“I confess,” Rafe said, “I’m not in the habit of rescuing damsels in distress, and so I haven’t thought this all the way through. But as your gown is rather in disarray, and my lodgings are not far from here, might I suggest that you come with me and see what can be done? Unless of course you’ve got somewhere else to go.”
And that, of course, was the crux of it, Alix thought bitterly. She’d been overconfident and sent David home and now she had nowhere else to go.
“Very well, but I warn you, I am a lady, and I will not submit to any discourtesies.” Even as she said the words, she knew how ridiculous they sounded. She was draped across this strange man’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes, her clothes were in tatters, and chickens had been nesting in her hair. If the Chaumiers could see her now, she thought wryly, they’d have a hard time arguing that she looked too much like a gently bred lady.
Then again, she doubted she could pass as a courtesan either.
She closed her eyes as he carried her bouncing along the street. It was humiliating, but it was better than remaining behind with the sans-culottes. Her rescuer spoke a cultured, if oddly accented, French. Perhaps she could appeal to his gentlemanly sensibilities...
“Ah, here we are.”
From her position Alix could see nothing, but she was aware that he was turning and that she was being carried through a large, carved doorway. The pungent smell of cooked meats, unwashed bodies, and wood smoke filled her nose as they entered the common room. A break in the general hum of conversation followed by catcalls and scattered laughter told her that their entrance had not gone unnoticed. She flushed and buried her face in the man’s dark blue coat, feeling the fine quality of the wool against her cheek and the hardness of muscle beneath. As he took the crooked stairs two at a time, she was forced to grab at him to keep from falling. Her hands scrabbled around his waistcoat, finding little handhold on his taut waist and belly.
Kicking open the door Rafe called loudly, “Jervis, tea for the lady,” strode through the small sitting room past his astonished manservant, kicked open a second door, and slid her to her feet.
Alix took the measure of the room in a glance. It was modest and clean, with two windows overlooking the courtyard and stables below. Two armchairs flanked the hearth where a small fire was burning. A three-legged table was set between them and on it sat a silver chamberstick and several books. But it was the large four-poster bed that caught and held her attention.
She whirled on Rafe. “While I am grateful for your aid, sir, you should know that I have no intention of, intention of...”
“Sharing my bed?” Rafe finished helpfully. “Well,” he said, leaning against the mantle and stretching out his long legs, “there’s a mercy. While I don’t doubt you’re a pretty young thing underneath all that dirt,”— he gestured an elegant hand in the general direction of her face and hair—“I make it a rule never to bed women who smell like chicken runs.”
For a moment, Alix thought she might take offense, butthen the absurdity of the situation struck her and she began to laugh. Rafe swept off his hat and made her a courtier’s bow. “Rafe Harcrest at your service, mademoiselle.”
Alix, echoing his exaggerated courtesy, sank into a deep curtsy. “Alix Rabec.” He extended a hand to help her rise, and for the first time, Alix got a good look at her rescuer.
Why he’s lovely, she thought, the words sounding so clearly in her head that for a moment she feared she might have said them aloud. When he’d removed his hat, he’d loosened his queue and a few strands of tawny-colored hair fell softly across his high forehead. His eyes were an amazing shade of greenish brown, like sunlight and shadow on a country stream, and they tilted down at the outer edges in a roguishly charming way. They lent an odd softness to his face, which a deep crease between his brows suggested frowned more often than it smiled. Indeed, she thought, as she took in his aquiline nose and strong chin, it might have been a dauntingly severe face, had it not been for those eyes and sensual mouth.
She’d known he was tall and muscular when he’d hefted her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a child, but seeing him up close— the broad shoulders, the slim hips, and the long legs encased in cream colored britches and dark leather boots— was distinctly unsettling. She was relieved when his manservant announced his entrance with a rattling tray.
“They got less and less in the kitchen, these days. Certainly nothing you could rightly call tea. But I brought you some cheese, some dried apples, and a bit of wine. Just something to wet your whistle.”
Alix blinked in surprise at the familiarity with which Rafe’s manservant addressed him, and Rafe gave her a crooked grin. “My servant Jervis hails from the Americas and is still acclimating himself to the ways of European service.”
Jervis snorted. “Been with the lad fifteen years... acclimating my...” But the words were lost amongst the clatter of dishware.
Alix smiled back at them both. “It looks delightful to me.” As if to underscore her point, her stomach growled loudly. She bit her lip in embarrassment. “I’m afraid it’s been a while since breakfast.”
“How long?” Rafe asked conversationally.
“Oh, just a day,” she replied lightly.
Jervis caught Rafe’s eye. “Thought I saw some more of that cat stew,” he muttered as the door banged loudly behind him.
Rafe gestured toward a chair next to the tray, and when Alix was seated, he took his place across from her. Staring at her intently he said, “So Mademoiselle Rabec, you haven’t eaten in a day, you’ve only one hat, and you were wandering unchaperoned on a Paris street. You’ve made it clear you’re not a working girl, so what in heaven’s name were you doing?”
“I was not wandering.” She paused for emphasis. “I have but recently come to town, and I was unaware the streets were so dangerous. I was on my way to find my mother who I assumed, quite naturally, would supplement my wardrobe.” She frowned, uncertain whether to continue, then added, “But her house appears to be empty.”
“Empty how? As in perhaps she stepped out for a stroll along the boulevard, or empty as in packed up and gone?”
“I knocked for some time, and then I went round the windows and looked in. There was no sign that anyone was living in the house.”
“I see,” Rafe said quietly. He sliced some cheese and offered it to her. “You are aware that a great number of people in Paris have gone missing recently.” She nodded. “Could your mother have been among them?”
Alix took the cheese from him, her fingers brushinglightly against his. Studying his face, she answered carefully, uncertain how much to reveal. “It’s possible, I suppose, but I won’t believe it until I’ve looked around a bit more.”
“And how will you do that?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, “but I’ll think of something.”
