1939912059 (R) (31 page)

He merely swerved away from whatever aggressive advances met him, while soldiers did the rest, and with the gallant bow of his wigged head, always offered, “I am touched by your devotion and am administering an equal amount of devotion to the glory of France.”

Whilst his political rivals, openly fussed, “
Robespierre is nothing but a damn priest
!” others, who knew Robespierre best, merrily countered, “
What a man Robespierre is with all his women. He is a priest who wishes to be God
.”

Indeed, Parisian women not only worshipped him and his guillotining ways, but wore necklaces containing his silhouetted likeness around their delicate throats to pay homage to his greatness. Thérèse had never bothered to impress him with such antics and instead, always wore Gérard’s pearls. It made her feel protected, and above all…loved.

Despite her fear and disdain for the man, she
was
mildly impressed that ever since their first introduction months earlier he had never once tried to kiss more than her hand. She was even
more
impressed knowing that despite them now being alone in her château for what had been close to two hours (in which she had to excuse herself and feed Henri once before returning him to the nanny), the man had not indicated anything was wrong.

She didn’t know what to make of it after Sade’s baleful warning.

Robespierre appeared no different.

Either way, the butcher girl from Giverny was ready for it and him.

“Your play,” she announced, trying to exude her casual self.

Still holding all of his playing cards between large ungloved fingers, Robespierre squinted at his cards before glancing at her from across the table. Brown eyes captured hers. “I do believe I am about to lose this hand. And I never lose. Not even when I want to.”

God, how she hated him.

She glanced at her own cards and laid out her best card onto the lacquered oak table. “Oh, come now,
citoyen
. Everyone must admit defeat at least once in their lifetime. Even someone as powerful as you cannot control an honest game of cards and its outcome.”

He eyed the card she had laid out and grudgingly tossed his cards onto the table with the flick of a wrist. “Remind me to never wager France against you.”

“I doubt France would ever forgive you if you did that. Now pay up. You owe me a hundred
sols
.” She tossed her own cards and leaned across the table to gather everything into a neat pile with the tap of fingers.

Robespierre opened his coat and withdrew a leather purse. He tossed it onto the table, the coins within chinking as he leaned back against his chair. “I admit defeat. Fifty
livres
, along with my humble admiration. Keep the entire purse and buy yourself a pretty trinket.”

“How very kind and generous of you.” Fifty livres, her arse. Her darling Gérard gave her a full thousand without barely knowing her.

Setting aside the cards, she dragged his leather purse toward herself and nudged it toward the edge of the table. “Any new gossip worth entertaining me with?” He usually shared something. He enjoyed his profession too damn much. “Did anything exciting happen this week?”

“No. Not really.”

She paused. He usually shared something. Which meant…caution. “Your most recent speech was well done,” she conversationally offered. “Am I to understand you intend to instate voting rights to women?”

He snorted. “God, no. We already gave freedom to black slaves and let Jews do whatever they do in their temples. How much more can we, as a Republic, do?”

She refrained from narrowing her gaze. “Women deserve the same rights as blacks and Jews and free white men. I hardly see any differences. We all breathe the same air.”

His voice became noticeably agitated. “I suggest you cease pushing schemes. We all know how passionate you are about…
being a woman
.”

Something was definitely amiss. He was less of a gentleman. Her fingernails clicked one by one against the card table in an effort to remain calm. “Why would I not be passionate about the rights of a woman? I am one.”

“Oh, believe me, I know that. And you do what all women do best.” Holding her gaze with penetrating intent that now spoke of anything but trust, he leaned toward the card table and asked in a low menacing tone, “Have you ever had any direct association with a certain young gentleman named Andelot?”

The serpent had slithered out of its lair. As Sade predicted.

She offered up her best quizzical face, more than ready to take him on given everything he put her beloved Gérard through. “I have, yes. The man’s father murdered my cousin and almost put a bullet through my own head.”

He stared as if he knew
everything
. “No more games. You and I are going to talk. And I expect you to cooperate.”

Fortunately, Sade prepared her for this. “Last I knew, we were in my home and not in a courtroom. Are you accusing me of something?”

He tsked. “You need not worry about your neck. You are far too popular for me to harm or dispose of. People would turn against me, and I have no time for that. But it does not mean I cannot get you to do what I want you to do, for in the end, Andelot is the only pawn I wish to take from this game.”

No longer intimidated given her Gérard was far from reach, she stared him down, in turn. “I have no doubt the very thought of him must irk you after he escaped you and Paris.”

He lowered his chin. “I am rather surprised you know so little. Did your aristo lover forget to inform you about the fact that he decided to stay?”

She paused. “Pardon?”

He shoved the cards off the table, scattering them across the floor. “There was a reason I released Andelot from prison. Sade said you would be able to get Andelot to give up the papers.”

She stared, her heart pounding. Sade was…?

Robespierre eyed her. “Sade has been in alliance with me from the beginning. Unfortunately, that demented bastard has a tendency to get attached to his victims. Which is why this ends tonight. There was a reason why I allowed for our association. With trust comes power, and I needed power over you in order to get power over Andelot.”

She clasped a trembling hand over the ring Gérard had given her in an effort to draw strength from it. Sade had been a lie. Much like most men were. But at least Sade was able to remain human enough to warn her.

“Are you surprised?” Robespierre prodded.

She set her chin. “No. Not at all. Sade has proven to be the master of pain.” With only enough mercy to provide the salve one needed to survive the pain. “So what happens next?”

Robespierre examined his nails. “Andelot will be arrested and executed for insubordination.”

Blinking rapidly in an effort to understand what was happening, Thérèse leaned into the table, almost falling into it. “But he escaped Paris. He is not here. He is not—”

“Only four men have ever escaped me and the Committee of Public Safety. And those men, I assure you, are all dead, and your Andelot is next. Maybe I ought to ensure you are at the square with all the women who knit when that blade comes down. How loud and how long will you scream? Because the moment you do, all of Paris will know you are a traitor. And
that
is when your popularity will bleed into nothing and allow me to send you to the blade next if you do not cooperate.”

She stared wordlessly, her heart pounding. Ten. Thousand. Curses. Gérard never left. He took her heart and her tears and her pleas to rescue himself and…stayed. It was as if his life no longer mattered to him.

Robespierre eyed her, his overly wide features tightening. “I am somewhat astounded by the devotion you feel toward a man whose father murdered your cousin.”

How could Gérard do this to her?

Tears pricked her eyes. “Can we not talk about what happened to my cousin? Gérard is not his father. His sins only include that he always tries to do the right thing.”

He held her gaze. “I am an incredibly busy man, madame. These next upcoming weeks will demand my attention regarding new laws and ensuring Austria does not overrun what is finally ours. Which means I have very little time for you, this or Andelot.”

He stood. Picking up his chair, he set its back toward her with a thud, then sat, straddling the chair so his legs were positioned more openly. He draped his elbows on the back of the chair and casually leaned his chest into the chair. He searched her face. “This ends tonight. Because I want those papers and intend to return to my regular way of life. Do you understand?”

It was obvious he wanted far more than she and her little slumber cake were ready for. She regally set her chin in an effort to remain calm. “I am more than willing to negotiate.”

“I bet you are.” He lowered his chin, his eyes darkening. “Remove the blade attached to your thigh.” He tapped the card table. “Set it here or I will go to the window and signal my guards outside to do it for me.”

A breath escaped her. She should have known her blade was not going to last. Grudgingly hitching up her skirt, she unlatched the leather sheath strapped to her thigh and tossed it with a clatter onto the table. She yanked down her skirt.

He assessed her. “If I were to ask you to dance with me right now, despite there being no music, would you do it in the name of what remains of this game?”

Sade had been right about one thing. If she survived this, she would be able to survive anything. “Dancing when the music has died is what I do best.” Rising from her chair, she gathered her vermillion skirts and sashayed past his chair, determined to show him she held no fear.

He skimmed her appearance, following her sashay, and slowly stripped his wig from his head, revealing the dark brown hair beneath it. He set it onto the card table and rose from the chair he straddled. He walked toward her and rounding her, held out a bare hand. “Madame.”

Setting her own hand in his, she icily offered, “
Citoyen
.”

Robespierre yanked her close and with his other hand pressed her body, inch by inch against his own, his fingers digging into the fabric of her gown in a smooth, exploratory manner.

The sharp scent of ink and licorice pierced her breath.

“Are you ready to negotiate?” he asked.

She chanted to herself to remain calm. “More than ready.”

“Good.” Robespierre swayed with her from side to side, using his body to guide her in the direction he wanted to go. “You will get those papers for me by tomorrow morning.”

“And in return?”

“We go back to our regular way of life. It will be as if nothing happened.”

“And Andelot?”

“He will be locked away with a relative of his until the Committee of Public Safety has had a chance to review those documents. Because as it stands, eight-year-old Louis Charles of France
and
your
duc
are the two remaining heirs to the throne.”

She fought her own panic by evening each labored breath. “You mean to kill an eight-year-old boy and a man who has already suffered well beyond what is human? Is this a democracy or tyranny?”

“Madame, madame. I only provide and owe protection to peaceable citizens.”

“I am asking for leniency.”

“Then ask.”

“What can I do to negotiate for their lives? Both of them?”

“The boy is not part of this negotiation. But…Andelot is.” He searched her face. “I am not as heartless as I appear. I want those papers far more than I want him dead. As long as he stays out of the country, he is no threat to me.”

She met his gaze, trying to decipher if he was playing yet another game.

“Get those papers to me by tomorrow morning and I will give him three days to leave France. Consider it a gallant gesture from one of your greatest admirers.”

She dragged in an astounded breath. “Three days will not be enough. It takes closer to four days to get to the border.”

“That is his problem. Not mine.”

She hesitated. “Would he be given travelling papers? To make it past the border?”

“His travelling papers are already in order and in my pocket.” His brown eyes held her gaze as his rough fingers rounded to the front of her bodice. “Now show me how grateful you are.”

Oh, this one was well-trained.

As he unhooked the top of her bodice, she gripped his fingers. “My body is not part of this negotiation.”

He brought them to a rigid halt, still holding her in place against himself. He returned his fingers to her bodice. “Do you want those travelling papers for him or not? It is a one-time offer with a bit of inconvenience for you.”

Rape was an ‘inconvenience’? The bastard. She swallowed, trying to remain calm. “Let me see the papers first.”

He sighed, released her and opening his coat, withdrew a folded parchment. He held it out. “He has three days to make it to the border. After which, he is dead.”

Taking it, she frantically unfolded the stiff parchment and was astounded to find the travelling papers were, in fact, real. She paused. Based on the date scribed above Robespierre’s signature, if Gérard left tonight, he could make it.

She met Robespierre’s gaze. If there was one thing she knew about Robespierre was that when he gave his word, no matter what it was, he retained it. She called it his ‘demented’ sense of honor. “You will never touch me again if I permit this.”

He stared her down. “You and I both know I get easily bored. I have a country to run.” He snatched back the travelling papers and tucked it back into his coat pocket. “’Tis quite simple. Tomorrow morning, after you deliver those papers into my hands, you get a chance to save his life.”

A sense of calm overtook her.
Strength is pain. And pain gives strength.

She turned and walked to the doorway, her skirts rustling in the silence of the parlor. She turned and met Robespierre’s gaze in the only way an actress could. “I prefer we do this in my boudoir,
citoyen
. Not here in the parlor.”

“Of course.” He removed his coat and whipped it toward the chair. The chair wobbled and clattered to the floor from the weight of his coat.