He caught her looking at him and came over to stand by her chair. Running the side of his finger along the curve of her cheek, he smiled reassuringly. “We’ll get you out of this mess.”
Get her out of this mess, indeed, she thought, as if the revolution was something she’d inadvertently put her foot into, as if traveling alone through France was some whimsical choice she’d made. But her annoyance was tempered by the gentleness of his touch.
It was confusing how he seemed to arouse so many conflicting emotions in her.
Rafe turned back to Jervis. “See what you can do about fetching up a light supper. We’ll dine and then leave before dusk. I want to make sure there’s enough light in Madame de La Brou’s apartment to look around without having to light any candles. And when we leave the place we’ll have the cover of darkness to hide our movements.”
Rafe turned toward Alix. “Would you care to join us, or shall we set up in the sitting room where we won’t disturb you?”
Alix gestured toward the table. “I’d be grateful for your company.” She wasn’t hungry, but she wanted to be sure she knew exactly when they left.
Jervis returned shortly with some soup, a bowl of haricots, and a cold chicken. As Rafe pulled a chair out for her to sit, it crossed her mind that she should have been uncomfortable eating alone with him, but they’d spent so much time together, he’d begun to feel like an old friend. A sometimes moody and often imperious friend, but a warm and caring one as well. As he took his seat across from her, Alix stared at him pensively. He was risking his life for her, a woman he hardly knew at all. It was a senseof honor her father had talked about at length, but she had never seen among the nobles at Versailles.
It was hardly something she would have expected from a simple English cloth merchant.
Pouring them some wine, Rafe raised his glass. “To your safe return to your mother.”
They drank, lost for a moment in their separate thoughts. Her mother, she should be thinking about her mother, Alix berated herself. A warm fire, good food, and a handsome face, and she’d nearly forgotten why she’d come to Paris. She could almost hear her father laughing; saying how typical of a woman to become distracted and forget what she was about. A sharp knot of pain drew up in her stomach and twisted around her heart. Her hand unconsciously stole to her waist where she’d carried the titles sewn into her stays. She hadn’t been able to save her father, but she wouldn’t fail to save the de La Brou name. She’d find Madeleine and somehow they’d figure out a way to restore Valcour.
Rafe, seeing the shadows cloud her eyes, felt a fool for reminding her of the danger surrounding her. “You remind me of my sister,” he said. And she did, he thought, young and full of spirit. Though, he mused wryly, he’d never had such a fierce desire to kiss his sister.
“Tell me about her,” Alix asked.
Rafe detailed Elizabeth’s unruly encounters with her governesses, as if with his talk of everyday events he might weave a protective spell around them, holding back, if just for an hour, the violence and chaos in the city outside.
Gasping with laughter, Alix exclaimed, “She kissed her dancing instructor?’
“Ah yes,” Rafe said, wagging a chicken bone. “But her excuse was that it was a scientific experiment. He was simply a control subject so that she would know when the right man came along.”
“Well,” said Alix, daubing her mouth with a napkin, “at least she’s applying some discipline to the matter.”
Rafe chuckled. “I hadn’t thought of it in that light.”
“But I’ve talked too much about myself, tell me about your family,” he said, leaning forward and fixing her with a sympathetic gaze.
Alix told him about her parents, how she lived mostly with her father, describing in wicked detail the stuffy old couples who frequently dined at his table. But as they both laughed, she couldn’t help wondering what would become of her father’s elderly friends and their families. Her face sobering, she told him about her father’s insistence on remaining in France and his final hours.
Rafe said nothing, only reached out and covered her hand with his. They sat like that for several moments, the only sound in the room the crackle of the logs burning in the fireplace.
It was Jervis’s return that startled them apart. Bustling about, he quickly cleared the room so that there would be no reason for any of the maids to come calling. Alix bit her lip to keep from laughing as Rafe emptied his trunk to make certain there was ample room to conceal her. As he tucked her up in bed, she wondered if they would ever leave. After what seemed hours, the two men departed, exhortations for her to remain hidden still on their lips as the door closed behind them.
Alix immediately threw off her shawl and raced into the sitting room, making for the trunk where Jervis kept his clothes. Rifling through the contents, she pulled out a pair of britches, a cambric shirt, and a waistcoat. A stale odor rose from them and Alix sniffed, thinking he’d had a lot of nerve telling her she smelled.
She pulled them on, augmenting the outfit with her own cotton stockings and shoes, and surveyed her appearance in a mirror over the mantelpiece in the sitting room. Notbad, but she’d have to do something about her hair. Too bad neither gentleman wore a wig, though, she mused, she rather liked Rafe’s tawny mane.
Casting her eyes about the room, she saw a large tricorne lying under the bed. Tying her hair in a semblance of a queue, she tucked the length under her collar and topped it with the hat. Lumpy, but it would have to do, she thought, giving herself a final check in the glass. Listening to make certain no one was in the hall before she slipped out, her eye fell on the closed chess set. Alix smiled.
It was time to move on to a new game.
Robert Lamartine was havinga bad week. Thinking back over the events of his journey to Paris made him positively livid. It seemed as though every half-witted yokel calling himself a patriot had stopped him, demanding to see his papers and questioning his reasons for traveling. He had wasted precious time while erstwhile farmers, who ought to be tending to their crops, argued about whether he might be an Austrian spy or an aristocrat in disguise. He shook his head. Those oafs probably would have held up their own grandmothers.
Everything was fine now, he told himself. He was in Paris, in Madame de La Brou’s apartment, and now all he had to do was wait for Alix to show up. Leaning back in a silk armchair, he drew a meat pastry wrapped in a linen napkin from his pocket and unfolded it carefully on his knee. He took a small bite and began chewing slowly, soothing himself by reviewing the events of the day that had gone well.
It had been simple to find the place since he’d arranged for the rental after Madame had moved from Versailles. He had used his knowledge of the property and its owner to gain entrance. He’d told the neighbors that he was employed by a second-hand furniture company and hadpermission from the landlord to evaluate the contents of the house across the courtyard. Spreading his hands and giving them his most piteous look, he’d explained that he hadn’t been able to locate the landlord and his employer would be sorely distressed if he returned without completing his estimate.
The neighbors, a family of newly wealthy industrialists, had taken one look at his finely tailored suit and neatly powdered wig and led him straight over. They’d even insisted on giving him a tour of the rooms. Rattling on about Madame de La Brou and her dinner parties, they’d followed him from the vestibule into the antechamber, the small salon, then into the grand salon and on upstairs into Madame’s boudoir. From their covetous glances at the furnishings, he suspected they were more curious about Madeleine’s interior decorations than in keeping watch on him.
Well, he thought, for what she spent on a monthly basis, the comtesse should have style. The anteroom, where the footmen waited, was a relatively simple room, but the rest were decorated in the latest styles and colors. The small salon was paneled in light wood with raised garlands of roses over the doors and windows. Green silk curtains draped the two long windows that overlooked the garden, and the gracefully rounded armchairs were upholstered in matching fabric. The large salon was decorated in sky blue, the walls hung with rows of expensive art, mirrors were set in the corners and over the white marble fireplace, and the floor was covered with an Aubusson carpet. Madame’s bedchamber was all in yellow.
