The Making of a Duchess (35 page)

   "I told you, Thompson did. After I saw that list of prisons and put the few facts I had together, I asked Thompson to acquire these blueprints for me. I don't know how he got them, but I thought they might be useful if you decided to do something rash. Which, of course, you have."

   The map to Le Grenier—that's what she had handed him. He had no idea how accurate it was, but the design of the prison was now laid out before him.

   "You still don't know where your brother is housed," she said as he studied the layout intently. "But I did notice this area." She pointed to a small room depicted by a box. "It's called The Garrett here."

   He glanced up at her.

   "Garrett, attic. The words are not so different. If I were you, I would begin my search for Armand there."

   She was right. If Sir Northrop's words to her had been true, and if Gilbert was correct in saying that Armand was forgotten, this small cell away from the others would be the likely place to house Armand.

   Gilbert stood beside him and studied the blueprints as well. He had not yet commented. "Monsieur Pierpont, what is your opinion?"

   Gilbert pursed his lips. "It is a good plan, monsieur," the old butler agreed. "And this map will make your task easier."

   Julien nodded and returned to studying the map.

   "But I think there is one variable you have not considered, monsieur."

   Julien frowned. "What is that? The keys? I'll snatch them from one of the guards or find where they are kept."

   "No monsieur, that is not it. I think you have failed to consider your brother. As I said before, prison changes a man."

   Julien folded his arms. "How? How has my brother changed? Has he changed so much he will want to stay in prison? Has he changed so much he would alert the guards to my presence?"

   "I do not know, monsieur. I know only what I saw."

   Julien leaned down, looked Gilbert directly in the eyes. "And what did you see? I think it's time you told me, Gilbert." He hoped he was ready to hear it.

   Gilbert opened his mouth then closed it again. "I can say only that your brother has changed. I do not know how to describe it."

   "Try." Julien was angry now, and even knowing his anger masked his fear, he could not suppress it. "Tell me what you're hiding."

   "The light," Gilbert said, his voice raspy and low. Julien had to lean closer to hear. "I know only that the light had gone out of his eyes, and with it, life. He has no life in him, monsieur."

   Julien sighed and leaned back again. Time in prison could indeed dull hope and faith, but that hope could be restored. He would restore it for Armand.

   "Then tomorrow we bring back that life," he said, glancing about the room. Gilbert nodded, but Sarah only watched Julien, her eyes filled with worry.

The house was dark and still, the only sound that of Julien's breathing and what might have been a mouse scurrying hither and yon, searching for food.

   Sarah lay in the small bed Gilbert had once again offered them and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. Over time, the shapes shifted and changed, turning into open mouths with jagged teeth or the leering faces of prison guards.

   Sarah looked away, turning to study her husband. His back was to her, his breathing regular, but she doubted he slept. This might be the last night she lay beside Julien. Tomorrow night they could both be dead.

   She prayed they would succeed, but there were so many variables that could go wrong.

   She heard Julien sigh, and he turned toward her. "I can hear you worrying," he murmured. "Come here." He opened his arms to her, and she went gratefully into his embrace. His warmth, his scent, his presence alone eased her anxiety. It did not remove it. She would not be able to take a deep breath until they were back in England, but being with Julien made her feel safe.

   Julien rubbed her back in gradually expanding circles. "You should try and sleep."

   "I know, but every time I close my eyes, I begin to imagine the worst."

   "Sarah—"

   "And don't tell me everything will be fine," she interrupted before he could repeat the platitude. "You can't know that."

   "You're right," he said finally. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "You're right, and if anything should happen, I want you and Gilbert to leave without me."

   "No!" She pulled out of his arms and sat. "I'm not going to leave you. You would never leave me."

   "And you wouldn't be here if not for me. Sarah, I could never live with myself if I knew you were hurt or imprisoned because of my quest." He pulled her back down into the comfort of his arms. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you'll meet Stalwart at La Petit Coeur. I'll leave you some francs just in case we're separated. Gilbert will see you safely to Stalwart and home to England. Once there, my mother will find a place for him. As for the Foreign Office, let them believe what they will. Let them implicate me in any crime they want."

   Sarah clutched Julien's bare shoulders. "Don't talk like this. Don't act as though our separation is a foregone conclusion. Julien, I—"

   She paused and swallowed. She had been about to tell him she loved him. Was now the right time? What if he could not say the same back? What if he said nothing at all?

   And what if she lost him tomorrow and never had the chance to tell him?

   She looked into his eyes. The room was dark, but she could see the shape of his face, make out his glittering eyes. "Julien, if anything does happen, I want you to know that I love you." She felt his body stiffen beside hers, and she hurriedly covered his mouth. "Don't say anything back. You don't have to. I just wanted you to know in case…" She trailed off, not wanting to tempt fate any more than they already had.

   Julien reached up and took her hand, pulling it away from his mouth, and kissing her palm lightly. "I wish I could make love to you right now," he whispered.

   She felt the same way and knew they were alone. The walls in the house were thin, and she had heard Gilbert go out earlier to fetch supplies.

   "I wish I could show you how much I need you." He stroked her hair and pulled her close.

   "Then show me," Sarah said, touching her lips to his neck. "Show me."

   His arms around her tightened possessively, and she was drawn against the hardness of his chest and the solidity of his arms. She tilted up her face, and his mouth met hers, greedy and searching. She was greedy as well. She needed this, needed as much of him as he could give.

   She rose above him, straddling him, and ran her hands down the flat planes of his bare chest. She liked the feel of his cool flesh against her own. Slowly, she lifted the hem of her chemise and dragged it over her body then tossed it aside.

   Even in the dim light, she could see Julien's eyes go dark with desire. And when she leaned down to kiss him, his mouth took hers feverishly. She could feel the blood rushing through her body, and she was already moving against him, sliding his hard length inside her.

   He groaned, and she arched up to take more of him. His hands were on her breasts, on her hips, on that sensitive spot at the juncture of her thighs. She could feel the pressure building, the pleasure taking over… and then he rolled her beneath him.

   "What are you doing?" She had been so close.

   "In a hurry,
chérie
?" She could hear the laughter in his voice. "I told you, the French way of lovemaking is not like the English. We move very—" He dipped his mouth and took one nipple inside, suckled until she bucked her hips with need. She could feel him inside her, feel him pressing against her. She needed him to move, just a little pressure…"Very—" He released her nipple and rose above her. "Slowly."

   He drew out of her, then with a measured, unhurried movement, slid back inside. Her breath hitched, and her hips bucked to meet him. "Julien, please," she begged. She was at the edge of pleasure. One hard thrust…

   He slid in and out again, but as she watched his face, she noted he was no longer smiling. His jaw was tight, his teeth gritted to exert control. She wanted that control to break, and she lifted her hips to take more of him, moved against him.

   "Sarah." His voice was husky with need.

   She pulled him close, kissed him then whispered, "Let go."

   She arched one more time, and they both let go.

   Afterward in his arms, Sarah tried to memorize everything about him—the way the scent of citrus and wood clung to him, the solid feel of his arms about her, the rhythm of his breathing. She tried to pretend this moment would last forever, that morning would never come, that they would never have to return to England. She wished there was only now.

   But gradually the moment ended. Julien's breathing slowed and deepened, and her own eyes refused to stay open. She would sleep, the morning would come, and with it their fates.

Julien crouched in the shadows of Le Grenier and waited for the moment to feel right. Gilbert had told him the guards changed at eleven. Julien hoped the guards on duty would be tired and inattentive an hour before they were relieved. He also hoped the changing of the guards would provide enough of a distraction to allow him and Armand to escape.

   He had checked his watch when he left Gilbert and Sarah in the cart just down the street. That had been perhaps twenty minutes ago, at three-quarters past nine. It was surely after ten now. He had less than an hour and had to move.

   He shuffled closer to the prison, moving as silently as possible, pausing when he reached the edge of the shadows and the last of his cover. As was the case yesterday, a guard stood at the entrance, his bayonet beside him. He did not look particularly alert, but Julien was taking no chances.

   He fingered the small stone in his hand. It was warm and familiar. Taking a deep breath, he hurled the stone past the guard and into the shadows beyond.

   "Who's that?" the guard barked, straightening immediately and staring in the direction of the clatter the stone had made. "Show yourself."

   Julien waited, counting to ten before the guard hefted his bayonet and moved cautiously in the direction of the noise.

   With the guard's back to him, Julien leaped. He tackled the guard, pushing him to the ground and kicking the bayonet out of reach. The guard tried to call out, but Julien kicked him in the gut, rendering him breathless. Then he wrapped an arm about the man's neck and dragged him into the shadows.

   Five minutes later, Julien stepped out, adjusting the too-small coat and leaning down to retrieve the forgotten bayonet. He prayed he had hit the guard hard enough to keep him unconscious for the rest of the night.

   Straightening his coat again, he stepped through the prison gate.

"What are you doing here?"

   Sarah jumped as the man's voice shattered the silence of the night. She glanced behind her and saw a constable approaching. Gilbert gave her a worried look, and Sarah knew this was not good. How were they going to explain why they were sitting in a cart on a residential street in the middle of the night?

   If she were a constable, she would assume they were up to mischief. Which, of course, they were.

   Gilbert put a finger over his lips, reminding her that she was to leave the explanation to him.

   "Good evening, sir," Gilbert said in French.

   Sarah did not dare turn and look. Her stomach clenched, and she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. It had been a busy day, full of last-minute preparations and purchases. Sarah had not eaten until well after noon, and then she wolfed down a hunk of bread, cheese, and wine. If she had not been so hungry, she would have refused the food. She knew her stomach revolted when she was nervous.

   And now she was about to cast up her accounts and be hauled off to a French prison. She wondered if the French penalty for treason was the same as the English: drawing and quartering. Since drawing and quartering was done publicly and required the victim to be all but nude, it was considered too immodest to draw and quarter a woman.

   Women were burned at the stake. Alive.

   Sarah shivered and kept her head down as the constable approached.

   "I asked what you are doing here." The constable stood before them, his gaze roving over the cart and the two of them. His eyes were focused, and he seemed to miss little. Her stomach bucked, and she closed her arms over it.

   "Good evening, monsieur," Gilbert said, his voice smooth and unwavering. "We are traveling to the country tomorrow and have been gathering our supplies."

   The guard frowned, clearly skeptical. "It's late to be out shopping. What do you have here?" He began to rummage through the items in the back of the cart, none of which would have given them away. Gilbert had loaded the back with luggage and food and blankets.

   "Where are you traveling?" the constable asked after pawing through everything. He returned to stand beside the cart, and his sharp gaze was on Sarah. Her stomach heaved violently, but she forced down the nausea.