Surrender to a Stranger (8 page)

Strong hands clamped around her waist with an iron grip, and before she knew what she was about, she was sailing through the air and landed with a thud on the mattress beside him, still clinging to the blanket. The stranger held her down with one hand and looked at her with amusement.

“There are two lessons you have learned tonight,” he remarked. “The first, never assume your opponent is sleeping, unless you have personally drugged him or knocked him over the head. The second, if it is at all possible, make sure you get a decent night’s sleep.” Still holding her down, he disentangled her from the blanket and arranged it over both of them. Then he lowered himself to the mattress and casually flung his arm over her, effectively pinning her to the bed. “Now be a good mademoiselle and show me how well you have learned the second lesson,” he finished, in much the same tone one would use on a naughty child.

“Let me go!” hissed Jacqueline as she struggled against his hold and tried to sit up. His response was to tighten his arm around her and haul her even closer against his body.

“It was warmth you were seeking, was it not?” he demanded roughly. “You waste your energy and precious sleep with this nonsense. We still have far to go before you are safe. Lie still and go to sleep.” Evidently thinking the matter settled, he closed his eyes.

Mere seconds later a sharp pain assaulted his shoulder, and his eyes flew open to see Jacqueline hanging on to him with her teeth.

With a soft oath he grabbed her by what remained of her hair and yanked her head back so that she was forced to release his shoulder. She let out a cry of pain and then glared at him furiously as he gripped her by her hair.

“Do you really wish to sleep in the chair that much?” he demanded in a tightly controlled voice.

“It is not that I wish to sleep in the chair, it is that I do not wish to sleep with you!” she hissed, her eyes smarting from the pain in her scalp.

He was silent for a moment, as if he was somehow confused or surprised by that statement. Suddenly his grip on her hair relaxed and he moved away from her. “Mademoiselle,” he began in an incredulous tone, “when exactly was the last time you bathed?”

“How dare you!” spat Jacqueline as she freed herself and sat bolt upright on the bed.

“I mean no insult,” he swiftly qualified. “It’s just that if you are worried about your precious virtue, I would like to set your mind at ease. My preference is for women who have bathed, at least sometime within the not too distant past. I realize your friend who visited you before me was not quite so discriminating, and perhaps that is what has given you cause for concern.” He turned away from her and adjusted his half of the blanket over his shoulder. “You may share this bed with me and rest completely assured that even if you were stark naked and willing, I would not have the slightest desire of laying a hand on you.”

A mixture of humiliation and fury boiled up inside Jacqueline. It was true, she realized, she was sorely in need of a bath. But the rooms at La Conciergerie did not include hot water and a maid service, she thought sarcastically. How dare this vulgar, low-minded lout comment on the miserable state of her hygiene, or tell her boldly that he did not desire her. He was discourteous beyond belief. Still, she had to admit, it did make her feel a little safer. Perhaps in her present condition she truly was offensive enough to repel a man. Well, if so, that suited her perfectly.

“Move over,” she ordered sharply as she gave the pillow on what was to be her side a whack.

He sighed impatiently and moved a bit to accommodate her. Jacqueline lay down and primly drew the blanket up to her chin. The space he offered her had already been warmed by the heat of his body. In fact, after a few minutes she found that she could feel the heat of him radiating across the few scant inches that separated them. It filtered through the coarse wool of her shirt and trousers and warmed her chilled flesh. It had been a long time since she had felt warm in bed.

At home, Henriette used to heat the icy sheets of her enormous bed during the winter with a long-handled brass pan filled with hot coals. That was very nice, but inevitably during the night the effect would wear off and she would find herself huddled beneath a mountain of blankets trying not to move out of the last remaining warm spot. During her long nights at the Conciergerie, she had tried unsuccessfully to control the terrible chills that assaulted her every time she crawled into her rickety little trestle bed, fully clothed and with only one thin blanket to offer her any comfort. This unfamiliar sensation of heat was absolutely delicious. It made her very sleepy. She allowed herself a muffled sigh of pleasure and unconsciously huddled closer to its source.

“Good night, Mademoiselle.”

The unexpected voice jolted her back to wakefulness. With a little gasp she rolled over, moving as far away from him as the limits of the bed would allow.

When she awoke the next morning she was cold. The room was washed in a dull gray from the sun that had filtered its way through the cracked wooden shutters over the window. A stream of dust motes lazily floated and twirled in the soft shafts spilling across the bare floor. Jacqueline closed her eyes and sleepily burrowed her face back into the pillow, idly wondering where she was and how she had come to be here.

She was alone.

That was the realization that forced her eyes open again and made her look around the room. There was no sign of him anywhere. His clothes, his hat, his great heavy overcoat, his cane, everything about him was missing. Citizen Julien was gone.

She threw back the covers and leapt from the bed, telling herself it could not be. She scanned the room for a note of some kind, telling her that he had only gone out for a moment, and not to be concerned, he would be returning for her shortly. There was none. A small feeling of panic began to grip her. For the first time in her life, she was utterly alone. He knew she had no money, no food, and no identification papers. How would she be able to find Antoine and rescue him if she could not even feed herself? And why would Citizen Julien, or whoever he was, desert her like this after taking such immense risks to save her? Surely his contract required him not just to liberate her from the prison, but to actually deliver her to someone. Sir Edward undoubtedly would have wanted her to go to a relative or friend in another part of France until the political situation was restored to normal. The possibility of the stranger’s betrayal leapt back into her mind. Perhaps he really did intend to return her to the Conciergerie after all. It was possible he was out negotiating the terms of his reward with the Committee of Public Safety this very moment. If she was arrested again, she would be guillotined before the day was out, of that she was absolutely certain. The people who attended the daily executions would undoubtedly take great pleasure in watching one who had almost escaped have their head triumphantly thrust through the “Republican window.”

She snatched up her jacket from where it lay on the chair and began to stuff the remains of her hair back into the red woolen cap. Her fingers slowed as they touched the raggedly chopped ends of what was once considered a precious asset. Her hair had always been gloriously thick and long, flowing down to the base of her spine. Since she was a child people used to remark on its unusual weight and shine. When she was very small her mother would weave it into a tight braid after her bath so the next day it could be brushed into a honey gold cape of ripples. The pitifully cropped locks that remained barely touched her shoulders. It could have been your head, she reminded herself impatiently as she yanked the rough cap low over her forehead. If you succeed in keeping yourself alive, it will grow back.

She wrenched down the handle on the door and found it was locked. She rattled it a few times to make sure. The fact that he had left her a prisoner by locking her in made her suspicions more credible. If Citizen Julien’s intentions were purely to rescue her, why then would he find it necessary to lock her up? And why would he sneak out without telling her where he was going? Perhaps his plan was that while she slept he would go out and fetch the National Guard. Right now they were probably on their way, thinking to arrest her in bed. Well, they would not find her there.

She considered banging on the door and yelling until the innkeeper Dufresne came to let her out, but quickly decided against it. It would be risky to draw such attention to herself, and Dufresne might wonder himself why her “grandfather,” or whoever it was Citizen Julien was supposed to be, would lock the boy up when he went out. She did not need anyone slowing her down with their suspicious questions.

She rushed to the window, banged it open, and threw the shutters wide. A blast of icy sharp air flooded the room. Jacqueline looked down to see a tiny enclosure, which might once have been a yard of sorts, but at the moment it was nothing more than a mess of dead weeds, broken bricks, and garbage. Haphazardly strung ropes crisscrossed between the buildings, heavy with faded, much-mended laundry, which had been abandoned overnight and was now stiff from the frigid air. She was only on the second story of the inn, but the drop to the ground was considerable. She leaned out to look at the building next to the inn. It was a single story, and its roof almost touched the side of the inn. A narrow ledge ran below her window right to the edge of the wall, and she felt almost certain that she could carefully step along it without too much risk. Once she reached the corner she could climb down onto the next roof, and from there she would figure out a way to get to the ground. She checked to see if there was anything she could hold on to. The battered shutters that hung from all the windows looked like they would probably be strong enough to offer her sufficient support as she shuffled along the ledge. She braced her hands on the windowsill and took a deep breath, preparing to swing her leg over.

“Do you find it too warm in here?”

With a startled gasp she leapt from the window and spun around. Citizen Julien had returned. He was standing in the doorway scowling at her, once again fully made up as the old man. He stepped into the room and the immediate effect was that the space became smaller somehow, as if whoever designed it had never planned on such a large visitor. He shut the door and locked it before slowly straightening up from his bent, arthritic position. Jacqueline realized it must be difficult for him to remain hunched over like that for hours at a time. He twisted his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders before looking at her.

“I went out to get a few supplies,” he told her curtly, as if he knew she had found his disappearance suspicious and was annoyed at her for that.

“Why didn’t you waken me?” she asked as she nonchalantly closed the window.

“You needed your sleep.” He deposited several packages onto the bed. “I felt it was better for you to rest than to traipse around after me.” He began to unwrap one of the packages.

Jacqueline stepped over to the bed to see what he had bought, feeling only partially appeased by his explanation. She could not trust anyone, she reminded herself. From now on her life depended on her alone. Nevertheless, she could not help but experience a pronounced twinge of guilt over her accusing thoughts as she saw the gifts he was laying out for her.

On the blanket sat a loaf of dark bread, a thick wedge of cheese, some cold, sliced beef, several apples and pears, and two freshly made apricot tartlets, glistening with a sugary glaze. Knowing how scarce bread and meat were in the city, Jacqueline could not imagine how he had managed to procure such a feast, or what it must have cost him. He added a bottle of wine and another bottle of clear liquid, which she supposed was a harder form of alcohol, to the pile. In another pile he unwrapped a modest dress of dark blue wool, a collection of female undergarments, and a warm-looking gray cloak with a matching bonnet. The clothes were extremely plain, without the tiniest frill or ornament, but the fabrics looked soft and serviceable and would be eminently warmer and more comfortable than the scratchy shirt and trousers of her sansculotte outfit. In a third pile he unwrapped a small pair of dark leather boots, a rose-colored bar of fragrant soap, and finally a book.

“I wasn’t sure of your size,” he told her, his voice a little hesitant as he watched her stare in silence at his purchases. He cleared his throat. “They are undoubtedly not what you are accustomed to wearing, but anything finer would call attention to you, and that is precisely what we want to avoid.”

Jacqueline reached down and ran her hand over the warm fabric of the cloak. It was a heavy, soft wool, with a pearly-gray satin lining. She picked up the waxy-smooth bar of soap and examined its delicate rose marking before lifting it up to her nose and inhaling its sweet fragrance. A brief sensation of sheer pleasure washed through her. Closing her eyes, for one small second she was reminded of the long, languid baths she used to indulge in at the Château de Lambert. She opened her eyes to find Citizen Julien watching her.

“Would you do something for me?” she asked.

He hesitated for a moment. “If I can,” he replied carefully.

She looked down at all the wonderful gifts spread out for her on the bed. To ask for something else at this moment seemed almost ungrateful. But she had to ask.

“The next time you have to go out and I am sleeping, would you leave me a note?” she requested softly.

He looked at her with genuine surprise. “Did you think I would leave you, Mademoiselle?”

The words hung motionless in the air as she stared at him, confused by the unmistakable concern in his expression. For the first time she noticed that his eyes were a mixture of blues and greens and grays, which made them look a totally different color from one moment to the next. There was an intensity to them, a keenness that spoke of an ability to act quickly, and a controlled wariness that told her he trusted no one. In his business these were obviously necessary traits. She found herself wondering what it was that had driven him to pursue such a dangerous profession, where every assignment he took might be his last. Underneath his disguise he was a handsome enough man. Did he have a wife or lover waiting somewhere for his return, anxiously counting the hours, agonizing over the dangers he faced as he earned his living? What kind of a woman could possibly endure such constant fear, knowing that each time he left her he might not be back? He regarded her quizzically. She suddenly realized she was staring at him and she turned away.

“Of course I knew you would return,” she told him lightly. “You have been hired to rescue me, and I assume that does not mean abandoning me with no money or food in a run-down inn in one of the worst sections of Paris.” She gave a tiny, shallow laugh, as if the mere idea of such a thing was totally ludicrous.

The room was silent for a moment. She could feel him staring at her back. She wanted to say something more to assure him that she had not been the least bit concerned, but somehow no words came.

“I will always come back for you, Mademoiselle.”

Silence hung between them, making the words seem more like a solemn pledge than what they were, a simple attempt to reassure her. She knew she was merely the object of a contract to him, and nothing more. As he had told her last night, she was a package that had to be delivered. If she was not safely delivered, then he would not be paid. Theirs was strictly a business arrangement. But somehow his promise was strangely soothing. It was as if he had relieved her of an unbearably heavy weight, and for a brief moment she felt oddly safe and secure.

He cleared his throat and broke the spell. “For as you have pointed out, I have been hired to see you safely delivered,” he continued matter-of-factly. He hesitated. “However, since my absence evidently caused you concern, the next time I shall remember to take the time to leave you a note.”

She turned. “Thank you.”

He gave her a curt nod and gestured toward the food laid out on the blanket. “Eat something.”

She needed no further invitation. She seated herself beside the feast on the bed and immediately tore into the loaf of bread, stuffing great chunks of it into her mouth in a manner that could be described as anything but ladylike. She did not care. Graceful, restrained table manners could not possibly be applied here. The food at La Conciergerie had been barely edible, and she had not eaten since the previous day. She was absolutely starving, and was preoccupied with trying to fit a massive chunk of bread with a slice of the cold beef and a piece of cheese into her mouth when she noticed that Citizen Julien was moving toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, her mouth full.

“I have some business to attend to before we can leave here,” he replied vaguely. “I will return in about an hour. Eat as much as you can and then pack everything up, including your new clothes. You will be leaving here as the boy.”

“But where are we going?” she asked. She disliked the fact that he still had not told her of his plans.

He sighed. “Mademoiselle, I cannot tell you exactly how or by what route we will be leaving, any more than I can tell you who I am. If you are captured, the less you know the better,” he told her firmly.

Jacqueline scowled. “First of all, I have absolutely no intention of allowing myself to be captured,” she informed him flatly. “But if I am arrested again, I will be executed regardless of what I know, so what does it matter if you tell me of your plans?”

“I was not thinking of your protection,” he qualified. “I was thinking of my own.”

Not terribly gallant of him, although she had to admit there was some logic to his reasoning. If questioned, she could not give much information about a man she knew virtually nothing about. And if there were others helping with her escape, as the boy Dénis had, she did not want to put their lives at risk any more than was necessary. Nevertheless, she did not enjoy being kept so ill informed. It gave her the sense that she had no control over what was happening to her, and after these past few weeks helplessness was a feeling she no longer intended to endure.