The Making of a Gentleman (20 page)

Wealth, money, prestige. Men would kill for it. These two had.

Armand was not certain the treasure existed. What he did know was his life had been sacrificed to it, and that was enough. He would not allow Felicity’s life to end on the altar of greed, as well.

But with Marius seated beside her, and his oaf of a son just a few feet away, ready to snap her neck at a moment’s notice, Armand was left with little choice but to agree to the terms.

For the present. He would free her and then…

He did not know. Kill Marius and Claude? Return with them to Le Grenier? Seek out the treasure? He did not care for the money, but after all this time, he wondered if he had been imprisoned for nothing. He wondered if his suspicions would be confirmed.

“Very well.” He spread his hands in a gesture he remembered seeing his brother make, a gesture common to his father. “I am at your service.”

The words were barely spoken before he and Felicity were bundled into a carriage and driven across town. There was a ship waiting for them, a small, fast ship with a man at the helm who looked as though he had done his own share of throat-slitting.

A pirate, Armand thought. He had read about them in books. During a war, those pirates could call themselves privateers and make a fortune. He wondered how much Marius had paid the man to transport them across the Channel in the middle of the night. He wondered if the man could do it.

Not that he cared for himself. He didn’t give a damn if he ended up on the bottom of the sea, but he would not lose Felicity. He walked closely behind her as they boarded the ship, trying to shield her from the eyes of the ship’s crew. But strangely enough, not a one seemed to be looking at her.

All eyes were on him.

The captain, who was probably fifty but looked seventy, sauntered over. “Name’s Wiggin—at least that’s the name I’m using.” He held out his hand, and Armand looked down at it. Was he supposed to kiss it?

After a moment, Wiggin pulled his hand back. “You look like someone I used to know. Someone I maybe still do know. What’s yer name?”

“Armand Harcourt.”

“French?” Wiggin’s eyebrows went up. “He is, too. Or he was the last time I saw him. Probably dead now.”

“This is all very interesting,” Marius interrupted, “but we would like to go below—”

“What was his name?”

“He goes by Captain Cutlass. But I don’t think that’s his real name.” He gave Armand a narrow look. “I once heard his quartermaster call him Bastien. Course could have called him Bastard for all I heard. I’d been in my cups.”

Armand felt his throat clench, but he controlled the torrent of emotion that swept through him. “Sounds like a pirate. How would I know him?”

Wiggin shook his head. “Damnest thing. You look just like him.”

“If you’ve had enough chitchat,” Marius interrupted again.

Wiggin signaled to one of his men. “Take these four below. Get them settled. We leave with the tide.”

Marius went above deck, leaving Claude to watch him and Felicity. The large man stood at the door to the captain’s cabin, arms crossed, gaze never leaving them. Armand stood by the porthole, and Felicity sat on the berth, her hands in her lap.

Armand stared calmly out the porthole as the light faded to dusk. He kept his expression calm and composed, but inside, he wanted to scream. It was torture being locked in this tiny cabin. He could barely breathe, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to plow through Claude, break down the door, and run for the deck.

He needed fresh air. He needed light. He needed freedom.

He looked at Felicity, at the unruffled way she sat, the way she looked at him every few moments, trust in her eyes. He could not leave her, as much as his instinct was to save himself. This cabin would not kill him, and he would rather be with her than anywhere else.

There was a knock on the door, and Claude opened it. His father gestured him outside, and the door closed behind the two men.

They were alone for the first time, and immediately Felicity jumped up. “I’m so sorry, Armand. I had no idea Charles would do something like this. He never mentioned Marius or the treasure, but I suppose if he made inquiries about you they might have sought him out.” She reached out to him, and he took her hand, wishing she would be quiet for just a moment so he could think. “Can you ever forgive me? I know you don’t want to return to Paris. I can’t imagine anything worse. Perhaps we could plan an escape or—”

“Felicity.”

She closed her mouth and glanced at him sharply.

“Stop talking.”

“Very well. But what are we going to—”

He tugged her against him and silenced her in the best way he knew. He put his mouth over hers and kissed her long and hard. Not surprisingly, the kiss took his mind off the small cabin and the sense of being trapped. If he could kiss her all the way to France, he just might survive the voyage.

They parted, and when he looked down at her, her sky blue eyes were wide, and her cheeks were blushing. And she did not speak.

“We’re going to sail soon.”

She nodded, looking past him to the sinking sun.

“There is no way to get off this ship until we reach France. But I will protect you.”

She nodded. “I know you will, but—”

He put a finger over her lips. “Once we reach Paris, you must do everything I say. No questions. No arguing. No talking.”

She nodded, her eyes serious.

“I’m the tutor now.” He bent and kissed her again, and the touch of her lips against his was like a drink of cool water. He wanted more than anything to wrap her in his arms and take her away from here, take her to Southampton, where she would be safe. But he would deal with Marius and Claude first, and then they would be safe wherever they ended.

She broke the kiss and brushed a hand over the hair falling on his forehead. “I just have one question before they return.” She looked at the door as if making sure it was still closed and they were still alone.

He nodded. Had he really thought he would keep her from asking any questions? Words were like air to her, it seemed.

“Is there really a Treasure of the Sixteen?”

He understood the reason for the question. She wanted to know if he could give the men what they wanted or, if at the end of this, they would be forced to show their empty hands.

He was honest with her. “I don’t know.”

She let out a long breath. “I see. I’m sure we’ll figure out something.”

“But I have something I can give them. Something at Le Grenier.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to go back there.”

“There seems no way to prevent it.” And maybe he always knew he would have to go back. Even when Julien had walked into his cell and dug him out all those months ago, Armand had known that the dank little hole wasn’t done with him. It had haunted him in nightmares, and now he was being driven inexorably back.

“I’m tired of fighting it,” he told Felicity now. “I want to face it.”

“Oh, Armand…”

He thought she would have kissed him again, but the door rattled, and Marius stepped inside. “Am I interrupting?” His face was a sneer. “Don’t mind me, but I wanted to let you know we’re about to depart. If the winds are favorable, we’ll be in Paris in less than a day.”

Felicity had never been to France before, so she did not know what to expect. She had heard awful rumors of Bonaparte, but when she stepped off the ship two days later and gazed about Calais, the country seemed little different from England—with the exception that everyone around her spoke French. Considering that England and France were at war, she spoke as little as possible. Her rudimentary French and strong English accent would certainly give her away.

Armand was quiet, as well. They had little opportunity on the crossing to talk, but she knew from watching him, from meeting his eyes time and again, he was planning their escape. Relief swept through her every time she looked at him, brushed against him. He would save them. He would take care of her.

He would have to.

The more she observed Marius and his son, Claude, the more she realized that even if Armand were to lead them straight to the treasure, they would probably kill him anyway. They had even less incentive to leave her alive.

There had been a hundred times on the voyage she had wanted to touch Armand, just hold his hand, but they were kept on separate sides of the cabin. And he was as out of reach then as he was now, seated on the opposite side of a carriage on the road to Paris.

“It won’t be long before we return to Le Grenier, monsieur,” Marius said. He parted the carriage drapes, and she saw the sun was slowly rising. “I have connections there. We will stand in your old cell at nightfall.” He smiled, showing a row of uneven teeth, and Felicity glanced at Armand.

He showed no reaction, seemed bored in fact. But she knew he must be struggling with the memories flooding him. They had arrived in France under cover of darkness, and now they would enter his prison in darkness. She shivered, thinking of the prison at night. Once they entered, would they leave again? Would this be their last sunrise?

Armand met her eyes, and she put away her fears. She had to be brave now. He would not allow anything to happen to her. Armand would protect them both.

Marius appeared to have all the papers and documents necessary to get them into Paris. They were waved through the city gates by soldiers who looked tired and hungry. The city looked tired and hungry, but all around hung limp French flags and banners proclaiming the French Republic. The city was bustling with people everywhere, buying and selling, living their lives. Felicity found it fascinating, but the men in the carriage did not even raise their eyes to peer outside.

It was only when they turned into a decrepit old street that she saw Armand stiffen. Beside her, Marius chuckled. “I see you recognize this place, monsieur. Yes, I thought you would.”

The coachman stopped outside a dreary tavern, and Marius pushed opened the door and leaped outside. Claude pushed her to follow, and on wobbly legs, she climbed down. It was afternoon by now, and Felicity blinked at the bright sunlight.

“Inside, mademoiselle,” Marius ordered. “I have rooms reserved.”

The tavern was small and dark, populated by sour-faced men hunched over what appeared to be sour wine. They did not look up as the small group walked through. Marius seemed to know where he was going, and he herded them upstairs. Felicity followed dutifully, but she could smell fresh bread baking, and her stomach growled. They had little to eat on the ship. Once on the upper level, she and Armand were separated. She was pushed into a small room with a cot and a table, a ewer and basin. She did not see where Armand was taken, but she heard her door locked and secured. Footsteps trailed away, and she tried the door handle. It was indeed locked.

Sighing, she went to the table and lifted the ewer. It was empty—no water even to wash her face. And now she was alone in a room in an enemy country. She could not conceive how Armand would get them out of this. She could not conceive how she happened to be here. She, Felicity Bennett, was the daughter of a vicar. She had barely a shilling to her name. No connections, no position. And she had been abducted, taken to France, and was being held prisoner until the Treasure of the Sixteen was found.

If she hadn’t sat on the ship crossing the Channel for two days and then a carriage traveling through the French countryside, she would have pinched herself to make sure this was real. It was just so unbelievable.

Her stomach growled again, and the last light of day began fading from the small window in the room. She looked outside and saw nothing but a long drop and a narrow alley. The grimy window was sealed shut, so she could not even call for help.

And if she were to call, what would she say? She was the enemy. Alerting people to her presence would only make things worse.

In the dim light, she heard a scurrying sound and turned to see a large rat dart under the bed. She closed her eyes and shuddered.

It was worse.

Somehow she had fallen asleep on the hard cot with the scratchy blanket under her. The rat had stopped moving long enough for her to cease imagining it jumping up and scampering over her face if she lay down. She had not intended to sleep, but her body was exhausted. Still as she lay there, hearing the sounds of the men and women below, part of her mind was listening.

When she heard the tapping, she turned over and tried to ease the ache in her back. But the tapping did not cease, and she finally opened her eyes. It was dark now, not full dark, but the darkness of evening, and she wondered if Marius and Claude had taken Armand to Le Grenier without her. The tapping grew louder, and she glanced at the window, almost screaming when she saw the face there.

But she clamped her mouth shut when she recognized Armand staring in at her. Good God! What was he doing outside her window?

She jumped up and ran to the window, stared out at him, trying not to think of the drop to the muddy alley below. “What are you—?”

He put a hand to his lips, silencing her. The action terrified her, as well, because it meant he was gripping the building with only one hand. He gestured to her to push the window open, and she gestured back that it was sealed. With a nod of understanding, he pointed to the blanket on the bed. Frowning, she brought it to the window. He made a punching sign, and she realized he wanted her to break the glass. Obviously, the blanket was intended to protect the skin of her hand.

Felicity glanced dubiously at the thin blanket, sighed, and wrapped it about her hand. If Armand could balance on a tiny ledge outside her window, she could break the glass. Only, she did not want to think what he would want her to do after the glass was broken.

She gestured for him to move out of the way, and then, taking a deep breath, she smashed the glass. Opening her eyes, she saw it had cracked but not broken. Her hand throbbed, but Armand indicated she should try again. Clenching her jaw, she did so, and this time she was rewarded as her hand punched through. Glass sprinkled over the alley below, and Armand reached through and grasped her tender hand.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Escaping. Break the rest of the glass and climb out here.”

She stared at him. His eyes were calm, his breathing calm, and though his hair was whipping wildly in the breeze, he looked mostly sane. “Are you daft?”

“I told you that when we reached France you would have to follow me.”

“But I didn’t think that meant plunging to my death!” She glanced down at the alley again. It was a daunting drop—probably not far enough to kill her, but she would be maimed quite thoroughly.

“We’re not going down there, and I don’t have time to talk.” He said the word
talk
as though it were akin to horse manure. “Marius and Claude are going to find that I’ve escaped soon. Get out here.”

She looked at him then looked back at the safe room. At least it appeared far safer than the tiny ledge where Armand stood. But if he could stand there, so could she.

Taking a deep breath, she punched out the rest of the glass and then dropped the blanket. Her knuckles were stinging now, but she ignored them and hoisted one leg out the window. Dizziness swept over her, and she refused to look down.

“Turn your back,” Armand instructed. “Feel for the ledge with your foot.” His voice was pedantic, and she decided she much preferred the role of tutor to that of student. She had an ominous feeling they had switched positions irrevocably.

Finally her foot grazed the ledge and, holding on with a white-knuckled grip, she eased her other leg outside. Her skirts whipped in the breeze, and she was painfully aware that if she made one wrong move, she would tumble to the hard ground below. But she was not going to think of that. She was going to hold on and close her eyes and concentrate on not falling.

“Climb,” Armand ordered.

“What?”

He was looking up, and she followed his gaze to the roof. It was not as far as she would have thought. And still, she would not dare release the window pane.

“I worked here for months before I was imprisoned. Once we reach the street, we can easily get away.”

“So you’ve done this before?”

He nodded and, using the natural ledges the misshapen bricks created, hoisted himself up a foot. “Come on.”

Felicity looked up then back at the relative safety of the room inside the window. She had never even climbed a tree as a child, and now she was going to scale a building? In a skirt!

“Come on! We don’t have time.”

Armand was now several feet above her, hanging on to the side of the building like some kind of ape. But he was almost to the roof. It was not far…

“I cannot believe I am doing this,” she muttered and reached for the first extended brick. She trembled violently as she released her grip on the window but tried to control her fear. She figured she could shake and cry from the roof—if she made it.

With agonizing slowness, she climbed higher, kicking at her skirts when they tangled her ankles. Armand was on the roof ahead of her, and he reached down when she was two feet from the top and pulled her the rest of the way.

She tumbled on top of him, and lay there clutching his arms. “I never want to do anything like that again. In fact, I think from now on I shall avoid anything above the ground floor.” She looked up at him, and he raised a brow, looking pointedly around them. The rooftops of Paris glinted in the moonlight. “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “You cannot possibly mean to travel—”

“It’s the safest way to Le Grenier.”

“Le Grenier!” She bolted upright. “Why are we going to Le Grenier? Let’s go home to England.”

“We will.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “After Le Grenier.”

He began to walk across the roof, and she followed him, pausing at the far edge. “But why would you intentionally return to Le Grenier? This is our chance to escape!”

He looked back at her. “And have Marius come after us again? I want to be rid of him.” He backed up a few feet, jogged forward, and leaped across the open space between the roofs, landing safely on the roof of the building beside them. “Come on!” He held out a hand. Felicity stared at him as though that hand were a venomous snake.

“I’m not jumping across.”

“I’ll catch you.”

“I’m
not
jumping!” She backed up. “There must be another way.” The man really was daft, either that or he was part feline. She was all human, and clumsy human at that.

“This is the way,” he said, and she could hear the impatience in his voice. “Jump.”

“No.” She looked around her, searching for some other exit. And found none.

“Jump!”

“No!” But there was no other escape. And the worst part was after she made this jump, she would be forced to make another and another. She was sure of it.

“Jump, Felicity.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, all right!” She took two big steps back, lifted her skirts, and ran. For a moment, she felt the rush of nothingness beneath her—or at least imagined that she did—and then she was falling into Armand’s arms. He was solid and strong, and she wanted to weep against his chest that she was safe.

But the feeling of safety was not to last long. He was already shepherding her toward the other end of the roof, and she just knew he was going to want her to jump again. The buildings here were close together, leaning into one another like old friends, but Felicity did not like heights, and she liked the idea of falling from them even less.

Armand did not give her much time to think. He dragged her to the edge of the roof, made a running leap, and then insisted she follow. They continued this way through half a dozen buildings. She made the mistake, only once, of looking down. Her world spun, her head seemed to detach from her body, and her legs wobbled. After that, she kept her eyes on Armand’s.

The city was growing darker, and from their vantage point on the roofs, she could see lights twinkling all over the city. It might have been pretty, if she were firmly planted. And if she were not headed for prison. She had no doubts now that they had escaped Marius and Claude, but she did wonder if they would escape Le Grenier. Surely Armand knew what he was doing.

Didn’t he?

“Here.” He gestured to a door on top of the roof where they had paused to catch their breath. “We go down here.”

Felicity blinked. “We do?” That was welcome news. No more jumping off roofs. On the other hand, if they were going down to street level, they must be close to the prison.

“Are we close to Le Grenier?”

He nodded, taking her hand and leading her toward the door. It was old and rotted, hanging on one hinge. He propped it open so she could descend the steep, dark staircase first. Perhaps she had taught him some manners after all—if allowing her to be the first to fall and break her neck could be considered manners.

“We travel the rest of the way on foot,” he said from behind her.

She was concentrating on finding her next foothold on the creaky steps, but she murmured, “Do you think we will reach Le Grenier before Marius?”

“If not, things will go badly.”

Oh, good. Just what she wanted to hear. She paused, glanced back over her shoulder. “You could try a little optimism.”

In the dim light, he furrowed his brow. “What is that?”