Page 87 of Souvenir Heart

She busied herself returning the supplies he’d laid out back into the art box; she was folding the tablecloth when the three men entered the kitchen. Washed away were all traces of their disguises—and the morning’s good-natured banter.

Taking the folded cloth from her hands, Marcus said sharply, “We need to leave.”

Her mouth went dry. “Are they coming?”

“Not for you.” David cocked his chin at Marcus. “For him.”

“For Marcus? Why? How could they have discovered he helped me escape?”

“Not because of that,” David drew a crumpled pamphlet from his pocket, unfolded it and handed it to her. “Because of this.”

Unfolding it she saw a bold headline, The Butcher of Rouen, and beneath it, a crude print of familiar face with a slash of dark brows, an aristocratic nose, and long hair tied back in a queue. She looked at Marcus, horrified. “Is this…you?”

“Not a particularly flattering likeness.”

“It says you killed seven men,” she added, eyes scanning the story. She looked up again, desperate for a denial or an explanation. “Not a particularly flattering story.”

“Flattering stories rarely sell.”

Marguerite knew the pamphlets were full of wild rumors and exaggerations, but still…why wasn’t he denying it? “Is it true?”

“I’m a soldier, Madame de Rouvroy, not a saint.”

With a frustrated snort, Andre snatched the pamphlet from her distracted fingers. Crumpling it in his fist, he said, “Our countries are at war, Madame de Rouvroy. Yours is currently being ruled by a cabal of power-mad murderers. We can debate the proper way of fighting them at later date. But right now, if you want to live to have that debate, we need to get you both to a more secure hiding place.”

They moved swiftly after that, setting things to rights, removing the evidence of their presence in the house as completely as they’d removed their disguises. When Andre and Marcus brought the trunk down from the room she’d slept in, Marcus instructed her to take whatever necessities she might need from it.

“And can carry,” Andre added.

“For how long?”

He shot a glance at Marcus, “At least for a few days.”

“Not a few days,” Marcus said firmly, “two days. At most.”

“We need enough time to make sure everything’s in place.”

“We need enough time to reach the coast. “

“Your plan…it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“I think what Andre’s saying, is that we need enough time to reduce the risks...”

“There’s never enough time to reduce all the risks. If you’d wanted a job without them, you should have chosen a different line of work.” Marcus turned back to Marguerite. “See if you can find something practical to wear—or what passes for it, in there.”

She suspected he was more concerned with changing the subject than with the clothing she chose. Still, she knelt, opened the trunk, and began rifling through the contents.

“Make certain it’s something you can walk in,” Andre glanced over at Marcus, “What about Allard’s uniform?”

“No.” Marcus shot back vehemently, they all turned to look at him. “Best to save it for later…” he added flushing slightly.

Later? Marguerite opened her mouth to ask why they would need it for later, but Andre was turning back to her, saying, “Choose items that are comfortable and warm.”

“Warm?” The city had been festering in the heat for weeks. “But it’s been so hot.”

“Not where you’re going.”