The Heroic Baron (9 page)

Cecile gave herself over to the sensations he invoked. His was the body of a man who knew how to
protect. How Cecile wanted to believe he’d protect her,
that he hadn’t used his strength to haul the Panchettes
off to a dungeon to await unnecessary justice.

She was embarrassingly breathless when the kiss
ended. She still stood within the secure confines of his
arms, looking up at green eyes darkened with passion
so that now they were the shade of fir trees. “Why did
you do that?

“Because I think I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first
saw you” Alain’s voice was soft, empty of anger at her
accusations. His hand stole up to push a stray curl behind her ear. “You’re an enigma, Cecile. Who are you?
The spitfire in satin that I see performing in the general’s house or the drab dressed Lady Bountiful?”

“I could say the same for you,” Cecile retorted, her
practical sense being gradually restored. “Who are
you? The soldier I see tonight or the man I met in the
street” Cecile pursed her lips, suddenly struck by an incongruity. “Whoever you are, I don’t know either one
of YOU.”

“We shall remedy that tomorrow when I call. We’ve
been apart from the party long enough. Let me take
you back”

A footman handed Cecile her violin the moment
they stepped back onto the verandah. She took it, grateful to have her hands on something familiar. Playing
would help her sort through the jumbled thoughts in her
head and give her some distance from Alain. If only
Alain would agree.

“Will you show me your violin?” Alain asked, reaching for the instrument in her hands without permission.
His own hands were elegant and long, with well cared,
short-cut nails. Respectfully, he ran a hand down the
body of the violin. The gesture sent a tremor through
Cecile. What would it feel like to have him caress my
body in that same manner? She pushed such wanton
thoughts away.

“It was made by a friend of my father, Nicholas
Lupot” Cecile said proudly. “But not the varnish,
which is my father’s contribution to this instrument.”
She gave a little laugh at her joke, which Alain did not
understand. She explained, “Nicholas Lupot makes the
most sensational violins. He’s one of the premier violin
makers in all of Europe. He has a shop here in Paris, I
am told. But he’s never mastered varnishing. Varnishing was my father’s expertise.” Cecile ran a hand over
the exquisite cherry glossed surface of the violin.
“Nicholas uses the harder resins and they give his instruments a cracked look. A good varnish should be
with soft resins.”

“The violin is a family treasure,” Alain commented.
“Are you the only one who plays?”

“I am now.” Cecile’s voice was sharp. She regretted
her tone. She couldn’t blame Alain for what he didn’t
know. As an olive branch, she picked up her bow. “Many people forget how critical the bow is to a quality
violin. The violin is nothing without a bow. This is perhaps the real family treasure. It’s a bow by Tourte. He is
renowned for his inventions on the bow” Her face
flushed with enthusiasm. “See how there is varied
thickness? Tourte made most of his bows out of Pernambuco wood. A true Tourte bow is twenty-seven and
nine-sixteenths of an inch. The thick end is four and a
half inches long with a diameter of three-eighths of an
inch. Then it gets progressively thinner until the head
of the bow is only one-eighth inch.” Cecile fingered the
bow. “He made fancy bows laid with gold; this one is
not one of those, but it’s still a Tourte”

“Very impressive, you are both a musician and a
scholar.” Alain complimented her.

“I am afraid I run on too much about the instrument.
I hope I haven’t bored you.”

“On the contrary, I am more intrigued than ever. I
have business awaiting me this evening, so I’ll bid you
bon soir and see you tomorrow afternoon” Alain bent
over her hand.

It wasn’t until Alain had departed that Cecile realized she’d forgotten to be mad and insist he not call on
her. That was what one got for being bowled over by a
kiss and a compliment. He’d admired her violin, and all
thoughts of whether or not she should associate with a
potential scoundrel fled out of her head. Which may
have been precisely what he’d intended all along.

Life was getting complicated. Alain had never been
so glad to leave a party, or as unwilling. Cecile had
been positively entrancing with her sharp retorts. He had not planned on kissing her, but there had been little
choice when presented with her tempting defiance in
the grove. Her passionate response had been intoxicating, and if he hadn’t been so cognizant of the dangers
surrounding him in the general’s home, he might have
dared to take their ardor to its logical conclusion. But
danger was stalking him.

The secretary had turned out to be a problem. Pierre
Ramboulet had been excited to hear news of his relatives’ safe relocation in England, but he’d protested
against going with Alain. There were others he wanted
Alain to take to safety first, more family members that
might be harmed by his disappearance.

Alain did not know how long he could support his
identity as Captain Stanislawksi. Major Von Hausman’s
speculations at dinner had been a crack in the facade.
What if Von Hausman contacted his friends and told
them his impressions of the Captain? What if a friend of
the major’s came to visit and inadvertently ran into him?
The longer he stayed, the riskier his situation became.

The longer he stayed, the more he’d see of Cecile,
who was going to demand the truth from him. The
longer he stayed, the more he’d want to tell Cecile the
truth as dangerous as that may be. He had no real reason to believe he could trust Cecile with the truth. If
events came to a head, Cecile might feel obliged for the
sake of her future security to side with her employer.
The general had made it clear that traitors would not be
tolerated. Motrineau would certainly not tolerate the
presence of an English baron in his midst with the express purpose of assisting the person Motrineau wanted
to ferret out.

It galled him that Cecile believed him wholly capable of such injustice as arresting the Panchettes. Her
distrust of him had been evident in the accusations
she’d flung at his head in the grove. He wasn’t sure how
to convince her that he wasn’t a puppet of the New
Regime, but perhaps accompanying her on her rounds
tomorrow would be a start. In the meanwhile, he had an
evacuation to plan.

Alain pushed open the door to his rented home and
came to a halt at the sight of Harker’s face and wringing hands. Harker was unflappable. Harker never
showed signs of distress.

“My lord, we’ve been invaded!”

Alain became aware of the sound of feet shuffling
above him on the second floor. Children’s voices cried
out in rough play. Children? Why would children be in
my home? Why would anyone be in my home? No one
was supposed to know him.

Harker explained as Alain took the stairs two at a
time. “They said they were family of Pierre Ramboulet,
that he’d met with you and he told them to come to this
address. He told them you’d take them to England, to
safety. My lord, I didn’t know what to do”

Alain stifled a chuckle at the sight of the disheveled
guest room. He imagined the other two guest rooms
looked the same. Pallets had been made up on the floor
and rag-wrapped bundles containing the family’s possessions were piled everywhere. It wasn’t exactly funny,
but it was certainly comedic. Daniel would have a fit.

“What are we to do?” Harker asked again.

Alain threw up his hands, a smile of consent on his face. “What can we do? We have to send them to England. Take the boat and go tonight. We can’t have anyone suspect they are here” Quickly, Alain summarized
the conversation from dinner. “The weather is mild and
who knows what kind of weather we may be forced to
face if we wait.”

“What about you, my lord? Will you come too?”
Harker asked worriedly.

“No, I must wait and bring the secretary” Alain tried
for levity. “Besides, I have an appointment tomorrow
that I cannot break”

“With the young violinist you took shopping today?”
Harker eyed him suspiciously.

“She’s delightful, Harker. You’d like her.”

“I’d like you safely tucked away in Hythe building
your city.”

Alain laughed away Harker’s fears. “I’ll be there
soon enough. Now, we have people to help and a boat to
disguise. I want to make sure someone can sail the boat
back here without it being recognized.” Otherwise, I’ll
be stranded. Stranded with Cecile. Well, maybe the
idea being stranded wasn’t so odious after all.

Cecile tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Alain
at the appointed street corner. Was he late? Had he forgotten? Had he been detained at work? Had he simply
decided that mingling with the impoverished masses
was not a preferred way to spend a lovely spring afternoon? It seemed forever since the bells of the city had
chimed two o’clock.

She shifted the heavy basket from one arm to the
other. At least she was finding out now what kind of
man Alain Stanislawski truly was. Better this than discovering it after she’d lost her heart to him, which
would be easy to do. A few more days like yesterday
and a few more kisses like the one they’d exchanged in
the general’s grove last night, and she’d be done for. It
would be too easy to love Alain, too easy to forget he
was a soldier who fought for a way of life she could not
believe in and that he was from Poland. Some day he’d go back to his country and resume his life there, most
likely as a wealthy man’s son with rank and funds.
There would be no place in that life for an impoverished violin player.

Cecile scanned the street, shading her eyes against the
brightness. Undeterred by her misgivings, her heart
raced at the sight of Alain rounding the corner. An odd
sense of relief flooded through her at the realization he
had not forgotten her. He was merely late. Perhaps he
was late because he’d stopped to change clothes. As he
neared, Cecile noted his clothes were neat and clean, if a
bit worn. They were not the usual attire she was used to
seeing him in. How thoughtful of him to dress in a fashion that would not intimidate the people she would visit.

Her cynical side snorted at the naivety of the
thought. How intelligent of him not to dress in a manner
that would be out of place and put people on edge. He
could blend in and cull out information people would
otherwise be reluctant to disclose. She’d have to be on
watch to see that no one said anything incriminating.

“Cecile, I am late. I apologize,” Alain said breathlessly, coming to a stop at her side. From the signs of
sweat beginning to form beneath his arms, he’d been
running.

Cecile thrust the heavy basket at him. “You can make
up for it by carrying this.”

He took the basket good-naturedly and fell into
stride next to her. “Where to first?”

Cecile pointed to the top floor of a tenement at the
end of the block. “We’re going to visit Madame Boisserie and her new baby.”

“All the way up there?” Alain eyed the building suspiciously.

“All the way up” Cecile confirmed.

The Boisserie home was a typical tenement, dimly
lit, cramped, and sparsely furnished. The one luxury,
for which Madame must have paid dearly for, was the
small hearth built into the wall. She had heat and a
means of cooking in her tiny room. Cecile cast a covert
glance at Alain to see how he was responding to the
squalid surroundings. After dining at the general’s, the
place must seem the very dregs. To her surprise, Alain
didn’t flinch. He courteously greeted Madame Boisserie when introduced and plopped the basket down on
the room’s one table.

“I am going to make you a nice, hearty vegetable
soup,” Cecile said cheerily, fussing with the woman’s
bed linens and fluffing pillows. She stooped to admire
the baby waving his fists from the makeshift cradle.
“The little man is getting bigger every day.”

She gave Alain a knife and set him to chopping vegetables while she busied herself around the room with
housekeeping. She kept up a constant chatter as she
worked.

The very young Madame Boisserie broke into her
chatter. “Cecile, you needn’t be the one with all the
gossip today. I had a visitor earlier. You won’t guess
what she told me” Without waiting for a response,
Madame Boisserie rushed on. “Another family is missing and they’re related to the Panchettes”

The chop of Alain’s knife seemed louder than necessary. Cecile shot him a distracted look. “Another family? Who could be behind such disappearances?”

Madame Boisserie shook her head. “No one knows,
but it’s the third family in two months. Either they’ve
been arrested for sordid goings on or they’ve fled. Do
you think we’re all in danger?” She reached for her
baby and clutched him close. “I don’t know what I’d do
if someone broke in here” Panic edged her voice.

Cecile recognized the signs of pre-hysteria and
quickly intervened. “You have nothing to worry about.
The Panchettes are not connected to you” She soothed
the woman’s fears, reminding her of the connection between the families and the disappearances.