Royal 02 - Royal Passion (8 page)

She had not spoken to them since her arrival. They seemed to have a constant round of duties to carry out for Roderic, duties that took them to all parts of the city, moving back and forth in a steady stream. Their relaxation was pursued with the same intensity; they were always setting out for a cockfight or a prizefight, the theater or a drinking bout in the rooms above some restaurant. They must rest sometime, she knew, but she had not yet discovered where or when.

She had not looked for Roderic's cadre, of course. She had been intent on her inspection of the building, on learning her way around it and discovering why it was in such disorder.

She had come to the conclusion that it was one of two possible reasons. Either there was no money to hire the necessary number of servants to keep things as they should be or else there was no one to direct them and hold them responsible for keeping their jobs done. She thought it the latter, for she had come upon any number of men and women in livery and aprons standing gossiping in the corridors, drinking and arguing in the kitchens, or playing slap and tickle behind the doors of the guest bedchambers. It would be an enormous undertaking to bring order to the great house, but just the sight of all the grit and filth, to say nothing of slacking servants, made her itch to try it.

The barking sounded again. She turned her head, listening. Combined with sharp, excited yelping were dull thumps and thuds, with now and then a shout. The noise was not coming from the east wing after all, but from the north court wing. Lifting her skirts, she hurried along the gallery, turning left into an antechamber, moving from it into an extra bedchamber with a dressing room beyond, then right into a long salon, which she crossed before turning right again into another long gallery.

The room, lined with windows on both sides and heated by a fireplace at each end, was as warm and bright as it was possible to be on such a cold and gray day. Candles burned in the chandeliers overhead so that their grime-coated luster appeared silver. A long, woven rug, threadbare but beautiful still in a design of classical figures on a cream background in dark blue, red, and gold lay on the intricate parquet floor, the only item of furnishing in the room. The high ceiling was groined, with heavy moldings and cornices covered with gold leaf, leaving a series of open squares down the room. These squares were painted with scenes depicting the life of Diana and were of the same colors in the rug beneath them. The paintings were dim beneath layers of dirt, but the colors were still warm and rich. In the center of the room, directly under a scene of Diana with Cupid, was a pyramid of people.

The bottom tier was made up of Michael, Jacques, and Jared on their hands and knees. Braced on top of them, also on hands and knees, were Trude and the gypsy Luca. On the top of these two was Estes, who was balancing precariously as the others swayed back and forth in an apparent effort to dislodge him, while he himself was doing his best to persuade Demon to scramble up to crown their pile. The dog, his mouth hanging open in a canine grin between sharp barks, was keeping well away from them.

There were complaints about sharp knees, bony shoulders, and great behemoths who overeat; groans, moans, and muttered curses. But there was also breathless laughter and a feeling of fun and ready camaraderie. Mara, putting her hands on her hips, could not keep from smiling.

"What are you doing?” she demanded.

Michael turned his head sharply. His face flushed as he saw her and, instinctively, he started to rise. Luca gave a yell as he lost his balance. Trude slipped and said something under her breath. Then in a tangle of legs and arms the pyramid dissolved. Estes sprang to his feet, raised his arms, and flipped into the air. Trude and Luca made diving rolls forward. Michael, Jared, and Jacques somersaulted. And suddenly there they were, all six, on their feet in front of her with their arms spread wide. As one, they bent double in a bow. Demon, not to be outdone, capered forward and stood on his hind legs, dancing in a circle.

"Oh, well done!” Mara exclaimed, applauding.

Estes bounced upright. With his arms still spread, he turned to the others. “Shall we do it again?"

"No!” they chorused.

Estes turned back with a shrug. “
Eh bien
, the show is over."

"Show, my eye,” Jared said, flexing his shoulder and back muscles.

"A demonstration of the art of falling then, a useful skill."

"Yes,” Mara said, her tone rueful, “I seem to remember you mentioning it before. Do you think I could learn?"

"Nothing easier, when you are recovered."

"I'm perfectly well."

"No more
mal de tête
?"

"No headache."

"Your shoulder?"

"A bit stiff, but it might be as well if I used it."

"Well, then!” the Italian count exclaimed, then as he glanced down at her slender form, his face fell.

"What is it?"

"Ah, there is the matter of ... you see—"

"What he is trying to say,” Trude interrupted, stepping forward, “is that it will be difficult for you in your skirts."

Mara gave a slow nod. “I see."

"You have the trousers?” Estes asked, his tone hopeful.

"No. Nothing except this gown."

"Ah."

They looked at one another, then back to Mara. They looked at Trude, who shook her head."Mine are too large."

"And mine too small,” Estes said regretfully.

"Mine are too long,” Michael said.

Luca flashed a grin that showed white teeth. “I have only one pair of a quality fit for a lady, and I have them on as I came today to Paris to see Roderic. Of course, if they are required, I will gladly—"

"That will not be necessary.” Trude gave him a repressive look.

"Ours are too big,” the twins said.

Trude pursed her lips as she looked at them. “Perhaps not. Size in the lower body of a woman is deceiving; our pelves are larger than they may appear, for natural reasons."

"Still, I think not,” Estes said.

"Roderic's?” Michael asked.

Sadly, Estes shook his head. “Too large."

As one, they turned toward Michael. “Scissors. Who has scissors?"

Mara did not cut the trousers that they brought for her, however; she only rolled them to her knees. The shirt she had also been loaned hung upon her with the sleeves in rolls around her elbows where she had turned them up. There were no studs to hold the shirt closed, so she used a piece of ribbon from her camisole to tie it at the top and tucked the remainder into her trousers. She removed her waist-heeled shoes, but retained her stockings of opaque white silk, bedraggled though they were, since they gave her some feeling of semirespectability. Still, it was rather embarrassing to emerge from the salon where she had changed wearing them, a little like appearing in public in her pantalettes and camisole.

They began with simple somersaults down the length of the rug, rolling over and over like so many garden bugs tucked into balls. Agile as a monkey and twice as droll, Estes showed her how to relax as she fell. It was tight muscles and joints that caused injury, he claimed; she must relax and move in the direction of the fall, continuing the motion so that it was dispelled, instead of trying to stop it and having it come to a jarring halt against the hard ground with her body in the way. They progressed from somersaults to gentle tumbles and cartwheels for Mara, while the others bounded down the length of the gallery in a series of quick, head-over-heels springs. So fast did they move, and so vigorously, that it was as if they were made of coiled steel.

Time passed, and Mara began to lose a sense of self, to feel that her muscles could and would respond to the dictates of her brain on an instant's command. At first there had been some soreness in her shoulder, but it seeped away. Her hair came down from the loose knot she had put it up in that morning. It spilled around her, clinging to her flushed face with its dew of perspiration from the exertion. They were moving so quickly, however, that there was no time to see to it.

"Now we will teach you to land on your feet like the cat,” Estes declared. “We make the standing pyramid, all seven!"

Once again, Michael and the twins took the load on the bottom row. Estes, talking all the time about footholds and handholds and the art of climbing a human body, clambered up to stand on Michael's shoulders on one side. Trude made her way up to balance on Jared's shoulders on the other, and Luca climbed up onto those of Jacques in the middle. Those on bottom held the ankles of those in the second row, who in turn linked arms, gently swaying for balance.

"Come, Chère, now you on the very top. Up you go!"

She could not do it, she told herself as she stared up at the place she was meant to be, so near the painting on the top of the high ceiling. At the same time, she took a few running steps and began to climb, bracing on a knee, the crook of an arm, a shoulder, pushing, pulling, gasping with the effort to draw herself higher. At last she knelt on Luca's shoulders, her fingers clutching his hair.

"Ouch!” the gypsy yelled.

"Steady, my angel,” Estes called as she released her grasp and had to fling her arm out abruptly, wobbling back and forth to maintain her place on the wavering, shifting column of bodies.

"I'm going to break my neck and be an angel indeed,” she said with resignation.

"Indeed not!"

There was more gaiety than she thought seemly in the Italian's tone. “Yes!"

"Trust me, my cabbage. Put your hand on Luca's head. Now push, fast, fast, up, and get your foot on his shoulder. Good. Steady. Now take your fingers from his hair—"

"Thank you,” Luca said.

"Quiet. Rise, little one, rise. Turn. Place your other foot on his other shoulder. Easy. Hands on hips.
Voilà
!"

The muscles in her legs were on fire, trembling with the effort. Her heart was beating with hammer strokes, thudding against her rib cage. Her breathing was a sharp pain in her chest. Her hands were balled into fists for self-control, and her toes were tightly curled. But she was there. She had made it.

They cheered, a lusty roar that held a note of admiration for her pluckiness, plus warm male appreciation for the fact that she was a woman and attractive. So vital and loud was the sound that they did not hear the opening of the door.

"A fine carouse and an edifying spectacle, but not a proper greeting for a guest—or treatment for an injured lady."

It was Roderic, standing straight and tall in the doorway with a large gentleman at his side and the sharp chill of ice shards in his voice.

"Hoopla!” Estes called. Demon barked once, then sat with his tongue lolling out and tail wagging expectantly.

The pyramid disintegrated. One moment it stood firm and steady beneath her; the next there was only air between her and the hard parquet floor. She exhaled as she had been taught and relaxed, beginning to curl forward as she fell. Abruptly, she was caught in a net of arms. The cadre, grinning hugely, held her a moment until she had caught her breath. Then they bounced her gently and tipped her up forward onto her feet.

Estes turned to Roderic with a flourish. “You see, my prince! The lady was as safe with us as a babe in arms, safer than she knew, this you may believe."

The prince was displeased. He said nothing, but it was there in the set of his shoulders, the bronze implacability of his face. He transferred his gaze to Mara, missing nothing of her dishevelment and odd costume, her flushed and moist cheeks, and the flustered concern for her dignity that was dawning behind the bright triumph and merriment in her eyes.

"Magnifique!"
The man beside Roderic stepped up to catch Estes's hand, giving it a hearty shake. “A fantastic thing; such control, such strength and agility! I wish I might try it, but, alas, I have partaken too well of the good things of life for such acrobatics."

"Monsieur exaggerates.” Estes inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment, his tone polite.

"No, no, I assure you I wouldn't try,” the man said, patting his bulging waistline. “But it's sad that my father, when he was an officer in the army of Napoleon, was able to sit in the saddle holding on to a stable beam and pick up his horse with his thighs."

"Formidable,” Estes said, his eyes wide.

"Yes."

"Forgive me, Alex,” Roderic said, “I did not mean to neglect you. You know my
garde du corps,
permit me to present to you this lady whom you wished to meet, Mademoiselle Incognito. Chère, the well-known writer Alexandre Dumas."

"My appreciation for those kind words, Roderic. Mademoiselle, I am enchanted. The prince has told me something of your story. What a delicious mystery, the very stuff of a novel—I must consider it."

"It would make a short and sorry tale, I fear."

"Not,” he said superbly, “when I had finished with it."

"Perhaps so,” she agreed, her lips curving in a smile for the courtesy and simple ego of the man. He was tall as well as large, in his midforties, handsome in a florid fashion. He was well dressed in a frock coat and trousers of the latest cut, though the waistcoat that covered his expansive chest was of a blindingly bright red brocade embroidered with gold thread. His hair was dark blond and wildly curling, with traces of white over his ears. His eyes were blue and his complexion the color of the
café au lait
commonly given to children, more milky cream than coffee. It was common knowledge that his grandmother had been a Negro slave from the West Indies plantation of his grandfather when the two had begun to live together, a relationship that may or may not have been legalized. In New Orleans it would have been cause for shame; here in Paris it merely made him interesting. She added, “It is a great pleasure to meet you. I have enjoyed your historical romances so very much, particularly
The Three Musketeers
."

"You remember my book, you who have forgotten so much else of importance? How delightful. The brain is a strange thing, is it not, picking and choosing among its memories?"

"So it seems. But I am happy to be able to tell you that of all you have written, I think this book and also
The Count of Monte Cristo
are surely masterpieces.” She had always spent much time during the long Louisiana summers reading, but books had been an especially valued retreat during her period of mourning for Dennis.