La Flamme (Historical Romance) (21 page)

"Yes!" he said, coming to his knees and bringing her up with him. "Yes, 1 shall certainly present you to King Charles, and I will make you my duchess. I want you for my wife so no one will doubt that you belong to me."

She knew what it meant for a nobleman as important as Garreth to offer marriage to a mere actress. She turned her face up to his and offered him her lips. There was beauty in their love, but there were also dark and sinister shadows that would soon rip them apart. It had to be, because the blood of her father stood between them like an avenging sword.

Once more Garreth made love to her, and again she reveled in his touch. The night was spent in loving discoveries, and Sabine was saddened to see it end.

It was almost morning when she slipped out of bed and moved to the bottle of wine on the low table. Garreth watched her in all her naked glory, thinking she was more beautiful than he had imagined. He, who had often scoffed at love, would never do so again.

She returned with two glasses of wine, offering one to him. "A toast, I think."

He smiled, taking the glass. "What shall we drink to?"

"To the new day, when there shall be no more secrets between us, Garreth."

"You make it sound so mysterious." He raised the glass to his lips, thinking it tasted bitter, but he drank it nonetheless.

"When will you return to England?" she asked.

He felt suddenly dizzy and waited for the sensation to pass. "As soon ... as you can ... come with me."

He closed his eyes as her soft body pressed against his. Her lips covered his, and he could not stop the room from spinning.

"Sorry, I..." He could not keep his eyes open and fell back against the pillow, lying very still.

23

Sabine kissed Garreth's lips tenderly before moving off the bed. There was an urgency about her as she quickly dressed. As she stood over his sleeping form, she thought how vulnerable he looked. Gently, she pushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead and bent once more to kiss his lips. To leave him was like tearing her heart from her body.

She felt a pang of guilt for drugging his wine, but it had been necessary. She wanted desperately to lay down beside him and have his warmth fill her once more, but that could never be again. Last night was all they would ever have.

"I love you," she whispered. "But you will never believe that after today."

She placed a letter and Garreth's family ring on the pillow beside him. When next they met, the love she had seen in his eyes last night would have turned to hatred.

She couldn't seem to leave. Her hand drifted across his chest as she memorized the feel of him.

"You will understand many things when you waken, my dearest love," she whispered. "It was predestined that we would be enemies from the day we stood beneath the bowed branches and became man and wife."

The blackness of night had given way to golden dawn when Sabine entered the de Baillard's home. Marie met her at the door with tears in her eyes. Sabine was enfolded in her arms and they wept together.

"I always knew this day would come," Marie said, trying to regain her composure. "I told myself I would not cry when you left."

"Dear Marie, Richard and I shall never forget you and Jacques. You have been our family for so long."

"I'm glad you are going to have Ysabel with you. I would worry about you otherwise."

Richard appeared beside them with Ysabel. "Marie," Richard said with a serious expression on his face, "when I am earl of Woodbridge, I shall expect you and Monsieur Jacques to visit me often."

Marie tried to hide her tears, but still they spilled down her cheeks. "You'll be too grand for us, Richard."

"Not you, Marie," he said earnestly. "As my sister told you, we are family."

Sabine nodded in agreement. "You will be welcome wherever we are, Marie. Richard and I shall always want you and Jacques to be a part of our lives. Do not disappoint us."

Marie looked doubtful. "There will not be a day goes by that we won't think of you. But we shall be happy in knowing that you will both be in your rightful place."

"You will make certain to tell no one where we have gone," Sabine said.

"No one will hear it from us. As you know, we arranged to leave for Florence this very day. When we return to Paris, we will simply say that La Flamme has retired from the stage."

Jacques hung back in the shadows, and Sabine saw that he was having difficulty expressing his feelings. She moved into his outstretched arms. "I'm going to miss you, Jacques." She kissed him on the cheek. "You have been like a gentle father to me. I hope you will find another La Flamme."

His eyes were swimming with tears as he raised her hand to his lips. "There was only one La Flamme, and Paris will never see the likes of her again."

Garreth woke slowly, blinking his eyes and staring in bewilderment at the unfamiliar room. His head ached and his mouth was dry. When he sat up, he felt the room spin, so he buried his head in his hands.

"Where the hell am—" Suddenly he remembered the night he had shared with La Flamme, and he jerked his head up, looking for her. She was not there. Her red dressing gown lay on the floor where he had dropped it when he undressed her last night.

He staggered to a standing position, holding on to the bedpost to keep his balance. What had happened to him? He shook his head to clear it, then dropped back on the bed, trying to keep the room from spinning.

Standing, he slowly dressed, then walked to the window, discovering to his surprise that it was long past noon. Sleeping late was not one of his habits. He smiled, but then last night had been like no night he'd ever known.

His eyes softened when he thought about La Flamme. Even in the light of day, after his passion had been spent, he still wanted to take her back to England. He wanted to marry her with all haste. His mother might object until she came to know La Flamme.

He frowned. It would mean that he would have to declare Sabine dead. Something inside of him made him reluctant to let her go. Of course, she was dead, or she would have been found, after all these years.

With a sudden burst of happiness, he remembered that La Flamme had promised to reveal her true identity today. After last night, there would be no more La Flamme.

Still feeling somewhat dazed, he sat on the edge of the bed and was pulling on his boot when he noticed a note laying against the pillow where La Flamme's head had lain last night.

Looking puzzled, Garreth picked up the ring that lay atop the note. How could La Flamme possibly be in possession of the ring he'd given Sabine the day of their wedding?

He ripped open the letter. There were only a few words written on the page.

Garreth,

I promised to reveal my name to you today. I am Sabine Blackthorn, duchess of Balmarough. Some will never believe that you did not know your own wife. We shall meet again, never fear.

He was too stricken to react for a long moment. Stunned and sick of heart, he reread the note, thinking there must be a mistake. What kind of cruel jest was this?

He ran from the room, calling her name. "La Flamme, where are you—answer me!"

Once he was downstairs, he went from room to room, his voice echoing in the emptiness. "Where are you?" he called out with trepidation. "Why did you tell this lie? Did you think I would be so easily fooled?"

At the front door, Garreth closed his eyes against the bright sunlight. He realized that she had drugged him. He walked into the salon, the one downstairs room that still had furniture, and dropped down on a chair. If only he could think clearly.

La Flamme claimed to be Sabine, but that could not be. Sabine had been a sickly child, a cripple, and La Flamme was a beautiful, graceful woman.

The breath was trapped in his throat as he compared the two of them. Sabine had red hair, but not so bright as La Flamme's. Sabine had a brother and his name had been Richard. Richard Woodbridge would be about the same age as La Flamme's brother, but anyone could know that. Perhaps she had only used the boy—but to what purpose?

Then he remembered her strange reaction to him the first night they met in this house. She had been frightened of him, but why?

All these years he had thought of Sabine as a child. Of course, by now, she would have grown into a woman. No! he thought in disbelief. Sabine and La Flamme could not be the same person!

He stood and walked to the double doors, throwing them wide and walking outside, hoping the fresh air would clear his tortured mind.

What else did he remember about Sabine? Her eyes— yes, her eyes had been the deepest amber, almost jewel-like. He had never seen their like before ... except... except, oh, dear God no—La Flamme's!

"No," he moaned. "It can't be."

Garreth looked down at the ring he clutched in his hand. La Flamme had been in possession of the ring he had given Sabine. How could she have come by that if they were not the same person? And where was she now? Why had she not stayed to face him? Because she was afraid he would discover her deception. How dare she try to pass herself off as his wife. No matter where she went, not matter how she tried to hide, he would find her.

A short time later, Garreth entered the Palais-Royal, demanding to see La Flamme.

The portly attendant shook his head. "Monsieur le due, Mademoiselle La Flamme has gone."

Garreth's eyes were burning with anger. "Where?"

"I do not know. Monsieur de Baillard informed me only yesterday that they would all be leaving Paris for an extended time."

"I demand to know where they went."

"I was not told. It's very mysterious—no one seems to know. I can tell you that it's awkward trying to satisfy the questions of everyone who inquires of La Flamme and the de Baillards. Do you not think they should have told me where they were going, Monsieur le due?"

After leaving the theater, Garreth went to the fencing master, who could tell him nothing. And for two weeks, he frantically searched the city, trying to locate someone who might know what had happened to La Flamme. If anyone knew, they did not tell him.

He began to realize that if La Flamme did not want to be found, he could not find her. As each day passed, and he could not find her, his heart turned to stone.

At last, Garreth decided to return to England and Wolfeton Keep. When next they met, it would be on English soil. She would come to him there . . . this he knew.

24

Seated beside Richard in the travelling coach, Sabine merely glanced at the farms and villages they passed. It was approaching sunset when the coach began its ascent into the Auvergne Mountains.

Much of the scenery seemed familiar to Sabine because her mother had described it to her so often. Before they reached the summit, the landscape was broken by a large meadow that seemed to go on forever.

At last, nestled in a meadow, there rose a great house, which dominated even the mountains. This was the birthplace of her mother, the Chateau de Chavaniac.

"Ysabel, it is beautiful here, is it not?" Richard said in French and then happily spoke in English. "I have been so long in Paris, that I have seldom seen the country."

Ysabel nodded. "It is beautiful, Richard."

Sabine tried to imagine her mother here as a girl. She could almost see her in the meadow with her favorite sister, Margretta, picking wildflowers.

As the coach slowed in the circular drive, Sabine became nervous and wondered if she had been wise to come to her uncle. Suppose she failed to convince him that she and Richard were the children of his late sister? Where then would they go for protection?

She stared at the towering castle as the coach door was opened by a footman. They ascended the steps of the ancient gray stone castle while Ysabel walked just behind them.

The massive front door swung open, and a servant greeted them. "Your Grace, My Lord, the family waits for you in the morning room. If you will follow me, 1 will instruct the housekeeper to take your maid to your chamber so she might unpack for you."

Richard looked at Sabine quizzically, wondering why she had been addressed as a duchess. It was also the first time that anyone had used his title, and he was uncertain how to react.

Sabine gave him a reassuring smile and took his hand. When they were led into a large room, she was surprised that there were so many people present.

"My Lord," the butler announced, "Her Grace, the duchess of Balmarough and Lord Woodbridge."

Richard gave Sabine a sharp look, and she saw the questions in his eyes. There was no time to explain, for a tall stately gentleman came forward to greet them while the others waited.

Sabine knew that this was her uncle, the marquis, even though he looked nothing like her mother. His features were angular, his nose slightly hooked. He had dark eyes, and they were going from her to Richard, as though assessing them. His expression was stoic, and she saw no sign of welcome.

Sabine dipped into a curtsy. "Uncle, I am happy to meet you at last. This is my brother, Richard. Our mother told me so much about you, I feel I know you already."

The marquis looked into her golden eyes searchingly. "Welcome, Sabine and Richard. Now the family can know contentment. At last, to know that my sister's children are not dead as we were told."

Sabine could see that there was something guarded in his expression and a stiffness in his manner. She realized that he was being cautious because he wasn't certain of their identity.

"Is Aunt Diane here, Uncle Joseph?" Sabine asked.

He shook his head. "My wife has been deceased these last two years." He motioned for a woman to come forward who so closely resembled Sabine's mother that it was almost painful for Sabine to look at her.

"I am Margretta. Did your mother mention me to you?"

Sabine smiled, wanting to reach out to the aunt she had heard so much about. But she did not because she realized she was being tested. "
Oui. Maman
often mentioned you, Aunt Margretta. You are my mother's sister, older than her by one year."

Margretta held the locket out to Sabine. "Did your mother ever tell you how she came by this?"

"
Oui
. The locket belonged to you, Aunt Margretta. My mother so admired it, that when she left France to marry my father, you gave it to her as a wedding gift."

Margretta's eyes were searching Sabine's face. "Did she tell you what I placed inside the locket?"

Sabine nodded solemnly. "Inside, you placed a lock of your own hair." Sabine pushed the catch, and the locket opened. "As you see, it is still there, along with a lock of my mother's hair, which she added when she gave it to me on my wedding day."

"My dearest," Margretta said, hugging Sabine affectionately, "you look very like Ryanne did at your age, but we had to be certain."

Suddenly the other relatives surged forward, and Sabine and Richard were engulfed in affectionate greetings that made them know they were welcome. Two more of her mother's sisters were present, as were numerous cousins, great-aunts and great-uncles. There was such a genuine outpouring of love that Sabine and Richard were overwhelmed by it all.

Richard was smiling, and when a boy his age approached, it wasn't long until the two of them had bounded off, in search of adventure.

Sabine was asked so many questions that her head was reeling. At last, her uncle Joseph stood, calling for everyone's attention. "My niece must be weary after her long journey. All of you go to your homes. You can return for the weekend and we shall give Sabine and Richard a grand welcome." He turned to his sister, Margretta. "You alone shall remain."

Margretta slipped her arm about Sabine's waist. "You do look weary. I'll have the housekeeper show you to your chamber." She smiled. "You will be staying in the room that was your mother's."

When Sabine was alone, she walked around the chamber, exploring every cranny. It was just as her mother had described—the yellow bed covering and canopy, the white marble fireplace with faces of cherubs carved across the top. There was a miniature of her mother on the dressing table, which Sabine lovingly picked up and examined.

She heard the sound of children's laughter, and hurried to the window, where she observed Richard running and playing with his cousins. There was love and warmth in this home, and she was sorry she had not brought Richard here before now.

That night, after they had dined and Richard had gone to bed, Uncle Joseph and Aunt Margretta took Sabine into the library, where she was made comfortable in a large, overstuffed chair.

"As you can imagine, Sabine, we are mystified by much that has happened," Uncle Joseph said. "Are you rested enough to answer our questions?"

"
Oui
, that is why I have come."

Her aunt and uncle listened quietly as she revealed the events of her life, starting with the death of her mother. She told about the night she had fled Woodbridge with Richard. They made little comment, but often her aunt would wipe tears from her cheeks.

Sabine did not tell them that Garreth had come to Paris and that she had become acquainted with him as La Flamme.

Her uncle frowned. "When you first came to France, you wrote to me for help, and I turned you away. Can you ever forgive me?" His voice was gruff with emotion.

"There is nothing to forgive. I would have reacted no differently, had I been in your place. Even now, I hesitate to make our troubles yours."

"Nonsense! You are my dear sister's children. Your welfare is my concern. I will not be content until you have both resumed your proper places."

Margretta took Sabine's hand, her expression compassionate. "Tell us about your life with the de Baillards. I have heard of their fame, of course. It was kind of them to take you and Richard to their hearts."

She looked into eyes so like her mother's, begging for understanding. "
Oui
, but there is more to it than that. I had to take care of Richard. I did not plan what happened, and I hesitate to mention it, fearing you will disapprove."

"Tell us what it is," Uncle Joseph insisted.

"Have you heard of La Flamme?"

"Everyone has heard of her," Margretta said. "I have intended to see her in a play when I go to Paris, but have not yet done so. Did she help you and Richard?"

"No, Aunt Margretta—I am ... I was La Flamme."

The marquis' breath came out in a hiss. "This is not possible. What must you have been thinking?"

Her aunt was clearly shocked.
'Non, Sabine
—to be on the stage is acceptable for the common people, but you are of the nobility."

"Please understand—I had no money and nowhere to go. No one, save Ysabel and the de Baillards, knew my true identity. 1 trust them completely with the secret of my past."

Her uncle became serious. "You must not again appear as the actress. And Richard must return at once to England so he can claim his titles and holdings. You, Sabine, must be installed in your husband's household without delay."

"I want Richard to regain his title, but I do not want to be a wife to Garreth Blackthorn."

"We are aware that he was accused of your father's death. But you must remember that the guilty one was punished. I corresponded with the Lord Mayor of London and the Archbishop of Canterbury, and they both assured me that the duke was innocent of any wrongdoing. I am certain that he will allow you to take your rightful place beside him."

"I... have no wish to reside at Wolfeton Keep."

"Nonetheless you must," her uncle stated flatly. Seeing Sabine's distress, he softened his manner. "But we will not rush you in this. Leave it to me to deal with your husband."

Sabine wondered how everyone so readily accepted that Garreth was innocent. Had they been at Woodbridge the night of the raid, they would not be so quick to believe in him.

"Do not worry, Sabine," her aunt assured her. "Everything shall be put to right."

Sabine's eyes glistened with tears and she could not speak past the lump in her throat. "I have waited long for Richard and I to go home."

Margretta took Sabine's hand and talked soothingly. "You have been carrying a heavy burden, but you can now rest, Sabine, for you have a family to help you."

Sabine's eyes were bright with gratitude. "When will we leave for England, Uncle?"

"Within three weeks time, I shall send you and Richard to London. There are letters I must write and people that I must contact on your behalf. And I shall go ahead of you to make certain that all arrangements have been made."

"Shall I accompany Sabine and Richard?" Margretta asked.

"That will not be necessary. By the time they arrive, I shall already have spoken with King Charles on their behalf."

"I long for England," Sabine said. "And I know Richard will be happy to return to Wood bridge."

Her uncle nodded. "When you arrive in England, you will draw no attention to yourself. 1 have a friend in London who will find a house for you and Richard. I will send him a message by courier so everything will be in readiness when you arrive. You will remain secluded until I contact you."

"I will do as you say," Sabine agreed. She was relieved to put Richard's future in capable hands. "Thank you both. 1 was not certain how I would get Richard's titles and lands back for him. But the king will surely listen to you, Uncle."

"Oui, he will listen to me," her uncle said. "Just to make certain, I shall have you, Margretta, write to the queen." Sabine's uncle turned to explain to Sabine. "Your aunt was once Queen Henrietta's friend when she was a princess of France."

"That is so," Margretta said. "I was lady-in-waiting to her mother, and I was quite fond of Princess Henrietta. I shall now use that friendship to help you and my nephew."

Sabine could hardly speak for fear she would cry. "I have lived for so long in terror and confusion, I can hardly believe it is over."

Margretta pressed her cheek to her niece's. "You have been brave, but you need have no more worries. My brother will take your burdens and make them his own. You will soon be home."

Sabine spent happy, glorious days with her mother's family, but as a week passed, and then another, she began to long for England.

When the time of their departure arrived, it was with a heavy heart that Richard and Sabine climbed into the coach that would take them to Calais.

The members of the de Chavaniac family stood on the steps of the chateau, waving until they were out of sight.

Sabine clasped Richard's hand. "You liked it there, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," he admitted. "I would like to one day return. But now, I want only to go home."

"Yes, as do I. Perhaps, when you are settled at Wood-bridge, the family will visit you there."

"Sabine," he asked, with troubled eyes. "I know that I will have many responsibilities when we reach England—would you object if I attend school? There is so much I do not know about my own country. I have discussed this with Uncle Joseph and he has said that he will arrange it, if you are in agreement."

"I believe that once your claim to Woodbridge has been established, it would be prudent for you to acquire an education." She smiled. "Yes, I'm certain that would be best for you."

His face brightened. "I have always wanted to attend Eton."

"Then you shall certainly do so."

"In England," he said emphatically, "I shall speak only English."