Chapter Twenty-One
Propped up on pillows Philippe greeted them warmly. “I heard voices. What goes on? Who is this?”
Anthony performed the introductions. Phillippe had been anxious and beaten down at the loss of Josette, but he listened with enthusiasm to Christian as he outlined their possibilities for escape. How soon could they safely move him? They would all die if they waited too long.
“François has promised to make discreet inquiries about the Chouans,” Philippe said.
Anthony was unenthusiastic. He found it difficult to place his daughter’s life in the hands of strangers who might not consider rescuing the English of vital importance. Not when so many French were in need.
When he and Christian left Philippe’s bedroom, Anthony paused and chose his words with care. “I made enquiries at the House of Lords. I expect you’re here on behalf of the government.”
Christian’s forehead furrowed. “You inquired about me?
Anthony nodded. “After Baroness La Trobe’s ball.”
Humor lurked in Christian’s eyes. “Perceptive of you.”
“I know my daughter. If you don’t wish to marry her, you’d best slip away during the night.”
“Then I have your permission to court her after we return to London?”
“You do.” Anthony doubted he would have agreed to this quite so easily if they had remained in London. This changed all of them, irrevocably it seemed.
Christian’s lips twitched. “My plan was to retire to my country house and fish for trout.”
“Is it still?”
Christian scratched his head. “I can’t see your daughter agreeing to that. Can you?”
Anthony paused with his hand on the stair rail. “Hetta grew up in the country and loves the life. She was excited to come to London too, but after this...” He shrugged, and his smile faded. “First, we must get her safely home.”
“We’ll put our heads together, come up with a plan.” Christian shrugged. “I have some experience of finding a safe route out of France. Although it has become more difficult.”
Anthony found Verity alone in the kitchen. “Come for a walk.”
They left the cottage and strolled the front garden hand in hand. When he stopped and turned her face up to his, she sighed and leaned into him. “I couldn’t save him.” Her blue eyes flooded with tears. “He was doomed from the first. Nothing would have saved him.”
“Oh, my love.” He held her close while she cried, her slim frame racked with sobs. Then he raised her chin and pressed a soft kiss on her lips tasting her tears.
She wiped her eyes with a finger. “You shan’t want to comfort me when I confess all.” She slipped out of his arms. Swung away. Came back again. “Danton sent me to London to… lure you to France. If I failed, my father was to be guillotined.”
Shock robbed him of breath. Then his stomach clenched with disappointment, and the first rumblings of anger.
She reached out a hand to him, but didn’t touch him. “You won’t be able to forgive me that.” Her face crumped. “But I couldn’t do it, Anthony, because I came to care for you. I came to France to warn you, even at the risk of my father’s life.”
At the distress on her face compassion flooded through him. She’d been driven to save her father from the first. If she’d wanted to sacrifice Anthony all she had to do was go and tell Danton, he was in Paris. Not carry out that dangerous rescue. A man was lucky to have such daughters. Like Verity, Henrietta had risked everything to save him. And they’d pulled it off, by God!
He wasn’t a vain man. He felt no outrage that she’d chosen him as her lover merely to save her father. “Your Papa must have been justly proud of you. You are the best of daughters.”
She shook her head dismissively. “You are angry and offended about our time together in London. I can only say that after that first time, I wanted you. You’ve become very dear to me.” She looked at him imploringly. “Do you hate me?” she whispered.
He took her by the shoulders to keep her still when she threatened to dance away from him again. “Never. That’s all in the past. I love you, Verity.” He smiled into her tear-washed eyes. “I should thank Danton for bringing us together.”
“You are treating me with kid gloves,” she said, but she smiled a little.
“What the deuce does Danton want with me?”
“When I returned to Paris yesterday, I went to see him. I implored him to give me news of my father. He’d learned of your escape and was furious. He then told me something else.”
“What was it?”
She grabbed his hands and held them tight. “He was once in love with Anna. And now he wants Henrietta.”
Anthony jerked away from her. “What? Damnation!” His eyebrows snapped together. “The man is mad.” He tried to recall something of Danton when he and Anna first met. Had she ever mentioned the man? Was there something Anna had failed to tell him? Had he frightened her? Anthony wished he knew.
“Danton has been obsessed with your wife all these years. He fancies Henrietta is like her.” She rubbed her forehead. “He is fanatical and will stop at nothing. He demanded I bring you and Henrietta to him.”
He set his teeth, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. She stared at him and shivered. “You four must leave here. We cannot delay.”
“I won’t leave you here, Verity.”
She shook her head and walked away.
***
Henrietta followed the woodland path, the heels of her buckled shoes sinking into the damp ground. She heard men’s voices up ahead. Determined to find out who it was he met, she crept closer, and hunkered down in the shrubbery. François stood in conversation with three rough-looking men. Were they the same men she’d come across here before? Their voices were raised in disagreement, but the words were lost on the breeze.
François made a dismissive gesture and turned away, but one of the men called him back. If he came this way, he could see her. Alarmed, she backed away and retraced her path through the trees. Once out in the meadow, she picked up her skirts and ran. Her lungs bursting, she didn’t stop until she reached the stables and dived inside. Bent double, her breath coming in gasps, she stole a look out the door. François crossed the meadow headed for the house.
He was a suspicious man and she mustn’t be found here. Leaving the stables, she ran over the uneven path toward the cottage; her gown raised, her eyes on her feet. She came up against a hard body and looked up. Christian.
Strong hands parenthesized her waist. “Is the barn on fire?”
“We must leave before François arrives.” She was panting so hard she could barely speak. His touch didn’t help. “Come into the orchard.”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure why, but the idea is most tempting.”
Annoyed that he didn’t take her seriously, she grabbed his hand and dragged him along. She stopped beneath a flowering pear tree then fought to regain her breath and her composure. She lost it again when he took both her hands.
“Henrietta, what is this about?”
“You… called me Henrietta.”
“Yes, may I?”
“It hardly matters.” She pulled her hands away and turned to point back the way she’d come. “It… it’s François. I followed him into the woods. He was arguing with brigands.”
“Are you sure they were brigands?”
“They looked like brigands.”
“They might be gypsies. He might have refused to allow them to camp on his land. Why has this made you so nervous?”
“I don’t trust him.”
He frowned. “Because he has met with these men?”
“No. It’s not just that. I doubt his attitude toward us is sincere.”
His blue-grey eyes searched hers. “What reason do you have to think that?”
“I can’t say exactly. It’s just a feeling. Finding him with those men…”
“Where is he now?”
“He is probably on his way back to the house.”
“He said he would find out if there were Chouans in the area. It’s possible these people are they.” He turned away. “I’ll ask him.”
She grabbed his arm. “You mustn’t.”
“Henrietta, it’s the best way. Let’s see what he has to say.” His expression turned hard. “If he hedges, I’ll know.”
It thrilled her when he acted so decisively, but she shook her head. “We cannot let him know we suspect him.”
“I’ll handle him.”
Henrietta studied his face. Once the charming gentleman was stripped away, he became someone else. Someone she didn’t know. He was yet to explain his own actions. “Why are you in France?”
“Business.”
“Business? When our countries hover on the brink of war?”
“I work for the government, Henrietta.”
Henrietta sighed. She’d suspected as much. A spy perhaps. This man made her head swim. She wanted to kiss him and curl up in his arms. She wanted the danger hanging over them, like the heralding of a storm, to vanish and allow her to concentrate on him alone.
His smile reassured her. “Allow me to deal with François. I’ll get you all back to England safely.”
“You’ll find out what he’s up to?”
“I will.” He chucked her under the chin. “No more eavesdropping. Promise me?”
Why couldn’t he take her seriously? She wished she wasn’t so young. She shrugged. “Unless I discover something—”
He cradled her head with long elegant fingers and lowered his mouth to hers, stunning her into silence. At the touch of his cool lips everything faded into insignificance. She reached up to stroke his silky black hair, something she’d longed to do since she’d first met him.
He would have stepped back had she not wrapped her arms around his neck. Her breasts rubbed pleasurably against his chest Her hand on his nape, she drew his head down to hers. “Kiss me again.”
With a grin, he obliged, his lips teasing hers until warmth curled down to her toes.
“Promise me?” he asked again, in between planting kisses on her forehead, cheeks and neck, his voice husky against her ear.
She wasn’t about to promise. No matter how appealing and experienced he was. “I’ll try.”
He tucked a curl behind her ear, disordered after her run through the field, and kissed her again, drawing her closer within the circle of his arm. His strong body against hers made her knees tremble. She leaned in to him, and when he released her, she almost fell.
Christian steadied her. “Have a heart, Henrietta. For my peace of mind, I need your firm promise. Let’s not quibble over this. You must trust me, and I must be able to trust you.”
“But to trust someone, you must allow them some freedom.”
She pushed away from him, annoyed to find him smiling. He was so confident of himself. So confident she would obey him without question. Did he think because she was young she was naive? Country girls learned a lot at an early age.
“Freedom?” He frowned. “We are not free until we reach England.”
She plucked a blossom from a low bow and held it to her nose. How could she deny him? But she must be guided by what the gypsy had told her. Had she not been proved right when Molly’s betrothal came to naught? The crone had said it would be her responsibility to save them all. She and Verity had got them this far safely. She frowned. He had not declared himself. Was he just seducing her merely to make her compliant? France had changed her. She wasn’t ready to relinquish all control to him.
As if he sensed her inner struggle, he attempted to draw her back into his arms.
“You take liberties, sir.” Her faint voice lacked conviction.
He gave that lop-sided grin that made her breath quicken. “Shall I take a little more?”
Henrietta fought to ignore his effect on her, the wild and reckless desire to throw all to the winds. She stepped away. With some distance between them, her thoughts cleared. “You are taking advantage of this situation, sir.”
He took her hand, raised it to his lips. “Would many red-blooded males resist? A lovely young lady beneath a perfumed bough? Yes, I want to kiss you, but my main aim is to protect you. To get you safely back to England so you can enjoy your London Season. It’s where you should be. What madness brought you here?”
Her aunt was right. He toyed with her. She meant nothing more to him than a light flirtation. “I’ve heard it said that you’re a rake.” Henrietta pulled her hand free. Her heart felt strangely heavy as he turned back to the path.
Before she knew it, he had pulled her back into the leafy bower. His eyes looked grave, the teasing smile gone from his lips. “I’m sorry. But this is not London, Henrietta. Forgive me?”
“I don’t believe I care to.” Why did he have to be so attractive? Were all rakes so?
He sighed and shook his head. “I wanted to wait until we returned to England. Hasty decisions made now are not always wise. You should enjoy the exciting life promised you before you marry. But heaven help me, I love you to distraction. It’s selfishly of me, but I want you to be mine.” He sank down on one knee on the carpet of flowers. “Marry me?”
Henrietta gasped. She put her hands on her hot cheeks. “You love me?”
He stood. “Have I not proven my love by coming to find you?”
She tilted her head. “You came to France for an entirely different reason, not that you’ll tell me what that is.”
His mouth twitched, and a gleam lit his eyes, as he stood and brushed his soiled knees. “You drove a trap past me through the barricade with Mademoiselle Verity. I returned to Paris because of you.”
“You were there?”
“Yes. And quite a shock you gave me.”
With a gurgle of delight Henrietta leapt into his arms. He swung her off her feet, his lips seeking hers and kissed her thoroughly. She thrilled at the touch of his mouth on hers and never wanted him to stop.
“I was lost from the first moment I saw you on that balcony,” he said when they finally drew apart. “Heaven help me, it was all I could do not to climb up to you.”
She laughed. “Of course, I’ll marry you, darling Christian.” How bittersweet it was. To have found love but not be sure, they would have a future together.
“We must enjoy what we have right now,” she said.
She leaned down and brushed a flower from his thigh. “You have ruined your clothes.”
He caught her hand. “Not my best attire, I’m afraid.”
“You would look handsome in any clothes.”
“You will look delicious without them.” With skillful fingers, he traced a line down to the hollow at the base of her throat.
She held her breath. Would he touch the rise of her breasts above her bodice? She desperately wanted him to. Her ordered life in England with all its rules seemed far away. They inhabited a very different world. The garish green gown came from the theatre, a world free of society’s strictures. What if she died before she and Christian could be together?
She placed his broad palm against her bosom. “Make love to me.”
He pulled his hand away as if stung. “I will make love to you, sweetheart. When it’s right. Not under these conditions.”
“Why not now? Who knows what the future will bring?” She took hold of his lapel. Stared up into his concerned gray-blue eyes. “I don’t want to die without experiencing love.”
He traced her bottom lip with a finger. Shook his head with regret. “It would be a brief affair, my love. Your father would slice me in two before the day was out.”
“He doesn’t have to know.” Her sweeping arm took in their surroundings, the flowering fruit trees, the green fields dotted with ruby flowers, the clear, slate blue sky. She clutched his waistcoat. “Christian, what better place to share our love?”
“Have a care, Henrietta! It’s not so easy for me to resist you.” He unraveled her fingers from his coat and backed away with a nervous laugh. “A better place would be the marriage bed, for a lady I greatly respect. Now please come inside with me. I have important work to do.”
He wasn’t rakish at all. Henrietta shrugged. “You have no romance in your soul. I’m not sure I will marry you.”
He caught her up again. Kissed her until she was limp. There was a smile in his eyes when he released her. “I don’t?”
“Perhaps a little.” She raised her face for another kiss.
They drew apart reluctantly and walked arm in arm to the house. With a loving glance they joined the others gathered in the parlor where François was holding court.
Henrietta had almost forgotten the fierce indignation she experienced at what she saw as François’ betrayal. Were those men chouans? Or did François intend to betray them to the revolutionary army, or the sans culottes, the violent peasants who killed indiscriminately?
François talked about what he envisaged was France’s future. He revealed no sorrow for the loss of his brother, or concern for Verity’s feelings. She didn’t like him and wished she knew what motivated him.
Verity would help her.
With that thought, any distrust for the actress fell away. By bringing Christian to them, and revealing the truth to her father, Verity had proved herself to be a trusted friend. The pistol that Henrietta had discovered aboard the marquess’ boat had distracted her from the significance of the empty laudanum bottle. It was possible Verity had drugged the marquess to save them both from his advances. One day she would ask her. But not now.
She had trusted François when they first came here but no longer. If the fortune teller, was to be believed, then he must be the one. She dismissed Christian’s demand for her to leave it all to the men. Let them plan and execute their escape while she discovered more about François. She’d wait for a chance to search the library where he spent most of his time. A room no one was permitted to enter.