With a final tug, Remy yanked the mask from her grasp and levered himself away from her. Gabrielle recognized that obstinate set of his jaw all too well. She stamped her foot with sheer frustration while her heart squeezed tight with fear for him. He truly did intend to charge straight back into the salon. Unless Gabrielle threatened to expose him or render him unconscious, there was no way she was going to stop him.
Except there was a third option.
Gabrielle fretted her lower lip as she considered it, the idea not without a certain amount of risk, to Remy and to Navarre, to say nothing of herself. But blast the man. Even now he was fitting his mask back into place. He left her little other choice.
“All right. All right,” she cried. “I will help you.”
“What?” Remy had the mask partially fastened, but he shoved it up to frown at her.
“If you will be so cursed stubborn, so insistent upon pursuing this reckless course, it would be better if you waited here until the ball is over.” Gabrielle fetched a deep sigh. “I will speak to Navarre and arrange for you to meet him privately in his chambers.”
Remy looked thunderstruck by her proposal. He slowly stripped off his mask as though he was actually considering it, then shook his head. “No, it would be far too dangerous, especially for you.”
“Dangerous!” She shot him a look of pure exasperation. “No,
dangerous
is that little dance we were doing back in the salon with the Dark Queen. Compared to that, smuggling you up to Navarre’s apartments will be child’s play. Besides, you were willing enough for me to slip him a note before.”
“A note is one thing. But what you are proposing—” Remy raked his hand back through his hair. “How could you possibly bring it off? More importantly,
why
would you? It would hardly be—”
“Yes, I know,” Gabrielle interrupted him with a grimace. “It would hardly be in my interest. Let us just say that I will do it because you’ll keep turning up at odd moments, giving me heart seizures. Besides, I have faith in Navarre’s judgment. I think he is too wise to go along with any reckless schemes you might propose. He would far prefer to remain safely in Paris.”
“With you?” A troubled look sifted across Remy’s face. “You are that sure of your hold over him?”
Gabrielle was sure of nothing except that she had endured Remy’s death once. She was not certain she could survive it again.
“I am willing to take my chances,” she said. “But if I agree to help you, there are two conditions.”
“Such as?” Remy asked her with a wary quirk of one brow.
“You will put your proposal to Navarre. Escape with you or remain in Paris with me. But whatever His Grace wants, you’ll abide by. No further attempts at persuasion, no more reckless attempts to see him. Agreed?”
Remy frowned as he paused to consider her terms.
“Agreed,” he said at last. “And your other condition?”
“That you stop plaguing me with so many damned irritating questions.”
A wry laugh escaped Remy, but he nodded, holding out his hand to seal the bargain. But as his fingers closed over hers, an odd change came over him. He stared fixedly at some point past her shoulder.
His hand tightened on hers. Although his features remained impassive, she could feel the tension thrumming through him as he leaned toward her.
“Take care,” he whispered, his mouth warm against her ear, sending a shiver through her. “We are being watched. Someone is hiding in the bushes behind you.”
Gabrielle’s pulse lurched. It was all she could do not to react, steal an alarmed glance over her shoulder. Before she could even think what to do, Remy’s hand eased between them. Nudging his cape aside, his fingers inched toward the jeweled hilt of a poniard fastened at his belt.
The look that crept into his eyes was one Gabrielle had seldom seen. Cold, hard, somehow more frightening than the prospect of the spy lurking in the bushes. It was the Scourge and not Nicolas Remy who eased the weapon from its sheath, coolly preparing to slit a man’s throat.
He backed away from Gabrielle, looking so deadly calm as he bowed, saying in a loud clear voice. “I give you good night, mademoiselle.”
Then he whirled about so fast, Gabrielle scarce had time to draw breath. Darting behind the shrubbery, he pounced on whoever lurked there. An alarmed cry rang out as Remy raised his knife.
Gabrielle pressed her hands to her mouth, not wanting to see, yet unable to look away. At the last possible moment, Remy froze, moonlight glinting off the blade. Then he swore roundly, sheathing the weapon again.
Reaching down, he collared the intruder and dragged him out from behind the bushes. Her heart still thudding from her fright, Gabrielle blinked in surprise. The person that Remy grasped by the neck of his tunic certainly didn’t look like anyone the Dark Queen would employ as a spy.
He was no more than a boy, with a tangled mass of dark hair and blade-sharp features. Anyone else would have been cowed by the murderous glance Remy darted his way. Although the boy did appear abashed at being caught, he nonetheless had the impudence to offer Remy a weak smile.
“Good evening, Monsieur le Capitaine.”
Gabrielle averted her gaze from the boy to stare questioningly at Remy. “You know this person?”
“Yes, I am afraid I do.” Remy shot the boy another dark scowl, then thrust him toward Gabrielle. “Mademoiselle Cheney, allow me to present my Wolf.”
Gabrielle was rather bemused to see that the boy appeared far more terrified of her than of Remy. He made a tremulous sign of the cross, clutching at something hidden beneath his tunic, something that smelled truly foul. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
As Remy cuffed Wolf lightly on the back of the head, obliging him to make his bow to Gabrielle, none of them noticed the other figure slipping out from behind a tree. A gray ghost of a man stealing toward the palace to make his report to the Dark Queen.
Chapter Ten
R
emy followed Gabrielle along a back corridor of the palace, a sullen Wolf trailing behind him. There had been no getting rid of the boy no matter how Remy had growled at him for not obeying orders. To his astonishment and irritation, Wolf had growled right back. While Gabrielle had returned to the salon to arrange this meeting with Navarre, Remy had spent the interval pacing the garden, locked in bitter disagreement with his young companion.
“Monsieur, you must not trust that wicked sorceress. She is going to lead you into some sort of trap. I knew I should have made you take the amulet. You are falling back under her spell again.”
Remy would have roundly rebuked the boy for his impudence except he feared that Wolf could be right. At least about the spell. When he had stolen into the salon and seen Gabrielle flirting with Navarre, he had been seized by a kind of madness. Jealousy. Pure mindless jealousy over every smile Gabrielle had accorded his young king.
Remy had forgotten his mission, forgotten the peril to his life when he had inserted himself into the dance. He’d tried to tell himself it was the only way to get close to his king, but it was Gabrielle he’d needed to be near. Part of him had wanted her to recognize him, to know he was there. God help him. He was indeed a great fool.
Remy’s gaze never left Gabrielle as she led the way down the passage, her skirts swishing against the stone floor. Light from the torches embedded in the wall flickered over her graceful figure. Her lacy collarette rose up from her gown like a pair of wings, emphasizing the slenderness of her neck, framing the golden halo that was her hair.
Once Remy had believed her all that was good and innocent. Disillusioned, he thought he had finally taken her measure as one of the coldest and most ambitious women he’d ever met. But her actions in protecting him tonight had again upended all his opinions of her until he began to despair of ever understanding Gabrielle Cheney.
And he wanted to . . . as badly as he wanted to haul her back into his arms. That heated kiss they’d shared in the gardens had sent the blood surging through his veins, left his body hard, aching for her.
The corridor ended abruptly before a steep set of stairs that yawned upward. Pausing at the foot, Gabrielle leaned closer to Remy, whispering, “This is the back stair that leads up to Navarre’s bedchamber, used by the servants and the king’s, er, guests.”
And exactly how was Gabrielle so familiar with this discreet, private stairway? Remy wanted to demand sharply. He feared he knew the answer to that and it left a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“You wait here until I see if it is safe for you to go up.” Gabrielle held a cautioning finger to her lips. “Don’t make a move until I signal you the way is clear.”
Before Remy could object, she lifted the hem of her skirts and rustled up the stair, disappearing into the darkness of the landing. Wolf crowded close behind him, tugging urgently at his sleeve.
“Monsieur, there is still time. We could—”
“Be quiet,” Remy muttered. He grimaced as he caught the pungent odor of the amulet Wolf was nervously fingering. “And if you insist on waving that damn thing about, get back a pace from me.”
With a disgruntled sigh, Wolf did so, slinking back a few steps, but not far, looking as wary as though they were both about to get their heads snapped off in the steel jaws of a trap. Maybe they were, but Remy doubted it. Gabrielle could have betrayed him already if she wished to do so. Instead she had taken pains to preserve his life, even at the risk of her own safety. But why? She had never really given him an answer.
He wanted desperately to believe she cherished some sort of tender feelings toward him. But how was that possible in a woman whose avowed ambition was to become the mistress of a king?
Above him on the landing, Remy caught the faint sound of Gabrielle tapping on a door, the creak of it opening. Words were exchanged in low murmured voices, but strain though he might, Remy could not hear what was being said.
Gabrielle was good at all this intrigue. Far too good, able to lie so smoothly, even to the Dark Queen, familiar with every twist and turn of this rambling palace. Remy could not begin to imagine what combination of charm, bribery, and cunning she’d used to get him undetected this far.
“This is my world. I belong here,”
she had said.
As much as the notion pained him, she did. Dazzling in her costly jewels and gowns, as seductively beautiful as Helen of Troy, capable of inspiring men to fight and die for her. And yet there had been fleeting moments back there in the garden when she had not appeared quite the poised lady of the world. When she had mounted her strange defense of the Dark Queen, that old sadness had crept back into Gabrielle’s eyes.
“There are far more dragons than knights in the world. Fiery monsters to reduce your dreams to ashes, to scorch you with betrayal until you wither and die or let your heart be forged into steel.”
Those words seemed to have been wrung from her heart and she had no longer been the bold courtesan and seductress. She had looked so young and lost that Remy had wanted to gather her up in his arms and demand, “Who or what blighted your dreams, Gabrielle? What dragon’s fire forged your heart?”
But he doubted she would have ever answered him. Gabrielle had always been too skilled at hiding her secrets and it was far too late to ask her anything now. Because he’d promised . . . no more questions.
There was a flutter of movement at the top of the stairs, then Gabrielle reappeared. She came partly down the stairs and beckoned to him. Remy sprang toward her, pausing on the riser just below hers.
“You can go up now. It’s safe. Navarre has found an excuse to dismiss his attendants, many of whom are definitely not to be trusted. The Dark Queen plants her spies everywhere. So do be careful, Remy, and try not to remain too long. When you are done, the king will help you to get safely away.”
“Then you are not staying?” Remy asked in surprise.
“No, I agreed to let you have your chance to persuade the king to leave Paris.” She offered him a wry smile. “If I remained, I think I’d prove a bit of a distraction.”
Remy was forced to agree, although he was not sure who would be in greater danger of being distracted, Navarre or himself. As Gabrielle eased past him on the stairway, he breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume. Even as his body tightened in response, his heart sank with a sudden realization.
If he convinced Navarre to escape with him, Remy would soon be leaving Paris. If he didn’t, he would likewise be gone. There would be no reason for him to remain in this cursed city. Either way it would be highly unlikely he would see Gabrielle again.
Before she could retreat back down the stairs, Remy caught her hand.
“Gabrielle, I—I just wanted to say—” Remy compressed his lips. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say, so many conflicting emotions churning inside him toward this lovely woman with her face upturned to his.
At last he muttered, “Thank you for doing this for me, although I still don’t know why—”
“Ah, no,” Gabrielle admonished him with a shake of her head. “No more questions, remember?”
With her free hand, she reached up to stroke his cheek, her fingers so soft and warm, he had to suppress the urge to bury his lips against her palm.
“You really do look better without that beard,” Gabrielle murmured. “If you ever grow it back, I vow I will come after you with a razor myself.”
“For the beard or my throat?” Remy attempted to jest even though his heart felt hollow.
“I don’t know. It would depend on how angry you had made me at the time.” As she gave him her familiar impish smile, she looked much less like Mademoiselle Cheney, the infamous courtesan and more like the Gabrielle he’d once known. Remy curled his fingers tightly around hers as though he could keep that girl from disappearing.
But she had already gently loosened his grasp on her hand. As she rustled down the stairs, she encountered Wolf at the bottom. The boy flattened himself against the wall as though terrified the slightest contact with Gabrielle would turn him to stone.
His fear of her obviously afforded Gabrielle a certain amount of amusement. She tapped him playfully on the tip of his nose. “And so you are Martin Le Loup, the young man who once saved Captain Remy’s life?”