Stormfire (82 page)

"Poor Kit." He removed her little hat and tucked her head under his chin. "Unfortunately, the
baronne
is right.

It seems Napoleon intends to use your Royalist connections to detain you here until you become more approachable."

 
Her eyes blazed.
"I won't! I'll die first!"

 
He gripped her head tightly. "Don't say that! Don't even 'think it!"

Her eyes filled with tears and slowly she wilted. "What can I do?"

"I wish I knew.
Fouché's
good, Kit. We don't stand a chance of making a run in a coach for the border. Horseback is out of the question in your condition."

"Are you saying I should give in?" she whispered. "The
baronne
thinks I'm a fool . . ."

"God, no! I'd assassinate the bastard first!"

Catherine's fingers fiercely dug into his arm. "No! He's surrounded by bodyguards. If anything happens to you

"Don't worry, little one," he hastened to soothe her. "So long as the general behaves, he's safe from me. I'll think of something."

She sighed. "No, there's nothing you can do. I'll just have to keep refusing. Sooner or later, he'll find a diversion." She looked up. "But I need a house of my own; a small place I can keep myself. The
baronne
will be relieved to have me gone. She cannot relish
Fouché's
henchmen lurking about."

"I'll find a place." He hesitated. "What do you think of
Raoul?"

"He's a godsend, I suppose. If it weren't for him, we'd be dead." She smiled ruefully and toyed with his silver cloak clasp. "We hadn't tuppence between us when the
République
fished us out of the water. Until you wrote the bankers, it could have been a great deal worse."

"He's in love with you."

Her head snapped up. "I don't believe it! He must have a different mistress for every night of the week!"

"Oh, he's energgtic, I'll grant you"—he smiled faintly— "and he's not exactly delighted to be in love; that's why I think he means it."

She eased away and wandered across the clearing. "Perhaps that's why his mother watches me like a hawk. She occasionally darts in questions about Ireland and you. I don't think she believes I was ever married to Liam."

"Others may agree with her.
Raoul
says slander from England is beginning to tint local gossip. We may as well be prepared, Kit. When the baby begins to show, I'm sure to be named its sire."

Catherine stared at the chestnut-framed sky
and
clenched-her fists. "I cannot even present marriage documents without overturning a scorpion's nest." She looked at him suddenly. "Is that why you refused the baronne's invitation?"

"Each moment we're together can only confirm her suspicions." In frustration, he kicked at a lichen-encrusted log. "My feelings must be daubed on my face like clown's paint every time I look at you." He was silent for a moment. "I won't be going with you and the Amauris to Saint Denis this Sunday. It's time I found living arrangements separate from Raoul's. Until the baby comes, it will be better if we see each other as little as possible, better if
Raoul
and his mother think I'm losing myself in the city."

"That's partly true, isn't it?" she murmured. "You're different. You're becoming hard and withdrawn again."

"Is that the way you see me?"

"I see only the man I love, will always love, no matter what guise he assumes."

"What would you have me do, Kit?" he asked hoarsely.

"Stop loving me," she whispered raggedly. "Save yourself."

"But there's no need to go!"
Raoul
argued as Sean packed his few belongings. "I thought you and I had become friends."

"Raoul,
I've been camped here nearly a month. Your mother has agents on her doorstep. Kit and I cannot infringe on Amauri hospitality forever."

"Look, if you want privacy, that's one thing, but you don't bother me. And if you think Mother's going to let
Fouché
bully one of her guests out of her house, you don't know her." Amauri distractedly ran a hand through his hair. "Look, with any luck, I may be moving soon and you can have this place to yourself. And Catherine won't need a house . . . because she'll be living with me."

Sean's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

"I'm going to ask her to marry me tomorrow when we lunch in the
Bois."

The Irishman's eyes slitted. "Isn't that a little precipitate? She's been widowed less than two months."

Amauri sat on a desk edge. "Catherine is pregnant, no? You needn't look surprised; Mother noticed almost immediately. Widow or not, there'll be a great deal of talk. Do you want your brother's child to be called a bastard?"

Culhane's lips tightened. "Since you're aware of my dubious parentage, you already know the answer to that question. But you cannot expect Catherine to go along with the idea; she hardly knows you."-

"She knows me better than any man in Paris, except you. Will you marry her?"

"No," Sean said flatly, and turned away to pull another handful of clothes out of his
armoire.

"My family name is old and respected,"
Raoul
continued with determination. "Mother's reputation is impeccable. I've already spoken to her and she's fully prepared to give her blessing to the match and back Catherine to the hilt, no matter what the gossip. After all, no woman who deserves a scandalous reputation would refuse Napoleon. Once Catherine's married to me, the general will have to drop his siege."

"He wouldn't thank you,
Raoul.
You could be a colonel for life."

"Look, I'll admit I'm easygoing, but I'm not spineless."

"If you've made up your mind, why talk to me?"

"Because I have the feeling Catherine won't accept any man unless he has your approval."

Sean eyed him narrowly. "Then you overestimate my influence. Kit has a mind of her own. I'm the last man you should approach for a benediction."

"Are you against me?"

"As I said, Kit can decide for herself. If she asks my opinion, I won't turn thumbs down on you,"

Raoul
held out his hand. "That's all I ask."

Slowly, Sean took it.

* * *

The Irishman laid aside his book and watched
Raoul
fling his cloak over a chair on his return from the
Bois.
"How was the
porc rôti?"

"Catherine refused me,"
Raoul
said quietly. "You knew she would, didn't you?"

"I thought she might. Respectability is a poor trade for freedom."

"I cannot just throw her to the wolves," Amauri said quietly. "I'm not giving up."

The
baronne
d'Amauri strode into the foyer even as her son shook rain off his cloak and handed it to the butler. Her blue eyes cool, she watched the servant mince around the muddy puddle on the floor as he took the garment away. When the man was out of earshot, she addressed her son, whose rain-streaked face was pale with cold and nervous anticipation. "I see you received my summons quickly enough. Catherine's most upset. You'd better go to her. She's in the library."

As
Raoul
opened the library door, Catherine started and spun to face him. Fear blanched her face.
Raoul
swiftly went to her and, eyes grave with concern, drew his arms around her. "Catherine, what is it? You're shaking like a leaf!"

"Fouché
just left . . .
Fouché
himself. My God, that man signed the death warrants for my family."

"Easy,
chérie.
What did he want?"

"He implied that I've been conspiring with Royalists, that Sean might be involved. He considered my father's connection with the
duc d'Artois
incriminating."

"But you haven't had conference with
Artois. Fouché
can have no evidence, only suspicions."

She turned away, her face utterly white.

"Catherine? Is there something I don't know?"

"I
have
seen
Artois
recently. The business was personal; it had nothing to do with politics or Napoleon, but several of Artois's aides and servants must know of it. If
Fouché
has agents among them, he'll have no difficulty trumping up evidence." She whirled. "Sean had nothing to do with the Bourbons and he knew nothing of my visit to Edinburgh. He was in prison!"