Love Charade Part 33

"Oh, do hush, brat," Linton begged through his own laughter. "It is fortunate that Chatham knows you s o well."

"Mais, d'accord" she declared with a lift of her eyebrow. "I would hardly speak so freely in front of him if he did not."

"Touche, I think, Linton." Pitt coughed to hide the bubble of merriment.

"Touche, indeed." Justin picked up his wife's cloak and placed it over her shoulders. "My sword arm is becoming somewhat weak these days."

"But not your sword?" Danielle whispered and Justin froze, wondering if he had heard her correctly but knowing that he had. That wicked whisper had been for his ears alone but it was still outrageous of her to make it in the prime minister's company. Pitt's attention was for a moment distracted by a paper on his desk and Justin smacked her bottom. Danielle danced away from his hand with a mischievous grin, her tongue peeping provocatively between her lips. Almack's could go to the devil, her husband decided. When Danielle was in the mood for play, there was nothing this town could offer in compet.i.tion. His loins stirred at the thought.

"We will bid you farewell then, Pitt," he said, moving Danny in front of him and pushing her with a concealed hand toward the door.

"Yes, yes, indeed." Pitt was frowning over the paper. "You will pardon me if I do not see you out . . . there is something here . . ." His voice faded as the powerful mind switched tracks from the affairs of Paris to a domestic matter of some moment.

"Au revoir, Chatham," Danny threw over her shoulder, receiving mumbled thanks for her time and information.

"Wretch," Linton said with satisfaction, tossing her indecorously into the curricle. "No, you may not drive. I am in somewhat of a hurry and prefer the reins in my own hands."

"Oui, milord," Danielle murmured, the picture of docility as she handed over the reins. "Make all speed, I beg of you."

They arrived in Grosvenor Square in record time, Tomas clinging on with grim resignation.

"No, you don't," Justin hissed asDanny stepped sideways in the direction of the salon and the sound of raised voices.

"But I am sure that I hear the Comte de St. Estephe," she protested. "What is he doing here?"

"I have not the slightest interest in St. Estephe's movements, only in yours. And I know exactly how I wish you to move."

"La, Husband, but you are so importunate." Danielle fluttered her eyelashes and received a hooded look of clear intention in return. She scampered down the corridor to her own bedchamber where Linton followed, closing the door with a decisive click.

"You issued a challenge, madam," he declared. "Something to do with swords, as I recall."

"You have the sword," she said softly, "and I have its sheath."

"Exactly so." He tossed off his clothes, Danielle watching all the while, making no attempt to undress herself.

Naked, he strode toward her. "We will have these off, I think." Her outer garments were removed with swift but deft fingers and she stood in chemise and petticoats. "Brace yourself against the wall." The instruction was strengthened by his hands, pushing her until she stood as required. Her breath came swiftly now as her body prepared itself for what was to come. His hands slipped beneath the petticoats, found the drawstring of her pantalettes, pulled, and the lace-edged garment rustled to her ankles. His fingers moved delicately b'ut with the unerring skill and the knowledge born of three years of this shared glory. Playfully she resisted his deeper intrusion until he demanded with voice and hands that she part her thighs and be taken as the longing wanton that she was. Holding her petticoats high at her waist, he drove deep within her and Danielle maintained her balance with the wall at her back and her hands on his shoulders until the shuddering aftermath brought her to her knees.

Justin looked down at her and nodded contentedly. "That will teach you to make blatantly suggestive remarks in public." Catching her under the arms, he pulled her upright, sliding one hand beneath her petticoats again to grasp her b.u.t.tocks, pressing her against him as his other hand held her chin and he kissed her with a hard soundness that indicated that what they had just had was merely a preliminary.

While the earl and his countess were taking their pleasure, Roland, Comte de St. Estephe, sat in their salon making himself agreeable to the chevalier and the gathering of emigre n.o.bles. Their conversation sickened him with its futile oratory as much as it did Danielle, but not a sign of this showed on the long, lean face or in the cold eyes any more than did his impatience as he waited for one or both of his hosts to appear. He had a clear brief from the Brissotin ministry, to become accepted as one of the emigres at the British court, gather information as to their plots, learn the names of those still in Paris who would const.i.tute a threat to the revolution, and foil what plans he could without jeopardizing his cover.

That cover was perfect for his own plans. What better way to win Danielle's confidence than by offering to help the cause? She was clearly a prime mover in this business and since her house appeared to be open to all involved, he could come and go as he pleased, become familiar with the routines of the household, and keep track of her movements. As yet the comte had developed no strategy and had deliberately refrained from forming one. The opportunity would present itself for an elegant revenge and he would wait in patience and preparation for that time.

None of the guests at Linton House that evening were vouchsafed even a glimpse of their hosts. They were kept well supplied with refreshments by Bedford and his staff who were resigned to the presence of what the butler privately referred to as "the club." The earl and his countess were served dinner in the private parlor, although the footman who laid out the dishes saw neither of them before he left discreetly. Justin had some difficulty concentrating on his dinner since Danielle was in the mood to play harlot and sat at the table in nothing but her skin, moving provocatively as she served them both, deposited herself on his lap to taste the food on his plate and the wine in his gla.s.s.

"Danny, please put on a wrapper," he pleaded through a mouthful of quail. "It isn't that I object to your sitting on my knee, but bits of you keep getting in the way."

Danielle merely smiled and diverted his fork into her own mouth. "You took me like a wh.o.r.e, milord, up against the wall with my skirts around my waist. I have a mind to continue the play."

"Oh, do you indeed." He pushed her off his knee with a sudden movement that took her quite by surprise, and twitched aside his robe. "Sit down again." His eyes burned their message and with a soft laugh of excitement Danielle lowered herself astride him.

It was the next morning when St. Estephe saw her. She walked into the salon with a chubby laughing baby on her hip. The comte inhaled sharply: the chevalier had omitted to tell him that she had a child. He was not accustomed to seeing the aristocratic ladies of Versailles and now the Tuileries carrying their babies with all the natural ease of a country woman. In fact babies never appeared in Polite Circles-they remained with their wet nurse until ready to take solid food, and then in the nursery until old enough to make their bows or curtsies in respectful silence.

"Comte, I am delighted to see you." Danielle crossed the room, hand outstretched in welcome. "I am unable to curtsy, sir," she said with a laugh, "enc.u.mbered as I am. But we stand on no ceremony in this house. I bid you welcome."

He bowed low over her hand and murmured felicitations that judging by the child's size appeared to be about nine months overdue.

"This pet.i.t mediant is Nicholas, Viscount Beresford," she told him, tickling the child's chin. "It seems ridiculous that such a sc.r.a.p should carry such a burdensome t.i.tle, do you not think?"

Roland found himself at a loss for an appropriate response. When he had first seen this woman she had appeared a naive flirtatious child and he knew that the French court had considered her to be simply that-an ingenue bride. Then he had seen her move through the streets of revolutionary Paris disguised as a burgher's wife and she had not made one false move. Now he knew her to be the leader of a group of men who, judging by their conversation last night, held her in considerable respect. He could understand why. A quiet authority radiated from the slim figure, an authority that he suspected had little to do with the fact that she was on her own territory, a gracious hostess greeting her guests.

"A most handsome child, milady." He found his voice at last. Danielle smiled. He had clearly said the right thing.

"I think he takes after his father, but Linton will have none of it," she informed him cheerfully. The child wriggled imperatively in her arms. "Oh, very well then. You may get down and find your G.o.dpapa." She set him on his knees and Nicholas crawled rapidly in the direction of Lord Julian, who was inviting him with a crooked finger.

"So, comte, what brings you to London?" Danielle asked directly. "Let us move to the sofa. I am anxious to hear news of France."

I am certain you are, the comte thought, but he said, "The news is not good, milady, as I am sure you are aware. I am come to offer my services in whatever manner they can be used."

"You are not come then to wave the sword and spout rhetoric?"

Amazing woman! So, she was not taken in by any of this pointless scheming. She would be a worthy opponent indeed. "I think the time for such displays is past," he remarked carefully and received his reward.

"How good it is to hear such sense, mon ami. The chevalier and I are at our wits' end as to how to persuade our countrymen that they must think pragmatically and eschew emotion. You will help us, I hope."

"In any way you command, milady."

"Oh, I do not command, comte, and you must call me Danny, everyone else does so." The smile was ravishing, not exactly flirtatious but full of warmth. St. Estephe found himself responding as nearly in kind as he was capable.

"St. Estephe. How delightful." Linton's cool voice brought the comte back to reality. The earl took snuff delicately as he greeted his guest, but his eyes carried none of the voiced message.

Danielle sensed the flash of hostility between the two men and frowned. Why should Justin have taken such a dislike to St. Estephe and why was that dislike returned in full measure?

"Coz, this son of yours is a veritable plague," Jules complained, inadvertently diverting Danielle's thoughts as he attempted to prise his G.o.dson's fingers loose from an enameled snuff box lying on an occasional table. Nicholas wailed in loud protest as his prize disappeared.

"Nicky, no." Justin scooped him up. "You may not have that." Nicholas bellowed, an ear-splitting yell that made St. Estephe shudder.

"If you cannot behave yourself, my son, you must return to the nursery," his father said firmly, pulling the bell rope.

"Oh, let me have him." Danielle moved swiftly but her husband shook his head.

"It's time he had a rest, Danielle. He cannot be allowed to tyrannize the drawing room." When the footman appeared in answer to the summons, he found himself in possession of a red-faced squawling infant. "Take him to Tante Therese, would you?" Justin requested pleasantly.

"Yes, my lord." The footman bore the child away quite cheerfully. It was not an unusual duty in the Linton household these days. The young viscount was quite accustomed to the brawny arms of footmen, coachmen, and even, on occasion, Bedford and the chef. His mother and Tante Therese spoke to him in French, everyone else in English and, except when he was thwarted, Nicky's little world was a land of enchanted discovery.

St. Estephe found himself reformulating his preconceptions yet again. He had established the fact of a love match between these two, however ill-a.s.sorted their ages and temperaments. Now they were parents and most unusual ones at that-openly affectionate, both of them totally at ease with that damp bawling creature. He cast a covert glance at the Countess of Linton. She was engaged in an animated, laughing exchange with that idiot Englishman, Viscount Westmore. It was one thing to winkle a wife from the tight sh.e.l.l of her marriage, quite another to pin and withdraw a mother. The challenge grew more exciting. He would have the woman, renegade aristo, loving wife, and devoted mother, and he would break her before returning the pieces to her husband and child.

"What is it between you and St. Estephe, Justin?" It was not until much later that night that Danielle had sufficient time alone with her husband to broach the subject that had been disturbing her thoughts all day.

Justin frowned. "I do not know exactly. He claims that our fathers were close friends, but my father never mentioned such a thing to me and he took me into his confidence on most matters. However." He shrugged. "It is not impossible that an old friendship slipped his mind. There is just something about the man that I do not trust, and I do not care for the way he looks at you. There is an intensity that makes me uneasy."

Danny chuckled. "You think he means to seduce me?"

"You will not find me a complacent husband if you succ.u.mb, wife," Justin warned, trying to sound playful but failing miserably.

"Oh, pah!" Danielle dismissed the comment with a careless wave. "He has the eyes of a fish and the face of a horse, so long and narrow. But he cannot help either of those misfortunes," she added kindly. "I find him sensible, my lord, and that is a most refreshing change. Also, he shows no indication to flirt with me at all, so I do not think you need worry." Suddenly, her conversation with Madame Cloury at the Tuileries popped into her head-strange how she had forgotten that story of St. Estephe's checkered past. But then scandalous gossip was the mainstay of the French court and one could not believe more than a fraction of what was said.

"What is it?" Justin probed, seeing the changed expression that now showed no laughter.

"Rien du tout." She shrugged easily-why bother Justin with t.i.ttle-tattle? "I was thinking of how best to impart some sense to those crazy hotheads."

Chapter 20.

"What think you, Justin?" William Pitt held his wine to the May sunlight, turning the gla.s.s so that the rich claret sparked amethyst lights through the exquisitely chiseled cuts.

"The claret is superb," Linton observed. "Since Danielle took over the running of our cellars, we rarely have a poor vintage."

"I do not think Milord Chatham refers to the quality of the wine." Danielle spoke from the chaise longue where she sat on this sunny afternoon with her son, turning over the pages of a picture book while Nicholas clapped his hands gleefully and struggled to articulate his mother's careful definitions.

"What have you to say to this proposal then, Danny?" Justin regarded her gravely.

"I think that if the prime minister needs you to go to Russia, then you must do so."

The prime minister heaved a sigh of relief. He had come here today in considerable trepidation to enlist Linton's aid. In earlier days he would have asked the earl in private, a.s.suming that he would make his own decision and then inform his wife. But Pitt was now well aware that he was dealing with no conventional marriage and if he asked the husband to undertake a potentially dangerous mission then he must also ask the wife's permission.

"I would have liked to see Czar Alexander's court for myself," Danielle said wistfully. "But we have Nicholas to consider and the voyage could prove dangerous. I also have much work to do here." She turned to Pitt. "How long do you expect the journey will take, sir?"

"No more than three months, ma'am," he responded. "Hopefully less. Linton should not need to spend more than a month at St. Petersburg and as soon as he has an accurate impression of the czar's views as to the affairs in France and the war between France and Austria, then the sooner he brings them back to me the better."

"At least it is not winter." Danielle stroked her son's head thoughtfully. "The seas are quite calm and St. Petersburg will not be s...o...b..und. How soon will you leave?" She looked directly at her husband.

How could he leave her for three months? Justin wondered. She was but twenty and yet evinced a quiet maturity and wisdom more suited to a woman ten years her senior. But she was still impulsive and inclined to recklessness when the spirit moved her. What would she do when he was not here to apply the checks and balances? And could he bear to be without her for three long months?

He had no choice, of course. His prime minister needed him and Danielle had given his answer. "Within the week," he said.

"If t'were done when 'tis done, then t'were well t'were done quickly." Danny smiled as she quoted Macbeth, a smile of complete understanding as she heard his thoughts. It would be no easier for her to live without the mainstay of her existence, to worry, sometimes needlessly and sometimes with reason, as he made the treacherous journey. But they were no longer private people who could conduct their lives according to their own whims and fancies. In this year of trouble, 1792, they had a part to play in the greater scenario and were both political animals who shared the same goals.

Justin left England five days later and a week after, on May 30, King Louis XVFs bodyguard was dismissed by the a.s.sembly, who decided that they held an "unpatriotic spirit," being too royalist in their sentiments. Detachments of the National Guard took their place and the path to dethronement turned the hill and began its inexorable drop to the river of blood.

"We cannot work with these imbeciles, so we must work without them," Danielle said forcefully to the small group of Englishmen augmented by D'Evron and the Comte de St. Estephe.

"How do you propose doing that?" St. Estephe asked, hooding his eyes over the spark of excitement. He sensed that his chance for revenge was approaching. He would take her as a flagrant betrayer of the revolution-to exact vengeance but also to perform the work that he had been sent here to do. Once she committed herself to action then he had his excuse, and he knew her well enough now to be sure that such action would no longer be confined to haranguing her despised compatriots.

"We must achieve a list of those in danger and go into France and issue the warning," Danielle said simply. "It will mean working in Paris but also in the countryside. There are many who still keep to their estates, but the villagers will move against them sooner or later. D'Evron, you will go?"

"D'accord." The chevalier inclined his head.

"And you also, comte? It is best if those of us who are native Frenchmen go amongst our people. We will be more convincing." She smiled an apology to the young Englishmen.

"Danny, you are not intending . . .?"

"No, Jules." She interrupted him swiftly. "Not unless it is necessary. Whilst Justin is away, I must keep myself safe for Nicky for as long as I am able." She rose to her feet. "That reminds me of my promise to take him for a drive this afternoon. Comte, you will discuss plans with the chevalier, n'est-ce pas?"

"Certainement." He stood up with the rest of the men and bowed to his hostess. "We will gather together the names and then formulate a plan. At this stage, it is necessary simply to warn."

"Yes." She agreed. "It may be necessary to facilitate their escape later. But if they are sensible now ..." Her light shrug spoke all her lack of conviction in such an idea. "We shall see, messieurs. Au revoir."

St. Estephe and the chevalier went to France within a few days. While the chevalier sedulously performed his mission, the comte reported to his masters in minute detail, handing over the lists of names, urging their immediate proscription and imprisonment.

The chevalier was in the house of the Levandou when a detachment of National Guard burst through the front door, muskets at the ready. The family were taking tea with their guest in the salon. The due spoke in dignified protest at this a.s.sault on his household as D'Evron was seized roughly, his hands bound behind his back and the accusation of treason proclaimed in ringing accents. He made no attempt to resist his captors although he pleaded energetically the innocence of his friends. To no purpose, however; the entire family from the youngest child to the elderly grandmother were bundled into the unmarked coaches waiting outside and hauled before the tribunal where their guilt as conspirators against the const.i.tution was declared and proven.

D'Evron was taken to the Chatelet where, for a while, he had money enough to pay for a mattress beneath him as he slept. But when his resources dwindled to nothing, he joined the majority of the five hundred inmates and slept on filthy straw. The Levandoux fared better during their imprisonment in the aristocratic Abbaye where all had mattresses, there were only six prisoners to a room, and with their one meal came a bottle of wine a day. But on Sunday, September 2, 1792, they all shared the same fate. Carters, carpenters, cabinetmakers; hat makers and jewelers; cobblers and watchmakers with clubs, swords, and pikes ma.s.sacred the inmates of the nine main prisons in Paris. Some thirteen hundred prisoners died in the violence inspired by the fear that the political prisoners would break free and join the counter-revolutionary armies threatening the borders of France. But the original motive for the ma.s.s murder was soon forgotten, and children, prost.i.tutes, thieves, and debtors fell beneath the swords of the mob.

D'Evron died in the courtyard of the Chatelet where he had been dragged, a filthy, emaciated figure that Danielle would have had difficulty recognizing. His last conscious thought was of her and of his failure to warn her of the traitor who had given evidence with such complacence before the tribunal. The heavy club fell again and the chevalier found release in unconsciousness and mercifully felt not the ripping stab of the pike that ended his life.

But that blood-soaked weekend was some months ahead. In the meantime, St. Estephe decided not to return to England once his reports were made and his standing as a faithful adherent of the revolution confirmed. He had two reasons for this. There was much politicking to be done with the fall of the Brissotin ministry and he could not afford to be absent as the wind changed. He also hoped that Danielle, in the absence of news from D'Evron and himself, would decide to take matters into her own charge. Once she made a definitive move on French soil, she would have played into his hands and he could have his revenge on the house of Unton while removing a traitor from active duty.

Danielle waited until the end of June, until news came of the mob's attack on the Tuileries. While D'Evron languished in the Chatelet and St. Estephe insinuated himself among the power-holders, a crowd of demonstrators, now proudly bearing the name of sans-culottes, broke through the iron gates of the Tuileries intent on confronting their king. They flourished their banners, an old pair of gentlemen's britches, and the bleeding heart of a calf-le coeur d'aristocrat-as they poured into the courts at the rear of the palace. The royal family cowered in their apartments as they heard again the terrifying sounds of a mob attack-the wild shouts, the smash of doors, the pounding of feet coming ever closer. The Tuileries was under attack as Versailles had been three years previously. Louis, behind a phalanx of a few faithful guardsmen, took what protection was offered in the deep embrasure of a window. The red bonnet of the revolution was placed upon his head and he listened to the diatribe of a butcher and drank to the health of the nation as the mob gaped at this man who was their king, who, from the moment of their births had been deified, all powerful, a power given directly from G.o.d. But he was just a man, just like the rest of them-legs, arms, blood, and water, and capable of fear in spite of his apparent patient calm. In another room they found the queen-the hated Austrian- with her children and the king's sister. They stood behind a table and a group of guards, while the mob peered, would have poked and prodded had they been able to get close enough, and wondered again at the simple flesh and blood of this family who had known only riches beyond the dreams of avarice and the privilege of the supremely powerful.

Six hours after the invasion began, the palace was cleared of demonstrators and the royal family safe from the violence of the sovereign people. But it was to be a short respite and Danielle paced the drawing room in Grosvenor Square in an agony of indecision.

"We have heard nothing from D'Evron and nothing from St. Estephe. We would have received a message by now if they were safe. We must then a.s.sume that they have been taken and plan accordingly."

"What do you have in mind, Danny?" Sir Anthony Fanshawe asked the question on the lips of every member of this small gathering. It was a natural enough question since she held undisputed leadership.

"Why, that we must a.s.sume they did not succeed in their mission and must try it ourselves," she replied simply. "It will be more difficult, of course, after this latest news and if our friends have been discovered ... as they must have been." She sighed and tried to put out of mind the face of her friend and colleague these past three years.

"Danny, you cannot mean to go into France yourself," Julian protested, knowing the protest to be ineffectual but one he had to make for his cousin's sake.

"I do, Jules. But we will be a little more devious this time." She laughed suddenly, a laugh of pure deviltry that did nothing for Julian's disquiet. "We shall have some splendid adventures, mes amis. We will work from Cornwall to the north coast of Brittany. No one in Paris will suspect such an approach. I have played the urchin once and shall do so again. I do not think my figure has changed significantly with motherhood, do you?" She looked anxiously around the group who had recourse to coughings and shufflings of feet. "Oh, do not be such milksops," she chided. "Tell me directly. Do I have too many curves to wear britches undetected?"

"No you do not," Julian replied eventually, when it was clear no one else was prepared to venture an opinion. "But that is not the point. You cannot expose yourself to such danger. Justin would not allow it, and in his absence I ..."

"You what, Jules?" Her eyes glittered dangerously.

"Oh, I meant nothing," he said hastily. "Except that you must think of your husband and Nicholas."

"And do you dare to think that I do not?" Her voice was a mere hiss and Julian blanched.