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He opened his mouth, intending to ask if that meant she would allow him to accompany her, but he shut it instead. Why give her the illusion that the decision was hers? It didn’t really matter whether she wanted him to accompany her. It simply would be easier if she didn’t object.
He started for the cabin door. “I’ll see you when we reach France.”
She made a noncommittal sound, and when he stepped into the passageway, she closed the door without waiting for him to take his leave.
He had half a mind to pound on the door and…
Yes, that was the problem. He didn’t really care about any of it. He wanted her in his arms, naked and crying his name.
But he also wanted the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. He’d use her to get it, but he was discovering that even he, the basest rogue, had some scruples as to how he’d achieve that end.
Chapter 8
Gabrielle stood in line at the West Gate and watched as the crowds shuffled into Paris ahead of her. The air stank of farm animals, and chicken feathers floated around her. Earlier she’d accidentally stepped too close to one of the carts and a scrawny rooster pecked her arm. Now she rubbed the mark absently and tried not to fidget.
TheFugitivehad arrived at dawn, then Gabrielle had embarked on a laborious trip from the countryside to Paris. It was almost three in the afternoon now, and she’d been waiting in line since half past twelve. The barricades closed at four, and she could not afford to be stuck outside the city tonight. She had much to do if she were to steal le Saphir Blanc and save the comtesse’s life.
She’d burned the Pimpernel’s instructions before disembarking from theFugitive,and now she recited them silently in her mind. She must find 33 Rue Saint-Honoré as quickly as possible. The crowd in front of her plodded forward, and Gabrielle eyed the imposing barricade. French soldiers, dressed in blue coats with white trim and dingy white breeches, lounged about, smoking and drinking. Their leader was a slovenly man wearing a Phrygian cap with a large tricolored cockade pinned to it. His cheeks were purple from his exertions as he strutted about assiduously examining each cart and each person coming or going. His cockade, a circular piece of fabric in red, white, and blue, bobbed as he moved.
Gabrielle sighed. No wonder the line moved so slowly.
A man beside her nodded at the soldiers’ leader. “That’s Sergeant Bibot,” he said.
Gabrielle looked about, realized the man was speaking to her. “Oh. Yes, of course,” she answered in French. “He looks…taller than I expected.” She had no idea who Sergeant Bibot was, but if everyone in Paris knew of him, then she must pretend as well.
“He’ll catch the Scarlet Pimpernel.” Her companion spat for good measure. “If anyone can do it, Bibot can.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
“Did you hear what Citoyen Foucquier-Tinville said last week?” the man asked. Gabrielle shook her head. Over the past few years, she had paid cursory attention to events in France. She knew enough about the events to converse in a drawing room and identify the important personages. Now she wished she had been more interested in some of the minor players. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sedgwick step closer. He’d been her constant shadow since theFugitive. Was he trying to overhear the man beside her or protect her from him?
She looked away. “I did not hear Citoyen Foucquier-Tinville’s speech.”
“He said the next time the Scarlet Pimpernel or one of his League is allowed in or out of Paris, the man at the gate will dance with Madame Guillotine.”
Gabrielle trembled. The mention of the Scarlet Pimpernel made her uneasy, and she was nearing this Bibot. What would happen if he found something amiss in her papers? What if he realized she worked for the Scarlet Pimpernel?
“Do you know Bibot was the man who caught the former comtesse de Tonnerre?”
Gabrielle had not known that, and now she wondered why they had chosen to enter through the West Gate. Why not the North Gate or the East Gate?
“They say he has a way of sniffing out aristocrats. Sent the former comtesse to La Force and the Pimpernel’s man to the guillotine.” The man spat again. “Well, he would have gone to our lady if the mobs hadn’t gotten to him first. Tore him apart, they did.”
Gabrielle took a shaky breath.
“Just what one of the Scarlet Pimpernel’s men deserves”—the man spat again—“don’t you agree?”
“I do,” Gabrielle said. She touched her fingers to the tricolor rosette she’d pinned on her dress aboard theFugitive. Thank God Diana had thought to procure one for her. Everyone wore them. Even Sedgwick had managed to find one and pinned it to his lapel. He wasn’t wearing his usual satin coat and breeches, but his coat was still better than any of the others in the crowd. And yet he managed to look like one of them—something in the way he stood, she thought.
“Papers!” Bibot called. “Have your papers ready.”
The man who’d been speaking to Gabrielle shuffled forward, his papers extended. Gabrielle watched as Bibot perused them then waved the man through. She closed her eyes briefly.Please, God, let it go well for me. Please.
Bibot reached out dirty fingers and snatched Gabrielle’s papers from her hand. He studied them, looked at her, then handed them back. “Citoyenne Leboeuf.” He nodded at her.
“Sergeant Bibot.” She tried a smile but felt her lips tremble. Either the man did not notice or was used to the crowds quaking before him, because he waved her through. She started walking away, feeling the stares of the soldiers pierce her back. She hoped Sedgwick made it through as easily, but she would not stand by to see.
“Oh, Citoyenne Leboeuf?”
