Chapter 4 #2
“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, but then 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 brushing lightly 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.”
Alix chewed slowly, staring pensively into the hearth fire.
There was no one in the city who might help her, but could she confess this to him?
He’d saved her today, but that had been an impulsive gesture.
Would he risk his neck to save a woman he didn’t even know?
There was something about his face, his voice, that made her want to trust him, but was she simply seeing what she wanted to see?
The door banged open again, and Jervis reentered carrying a steaming tureen, a bowl tucked under one arm.
He set them down and pulled a spoon from his pocket.
“This’ll warm you up miss. And if you don’t mind,”—Jervis paused and sniffed loudly for effect—“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you up a bath.
You’ll pardon my manners, mademoiselle, but you smell like chicken squat.
And if you’d like, while you’re soaking, I’ll take a look at that dress and see if there isn’t something I can do to fix it up for you. ”
“That sounds like heaven.” Alix couldn’t decide if it was the smell of the stew or the mention of the bath that won her over more.
If she wound up on the guillotine, she thought wryly, at least she’d go clean and well fed.
She leaned forward for another piece of cheese and a discreet rustle reminded her of her stays.
How would she get them off without Solange’s help?
She’d just have to manage, she told herself resolutely.
After days of riding along dusty roads, hiding in barns and filthy back rooms, the lure of a bath was simply too difficult to resist.
Lamartine stepped into the small room off the chateau’s great kitchen.
In contrast to the kitchen itself, which looked as if a party of cannibals had feasted and then been abruptly called away, the barren room furnished with a simple desk and chair was undisturbed.
He smiled; people were so easily fooled by appearances.
He carefully dislodged a loose brick from the wall and slid out a stack of books and papers.
He felt for, but did not withdraw, the carefully wrapped bundles of money that lay pushed to the back, reassuring himself his fortune remained intact.
He dropped the books and papers on the desk and slid into the chair.
Closing his eyes he tried to imagine what was going on in the mind of Alix de Rabec de La Brou. Where would she have gone?
Deep in thought, he reached out a soft white hand and caressed a small stack of correspondence.
Such a shame Madame la Comtesse’s letters had failed to reach her daughter.
So much valuable information they contained: fascinating tales of confusion in the court, violence in the city, entreaties to Alix and her father to flee France, and a most touching farewell letter written seven months ago before Madeleine left for England.
Lamartine grunted. If the foolish girl was trying to reach her mother in Paris, she was in for a surprise.
For a moment, he imagined Alix helpless and alone in Paris, pictured himself coming to her aid, convincing her to let him safeguard her father’s property.
Then he shook his head. A sheltered, well-bred young lady like Alix would have no idea how to get to Paris on her own.
Most likely she was hiding somewhere nearby. All he had to do was figure out where.
He picked up a quill and drew the estate payroll book close.
Stroking the neat columns of names with the quill’s feather, he muttered into the silence.
“I need those titles. As long as they remain in de La Brou hands, Alix or some other relative can reclaim the estates.” A dreamy expression flickered across his smooth pale face.
“I suppose I could denounce you. Ah, but then the state might claim the chateau and put it up for auction.” He stabbed the desk with his quill, loudly snapping the point.
“I will not spend good money on properties that should be mine.”
He returned his attention to the book, his eyes circling restlessly like a hawk scanning for prey.
“Alix, Alix, Alix, you have no close family, so whom would you have turned to for help?” The list of names was long and it was some time before he found what he was looking for. His pale eyes lit with pleasure.
Solange.
“So careless of me not to have thought of her sooner! I will pay the Chaumiers a call. And if you’re not there, Alix, I’m sure I can persuade them to tell me where you’ve gone.”