Surrender to a Stranger (56 page)

Jacqueline let out a sob of crushing anguish as she pulled together the torn pieces of her bodice. Her heart was bleeding with an agonizing mixture of love, relief, and terror. There was no escape for either of them, she realized painfully. Armand had been captured in his bid to rescue her. Now they would both be executed.

“It would appear, St. James, that you have walked right into my trap, just as I knew you would,” sneered Nicolas triumphantly as he adjusted his clothes.

Armand shrugged his shoulders. “And it would appear, Bourdon, that you have not yet learned to control your obsession for Mademoiselle de Lambert,” he returned mildly.

“Where did you find him?” demanded Nicolas of the guard, ignoring Armand’s remark.

“He walked up and said he was the Black Prince and he understood we were looking for him,” explained the guard. “We figured he must be crazy, but he insisted on seeing you.”

Jacqueline stared at Armand in confusion. Why on earth would he do something as foolish as that?

“It is truly fascinating, the absurdity of human nature,” remarked Armand with amusement. “Practically every man, woman, and child who comes into Calais is being detained and accused of being the Black Prince. Yet when I walk in and say ‘here I am,’ no one takes me seriously.” He turned his head to look at the guard. “It is almost insulting, you know,” he informed him.

“I don’t give a damn,” snarled Nicolas impatiently. “You have been captured and that is all that matters.”

Armand looked startled. “Captured?” he repeated, as if the idea was news to him.

It was Nicolas’s turn to smile. “What would you call it?” he demanded mockingly.

“I have turned myself in of my own accord, in the hopes that we could work out some sort of arrangement,” replied Armand.

“What sort of arrangement?” demanded Nicolas.

Armand began to idly adjust the folds of his cravat. “It is really very simple. I am offering you a straight exchange. A life for a life, if you will.”

“Which means?”

“I am offering you myself, the Black Prince, in exchange for Mademoiselle de Lambert’s freedom.” He looked up from his cravat. “If you wish, you can create some grand tale about how you cleverly snared me to tell all your cronies on the Committee of Public Safety, and I will go along with it,” he offered generously.

Nicolas laughed. “Tell me, St. James, just why is it you are so concerned about Jacqueline’s life?”

Armand shrugged his shoulders. “I am not accustomed to having my work undone. Not after all the trouble I went through to rescue her in the first place.” He turned his attention back to the guard. “You really should have seen my disguise, it was absolutely brilliant,” he assured him.

“You were saying,” interrupted Nicolas impatiently.

Armand looked back at him in surprise, as if he had forgotten he was there. “Oh yes. Well, after all that work, it seems a waste that it should be for naught. It is I your government really wants anyway.”

“How touchingly noble,” drawled Nicolas sarcastically. “Unfortunately, I am not interested in your offer. I now have both of you, and therefore see no need to bargain with you over anything.” He motioned to the guard. “Lock him up.”

The guard stared at him and did nothing.

“Lock him up, you damn fool!” growled Nicolas.

The guard remained where he was.

Armand appeared to be preoccupied with removing a fleck of lint from his coat. “You must forgive him for being somewhat less than enthusiastic about your order.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, he works for me.” His coat apparently in order, he looked up at Jacqueline. “Mademoiselle, would you be kind enough to step out of your cell?” he asked politely.

Confused, Jacqueline hesitated and looked at the guard. Andrew winked at her. Incredulously, she went to the bed, removed the dagger from under the pillow, and grabbed up her cloak. She gave Nicolas one final look of sheer, unmitigated hatred before stepping out the cell door.

“Do you think she meant to use that dagger on you?” asked Armand curiously.

“Guards!” roared Nicolas at the top of his lungs. “Guards!”

The front door of the prison crashed open and six uniformed soldiers came rushing into the room.

“Arrest all of them,” ordered Nicolas furiously. “Lock them up.”

The soldiers did not move.

Filled with unease, Nicolas looked at Armand.

Armand shook his head sympathetically. “Unfortunately, they all work for me as well. Your men have been temporarily relieved of their duties.”

“You will never get out of Calais alive, St. James,” Nicolas assured him bitterly.

Armand sighed again. “I wish I could say it has been a pleasure, Inspector Bourdon, but I must confess I am beginning to find our meetings rather tedious.” He stepped back and motioned to the guard behind him. “Forgive me for taking the precaution of tying you up,” he apologized as the guard went into the cell. “But I do wish to discourage any plans you may have to follow us.”

“I’ll see both of you dead,” snarled Nicolas. The guard stuffed a rag in his mouth.

“Farewell, Inspector,” said Armand pleasantly when the guard had finished tying him up. “I do hope your superiors are understanding when you explain to them how you lost your prominent prisoners yet again.” He swung the cell door shut and turned the key.

Jacqueline stood numbly amongst the raggedly dressed soldiers, many of whom she now recognized from the crew of
The Angélique,
including Sidney. She clutched her cloak against her chest and tearfully looked up at Armand, still shaken from her ordeal.

He moved toward her and reached out to take her cloak, which he wrapped protectively around her. “I have come to take you home, Jacqueline,” he whispered softly.

The knife she had been holding clattered to the floor. He bent low to pick it up.

“Listen to me, Mademoiselle,” he said, his voice calm and soothing as he looked down into her tear-filled eyes. “I am now Inspector Garnier, and I have been sent here by the Committee of Public Safety with a detachment of men to escort you to Paris for execution. Do you understand?”

Jacqueline nodded. Outside she could hear the cries of a restless mob.

“When we walk out this door, you are a prisoner under my guard. You must conduct yourself accordingly. Do you understand?”

She cleared her throat, fighting to control her fear. “Yes.”

Armand looked at her with approval. “Good. I will hold on to this for you,” he added as he slipped her dagger into his boot. “I don’t believe you will be needing it.”

He made a circular motion with his hand and the guards immediately assembled around her, forming a protective wall. Armand moved ahead of them and opened the door, leading the impressive contingent outside, where three more guards and a dozen horses awaited, along with an irate assembly of men and women carrying a variety of weapons and torches.

“What’s happening to her?” demanded a furious woman with a heavy pistol tied to her waist.

“Where are you taking the bitch?” screeched another. The torch she held revealed she was missing most of her teeth.

A burly man purposefully gripped a musket between his black-stained hands, looking like he would shoot on the slightest provocation. “Where’s the other inspector?” he shouted.

A young boy of about twelve glared at her, his little face contorted with hate. “Are you going to kill her now?” he shrieked.

This suggestion drew a round of bloodthirsty cheering.

Armand calmly raised his hand to silence them. “I am Inspector Garnier,” he informed them. “I have been sent here by the Committee of Public Safety to relieve Inspector Bourdon of his prisoner. I will escort this treacherous aristo to Paris, where she will be executed for her crimes against the Republic.” His powerful voice rang with authority. “Anyone who tries to interfere will be treated as a traitor.” He glowered at the crowd, as if daring one of them to try. And then he raised his fist triumphantly into the night and shouted: “Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death!”

The mob broke into a wild roar of approval. “To the guillotine! To the guillotine! Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death!”

Armand motioned to the guards and they moved forward with Jacqueline, leading her to a horse. She climbed up as the guards quickly mounted their own horses and formed a protective ring around her. Armand took the lead, guiding them through the ragged crowd, which was now screaming and cheering and dancing wildly, their weapons and torches bobbing gaily up and down as they watched Jacqueline being led away, presumably to her death.

They rode for some half hour, taking the road that led south of Calais to Paris. A few stragglers from the group followed them to the edge of the town, raucously chanting and singing, but the night was dark and cold and eventually they grew weary of their excursion and turned back. When Armand and his men were quite sure they were not being followed, they turned off the road and headed toward the water.

Jacqueline’s heart was racing with anticipation as they reached the beach. She slipped down off her horse, closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled the sharp salt air, cleansing her mind and her body and her soul as she did so. In that moment she realized how much she had come to love the sound and scent of the sea. She wrapped her arms around herself and searched the darkness for the silhouette of
The Angélique.
It took her a moment, but finally she saw it, gracefully waiting for her on the black water some kilometer from the shore. She sighed. The first time she had seen that ship she had hated her, because she was stealing her away from the country she loved. Now the sight of her filled her heart with joy.
The Angélique
had come to take her home.

Armand had come to take her home.

He was giving orders to his men, instructing them to cut the girths of their saddles before sending their horses galloping off into the night. Four men were moving a huge skiff out from behind a jut of rock and into the water. Armand strode over to the skiff and looked around in exasperation.

“Where the hell is the boy?” he demanded furiously.

All the men paused to search the shore.

“He should be here,” said John. “He was told to stay here and watch the boat.”

“Jesus Christ,” cursed Armand in frustration. “You men take Mademoiselle de Lambert to the ship, and then two of you come back in the smaller skiff for me and the boy. Move.”

Without question or hesitation, everyone began to assemble around the skiff and climb in. Everyone but Jacqueline. Armand walked over to her.

“Philippe is here?” she asked, frantically hoping she had misunderstood, that they were referring to some other boy, even though she realized that was horribly selfish of her.

“He insisted on coming with me,” replied Armand, wishing to God he had not agreed to let him. “But I will find him, Jacqueline. Trust me.”

She nodded, clutching her cloak. “I will stay and help you.”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “You are going to take that boat over to
The Angélique
and wait for me there,” he ordered firmly.

He was staying here. Alone. For a moment she was unable to breathe, so overwhelming was the sudden wave of fear that washed over her. She knew that even now they might be looking for him. And this time the entire town knew what he looked like. The fear bloomed into terror, and the terror froze her to the spot. “I will go with you,” she declared stubbornly.

He stood before her, helplessly aggravated by the precious minutes they were wasting. It was only a matter of time before someone discovered Nicolas in the cell, or the soldiers of the National Guard who had been abandoned in a barn on the edge of Calais. Once they were found, all hell was going to break loose, and there was no way of knowing whether that would be in a few minutes or a few hours. There was no time to argue with her, and no way in the world he would permit her to stay. “I will find him, Jacqueline,” he insisted flatly. “I promise. Now get on that boat.”

It was impossible, what he was asking her to do. Surely he could see that? Numbly, she shook her head.

He let out a sigh of frustration and reached out to grab her, intending to carry her to the goddamn boat. But to his surprise she let out a cry of absolute anguish and threw herself against him, burying her face in his chest and sobbing so painfully he thought her heart would break.

“Do not leave me,” she pleaded brokenly, her voice shaking with emotion. “If you stay, then I must stay, too. Please don’t make me leave without you. I—I cannot be without you.” Her sobs became louder, deeper, more tearing. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice so ragged with pain he barely heard her.

He stood there and held her, overwhelmed by the raw desperation of her words. Of course he had known she loved him. He had known from the moment she appeared in his cell at La Force, a magnificent, rescuing angel, ready to sacrifice her life in the hope that he might live. He had known then, and he had treated her love carelessly. He used her and left her, telling himself he did not need her love nearly as much as he needed to continue his quest for vengeance. But he had been wrong. He needed her love, and he needed her, more than anything in the world. Once again, he would have done anything for her in that moment. But he would never allow her to risk her life again. If anything happened to her, he felt certain he would go mad. He gently cupped her chin with his hand and lifted her tear-streaked face to look down into the silvery depths of her eyes.

“Listen to me, Jacqueline,” he ordered, softly caressing her cheek. “You wound me with your lack of faith. I have told you I will find the boy, and I will. And then I will come back to you. Do you understand what I am saying?” he demanded.

She shook her head and buried her face deep against his chest.

“I love you, Jacqueline,” he told her, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I have always loved you. From the moment I saw your miniature in Sir Edward’s study, I knew you were something magnificent and rare. I thought my life was over then. I didn’t care if I lived or died, which is probably why my rescues were successful. But you changed that. You made me care about something more than death and revenge.” He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rested his chin on her head.