Elizabeth Boyle (38 page)

“Go home,” she whispered.
Leave me be
. Even as she said the words she heard a familiar sound rising up over the heads of the crowd, teasing her with its simplistic notes.

A shepherd’s pipe.

Hunched over and limping gamely at the edge of the crowd, Giles danced, pipe at his mouth, playing a notable rendition of
La Marseillaise
, the fervent battle cry of the
sans-culottes
.

He glanced in her direction, noticed her eyes on him, and raised two fingers from his pipe.

His emotional version of the uncrowned national anthem drew the crowd’s attention away from her cart.

Two, two, what could it mean? she thought wildly, looking ahead toward the Rue St. Honoré to determine how much farther they had to go. Two blocks.

Two blocks? Was that what he’d meant?

“
Papa? Maman
?” she whispered. “Do you see anything unusual?”

Her father glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”

“Anyone you recognize?”

Her mother’s gaze scanned the crowd. “No, but does this have to do with that man who accosted you yesterday?”

She nodded. “He’s here. I don’t know what he hopes to do, but we must be ready. Look for Oliver, or a young man about Lucien’s height with golden brown hair.”

They neared the corner where the street would join the wider, more accessible Rue St. Honoré. Around them the shops leaned precariously into the streets, stacked together like a child’s toy blocks. It became so narrow, she lost sight of Giles as the press of people closed in around them.

A voice in one of the windows above her head cried out, “
Vive La Devinette!
”

The crowd stilled, and she looked up, but the sun blocked her sight. She blinked and stared again, the cry growing louder.

“
Vive La Devinette
!”

As she finally was able to see the face, she also saw Webb’s arm sweep in a broad gesture, and the air sparkled with gold and silver coins.

A fortune in hard currency showered down on the crowd from both sides of the narrow street, clanging and jingling onto the paving stones. Opposite Webb, she spotted Oliver leaning out an attic window, tossing coins and paper assignats into the air.

The crowd paused, almost stunned by the strange turn of events. The money continued to fall—buckets of it— showering down like a hailstorm. Instead of running for cover, they entered the streets in a chaotic crush.

People dove into the discarded refuse clogging the gutter, digging with their bare hands to scoop the precious coins out of the clutter and filth. Fights broke out, as greed turned the fraternity of the people into a free-for-all.

Sophia discovered that her guards had deserted their posts and joined the swarming tide. Her driver looked to his passengers, shrugged, and jumped from his perch into the teeming horde.

“Quickly,” Sophia said, pulling at the ropes binding their wrists.

A pair of strong hands closed over hers, a knife snaking forward.

She reeled back—until she realized the hands belonged to Giles. He caught her with one arm and pulled her close for a quick kiss on the cheek. “I hope you realize all of this is coming out of your betrothal trousseau,” he teased, nodding at the seemingly endless shower of coins. His knife cut through her ropes in a second, and in a heartbeat the Comte and Comtesse’s hands also sprang free under the assault of the sharp blade.

He wrapped his arm around Sophia’s waist and swung her free from the cart. This time he kissed her on the mouth, his lips quickly branding her, finishing his hasty declaration from the day before. “I love you with all my heart. And if you ever do something like this again, I swear I’ll build a tower so high at Byrnewood that you’ll never see land again.”

Stunned by his pronouncement, she wanted to tell him what was in her heart as well. When she opened her mouth to reply, he shook his head.

“We haven’t the time. And I already know.” He turned and nodded in respect to the Comte. “Into this shop,” he told them.

Sophia and her parents followed as Giles led them into the weaver’s display room. The spindly man frowned at first, but when Giles tossed him a large pouch the man grabbed a bundle by his chair and walked out the front door, leaving his still-strung loom behind, his fireplace and lamps still lit.

She glanced up at Giles for an explanation.

“He expressed an interest in visiting Italy,” Giles explained. “Now he’ll live out his days fishing at the shore and drinking wine.”

Through the back of the shop they dashed, Oliver joining them as they entered the alley. There a cart and horses waited in the narrow byway.

“How’s the gold holding out?” Giles asked the man as he climbed up into his usual driver’s seat.

“I think Mr. Dryden has a few more sacks left,” Oliver grinned. “Plenty to slow down the guards at the front door of his shop.’

“We can’t leave him behind,” Sophia protested.

“We aren’t going to,” Giles said. “Now, get down under the cover,” he told her, pushing her into the cart where her parents had already scrambled. “There are clothes there. Change as quickly as you can.”

He joined Oliver up top, and the cart lurched to a start.

They drove in a wild path, down one street, up another, zigzagging through the Paris maze of streets and alleys.

Sophia poked her head out from beneath the cover. “I won’t leave without Webb!”

“We aren’t. Now, if you love me, stay under cover,” he said, pushing the top of her head down.

She wiggled out of his grasp. “I do love you, but how do you plan on getting us out of the city?”

Giles groaned and yanked the cover over her head. Picking up one corner, he whispered down to her, “Who said anything about leaving?”

They rounded another corner before turning into the large, open delivery yard of a warehouse. The workmen, anticipating their hasty arrival, closed and barred the thick oak gates to the street, blocking out any view.

Oliver drove the horse and cart directly into a cavernous warehouse stacked with barrels.

“My friend, you are right on time,” Citizen Isnard called out as he left his adjoining office.

Giles glanced up and smiled at his friend. “I’ve come to see about the order we discussed last night. Six to be exact.” He glanced over at Oliver. “Make that five and one very large one.” He prodded the large man in the ribs and they all laughed.

Sophia was already out of the cart, her hands on her hips. “You mean to ship me back to England in a barrel?”

“An Isnard barrel, my dear lady,” Isnard said, coming forward to help the Comte and Comtesse out of the cart. “A more comfortable and safe journey you could not ask for. Times being what they are.”

She shook her head with a stubborn tilt and looked back at Giles. “This is the best plan you could come up with? I thought you were a seasoned professional.”

Giles laughed and pulled her into his arms. How he loved this woman. With all his heart. “I learned everything about this line of work from the master. Blame her.”

She looked back over at Isnard and grinned. “Can you make that a very large barrel for two?”

G
iles rose from his bed at Byrnewood, his bare feet treading quietly across the cold hardwood floor. A clear winter sun streamed rays of light through the open curtains. Around him the house was still, although he knew from the sun’s position it was probably well past noon.

“Everyone is so quiet,” Sophia said sleepily from the warmth of the bed. “Do you think they’ve gone home?”

Giles laughed at the hopeful tones in her voice. “They must all be tiptoeing around this morning to allow us some measure of privacy.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “Dinner should quite interesting. I can hear my auntie Effie already.
And how did you sleep last night, Sophia
?” She shuddered and pulled the covers over her head. “Maybe I’ll tell her exactly how I found my rest. That ought to make for a rousing discussion.”

Shaking his head, Giles teased her in mocking tones. “Lady Trahern, you should have more respect for your position as hostess.” Not that he didn’t agree with her. He, too, longed to be alone, just the two of them.

She peeked out from beneath her hiding spot. “I know it was nice for everyone to want to see us married yesterday, but aren’t they all supposed to leave afterward?”

“What would you have me do? Throw out your family? Toss out Lord Dryden and his brood?”

She shook her head. “No. It was wonderful to have everyone here. It’s just that today . . . well . . .” She smiled like a lazy cat, one bare leg slipping out from beneath the sheets and wiggling invitation. “I want you all to myself.”

Giles rejoined her in the bed, pulling the covers over his head. Sophia giggled as she slipped under the covers to meet him.

Sometime later he rolled over and pulled at the stray strands of her rich chestnut hair.

How thankful he was for his father’s choice of brides. To wake up with Sophia each day, to see the light of her bright smile. He couldn’t believe his luck.

Now, if she would only forgive him for what he had planned for the rest of their honeymoon.

“Just be thankful Monty wasn’t here,” Giles commented as he reluctantly got out of bed. “He’d have had us all up at first light for a ride. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but he’s quite willing to stay up all night gambling and dancing and then at dawn saddle his mount for a long, vigorous ride. The man never sleeps.” He laughed. “Must be his pirate heritage.”

“The Duke of Stanton is descended from pirates?” Sophia leaned forward, intrigued.

“Yes, a quite famous lady pirate, if you believe Monty’s stories. For two hundred years her sword sat mounted over one of her descendant’s mantels—until it was stolen about five years ago. He put out all kinds of rewards, but it was never returned.”

Sophia frowned. “What did this sword look like?”

“Of Spanish make, with pearls and emeralds in the hilt. A fancy gold and silver basket over the hilt,” Giles told her, wondering at her sudden interest in Monty’s lost heirloom.

“Was it made for a woman?”

“Why, yes.” Giles looked back at her, puzzled.

Sophia scrambled out of bed, pulled on her peignoir, and raced over to the dressing closet where her clothing had been hung the day before. Throwing open her traveling trunk, she pulled out a long bundle. “Did it look like this?” she asked, unwrapping a sword.

Giles’s mouth opened. “That’s it! Monty’s blade. How did you come by it?”

“I stole it from Selmar. I thought to pick the gems out and sell them. But I was arrested in Paris before I had the chance. Oliver brought it back and gave it to me yesterday as a final memento of our adventures.” She saluted Giles with the blade. “I think I would rather see it back with the duke, where it rightfully belongs.”

Giles crossed the room and pulled her into his embrace. “Monty will be your most devoted servant.”

Sophia stepped back. “You don’t mean to tell him how I came upon this, do you?” The entire family had been sworn to secrecy regarding Sophia’s double life. Everyone agreed it best to allow the Brazen Angel to fade into obscurity.

“Certainly not. Monty can’t keep a secret to save his life,” he said. “No, we’ll find some other way to return it.”

Sophia snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. We’ll have the sword delivered anonymously from the Brazen Angel. The note can say that because of his kindness to her, she wanted to see him rewarded.” She walked over to the small desk and proceeded to pull out a blank sheet of paper and the necessary writing instruments.

Giles laughed, thinking about his friend’s original idea to marry the Brazen Angel and Giles’s own incredulous reaction to such a preposterous idea. Perhaps it was better Monty didn’t know. Giles would never hear the end of it. “His new bride might not like to have his affections for the Brazen Angel revived.”

“The duke got married?” Sophia asked, looking up from her note.

“He was telling me the night of the musical in Bath that he’d found his perfect duchess at Larkhall Manor.”

“But who?” Sophia asked.

“Dorlissa.”

Now it was Sophia’s turn to stare open-mouthed at her groom. “No. Dorlissa and the duke? Are you positive?”

“Lady Fischer claims the duke carried off Dorlissa and the pastor two weeks ago, and no one has heard a word from them since.” He strolled to his dressing room.

“And Lord Fischer isn’t out looking for his daughter?”

Giles leaned out the doorway. “Lady Fischer won’t allow him to. She’d never let him hear the end of it if he ruined Dorlissa’s chance at becoming a duchess.”

“Nor will the duke,” Sophia commented when Giles rejoined her in the bedchamber.

At this they both laughed, the shared companionship of the moment touching Giles with its intimacy. This is what he had missed most of his life.

He walked over and ruffled her hair, then placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“For being my perfect marchioness.”

While Sophia set to work on her note, he began to dress for the day, watching her emotions dance across her face as she composed her words.

She stopped abruptly. “Whatever are we going to do about Emma?”

They’d arrived back in Bath only to find that Sophia’s aunts had turned Emma from the house. There was no word of where her companion had gone, much to Sophia’s distress.

Giles crossed the room and kissed her again. “We’ll find your irrepressible Mrs. Langston. Despite all your dire predictions of her starving or freezing at the roadside, she seemed to me to be a woman who could land on her feet.”

“I know, Giles. I’m just worried. And I want her here at Byrnewood where she belongs.”

“So now you want more people in the house? I thought a few minutes ago you wanted me to clear everyone out from the rafters to the cellars.”

She shook her head. “Just for today. Then tomorrow we’ll throw the doors back open and let everyone back in.” Her gaze traveled to the window. “Lucien and my father are already talking about going to the Colonies. Just when I get my family back, they start talking of leaving me.”