Mary Blayney (3 page)

No, for they stopped after only a few steps. They were in deep shadow here, but his night vision was excellent. He watched as she pulled off her head covering, as well as the apron and brown robe.

Good Lord,
he thought, as he took in the change in her appearance. Her hair was not dressed in any style, but rather a mad cap of curls and tangles that made him think she was happiest in bed.

He could not see the color of her dress, but it was not what one noticed first. Her breasts drew all the attention, and he swallowed with effort as he considered the cut of her gown, so low he was sure any moment all would be revealed.

She nodded at him. He stopped staring and mimicked her actions. Taking his robe, she stuffed it and her habit into a lavender-scented barrel that was near a boarded-up doorway. She set the lantern on top of the lid and raised her hands to her hair, not smoothing it so much as pressing it to her head. Was she wearing a wig? She shook out her skirts and took his arm. They left the alleyway, moving toward the town center. This time he did not hesitate to step from the alley, even as he sifted through explanations for his pallor and weakened appearance, so much more obvious in regular clothes. He ran a hand over his very short hair and looked up, beyond the steps he was taking, to the world surrounding him.

The boulevard was filled with people, sedan chairs and carriages.
Aha,
he thought,
it is still evening and early enough that everyone in Le Havre has someplace to go.

Charlotte Parnell and Gabriel Pennistan joined them, walking arm in arm. “So people will think we are merely whiling away the time until we can indulge in something more strenuous.”

Mixing with the crowds, feeling the air against his face, Gabe finally grasped the reality of the moment. He was free. He stopped, let go of her arm and raised his hands, making fists, as if he could grab hold of freedom.

Looking heavenward, he saw a few of the brighter stars. He slowed long enough to identify the North Star, but even this wide boulevard was too narrow to show him much of the night sky. He would find an open field and spend hours watching the stars and plan a future that had nothing to do with war or treachery.

She took his arm again and he laughed. It was all he could do to still the sound that was more hysteria than amusement. Who knew that freedom came in degrees? He had no money, no resources, ill-fitting clothes and shoes, which, in fact, belonged to Georges.

He had escaped the stone walls of the French prison, but for now he had no choice. He must follow Charlotte Parnell with no notion of their destination or her plans.

“Where are we going?” Gabriel slowed their pace.

“Walk faster.” She pulled at his arm.

“No. I want answers now.”

“In good time.”

“Now!” He pulled her to a stop. The rest of the evening’s revelers moved around them, some with curious glances.

“Do not ruin this. You could as easily die in the next few minutes as in the last few.” She raised her hand to his cheek. It might have looked like a seductive gesture, but it felt more like a restrained slap.

He took her hand from his cheek at the wrist, caressing the pulse point, then holding it so she could feel his strength.

“You have no choice but to come with me,” she said, pulling her hand free. “I am your jailer now.”

3

S
HE RAISED HER OTHER HAND
and ran her thumb over his lips. He missed the first of her whispered words.

“…to my house, where we can rid you of the smell of jail, as well as the vermin who have made themselves comfortable on you.”

Mention of a bath made him itch everywhere. He moved a few steps away, amazed she would walk so close to anyone as filthy as he was.

Charlotte pulled him back to her side as a man called out, “If you wish a more willing customer, I would need no convincing.”

She waved at the man, who made to follow them. “Another night, monsieur. This one is shy and will take all my time.” She glanced at Gabriel as if considering some hidden quality. “Though not much of my skill.”

The man laughed as he saluted her and went on his way.

Gabe ignored the insult. Tried to. As they made their way through town, he concentrated on his surroundings, memorizing the route they were taking. When they had made three consecutive left turns, he suspected she was doing her best to confuse him. When he saw the same tavern sign for a second time, he was sure of it.

After more twists and turns, they came to a narrow alleyway. She seemed to have a fondness for them. At the third gate Charlotte stopped. Pushing it open, she hurried him to the back door of a house that appeared completely dark.

She let go of his arm to use her key and Gabe considered running. The rabbit warren of streets and mews might be confusing, but it would give him a dozen places to hide.

“You would be back in jail within hours,” Charlotte said softly.

“Do you read minds too?” She had not even looked at him as she spoke.

“Even a child would know you have been in prison. Your face is without color, your clothes are ill-fitting and you smell of the place.” She spoke as she stepped into a small room lined with hooks for coats and a single lit candle. The hooks were empty. That was odd. Did no one live here? Or were they all out? He followed her into the kitchen without invitation and felt infinitely safer with a room in front of him and the door at his back.

“If it is so obvious that I am a villain, why did no one stop us on our way here?”

“Because they were all looking at me.”

“That is definitely so.” He laughed at the simple truth.

Leaning against the door, he folded his arms and took a good look her. The dress, trimmed with black lace, revealed more than it covered. “Your expression draws as much attention as your dress. You flirt with every man that passes and then give a charming show of regret, holding on to me as though I am a prize you are afraid you will lose. It is very effective, Madame Parnell.”

“You saw all that?”

“I have studied the sciences for years.” Her surprise was gratifying. “I have learned to observe the smallest detail.” He scanned the kitchen as he went on speaking. A brace of candles cast as much shadow as light. There was no one else in the room, the only sign of life a striped cat that raised its head when they came in.

He drew in a breath, disappointed that there was not more of the scent of a home. No bread baking, the musk from people crowded together, no smell of ale from half-drunk tankards. With a twinge of annoyance he realized that if Charlotte Parnell was his jailer, then this was no more than another prison.

“You know, madame, there are several other explanations for my appearance,” he said, doing his best not to sound annoyed. “I have been sick. My house burned down. My child died.”

“Yes,” she said dismissively, “and we may use all of those before we are done.”

There was a bath before the fireplace and cans of water being kept warm on the hearth.

“Who arranged this? Is this house yours?”

Her “Yes” was terse, as though she was annoyed by his curiosity.

“Where are your servants?” Gabriel asked, his own irritation matching hers, exceeding it. “Are we alone?”

“The fewer who know of your presence, the safer it is.”

“Safer for them? Or for me?”

She gave him a look implying he was not as smart as the cat that had moved near the door leading into the front of the house.

“Ah,” he said. Her expression was the smallest of insults but the last straw. “Safer for them
and
for me,” he said, stepping toward her, “but not for you.”

He grabbed her around the waist. She was fine-boned despite her height. He could almost circle her waist with his hands. “I see a number of items I can use as a weapon. But why do I need one when I am bigger,” he shook her a little, “and stronger than you are?”

Gabriel pulled her to him. He did his best to ignore the way she pressed her body to him, the way her scent awakened his lust. Letting go of her waist, he moved his hands up her arms, stopping below her jaw, caressing her, not with affection. The bones of her neck were fragile compared to the power in his hands.

Months of anger, at himself, at the French, raged through him. He pressed his thumbs into the base of her throat. “I could strangle you or snap your neck and be free once and for all.”

The pulse in her neck beat steadily, her eyes were empty.
How odd.
His burst of fury faded as he studied her expression, trying to see something,
anything
of emotion. Did she not believe him capable of murder? He pressed his thumbs deeper into her throat, more as an experiment than as a threat. She must feel it, but she stood still, as if she were waiting for him to decide the color of her eyes rather than how to use his hands to kill her.

“This only works if the victim is intimidated.” He was so taken aback he spoke aloud and in English. “You do not care.” He eased his grip and then moved his hands to her shoulders. “I understand how you feel. One can only hide from despair for so long. There are times when death would be easier than going on.”

If he had not been watching her so intently, he would have missed the flash of panic in her eyes. She twisted away from him, moved around the table, closer to the fireplace.

“Is it so painful to be honest?” he asked, following her.

“Honest?” She faced him, venom filling her words. “You want me to be honest?”

He stopped moving toward her. She had spoken in English. To make that mistake she must be very upset.

“You, who are both a traitor and a spy, want honesty?” She shook her head, speaking the last word as if it were as rare as magic. “You murdering bastard. Here is honesty. You deserve the beating that marked your back. You deserve the guillotine more than most who are sent there.”

The anger ebbed, replaced by a scorn just as poisonous. “Someone is paying me well to save your life, and I need the money. There is more than one way for a woman to sell herself, my lord.” The last two words were as steeped with hate as any expletive she could have used.

“Your honesty is brutal, but I find that it brings me no closer to trusting you. Tell me why you—”

“Take your clothes off,” she said, interrupting him as she began to unlace her dress, still speaking in English.

With her hands stretched behind her back, her breasts were displayed even more prominently.

“I said, take off your clothes.”

Her anger was gone, or at least banked, as quickly as it had appeared.

“I want some answers,” Gabriel said, keeping his eyes on her as he came down the other side of the table. “Do you expect me to follow your orders with blind faith? Why do you risk your life for someone you would as soon see dead?”

“My husband died and left me with nothing. I am doing what I do best, to support myself.”

That could explain quite a bit. They faced each other in front of the fire as he tried to measure the truth of her words. She did not look away as she spoke. When her dress fell to the floor, she scooped it up and tossed it on a nearby chair.

“You will do as I say, Lord Gabriel, because otherwise you will die.”

No, he would not. He could make it on his own. He had a chance. A slim one. If he could find out who was paying her, then he could decide whether to follow her or not.

He took off his shirt. As absurd as it sounded, bathing was the next step to freedom.

Her corset was front-fastening and she dispensed with it as he tossed his shirt onto the chair with her dress. She raised the skirt of her chemise and stripped off her garters and stockings. Her ankles and feet were delicate. They would feel the cold of the stone floor.

Her fine lawn chemise left little to the imagination. He could see her figure and could make out the dark circle of her nipples, the shadow of hair at the V of her legs. Why exactly was
she
undressing?

He bided his time. This was not about sex any more than her costume was. His mind understood it, his body did not. As she began to fill the bath, he counted it wiser to look away from the display. As it was, undoing the buttons on his pantaloons was a struggle.

Stripped down to his small clothes, he reached for one of the buckets, following her example, filling the tub. He had lost weight. Prison food would only prolong life, not fuel strength. But he could still lift the cans, and the walk through town had not exhausted him. Fear had given him the energy. Even now it kept him alert.

“Enough,” she said. “Save some water for rinsing and shaving. Climb in.” She stood with her hands on her hips, watching him as he pulled off his drawers and tossed them into the fire.

He stepped into the bath and stilled. The water was too hot, or was it the feel of it that made him gasp? He stood still a moment before settling slowly with a long moan of pleasure he was sure she had heard before. This felt as good as sex. Almost. “You may kill me before dawn, Charlotte Parnell, but still I thank you. I have never, until this moment, so appreciated the bliss, the pure sensual bliss, of a bath full of hot water.” He put his head back, resting it along the hard-edged rim, and closed his eyes, relaxing, for the first time since the knock on his cell door.

She tossed the soap into the water. The splash of it hitting the surface made him straighten.

“There is no time for leisure if you wish to be bound for England tonight. Wash your hair first, so I can pick the nits while you wash the rest of your body.”

“I suppose that is why Georges cut my hair so short.” He raised a fierce lather and then used the soap on his head, washing so vigorously he felt the beginnings of a headache. “Shaving my head would have called too much attention to my appearance.”

She did not answer, but moved behind him, positioning one of the larger empty buckets at the edge of the bath. She pulled his head back, none too gently. The slosh of cool water she used to rinse his hair drew a gasp. “You are cruel, Charlotte.”

Then the real torture began. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp. Her gestures were purely practical, at least he thought they were, but the way her strong fingers moved along his head felt like a caress and he wished she would rub his shoulders, his back, all of his body.

He took a cloth from the stack at hand and spread it from one side of the bath to the other. It would help keep the water warm. If he did not find something else to think about, she would know the real reason for the cloth.

Despite the intimacy of her task, he did not trust her. He would have sex with her in an instant, but he would do it with his eyes wide open and her hands tied to the bedpost. The image did nothing to calm his arousal.
Talk, find some answers,
he commanded himself. “You say I am bound for England tonight?”

No answer. He tried again.

“And you said ‘someone is paying me well’ to do this.” He emphasized the two pieces of information he did have. She continued her work in silence.

“From what I can deduce, your patron is English. Not my father. He always insisted that we fully experience the consequences of our actions. Most likely it’s my brother, Lynford. He’s the oldest and heir to the title, definitely ‘someone,’ as you named him, and wealthy enough to pay well. He would.”

She said nothing.

“I would be a fool to follow you without some details.”

Silence.

He pressed on. He might not be winning the answers he wanted, but it was calming his more lascivious thoughts. “I cannot credit someone from the British government would pay well or send a woman to do this job.” He waited only a beat and then answered for her, covering his aggravation with as practical a voice as he could manage. “Of course, everyone knows the government would sacrifice anything or anyone with victory so close. Before they were willing because they were so desperate. Any excuse will do to justify their actions.”

He could feel the breath of a laugh on his neck. He did his best to ignore the effect it produced. At least she was paying attention.

“It could have been my brother Jess. Gamblers have an amazing range of acquaintances. He’s not at all like Lynford, who never puts a step wrong.”

Charlotte rubbed something in his hair and began to comb it. She was almost finished and had not said one word. He gripped the side of the bath. “Surely not my sister, Olivia? I cannot credit she would have any idea how to hire someone to effect an escape.”