The Courtesan (12 page)

He broke off, so stricken with guilt it was all she could do not to wrap her arms about him. The only way she could resist the impulse was to pull free of his grasp and retreat from the window seat.

“Oh, don’t make such a fuss.” Her voice was not as steady as she would have liked it to be. “Obviously I am not dead. Renard came to the rescue. He was able to brew up an antidote. As it happens, the comte knows a bit more about the practice of dark magic than any man should. If we had realized that sooner, you could have taken the gloves straight to him. Unfortunately we don’t even have them anymore. After we all thought you were dead, we were obliged to make peace with the Dark Queen as best we could.”

Gabrielle’s lips thinned, remembering how much it had galled her, had eaten away at her very soul to declare a truce with the woman who had threatened her family, the vile witch she had blamed so bitterly for Remy’s death. One day she would make Catherine pay dearly, Gabrielle had vowed.

But it was a vow she had been unable to keep and gazing at Remy, Gabrielle was beset by the feeling that she had failed him.

“I—I am so sorry, Remy,” she said. “We didn’t feel we had any other choice. The Dark Queen had captured Renard. We had to trade the gloves back to Catherine in order to save his life.”

“Oh, damn those gloves. As if I ever had any hope of bringing that evil woman to justice. It was a fool’s quest. All I accomplished was nearly getting you killed.” Remy slumped forward, his hands dangling between his knees, his attitude one of bitter defeat.

Gabrielle’s fingers twitched with the urge to smooth away those lines of worry, to rid him of those shadows that haunted him. She had to bury her hands in the folds of her gown to still the impulse.

“Don’t be so foolish. If I had been killed, it would have owed more to my own curiosity and impulsiveness than any fault of yours. You may have noticed,” she added with an impish smile. “I can be a trifle reckless at times.”

Her words did not provoke the answering smile from Remy that she had hoped for. His mouth remained set in a taut line of self-reproach.

“You would never have been in any danger if I hadn’t brought it to your door. And here I am back again to—” Remy expelled a harsh breath, rife with self-disgust. “I should never have come. Forgive me.”

He shoved to his feet. As though he did not trust himself to look at her again, Remy marched toward the bedchamber door. For a moment, Gabrielle was too stunned to react. But when she realized what he was about to do, she tore after him. Remy already had the door ajar, but Gabrielle shoved past him. She gripped the jamb to prevent him opening the door any farther.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Leaving.”

“Just like that? Without another word?”

Remy made no reply, but the answer was writ clear in his eyes. He was going to steal back into the night, vanish from her life as though he’d never returned. And this time she truly never would see him again.

She should wish for just that. Remy’s return into her life had only served to confuse her, to stir up vulnerabilities and tender emotions she could not afford to feel. But the thought of losing him all over again filled her with something akin to panic.

“How dare you!” Gabrielle cried. “You let me think you are dead for three years and then you saunter back into my life one night. You scare the wits out of me, nearly shock me to death. You hint at some mysterious reason for your return, some favor you require of me. And now you’ve changed your mind and just plan to disappear again?”

“It will be far better for you if I do.”

“Damn you, Nicolas Remy.” Gabrielle tried to shove him away from the door. But it was like trying to budge a stone wall. She glared up at him. “Stop treating me like I am some innocent damsel that needs protecting. I am more than capable of looking out for my own interests. Just tell me what you want and I will decide if the price is too high.”

Remy shook his head, his jaw set in an inflexible line. In another heartbeat, he would shift her to one side and walk out that door. Fighting to conceal her mounting desperation, she prodded, “Tell me what you need. A place to hide? Money?”

A dark flush stained his cheekbones. “By thunder, Gabrielle! Do you truly think me the sort of man who would come to beg coin from you?”

He drew himself up to his full height, a rare spark of anger flashing in his eyes. His umbrage caused him to step away from the door. Gabrielle made haste to close it.

She caught hold of Remy’s hand and tugged him farther into the room. “Oh, stop being such a stubborn ass and tell me why you came back to Paris. You know me well enough to realize I won’t give you any peace until you do.”

“Aye, how well do I know that.” He resisted a moment longer, then relented with a wearied sigh. “Very well. I came back because of my king. The Dark Queen has been holding him prisoner since St. Bartholomew’s Eve and it is my duty to rescue him.”

“Oh.” Gabrielle dropped Remy’s hand as though she had been scorched. She managed to school her features to hide the fact that her mouth had gone dry with dismay. She stalked back over to the bedside table to fortify herself with a glass of wine.

So Remy had returned to Paris to mount a desperate bid to free his king. The same cause he had risked his neck for three years ago. Gabrielle reflected bitterly that she might have guessed as much. The fool. The insufferably noble, reckless fool.

“My information is correct, is it not?” Remy called uncertainly after her. “The Dark Queen does still hold him captive?”

“Navarre is not languishing in the Bastille, if that is what you mean. He is Catherine’s son-in-law, after all. He has his own apartments at the Louvre, although he is kept under close guard.
Very
close guard.”

“Nonetheless, it is my duty to get him out of there.”

Gabrielle swore softly under her breath. Damn Nicolas Remy and his infernal sense of duty. She raised the wine to her lips only to set it back down untasted. Whipping about, she glared at him. “I see. You didn’t manage to get yourself slaughtered on St. Bartholomew’s Eve, so now you are determined to have another go at it.”

“I trust it won’t come to that . . . with your help.”

“What do you think I can do?”

“I have heard that you are received at court and I wondered if you might contrive to get a message to the king, let him know I am still alive, that I have returned to free him. But I need information regarding the location of his rooms, the number of his guards . . .” Remy trailed off, raking his hand back through the uneven lengths of his hair. It was clear that he had not wanted to ask her. But it was equally clear that he was desperate for her help and that part of him hoped she would agree.

“So you want me to act as the go-between in this escape plot?” Gabrielle asked bluntly.

“Yes,” Remy said, his eyes intent upon her face. Gabrielle was obliged to turn away so he could not see the full depth of her consternation.

She retreated to one of the tall windows near the bed. Oh, why couldn’t the blasted man have wanted something as simple as money or a place to stay? Outside of her sisters, Nicolas Remy was one of the few people in the world she would have been willing to do anything for. Well, almost anything, Gabrielle corrected herself.

Others had tried before to spirit the captive Navarre out of Paris. The conspirators had been caught and condemned to death. Not only was Gabrielle unwilling to help Remy to hazard his life in such a dangerous enterprise, there was another problem with what Remy wanted her to do.

Navarre might be Remy’s king, but he was also the man that Gabrielle was fated to ensnare as her lover, the man who was destined to make her the most powerful woman in all of France. Gabrielle didn’t see how that could happen if Remy succeeded in turning Navarre into a fugitive, fleeing back to his inconsequential kingdom on the border of Spain.

Remy hovered behind her. She could see his reflection in the night-darkened windowpanes, like some ghost from her past. The specter of a brave soldier who had once pretended to be her knight and she, his lady fair. Unfortunately, that was all it had ever been, a pretense, and she was far too worldly-wise to be beguiled by make-believe.

Her heart felt leaden as she came about to face Remy. “I am sorry, Captain Remy. But I cannot do what you ask.”

His eyes darkened with disappointment, but there was a certain amount of relief there as well. “No, Gabrielle. I am the one who should be sorry. I never should have asked you. The risk is far too great. You have reason to be afraid. If you were caught smuggling messages—”

“I am not afraid of that. I am very good at intrigue.”

A deep furrow appeared between Remy’s brows. “Then I don’t understand. If you don’t think there would be any risk, why won’t you do it?”

Gabrielle compressed her lips together, wishing that she had let Remy leave when he had wanted to. Then she wouldn’t have to face this moment, wouldn’t have to tell him the truth. But she feared that even without her help, Remy would proceed with his dangerous plan. There was only one thing that might discourage him. If she told him about the prophecy, about Navarre’s destiny . . . and hers.

She had to swallow hard before she could find the courage to speak. She began haltingly, “I—I won’t help you because Navarre needs to remain with the French court. This is no time for him to disappear back into the wilds of Navarre, so far away from me. Because . . . because I desire him for myself.”

Remy stared at her for a long moment, then his jaw hardened. “What the devil do you mean, Gabrielle? Are you trying to tell me that you have fallen in love with—with a king?”

“Kings are much the same as any other man, but in this case love has nothing to do with it. I admire and respect Henry.” Gabrielle hesitated, then added, “He is my destiny.”

“What sort of destiny do you imagine you could have with Navarre?” Remy asked impatiently. “He is already married.”

“Perhaps you should ask the witch I consulted tonight. Among other things she conjured up the future for me. Navarre is going to be the king of France one day and I—” Gabrielle found it hard to meet Remy’s eyes, but she forced herself to do so as she continued. “I am going to be his mistress.”

Remy looked stunned for a moment, then he paced off several agitated steps, swearing. “Damnation, Gabrielle, you shouldn’t be fooling about with that dark magic. You know better than that. It’s all bloody nonsense anyway. You could never be anyone’s mistress. You are a noble lady. Gently and properly reared—”

“Perhaps I was at one time—”

“No, you still are!” Remy paused in his pacing to glower at her. Beneath his rising anger, he had the look of a cornered man, fighting hard to hold on to his illusions of her, no doubt as hard as he had ever fought against impossible odds on any battlefield. Remy was not a stupid man by any means. But he was proving more willfully blind than Gabrielle would ever have believed possible. He stalked toward her and crushed her hands between his. When he spoke it was clear that it was costing him great effort to keep his voice level.

“Gabrielle, you have obviously been confused and hurt by your father’s behavior. But you must not let it make you cynical or bitter. You have no idea what it would be like to sell your virtue.” Remy added fiercely, “You couldn’t.”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Gabrielle said.

“No! I won’t accept it. Not until I hear the truth from you. You tell me.”

Gabrielle had to close her eyes briefly to shut out the tormented face of this man who wanted so badly to believe in her in a way no one else had ever done. No, not her, Gabrielle was forced to remind herself. Just some dream of her, a Gabrielle who had never existed.

Remy gripped her hands hard, offering her no quarter. So he insisted upon hearing all the painful details? Very well, then. She would give them to him. Gabrielle wrenched free of Remy’s grip and stalked away, fortifying herself with a deep breath. She positioned herself behind the chair and faced him, assuming her iciest façade, the one that had stood her in good stead during all the most painful moments of her life.

“Of course I know how to barter with a man.” She curled her fingers around the back of the chair for support. “How do you think I ever managed to get here to Paris to claim this house? With Ariane opposed to me, Renard was practically holding me prisoner. I had no choice but to run away. I finally managed to escape with the help of a wine merchant who was visiting the château.”

Gabrielle dropped her gaze, staring rigidly at the gilt trim that adorned the chair. “Monsieur Duclous was a very kind, good-humored sort of man. He was more than willing to take me to Paris in exchange for—for my favors.”

Gabrielle heard the sharp intake of Remy’s breath, but she did not risk looking at him. “Once I arrived in Paris, Monsieur Duclous could not be of help to me in gaining what I really wanted. Access at court and the higher circles of society. I needed the duc de Penthieve for that.”

“I don’t want to hear any more of this,” Remy growled. He stalked over to the windows and turned his back as though he could shut out the sound of her voice.

“No, damn you. You asked for this and you are going to hear it all,” Gabrielle cried. She bit down hard upon her lip to still its trembling and then went on ruthlessly, “Monsieur le Duc was very urbane, witty and charming. I learned a great deal from him. Regrettably the duc suffered financial losses and felt obliged to retire to his country estate. I had no wish to leave Paris, so then I—”

“Stop it, Gabrielle,” Remy grated. He braced one arm against the window frame, the line of his back looking rigid enough to snap.

“Then I found the Marquis de Lanfort. A nice boy, but with a tendency to write dreadful poetry. I probably still have one of his—”

“I said,
stop.
” Remy roared so loud that Gabrielle flinched and faltered to silence. Remy clenched the wooden frame so hard, his entire arm shook with the force of it.

As he whipped around, Gabrielle’s breath hitched in her throat, fearing that she had gone too far. She had never seen such a look on Remy’s face before, his mouth pinched white, his nostrils flared, his breath coming quick and hard as he advanced toward her. Gabrielle stumbled back, retreating to the other side of her dressing table, her heart thudding.