Elizabeth Boyle (21 page)

As he climbed the tree to the adjoining building, he surveyed the roof. No, it didn’t appear that the greedy woman had spent a
sou
of the money he’d paid for her worthless information for repairs. He obviously hadn’t paid her enough, or she would have told him that the woman he sought lived beneath her own roof.

Well, hopefully he wouldn’t find himself crashing down in the landlady’s bedroom. Making her charming acquaintance once was enough, for he didn’t think he had enough cash to extract himself from a second meeting.

There were lights on in the ground floor, so he decided to wait before venturing further afield. He reasoned she wouldn’t go far tonight, at least not until it drew closer to the witching hour she seemed to prefer.

As he sat perched above the house, the strange stillness of Paris surrounded him. Before the Revolution, Paris at night had been a heady experience, full of light and excitement. That Paris was gone. He thought about the strained manners of Danton’s guests and the strange wariness with which the Brazen Angel had moved within that dangerous circle.

Believe me
, she’d asked him the night before.

He found himself wanting to believe her, as he had the night before. His body still longed for hers, despite his reason’s unwillingness to believe her.

She couldn’t be telling the truth. He had seen and heard all the evidence he needed.

And yet last night she’d opened his eyes by covering them, by asking him to trust what could not be seen. Something about those minutes—that incredible blindness she’d awakened him from—echoed back to him.

How could he reconcile the woman of last night with all the evidence that pointed toward her as an active participant in Webb’s death?

An hour later, with no more answers than when he started and the house now dark, Giles carefully walked the roofline until he made it to an attic window without mishap. He pried open the latch and dropped into the hall. Opening his coat, he drew out the small pistol he carried for situations like this. Making sure it was primed, he stopped beside her door and listened.

Nothing but silence greeted him.

This time, Lady Brazen, I will have my answers.
His fingers closed over the knob.

He hesitated for a moment before bursting into the room, pistol drawn.

The Brazen Angel jumped up from a small stool near the fireplace. She still wore her La Devinette costume, the shadowy candlelight and meager flames of the firelight offering the concealment she obviously preferred. His gaze swung from one end of the room to another, searching for any other occupants, but it appeared she was alone.

“Lord Trahern,” she whispered, wiping her sleepy eyes.

He nodded to her and crossed the room in two long strides, first checking one bedroom and then the second, smaller closet. There was no one else in the apartment.

Quickly, he closed the door to the hall and turned the latch. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the battle she was sure to pitch.

So sure was he that he would have placed a wager on her reaction. Surprise. Outrage. Anger.

The last thing he expected was this.

“Giles,” she whispered, saying his given name for the first time and saying it with relief and passion. “You’re safe, you’re alive.”

He noticed now that there were tears suddenly streaming down her face.

She rushed to his side, throwing her arms around his neck. “I thought I’d lost you forever.” And with that final outburst she caught his face with her hands and pulled him into her eager kiss.

N
o one was more surprised than Sophia as she wound her arms around Giles’s neck and opened herself to his kiss.

Though she’d arrived home anxious for Emma and Oliver to return, exhaustion plagued her. She couldn’t rest, not yet, not until she’d figured out a way to warn Giles of the terrible danger. As she discarded plan after plan, the warm glow of the fire and the quiet solitude of the room drifted into her chilled bones, pulled her eyes closed, and tugged her into a restless sleep.

In her dream she’d watched helplessly as Giles was led up the scaffolding in the Place de la Revolution. She’d tried to call out to him, but the roar of the enthusiastic crowd drowned out her pitiful pleas for mercy. The cheers were so loud that they reverberated through her, leaving her shuddering at the side of the scaffolding, her hands over her ears. When she looked again for Giles, Saint-Just stood on one side of the guillotine and Robespierre the other, both men smiling down at her like indulgent fathers.

Giles stood proud and tall between the pair, his hands bound behind his back. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, his eyes looked to the west, toward the distant shores of England.

“
No, please, no!
” she’d cried out, trying to look away as Giles stood defiant, bravely meeting his fate. And as the crowd grew louder in their zealous anticipation, he turned his head toward her.

“Was it so difficult to love me?” Giles asked her. “Was it so easy to betray me, wife?”

As he said the words, Saint-Just pushed him into the crowd, allowing them the pleasure of killing their enemy. In a frenzy they descended on Giles’s bound body, driving their pikes and stakes into his flesh. Blood stained the stones at her feet. His hand reached for her, but she was too far away to save him. Her feet froze; she couldn’t save him. Try as she might, she couldn’t move forward to stop the mayhem.

Sophia wrenched herself awake rather than watch anymore.

So easy to betray me, wife.
His accusations tolled over and over.

She’d done nothing to save him. She’d tried, but failed him.

Startled, she’d blinked back the final horrible images, only to find Giles, alive and whole, standing in her doorway. Fighting off the last shrouds of her nightmare, she’d stumbled to him. When her fingers touched the warmth of his skin, she knew he was truly alive.

Then she’d done what any wife would do. She threw her arms around him and rejoiced.

But she wasn’t his wife.

“I was so worried,” she murmured, stepping back from his embrace, suddenly embarrassed at her reaction. Considering how cold and cruel he’d been in front of Danton’s house, she should be chastising him. “I didn’t know where your lodgings were.” Sophia turned from him. “I didn’t know how to warn you.”

“Warn me of what?” He turned her around to face him. “What is this, my lady? More of your tricks? More deceit?”

She shook her head. “No. Never again. I overheard them . . . and then I didn’t know where . . . and now you’re here and safe.” Sophia knew she was rambling, but she didn’t know how to control her rampant emotions, the fear, the relief, the anxiety still controlling her.

His dark, restless gaze said he didn’t believe a word she was saying. The realization hurt as much as his words in her dream.

And then she knew the terrible truth of it. Emma had been right all along. Sophia was in love.

No!
she wanted to cry out.
Leave me be. I have no room in my heart or my life for you. But it was too late, the damage done.

The words on her lost ring mocked her.

Nothing is difficult to one who loves.

How wrong those words are, she realized. Love made everything all that much more difficult. Especially when one loved the Marquess of Trahern.

She struggled to regain her usual bravado, to use it to push aside her newly discovered feelings. But all she found in her heart were the leftover feelings of despair and helplessness from her dream. She wouldn’t let Giles die, not because of her.

“Please believe me,” she said, touching his sleeve again to reassure herself he was alive and this wasn’t another trick of sleep. “You’re in terrible danger.”

A hint of a cool smile twisted at his lips. “I’ve known that since the day I met you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, pushing her hands against his chest. “They’ve ordered your arrest.”

Black fury rippled over his features. “And
who
betrayed me?”

The same fears from her dream resurfaced, and for a moment she saw him once again on the scaffold.

Shaking the errant thoughts away, she put her hands on her hips and faced him. It certainly hadn’t been her fault that he continued to follow her, continued to ignore her warnings. “You did, you great ponderous ape. You did it yourself.”

With each word his tone rose in menacing disbelief. “I betrayed myself?”

Sophia let out a large sigh. “Why do I bother? Why do I even try?” Her gaze swept back over Giles. “You betrayed yourself. I told you to return to London, not to follow me. And did you listen? No! Now you’ve brought yourself under suspicion. Robespierre didn’t buy your flimsy story about being a Colonial. Who would? You’ve got pompous, arrogant English aristocracy stamped all over you. And now, if I don’t get you away from here immediately, you will die like . . . like . . .” She turned away, embarrassed by her outburst, afraid of the images she’d seen.

He moved toward her so softly that when his hands pulled at her shoulders she jumped. The warmth of his fingers and the sure reassurance of his arms calmed her as he pulled her into his embrace. “What of you? What has all this done to La Devinette?”

“I am to be arrested as well. The orders will go out on the morrow.”

Giles listened to her quietly pronounce her own death sentence. Where before her voice had been filled with a fiery passion for his safety, her own danger seemed to surround her with a calm resolve.

As if she’d always expected to die.

The idea of her death chilled him. He’d been furious at her earlier, sure she was part of a larger conspiracy, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Her wild flight into his arms when he’d entered the small attic room felt so right, as if she belonged at his side, worried and concerned for his safety. And for the first time, the loneliness and hurt that he’d worn like a cloak most of his life fell aside to be replaced by this woman’s care and concern.

His eyes saw the raw emotions on her face and in her voice. While he knew her to be an accomplished actress when she needed to be, somehow tonight felt different, as had the night before when she’d lain in his arms.

Even with all the unanswered questions about Webb, his heart told him to believe her. Trust her.

Methodical to a fault, Giles found himself considering throwing his usual sensibility and caution to the wind. And the moment he opened his mouth he did toss it aside, saying for the first time in his life what his heart held so tightly hidden from the world.

“Then we’ll be away from this place,” he whispered in her ear, wrapping his arms around her to ward off the chill suddenly filling the room. “I can have us back in England before anyone knows where to look.”

She shook her head. “You must go, but I cannot. My work here is not yet finished.”

“If you stay, I stay. You’ll not be rid of me so easily.”

Her stubborn features told him she would never allow it.

As if you have any choice, Lady Brazen
, he wanted to tell her. Instead, he asked, “What is so important that you cannot leave tonight? What is this work you hold so sacred?”

In the hallway outside, footsteps echoed.

His muscles tensed. Giles listened carefully, distinguishing three, maybe four people approaching the attic. “Who are you expecting?”

“You’ve wanted to know why I’ve chosen this life. Why I cannot leave Paris. This will answer most of your questions.”

The door opened and a young boy bounded into the room.

“Piper!” his excited voice squeaked. He crossed the room like an anxious puppy, in a great, whirling streak, dashing into the Angel’s open arms. “Ah, Piper, I missed you.”

“And I missed you, Julien,” she told the boy, tears filling her eyes.

The boy leaned back and looked at her costume. Then he broke out laughing. “You look silly, Piper. Are you a pirate now?”

Both of them laughed at Julien’s announcement.

When Giles looked back at the door he saw a lanky, awkward girl hovering near the entrance. He guessed she was probably no more than thirteen. She had that coltish, uncomfortable look of a girl who thought of herself as a young lady, yet was still a child at heart. Instantly, he spotted the likeness between the two women. Copies of each other, though separated by seven, maybe eight years.

Whatever reserve held the girl back melted away and she, too, joined the boy in welcoming the Brazen Angel like family.

He remembered the Latin words on the inside of the ring he’d found in her clothing. Giles had discovered them earlier in the day when he’d taken the ring around to the jewelry shops on the Ile de la Cité hoping to identify its true owner.

Nothing is difficult to one who loves.

So the Angel had returned to Paris to save her family.

And family they had to be. The resemblances were incredible. She and the boy had the same rich chestnut hair, while the young girl’s coloring ran fair and blond, but her features promised to mature into the same startling beauty as her . . . mother? No, he thought, looking back at the sentimental tableau in front of him. The Angel was too young to have a daughter that old.

Siblings.

And they’d given her a name.
Piper
. Somehow, the strange little name fit the mysterious woman.

Tears flowed down Piper’s cheeks. She obviously hadn’t seen her brother and sister in some time. Given her emotional reaction, she’d probably thought them lost forever.

Dressed in mere rags, the children wore the clothes of the poorest country peasants, though Giles’s trained eyes saw past their disguises.

Even in his excitement, the boy stood with a nobleman’s pride, his back straight and his head held high. The girl, too, stood with her shoulders back, her bearing rigid.

She also looked familiar, he thought, trying to place her in the ranks of the French families he’d known at Louis’s court before the Revolution. Actually, she looked more English than French, with her stiff bearing and dark scowl.

Her censorious frown was aimed directly at her brother’s high spirits and antics. Julien had found his sister’s sword and was dispatching his imaginary foes with the sure thrusts and parries of someone who had received the finest training.