The Making of a Duchess (34 page)

   And more than any of that, he would have liked to strip off her clothes and kiss her until they were both shaking with need.

   But Gilbert was just a few feet away.

   Julien did not sleep that night. Gilbert's bed was small and uncomfortable, but no more so than the ship's berth. Sarah was asleep even before he pulled the bedclothes over her. He could tell she was exhausted. Their tenuous circumstances had given her faint blue smudges under her eyes and lines of strain on her forehead.

   She had put on a brave face at dinner, had smiled and conversed with the grace and aplomb of any duchesse, but all he had been able to think of was putting her to bed.

   Not for his own purposes.

   As much as he would have enjoyed making love to her, this was not the place nor the time. He wished their honeymoon could have been somewhere romantic and peaceful. He wished he could spend hours and days exploring her body, giving her pleasure and taking it as well. He prayed there would be time for that in the future. The most he could do now was to protect her. He would not bring her with him to the prison.

   Prison. Julien rolled over then finally gave up, rose, and went to Gilbert's small bedroom window. Parting the curtains, he looked out on a small moonlit courtyard.

   Armand in prison.

   The very idea made Julien shake with rage. Of all the members of the Valère family, Armand was the least deserving of such a punishment. He had been an obedient boy and an intelligent one. Sweet-natured, Armand had rarely misbehaved and then usually only at Bastien's urging.

   Bastien was the bad influence. If Gilbert had said Bastien was in prison, Julien would not have blinked. But Armand…

   Gilbert's words came back to haunt him in the darkness.

   
Monsieur Armand has been forgotten.

   
He has changed.

   Julien could find no comfort in those words or the cold uneasiness that formed a hard lump in his gut and stayed there, making him feel slightly ill.

   He clenched his fists, fighting to replace that uneasiness with determination. He
would
find Armand, and he
would
free his brother.

   
Ne quittez pas.
He would succeed or die trying.

They were gone by the time Sarah awoke. She wakened suddenly, sitting up and staring about the unfamiliar room in confusion. Slowly, chunks from the past few days began to fall into place.

   She was married to Julien. She was a duchesse.

   But before she could savor the improbability of that turn of events, she remembered she was in Paris—the country with whom England was at war—to search for Armand Harcourt, comte de Valère. But Armand was in prison, and Julien—

   Where was Julien?

   She stilled, cocking her head to listen for any signs of life in the small house. She heard none. Pushing the bedclothes back, she jumped up and rushed from the bedroom. Within moments, she had searched the house.

   Gilbert and Julien were gone.

   She did not know why she should be surprised. Of course Julien did not want to take her with him. She had intended to go anyway, which was most likely the reason he had been careful not to wake her when he left.

   She went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed. Now what was she supposed to do all day? She would drive herself mad if she had nothing to occupy her thoughts but worries about Julien's safety. She supposed men never thought of that. They just went off on one adventure after another and never considered how worried those who loved them might be.

   And she did love Julien. Every day in his presence meant her love for him grew. He was everything she could have ever hoped for in a man—handsome, loyal, intelligent, successful.

   But there was one thing missing: he had not told her he loved her.

   Sarah had never thought she would marry. She had barely allowed herself to dream that one day she would have a family of her own, children of her own. She always wanted to be a mother, not just a governess.

   And suddenly all of that seemed possible. Only… what did a marriage and a family mean without the love of her husband?

   Oh, she knew Julien cared for her. Amazingly enough, he desired her. But how long would lust last without love to support it?

   She knew how the aristocracy lived. Men married, begat heirs, and then both partners went on to other pursuits. For men, this usually meant a series of mistresses. The wife found her own lovers or else suffered in silence.

   Sarah had never thought she would be a part of such a pattern. She had never dreamed she would marry a peer—much less a duc! But here she was, and already the cold prick of dread jabbed at her heart. How could she make Julien fall in love with her?

   And if she failed, would their marriage last? Anyone who knew Julien knew he honored his word. He had married her, and he would do whatever was necessary to ensure that marriage was valid once they returned to England.

   But what if he bowed to pressure from his mother or his friends? He was a man driven by duty, but what duty reigned supreme? His duty to her, or his duty to his station, and thus, his family?

   Sarah sighed and began to dress. She feared she would soon find out.

Le Grenier was not at all what Julien had expected. It was small and ugly and tucked away. No wonder the peasants of Paris had chosen to storm the Bastille. If they had stormed Le Grenier, the historians would have yawned.

   "You should not scoff, monsieur," Gilbert said. They were seated side by side on the cart Julien had stolen. Julien had stopped across from the prison in the shade of several trees. In a moment, he would climb down and pretend to tend to his horse.

   Not that such subterfuge would be necessary. The lone guard at the prison gate looked bored and sleepy. Every few moments, he hefted his bayonet from one arm to the next as though its weight was too much to bear.

   "I'm not scoffing," Julien said, well aware that he was indeed scoffing. "How many soldiers are present?"

   "The garrison is said to be about fifty soldiers, but I think it is perhaps half that."

   Julien nodded. Twenty-five men was nothing to scoff at, but surely all would not be on duty at the same time. He would strike at night, when the men were tired and dozed in complacency.

   He climbed down from the wagon and lifted the horse's hoof, but he did not examine the shoe. Instead, he studied the prison's façade. It was made of old stone, yellow with age. Past the gate stood a wide turret, easily three stories, with a heavy wooden door. Behind the turret was a rectangular building with few windows and no adornment. Julien imagined it housed the cells and perhaps quarters for the prison guards.

   "Where is the exercise yard?" Julien asked, now glancing at the horse's hoof.

   "In the back." Gilbert gestured toward a large gate with another guard just inside. "Through that gate."

   "How can we get a look?"

   Gilbert frowned. "Short of scaling the wall, I do not think we can, monsieur."

   "Then how is it that you saw my brother?" Julien asked, careful not to say Armand's name. He climbed back into the cart, conscious that they would have to move on soon, or even the apathetic guard would

take notice.

   "There is but one entrance and one exit to the prison as well as the yard. You see it there. The prisoners exit through that gate and cross into the second gate. They are visible for a few moments but escorted and heavily shackled."

   "How many prisoners go at one time?"

   "Your brother went alone, but I have seen up to five men on other occasions."

   Julien glanced at his pocket watch. It was almost eleven, the time Gilbert had said prisoners were led out for an hour of exercise. Unfortunately, there was no guarantee any prisoners would be allowed outside today. Gilbert had said there were days when he saw no one, even after hours of waiting.

   Though he had already asked the question, Julien asked it again. "How many times have you seen my brother?"

   "Twice, monsieur," Gilbert answered dutifully.

   Twice. Only twice, and Julien knew his former servant had sat and kept watch dozens of times. It was highly unlikely he would see Armand. And as the minutes ticked by, highly unlikely he would see any prisoners. Why did they not appear?

   "Monsieur…" Gilbert's voice was gentle, but the underlying tone was chiding.

   They had waited too long. Julien knew he should drive away. He lifted the reins, but his hands felt numb and heavy. Armand was inside, and once more, Julien was leaving him.

   Images from the night the chateau burned flashed in his mind, and the ghost of pain from his foot injury

shot through his flesh.

   He had left Armand once and had not seen him again for twelve years. How could he leave him again?

   "Monsieur." Gilbert's voice was gentle and soothing. "Let me take the reins, monsieur. I will drive us back."

   Julien glanced at the man with a look of relief. He would have rather sat there all day than explain the paralysis that infected him. Gilbert took the reins, and they started away from the prison.

   Julien did not look back.

   He was going to Sarah now. Beautiful Sarah. He needed her, needed to see her, to remember who he was. He was no terrified child being chased by a white-haired witch wielding a pitchfork. He was a man, a powerful man. He was the duc de Valère, and no one, whether they wielded a pitchfork or a bayonet, would stop him now.

"Are you mad?" Sarah said shortly after they returned. She looked pretty with her long dark hair pulled into a simple ribbon at the nape of her neck and her cheeks flushed with indignation. "You'll end up at Le Grenier yourself. Or worse."

   "It's a risk I'm willing to take," Julien said, glancing across the room to gauge Gilbert's reaction. The three of them were sitting in the old servant's parlor. Though it was bright and sunny outside, the drapes were shut, and the room was shrouded in gloom. Sarah sat in an armchair, Gilbert in the other, and Julien—too anxious to sit—stood at the fireplace.

   He had just explained his plan to break into the prison and free Armand, and Sarah's reaction had not been completely unexpected.

   "It's a bit vague in parts," he conceded.

   "A bit?" Sarah said, rising. In the short time he had known her, she had gone from a woman who looked as though she would faint if he glanced at her askance to a woman unafraid to stand and debate him.

   He would not have thought such a dramatic change possible.

   "You don't know where your brother is being kept. You don't know how you will fetch the keys. You don't even know what your brother looks like. What if you free the wrong man?"

   She had a valid point. Julien had not been inside the prison, and he did not know where Armand was kept. But dressed as one of the guards, he would have the opportunity to search the prison, find Armand, and get him out. Outside, Gilbert and Sarah would be waiting with the cart.

   They would hide Armand under a blanket in the back, cover him with luggage and loaves of bread, and together they would escape the prison, drive to the rendezvous with Captain Stalwart, and flee Paris. They would tell the guards at the Paris gate, if they were even quizzed, that they were going to visit Sarah's mother in the country.

   They would act tomorrow night.

   Julien would have preferred to act tonight, but they needed time to gather the supplies that would hide Armand in the cart. Plus, Stalwart would not meet them until tomorrow night. Once Julien had his brother, he could not afford to stay in Paris. The whole of the city would be searching for him.

   "Julien," Sarah was saying, "there must be another way. You said yourself that the turret could create a problem. There is but one way in and out of the prison, and that small entrance would be easy to cut off."

   "It does create a bottleneck," Julien admitted. "But that would be more of a problem if we intended to storm the prison with a large group. It should be easy enough for two of us to slip out unobtrusively."

   "Then you are set on this plan?" she asked, anger and something like disbelief in her tone.

   "I cannot think of a better. Can you?"

   "No." She shook her head. "It's madness, but I suppose if you won't listen to reason, I had better help you." But before Julien could ask what she meant, she had disappeared into Gilbert's room and returned with her knapsack. She reached inside and pulled out the sheaf of papers he had seen on Stalwart's ship.

   "Your false identity papers won't be necessary."

   She glanced up at him then back down at the papers. "That is not all Thompson provided me. The man is really rather resourceful, if you pay him enough." She pulled the documents she wanted from the stack and held them out. "You owe him three hundred pounds for this."

   Frowning at her, he took the papers and stared at them uncomprehendingly. Then slowly, he stood, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "How did you get these?"