Vintage Love (72 page)

“As much as I can be and still remain a prisoner,” she told him.

“That is regrettable, but I have no choice. I wish you to remain, and I know you would leave at once if there was no guard.”

Enid gave him what she hoped was a coy look. “Why are you so sure of that?”

The one-eyed man moved close to her, his bald head shining as he bent over her hand to kiss it. He murmured hoarsely, “Perhaps I can return later. Then we can have a long night of rapture!”

“You are not staying now?” She feigned a slight disappointment while thinking how easy it was to play the harlot.

“Affairs of the nation,” he declared importantly. “There are many decisions to be made. Changes are coming about. I want to emerge with more power rather than less.”

“You enjoy politics more than love?”

“Never!” Esmond cried. “But I have certain meetings which I must attend. Is your maid satisfactory?”

“Yes. Yet I find her strange and cold in manner.”

“Ah! You have noticed!”

“Yes.”

Esmond smiled. “She is a staunch revolutionist. When the party took over this mansion, it was she who opened the gates and let us pour in. And when her former mistress cried out scornfully at her for doing it, the woman struck her down with a hatchet.”

Enid was appalled. “She is a murderess!”

“It was an involuntary reaction,” the master spy explained. “She had known years of oppression in this house, and she would take no more.”

“How can you endorse such an act of violence?”

Esmond shrugged. “In a revolution many things happen, as in a war. It is much the same thing. She had proved her loyalty to the new order, and she is a good servant.”

“I shall be frightened of her from now on,” Enid said with a shudder.

“Just don’t cross her,” Esmond warned. Then he took Enid in his arms for a long, ardent kiss before leaving regretfully and promising to try to return later.

As soon as he had gone, she washed the kiss from her lips and fervently hoped that his business would detain him for the rest of the night. As time wore on she realized grimly that her hopes of being rescued were slim indeed. She sat by the hearth and stirred the logs to make the fire brighter. Then she stared into the flames, her mind a jumble of images of Kemble and the dead Ramon and her beloved Armand. Would she ever see her French count again? Or would they be united only in death? The heat from the fire could not penetrate the chill surrounding her heart.

Eventually the embers turned to ash, but Esmond did not show himself again. Enid decided to undress for bed and blew out the candles. A harsh wind rattled the windowpanes and made it difficult for her to fall asleep. Her nerves were in a ragged state as it was, and this added annoyance only frayed them more severely.

She sighed, turning and tossing in bed, and wished that the wind would stop. Then she heard another sound from the window, which made her sit up and glance toward it. This noise was different: a kind of tapping that came regularly through and between the clatter caused by the gusts of wind.

A wild thought struck her. Maybe someone was out there! Someone bent on rescuing her—but how could that be? The distance to the ground was frightening, and she had seen no way for anyone to scale the wall. But the tapping continued.

She left her bed and advanced timorously to the window. Then she gasped, for outside, in the moonlit darkness, a head and shoulders were clearly outlined. Someone was resting on the outside ledge, attempting to get in. With a fearful glance toward the door, and a prayer that the guard wouldn’t hear her, Enid slowly raised the window sash.

It was then that she received her greatest shock. For the man at the window ledge was Armand! He looked thin and haggard compared with his appearance at their last meeting, but he seemed healthy enough. He put his fingers to his lips as a signal for her to keep silent. Then he whispered, “Come!”

Stunned as she was, she hurriedly threw on her dressing gown and joined him. Elation at the prospect of escape overwhelmed any thought of how it would be managed. Not until she was out on the precarious perch of the windowsill did she begin to panic. Armand closed his fingers over her wrist for a reassuring moment, then undid the rope that had been wound about him and carefully tied it around her waist.

“Cling to the stonework for support as you’re drawn up!” he told her. Then he signaled someone on the rooftop of the mansion to lift her to safety.

Enid felt a dizzying moment of being suspended in space as she left the windowsill. She was certain she would fall to the ground, but then she remembered to dig her fingers into the joins between the stonework and press her toes into the same crevices. Whoever held the other end of the rope drew her up slowly but steadily.

After what seemed an eternity but was in actuality only a few minutes, she was assisted over the low parapet, to lay gasping on the roof. The familiar face of Gustav peered above her as he began to undo the rope around her waist.

“Gustav!” she cried.

“I must get Armand up,” he told her. Quickly he went to the parapet and lowered the rope.

She got to her feet, still trembling from her ordeal. The wind was sharp up here on the rooftop. Then she turned and saw that she was not alone. A hollow-cheeked, wild-eyed man whose white hair and beard were long and straggly stood a few feet away, staring at her vacantly. He made no attempt to communicate with her, for which she was grateful since his vacant gaze held a look of madness. She moved away from him to stand near Gustav. The old man did not shift his eyes or his stance. He stood as if frozen to the spot.

Gustav strained at the rope, and in a few moments Armand came clambering over the parapet. He untied himself and then, smiling, clasped Enid to him in a kiss that burned their lips.

“Darling!” he murmured. “At last!”

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, gasping for breath.

“I didn’t. I came for the duke who once owned this place.” He nodded to the wild-looking man.

“Esmond kept him a prisoner. His wife was murdered.”

“Yes.” Armand nodded grimly. “At the moment he is surely insane. Who wouldn’t be, locked in a dark dungeon for almost two years? But I have seen worse cases recover with rest and the proper treatment.”

“What now?” Enid wondered, still clinging to Armand as if he might evaporate into the wind.

“We get away from here as quickly as possible.”

“What about the Dauphin?”

“The Dauphin?” Armand echoed sharply. “What about him?”

“He is a prisoner somewhere in this house.”

“I didn’t find him, and I searched all through the cellars.”

“They must have moved him then.”

Gustav came up to them, full of impatience. “Time for talk later. We are endangering ouselves every minute we remain here.”

“How do we escape?” she asked fearfully.

“By secret passage known only to the duke and his family. I learned about it from one of his cousins. It will take us safely down to the cellar into a tunnel leading to the family cemetery. The exit is through a vault in there.”

“And Esmond knows nothing about it?”

“It seems that way, or else he would have guards posted,” Armand said.

Gustav took the duke by the arm to guide him, and Armand led the way with Enid. A trapdoor in the rooftop gave them entry into the attic, an unfinished area above the upper floor. At one end there was a door hidden by a joining of beams. Armand knew its location and pushed it open. A dark space yawned beyond, within whose confines was a very narrow stairway that wound around and around in a dizzying manner. Enid could imagine that it took up very little room and so had not been noticed by Louis Esmond and the new occupants.

When they reached the cellar level, the winding stairway became a tunnel, so narrow and low that they had to progress through it on their hands and knees. After a long, almost unendurable struggle through this passage, they finally emerged into a dank and dusty mausoleum.

Enid saw the murky outlines of coffins that rested on shelves flanking both sides of the vault. She shuddered involuntarily. A cobweb brushed across her face and she gasped.

“It’s almost over,” Armand reassured her, holding her arm as he led her up several stone steps and out into the open. Gustav and the elderly duke followed.

They moved swiftly across the windswept burial ground, looking like phantoms who had risen from their graves, as indeed they had. Once outside the cemetery, they entered a narrow street, sped along it, and darted through an alley into another street, where a closed carriage was waiting. As soon as they were inside the vehicle, it was driven off.

Enid leaned on Armand’s shoulder and repeated her earlier question. “How did you know I was there?”

“We saw the light in your window and knew it was separate from the rest of the house. I assumed that the room held a prisoner, and I decided to risk going down on the rope. When I saw you there, I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“I couldn’t believe it was you either, though I was hoping you had escaped from prison.”

“Thanks to Gustav. He made the escape of about a dozen of us possible. Now I’m back to saving others. My first assignment was to bring out the unfortunate duke.”

“And you found me as well,” she sighed, snuggling against him.

He stroked her hair. “Tell me, dearest, what are you doing in France? And how did you ever get into that house?”

She told him the story as briefly as she could, and he listened quietly. Soon the carriage came to a halt at a dark, modest-looking house.

“Around to the rear,” Armand whispered as the four of them left the coach.

They moved swiftly in the darkness to the rear door. Armand knocked on it, using a particular signal. After a long moment it was opened by a husky man who stepped aside to allow them to enter.

“We were beginning to worry about you, Count Beaufaire,” the man said.

“It took longer than I expected,” Armand replied.

They went down to the cellar, which was well lighted by candles and contained a group of six men seated at a round table sipping some wine. Enid needed only to glance at them to know that they were also fleeing aristrocrats. At her appearance they stood up hastily.

“It is all right, gentlemen,” Armand said happily. “This is Lady Blair from England, here under orders from the British secret service to help us.”

Enid was given a warm welcome, as was the haggard Duke of Aranjais, who was then taken away to be cleaned up and looked after. Enid stood in the background as Armand proceeded to tell his comrades about his having entered Esmond’s headquarters.

He ended by smiling in Enid’s direction and saying, “My reward was a special prize! This lady long ago promised her heart to me!”

His friends drank to her health, then to her and Armand’s future happiness. When the merriment had subsided, Enid asked Armand about her rejoining Kemble and the other members of the spy network.

“Let it wait for tomorrow,” Armand decided. “I must leave for Calais in the morning with these men, to see them on their way to England. In the meantime, tonight shall be ours!”

They left the group and disappeared up the stairs to a room Armand used from time to time. Once behind the closed door, alone at long last, they could only stare mutely at each other, relishing this moment after such a lengthy separation. Enid thought that everything she had endured since their last encounter had been worth the effort and the waiting. To see Armand standing before her, very much alive, his black eyes flashing, his strong features so dear, his body leaning toward her in yearning, filled her with a deep sense of joy.

That same feeling was reflected in his eyes, for Armand had never been happier than he was at this very moment. To him it embodied all that he had been fighting for, all that he believed in. And to think that Enid had endangered herself in his own cause! Her courage and determination were rare qualities, and he felt blessed indeed to be loved by such a woman.

Such a beautiful woman, he thought. He touched her golden hair, her cheeks, the soft flesh of her shoulder beneath the silk nightdress. Gently he removed the dressing gown from her, then the undergarment, and gazed at her supple body with renewed wonder. Enid’s flesh glowed under his warm eyes; her nipples grew taut with desire. She wanted to feel his lips sear her breasts, his tongue burn down the length of her until she had become a taper of flame.

Armand quickly shed his clothing and carried her to the bed. She wrapped her arms around him and ran her fingers through his hair and along the muscles of his back. He pressed his swollen maleness against her as his hungry mouth worshipped her and his caresses drove her to the peak of passion. She arched her back to receive him, responding to his thrusts with her own insistent urgings. Again and again, higher and higher, their movements crescendoed into pulsating thunderings, and they became one, whole, flesh and spirit united for eternity.

In each other’s arms all the past and present perils had been forgotten. Their night of lovemaking had erased Enid’s memory of Esmond’s having so cruelly taken her. But when morning came, the grim reality of a France churning with turmoil could not be ignored.

Armand brought their breakfast tray up to the room himself. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Enid propped herself up against the pillows, to enjoy the morning meal.

After they had finished eating, Armand said, “Now tell me, what about the Dauphin?”

She told him as much as she knew, ending with, “Father Braun had definite information that the prince was a prisoner in Esmond’s headquarters.”

Armand looked troubled. “I swear I saw no sign of him.”

“Of course, you weren’t looking for him.”

“I examined every cell and found only the poor duke. And you were the only one in the upper part of the house.”

“Then either they moved him or he is hidden somewhere you didn’t look,” she decided.

“But where?”

“I have no idea. But since there is that one secret passageway, it follows that other passages could be hidden in the house.”

Armand considered this. “That is true.”