AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Honoria had to do something before the cook attacked. “Citoyen! The coffee!” she cried, pointing toward the stove. All three men looked, and she grabbed a pan from the table and swung it at the cook. It struck his head, hard, but not hard enough to fell him. He stumbled and came up swinging. Honoria jumped back, and Montagne, blinking away his shocked expression, intercepted the burly cook and the two of them went sprawling on the floor.
She hesitated, uncertain as to whether she should run for the exit or come to Montagne’s aid. Laurent looked up at her, the cook’s hands around his neck. “Run!” he croaked.
Honoria ran, but the cook’s assistant grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Traitor! Stay right here.”
He was little more than a boy, but he was strong. Fortunately, she’d learned a thing or two about dealing with men. She tugged at her arm, and while he attempted to hold her tightly, she kicked him between the legs.
He sank wordlessly to the ground. She should have run then, but she couldn’t leave the marquis. She grabbed a large wooden spoon from the table and swung it at the cook, who had managed to roll Montagne over and pin him to the floor. The cook looked back at her, and the distraction was enough to give the marquis the advantage. He freed a hand and landed a blow hard to the man’s right temple.
The cook fell in a heap.
Montagne pushed the man off and staggered to his feet. “I’m beginning to think you court trouble,” he said, bending over and trying to catch his breath.
“I might say the same about you.”
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door. The cool fall air was a welcome respite from the hot kitchens, but the marquis gave her no time to enjoy it. He tugged her through the courtyard and into the yard of the wine merchant. The owners of the shop had wisely locked their doors, and Montagne had to remove his coat, wad it over his hand, and break the glass of a window. He reached inside, unlatched the door, and opened it silently. This time he went first, Honoria following him into the darkness.
Voices came from the front of the shop, followed by the tinkling of glasses. A few men were drinking this early, but for the most part, the wine shop was empty. This back section seemed to serve as a storage area, where the owners had stacked wine casks and bottles. A column divided the area from the rest of the shop, and beyond the column Honoria spotted a man leaning on the bar, wearing a Phrygian cap.
Montagne took her hand, and she looked at him. He pointed to a door to her right and then pointed down.
She nodded. It must have been the cellar, and it would make a good hiding place, especially considering they now had to avoid not only the Guard but the café cook and personal friend of Robespierre.
Quietly, Honoria tried the latch for the cellar. The door creaked open, and Montagne craned his neck to see if the patrons had heard. A moment later he gave her a nod to continue. Inch by inch, she opened the door wide enough so that she might slip in. The steps were dark, and they had no lamp, so she released his hand and placed her palms on the walls beside the steps to guide her.
The marquis entered after her and silently closed the door, cutting off the rest of the light. In darkness, they descended into the cool, dry cellar.
“Step carefully,” Montagne cautioned her. “If you knock over a bottle, the owner may come to investigate.”
Honoria moved slowly around the large casks of wine and shelves of more expensive vintages. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and she could make out gray shapes. A moment later, the marquis moved away from her, and suddenly weak light appeared from a small window high at the top of the cellar as the marquis moved the heavy cloth away from the glass.
His cheek looked red and his clothes were rumpled. He still carried his coat and she could see that his linen shirt was bloodstained. “Back there.” He pointed behind the casks. “No one will see us if they come down the stairs.”
She made her way back, moving quietly, then sank down with her back to a cask and leaned her head against the wood. She was hungry and thirsty and felt as though she hadn’t slept for a week, when the reality was that they’d only left the marquis’s rooms two or three hours before. Montagne sank down next to her.
“I hate to have to wait, but we have no choice. We will try for the safe house after dark,” he said. “It’s too dangerous to move now, in the daylight.”
“What’s the point? How will we ever make it in and out of the Temple if we cannot even manage to cross Paris?”
He sat forward and peered at her long and hard. She could not see the color of his eyes in the dim light, but she knew they were that beautiful shade of green, hardened to emerald with gravity.
“We will make it because we must. I’d rather die trying than do nothing.”
Honoria didn’t answer. She would rather live.
“If you’ve changed your mind about helping me...” he began.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not smart enough, not brave enough. You told me to keep walking if someone questioned me in the café. But as soon as someone spoke to me I stopped. And then I couldn’t think of a single excuse. I’m useless.”
His intense gaze never left her as his hand came up to cup her cheek. “You are smarter and braver than you realize. Most men would not have slid down that drainpipe. You did. Most men would have run and left me to fend off the cook. You hit him with the spoon. I’d be lucky to have you by my side in the Temple.”
She stared at him in utter disbelief for a long, long time. When he didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t take any of it back, a warmth flowed through her from her heart to her toes. She’d received a thousand compliments, probably more, but no praise of her lips or her eyes or her hair had ever meant even one hundredth of what Laurent’s words did now.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She leaned forward without really thinking, meaning to kiss him on the cheek. He was so close, and she so flush with happiness, it seemed the right thing to do. But somehow, instead of kissing his cheek, her lips landed on his mouth. She didn’t know if she had moved or he moved or if they were drawn together like magnets. She only knew that as soon as her lips touched his, she was lost.
In that kiss, something passed from him to her. It was hot and sweet and the barest taste of that pleasure was not nearly enough. She wanted more. She brushed her lips over his, and when his hand tightened on her cheek and threaded into her hair, she kissed him harder.
He angled his mouth, parted his lips, and she felt as though she were falling. She grasped his shirt to keep steady, pressed her hand against his chest, and felt his heart hammering as hard and fast as hers.
