1939912059 (R) (27 page)

Oh, fuck no. “
You
?” he echoed.

“Yes. Me. I plan to teach that woman how to crack the whip and scare all the men in Paris, including Robespierre. You can thank me for it later.”

Gérard closed his eyes. How was he ever going to breathe again? How was he ever going rationalize what he was about to do? “Can I really trust you to take care of her?”

“You can trust me to never go against her will, if that is what you are asking. Because if she wants to act like the devil and lick whatever crop I hold, I am not about to stop her. Have you met her? The woman is the definition of sex. Asking her not to go near another man again is like asking Satan not to sin.”

Opening his eyes, Gérard stared the man down. “She has only ever been owned by herself. That is what gives her strength and that is what allows me to do this. This revolution will not last forever. I will see her again, and she will be mine again.”

Sade tsked. “Love is a whip of nails that gashes its way past all reason. Give it ten years, and I promise, you will not even remember her name.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Gérard slowly shook his head. “No. In ten years, her name will be carved on every tree I pass. In twenty, it will be carved into my skin. And in thirty, the entire world will know that I, the
Duc de Andelot
, will not rest until Thérèse is what she should be and will always be:
mine
.”

Evening

Château de Maitenon

Staring at the clock set on the marble mantle of the hearth, Thérèse watched and listened as that ornate gold face ticked loud enough to drown out the rhythm of her heart and her uneven breaths. Every minute was taking too long. Even a second was too long.

Removing her white lace fichu from her moonstone gown, she draped it on the green velvet chaise beside her. It soundlessly slipped to the floor. She blankly stared at it, wondering how much longer she would have to wait.

The sound of heavy booted feet echoing down the corridor, just outside her reading room, made her heart skid. She swung toward the open door and swallowed, praying it was him.

A tall, male figure dressed in a simple grey-wool coat, billowing linen shirt and frayed matching trousers that hung loosely on an overly lean frame, appeared in the doorway of the candlelit room. A shockingly lean face whose cheekbones were so visible they were deep slashes, along with unevenly shorn black hair that had been finger swept in an attempt to hide its wild state, made her unable to believe what she was looking at.

Those steel blue eyes were the only identifiable characteristic.

It was the ghost of what had once been. And not what was.

Tears blinded her. A sob shook her to the core.

His features tightened. “
Ma biche
,” he rasped, quickly moving toward her. “What the hell are you doing? No. None of that. You in tears is not what I want to remember. Now come here. Come to me. Show me something still remains between us.”

How could she pretend otherwise?

Running toward him in tears, she flung herself into his arms and dug her fingers into his back, attempting to tell herself that this was real. That Gérard was finally in her arms. If even for an hour. The scent of leather and cheap soap clung to her breaths. He no longer smelled the same. The scent of expensive amberwood cologne which she had once known so achingly well was gone. And soon he would be, too.

She sobbed, unable to be strong.

His large hands, which were now shockingly scabbed and scarred, cupped her face and tilted it up toward him. He searched her face, a ragged breath escaping him. “Do not cry.” He dug his fingers rigidly into her piled, gathered hair, still searching her face. “Christ. I did nothing but worry about you.”

Her hand jumped up to his lips and covered it, her fingers trembling. “And I did nothing but worry about you.”

His features and his eyes softened. “As you can see, I am fine. I survived.”

“I want to go with you,” she choked out. “I want to go with you, but—”

“No. You will stay here. You have a name and a stronghold. Use it. We will find each other again, I promise.” He possessively gripped her hair tighter, keeping her from moving. “
Ma biche
. Look at me.”

She stiffened, her blurred gaze flying up to his.

His unspeaking eyes prolonged the moment. “Whilst I am honored you think me worthy of saving, you are playing a very dangerous game if you think you can dictate any control over Robespierre. He cannot be trusted.”

She swallowed. “I know that.”

“I am not going to ask what you and he share. It does not matter. I trust you completely. All that matters is that you are safe. Are you safe?”

Her heart squeezed. “Yes. I am. Sade has been incredibly generous with his time and the theatre is my greatest haven. We all look out for each other.”

A breath escaped him. “Good.” Folding his arms around her, he set his lips against her forehead, lingering in between half-breaths, as if unable to do more.

She swallowed and leaned into his solid warmth, almost unable to stand.

He released her and took her right hand. “Come.” His rough, calloused large fingers methodically wove into hers, one by one. He kissed her hand and then turned them and tugged. “I want to see my boy. My Henri. Where is he?”

Bless his darling heart. “This way.” She hurried him out of the parlor, up the stairs and into the corridor. Opening a door, she revealed the candlelit nursery where Henri slept in an ornate cradle with his name carved into it.

Squeezing Gérard’s large hand, she led him inside and up to the cradle.

Gérard released her hand. He paused and edging himself down, stared at the small, peaceful face whose tiny lips suckled in a dream-like state. “
Jésus
,” he breathed out. He leaned in and slowly slid both hands beneath Henri. Lifting him, he brought their son into his arms and against the crook of his arm. He stared down at Henri with flickering dark brows. “He does not even look real. How old is he?”

Thérèse swallowed, tears burning her eyes again. “He is two months now,” she whispered. “He used to be much smaller.”

“
Smaller
? Not possible.” Gérard curved a finger against Henri’s small cheek before dragging it to his head.

They both lingered in silence, as Gérard touched and admired their son’s hands, face and feet. Henri eventually blinked his eyes open, staring sourly up at them for interrupting his sleep. A small hand jerked up toward them.

A gruff laugh escaped Gérard. “This one may give us trouble.”

That lip quivered, and Henri let out a shrill cry.

Gérard’s brows went up. He pushed Henri back into her arms. “Make him stop before I cry right along with him.”

Thérèse rolled her eyes and taking Henri into her arms, nestled her son against herself as his small head nudged toward her, opening lips for what he needed to go back to sleep. She smiled, unfastened her bodice and pulled her breast from her corset, letting Henri latch on and suckle the milk he wanted.

Gérard stared, moving closer to watch. “You did not hire a wet nurse?”

She smiled. “No. I enjoy being close to him. This is our time together. He and I.”

He said nothing.

She eyed Gérard, trying to stay calm. “He is almost done. Around this time of night, he actually sleeps a lot longer. Which means you and I will have some time.”

He said nothing. Reaching out, he touched their son’s head, resting his fingers against him.

To see Gérard’s large hand tenderly touching Henri’s smallness made her very soul squeeze.

When Henri had fallen back asleep, she handed him off to Gérard and tucked her breast away, fastening her bodice back into place.

Lingering with Henri for a while longer, Gérard kissed that small head several times, then turned and placed Henri back into the cradle. He stared down at their son, smoothing that small arm. “He is so amazing.”

She smiled brokenly. “I know. Why would he not be? He is half of you and half of me.” When Gérard had still been in prison, holding Henri reminded her that Gérard had been real. That he still existed.

He slowly turned to her. “Come.” Taking her hand, he led them back out of the room.

Quietly closing the door, he finally said, “I gave Sade the papers.”

Relief flooded her. She closed her eyes, a half-breath escaping her, knowing she would not have to spend their time convincing him of it.

He was quiet for a long moment. “I am leaving you in Sade’s care.”

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. “I am fully capable of taking care of myself.”

An undefined emotion pulsed from him. “I know that. It is the only reason why I am able to do this.” Swiping his face as if to erase whatever he was thinking, he turned and stalked down the corridor. He walked faster.

Startled to think he was already leaving, she panicked and bustled after him. “Gérard? Where are you going? You are not leaving yet, are you?”

He jerked to a halt and then gritting his teeth, turned and smashed his fist into the wall, denting the plaster. A tremor shook the corridor.

She jumped, sensing his time in prison was about to crawl out. “Gérard. You have every right to be angry, but please do not waste what little time we have assaulting walls.”

He dug his scarred fingers into his neck and half-nodded. “You are right. I…forgive me. I…” He swung back toward her, his chest now rising and falling unevenly. “If I disappear from your life, in ten years time will you forget me? Even if I am unable to knock on your door?”

Tears burned her eyes. “No. Never.”

“What about twenty years?”

“I will always remember you.”

“
Always
? Do you swear it?”

She fought against the tears that sought to overwhelm her. “We will see each other again once this revolution is done. I know we will.”

He pointed at her. “Damn right we will. Because you are mine. You will
always
be mine, and I wish to ensure it.” Stalking back toward her, he dug into his pocket and lowering himself to one knee, held up a small gold ring with a large garnet. “I have nothing to give you but this, and even this is borrowed. Wear it knowing I will come back for you. However long that may be. Will you wait for me?”

Tears blinded her and she choked out, “Yes. I will wait for you.”

He quickly rose and taking her hand, pushed the ring onto her finger. He kissed it, pressing his lips against it. “When we see each other again, will you marry me?”

She sniffed, her hand trembling against his. “Yes.”

“You have made me the happiest of men in the worst of times and for that, I thank you.” He searched her face. “No more tears. Not during our last moments. Kiss me. Kiss me and—” Grabbing her face, he captured her mouth with his own, forcing her lips apart with his tongue.

They kissed ever so slowly, lingering the feel of each other.

Trying to go slow, however, was pointless. It didn’t last.

He frantically worked his tongue against hers and she frantically worked her tongue against his, her heart pounding.

She scrambled to shove off his coat.

His hands jumped to her wrists hard, seizing them. He turned them and shoved her against the nearest wall, causing her to gasp against the aggression she sensed had nothing to do with passion. Her eyes snapped open, her pulse thundering.

Gérard stared down at her in between heavy breaths, holding her wrists high above her head against the wall. “You are not seeing me without my clothes. They stay on.”

Gone was her beloved rake who had once openly pleasured himself and showed off his body. Dread scraped her. “Gérard,” she whispered up at him. “Sade told me what they did. And regardless of what was done, I will embrace whatever lies beneath your clothes.”

His features tightened. “I want you to remember what was. Not what is.” He released her wrists and held up his scabbed and heavily scarred hands between them. “This is best part of my body right now.
This
.”

She swallowed and gently brought each hand to her lips, kissing the rough skin and the fingers that had been gashed but healing. She traced her fingers against them. “Talk to me. Do not keep it in. Whatever you have to say, I am here listening.”

He watched her fingers against his own and tonelessly said, “It never ended. I was either whipped until I lost consciousness or forced to watch executions at the square by blade or fire. They would tie men and women naked and toss them into the river calling it a worthy marriage. They—” His voice cracked. “I preferred the whip.”

Dearest God. She cradled his face with trembling hands and kissed his forehead repeatedly in an attempt to convey that she had cried as many tears as he had endured pain. Sade had been right to protect Gérard from ever knowing what his father had done to her and her cousin. It would only hurt him more. And there was no need to burden him. Not after everything he had been through.

He tugged away his hands. “All that matters is that you are mine. You are mine now.”

“Yes. I am. I am yours now.”

He nodded. Dragging in a deep breath that fully widened his chest, he gripped her bodice with both hands and ripped her bodice down to her waist with a violent tug.