Surrender to a Stranger (48 page)

“Are you certain Sidney said he would be here by today?” asked Armand, pulling his gaze away from the ocean to look at her. She was still dressed as a young boy, with her greasy hair stuffed up in a woolen cap, and the exquisite curves of her body hidden beneath coarse, baggy trousers and an ill-fitting coat. She was a far cry from the gloriously feminine vision he had imagined in his fantasy, yet he was certain he had never seen a woman look more beautiful.

“Positive,” she replied, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Then he will be here,” he assured her. “We just have to wait.” He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but they were not safe yet, and he could not afford to let himself get distracted. He turned to look at the sea again.

Jacqueline shivered and pulled up the collar of her coat. She hoped the ship arrived soon. She was absolutely freezing. The carriage and driver had left immediately after dropping them off, so there was no place for her to sit and be sheltered from the frigid night air. She began to walk back toward the trees on the other side of the beach, looking for a private place to relieve herself before the ship arrived.

It was almost over. Soon she would be leaving her beloved France again, this time for good. She reminded herself that there was nothing left for her here. Her home was gone. The life she had once known was destroyed. Nicolas was dead, so she could not even use vengeance as a reason for returning. France held nothing for her but memories, some good, others hideously painful. She tried not to think of them.

Her sisters were safe, and now so was Armand. Philippe was also going to be part of her new life, and that pleased her immensely. She shook her head in wonder. He was nothing but a street urchin and a filthy, common thief. In her former life as the sheltered and privileged daughter of the wealthy Duc de Lambert, she would not have thought him fit to scrape the mud off her boots. But the revolution had forced her to change her thinking about what made people decent, worthy, and honorable. Honor was not something instantly bestowed upon an individual by the accident of birth or title. People could not be judged solely by their wealth, or titles that had simply been handed down to them. Armand and Philippe had risked their lives to keep her from harm, not for money or personal gain, but because their personal code of honor would not allow them to stand by and do nothing.

With guidance and encouragement, she felt certain Philippe would grow up to be a very fine man. She hoped that in England he would not be judged by his humble beginnings or his lack of a title. She would see to it that he received an excellent education and would ask Armand to teach him about business so he could make a lot of money and tell anyone who thought themselves better than he to go straight to hell.

She was going to have to learn how to make some money herself. It had cost her almost the entire De Lambert jewel collection to pay the exorbitant costs of the bribes, false documents, information, and transportation it had taken to get the three of them here. She was still titled in England, but without money or holdings she was not sure what good her title was, except perhaps to some man looking for the novelty of an escaped French aristocrat for a wife. She and her sisters could not impose upon the Harringtons’ generosity forever, and she would have to be able to support them and Philippe until they were old enough to marry. She sighed. Maybe Armand could advise her. He was, after all, very successful at making money.

“Did you really think you could escape me?” drawled a bitter, harsh voice.

No, she thought desperately, it cannot be. Numb with fear, she slowly turned.

Nicolas stood before her, his face twisted with hate and fury. The edge of a bloodstained bandage was exposed beneath the brim of his hat, and a raw gash marked his face from his temple to his chin. Jacqueline opened her mouth to scream. Nicolas slapped his heavy, gloved hand against her lips before the sound got beyond her throat.

“Did you think I would let you get away a second time?” he hissed as he jerked her around and viciously twisted her arm into her back, paralyzing her with pain. “Or did you actually believe you had managed to kill me?” he sneered, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her cheek.

She struggled and tried to break free from his hold. His response was to violently wrench up her arm. She let out a cry of pain, but his hand still covered her mouth and no sound escaped.

“If you fight me, I will take great pleasure in hurting you,” he warned softly. He released her arm and laid the icy-cold steel of a dagger against her cheek. “And believe me, there is nothing I would like more than to repay you the mark you have so thoughtlessly left me with.” He pressed the flat of the blade into her skin. “One quick slice, and your pretty little face will be reduced to a hideous, bleeding mess.”

Jacqueline fought to control her panic and tried to think. If Nicolas was alone, she felt confident Armand could outwit him, as long as he did not have to fear for her safety. But if Nicolas held her hostage, Armand would do nothing to endanger her, and that put him at a severe disadvantage.

“I knew you would be going to La Force to free your friend,” Nicolas spat into her ear as he continued to hold her. “I got there only moments after the two of you escaped. I anticipated you would be anxious to leave France quickly, so I took a detachment of eight men and left for the coast at once. When we finally caught up to you, I decided to wait until your carriage was gone, and you had no means of getting away other than on foot. Right now your two accomplices are surrounded by the National Guard. A nice surprise for the Black Prince, don’t you think?” he drawled sarcastically.

A mixture of fear and defeat churned within Jacqueline’s stomach. It was hopeless. Armand and Philippe could never fight off eight armed members of the National Guard. An overwhelming sense of despair gripped her.

“And now we are going to join them,” he told her cheerfully, sliding the dagger from her cheek to her throat. “But be warned, Jacqueline. If you make one sound or move I don’t like, I will slit your throat open like the belly of a fish. Do you understand?”

Jacqueline nodded.

“Excellent.” He took his hand off her mouth so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders and hold the dagger at her neck. They walked together out of the wood and found Armand and Philippe standing on the beach casually staring out at the ocean.

“How touching—two traitors lost in thought as they watch for their ship,” sneered Nicolas.

Armand turned to look at him, his brows lifted in surprise. “Inspector Bourdon, what an utterly charming coincidence,” he said pleasantly. He frowned as he studied him. “My God, you look perfectly awful. What the devil made that ghastly mark on your face?”

Jacqueline could feel Nicolas tighten his grip on her.

“A little gift from Mademoiselle de Lambert,” ground out Nicolas acidly, pressing the point of the dagger into her throat. “But once I have disposed of you and the boy, I shall give her a chance to make it up to me before I return her to Paris for execution.”

“Really?” said Armand with interest. He paused for a moment, studying Nicolas, as if trying to decide whether what he was telling him was true.

Nicolas smiled triumphantly. Finally he had his enemies exactly where he wanted them. Jacqueline was trapped in his grip, unable to escape, and too afraid to fight him. And the Black Prince was surrounded by the National Guard, without the slightest chance of getting away. It was a sweet moment, and one he was enjoying immensely.

“You mean to say Mademoiselle de Lambert gave you that hideous-looking gash all by herself?” Armand demanded finally, completely ignoring the rest of Nicolas’s threat.

“Forget the damned scar!” snapped Nicolas irritably.

“Well, I am trying to,” remarked Armand, “but unfortunately it is just so horribly long and deep and red, well, I am sure you just have to look in a mirror to appreciate it is quite difficult to ignore such a thing.” He shook his head sympathetically.

Jacqueline stared at Armand in confusion. She could not imagine what he was trying to do. Here they were, trapped, with
The Angélique
nowhere in sight, and instead of fighting Nicolas or making a final effort at escape, all he seemed to want to do was bait him. What on earth was he doing?

“Unfortunately you have caught us at a rather bad time,” continued Armand, his tone light and apologetic. “We were just leaving, actually. I would invite you to join us, of course, but somehow I rather think Mademoiselle de Lambert would prefer I did not, given your past history together.”

“The only place you are going is to the guillotine,” stated Nicolas bitterly.

“Well now, that is a most generous offer,” acknowledged Armand, “especially given how difficult it is for one to get a place on the scaffold these days.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I am afraid I must decline. If you would just be kind enough to release Mademoiselle de Lambert, we will be on our way.”

Nicolas scowled. “Are you mad, or just a complete idiot?” he demanded. “I have you surrounded with a detachment of the National Guard. You are all under arrest.”

“Really?” said Armand skeptically. “Forgive me, Inspector, if it appears I am doubting you, but would you mind very much showing us these esteemed members of the National Guard?”

“With pleasure,” Nicolas replied. “Guards!” he barked.

A moment passed. No one appeared. Armand regarded Nicolas calmly.

Nicolas looked around in confusion. “Guards!” he shouted, louder this time. “Get the hell out here!”

Jacqueline looked at the woods beyond the beach, waiting for the guards to appear. None did.

Nicolas tightened his grip on Jacqueline. “Guards!” he screamed, his voice tinged with frustration and panic. “Get out here now!”

Another moment passed. No guards appeared.

“It would seem they have been distracted,” suggested Armand casually. “So if you will just release Mademoiselle de Lambert—”

“Never!” snarled Nicolas, grabbing her tightly and holding his dagger across her throat. “You and the boy will come with me, or I will kill her right now, is that clear?”

Armand sighed dramatically. “Really, Bourdon, you must try to get over this obsession of yours, before it destroys you completely.”

“I am taking you all into Boulogne, where you will be held until an escort can be arranged to take you back to Paris,” Nicolas insisted.

“That is most thoughtful of you,” acknowledged Armand, “but unfortunately we do not have the time to make another trip to Paris. If you will just take a moment to look beyond that point, you will see our ship has arrived.”

Jacqueline stared into the darkness beyond the point. The ghostly silhouette of
The Angélique
was gracefully bobbing up and down on the black waves. A surge of relief rushed through her.

“You will never get on her,” snarled Nicolas. “Either you come with me, or I slit Jacqueline’s throat here and now.” He held her steady and pressed the sharp edge of his dagger against the soft flesh of her throat.

Jacqueline let out a little whimper of fear as the cold steel bit into her. She looked at Armand helplessly.

Armand’s expression remained only politely interested, but Jacqueline could see his jaw had tightened slightly.

“I am afraid I have grown weary of your threats and your posturing, Inspector,” he informed Nicolas. “You will release Mademoiselle de Lambert immediately, or suffer the consequences.”

Nicolas laughed. “And just what is it you intend to do?” he sneered. “I hold her life in my hands, while you do not even bear a weapon.”

“That is true,” admitted Armand blandly. He fixed his gaze behind them and nodded. “However, if you do not release her this instant, I shall be forced to order my men to splatter your brains across this beach, which I think Mademoiselle de Lambert might enjoy, but I feel almost certain you will find most unpleasant.”

Still holding tightly on to Jacqueline, Nicolas warily turned his head to look behind him. He hesitated a moment. And then Jacqueline felt his grip on her relax as he slowly lowered the knife from her throat.

Without pausing to see what was behind her, she ran over to Armand and Philippe. Armand ignored her, keeping his gaze fixed on Nicolas. She turned and saw a dozen of Armand’s men from
The Angélique
standing behind Nicolas, their muskets primed and aimed at his head. Sidney Langdon stood at the center of this impressive rescue party, looking as if he was just dying for Armand to give the order to shoot.

“And now, I regret that we must tie you up and leave you,” sighed Armand. “I will ask my men to put you with your friends from the National Guard, however, so that you have some company through the night. I am sure by morning someone will have seen your horses running loose and will send out a rescue party. Until then, I invite you to enjoy the darkness and the cold. I think you will find it not unlike spending a night in La Force, except of course the air here is much more pleasant,” he qualified.

“You will never get away with this,” vowed Nicolas, his voice thick with fury as Sidney stepped forward and roughly began to bind his hands behind his back. “I promise you, my clever friend, we are not finished. I will not rest until you have been tried and executed for your crimes against the Republic. I will go all the way to England to find you, if need be. I will find you, and I will bring you back here for execution, or I will kill you myself.”

“You are certainly welcome to try,” replied Armand cheerfully. “In fact, I sincerely hope you do find the time to make a trip to England. I would relish the opportunity to show you the inside of an English prison. I think you will find they are not quite as overcrowded as the prisons in Paris, but rather unpleasant places to be nonetheless.”

Nicolas fixed his gaze on Jacqueline. “You may think you have won, Jacqueline, but I assure you, you have not,” he told her. “You aristos are a scourge upon this land, and you will obliterated, do you hear? Every last one of you will be killed, until your blood flows like a surging river that will cleanse France of your crimes. I swear to you, Jacqueline, if it is the last thing I do, I will—”