The Companion - Time For Eternity Part 13

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 Croute 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 G.o.d 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 Croute 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 Croute 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 Croute. But the kettle of Paris was getting hotter.

Ten.

It was just as well that Avignon had left to see his mistress. It gave Francoise 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 Francoise 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 Croute is the day you can clap me up in a madhouse."

Francoise 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."

Francoise 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 Croute 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 Croute 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 pa.s.s 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 Francoise 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.

Still, Francoise was in a dither by the time Avignon returned with two cloaks, not knowing whether what she was about to do would free her or condemn her. Avignon had dressed for evening in black satin breeches with small silver buckles at the knees and shoes that sported large silver Artois buckles. His stockings were black as well and his tightly fitted, skirted coat was black brocade. Only his white waistcoat, embroidered with black clocks of all things, broke his silhouette, that and the white foaming lace at his throat and wrists. He swung one cape round her shoulders as she stood to greet him. It was black silk with a rosy lining just heavy enough to keep the night chill off in a moving carriage. On him it was probably three -quarter length, on her, it swirled about her heels, just off the ground. "Do try not to shred it," he said as he tied the silken cord at her neck. His knuckles brushed the notch in her throat where her heart beat. "I remind you that I want it back."

She never knew when he was serious about being rude, or whether it was all some kind of game to him. He was really quite a mystery, and in spite of the fact that she had discovered how he made his living, she didn 't think smuggling was the only secret he kept.

As in a dream, she followed him. She was going to Versailles, with all that might mean. He handed her down the steps of number sixteen and into a shining black carriage drawn by four snorting horses. He nodded to the coachman, a capable-looking man who held the reins of the demanding team as though they had been part of his hands since birth. Pierre bustled out from the doorway with a large basket that smelled wonderful. He shoved it up to the coachman. "Only I, Pierre Dufond, could have contrived on a moment's notice to provide such a repast a full hour before dinner was to be delivered."

"But you contrived?" Avignon asked, as though he were in doubt.

Pierre drew himself up. "How not? I am Pierre Dufond."

"Ah, yes. I remember now. That is why I hired you. I have only the best, you know." Avignon acted as though he were sharing a secret. He swung up into the carriage and closed the door with the crest on it. Only Avignon dared have a carriage that still sported a crest.

Pierre fairly beamed as they pulled away.

Francoise scooted over the red velvet squabs of the seat to look out the carriage window. She was very conscious of Avignon's body sprawled out on the opposite bench, his long legs crossed at the ankles. She could hardly see his face in the shadows of the coach. The driver was wending his way skillfully through the crowded city streets.

"What do you find so interesting?" The baritone was even more seductive in the dark.

"Paris. I didn't get about much," she said. "Madame needed me to attend to her."

"You were allowed days off, weren't you?"

"Not really. A companion is a companion all the time. Sometimes I went to pick up small items for Madame at Savoirs, or we went together to choose a book. But it wasn't safe to be out alone. That meant taking Robert away from his other work. "

Francoise felt her eyes fill and turned back to gaze out at the busy cacophony. "My ignorance of Paris made my search for Madame difficult."