Trapped by Scandal (9 page)

William rolled away onto his back, his chest heaving, sweat still glistening in the hollow of his throat. He reached out a hand to rest on her bared belly. “I don't know, exactly. Suddenly, all the fear, the tension, the anxiety, the need . . . responsibility . . . to get these innocents out of the hands of the Committee, to save them . . . sometimes it's a spring too tightly wound, and it gives way. Worrying about you was somehow the last straw. I knew that if anything had happened to you, it would be my fault, and when I saw you, knew you were safe, something just broke inside me.”

He turned sideways, resting on an elbow, a finger tracing her collarbone, trailing down into the damp cleft of her breasts, his eyes warm but also apologetic.

“I didn't hurt you?”

She shook her head, smiling a little as she reached up to brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“Did I frighten you?”

Again, she shook her head. “Surprised me, perhaps, but I had the same need, I think. I wanted what you wanted.” She gave a little laugh. “Except, of course, that I didn't know it.” The feeling of safety, for all its impermanence, was for this moment almost overwhelming. Marie Claire was safe downstairs in the kitchen, and in this small, separate space under the eaves, the hideous noise and riot of the city were held at bay. For now, this purely human passion could be indulged without guilt or fear.

“So what happened?” William asked. “Where have you been all this time?”

“I did what you told me to do. I felt danger, someone watching me. A man accosted me on the Notre Dame bridge, so I worked my way through the lanes to Île St. Louis and then crossed the river by boat at the end of the island. I came straight back once I was sure it was safe.” She turned her head to look at him, her gaze both questioning and a little defensive. “Did I do anything wrong?”

William flung his hands above his head, staring ruefully up at the cracked plaster ceiling. “Forgive me, Hero. I was so anxious for you . . . I felt such guilt, I suppose. You're so untried at this business, but then, in other ways, you're not untried. I told myself you could and should be able to do this, because we needed you. I was thinking only of the mission.” A grim smile touched his mouth.

Hero leaned over and ran a finger over his lips, smoothing away the grimness. “You have to understand, William, that I didn't ask or want you to consider me except as necessary to the business of rescuing Marie Claire. I know I must seem young and untried; after all, I'm a sheltered, privileged brat, product of the English aristocracy.” Her laugh had a touch of acid to it. “But I'm probably stronger than you think.”

He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. “That, my dear, is a lesson I learned well this afternoon.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Can you make yourself respectable enough to appear downstairs? Your brother has been out of his mind with worry, and Marie Claire
needs the attentions that only a member of her own sex can give her.”

Hero found this return to business oddly reassuring. She felt not a smidgen of guilt for those moments of passionate need. She had no reason to feel guilt. She was betraying no one. And then she heard herself ask abruptly, “Is there a woman waiting for you somewhere, William?” Her gaze went to his face, watching his response with an almost painful intensity.

An unmistakable shadow crossed his eyes, but he shook his head. “No, Hero. I don't live the kind of life that would make that possible.”

“So you love where and when you please?” she asked lightly.

“Where and when it's practicable,” he corrected. He came over to her, taking her chin between finger and thumb. “I cannot make promises, Hero. I enjoy your company. I enjoyed our lovemaking and will enjoy it again if you wish it also, but I have nothing more . . . more—”

“More permanent to offer,” she interrupted with a quick shake of her head. “I no more wish for that than you do, William.”

His fingers tightened for a moment on her chin. “What do you wish for, then?”

She shrugged. “I haven't discovered yet. But for the present, I'll take what I'm offered.”

“We understand each other, then.”

She smiled. “It would seem so. You go ahead of me. There's some water in the jug; I would freshen myself a little.”

William looked closely at her for a moment and then nodded and left the chamber. Hero moved to the jug and basin on the washstand, shrugging out of her unlaced bodice, stripping off her skirt and petticoat. As she washed the day's grime and the remnants of that ferocious passion from her skin, she wondered if she would ever discover exactly what she wanted . . . now that all her assumptions about her future life had been drowned with Tom in the deep blue sea.

NINE

H
ero entered the kitchen feeling much refreshed. She had no idea what any of the kitchen's occupants thought about her absence with William, but no one referred to it, although Alec gave her a quick searching look. She smiled her reassurance and instantly turned her attention to Marie Claire, who seemed only half conscious in the rocker.

“What can we do for her, Hero?” Alec's voice had a note of desperation in it. “I can't seem to rouse her. None of us knows what to do to help her.”

Hero had no nursing experience, but she knew exactly what she would need in Marie Claire's place and said with conviction, “Hot water, lots of it, and a screen in front of the fire so we'll have some privacy, and then something for her to wear. Those clothes are probably crawling with vermin; we'll have to burn them. One of your shirts would do, Alec, and a mantle of some kind. Your traveling cloak will do for the moment.”

Her demands were met in short order. “And now we need fresh milk, brandy and sugar, cloves, cinnamon, any spices you can find,” Hero said finally. “A sack posset will
give her some strength, and then perhaps she'll sleep properly.”

William stood up. “I'll get the provisions. Everyone else, make yourselves scarce, give the ladies some privacy. Alec, there's nothing you can do here for the moment.”

Within minutes, Hero was alone with Marie Claire. The girl tried to help as Hero undressed her, but she was so weak that every movement was a supreme effort. However, she was finally naked, and her filthy prison garments were burning in the fire, the lice popping merrily as the flames swallowed them. Hero managed to wash the girl's hair with harsh lye soap that would kill anything that came in contact with it, and Marie Claire managed to stand, holding on to the chair, so that she could wash her body.

“Hero, thank you,” Marie Claire murmured as Hero maneuvered her arms into Alec's shirt of soft linen, lace edging the sleeves and collar. She had a diminutive figure, and Alec was tall and broad, and the garment swamped her, falling to her knees.

“That's repectable enough,” Hero said cheerfully, “but wrap up in the cloak, too; it'll keep you warm.” She rubbed Marie Claire's damp hair, combing out the long, silvery, fair strands with her fingers. “I don't have a brush or comb,” she said apologetically. “I had a small cloak bag when I left home, but I didn't have it with me when I landed in jail, and of course, there's been no opportunity to go back for it.”

“You were in jail, Hero?” Marie Claire seemed to be regaining her strength. She stared at Hero in astonishment. “I . . . I don't understand anything. What are you doing
here? I couldn't believe it was you at the tumbrel . . . it was like a dream.” She shook her head with a shudder of remembered horror. “I thought I had already died, that it was all over at last and seeing you was a death dream.” She crossed her hands over her breasts with another convulsive shiver.

Hero could think of nothing to say; the stark horror of Marie Claire's experience overwhelmed her for a moment. Finally, she said, “Try not to dwell on it now. You need to get your strength back, because we'll be leaving here soon, and I don't think it will be a particularly smooth journey.” She offered a wry smile. “I'm getting accustomed to thinking of it all as an adventure. Not all pleasant, I admit, but nothing to what you've been through, my dear. But that is over now,” she added with a conviction that she didn't entirely feel. “You're among friends, and I doubt Alec will allow you out of his sight.”

She moved the screen aside and settled Marie Claire back in the rocker, wrapped in Alec's velvet-lined cloak. Then she went to the door and called, “Alec, can you help?”

He had been waiting on the stairs for the summons and was there instantly. “How is she?” He rushed past his sister to see for himself without waiting for her response. “Oh, you look better, my dearest.” He bent to kiss her pale face, and Marie Claire managed the semblance of a smile.

“She'll be better still when I can make a posset,” Hero declared. “Could you get rid of that dirty water and put the screen away?”

Alec accepted the tasks with ready good humor and was just folding the screen when William came in through the
yard. He set the provisions on the table. “I think that's everything you asked for, Hero, but I also found some fresh eggs.” He placed four brown eggs carefully on the table.

“Where did you find them?” Hero asked, picking one up admiringly. Fresh eggs were hard to come by in the city.

“Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies,” he said with a teasing grin.

“You stole them?”

He merely shrugged. “They were just asking to be collected . . . I found cinnamon in the wine shop and some cloves. He set a twist of paper beside the eggs. “Brandy we have in plentiful supply.”

“Then I'll get on with it.” Hero took a small pan from the dresser and poured in the milk, adding the cinnamon stick, sugar, and cloves and curdling the mixture with brandy as it heated. She had a sudden longing to drink it herself as the heady fragrance rose from the pan, and she realized that she'd eaten nothing since that morning. As far as she knew, none of them had. She poured the posset into a pewter tankard and handed it to Alec, cautioning, “Go slowly with it; it's quite strong, and it's hot.”

She turned back to the room with an involuntary sigh and saw William's eyes fixed upon her. “You're dead on your feet,” he said. “Come and sit down here.” He indicated the bench beside him. “You need to eat.”

“I own I'm starving,” she said. “Did you eat?”

“While we were waiting for you to come in out of the cold,” he said, a trifle drily. “However, the eggs are for you. Sit there, drink this, and don't move.” He poured wine for her, set it in front of her, and went to the range.

“Can you cook, too?” she asked with mock surprise. “It seems there's no end to your accomplishments, sir.”

“You don't know the half of them,” he responded, breaking the eggs into a bowl.

“Then I can't wait to discover the rest,” she murmured with a suggestive smile, for the moment forgetting that they were not alone. The fierceness of William's silencing scowl reminded her with a sharp shock, and she felt herself blush, burying her nose in her wineglass even as she thought with a touch of defiance that it could hardly matter if their companions knew of their intimacy. It was no one's business but their own. Alec might be entitled to an opinion, but he certainly wouldn't judge his twin or challenge William to a duel to defend his sister's honor. She suppressed her laughter at the latter thought, reflecting that in present circumstances, the still-scowling William would certainly consider it unseemly levity.

It was strange that he should have this prudish streak, she thought. He seemed such an adventurer, a man prepared to take life on its own terms even as he steered for his own true north. A deep yawn suddenly overtook her, and her eyelids drooped as a wave of sleepiness swept over her.

“Here, eat this, and then you can sleep.” William set a plate before her. She glanced up at him with a tentative smile and was relieved when he returned it, saying lightly, “I trust my omelet meets with your approval, madame.”

“It looks perfect.” She took up her fork and pierced the golden brown exterior. It tasted as good as it looked, delicately flavored with herbs.

“You and Marie Claire will share the bedchamber
on the top floor,” William continued. “I'll take the first watch. Marcus, you can take over in four hours.”

Marcus nodded. “Do you expect trouble?”

“I don't know.” William spoke thoughtfully. “But I have a feeling that they're close, and we can't afford to be taken unaware. I want to assume that whoever was following Hero did indeed lose her, but I'm not prepared to take any risks, so we leave at first light.”

“All together?” Stephen asked.

“No, in twos. We'll rendezvous at Châtelet and go down together to take the underground route out of the city.”

Marcus grimaced. “I suppose we must, but it's a loathsome route.”

“We haven't had time to make preparations for a more conventional exit,” William pointed out.

“Marie Claire needs clothes.” Hero scraped up the last of her omelet.

“Yes . . . she'll have to wear the britches and shirt you were wearing. You'll stay dressed as you are.”

“At least they're washed,” Hero observed.

“Believe me, dear girl, in these circumstances, it would almost be better if they weren't,” William stated.

“No, indeed,” Marcus agreed with a grim smile.

Hero looked puzzled, but before she could ask for enlightenment, Alec stood up with Marie Claire in his arms. “She's asleep. I'll carry her upstairs. Come with me, Hero. I won't leave her alone.”

“No, of course not.” Hero got up from the table instantly. She glanced a little ruefully at William. There was nothing to be done, of course, but she had hoped
they would be spending the night together. His eyebrows flicked upwards in amused comprehension, and she felt a touch of resentment that he should treat her obvious disappointment so lightly.

With a cool good-night, she followed Alec out of the kitchen and upstairs. He laid his burden gently on the tumbled bed, and Hero moved swiftly to rearrange the coverlets over the sleeping girl.

Alec smoothed Marie Claire's hair before straightening. “I'm guessing your plans for the night have been disrupted.” He regarded his sister with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure it's wise? William Ducasse is no Tom.”

“If he were, I wouldn't find him attractive,” Hero responded, her voice, like his, barely above a whisper. “Any man who could be in any way compared to Tom would . . . would be anathema. I couldn't abide the possibility of making comparisons, Alec. William is so different, and, well . . .” She shrugged. “He suits my present mood. I find him exciting, invigorating. Life seems worth living again.”

“Then I have no more to say on the subject.” Alec smiled at her, although his green eyes still contained the touch of concern they had held since the news of Tom's loss. He looked back at the sleeping girl and gave a deep, worried sigh. “Dear God, I don't know how Marie Claire will hold up on the journey. She's so weak.”

“I think you'll find her stronger than you believe,” Hero said softly. “She has survived all these months in hell. A good sleep and some decent food will do wonders.”

“I hope you're right.” He bent and kissed his sister's
cheek. “Don't leave her, will you? I couldn't bear her to wake and not know where she is.”

“Don't worry, love, I won't let that happen. Now, go and get some rest yourself. I have a feeling that tomorrow's not going to be an easy day.”

Alec shook his head. “That's for sure. But call me at once if Marie Claire needs me.”

“I will do.” She shooed him out of the chamber and sank onto the bed to take off her shoes, swamped once more with invincible weariness as she undressed. She was about to slip naked into bed beside Marie Claire when the door opened softly and William stepped in, closing it softly behind him.

His gaze ran over Hero's naked form, poised with one knee on the bed as she prepared to get in. “Oh, dear,” he said softly. “That really isn't fair, you know.”

“What isn't?” Her fatigue seemed to diminish as she read the lascivious look in his eyes.

“You know quite well. For the love of God, get under the covers.”

Hero chuckled softly but obliged. It was not fair for either of them to continue a game they could not possibly conclude.

“I came up for my jerkin.” He went to the chest for the garment and then walked to the window, looking down on the street far below. “I wish I knew where they were.”

“You don't really think I led them here, do you?” She sat up in bed, hugging her drawn-up knees.

“It doesn't matter if you did. It was going to happen sooner or later,” he responded with a dismissive gesture.
“We've already overstayed in this house for safety's sake. Usually, we move every couple of weeks, but we've been busier than usual just recently. They seem to have stepped up the rate of executions, and it's as much as we can do to get one family out a week. And now . . .”

He didn't finish his sentence, and after a moment, she prompted, “And now?”

“And now we have to get out of the country for a while. I am convinced we have the Lizard's attention, and once he sets his mind to a certain quarry, he doesn't rest until he has it in the net. I'm not so altruistic that I'm prepared to stay in the dragon's den and offer my head on a platter.”

Hero shivered and drew the cover up tighter beneath her chin. “No. So you'll come to England with us?”

“For a while.” He turned back from the window. “Which means that we leave a host of people with no hope of rescue.” His expression was dark, his eyes unreadable.