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The damp cold of thecellar was nothing compared to the chill emanating from the former Marquis de Montagne. Honoria hardly dared look at him for fear the daggers shooting from his sharp green eyes would find their mark and strike her down.
Finally,finally,the shadows in the cellar grew longer and the golden light of day faded to a dusky gray. Montagne took a few steps and Honoria rose without having to be asked. “Is it time?”
“Give me a moment.” Silently, he crept up the stairs. Since she still wore his coat, she had a clear view of his firm buttocks in the trousers he wore.
She quickly averted her eyes. She had made the correct decision earlier. The man was a libertine who only wanted to use her. Had she not made enough mistakes with men? She knew his type and she knew herself. A few more kisses like those they had already shared, and she would be firmly under his spell. And the debauched Marquis de Montagne was the last man she wanted holding her heart in his hands.
Above, the marquis opened the door and slipped out. Honoria imagined he crept through the back room and peered into the wine shop, judging whether enough patrons had gathered so they might slip among them unnoticed. Honoria wished she had not lost her cap. A woman in male garb was far too conspicuous, no matter how large or inebriated the crowd.
Her legs were stiff from the cold and inactivity, and she paced the small area where they’d hidden. Gradually Honoria’s muscles loosened. The sky outside the window had darkened further. So where was Montagne? Had he left her? Abandoned her to fend for herself? Men like him always lied to women. Why shouldn’t he lie about this?
I will never lie to you.
Why had she believed him? Of course he would lie. He was a man.
Honoria’s stomach tightened, panic and nausea rising in her throat. How would she ever find her way back to the safe house alone? She didn’t know the city. She tried to calm herself with a deep breath. Regardless, she was all but gasping when she heard a step on the stairs.
She ducked down, her knees so weak she feared they would crumple under her. She banged her shoulder on one of the casks of wine, but she bit back the hiss of pain and slid into the shadows.
“Mademoiselle?” came a familiar voice. It had to be the marquis. No other man in France would refer to her as anything other than citoyenne.
“I’m here,” she said breathlessly. Her chest hurt from the pressure in her lungs. She rose slowly, her legs still wobbling like a newborn colt’s.
He took one look at her face and his dark brows drew together. “Do you have a low opinion of all men or is it only me in particular?”
She rubbed her eyes to stave off the pounding megrim. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You did not think I would return.”
“You have been upstairs for a good quarter hour or more.” She scowled at him.
He nodded and came to stand beside her. “Planning our exit strategy. I wanted to steal a cap for you, but I have no talent as a thief and the shop owners were not so accommodating as to leave one lying about.”
“We will not go far if anyone looks at me too closely.”
“Then we will make sure they don’t look too closely.” He explained his idea, and though Honoria had her doubts, she didn’t have a better solution. Five minutes later they staggered into the shop, where wine and conversation flowed. She hoped it appeared they had just risen from one of the tables in the back, but her head was down and she could not see if anyone had noticed that they’d emerged from the storeroom.
She began to raise her head to gauge her surroundings, but Montagne hissed a warning. “Keep your head down. You are inebriated. Act like it.”
Honoria swayed, the dark hair he’d pulled down around her face swaying with her. The rest was tucked back into her shirt. Montagne wore his coat again, and she could see the dark sleeve and little else through her dark tresses.
“I think we’d better go, citoyen,” the marquis said. She hoped his attempt to sound like a peasant was convincing. Her own facility with the language was not so agile. “Lean on me,” he said, as they’d agreed.
She stumbled forward, and he put an arm around her, ostensibly supporting her. She allowed her head to loll forward as he shuffled her through the patrons, of whom she saw only sabots and scuffed boots.Please God do not let those boots belong to a member of the National Guard.
She closed her eyes, feeling real dizziness sweep over her as they trudged slowly toward the exit.
Montagne kept up a steady stream of comments, pretending to struggle to keep her upright so he did not have to look the other patrons in the face. He too kept his head down. When her eyes flicked up, she could see the line of his jaw, now dark with stubble.
And then cool air greeted her and the scent of manure and the river and someone’s dinner cooking nearby made her nose itch. She didn’t dare look up, but the marquis moved more quickly, all but carrying her around a corner and toward the quay.
“Are we away?” she asked.
“Yes, but keep your head down until we reach the quay. We’ll walk there and then take the Rue Saint-Honoré to the safe house. Once we’re away from this quarter there won’t be as much light.”
A few minutes later the scent of the water mingled with that of fish and mud caused her to raise her head. The dark water of the Seine was before them, and Honoria could finally draw in a breath.
As soon as they were out of sight, Montagne released her. She missed a step, then had to jog to keep up with him. The sudden absence of his warmth made her aware how quickly winter would descend upon them.
