Destiny's Kiss (7 page)

He edged past men who were debating each facet of the new government. This was not what he had come here for. Saying nothing, he sat at the back of the room and took note of each man entering. No surprises, although he wondered how many supported this new republic and how many had learned that appearing at these sessions increased the chances of keeping one's head on one's shoulders.

When a tall man with graying hair sat next to him, after the meeting had dragged on for more than two hours without actually beginning, Philippe smiled. “Good evening, citizen.”

“And a good evening to you.” Strong, brown eyes peered at him. “I don't recall seeing you here before.”

“I haven't attended these meetings before, Monsieur …”

“Mallory Blois.”

Philippe frowned. “What are you doing in Paris now?”

“My wife has recently given birth. During her pregnancy, I did not dare to move her.” He glanced around the room. “If she could travel, we would have been gone by now.”

Philippe heard the anxiety in the
duc's
voice. How had this man, who should be hated by the
sans-culottes
, kept his head on his neck? What worked for the
duc
might help him while he sought Lucien's murderer.

“You are a brave man, Blois,” he said quietly.

“Bravery is easy when you have good allies.”

“I need allies as well.”

Blois glanced around the room. Philippe understood. Anyone could be a member of the dreaded Committee of Public Safety which had sent scores to their deaths. “Why?”

He hesitated, then told the
duc
why he was in Paris. His father had spoken of Blois as a fair man who had earned many commendations during the War of Independence in America. Finishing the tale of Lucien's death, he asked, “Can you help us?”

“Us?”

“My wife and me.”

“Wife?” Blois smiled. “My wife, Fantina, would be pleased to have the company of a lady of her class.”

Philippe wanted to snarl a curse. After he had accused Lirienne of being a fool, he was proving himself the greater one. He stared to explain, but Blois continued.

“Bring your wife to our house on Île de la Cité tomorrow. You will be welcome to stay with us.”

“You're in your own house? Is that safe?”

Blois gave a secretive smile. “You shall understand when you arrive.” Standing, he set his hat on his head. “I look forward to meeting your
vicomtesse
, de Villeneuve.” He chuckled. “Too bad your father did not live to see this day. He despaired of you ever settling down.”

“A young man should be in no hurry to select just one woman.”

“But once you do, you wonder why you even looked at another. Don't you agree?”

Philippe nodded, not wanting to do anything to upset this tenuous alliance. Staying on the Île de la Cité would be perfect. In the heart of Paris, he could search more easily for the man who had arranged for Lucien's death.

After Blois had left, he threaded his way through the men. Although he was tempted to retort to more than one outrageous comment, he kept his mouth shut. He did not want to call attention to himself … yet.

The moon shone, but heat clung to the stones. Keeping to the shadows, he strode along the walkway. He glared at one urchin who dared to approach him. The child ran away, jeering.
This
was what Paris had become.

As he reached the apartment door, he heard the unmistakable sound of another door clicking shut. He smiled grimly. The concierge's curiosity was the reason he had selected this house. No one could enter without being noticed.

Silence greeted him when he opened the door. His shadow lurked monstrously large on the opposite wall, distorted by the jut-out of the chimney. Before he could cross the room, a smaller shadow rose to blend with his.

“I thought you'd be asleep by now, Lirienne.”

“I had no idea you'd be so late. I feared something had happened to you.”

Hearing her voice which was husky with fatigue, he clenched his hands to keep from sweeping her into his arms. Her hair cascaded along her form in an ebony cloak. His fingers ached to sift through it as he tasted her luscious lips.

He turned and pulled off his coat. As he placed it on the back of the couch, he said, “Again I heeded your advice and was careful. I've grown fond of my head being on top of my neck. To change its location now wouldn't be wise.”

She laughed, the sound like a crystal bell. “You are a most peculiar man.”

“Am I?” He had not expected her to say something like this. “And how so?”

“You can make jokes about something that isn't funny. Papa always said that was the sign of a man who was either mad or very wise.”

“And which am I?” He stepped closer to her, unable to halt himself. The faint moonlight glittered on her face like the finest jewels.

“That is yet to be seen.” Lifting his coat off the sofa, she brushed wrinkles from it. “Did you see the person you longed to see?”

He laughed, surprising himself as much as her. “How did you know I went to meet someone?”

“You came here to find your brother's murderer. To find him, you have to ask questions of people you trust.”

He was glad the dim light hid his amazement at her insight. Charmaine had warned him that her serving wench was an empty-headed fool, who would have to have each detail of this charade explained to her. Instead Lirienne had helped him, especially when he had almost betrayed himself to the concierge.

A slow smile drifted across his lips. Mayhap it was possible to pass her off as better than her beginnings to the
duc
and his wife. It would not be easy, but, if fortune smiled on them, the deception would be short-lived. If fortune did not smile on them,
they
would be short-lived.

He shook that thought from his head as he said, I saw him. On the morrow, we leave here.”

“We're leaving Paris?” She smiled. “Thank heavens!”

“No, we aren't leaving Paris. Just this hovel.” He laced his fingers through hers, unable to resist touching her. “We are going to a friend's house on Île de la Cité.”

“Are you mad?” she gasped.

“You said I was either wise or mad. After tomorrow, we shall see which I truly am.”

Five

“Welcome, welcome.”

Lirienne tried to keep her mouth from falling open in astonishment as Mallory Blois bowed over her hand. This must be a dream, for she stood in the magnificent entrance to a house that was beyond her imagination and a
duc
was urging her to think of this as her home. Only her headache told her she was awake.

The streets, although nightfall had come more than an hour ago, had been filled with the
sans-culottes
demanding more food and more deaths. Riding in the carriage, which had been dirtied to hide its onetime glory, she had tried to ignore their chanting as they crossed the Pont Neuf. It still rang through her head.

“Come with me,” the
duc
said, motioning toward the back of the house as he held up a single lamp that reluctantly lit the hall. “We must take no chance on being seen here.” A smile stripped years from his face. “An entrance hall is the place for the
duc
and his family to greet friends, not for the footman.”

“Footman?” asked Philippe as he put his hand at her waist and steered her around mahogany furniture upholstered in unblemished white silk.

She glanced at him, but his face was as emotionless as the few portraits still hanging in the galleries amid the gilt that seemed somehow tarnished in the dim light. The marble floors and the furniture were more elegant than anything the Fortiers had in their country home, and she suspected these pieces were the least valuable. Others must be hidden in the hope that they would not be stolen.

The
duc
chuckled. “Did I fail to mention that is how we have managed to avoid the guillotine? The fools believe Fantina and I are among the servants of the
duc
, who has fled to his Château on the Loire.”

“There is no safety there, I have heard.”

“There is none anywhere in France.” His smile dropped into a scowl. “The best people of France are fleeing to England and America. Soon all that will be left is the heartless rabble that eventually will turn on itself like a rabid beast.” He snarled a curse, then said, “Forgive me, Madame de Villeneuve.”

For a moment, amazement that a
duc
would apologize to her kept Lirienne from answering. Philippe's elbow jabbed her back, and she said, “You only speak what you feel. Once we had the freedom to do that without fear.”

“You have selected a wife,” the
duc
said with a smile, “who is not only lovely, but wise. An excellent choice in these troubled times.”

Philippe murmured something as the
duc
led them through the kitchens to a small, but clean, room overlooking the Seine. One corner of Notre Dame was visible past the trees edging the river. A table and a pair of sturdy chairs were set beneath the window, but she stared at the wide bed. Dampening her lips, she looked again at Philippe.

He was in deep discussion with the
duc
, their voices low and intense. Mayhap he had not noticed that there was no settee. There must be a way to have one moved here from one of the front rooms without raising too many questions. She had no idea how.

The
duc
bowed his head to her as he backed out of the room. “I trust you will excuse Fantina for not being here to greet you. She continues to rest in the hope that we may be able to leave Paris before the month ends.”

“We appreciate your generosity,” Philippe said with a tight smile. “Good evening.”

Lirienne was silent as Philippe closed the door and went to look out the window. Without turning to her, he said, “I shall be back soon.”

“Where are you going, Philippe?”

“You worry too much. Go to sleep.”

Again, Lirienne glanced at the wide bed. “Philippe, I think—” The door closed, and she sighed. He had been even more impatient today as they waited for dark so they might slip across the river to this sanctuary.

She lingered over brushing her hair, but as an hour passed and then another, Philippe did not return. With a sigh, she slipped beneath the comforter that was too warm for the evening. She clung to the very edge of the bed and closed her eyes.

She did not expect to find sleep, but she woke when the door hinges creaked. The sound, which she had not noticed earlier, was like a shriek in the night. From under her eyelashes, she watched Philippe slip into the room. He was carrying something large. Silencing her curiosity, she fought to keep her breathing even as he dropped it to the floor and crossed the room.

Closing her eyes was no help. She was as aware of him as she would be of daylight splashing into the room. When he whispered her name, she did not move. Heat seared her when he lifted the cover and settled it over her shoulders. His fingers lingered on the blanket, but he did not touch her. If he did, she was unsure that she could keep from flinging herself into his arms to savor his kisses.

He stood there, not moving, for what seemed like an eternity. Then he walked away. She tensed, waiting for the bed to shift as he joined her.

Instead, she heard the scratch of a chair and the uncorking of a bottle before something was poured into a glass. He was still sitting there, staring out the window, when she lost her battle against sleep.

Notre Dame's bells rang as Lirienne took a bonnet from the peg by the door. Although she had not met the sickly
duchesse
in the two weeks they had been in this grand house on Île de la Cité, the
duc
had brought her a box of his wife's clothing. The linen bonnet decorated with tricolor ribbons and a hint of lace was the finest thing she had ever owned.

She peered into her bag to be sure she had the
sous
Philippe had given her for shopping. How had this household managed before she'd arrived? The cost of food was absurd in Paris, and she had found a small bakery not far from the Louvre where she could buy day-old bread for what she could afford.

Pulling the bag closed, she draped the strings around her wrist and let it drop against the fullness of her pink satin skirt. She loved this dress with its lace kerchief over her shoulders. The full skirts whispered against the floor as she went out the kitchen door.

The scent of heat hovered over the stones of the street. The inkling of a breeze off the river brought the aromas that were so different from the country's greenery and animal droppings.

The activity beneath the almost cloudless sky sucked her into the traffic crossing the bridge. Buffeted like a leaf caught in a storm, she tried to avoid bumping into people. The crowds were worse today than usual.

Was that why Philippe went out at night? He had not explained where his nightly sojourns took him. He left each night with moonrise and returned to sleep on the pallet he had carried into their room the first night. In the morning, she tiptoed out of the room, trying not to wake him. She could not remember when they had last spoken.

She sighed. If she let Philippe know that she was awake when he came back to their room, she guessed he would not sleep on the pallet. Maybe she should. Maybe by taking her into his arms, he would bring her into his life. This was not how it should be. Even if they could not have a marriage like her parents', he had told her he needed her help. Why didn't he ask for it now?

Easing out of the crowd, Lirienne paused before a doorway which was open to allow the heat from within to mingle with the summer day. She entered the bakery, and the perfume of fresh bread wafted over her. She squared her shoulders in preparation for the negotiations for two loaves of bread. Each day, the price rose. Each day, she tried to save a few
sous
.

The street was even more clogged when she left the baker's shop with only a single loaf. She could not afford more. She frowned when she realized that no one was moving. When she tried to push her way through, she was cursed at.