Louisa Rawlings (10 page)

Rouge glanced uneasily about the room. Several benches and console tables lined the walls: scant protection from the assault he obviously intended. And if she started with her tucker, he’d expect her gown, and then her stomacher, to follow. Oh, no! Not yet, my fine fellow! she thought, her mind racing. She smiled slyly and kicked off her embroidered shoes. “One for one, señor.”
 

He blew her a kiss and unwrapped his sash.
 

She countered by pulling off her
engageantes
, the lacy frills at her sleeves.
 

“You give me trifles,” he growled. He plucked the ribbon
cocarde
from his shoulder and flung it petulantly to the carpet. His eyes raked her bosom, seeming to penetrate the lace that covered it.
 

She shrugged in helpless innocence; it wouldn’t do to anger him. She removed her tucker. Her rounded breasts peeped enticingly above her low-cut gown. His eyes widened at the sight. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to leave things to chance, she thought. She might be half undressed before she could get to the key! “I call for your coat now, señor.”
 

“Fair enough.” His good humor restored, he laughed and stripped off the garment, as she requested. She was glad to see that his waistcoat had only two pockets. It shouldn’t be too difficult to locate the key. He leered. “But in exchange I call for your gown, señorita!”
 

She smiled, her hands going to the hooks at her bodice. Then, with a sudden lunge, as though she’d changed her mind, she attacked him, tickling the fleshy expanse of belly that bulged against the buttons of his waistcoat. Surprised, and then delighted, he began to tickle her in return, his fat fingers lingering at her bosom. “
Ciel
, Don Lopes! You’re a devil!” she laughed, wriggling at his onslaught. And all the while her searching fingers worked their way into his pockets. Thanks be to God! Her nails struck something hard and metallic. At the same moment she secured the key between her thumb and forefinger, she broke away from him, giggling and panting. “No more, señor! I beg you! You have quite defeated me!”
 

He held out his arms. “I claim a kiss as my prize. To the victor, the spoils.”
 

She had the key firmly tucked in the palm of her hand, hidden from his view. But how was she to make the impression? She pouted. “I want my shoes first. I should not like to be found shoeless, if we were to be discovered.”
 

“
Por Dios
, but you’re a difficult woman!”
 

She stamped her stockinged foot. “Would you insult me? Well then, you must prove your worthiness before I grant you your kiss!” She kicked at her shoes, sending them scudding across the carpet to a corner of the room. “When you have fetched my shoes, and put them on me in the most gracious manner, perhaps I shall permit you your kiss.” While he scurried away, crawling on his hands and knees to retrieve her shoes from under a bench, she pulled out the box of wax that Torcy had sent to her, and pressed the key into its soft surface. She had time to make several impressions (in case one should prove faulty), and return the box to her pocket, before Don Lopes, now red in the face, had brought the shoes back to her. Beyond him, through the high windows, she could see that the fireworks had already begun, lighting the night sky with brilliant color. Good! A few more minutes. She’d return the key to his pocket, and then she’d be safely out of here. She started to move toward one of the benches, meaning to sit down for her shoes, but Don Lopes grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to the floor, kneeling quickly beside her.
 

“Sit here,” he said, his hand raising the bottom of her skirts. “It will be easier for me to reach your feet.” He laughed wickedly. “And other parts!”
 

Sitting on the floor, she giggled and allowed him to slip on her shoes. But her mind was on the rest of her plans. She would stand up, grant him a brief kiss—while she tucked the key back where it belonged in his pocket. And then she’d… “Name of God!” she gasped. “Señor!” He had thrown himself upon her, pushing her flat onto her back and covering her slender frame with his ponderous bulk. The force of his attack skewed his wig, revealing a large patch of bald scalp. His body was heavy on hers, hot and sweaty. The pig! she thought. It was all she could do to keep from cursing him aloud. But wait a moment! If she could just maneuver one hand between their bodies, she could return the key. A moment’s distraction would give her time. She dimpled prettily at him. “If you must take your kiss, Don Lopes, do it now.” He smiled and bent his head to hers. She closed her eyes to keep from seeing the fleshy lips descending, the foul lust in his eyes. She nearly gagged at the feeling of his mouth, twisting beneath him in pretended passion while her hand slid toward his pockets. But the key—at last!—was safely restored. Curse you, Torcy, she thought, preparing to cry out her disappointment at missing the illuminations, and thereby end this disgusting charade.
 

She heard a strangled sound from somewhere above Don Lopes’s head. “You slut. You lying whore! Is this the virtue that you trumpet to the heavens?”
 

She opened her eyes in astonishment and horror. Arsène de Falconet was scowling at the twined bodies on the floor. He reached down, grabbed Don Lopes by the back of his waistcoat, hauled him roughly to his feet. “Get out, señor,” he said through clenched teeth. “For the sake of our two countries, I should not like to challenge you to a duel!”
 

As Don Lopes—his face white with fear—scurried about the room and gathered the bits of his clothing, Rouge stood up, smoothing her skirts. She took a deep breath and waited until he had gone. Then, “Arsène,” she said softly.
 

His blue eyes glittered in fury. “You wanton! Was it less than a week ago that I thought you worth marrying?
Mon Dieu!
I would have given you my name to besmirch with your strumpet’s ways!”
 

“Arsène. Please. It was a mistake. He was…somewhat drunk. He took me by surprise. I hardly wanted…”

“Is that why you were laughing as I came in?” He gestured angrily at her tucker and
engageantes.
“Why your laces are scattered about the room? Why I found you lying beneath him with your eyes closed in rapture?”
 

“Arsène…”
 

“How many times was I forced to humble myself?” he spat. “Beg your forgiveness because I’d insulted your chaste purity?”
 

She turned away, fighting back tears of helplessness. What could she tell him? She was sworn to secrecy by Torcy, at the risk of her father’s freedom and his good name. And it was bitterly ironic that Arsène himself had been her hope of release from Torcy. She felt a great weariness. She retrieved her laces. “I didn’t welcome his attentions, Arsène. I swear it to you.” She sighed and turned to the door. “Perhaps tomorrow you will find it in your heart to think more kindly of me.” She escaped the contempt in his eyes and fled to her room, throwing herself across her bed and sobbing out her frustration. Unless she could marry Arsène, or someone like him, and pay off Tintin’s debts, there would be more scenes with men like Don Lopes. Of that she had no doubt. Torcy was an unprincipled devil; he knew exactly the kind of spying he had bargained for with Rouge.
 

In the morning, she sent word to Albret that she wished to see him. As before, they met in his apartment, where Torcy was waiting to receive the wax impression, and to congratulate her on her cleverness. She acknowledged his approval with coldness, sick at heart at the shambles her life had become in so short a time.
 

In the next few days, she met twice with Torcy in Albret’s rooms, passing on bits of information she’d overheard. He seemed pleased but noncommittal; she could only assume it was unimportant gossip. She tried several times to approach Arsène at the king’s
appartements
, hoping to repair the damage to their relationship, but he rebuffed her icily, refusing even to speak to her.
 

The days passed slowly, filled with soft April rains that made her long for Sans-Souci. For the first time, she seemed unable to plan for the future, to organize her thoughts toward solving their difficulties. She told herself it was just spring, muddling her thoughts, tugging at her heart with a strange unrest. Oh, to be free of her burdens, she thought. To be quit of them all! Torcy. Arsène. Even Tintin.
 

She despaired of ever winning back Arsène. It was odd. When she’d had him at her beck and call, she’d hesitated, weighing the wisdom of marriage to him, like a general surveying her territory. Now, with all hope gone, she found herself remembering his charm, the sweetness of his kisses. What a fool she’d been! She could have learned to love him. And, in the meantime, Tintin’s problems would have been solved.
 

And—more important—she would have been free of Torcy. Oh, God! Now she’d be his pawn forever.
 

Dealing with Tintin had been the most painful chore of all. “Once and for all,” she’d told him, “I’ll not help you cheat at cards again. It’s simply too dangerous. We’ll both end up in the Bastille with thieves’ brands on our foreheads!”
 

He’d frowned. “Nonsense! You’re very skillful. No one is the wiser.”
 

“No, Tintin. I shan’t ever again.”
 

His brown eyes had been soft and filled with hurt. “You’re angry with me.”
 

“No. Truly I’m not.”
 

He’d brightened, his dismay as brief as an April shower. “Well, I’ll manage on my own for now. But you’ll come round. I know it. You’ll see,” he’d said, smiling roguishly at her.
 

Two days later, he’d forgotten all about his gambling, about his debts, about everything except his love. “’Tis all arranged, Rouge,” he said, pulling her to one corner of the Marble Court so they wouldn’t be seen from the windows of the king’s suite. “Nathalie and I will leave secretly tonight for Normandie. François will come along to serve me, of course. Ah! My heart is leaping in my breast!”
 

“And her brother knows nothing?”
 

“Not a whisper, devil take him! But I’ll not tell a soul where we’re going. Not even you. ’Tis best that way. At the very least, we’ll have nearly a whole month in seclusion to explore our hearts.”
 

“And when will you return to Sans-Souci?”
 

“The first week of May at the soonest, I should expect. But you’ll manage quite nicely without me, my sweet.
N’est-ce pas?
You always do.”
 

Rouge scuffed the marble paving of the courtyard with the tip of her shoe. “How much money have you?”
 

Chrétien pulled his purse from his pocket. “Not a great deal, alas. But I won’t need much in Normandie. My Nathalie is generous as well as loving. Take what I have. It should get you home to Sans-Souci.”
 

She took the purse, then looked uneasily at him, hesitating before she spoke. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she prayed that he would see his responsibility. Ah,
Dieu
, she thought. Just this once! “Tintin, if you can, would you consider…marrying Nathalie de Chambault?”
 

“Why of course! If I find that I love her enough, that is.”
 

She couldn’t look into his gentle eyes, so filled with trust and love. “No. I mean…even if you
don’t
love her.”
 

“Merely to pay my bills?” he growled. “For the money?”
 

She nodded. “It would make things so much easier.”
 

“Damnation, Rouge! I’ve told you before! You may choose that path to
your
future, but I should suffocate in a marriage with someone I didn’t love!”
 

She sighed. “Of course. I’m sorry, Tintin. I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll be the practical one. You marry for love.”
 

He grinned wickedly and tweaked her nose. “That isn’t to say that I might not love Nathalie enough to want to marry her! I might well return from Normandie with a new Marquise de Tournières.”
 

Rouge whispered a soft prayer. “Holy Mother, let it be so!” She smiled lovingly at her father. “I wish you happy hunting, then, Tintin. Return with a bride, if you can! And see that François keeps out of mischief.”
 

“I shall scold him every single day, so he shan’t miss you.”
 

She threw up her hands and laughed in helpless resignation. “And who will scold
you
?
I could wish that Nathalie were a bit more of a shrew!”
 

There was no longer any point in staying at Versailles. She saw Arsène that evening at the play. He was so cold that she didn’t attempt to speak to him. No matter what he had seen, or suspected, between her and Don Lopes, he was behaving cruelly. And she had her pride. If Arsène still was unforgiving, so much the worse for him.
 

Nathalie and Tintin’s absence from the play was not even noted by King Louis, who was usually aware of the comings and goings of his courtiers. Perhaps Nathalie’s brother hadn’t missed them yet, either.
 

After the play Rouge danced with Albret, informing him that she wished to meet with Torcy that evening, if possible. When supper was finished, Albret escorted her to his rooms, where the foreign minister was waiting.