The Falcon and the Sparrow (35 page)

The kitchen, always a bright and bustling place during the day, overflowing with gleeful chatter and succulent smells, appeared a cold gray vault in the middle of the night. Dominique shivered and tightened her robe around her, scanning for the familiar cupboard where she knew the cook stored extra food.

Her eyes landed on the kitchen door, a dark rectangle in the shadows of the room, and visions filled her mind of the ragged children clambering down the steps from the street above, their dirt-encrusted hands reaching out for the morsels of food she often gave them.

Who would feed them now?
Oh Lord, take care of them and of all who are hungry on the streets.

Careful not to wake up the servants who slept nearby, she crept toward the cupboard. Light from a street lantern trickled through the window in a band of shifting rays that joined the light from her candle in a dance that bounced through the room, illuminating choice spots while leaving others in darkness.

As she reached for the cupboard, the light shifted, and shadows swallowed her hand. She bumped into something hard and cold, sending the interfering object tumbling to the stone floor.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Dominique stiffened and held her breath until the ringing ceased. Some spy she was.

When she dared to move again, thankfully the rasping of her released breath was the only sound that reached her ears. Leaning down, she retrieved the rebellious copper kettle and placed it on the counter before returning her attention to the cupboard. Grabbing a jar of preserves, she could wait no longer for food and plunged her finger into the succulent jam. She brought it to her mouth, breathing in the sweet strawberry scent. Stifling the moan on her lips, she scooped another fingerful to her mouth.

Something scuffled in the hallway. A strip of light appeared beneath the wooden door.

The jam spurted up her throat in a warm, sour glob, nearly choking her. She set down the jar and blew out the candle, then searched the room for a place to hide.

Too late. The door creaked open. Candlelight filled the room.

Dominique froze.

There the admiral stood, dressed only in pantaloons and a white shirt that hung open. Stepping inside, he set his candle down and gave her a most enticing grin. “So I see the little sparrow has finally left her nest.”

Dominique shifted her gaze away, chastising herself for not being able to control her hunger. Now she must face the one man she had hoped most to avoid. How could she look him in the eyes, knowing she would soon betray him? How could she look him in the eyes and not betray her deep love for him? “I was hungry.”

“A common occurrence, I am told.” He chuckled and lifted the jar of preserves from the table, eyeing it suspiciously. “Have you been avoiding me? You have not joined us for dinner.”

“I have not felt well.”

“Ah, but you have recovered, I see.” Chase set down the jar and took a step toward her.

Dominique’s insides melted, but she dared not raise her gaze to his. A trace of alcohol swirled in the air between them and mingled with the spicy scent she had come to associate only with
Chase. The room began to spin.

Chase raised his hand toward her, spanning the distance between them. Dominique flinched. He took a lock of her loose hair and fingered it as if it were made of silk, then released it, allowing it to flow across his hand.

All the air in the room seemed to swirl around Dominique.

“You are not
truly
ill, are you?”

Was that fear in his voice? Dominique still dared not look at him.

“It is nothing, I assure you.” She raised a hand to her forehead as heat flushed through her. Perhaps she was becoming ill, after all.

Chase grunted and brushed past her. She heard his bare feet treading across the stones until they stopped, and he let out a long sigh. “She told me she was not ill. She told me to return to the sea, to my duties in the Royal navy, that she would recover in due time.”

Dominique raised her gaze. Chase stood with his back to her, staring out the kitchen window, his tall frame a dark, brawny silhouette against the light seeping in from outside. He clenched his fists at his sides as taut ropes of tension stretched out from him.

Dominique remained quiet, examining the raw emotions pouring forth from a man who normally shielded them well.

He snorted and glanced her way. “She
was
quite ill, you know. But she knew how much I loved the sea.” He flattened his lips and faced the window again. “By the time I returned, it was too late. She died three weeks later.”

Overcome with sorrow, Dominique eased beside him. “It was not your fault.”

“Of course it was. I should have been here.” He gripped the wooden counter.

“You could not have stopped the disease.” Dominique touched his arm. “She did not want you to watch her suffer. I can understand that. Can’t you?”

“No,” he barked, startling Dominique. “It was my own selfishness that drove me away. I knew in my heart I should have stayed, but I wanted to return to the sea.” He squeezed his eyes shut
and hung his head. “Did I love the sea more than my own wife? What sort of man does that make me?”

“We are all fallen creatures, Admiral.” Dominique thought of her own shame—of the traitorous task she must perform the following night. “Only by God’s grace can we hope to become any better.”

Chase snorted. “Yes, your wonderful God. If I am so flawed and therefore to be excused, where was He when Melody was dying?” His blazing eyes snapped to hers. The stubble on his chin shifted as he tightened his jaw, and he reminded Dominique of a bull about to charge.

Fighting a rising fear of his anger, Dominique nonetheless placed her hand gently upon his as she said a silent prayer. “He was here with Melody the whole time.”

Chase’s already stormy eyes began to spark with fury, and Dominique tried to jerk her hand away, but he smothered it between his. His warm fingers began to caress hers. She glanced up at him curiously and found that a softness had replaced his angry gaze.

“You have her same kind heart, her goodness, her charity.”

She blinked and looked out the window, anywhere but at those chocolate brown eyes that now gazed so adoringly at her. Did he see her as only a replica of Melody? “I am nothing like her.”

“True. In many ways.” He leaned toward her ear and said quietly, “In many pleasing ways.”

Every nerve in Dominique sparked to life. She swallowed and tried to still her frantic heart while she glanced about the room, at the stove, the cupboard, anywhere but his broad shoulders and the strong chest peeking from behind his open shirt. He reached up and placed a finger under her chin, directing her gaze to his. Once there, she found there was nothing else in the world she would rather look upon.

The candlelight flickered over the tips of his mahogany hair, setting it ablaze about his shoulders with fiery streaks of red.

“It pleases me to see you.” His deep voice floated over her, stealing its way through the stony resolve she had so carefully erected around her heart.

Outside, the clomp and rattle of a carriage sounded, along with the rustle of leaves picked up by the wind as if warning her that danger was near.

She should heed the warning and flee from the room, but instead she remained. Chase brushed a finger over her cheek. Dominique closed her eyes, relishing his touch—
Just for this one moment
—soaking the sensations into her memory where she would never forget them. Oh, how she longed to simply fall into his arms, tell him everything, and allow him to make it all go away, to save Marcel, to save her, to love her.

But she couldn’t.

“No.” Dominique snapped her eyes open. “I beg you. Please do not.” Though she had tried to deny what her heart had told her every time she looked in Chase’s eyes—that this extraordinary man actually cared for her—she could no longer whisk away the truth. Instead of thrilling her, however, the revelation only made her heart sink further into despair.

He dropped his hand from her cheek, the loss dousing Dominique in an icy bath.

“Forgive me. I will not flatter myself to think you return my affections.” He turned to leave but spun back around with a sigh. He took her hand in his. “Tell me you have no feelings for me, that you find my company as odious as you have declared, and I promise to leave you be.”

And Dominique could tell from the stern look in his eyes that he meant it. Now all she had to do was say the words—fallacious as they were. Better to hurt him now than give him hope, even for a day.

Sorrow burned in Dominique’s throat, closing it so tight she could barely breathe. She gazed into his eyes and knew what this unveiling of his heart cost him—how long it had been encased in bitterness over Melody’s death. How could she deny what every ounce of her screamed to proclaim? she lowered her gaze and opened her mouth to offer him a twisted tale of lies, but no words came forth.

At her silence, a chuckle bounded from deep within Chase.
With the tip of his finger, he lifted her chin, and before she realized what was happening, his lips were upon hers.

The world around Dominique dissolved. Chase pulled her against him with the intensity of a man long deprived of love, and Dominique sank into him, returning his kiss with equal fervor. She could not stop herself. It was as if she were under some spell, a spell she hoped never to come out of. Inhaling the spicy scent of him, she snuggled deeper in his strong arms—arms that embraced her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
Oh Lord, what am I doing?

Then he withdrew, gently brushed the hair from her face, and cupped her chin before placing tender kiss upon tender kiss across her lips. Dominique could not move. Her heart danced wildly in her chest. She must come to her senses.

She jerked her face aside and tugged from his grasp. “I must go.” Turning, she charged across the room, bumping into the table.

“There you go again, flitting off like the frightened sparrow you are.” Chase groaned behind her.

She halted. Yes, she was a frightened little sparrow, frightened for Marcel, frightened for her own life, but most of all frightened of the love she felt for this man and the power he had over her. She faced him.
“C’est facile d’être courageux quand vous n’avez rien à perdre.”

He flattened his lips with a snort. “I quite agree. It is easy to be brave when you have nothing to lose. But on the contrary, I have come to realize I have much to lose.”

Sacre bleu.
He understood her French?

“Yes, I am fluent in French, mademoiselle.” He bowed then moved toward her. “I love you, Dominique. Can you not see that?”

Dominique threw her hands to her face and shook her head. No, she did not want to see that, did not want to hear that.

“Forgive me.” Turning, she clutched the edges of her robe and dashed from the room.

I
gnoring the trembling that made her legs feel like soggy biscuits, Dominique clutched her valise to her chest as she rounded the corner onto Broad Street. The small case held all her worldly belongings, all that she had first arrived with at the Randal home and all she now left with—all save her heart. She knew that part of her would forever remain behind with the admiral and his son.

Oh Lord, please be with them. Please help them understand.

Just thinking of the pain her betrayal would cause them nearly tore her in half. William had now lost two mothers. And Chase… Would he ever be able to love again?

Dominique swiped at the tears streaming down her face, trying to stop the deluge that had begun the moment she closed the door to the Randal home and walked away. A brisk wind picked up, swirling leaves at her feet and sending a chill over her damp face.

A carriage approached, raucous laughter pouring from its windows, and Dominique dashed into the shadows of a shoemaker’s shop. In the distance, a charlie cried. His deep voice echoed across the dark streets, sounding more like a horn than a human. “Twelve o’clock. Fair weather now, but a storm brews in the east!”

A storm, indeed. The most frightful storm Dominique would ever encounter. She leaned against the cold brick wall and closed her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to quiet her erratic breathing, it only grew more rapid, as if it were competing with the uncontrollable quiver that consumed the rest of her. The putrid
stench of horse manure and rotten food pinched her nose as she heard the clip-clop of the carriage retreating down the street. She tightened her grip on her valise. The documents crackled within— the documents that would save Marcel. Sighing, she shook her head. In what kind of world did simple papers determine whether a man lived or died?

The rough brick scratched her glove as she shoved from the wall and stepped out from the shadows. She now must focus on her meeting with the Frenchman and put behind her the pain of leaving Chase and young William. A full moon winked at her from behind a barrage of dark clouds forming overhead.

Oh Lord, give me the strength Rev. Newton read to me of from Your Word. Help me to save my brother.