Time for Eternity (18 page)

Everyone knew she was the one who fed the names to Robespierre’s committee. “And have your friends discerned that I am no friend of the Revolution? Not a revelation. You could have asked anyone. I am no friend to any but myself.”

“That is the only reason you provide small luxuries for the new leaders of the citizenry.”

“Yes.” They wanted a piece of the pie as much as they wanted to change things. And a woman like this, with ambition, from a poor family, wanted all the influence and luxury that had been denied her in the old world. They were all the same. Just a new name for an old cancer.

“There will come a time when we don’t need you, when the engine of France’s economic might makes her the most powerful country on the Continent,” she continued.

He doubted that France’s economic engine would be cranking anytime soon. When things got too bad these petty tyrants would fall. It might take a tyrant to displace them though. “But until that time?”

“Your … services make you useful.” She rearranged her skirts. “As long as you do not actively work against our cause.” She looked up at him. “But do you? There is the matter of this … ward … of yours.” She said the word with as much disdain as she could. “I have it on authority she was not so before you claimed her.”

Better brazen it through. “What matter when I claimed her? She is my ward now.”

“Whatever she is, she is not your ward.” Madame Croûte’s mouth drew down.

Henri smiled. “A ward is one under the protection of another. And she is that.” He made his voice deliberately kind. These vile creatures wouldn’t be allowed to threaten the girl.

“I know a whore when I see one.”

Henri carefully unclenched the fist his left hand had made. “I’m sure you have seen many, Madame Croûte. They are all over Paris, serving your ‘citizens.’ But I would not refer to my ward in that fashion if I were you.”

“What else would you call a woman who rides out on the same horse with a man after midnight, with her bottom pressed up against him on the saddle?”

She thought she had him.
Not yet,
he thought,
not yet.
“She had a fancy to see my warehouse down at the Quai de St. Paul.”

“In the middle of the night? In her shift?” Madame was outraged.

“Unconventional, but not a crime.” Henri shrugged. Would the other shoe drop?

“On the very night when her former employer escaped from the Conciergerie?” Madame’s eyes lighted with grim triumph.

The shoe dropped with a clunk. He feigned only a mild interest. “An old woman like that—I wonder how?”

There was a long pause. Madame Croûte didn’t want to admit she didn’t know. “Never mind that. The important thing is that all the other escapees have been families. Only this one old woman is different. The woman who lived next door to you, whose servant you claimed as your ward. And you were seen just after the escape careering down to your warehouse.”

Henri shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But you’re welcome to inspect my warehouse. Bring as many men as you like. Take as long as you like.”

“They’re down there now.” Madame smiled in satisfaction.

Henri thought he’d be one step ahead of her by volunteering. He’d have to watch this one. They couldn’t find the quarters behind the brick in the back that housed the freed prisoners until the barge took them to the ship docked at Le Havre. At least he didn’t think so. The quarters were empty just now at any rate. It was his job to fill them in the next days. He hoped to God Jennings hadn’t been so foolish as to let his men resist, or they’d be arrested.

“Of course, your goods will not be confiscated.”

They didn’t want to kill the goose that laid the golden egg.

“Shall we go down and see what they’ve uncovered?”

Henri feigned boredom. “Jennings will clean up whatever mess you’ve made. I’ve better things to do.”

Madame Croûte showed her shock. “What could be more important?”

Henri let go a slow smile. “You don’t really want to know that, do you, madame?”

He had the satisfaction of seeing a flush creep up her throat into her face. Her eyes narrowed in hatred. Then it occurred to him that she thought he was going to swive his ward. He sobered. He didn ’t want her thinking that. Though why what she thought should mean anything he didn’t quite know. “The cards call again tonight. And I would be glad if you could convince your so-dear friend not to spoil my game.”

“Let’s see what your ward has to say about her midnight ride.”

This woman appointed herself chief inquisitor? What gall. What lack of manners. “Not possible tonight. She has the headache and is keeping to her room.” Besides, he couldn’t let this shrew see the girl in that dress she was wearing. “But you and your friend are coming on Wednesday, are you not?”

“I’ve no idea,” the shrew said, obviously disgruntled but unsure how to demand what she wanted in the face of Henri’s denial.

“Well, then, best get down and supervise the search, don’t you think?” He ushered her firmly to the door. “Jean,” he said to the waiting footman. “Do show Madame Croûte out.”

She’d be back on Wednesday, he’d wager long odds. Just to prove she belonged there.

When the door closed he turned to call for Gaston and found him standing by the stairway. “Get down to the warehouse. Don’t take a direct route. See Jennings and find out if anyone has been hurt or arrested.”

Gaston nodded and turned to go immediately.

“And Gaston?” The man turned back. “Be discreet.”

“Of course, your grace.”

They wouldn’t find anything. Once they’d searched the warehouse, it would actually keep them from thinking they had to search again. And he’d keep the girl safe from the likes of Gargoyle Croûte. But the kettle of Paris was getting hotter.

Ten

It was just as well that Avignon had left to see his mistress. It gave Françoise time to get her balance and let the effect of the brandy wear off. She flipped a page of the book she was reading, though she had no idea what it said. What had she been thinking to let him kiss her like that? That way lay madness and destruction. She mustn ’t fall in love with the wicked duc who smuggled luxuries to corrupt the leaders of the Revolution and had a new mistress every month. He was loyal to no one but himself. The image of the squat sword cutting into his neck throbbed through her brain.
No!
she thought.
Don’t think of that.
He had been so good to rescue Madame. And to comfort Françoise by saying the benediction over her friend … was that the action of a soulless man?

He’s evil, at least as far as you’re concerned.

The thought popped into her head as though it came from someone else, just like that vision of the sword across Avignon’s neck.

Lord, but that felt strange. The full feeling came over her again, as though her dress were too small or her shoes too tight. She rubbed her temples. There was something she must do. And there was not much time. And whatever happened, she mustn ’t be seduced by Avignon.

The door opened. “Apologies,” the man himself murmured. He seemed distracted.

She hadn’t been expecting him so soon. “What, did your mistress spurn your advances?”

He seemed to find that funny. “The day I take to keeping Madame Croûte is the day you can clap me up in a madhouse.”

Françoise went wary. “She was here? Why?”

He sat beside her in the wing chair and took up a peach from the bowl of fruit she hadn ’t touched and one of the linen napkins Jean had brought. “Oh, something to do with a midnight ride to the warehouse on the night your friend escaped from prison.”

Françoise gasped and sat up straight. The Revolution had spies everywhere. How could the man sit there calmly eating a peach when he might be arrested at any moment? And it would be all her fault for goading him into trying to save Madame LaFleur when she was doomed to death anyway. “What did you tell her?”

“I invited her to search the warehouse.” He shrugged. “She’d already done it.” He saw her look of horror. “She already knows about the contraband. She was wearing my lace today.” He took a bite of the peach. Did he know how distracting it was to see that bit of juice drip down his lips? It made her think of … Well, she wasn’t going to think about those things.

Avignon frowned. “I only hope none of my men resisted. I don’t want them hurt.”

He wasn’t putting himself out about it. “Shouldn’t you go down there to see?”

“And give Croûte the idea I cared? I sent Gaston. Much less conspicuous.”

What if they arrested Avignon? They didn’t need any real evidence to send him to the guillotine. Who would she get to rescue him? And what would happen to her?

Avignon tossed the peach pit into the bowl Jean had provided, and rose. He took her chin between thumb and forefinger and raised it. She searched his face. The electric connection of touching shuddered through her. “They won’t arrest the source of their luxuries.”

“What if they come for you? What will you do?”

“I’ll hie myself off to hide at Versailles.” He was making fun of her.

Something niggled at her brain. Something important was at Versailles. “I’ve never been to Versailles.” There was so much she hadn’t done. “And now it’s too late.”

“Now is the perfect time,” he said, still holding her chin and looking into her eyes. “You’d never credit how crowded it was with the court and the government there. Now we’d have the place to ourselves. Are you game?”

“Game for what?” She really couldn’t think with him touching her like that.

“For Versailles.”

“At night?”

“Tonight. Now.”

Now?
“I …” But he was already turning away. He rang the bell, and Jean appeared. “Your grace?”

“Have Courson get the carriage out, and Pierre convert our dinner to a picnic.”

“Right away, your grace.” Jean didn’t even look surprised. She no longer thought Avignon beat his servants or threw things at them, but they liked to please him. In some ways they might even like him. That thought startled her. It was as though she should have seen it before, though when she didn’t know, since she had only been in the house three days.

Don’t go to Versailles.
The thought was almost a shout in her mind. It made her blink.

“We can’t go to Versailles tonight …” she began.

“Why not? Twelve miles. Less than an hour after you get out of the city.”

An hour each way alone in the carriage with the delectable duc? How would she survive it? “I have nothing to wear.” What a stupid excuse.

“Wear what you have on.”

“This?
It isn’t even respectable.”

“You’ll fit right in at Versailles,” he said dryly. “You can borrow one of my cloaks.”

“I couldn’t take your cloak.” Now she was grasping at straws.

“I’m not giving it to you,” he noted. “I’d like to have it back.”

“Well, of course. I didn’t mean—”

Gaston burst through the door, gasping. Avignon strode across the room to him.

“Get your breath, boy.” Avignon led him to a chair and poured him out a brandy. When Gaston had taken a gulp, Avignon asked, “Were any hurt?” She was surprised to see real concern in his expression.

Gaston shook his head. “One hothead got his cork drawn, but Jennings kept them in check on the whole.”

“They didn’t arrest anyone, just for spite?”

Again, Gaston shook his head, his chest still heaving.

Avignon relaxed. “Good work. See that Jennings gets an extra something to distribute for their courage tonight and take a gold piece for yourself.”

Ahhh, the old French aristocratic custom of the
douceur.
Madame Croûte would despise it, but Avignon knew how to keep his help loyal. He thanked them in a very practical way. It probably wasn’t kindness, but it would pass for kindness. No wonder they liked him. She watched Avignon as Gaston caught his breath enough to tell the whole story. Avignon listened carefully. Then he patted the man on the shoulder.

“Get down and see if Pierre has something to restore your strength.”

Gaston nodded. “Thank you, your grace.” He disappeared.

Avignon excused himself and she could hear him issuing languid orders in the hall. All became quiet. Was she really going to go to Versailles with the wicked duc? Everything inside her screamed that she shouldn’t.

And that was just the rub. A rebellious part of her
wanted
to go to Versailles with the duc, wicked or not. She wouldn’t even mind if he kissed her again. In fact, she might as well admit it right here. She wanted him to kiss her again.

You’ll get your heart broken. He’ll ruin your life. Don’t fall in love with him.

There it was again, that feeling that there was a voice inside her she didn’t control. A bit of fear cycled inside her. She pushed it down. She had to get hold of herself. The voice was just the teachings of her aunt coming through as admonitions. And of course the Duc of Avignon would break her heart if she let herself fall in love with him, if he used her and abandoned her, which he would if given the chance. Any fool could figure that out.

But … What if she went her whole life without finding anyone who made her want him the way she couldn ’t deny she wanted Avignon? Very likely, given her prospects. Wasn’t it better to have experienced that thrill once than never to have known it at all?

Yes, she might mourn when it was gone. But to refuse it would cause even more regret. And she had a strategy. The only way not to get your heart broken was to never offer it. She’d go, and enjoy, and not let her heart engage at all.

You don’t know what regret can do to you.

She lifted her chin. Lady Toumoult had been trying to protect her. One couldn’t fault her for that. She had been kind to a fault to take Françoise in and raise her when everyone knew she was Lady Toumoult’s brother’s by-blow. But Lady Toumoult had died a maiden, never having dared to know a worldly love. Could that be better than having had the courage to ignore the world ’s admonitions and experience a carnal knowledge of a man?

Frightening thoughts.

Exciting thoughts.

I can’t stop you, can I?
Fear trickled down her spine. That voice was getting stronger, more separate from her. What did it mean? Was she going mad? She mastered her breathing. No. She wasn’t going mad. These thoughts were born of anxiety about what she’d decided to do.