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She stopped and faced Ramsey. “You want his identity?”
“I’ve risked my neck. I’d like to know who I’m doing it for.”
A whisper of suspicion tickled the back of her neck. But no, Ramsey was right. He had proven his loyalty. “I can’t tell you.”
He raised a brow. “Can’t?”
“Why is this so important to you?”
“It’s not.” But he was lying. She could see that he was lying, and he was angry that she hadn’t given him the information he wanted.
“It is. I can see it in your face.” And then to her horror, she watched as his face changed subtly, and all traces of the anger she had seen were gone. Was he that skilled an actor? What else was he pretending?
“Will you tell me, Gabrielle? Will you trust me?”
Did she trust him? The short answer was yes. The longer answer was—she was surprised to admit—no. “It isn’t my secret to tell.” She started for the prison again, but he grabbed her elbow.
“You don’t know, do you? You’ve been running about Paris, doing this man’s bidding, and you don’t even know who you’re working for.”
“I’m working for the comtesse and her daughter,” she hissed quietly, aware they had attracted the attention of some of those waiting for bread.
Ramsey ran a hand through his hair. “Good God. You don’t even know.” And then he began to laugh.
—
It was fitting, Ramsey thought as they walked the last few feet in tense silence, that Gabrielle didn’t know the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. He’d wasted his time and his efforts—considerable efforts—for naught.
It was precisely what he deserved. And he couldn’t even be angry with her. She had never said she knew who the man was. She had never promised him anything. It was his own assumption that signed his death warrant.
Oh, and it was signed. Yes it was. He’d seen her in the line at theboulangerie. Madame’s assistant. He watched her step out of the crowd slightly and slowly draw a long, thin finger across her neck.
His time was up. He had failed, and now he would pay the price. They stopped at the prison gate, and Gabrielle asked the soldier guarding it for an audience with Toulan. The soldier consented, and they were admitted.
And, like the fool he was, Ramsey followed Gabrielle into the prison. He would be here—or at some other prison—before long, and yet he was voluntarily entering this one.
Why? She didn’t need him to do this. She was quite capable on her own.
And yet, he couldn’t leave her. Hewouldn’tleave her. He cared for her far more than he wanted to admit—another reason he was ten parts fool.
She will never be yours, he scolded himself. If she knew who you really were…
And still he watched as his hand touched the small of her back, reassuring her as they crossed into the darkness of the prison.
—
She could smell the odor of unwashed bodies as soon as she entered. That and the smell of defeat and despair. Good God, there was a child living in this rankness? The prison was quieter than she expected, considering it, like the others in Paris, was filled beyond capacity. And yet she heard little more than the sounds of the guards speaking and the occasional clink of metal on metal. Dear Lord she hoped it wasn’t the sound of chains.
She and Ramsey were shown into a small office, and the warden rose to meet her. “Citoyenne, citoyen. You must forgive my surprise at having a visitor. To what do I owe this honor?”
Oh, he’s used to having visitors, Gabrielle thought. He’s used to the families of the condemned begging and pleading with him. And he likes it too. She could see the look of anticipation in his eyes.
They were small eyes, muddy brown to match his hair. He had a large nose and full lips. He might have been considered handsome in his youth—but his eyes. No, his eyes were ruthless and hungry, and they destroyed any appearance of attractiveness.
“I am Citoyenne Leboeuf and this is Citoyen Delpierre.” She indicated Ramsey, who stood protectively behind her. “We need to speak with you privately.” She inclined her head toward the door, which was ajar. Curious soldiers stood just outside.
“Of course.” Toulan crossed to the door and closed it. His eyes were full of greed. He knows we have come with a bribe, she thought.
When he was seated once again behind the table he used as a desk, she took a moment to consider her approach. She could be subtle, but it didn’t suit her very well. Besides, she had little time to waste. Once the comtesse was moved to the Conciergerie, there would be little this man could do to free her.
