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Four
“More threats, citoyenne?” he asked, his voice hard with anger. Alex had realized early on he was not a man who tolerated entrapment well. They could only push him so far before he would break and take all of them down with him. The fact that he had met her tonight meant he was sufficiently concerned about the evidence they had against him to consider aiding them.
But she did not believe for a moment he had yet made up his mind to free the abbé. He could change it at any moment, and they were now moving toward the part of the evening where changing one’s mind could prove rather inconvenient.
“As many threats as it takes,” Alex said and meant it. If he planned to betray her and the others of the League, she preferred he do it now, when the stakes were rather low and not when they were inside the Temple Prison, the young king within reach. But she also knew the deeper his involvement with the League, the more evidence against him. And so she needed his help tonight, if only to mire him more completely in the morass.
“And what is it you’d have me do?” he asked. His face was in the shadows as the carriage had no lamps and the curtains had been drawn. She wished she could see him now because she could not discern from his voice whether he was mocking her or serious.
“You need do nothing but be yourself,” she said. “You are Citoyen Chevalier, secretary to Robespierre. You will go into the Conciergerie, demand the release of the Abbé Bertrand, take him, and meet the carriage.”
“Where you will then spirit him away.”
“He will be taken safely out of Paris, yes.”
“There is one problem,” he said. To her surprise, he rose and crossed the carriage, sitting beside her. There was no need for him to do so, as far as she could tell, but he didn’t give her time to question him. “I need release papers. You have a very high opinion of me, indeed, if you think I can walk into any prison and take men out at will.”
“Actually,” she said, reaching into her cloak, “my opinion of you is not that high. I have papers.” She drew them out and rustled them so he might hear them, as the light was so poor he could not see them well.
He leaned close, his hand brushing hers as he took the papers. “What are these?”
“Release papers for the Abbé Bertrand, signed by Robespierre himself.”
“A forgery.” His tone was one of disdain.
“A very good forgery, I promise you.” She knocked on the roof of the carriage and it slowed. She lowered the window. “May I have a lantern?” she asked Hastings, who was playing the role of the footman tonight. “Our guest wishes to read.”
A few moments later Hastings handed her a lamp. The carriage moved slowly then, as though the horses were merely walking to pass time. Chevalier held the lantern up and looked at the papers she’d offered him. He read one, then shuffled it to the back and looked at the next. Finally, he looked up at her, his eyes warm with appreciation. Her breath caught in her throat then. She’d known he would be irresistible if his eyes were warmer.
“These are very good,” he said.
“I know.” She locked her gaze with him in the flickering lamplight. “What say you? Shall I direct our coachman to the Conciergerie?”
“Do I have a choice?” he asked.
She couldn’t resist and reached out one finger to caress his cheek. “My dear Chevalier,” she said in English. “One always has a choice.”
Instead of drawing away from her touch, he leaned into it, the stubble on his cheek rasping against the palm of her hand. He turned his face so his lips touched her skin instead. He pressed a kiss on the sensitive skin, then slid his mouth lower, to where her pulse hammered on the inside of her wrist, and kissed her there as well.
Alex tried very hard not to draw in a quick breath. She did not want this man to know how his touch affected her. Her duty was to keep him in check, and if she gave away any weakness, he would certainly take advantage of it. She would have, in his position.
And so she drew her hand away from his warm lips and tucked it into the folds of her cloak. “As I was saying, you have a choice. What is it?”
