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But none of them had been Honoria.
None had her lovely violet eyes or her dark hair or a smile that suffused a room with light until everyone else smiled with her. None blushed when complimented, but made love with a sensual abandon that belied all modesty. None had told him they loved him—him,a worthless wretch who had spent his life and his livres on wine and women and jeweled shoe buckles. Laurent didn’t even know if he was capable of love. Honoria certainly deserved better than he. It would be better for her if he went to Vienna and they never met again.
She stirred and he willed himself not to pull her tighter against him. He wanted to press his lips to the slope of her shoulder and part her thighs with his knee to feel the heat of her.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
“I heard the church bells toll seven,” he answered. “We should rise and dress. I want to observe the Temple to make certain nothing is different this morning.”
She sighed, and he wondered if she lamented leaving his arms as much as he. “No doubt Sir Andrew will be here soon. It’s best if we are ready. We have a long day ahead of us.” She disentangled herself from his embrace and slid to the edge of the bed. But when she sat up and began to rise, he grasped her wrist. He looked up at her, so beautiful in the gray light of the room with her long dark hair falling over her pale breasts.
“Honoria, if the mission today should fail—”
She tensed. “You mustn’t think that way. We have a solid plan.”
“Yes, but if it should fail, I want you to know...” He paused. What did he want her to know? This might very well be his last chance to speak to her alone, but what should he say? He had no experience discussing his feelings with women—not with any honesty at any rate.
She stood looking down at him, probably growing cold, and still he did not speak. He gripped her wrist and searched for the right words.
“You want me to know what?” she prodded.
“That I care for you. That you matter to me.”
Her expression didn’t change, but slowly she drew her hand away. “Thank you. You know my feelings.” She looked away and he could not see if pain lanced her features at the fact that he hadn’t told her he loved her as well. She straightened. “But this isn’tadieuquite yet. Excuse me.” She disappeared behind the privacy screen, and Laurent was left in the bed where the place she had occupied was now empty. He wished he’d damned the rising sun and taken her one last time.
Because for all intents and purposes this wasadieu.
An hour later he was seated at the table, his gaze on the Temple, his fingers resting lightly on a sharpened quill. Honoria sat across from him, dressed in a plain dark blue dress and white fichu. She’d rolled her hair at the nape of her neck and pinned a cap over it as many of the lower class women in Paris wore their hair. On her breast she wore the tricolor cockade.
When the knock sounded on the door, neither of them jumped. Laurent was almost relieved at the interruption. The silence had gone on too long.
Honoria rose to answer it, but Laurent shook his head. “Let me. Stay out of sight in case it’s not who we expect.”
He crossed the room and opened the door, but instead of Ffoulkes, Marie-Thérèse stood in the doorway. Laurent’s breath whooshed out, and he gripped the latch so tightly it cut into the skin of his hand.
Without thinking, he dropped into a deep bow.
“Oh, good God,” a man’s voice hissed. “Do you want to kill us all?”
Laurent looked up at the scowling face of Lord Anthony directly behind Marie-Thérèse, except now he realized it wasn’t Marie-Thérèse at all. “Mademoiselle de Lambriquet?”
“Can we dae the introductions within, dae ye think?” That was the Scot.
Laurent stepped back and Mackenzie and Dewhurst pushed Ernestine de Lambriquet and a large hamper inside. Once the door was closed, Laurent gave both men a piercing look. “What is this about?” He feared he already knew, and it had not been part of the plan. His chest tightened when Honoria came to stand beside him. “Mademoiselle de Lambriquet, allow me to introduce you to Mademoiselle Blake.”
The two women exchanged nods. “Where is Sir Andrew?” Honoria asked.
“He’s nae coming,” Mackenzie said.
“Change of plans.” That was from Lord Anthony.
“Change of plans?” Indignation shot through Laurent. “Why the hell did we spend hours making plans if Ffoulkes intended to change them at the last minute?”
“It wasn’t his decision, Monsieur le Marquis,” Mademoiselle de Lambriquet said quietly. “I begged him to give me a role in this escape. He refused, but the man known as the Scarlet Pimpernel opposed him. I’m afraid the change in plans is my fault.”
“And what is the new plan?” Laurent asked, although he already knew.
She looked him in the eye. “I am to take Madame Royale’s place.”
