Chapter 6 #3
She eased her shoulders against the chair to relieve the tension that had built up in them and the cat, intrigued by the motion, leapt up to investigate.
She scratched him behind the ears and he settled in against her purring loudly.
As she stroked his bony spine, her eyes focused on Rafe.
The firelight shone through his full cambric sleeves clearly outlining the muscular curves of his arms. His cream-colored waistcoat fit smoothly across his broad chest and slim waist. She couldn’t help noticing how it lay flat against his taut belly and her eyes wandered lower.
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 sense of 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.