Elizabeth Boyle (37 page)

The threesome looked to each other and nodded in agreement.

“And what say your verdict?”

Stilled and tense, the crowd leaned forward, all eyes on the Tribunal.

“Guilty.”

Pandemonium erupted. Cries for liberty and justice filled the air.

Fouquier-Tinville waved his hands once more, calling for silence. “I ask they be sent to the guillotine in the morning, so they can have the night to consider their grave sins against our fine Republic.”

“So granted,” the first man on the Tribune acknowledged.

Giles used the opportunity to slip out, while everyone else began congratulating themselves on the prosecutor’s stunning victory.

Outside the courthouse he waited near the gated entrance to the courthouse yard, where the guards transferred the prisoners into the carts that carried them back and forth from the jails scattered throughout Paris.

The shouts and singing continued inside, while in the courtyard the guard started to move about quickly.

Giles stepped back as he saw Robespierre and his dangerous assistant Saint-Just cross the cobblestones toward one of the waiting carts.

Sophia and her parents, all three in chains, were being escorted by a tight knot of guards toward the nefarious pair.

Saint-Just moved forward and said something to Sophia, but Giles couldn’t hear his words because of the distance.

Whatever the man said, Sophia must have found great distaste in it. As if her chains weighed nothing, she kicked the man, connecting sharply with his shinbone.

He toppled back in pain while Sophia grinned over his writhing form.

At first it looked to Giles as if Saint-Just, who’d crawled out of her range and struggled to his feet, was going to retaliate by striking her. A barked order from Robespierre brought the young man back in line. Recovering some of his famous stoic composure, Louis Antoine Saint-Just turned his back to her in scorn and trailed into the courthouse at the heels of his master.

Sophia’s mocking laughter chased his every retreating step.

She might still wear her chains, but she looked every ounce the victor. Stripped of her liberty, her freedom, and now even her life, whatever sway the man once held over her was powerless against her disdain for him and everything he represented.

Giles remembered her aunts’ startling revelation—she’d made an ill-advised alliance. And he remembered the night at Danton’s house, how Saint-Just’s hand rested on Sophia’s arm in a manner more befitting a possessive lover.

He’d thought even then that they might be lovers, before he’d known the truth about her.

Now he wondered again and thought perhaps they had been. A long time ago.

He didn’t know why he thought that, but there was something about their interaction and Sophia’s savage delight in the man’s defeat and humiliation, albeit small, that told Giles her youthful indiscretion had come full circle.

And she’d exacted a lover’s revenge.

The guards pushed her into the caged cart where her parents waited. As the metal lock snapped shut, the driver guided the horses out of the yard.

Crowds from inside the courthouse now lined the avenue around Giles. As the cart rolled down the street, he fought his way to its side.

Thrusting his hand through the rails, he grabbed Sophia’s arm. At first she fought him, until their gazes locked and recognition set in.

She shook her head violently. “No … go back.”

He didn’t answer, but ran alongside the cart, clinging to her hand. He pried her fingers open and pressed the signet ring into her palm, just as the guards started to push the press of people away.

She looked down at his gift, shaking her head. “No, don’t do this,” she cried.

For one last moment the connection between them held, their fingers intertwined, as their bodies had done so intimately before. He squeezed her hand and whispered his vow to her.

“I love you, Lady Brazen.”

Slowly, as the cart gained speed, their hands separated, until finally only the tips of their fingers brushed together and then parted.

“Now I understand what your ring means,” he called after her, as the horses picked up speed and pulled the cart away.

He couldn’t tell if she’d heard him, for she knelt in the middle of the cart, sobbing, her fist closed over his gift, clutching its promise to her heart.

“So, you saw her,” Webb commented as Giles slid into the dark corner of the tavern.

Giles glanced up. “How can you tell?”

“You look like you’ve stared death in the face.”

“I could say the same of you. Where the hell have you been?”

Webb leaned back in his chair. “Dead, unless the news of my demise never reached you.”

“Oh, it reached us. Your family had a nice ceremony for you, even put up a headstone.” Giles leaned forward. “You young fool, what were you thinking, leading everyone to believe you were dead?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Webb shot back.

“It most certainly did, but why the elaborate hoax?”

Running his fingers through his golden brown hair, Webb looked away. “It was not by choice. I was betrayed and imprisoned in the Abbaye.”

“By who?”

“I’m still working on that one,” Webb demurred.

The grim look on Webb’s face told Giles not to press the issue. “So how did you escape?” he asked instead. “Your father’s information was very clear: You were seen on your way to the square.”

“I thought I was destined for the razor too. Until one night I heard the voice of an angel whispering through the doorway.”

Giles didn’t need much help with this one. “Sophia.”

“Yes, Sophia.” Webb’s voice turned wistful. “I have to admit I’ve spent a fair amount of time envying your good fortune. I could never hope to have my father bequeath a bride like that as a dying wish.”

“So I’ve discovered,” he answered, less than comfortable with the tenor of Webb’s admission. He remembered Isnard’s description of the young American who had been rumored to be La Devinette’s lover.

Webb started to laugh. “You can stop those foolish thoughts, my friend. Your bride has eyes only for you. She spent most of her time asking me all about you, what you liked, how you spent your time, what type of women you preferred. I don’t know why, considering all she’d ever seen of you was that wretched portrait your father made you sit for when you were seven, but she’s been half in love with you for ages.”

The final pieces—how she knew so much about him-— fell in place. It wasn’t just her time with his father, but also her ongoing interrogation of Webb.

The sneaky little minx.

“You were saying, she found you in the Abbaye?”

“Yes. Foolish girl blamed herself for my arrest. Though I would have told her it had nothing to do with her.”

“Wouldn’t matter,” Giles grumbled. “She’d have sought you out anyway.”

“You know Sophia.”

Giles nodded. “Only too well.”

“She arranged for a diversion when I was being transferred at the courtyard after my trial. A small fire in the records room.”

At this, Giles laughed. Would she ever learn to be a little more subtle?

“In the confusion,” Webb continued, “I slipped free and she helped me get out of the city.”

A serving girl sauntered forward and placed a bottle of wine on the table. She gave them both a welcoming smile and then flitted off to her duties.

Suddenly, Giles remembered the day they’d broken Lucien out of the prison. Sophia had told him she’d obtained the floor plans of the jail from a former prisoner. He lowered his voice. “You gave her the plans to the Abbaye.”

“So she told you of that.”

“No, not really, but it’s all starting to become much clearer.” Giles reached for the bottle of wine and poured himself a drink. “Where have you been for the last few months?”

“In hiding mostly. Spent nearly a month stowed away in the countryside with her brother and sister until the furor died down and I healed up a bit. My jailers didn’t find my sense of humor very amusing. Especially the one about the regicides at the gates of hell.”

Giles could well imagine what the
sans-culottes
would think of Webb.

“I always liked to go to the country as a child, but those thirty days of hiding were almost worse than jail.”

“You made quite an impression on young Lily,” Giles teased.

Webb held up his hands. “I never touched the girl.”

“I believe you, but I don’t think Lily preferred it that way.”

“Those Ramsey women.” Webb shuddered. “Mother told stories of their licentious behavior to my sisters as examples of how not to act. Have you noticed that all their husbands seem to die early? They wear them out utterly and completely if you ask me. I’ll stay clear of Lily until that little vixen is married and toothless, with a passel of children clinging to her skirts. Give her time, she’ll make Sophia look tame.”

Giles would have argued the point, since he thought no one could outdo his future wife, but he didn’t have the time. “Well, I would ask your indulgence and aid in seeing me to my early grave. I have every intention of marrying my little hellion and spending the next fifty years damning the consequences. Will you help me?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Webb glanced over his shoulder. “Since I figured you wouldn’t heed my advice and head home alone, I asked someone to join us.” He waved his hand at a man entering the tavern.

Giles watched Oliver shoulder his way through the crowd. Relief flooded him to know that the good man hadn’t been captured.

“See you got my message,” Oliver said, nodding to Giles.

“And I owe you a great deal for your faith in me. More than she had.” He caught Oliver’s hand and shook it hard.

“Don’t judge her too harshly,” Oliver said, looking almost embarrassed. “She thought she was doing what was best for you, as I did when I left the note with the lad in the stables.”

Giles nodded. Sophia would protect those she loved fiercely, without regard for her own safety. He’d have to get used to the notion of having someone looking out for him.

Webb poured the remaining wine into the glasses before them. “If I know you, Giles, you’ve already got a plan in mind.”

He smiled at his companions. “I do. Let me explain.”

Led from her cell in the morning, Sophia saw her parents waiting for her at the end of the dank hall. She tried to smile at them, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Giles.

Against everything she’d wanted, he’d followed her to Paris.

Damn him. She’d sat up the entire night, her ears straining for any hint of rescue, but none had been forthcoming. Now it was too late, and some part of her was glad of that. That meant he would stay free of danger.

If only she could have told him that she loved him with all her heart.

Sophia glanced down at her hand, where her family’s ring encircled her finger. He’d given it to her like a wedding band—one she’d never wear.

Her hand tightened into a fist. She’d cling to the warm metal until the life drained from her body.

Outside, the sun made a rare appearance for November. She blinked at the unaccustomed light, raising her hand to her eyes as she and her parents were led into the courtyard.

“Get up there, you traitorous bitch,” one of the guards spat as he pushed her toward the waiting cart.

Sophia noticed that her father was about to turn and elbow the man in the face. Quickly, she reached out and stopped the angry motion.

“
Non, Papa
. It isn’t necessary.”

“I won’t allow this swine to treat my daughter in such a manner.”

She shook her head and nodded to where her mother stood alone at the front of the cart. “Go to her,” she told him. “She needs your strength. I can take care of myself because I am your daughter.”

She turned to the guard and glared. “Help me up, citizen, and be polite about it. You might think me unable to harm you, but I have yet to name my accomplices, and you could well find my finger pointing at you before I die. So be polite to me and my family. For it could very well be your turn tomorrow.”

The man backed away from her and crossed himself.

Instead, her father did the honors. “I forget how grown up you’ve become,” he whispered to her. “And how proud I’ve always been of my little Piper.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. One of the last times she’d seen her father was when she’d been sent from the house for her confinement. After that she’d gone directly to England, without seeing either of her parents. On that horrible day of leaving her home in disgrace, she’d begged her father to allow her to stay. His mouth was tight at the corners and his dark eyes were full of what she thought was shame, as he shook his head and watched Oliver all but carry her to the waiting carriage.

Now she knew better. He hadn’t been ashamed of her. His heart had instead cried out with sorrow. He couldn’t let her stay and have her condition become common knowledge, for that would have resulted in her being shunned for the rest of her life. So he’d made the impossible decision to send her away. He’d watched her go, knowing that even he couldn’t bear for her the pain she faced.

Just as he couldn’t bear the agony she faced today.

Beyond the gates the milling crowds were already thick, waiting like alley dogs for today’s scraps to be tossed into the streets. She heard the catcalls and names, but paid no attention to them. The guard tied her hands to the cart’s railing.

Even as they started on their slow journey out the heavy metal gates, she ignored the taunts and violent threats, searching the mottled, angry faces for any sign of Giles’s dark, glittering eyes.

There was still no sign of him, yet his vow in the orangery came back to haunt her.

Wherever you go, I am destined to follow.

But not in death
, she prayed.
Not today.

But follow her he would. It wasn’t in his nature to give up. It frightened her to think of what type of foolhardy rescue he’d plan. Foolhardy plans were her specialty, not his. She didn’t want to be rescued, not if it meant he might face this same terrible fate.

Better he got back to England, marry a Dorlissa, and live out his life in the safety of the countryside than risk his life for hers.