Her body released, and she collapsed back into feathery pillows, her breath a shallow, rhythmic pant. The doctor stepped forward, and the midwife waved him away.
“Two more like that, milady, and we’ll have a babe screaming down the house.”
Another groan gathered in Mariana’s chest, demanding release, and Nick remained helpless at her side, unable to reach her inside the deep, womanly place she’d gone.
“Another contraction already? All right, milady, start panting.”
The still room filled with the sharp, staccato shush of breath whooshing in, out, in, and out of the rounded “O” of Mariana’s pursed lips.
“Now, again,push,” the midwife commanded.
A moan, the deepest, loudest yet, rose from the depths of Mariana’s guts and threatened to rattle the windows loose. A fresh layer of sweat beaded her forehead. Nick’s heart pounded in his chest at the pace of a thousand thoroughbred horses. Fear, stark and bright, threatened to drive him out of his skin.
“The head is crowning,” the midwife shouted out. “Now, rest a moment.”
The sound of panting filled the air, and Nick felt a cool, damp cloth being pressed into his hand.
“For her forehead,” Olivia said at his back.
He swiped cotton across Mariana’s forehead, down cheeks flush and hot.
“It’s time this baby was born. The one behind him won’t appreciate him dillydallying,” the midwife said. It was clear she relished her occupation. “Now, bear down andpush!”
Again, Mariana crunched forward, and Nick’s world went white. Fear and helplessness pressed in at every angle as he returned Mariana’s crushing grip with his own. He’d never felt so linked to another person, so dependent on another, for his happiness, for his entire being. There was no point to being withouther, this brave, formidable woman who strode through life without fear.
But that was all right. He felt enough fear for them both. He felt it, so she’d never have to. He vowed to move heaven and earth to keep her safe, always, and without fear. So long as they got through this day.
A haze, black at the edges, coated the periphery of his consciousness. First came Geoffrey, then Lavinia, one right after the other. “The Lord’s work is done,” the midwife intoned, standing and plunging her hands into the washbasin.
Mariana took the twins, one in each arm, and pressed her lips to their wrinkled, red foreheads, back and forth between the two. Awed amber eyes met his, inviting him to share in the wonder.
It was only then that Nick realized he stood apart. Carefully, he lowered his body onto the bed and snugged in close, but still not touching. He didn’t have the right to ruin the perfection of this scene with his hulking, unworthy presence.
Mariana reached out, took his hand in hers, and pulled. Instinct guided him as he wrapped one arm, then the other, around this trio of perfection, his entire world encompassed within his arms. His fall complete, he was lost.
Actually, that wasn’t true. His fall wasn’t complete. He kept falling, helpless, powerless to stop the feeling.
Even so, his rational mind kept asserting itself. He may not be able to control his interior world, but the only world that now mattered was the world within his arms. He would stop at nothing to protect them, to keep them safe.
And he’d managed it with success. Until two nights ago when he’d invited Mariana into his world.
Nick looked up at a nondescript building whose dilapidated state even the darkest night couldn’t conceal and found that he’d arrived at his destination. He stepped inside and began the five-story ascent to the attic rooms.
A casual glance down revealed a small family of three—a mother, or possibly an older sister, and two small children—nestled into the hollow crook of the staircase. He bent over the rail and dropped a gold sovereign into the eldest’s tattered overcoat pocket. He could acclimate to many of Paris’s dismal conditions, but never to the deprived lives of so many of its young.
He took the stairs two at a time and soon found himself standing before a nondescript door at the top of a cramped landing. His knuckles struck a single knock, followed by a five second pause, then three muted taps in quick succession.
A key turned in the lock, and he slipped inside a room lit by a solitary candle, the space dim and spare. The descriptors of his native world, words likegildedandlush, didn’t apply here. The beeswax candle sitting atop a small, rectangular table was, in fact, the only element in the room that suggested all wasn’t what it seemed. This single, white candle was luxury, the sort of luxury, for instance, unavailable to the building’s other inhabitants, who likely burned cheap tallow.
This was the room of a British agent who passed not as French, but as a Spaniard with his dark, flashing eyes and lean, rangy form that appeared not to have encountered a decent meal in a number of years. The operative embodied the role of a revolutionary escaping persecution in his home country. It wouldn’t be a stretch to believe this man was looking to start a revolution in the name of democratic ideals. The Comte de Villefranche had certainly been drawn in by him over the course of a week’s worth of “chance” meetings inside cafés and coffee houses.
If he hadn’t known this man continuously for well over a decade, Nick never would have connected him with the man he’d met in a crowded ballroom all those years ago. War changed men, and it had certainly done its work on this man. The thin, silvery scar running along his left cheekbone would be the most obvious ravage of war. One would assume such a distinguishing feature a deficit in the world of espionage. Not so. There were missions in which the scar conferred a measure of authenticity.
The agent poured them each a glass of whiskey before settling into a rickety chair on the far side of the table. Nick chose to remain standing. “Bertrand Montfort arrived in Paris today,” he stated without preamble.
The agent swallowed a finger of the amber liquid before replying. “Villefranche introduced me to hisrecruitertonight.” The agent paused for an uncomfortable second before pushing the other whiskey across the table. “You might want to have a drink before I continue.”
At the look in the other man’s eye, Nick downed the fiery liquid in one gulp and waited.
