Closer To Sin (10 page)

Liliane followed Sin through the wooden gate and looked around while they waited for the knock on the door to be answered. The whitewashed cottage was pretty to look at and similar in appearance to every other in the lane.

To her surprise, Basile Deneux was not much older than Sin. Portly with thinning brown hair, he only came up to Sin’s shoulder. Liliane discreetly studied him. There was nothing remarkable about him at all other than his eyes, which were grey and coldly calculating. He could not have been more than five and twenty at the height of the Terror. Inexplicably, she had been expecting an elderly gentleman. Liliane clenched her hands into fists and focused on the pain of her fingernails biting into the flesh of her palms. She felt traitorous to Grandpère’s cause just standing on the doorstep of this man’s home.

At Sin’s introduction, Basile Deneux bid them to come inside. Liliane demurely followed them into the parlour and stood before the fire.

‘I must thank you for seeing us at such short notice. A mutual acquaintance suggested you may be able to assist me.’

Deneux flicked a glance at Liliane before nodding his head. ‘If it’s in my power to do so.’

Sin looked furtively towards the open door. He leaned towards Deneux and lowered his voice. ‘May I speak freely here?’

Deneux walked to the door and pushed it closed. ‘You have nothing to fear in my house. How may I help you?’

Sin sat back and crossed one knee over the other. ‘We would like to join your movement.’

Liliane grasped the arm of the chair she was seated in. What on earth was Sin talking about? Surely he wasn’t talking about the Jacobin movement. She didn’t dare look at him for fear of betraying her surprise.

‘I have no idea what you are referring to,’ Deneux cut in dryly.

Sin gave a short laugh, humourless and unemotional. ‘Come now, Deneux, there’s no need to play coy. After all, you’re among friends.’

Deneux glanced at the closed door. ‘You are mistaken—any movement I was involved in has long been disbanded.’

‘Except,’ Sin argued, ‘there are those of us who cannot abide that upstart Corsican taking credit for the reforms we brought about. There are many of us who consider it is time to resurrect
the society
and finish what we set out to do.’

The society—the Jacobin society? Spots appeared before Liliane’s eyes and she felt chilled as a wave of nausea crashed through her.

Beside her, Monsieur Deneux coughed. ‘As I said, Monsieur St Clair, I am no longer involved in the cause.’ He paused, an assessing look on his face. ‘Although, for a little compensation, I can put you in touch with some people who may share your interests. A cleric and—’

Liliane stood up abruptly, drawing the attention of both men in the room. ‘Excuse me,’ she blurted. ‘I need to use the— the necessary.’

Deneux stood and pulled on the bell. ‘Of course, Giselle will assist you.’

Moments later a tall blond-haired woman appeared in the doorway, presumably Monsieur Deneux’s housekeeper. Liliane followed Giselle from the room. With any luck, she prayed, Monsieur Deneux hadn’t thought further about her sudden exit. Liliane clasped her hands before her. She really needed to have put more effort into those interminable evenings of playing charades; perhaps then she would be much better at this game of subterfuge that she and Sin were engaged in.

With a nod of thanks to Giselle, Liliane closed the privy door and stood with her back against it. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth. So much for thinking she understood what was involved with this mission. The cold, hard reality was confronting in ways she hadn’t anticipated. This is what Sin did. For the greater good, he traded information with people whose actions were morally reprehensible.

The realisation was disturbing. It had taken her less than a day to learn that he was a man filled with warmth and generosity. How did he put aside his personal aversion and still manage to retain his humanity? Because there was one thing she was sure of: Sin’s instinct was to protect and provide for the less fortunate and those he cared about. A surge of warmth flooded through her. How could she possibly hope to remain indifferent to a man like that?

Finishing up, Liliane splashed some water on her face and, after drying her hands, stepped back into the hallway. She could hear voices coming from the room to her left, so she thought she would let Giselle know that she’d finished. As she pushed the door open, the voices stopped mid-sentence, and Giselle and an officer of the Hussar turned and looked at her. Liliane paused and instantly regretted the impulse to enter the room. Her eyes darted from one occupant to the other and she had the sick realisation that they had been talking about her.

Giselle quickly masked her annoyance. ‘Can I help you,
Mademoiselle
?’

Liliane smiled blithely at Giselle; she would just need to brazen it out. ‘I was wondering if I could have a glass of water?’

Giselle nodded curtly and poured Liliane a drink from the covered jug sitting on a nearby table.

Accepting the glass, Liliane kept her eyes averted as she sipped. She should just put the glass down and return to the parlour. The room was awkwardly silent and the Lieutenant had yet to stop looking at her. He really did look rather ostentatious with his plumed shako and blue fur-lined pelisse.

More disconcerting was the way one hand idly caressed the brass hilted sabre that hung from his belt while his ice blue eyes crawled down the length of her body, pausing overly long on her mouth and breasts as he did so. Her skin prickled, and she suppressed a shiver. He reminded her of a snake she had once seen coiled around a bird’s nest. There was something in the imperious line of his mouth that suggested he enjoyed inflicting pain, that he would enjoy using the weapon.

Liliane’s mouth soured and she hastily set the glass on the table. ‘Thank you Giselle, I’ll see myself back to the parlour.’ Avoiding the urge to run, she made her way down the corridor as fast as decorously possible. Judging by the way the hair on the back of her neck prickled, she was being watched.

Sin stood as Liliane re-entered the room. ‘You’re just in time,’ he smiled at her. ‘Monsieur Deneux has been exceptionally helpful, but we really do need to get going.’

Liliane smiled warmly at Deneux. ‘We’re appreciative of your assistance, Monsieur Deneux. And if you ever decide that you wish to rejoin the cause, we would welcome someone of your ability.’

Bidding their host farewell, Liliane followed Sin outside and let him lift her into the saddle. If only she could lean into him and absorb some of his warmth and goodness. Anything to purge the feel of the Hussar’s eyes on her body. Well, anything except this, she thought, as icy rain splattered onto her face. Damn, it stung. She adjusted her cloak around her, trapping in as much warmth as possible, although, on second thought, she’d be happy to endure any amount of cold to put some distance between her and the Lieutenant.

***

Leaving Deneux’s house, Sinclair navigated their way out of the village and onto the road that ran south past the army encampment. He pulled the brim of his hat lower. Blast this icy wind, it blew straight in off the ocean and seemed to cut right to the bone. It was even a deterrent to the locals, and there was considerably less activity on the road. It wasn’t ideal to be travelling in this weather, but the sooner they got to Boulogne the better.

Absently he eased Vulcan over to the side of the road to make way for a farmer’s wagon rumbling towards them. As he looked over to Liliane to indicate for her to fall in behind him he heard the clamour of horses being raced at full speed.
Fuck.
A team of Hussar was galloping towards them, spumes of mud flying everywhere.

‘Quickly, off the road.’ Hastily he grabbed Liliane’s reins and urged Vulcan up onto the embankment. Heedlessly, the Hussars speared around both sides of the farmer’s cart and thundered past.
Blasted imbeciles.
Their disregard for their cattle was unconscionable.

‘Everything alright?’

Liliane was bent forward, soothing Satin. ‘Fine, although,’ she indicated towards the farmer, ‘I think he may need some assistance.’

Sinclair looked to where she was pointing and jumped down from his horse. Pulverised apples lay strewn across the road and the cart was sitting lopsidedly in a deep rut. The farmer was gesticulating wildly and yelling obscenities at the troop. He gave one last shake of the head and spat furiously in the direction of the army’s campsite.

‘
Mon Dieu
, they never give a damn for us normal folk.’ The old man’s voice started to quaver. ‘They think they can just set up camp here and live off o’ our benevolence.’

As Sinclair secured Vulcan to the fence, he noticed Liliane was in the process of doing the same with Satin. However, rather than stand under the shelter of the tree as he expected, she headed straight over to the farmer.

Oblivious to the rain, Sinclair stood transfixed as Liliane put a comforting hand on the older man’s shoulder and produced a handkerchief from the depth of her pocket. Warmth spread through him at the unexpected gesture. He hadn’t seen this sensitive, compassionate side to her; the way her mouth curved softly, or the way her voice mellowed as she soothed the farmer. Until now, he had only really been aware of her bravery and determination, and that had suited him just fine—when he wasn’t praying that her fierce independence wouldn’t become the bane of his life. But Christ, seeing her like this was equally unsettling. His body tingled with the need to see her smile at him like that.

With a quick shake of his head, Sinclair bent and retrieved a couple of apples to feed to the horses. To add to Liliane’s complexity, she had stepped into the fore with the grace of someone accustomed to taking charge. His mother could not have done a better job, and she was a blasted marchioness. He froze, his hand outstretched towards Vulcan. Bloody hell, he needed to find Gareth and get the hell out of France before he started imagining Liliane marshalling the gardeners at Charlcroft Parke.

Her voice floated across to him. ‘Let’s get your cart off the road,
Monsieur
, and then we’ll take care of this mess.’

‘Bless you,
Mademoiselle
. It does my heart good to know there are still gentle folk around. My name’s Claude.’

Liliane guided Claude to the side of the road. ‘We’re happy to help out, Claude. I’m Liliane, and this is my … this is Sin.’

Sinclair glanced at Liliane. That was interesting—apparently she didn’t wish to identify him as her brother. But then, he hadn’t introduced her to Deneux as his sister either.

He walked over and gave Claude a steadying pat on the shoulder. ‘Liliane’s right, we should be able to get this mess sorted in no time. Now, Claude, I’ll get you to lead your horse—he’ll probably be happier if you’re giving him the commands—and I’ll push the cart from behind.’

With very little effort, the cart was freed from the rut and pushed back onto firmer ground. Liliane, Sinclair noticed, had emptied all of the good apples into one basket and was now in the process of collecting the fallen apples from the road and putting them into another basket.

Claude stood looking at the scene and shaking his head helplessly. ‘This crop would have seen me through to the end of winter. But look at it … I’ve practically nothing left.’

Anais and Gaston kept a few pigs, Sinclair recalled. Gaston just might find himself receiving a delivery of fresh produce for his herd. Sinclair pulled a bag of coins from one of the many pockets of his greatcoat. ‘I have a friend not fifteen miles from here who will take your apples.’ He lifted Claude’s hand and closed it around the bag of coins, giving him direction to Gaston’s farm. ‘Tell Gaston the apples are a gift from Sin.’

‘That was very kind of you,’ Liliane observed once they had remounted their horses and bid farewell to an emotional Claude. ‘I think you have made yourself a friend for life.’

Sinclair shrugged dismissively, aware she was studying him. ‘I can’t abide injustice.’

Back on the road, as they wound their way past a mule being ridden by a young boy, Sinclair went back over the information he’d learnt from Deneux. Deneux really hadn’t given much away, other than to confirm there was still a small band of radicals who wanted a return to Jacobin rule. If Deneux was one of them, though, he hid it well. Six years ago, the man had helped orchestrate the Jacobin’s last failed attempt to reunite. Yet today, he’d been particularly reticent to discuss what the movement had hoped to achieve should they have been returned to power.

Sinclair frowned. The pieces didn’t fit. And even though no mention had been made of Gareth, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Deneux knew Gareth, or had had dealings with him. What on earth could that have to do with the British Admiralty? It didn’t make sense. Unless … unless it was the Jacobins who were intercepting British intelligence, and not Napoleon’s agents as he’d assumed.

It was time to spread the net wider. If he recalled correctly, there was an anti-Jacobin activist from the old regime who now lived in Boulogne. It would be worth visiting him to see if he could supply any details that would help determine Gareth’s last movements.

They had spent much longer at Deneux’s house than originally planned and, with the delay to assist Claude, dusk would be upon them soon. There was no way they would make Boulogne tonight. The road they were following had moved away from the dunes and now meandered through the hinterland, intersecting with smaller lane ways that led to farms and other holdings. More to the point, not only would it soon be dark, but the weather was continuing to deteriorate rapidly; if they weren’t careful, they were likely to get caught in a snowstorm. They had best seek a place to stay in the next village.

Sinclair looked over to Liliane. ‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet,
mon fleur
.’ Liliane urged her horse up alongside his. She looked agitated and her movements were jerky. ‘What’s the matter?’ he urged.

‘You might think I’m being a little irrational,’ she cast a quick look over her shoulder, ‘but I think we’re being followed.’