Chapter Thirteen #2
“Mon père…my father, was the tenth Vicomte de Touraine. A supporter of the rights of man, he lived for a time in Versailles and advised the last king on reforms. They were, of course, too little, too late. But then it put him in Robespierre’s sights.
He escaped to Verdun and took my brother, my sister, and me with him.
But we were discovered by the local gendarmes and sent back to Paris.
My father ensured that my brother and I escaped the guards. He did not.”
“Your sister escaped as well?” Terese asked.
“No. She was older than I. Lovely. Lively. Taken to the deputy of police, who put her in La Force when she would not consent to his affections. She died there.”
“I am so sorry.” Terese was rapt.
Clive was horrified. “And your mother?”
Giselle struggled to tell more. “Ma mère died the first year of the insurrection. She was a princess du sang, of the blood of the Valois, and feared for all of us. She had a weak heart. The fear killed her.”
Terese took her hand and squeezed in sympathy. “My dear. That is all so heartrending to hear.”
“And your brother?” Clive asked.
“He was recaptured and also taken to La Force. He argued publicly against the emperor. Fouché’s deputy, René Vaillancourt—the same man who took my sister—arrested him more than a year ago.”
“And you?” Clive stared at her intensely.
“He wanted me as well. I escaped him with the help of a few friends.”
“I assume Vaillancourt has posted a ransom for your capture.” Clive scowled, angry, bitter.
She met his gaze with fear eating her heart. “Five thousand Napoleons.”
“Dear God.” Terese sagged in horror.
“You must not go about alone.” Clive leaned over and seized her hand. His affection stirred her memories of his tenderness last night.
“I know. I am skilled at escape, subterfuge. I move about.”
“We can help you,” Terese said with conviction.
“I do not wish to endanger your lives.” Giselle’s gaze swept from Terese, to Clive, and down to Bella. Clive and Terese gaped.
She had told them too much. They were appalled, and she had been silly to endanger them with her presence. Mad to fall in love with this charming gentleman. She had to go. Had to leave…leave him!
“I will help you.” This from Clive had Giselle shaking her head.
“No! I would not see you hurt. None of you. I venture out carefully. I see no one today who would hurt me.”
He moved closer on the blanket toward her. “I will be sore of heart if you do not permit me the honor of helping you.”
She could not allow it. He would ruin her plans, perceive too much, and most likely misinterpret her work.
She must not fail. Amber knew of the dangers she faced.
So too did Gus. Their husbands as well. She had guards following her, hired by them.
She knew them by sight. Clive would spot them and might perceive, if he did not already, who and what they were.
“I have a plan. I will proceed with it, sir.”
“Clive. My name is Clive, and you, my dear Giselle, must listen to me.” He grabbed her hand.
“No, no! Do not do this. Do not box me in.”
“Giselle—” Terese pleaded.
“Giselle,” Clive persisted, “I’ll take no refusals. I’ve heard reports of Vaillancourt. He is cunning. His men are notoriously ruthless. You cannot hold them off by sheer will alone.”
Giselle shook him off and pushed to her feet.
She would not be controlled. Not by Clive, the dashing, dear man who graced her bed last night.
She endangered his life now. Oh, what a fool she had been.
“Please. Heed me. I am determined and dedicated. I have my own means to deter Vaillancourt and all the French.”
Then she marched away.
Clive followed. Coming right beside her, he caught her arm.
She shook him off.
“You do this, whatever it is, to get your brother free?”
“No.” She grumbled to herself that he was most likely dead. No one lived long in La Force. “Go back to the picnic, Clive.”
“Tell me what you do to get him free!”
“No.”
“I can help you, darling. Let me.”
“I will not endanger you. It was wrong to have become so intimate.”
“Never, sweetheart.” His words were so sincere, she paused to stare at him and dash a tear from her cheek. “I am yours now. And you are mine.”
“That cannot be! Go away.”
He grasped both her hands. “No!”
“Clive, stop.” She shook back her hair, tormented that he might pay a price for caring for her. “I have plans. Friends. In the meantime, I work.”
“Your work,” he mused, his voice dropping to an ominous tone. “Whatever it is, you must tell me later.”
A lady approached along the walk.
Giselle bent closer to him. “Never, my dear man. You would be a target of my foes. I would never do that.” She straightened her spine and found cold words to repel him. “Thank you for the picnic. I did enjoy your company. Goodbye, Clive.”
*
Her repudiation roiled him. How dare she think he would abandon her to Vaillancourt, to anyone who would hurt her?
She had good reason for this work she did, and he was damned if he’d let her do it alone.
She did not want him near her? Well, she was mistaken if she thought he was so lacking in creativity.
He stopped momentarily and ran a hand through his hair.
Then he took a few long strides to catch up to her. He did not approach. She did not stop. When she got to the hotel, she hiked her skirts and ran up the steps at a jog.
Once she disappeared safely inside, he stood on the corner collecting his thoughts. He’d arranged a man to follow her. Today at the picnic, he’d detected a man overly curious about their party’s actions. He prayed to God that was his man.
But I am not certain, and the only way to assure myself of her safety is to be by her side.
Become her lover again. Her guard, her protection. Show her how he cared so much that he would let no one harm her.
He’d ask Terese to take Bella with her to London tomorrow.
An imposition, yes, but he was certain Terese would not only see the challenge here, but agree he had to act.
Also, he’d write to Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, who staffed his cottage east of here.
He’d ask them to stock the little house—and tell no one that they had heard from him.
Whatever your work, my darling, you’ll do it in the safety of my house and my arms.