Viridian (The Hundred-Days Series Book 2) (36 page)

He sat, weighing down the mattress,
and pulled the quilt over them. Every part of her was strung tight.

“Sit up,” he whispered, tugging the
fabric at her shoulder. When she obliged, he pulled her closer. Fingers grazed
her neck, little skipping points of contact, and then slipped into her hair to
pluck out the pins. His breath fanned her ear, sending a shiver up her back.

When her hair finally tumbled free,
Ty brushed it with his hands. She felt his nose against her nape, heard him
inhale deeply. The pressure in her chest grew to bursting, and Olivia waited
for his lips, her eyes half closed.

Instead, he fell against the
pillows, pulling her down with him. A hand circled her waist, drawing her back
against his chest.

“I've never had this with anyone,
Olivia,” he whispered against her ear. “This is different,
honest
. I
admit I'm more than a little terrified.”

She squirmed against him, eliciting
a low grown. “Terror is not a very romantic sentiment, Tyler.”

“Hush! You know what I mean.” She
could not see his face, but she caught the smile bending his words. “I cannot
play a role with you. You see through every deception, take off all of my
masks. But there is a thrill in that, and some damnable relief. That you know
me for who I am.” His hand caressed her hip, then circled her waist again.

She half held her breath, for a
long moment, but Ty was still. There was nothing but his heartbeat above her
ear, the occasional voice on the street beneath her window or the rumble of a
carriage going by. Ty's heat transferred through her shift at her back. The
scent of soap and cologne drifted from under the blankets, citrus and sharp.
Relaxing, she nestled deeper into him, finding his fingers at her hip and
hooking her own around them. After a few moments, she yawned.

In a breath, her nerves eased and
tension flowed away. She was safe in his arms.

A moment later, she was fast
asleep.

*          *          *

When she awoke, Olivia guessed it
was near dawn. The room was still dark, but the shadows had deepened, absent
the blue glow of moonlight.

He was awake
. Though Ty was
at her back, she had known him long enough to tell by the sounds he made, or
did not make, and by an indescribable tension she could feel without seeing
him. She rolled over to face him.

On his back, arms folded beneath
his head, she could just make out the flick of his eyelids blinking, staring at
the canopy overhead.

“Tyler?”

“Olivia.”

He reached for her and his knuckles
traced a path from her cheek, down her neck, up the curve of her breast. “I
love you, Olivia. Madly.”

“And I, you. Two or three weeks is
even more painful than it was last night.” Never had she trusted so much that
happiness could belong to her. Now, lying with him, everything seemed right in
the world.

It was beautiful. It was
terrifying.

He reached a hand under the quilt.
“I have something for you.”

“Amusing,” she teased. “You cannot
fool me twice.”

“Hush.” He smiled and held
something out to her. “I meant to wait until we were wed, but now seems
better.” He opened his hand, as shy as she'd ever seen him.

She gasped. It was a ring. Biting
her lip, her heart pounding too hard for her chest, she sat up and took it.
Brushing the hair from her face, she turned towards the window to see it
better. The band glinted silver in the gray light, a lacy filigree. A
pear-shaped green stone winked back at her, brighter than emerald.

Ty coughed, a nervousness to him
that she found entirely endearing. “Ridiculous sentiment, but it made me think
of your eyes. Though, now that I think on it, I have no idea why I thought
you'd want a ring that reminded you of yourself.”

She laughed, staring at the ring in
awe. “It will remind me of the way you see me.” She extended the third finger
of her left hand.

“What the devil are you doing?” he
snapped, grinning.

“Wearing it?”

He rolled his eyes as if she had
missed the most obvious thing in the world. “You cannot put on your
own
ring.”

“Is it bad luck?” she quipped.

“It will be if you rob me of the
opportunity.” He plucked the ring from her hand and clasped the other to the
flesh above his heart. “Olivia. I forsake all others in your name. I pledge you
my arm, and my hearth. My vow is broken by death alone.”

She blinked back the tears that
stung her eyes, and Ty slipped the band past her knuckle. It was not a perfect
fit, a bit on the large side, but it was hardly enough to matter. “That was
beautiful.”

He smiled, looking pleased with
himself. “I heard it in a two-shilling play and I have waited a
very
long time to use it.”

“Your timing is impeccable,” she
whispered, smoothing the hair at his temple, “but you don’t need lines to charm
me.”

*          *          *

Ty tucked his shirt in slowly,
deliberately, not in any particular hurry to begin the day and leave Olivia
behind. He'd come here to gamble everything, his heart and his future, and
she'd accepted. He wanted to pick her up, carry her away, and disappear
forever. He wanted to spend every moment of the rest of his life with her.

Soon enough. He breathed deeply,
steeling himself, shoring up his resolve. They had promised two or three weeks,
but Napoleon would take Paris in a matter of days. Who knew what would happen
then? In truth, it could be months before he saw her again.

In truth, he was going to war.

She appeared beside him, presenting
him with her back. “Button me up?”

“I'd rather the opposite, in fact.”
He ran a finger across the bare skin between her shoulders, taking his time.
Pleased with the shiver that ran through her, he pinched the first button.

As he fastened her gown, he admired
the way gauzy muslin hugged her hips and backside. The pale yellow gown seemed
entirely designed around Olivia's long curves. Without thinking, he ran a hand
up her waist.

“Mmm.” She pressed back into him,
head resting against his breast. Her sweet vanilla scent drifted up, and Ty
closed his eyes.

“Say my name,” she whispered,
breath fanning his chest.

“Olivia.”

“Say it like you did last night.”

Laughing, he spun her around,
kissing her with some force. “I am well aware of your game, Dimples. You've underestimated
your opponent.”

Her grin was cheeky, a prankster
caught. “Who, you?”

“The army. She's a harsher mistress
by half. Which is good, I suppose. Otherwise Napoleon would find two skeletons
in your bed upon his arrival.”

Olivia ducked her head, one hand
pressed to her mouth. “Outrageous.”

“You're right. There wouldn't be
that much left.” Grabbing her arm, he dared one last kiss on his way to the
door, tugging her behind.

Slipping into his coat, Ty's
spirits were high until he spied Olivia, slouched against the wall and biting
her thumbnail. “Triste?”

“Oui.” She nodded slowly. “I cannot
reconcile myself to your leaving.”

He chucked her under the chin. “A
few weeks. You'll be so busy leaving yourself, you'll have little time to miss
me. Now, what time you
do
have will be absolutely excruciating...”

That coaxed a smile, and she stood
up. “I suppose that is what's making this worse. I'm the closest I have ever
been to finding my parents, and now I have to flee. Again.” Olivia shook her
head, almost more of a shiver. “It's a terrible nightmare, repeating itself
over and over. Fouche always behind me with Napoleon, chasing me.”

For a third time, she was being
forced to run. He reached out and took both her hands. “He won't be here long,
Olivia. Not long enough to unpack his trunk. I will give you Paris. One hundred
days, I swear it.”

“And can you give me Fouche, too?”

“Precisely like a woman,” he
teased, drawing her closer. “No, I cannot give you Fouche. He is outside my
sphere. I cannot kill the wolf, but I can certainly cut his claws.”

Olivia's features softened,
furrowed brows lifting a little. “I can ask no more than that.” She relaxed
into him, sighing.

He knew how she felt. “Will you
write me the moment you reach Brussels? Just a line, to say you are safe?”

She shifted from foot to foot,
fingers rubbing absently inside his grasp. Ty swore she was looking in his
direction, but not at him. “Olivia...?”

“Mmhm.”

“Brussels, Olivia. A letter.”

Now she studied the floor, inhaling
and exhaling slowly. Her head nodded with the same awkward rhythm as someone
asleep at the dinner table.

“Olivia.”

“I'm not going to Brussels!” It
came out as more of an exhale than an exclamation, catching him by surprise.

 “What do you mean, you're not
going to Brussels?”

Taking back her hands, Olivia
jabbed one finger at an invisible point, “Brussels is
here
,” she jabbed
the other index finger, “And I am going
here
.”

“To Spain?” he asked, surprised
that he had inkling what she meant.

“Oh, no. Here.” She moved her
finger up an inch.

“Bordeaux?”

“Bordeaux,” she repeated.

His head was already shaking as he
spoke. “No! Out of the question.” Had she lost her mind? “Stay out of it. Do
you hear me?”

She smiled sweetly. “I hear you,
but I do not have to listen!”

“Olivia,” he started, but she put a
finger to his lips.

He dodged her interference. “If
Therese refuses to flee, prison will not be the worst thing that happens. Not
to her, or anyone who supports her.” Marie Therese, Duchess of Angeloume, was
the only surviving child of Louis and Marie Antoinette. Under the right
circumstances, she could wield tremendous political influence. Unfortunately
for her, less than a year of Napoleon's absence hadn't exactly made the people
hungry again for monarchy.

She was also Olivia's friend, one
of the few influences to free Olivia from
La Force
. He could understand
Olivia wanting to aid her, but it would be dangerous.

“She's rallying troops to her
cause, Tyler.”

“Was. Was rallying. They have
agreed only to defend her. The men have signed a declaration; they will not
fight on her behalf.”

“But Madame deStael has mocked and
defied Napoleon for years,” she argued.

“Madame deStael?
Her
sharpest weapon is her pen, and that is obnoxious at best. Therese is a symbol,
a rallying point and one very, very long loose end, Olivia.” She was too smart
to have missed that significant difference between the women.

Olivia's face was stubborn. “All
the more reason for someone to go and reason with her.”

“That someone being you, who only
moments ago was ready to command her artillery? Now you’re suddenly a diplomat
instead?” He struggled to believe, riled up as she was, that Olivia could so
easily change tacks.

“That is not fair.”

“No, perhaps it is not.” He was
yelling. Ty realized it when Olivia was obliged to take a step back. He
relaxed, and took a deep breath. “Perhaps it's not. She is a sympathetic
character to you, Olivia. I understand why you love her, why you defend her.
She’s brave, undoubtedly. The moment Napoleon landed, her family hared off for
parts unknown while she stayed to fight. That is damned admirable, but
currently not very wise.”

Olivia came forward again, as
fierce as he'd ever seen her. “Then let me help her!”

“You cannot help her! No one can,
not yet. The soldiers in Bordeaux deserve credit for their hefty bollocks. She
would not find even conditional support elsewhere.” He raked fingers through
his hair, trying to find some way of reasoning with her. “Your Madam Royal will
find no purchase on French soil from French soldiers. She will have to be patient,
wait for our forces. And remain alive. The most important fight she can carry
now is a diplomatic one.”

Olivia cradled her forehead with a
hand, rubbing as though forcing the information to penetrate. Then, she sighed
and straightened. “I am still going to Bordeaux. I gave my word.”

He started to protest, but she laid
a hand on his chest. “But you are right. I concede that. I will go and reason
with her. She is proud, but hardly reckless; I think she will see that it's
time to retreat.”

Resting a hand over hers, he drew a
steadying breath. “If anyone can explain it properly, Olivia, it's you. I know
you are just as wounded at leaving.”

Olivia slipped her arms around him,
wrapping him tightly. “But I know I shall be back soon.”

He kissed the top of her head and
drew back. “You will have to move as though your life depends on it, because it
does. Hers too.”

“How long until he arrives?”

“At his current pace, three days at
most.” The memory of Philipe's capture made him shudder. “And his eye will be
fixed on her the moment he arrives.” He watched Olivia, knowing her well enough
to hear the calculations in her head, that she would recall how La Porte had
fared under the emperor’s single-mindedness. “She could leave by the Garonne,
set sail, if the garrison in Bordeaux doesn't turn on her. That's
one
day.”

He didn't envy her task, but he
also did not doubt her success. “You can do this, Olivia, if it is truly your
aim. You are rather persuasive.” He gave her a saucy grin, despite the fear in
his chest.

Her fingers feathered the hair at
the back of his collar. “I have studied the master.”

Reaching back, he grasped her left
hand. Cradling it, he rubbed a thumb across his ring, pressing at its small
viridian teardrop. Panic rose up at the idea of letting her go, and his words
came out strangled. “Brussels. Three weeks. In one piece. I have your word.”