Chapter Twenty-Three
Anthony ran back to the cottage. He opened the gate and stole inside. A flash of color in the moonlight. Verity! She darted from the trees and ran across the grass toward the cottage.
He sprinted and got to her before she reached it, caught her by the waist almost wrenching her off her feet. She struggled and tried to pull away from him.
Candlelight lit up the second story window.
“No time for this,” Anthony whispered. He picked Verity up. As she kicked and struggled, he hoisted her over his shoulder and ran with her down the garden path, then turned into the lane. “Brute! Release me!” she pummeled his back with her fists. “I want to stay in France.”
He patted her derriere. “No, you don’t.”
“Mon dieu! Let me go, Anthony.”
“You can’t remain here. It’s not safe.”
“Actresses are recognized as citizens in France, what am I in your country? A celebrity courtesan.”
“You will be my wife.”
She took a gulp of air. “You are mad! I cannot marry you.”
“I don’t see why not.”
She wriggled so hard Anthony put her down. The cottage door opened, and François’ appeared, holding up a tin lantern. Perhaps he was rising early to light the fire. He would not yet be aware they had gone.
“Are you there?”
“Who is he calling?” Anthony asked. “It can’t be us.”
“I don’t know,” Verity said in an urgent undertone. “Leave me.”
“Listen.” Marching feet sounded in the distance, the National Guard on their way to arrest them.
“Go quickly! I refuse to go with you.”
Anthony was done arguing. He’d never hit a woman. He tapped Verity on the chin, then bit down on a groan when the woman he loved slumped in his arms. He threw her limp form over his shoulder and sprinted down the lane.
He gripped her around the thighs. “Sorry, my love,” he muttered into the silence. Behind him, came the bang of the cottage door. “Come quickly, they’ve escaped!” François yelled.
Anthony increased his speed.
“You there! Halt!” The guard were only minutes behind him and had spied him. A volley of musket shot whizzed past him. He ran into the woods to lure them away from the river. He dodged trees, cradling Verity against him, relying on his inbuilt sense of direction to guide him. Then he changed direction. The Guard’s torches flickered through the trees as they crashed about in the dark. Anthony doubled back to the boat, concerned for Verity. She was still unconscious. Had he hit her too hard?
Shouts behind him followed by gun shots made him wonder who their quarry now was. Had the guard discovered brigands, or Chouans hiding in the woods? Some might break off the main party to search for him. Time to go. He left the cover of the trees, emerging onto the road.
He’d judged the distance perfectly. With Verity held tight within his arm, he ran down the road toward the ghostly hull rocking in the water.
* * *
“Something’s gone wrong.” Henrietta hung over the side of the boat. She could hear nothing but the churn of the river and the slap of waves against the boat. Somewhere, an owl hooted.
Suddenly, musket fire echoed over the water. “Oh, Christian.” Henrietta clutched his coat. “What will we do?”
Christian’s sharp gaze raked the shore, his voice calm. “We continue to wait.”
Somewhere out in the darkness excited voices rent the air, along with sporadic gunfire. Were they shooting at her father? Her heart threatened to thump its way out of her chest.
A shape moved fast along the shore. “Is that Papa?” Henrietta stared into the black night. Nothing. And then, there he was.
Henrietta clapped her hands over her mouth. He waded toward them carrying Verity. She sagged in his arms. “Has she been shot?”
“No.”
Christian helped him lift the unconscious woman onto the boat. They laid her down on the deck.
Fighting tears, Henrietta fell to her knees beside her. Stared into her pale face and gasped with relief when her eyelids fluttered. “Verity!” Henrietta rubbed her hands. “What has happened to her?”
Her father leaned over Verity. Gently touched her chin. “She refused to come. I had to… persuade her. God forgive me.”
“Oh, Papa!” Henrietta looked at him with horror.
“Verity may not forgive you,” Christian said in a wry tone, as he leapt up to cast off and get them underway.
Her father pulled up the anchor. “The National Guard have arrived. I think they’ve run up against brigands in the forest. It gives us time. We must get past the soldiers on the village bridge before news of our escape reaches them.”
Under sail, the boat swept them away from Argenteuil.
As they sailed downriver, her father left Christian at the till. He examined Verity. Apparently satisfied with her condition, he pulled up her gown and removed her garters.
“Papa!” Henrietta was shocked at such familiarity.
“Sorry, no time for proprieties.” He used the garters to tie Verity’s wrist together. Then he made her comfortable on the pile of sacks, dropped a kiss on her cheek and rose. “Watch her Henrietta.”
Verity moaned and half-opened her eyes.
“She’s awake,” Henrietta said with relief.
Verity pulled at her wrists, then studied them woozily. Her fiery blue gaze settled accusingly on Henrietta’s father. “I hate you. Let me go!”
Unruffled by her anger, he bent and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Sorry, my love. I am abducting you. When we reach England, you will be free to return to France should you choose to.”
“You have no right, Anthony!” Verity twisted against her bonds.
“I’ll give you time to consider the folly of remaining here.” He stroked her hair. “I’m hopeful that you’ll change your mind.”
His voice was a plea and must have been hard for Verity to resist because she loved him.
Verity turned her head away. He picked her up and carried her into the cabin.
Henrietta followed him into the small space. “She wouldn’t betray us.”
“I’m aware of that, Hetta,” he said as he settled Verity down beside Philippe, and arranged her dress decorously over her legs. “I just don’t fancy jumping into the freezing water after you, my sweet.”
She squirmed and glared up at him.
Phillippe looked on with amusement, despite his own discomfort. Moving him had stirred up his wound.
Her father looked up. “Go and talk to Christian, Hetta. Smile and wave to the guard as we pass under the bridge.”
Henrietta stood with Christian at the tiller. Tense and silent they faced their first test. The wind caught the sail, and the boat slid toward the bridge the home guard patrolled.
Henrietta watched the soldiers staring down at them, their muskets aimed in their direction. Christian hailed them, and she forced herself to smile and wave.
The boat sailed under the bridge, and when it emerged the guard had moved across to the other side, but made no attempt to stop them. The red caps and sashes had worked. Few messed with the sans culottes.
They’d been on the water for over an hour, Argenteuil well behind them when her father released Verity from her bonds. He kissed her skin. “Such pretty wrists, I’d hate to have bruised them.”
“Brute!” Verity pushed him away. “Why do men always think they know best?”
He stroked Verity’s skin. “Not always. But I am confident I’m right this time.”
Henrietta watched touched by their intimacy.
“Are you all right, my love?” he asked.
“I am not!”
“Shall I kiss you and make it better?”
She pushed at him, but he kissed her anyway. First her wrist, then her chin and then her lips. Verity didn’t push him away again.
They were on their way! The tightness in Henrietta’s chest eased she laughed at this scuffle between two people who were obviously mad about each other.
“It’s a very long way to Le Havre. I suggest you all get some rest.” Her father left to relieve Christian at the helm.
“I thought I heard shouting and gunfire,” Verity said in a dazed voice.
“Your uncle called the Guard. They were fighting the brigands.”
Verity’s eyes widened, and she put a hand to her mouth. “He betrayed you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Moonlight brightened to cabin. Henrietta leaned forward. “You’ll have a bruise on your chin.”
Verity gingerly touched it. “Your father should have left me.”
“Do you really want to stay here? You would be blamed for our escape, and you know what that would mean.”
“Uncle François might give you up, but he wouldn’t betray me.”
“You believe that? You doubted him too,” Henrietta said.
She folded her arms and said nothing.
“Those red caps of liberty and sashes were not in the trunk we brought from England,” Henrietta said.
“I took them from the Gaite theatre.”
“So, if you’d trusted François you would have told him about them. You didn’t. And you let us leave without his knowledge.”
Verity frowned. “It was what your father wanted.” She sat up looking pleased. “I couldn’t find breeches, but from a distance, the caps and sashes work well.”
Christian bowed his head and entered the cabin. “Anthony and I searched François’ library after he went to bed. I’m sorry to tell you this, Verity, because it will hurt you. But you need to know the truth.”
“I doubt there’s much that can hurt me now. What is it?”
“We prized open a locked drawer and found some interesting correspondence. One letter from the Comité de Surveillance praised François for alerting them to your father’s activities. It was he who had your father thrown in prison.”
Verity moaned. She leaped to her feet and ran out to Anthony. He placed an arm around her, a hand on the tiller. “Why would my uncle do such a thing?” She stared out at the dark river. “He was always jealous of my papa,” she said after a moment. “But to hate him so much! I must go back. He should not get away with this!”
“Well, you cannot. You’ll have to live with it, sweetheart,” Anthony said. “It’s too dangerous for you now. It has been since your father was imprisoned. Isn’t that true?”
“Oui.”
“François wanted to gain a level of power in the new regime, I suspect,” Christian said. “There was a new letter from the National Convention, instructing him to keep us there until the guard came to arrest us.”
“That came yesterday.” Verity gasped. “He is wicked.”
Christian nodded. “The lust for power and recognition can turn men into scoundrels. He would have seen it as a means to prove his loyalty to the regime.”
“Once François awakened, I had to get you away, fast.” His grinned. “You put up quite a fight.”
“You knew I would demand to confront him.”
“I suspected you might, sweetheart.” He tightened his arm around her. “I couldn’t take that chance.”
Verity’s fingers gently probed her sore chin. She winced. “Did you have to hit me so hard?”
“I tried not to. Can you forgive me?”
She rubbed her wrist, but remained within the circle of his arm. “Perhaps you did save my life, so I suppose I must.” She frowned and looked out into the night. Henrietta saw despair in her eyes. Why was she so against returning to England?
Henrietta leaned back against a coil of rope. “I am so glad you are coming. You’ll be safe there.”
“I shall return to the theatre.”
“I’d love to be an actress,” Henrietta said. “Perhaps you could help me.”
Verity looked amused. “Perhaps.”
Henrietta caught the glance between her father and Christian. “You think I couldn’t?” she challenged them.
“Daughters of viscounts do not go on the stage,” Anthony said, his hand on the tiller, staring ahead as the boat churned through the waves.
“The Drury Lane actress, Lady Atkyns, is married to a peer.” Henrietta rose and lurched against the roll of the swell. “Papa, you’ve always told me to live the way I wanted. If I didn’t want to marry, I didn’t have to. I could live like Aunt Gabrielle.”
“I don’t believe I mentioned the stage,” he said wearily. He grinned at Christian. “This will soon become your husband’s concern, Hetta.”
He narrowed his eyes and stared into the hazy distance. “But first we must get to England.”