly.

“It is he who should be ashamed,” Thérèse said fiercely. “I would kill him if I thought I could keep us all safe, but nowadays one does not know who one's friends are, madame. Go and bathe now.”

The Comtesse d'Aumont washed herself thoroughly, and when she had finished she felt much better. She sat down and ate the boiled egg and the fresh bread that Thérèse had prepared for her, sipping at a cup of watered wine. She had no sooner arisen from the table when there came a pounding upon the front door of the house. “I will get it,” she said to the cook whose hands were all floury, and she hurried upstairs to answer the ferocious pounding. Opening the door the Comtesse d'Aumont found herself facing a group of peasants.

“We have come for the Comtesse d'Aumont and her brats,” said the obvious leader of the group, a woman who wore an eye patch over her left eye.

“I am the Comtesse d'Aumont,” Anne-Marie quavered, her heart beginning to pound furiously.

“We have been sent to take you to Harfleur, Citizeness. Your children, too,” the woman said. “Where are the men who are supposed to be guarding you? Heads will roll for this infraction of the rules!”

“The guards went back to St. Jean Baptiste yesterday when Monsieur Reynaud, the head of the Committee for Public Safety arrived. He is here now, but he is still sleeping,” she told them.

“Where?”
demanded the woman.

“Upstairs,” the comtesse said. “Will you not come in?”

“Madame,” the leader said softly, “do not be afraid. We have come to rescue you. We carry a letter from your uncle, Lord Bellingham. This is but a charade.” Honor handed the comtesse the small message. She opened it, and the relief upon her face was palpable.

“This is a miracle,” she whispered.

“Who are these ruffians, madame?” Thérèse had come up from the kitchen, a large carving knife in her hand.

“There is not time to explain, Thérèse. Whatever happens, do not be afraid. It is all right, and I will tell you as soon as I can,” Anne-Marie d'Aumont said in low tones. “They have come to rescue us.”

“What the hell is going on down here?” Reynaud d'Aumont stood at the top of the staircase. He was half-dressed. He stomped down to face them. “Who the devil are you?”

“You are Monsieur Reynaud of the Committee for Public Safety in St. Jean Baptiste?” the woman with the eye patch demanded authoritatively.

“I am,” he replied.

“I am Citizeness Honneur Dupont. These citizens and I have been sent from Harfleur to take Citizeness d'Au-mont and her offspring into custody. We have been given our authority by the Committee for Public Safety in Harfleur. Charges have been made against this woman.”

“What charges?” demanded Reynaud.

“I do not know,” Honor replied surlily. “I am not made privy to such things. It is my duty to collect those people the committee wishes to see. Was this woman not already under arrest?”

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“Then why are you standing there arguing with me, Citizen Reynaud? If you have any questions or complaints to make, I suggest you come to Harfleur with us. If, however, you defy the wishes of the Harfleur Committee for Public Safety, I can only imagine what your fate will be.” She made a chopping motion with her hand. “This citizeness and her children have been asked to tea by Madame la Guillotine. I am certain you do not object to enemies of France being exterminated.” She glared at him, hands upon her hips.
“Well, Citizen?”
she growled.

“No. No,” Reynaud said. Then he thought, what a fortunate coincidence that Anne-Marie and her children should be taken away now. While he would have enjoyed having her about to torture for a while longer, it did not matter really. Le Verger would now be his without any questions. “Where are the children?” he asked Anne-Marie.

“With Père André,” she said low. “They are your blood, Reynaud. Do not let them be killed! Keep them here with you. I beg you!” She fell to her knees before him, and he thought of when she had done the same thing yesterday. The memory of it made his rod tingle.

“Get on your feet, Citizeness,” he snapped at her roughly, yanking her up. “The committee in Harfleur outranks me. You will go with these citizens.” He turned to Thérèse. “Go and fetch the brats, old woman.”

She glared up at him.

He stepped forward and shouted down into her face. “Did you not hear me, you old bitch? Or are you too stupid to understand?”

“I understand very well, Citizen Reynaud,” Thérèse said softly, and then she plunged her carving knife directly into his heart. “I understand everything, but you will not have Le Verger. It belongs to the true heir, and not some bastard. Do you hear me? Or are you too stupid to understand?” Thérèse stepped back from him as he collapsed to the floor. Then drawing the knife from her victim's chest she wiped it off on her skirt.

“Good God,” the Earl of Aston exclaimed in English.

“Be silent, Citizen Pierre,” Honor said in a hard voice.

“I will go to fetch Céline and the children now,
Madame la Comtesse,”
Thérèse said quietly. Turning, she walked from the house.

“Who was he?” the Duke of Sedgwick asked the stunned Anne-Marie.

“My husband's half brother,” she replied. “He was his father's bastard, and was raised to be my husband's servant. Jean-Claude loved him as he would any brother. I always thought they were friends, but then yesterday I learned that it was Reynaud who had betrayed my husband when they were in Paris last year.”

“Is that why the old woman killed him?” the duke continued to query. “It was, if I may say so, quite nicely, and neatly done.”

Anne-Marie d'Aumont crossed herself, but said nothing.

“My lord,” Allegra murmured softly to her husband, “it is obvious the old woman killed the villain because he has abused the comtesse. It is unlikely she will want to speak about it, for it will have been a terrible and shameful experience for such a virtuous and gentle woman. Let it be, and let us concentrate on leaving here as quickly as possible.” She turned to the countess. “Madame, gather any jewelry or monies that you have secreted away, and hide them well on your person and those of your children. We can allow you to take nothing else. Remember, we are supposed to be bringing you to Harfleur to face revolutionary justice. If we are stopped on the road that is the story we will tell, and that is what must be believed.”

“Who are you?” the Comtesse d'Aumont asked softly.

“I am madame la Duchesse de Sedgwick. This gentleman is my husband,
monsieur le duc,
and these are our friends. The woman with the eye patch is my maid, Honneur.”

“Why?”
the comtesse asked.

“Your uncle has been very distressed, as has your aunt, when you did not come to England immediately after your husband was killed. My brother, too, died in Paris, refusing to leave his affianced, although he was offered his freedom because he was English. This is our way of avenging him, and helping our friends, the Bellinghams.”

“So you have come to rescue me and my children in his memory, eh, madame? You are mad, but then all the English are mad my papa used to say. How can I ever thank you?”

“We are not safe yet,” Allegra reminded her. “Now go, and fetch your valuables.”

“One thing,” the comtessa said. She looked to the duke. “I cannot leave my two servants behind. They will come with me.”

The duke laughed ruefully. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he remarked. “It won't make any difference if we are caught helping three people or five to escape France. Yes, madame, of course your servants may come. I do not think I should attempt to argue with that fierce old woman who killed Monsieur Reynaud.”

The countess bit her lip, and then she laughed softly, too.

Thérèse returned with her granddaughter, Céline, and the two children in tow. Their mother, coming back down the stairs to the foyer, explained all to them. Then she secreted her valuables among the five of them, explaining that it was all they would have to live on once they arrived in England.

“Oh, no, madame,” Caroline burst out. “I am your cousin. You will come and live with my husband and me.”

“You are my kin?” the comtesse said, and then she began to weep. “Ahh, to think that the little family I have left in England would care for me and for my children, that they would endanger themselves to come and rescue us.” She embraced Caroline.
“Merci! Merci!”

“It is time we were going,” the duke said to them.

“What is to be done with
that?”
Allegra asked, pushing at the body of Reynaud d'Aumont with her wooden shoe.

“It will be taken care of, madame,” Thérèse said grimly. “I have told the priest, and he will see to it. Reynaud
le bâtard
was not well loved among us. His body will be buried deep in the woods where it is unlikely anyone will ever find it.”

“It will take us longer to return to the coast than it took us to get here,” Allegra noted. “We shall have to walk most of the way back, I fear. The comtesse must ride in the cart with her servants and children. Two of us at a time will ride with her. The rest of us walk.”

“Forgive us, madame,” the duke spoke, “but we must march you from the house should anyone be watching. It should look as if you are being taken away.”