Surrender to a Stranger (25 page)

Jacqueline could sense Armand’s anger, but she could do nothing to assuage it while Laura was here. She tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to her.

“That is distressing news indeed,” agreed Armand sympathetically. “If you will excuse us for a moment, Laura, there is a small matter which I must discuss privately with Mademoiselle de Lambert.”

Laura opened her mouth to protest, clearly not liking the idea of leaving the two of them alone.

“But do not stray too far, for I intend to claim you for a dance in ten minutes,” he added quickly, his voice filled with promise. He took her hand and pressed a lingering kiss against it.

“Very well,” sighed Laura, her mouth forming into a pretty little pout. “Ten minutes.” She smiled at him and left the room.

As soon as the door was closed Armand turned to Jacqueline, his expression harsh. “As usual, Mademoiselle, I have underestimated you,” he grated out in French. “Your highly enjoyable performance was worthy of the most seasoned courtesan. The marquis must be a very special man to have inspired such total, selfless devotion.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“How dare you speak to me so,” she choked.

“Oh come now, Mademoiselle,” returned Armand, irritated beyond measure at his own stupidity. How could he have been so foolish as to think she was actually responding to him honestly? Obviously his year of celibacy had clouded his perception where women were concerned. She had been using him, trying to seduce him into agreeing to help her. If he had not been so thoroughly taken in by her performance, he might have actually found it amusing. “You can abandon this show of false indignation. Tell me, for I am curious, just when exactly did you intend to tell me that this ‘friend’ of yours was in fact your betrothed?” he demanded.

Humiliation and anger swirled within her. By comparing her to a courtesan he had essentially called her a whore. Which was not true. She could not begin to understand why she had reacted to his touch the way she had, but it had nothing to do with her wanting him to rescue François-Louis. “I do not see how it is any of your affair what his relationship is to me,” she informed him icily.

“But, Mademoiselle, you asked me to risk my life to save him,” he reminded her. “That makes everything about him my affair. However, since I will not be saving him, I guess it does not matter. If you will excuse me.” He gave her a curt nod and began to walk toward the door.

“Wait!”

He stopped and turned. “Forgive me. Is there something more we have to discuss?”

“Monsieur St. James, I proposed a business arrangement to you,” she began, trying desperately to stay calm. If he did not agree to help her, François-Louis would die, and now more than ever his death would be her fault.

“So you did,” he remarked agreeably. “And I have turned it down.” He placed his hand on the door latch.

“Why?” she demanded in frustration. “Because I am asking you to rescue the man I was engaged to marry?”

He paused for a moment before answering. “No,” he stated finally. “I am turning you down, Mademoiselle, because once again you have nothing with which to pay me.”

“But I have offered you the De Lambert jewels,” she reminded him.

He looked at her with amusement. “You forget, Mademoiselle, that in my business I find it necessary to require payment in advance. You are offering to pay me with something you do not have. Now, how could you reasonably expect me to accept such an offer?”

“I have offered to go and fetch the jewels myself,” she told him in frustration, “but you will not let me. I have offered you money out of the fund I set up for Suzanne and Séraphine, but you will not accept it. What else do I have to offer you? What is it you want?”

He looked at her intently, sensing her desperation. “You,” he stated flatly. He did not know why he said it, and he did not care.

She frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I want you,” he repeated softly. “In my bed. For one night.”

She paused and let his meaning sink in. “You must be mad!” she suddenly blazed in disbelief.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “No sane man could possibly think a night with you was worth risking his life for. But that is my price, Mademoiselle. One night with you, before I leave to rescue your poor marquis. Take it or leave it.”

Taut silence hung between them. He met the glittering gray fury of her eyes calmly, waiting for her to tell him to go straight to the devil.

“What you are proposing is out of the question,” she informed him stiffly.

“Really?” he remarked with amusement, perversely pleased her devotion to her betrothed was not so great she was willing to sacrifice herself for him. “How unfortunate for your poor marquis.” He began to move toward the door.

“Wait!” she cried, desperately trying to think of some way to negotiate with him.

He turned and regarded her questioningly. “Was there something else you wished to discuss, Mademoiselle?”

She hesitated. Perhaps if she agreed to spend the night with him, she could get him to accept the condition that it not be until after he had rescued François-Louis. By the time François-Louis was safe in England, Jacqueline would be on her way back to France. She realized it was extremely dishonorable to enter into an agreement one had no intention of fulfilling, but given the sordid, despicable nature of his proposal, somehow she did not feel overly guilty about lying to him. She closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh of defeat, as if she were struggling with a difficult decision.

“Very well, Monsieur St. James,” she murmured wearily. “I accept your terms.”

He could not believe he had heard her correctly. “I beg your pardon?” he managed, stunned.

“I said I accept your terms,” she repeated. “I will give myself to you for one night, if you will return to France and rescue the Marquis de Biret.”

He did not know which disgusted him more, the fact that he had been reduced to suggesting she prostitute herself, or the fact that she had accepted his offer so readily.

“However,” she continued casually, “I do not believe I should have to fulfill my part of this arrangement until François-Louis has been removed from danger. After all, what if you are not successful?”

A curious mixture of relief and irritation flooded through him as he realized her game. She had no intention of sleeping with him. She was simply trying to manipulate him into rescuing her precious betrothed. Once this marquis was safely delivered, she would say thank you very much and that would be that. His mouth curved with amusement.

“I have already made it clear, Mademoiselle, that I require payment for my services in advance,” he informed her. “If I do not succeed in a mission, it is because I am dead.” He slowly moved his eyes up and down the length of her, hesitating at the creamy flesh that swelled above the black-jeweled bodice of her gown, then gave her a lazy smile. “And if I am to die on this particular mission, I would like to at least have the memory of what it was I risked my life for,” he drawled silkily.

“That is not possible!” she burst out furiously, feeling strangely heated by his intense scrutiny of her.

He blinked his eyes with affected confusion. “But why not? What difference does it make whether you pay me now or later?” He paused and frowned. “Unless, of course, you have no intention of fulfilling your part of our agreement,” he mused thoughtfully.

“Monsieur St. James, what you are asking is totally unreasonable,” she blurted pleadingly, desperately trying to think of something else she could offer him.

“A pity,” he remarked with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. “Well then, Mademoiselle, if our business for this evening is finished, I hope you will forgive me if I take my leave of you.”

She despised his flippant, cavalier manner. François-Louis was going to die, and because she would not agree to his price, Armand was utterly uninterested. Rescuing helpless prisoners from France was simply a matter of business to him and nothing more. “By all means,” she replied tautly, feeling as if she was going to scream. “You must not keep Laura waiting for her dance.”

He noted the angry brittleness in her voice, but he chose to ignore it. He gave her a small bow and left the room.

Jacqueline sank down onto the sofa and pressed her forehead against the heels of her hands. She had failed. She had not been able to get Armand to agree to help poor François-Louis, and now he would be executed. The horrendous burden of yet another death had been added to her shoulders. Her chastity for his life. She bit down hard on her lip as she wrestled with the terrible guilt swirling within her.

When the awful news of François-Louis’s death finally reached her, she did not think she would be able to bear it.

The rapping on the door was soft but insistent. “Jacklyn, dear, are you not going to join us for dinner?” called Lady Harrington from the hallway.

Jacqueline sighed and rose from her bed. “Forgive me, Lady Harrington,” she apologized as she opened the door. “I am not feeling well. I should have sent Charlotte to you with this message.”

Lady Harrington regarded her with concern. “Are you ill, my dear? Shall I send for a doctor?”

Jacqueline shook her head. “It is nothing. But I do not desire to be dining this evening,” she explained awkwardly, struggling to find the correct English tenses.

Lady Harrington appeared unconvinced. “You have barely eaten a thing for two days now. I think perhaps I should have our doctor look at you.”

“Non,”
blurted out Jacqueline. “It is not necessary.”

“You are worried about your betrothed, aren’t you, my dear?” the older woman asked. Her voice was filled with sympathy.

Jacqueline nodded.

“You must try to put him from your mind. I know you think that is impossible, but you must try,” she instructed. Her expression softened. “There is nothing any of us can do for him, Jacklyn,” she added gently.

Wasn’t there? wondered Jacqueline bitterly. Armand could save him. She knew he could. But unless she agreed to his odious proposal, he would not lift a finger to help poor François-Louis.

“I am going to have Charlotte bring you a tray,” continued Lady Harrington. “And I want you to promise me you will try to eat something.”

“I am not hungry,” protested Jacqueline.

“Nevertheless, I want you to eat,” she repeated firmly.

Jacqueline sighed. She knew Lady Harrington was acting the way any worried mother might. In a way she was touched by her concern. “Very well, Lady Harrington,” she conceded wearily.

Lady Harrington gave her a smile of approval and then bustled down the hallway, her voluminous purple silk evening gown swishing noisily around her.

Jacqueline closed the door and leaned heavily against it. The excruciating headache that had started two days ago after her confrontation with Armand continued to pound mercilessly at her temples. She lifted her fingers and tried to massage the throbbing away, but she knew it was no use. Exhausted from the pain and the agonizing guilt she had been wrestling with these past two days, she staggered back to the bed and flung herself down on it. She did not know how much longer she could go on like this.

Because of her François-Louis was going to die. It was that simple. If not for her incredible escape from prison, he would never have been accused of conspiring to assist her. She was free and safe in England, and François-Louis was sitting in a miserable Paris prison awaiting execution for something he did not do. The cruel injustice of it was staggering.

She had tried to come up with another idea to help him escape, but the only person she knew who could help her was Armand. But how could she possibly agree to his terms? she wondered desperately. The idea of sleeping with a man as part of a business arrangement was utterly sordid and base. If she consented to it, her actions reduced her to the morals of a common whore. But what kind of morality would value her chastity over a man’s life? When she received the news that the man she was pledged to marry had been executed, would she feel appropriately virtuous and pure because her virginity remained intact? She knew without a doubt she would not. François-Louis’s murder would cast a hideous black pall of unrelenting guilt over whatever little remained of her life. She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled onto her side.

Perhaps it was not such a terrible sin to barter with one’s body, she reflected. Especially in such extraordinary circumstances, where the life of a friend was at stake. After all, she reminded herself, it was only one time. It would probably be over quickly, and no one other than Armand would ever know about it. Once she had completed her end of their agreement, he could leave immediately for Paris. François-Louis might be safe in England within a few weeks. Despite the extreme sordidness of his terms, Jacqueline had no doubt Armand would honor his end of their bargain. After all, he was a businessman who valued his reputation. He would do everything within his power to make sure the mission was a success. François-Louis would be alive and safe. And all this miraculous feat would have cost was her virginity.

She sat upright on the bed, her heart pounding as she struggled with her decision. Her virginity was a commodity that did not interest her at this point, she told herself fiercely. The only thing that mattered was that François-Louis be rescued.

She moved swiftly across the room to her writing table and began to pen a note to Armand, tersely informing him of her acceptance and asking him to make the necessary arrangements quickly. The sooner she fulfilled her end of their agreement, the sooner Armand could leave for France, she reflected as she waited impatiently for the ink to dry. As for the possibility Armand would fail and François-Louis would die anyway, she would not consider that.

Jacqueline stared out the carriage window at the enormous silvery-gray stone estate that stretched across the snow-covered grounds. The immense building was a glowing jewel against the blackness of the night, lit in every window as brilliantly as the Château de Lambert used to be when her father and mother gave one of their many lavish parties. At first she wondered if they had come to the right place, for Jacqueline did not believe Armand could possibly finance such a grand home merely by rescuing desperate aristocrats from France. His ship, she knew, must have been costly, but it was obviously essential to his line of business. To live in an estate as grand as this, which was far larger and much more magnificent than the home of the Harringtons, one would have to be enormously wealthy, and since Armand was not an aristocrat, with centuries of accumulated wealth and property behind him, she simply could not imagine how he could have accumulated such a vast fortune.

The carriage door swung open and the coachman offered her his arm as she descended the steps. She adjusted the collar of her cloak to protect herself from the icy December air as she stood and faced the enormous house. It did not have the graceful, ornate whimsy of the Château de Lambert, but there was an elegant simplicity to the structure that somehow made it just as beautiful. Three tiers of large windows graced the front of the building, and Jacqueline imagined that when the sun beat down on those windows, the interior of the house must be flooded with light, a feature she sorely missed at the oppressively dark Harrington estate. The grounds surrounding the house were extensive, and judging by the endless rows of carefully clipped evergreens and snow-covered stone sculptures, it was obvious the gardens were immense and well tended. It was a home that reflected wealth and power, but it also revealed something of the taste of its owner. That understated, streamlined simplicity Jacqueline had seen in the way Armand dressed and furnished his surroundings was evident here. There was nothing fanciful or decorative in the facade of his home, except for four magnificent Corinthian pillars that framed the massive oak front door. The structure was an architectural study of balance and order, of classical simplicity and timeless beauty. It was totally at odds with the highly ornamented architectural style Jacqueline had grown up with, but she did not find the building stark and unattractive. Instead she found there was a calmness to it, a quiet tranquillity that was restful and soothing. As she stood contemplating this the front door swung open, revealing a tall figure whose enormous physique practically blocked the light spilling into the darkness from the entrance hall.

“Good evening, Mademoiselle,” said Armand pleasantly in French. “Are you going to come in, or would you like a few more minutes to reconsider our agreement? I can have Tom take you home if you have decided to change your mind.”

She stiffened at his blatant reference to their arrangement in front of a servant. She turned to see the coachman dutifully standing by the carriage, obviously waiting to see if there were any further instructions before he returned to the stables. He nodded his head and smiled at her, which profoundly added to her embarrassment. Determined not to let a servant witness her humiliation, or give him anything to gossip with other servants about, she straightened her spine and proceeded regally up the steps.

“Ask your driver to keep the carriage ready,” she instructed Armand icily. “I trust this matter will not take long.” In actual fact she had absolutely no idea how long the act of lovemaking took, but she was not about to let him know that. She swept by him into the hallway, her manner very much that of a busy woman who has an insignificant errand to attend to and then must be on her way.

Armand gave a nod to the coachman and closed the door. He did not know whether to feel annoyed or relieved. He had told himself he would give her the opportunity to change her mind, right up until the moment she stepped into his house. He felt that was only fair. In truth, he had not really expected her to show up at all. When he received her note informing him that she accepted his terms, he had been totally shocked. He had written back to tell her how much he was looking forward to the prospect of her company. He said he would send a carriage for her the following night, and suggested she feign a headache and retire early, which would enable her to slip out unnoticed. He had assured himself that once she had more time to consider the crudeness of his proposal, she would come to her senses and realize she could not barter herself like a common whore. He had fully expected her to send his coachman home tonight with another note, either boldly telling him to go to hell, or imploring him to consider an alternate form of payment. Yet here she was, standing in his hallway, pulling off her hat and stripping off her gloves in a most businesslike manner, trying to hide her obvious nervousness behind a brisk, take-charge air. Part of him was utterly furious with her for being so foolish, and wanted to march her into the library and give her a two-hour lecture on propriety and what happened to women who bargained with their bodies, before sending her back to the Harringtons’ in his carriage. But another part of him, a far deeper, less familiar part, was fascinated and intrigued by the fact that she was actually here, in his home, ready and willing to give herself to him. He could not forget the incredibly intense desire she had awakened in him when he had taken her in his arms the other night. Nor could he ignore the fact that she had responded to him with a passion and need that quite possibly matched his own.

He knew she had not wanted to respond to him. She considered him beneath her. She was betrothed to a marquis from an ancient noble family, someone of impeccable breeding and great wealth, who undoubtedly never sullied his hands by engaging in commerce or working the land. How could he ever compete with that? She despised him for what she perceived to be his tainted source of income. She believed he made his living by trading in desperate human cargo, and he had said nothing to refute that erroneous assumption. And beyond that, he knew she was furious with him, for he had saved her life but at the same time he had stripped her of her choices, forcing her to flee the country she loved so dearly, and blocking her attempts to escape and seek her much-needed revenge. He understood her anger with him. He even understood the dictates of society that made her feel she was better than others, customs and rules that had evolved over the centuries, asserting that an untitled man like him was unfit for her to socialize with. Which made the fact that she was actually here all the more fascinating.

“Did you have to mention our arrangement in front of the driver?” Jacqueline snapped furiously as she wrenched at the buttons of her cloak. “Discretion may not be important to you, but I would prefer it if this sordid incident was kept strictly between us.”

Her description of their meeting as sordid reminded him that he had forced her here, and once again he felt a wave of self-loathing. “Are you worried your precious marquis might not be understanding of the sacrifices you were willing to make to save him?” His voice was heavy with contempt, but not all of it was directed at her. Most of it was directed at himself.

She stared hard at him, her gray eyes glittering with barely suppressed fury. “I think there are very few people who would describe the price you have chosen to extract from me as either fair or honorable,” she informed him tautly. “But since I have elected to accept your offer, I do not see any point in discussing it further. I do not, however, believe it is either wise or necessary to make our arrangement known to the entire world, do you?”

Armand sighed. He did not wish to begin their evening together with an argument. “You need not concern yourself, Mademoiselle,” he assured her. “Tom has been in my employ for many years, and discretion has long been part of his job. You may trust me when I tell you no one will learn of our meeting through him.”

She nodded with satisfaction and began to look around, uncertain what to do next. Armand walked over and assisted her with the removal of her cloak. Underneath it she was wearing a high-necked, long-sleeved gown of black silk, totally void of ornamentation. It was far less revealing than the gown she had worn the other night. It could not hide her beauty, but it was clearly meant to be as somber and unenticing as possible. He could not help but smile at her choice.