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?”
