Traitor in Her Arms Page 13

  Because it might be a long night and he needed to keep up his strength, he did as she bade him. The bread was stale and the cheese tasteless, but he’d had far worse. The wine was good. He downed the last in his glass, and Alex poured him another measure.

  “Are these visits because of us?” Gabrielle asked.

  “I don’t know,” Alex said. “They’re looking for someone or something. I knew you would be trouble.”

  “There was an incident at the cemetery,” Ramsey said.

  Alex narrowed her eyes. “Define incident.”

  “The guard appeared at the ball. Most of the attendees escaped, but not all.”

  “We hid in a mausoleum,” Gabrielle told her.

  “After we shot a soldier,” Ramsey added. Gabrielle glanced at him, and he saw the gratitude in her eyes. She didn’t want anyone to know it was she who’d killed the man.

  Alex put her head on the table and banged her forehead three times. “Why? Why? Why?” She looked up at them. “Let me see your papers. If they aren’t good, we’ll need to hide you.”

  Dutifully, Gabrielle produced her papers. After Alex perused them, Ramsey handed his over. “These will do,” Alex pronounced. “Do you think the soldiers saw you? Would they recognize you?”

  “It was dark,” Ramsey said. “Gabrielle had the hood of her mantle over her face.”

  Alex nodded. “I have a good hiding place, but I don’t want to use it unless I have to. And these could just be rumors. I’d hate to have you crouch in the drawing room fireplace all night without reason.”

  “The fireplace?” Gabrielle asked.

  Alex waved a hand. “You both look exhausted. Go to bed, but keep your papers close by. I’ll wake you if there’s trouble.”

  Gabrielle rose and Ramsey followed her up the stairs to their room. She glanced back at him once or twice, but he could have told her that he was far too tired to think of seducing her. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but she needed rest.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he announced when they entered the chamber.

  “I…that’s not necessary,” she said.

  He raised a brow. “Then you want me to sleep with you?” He gestured to the bed.

  The small bed.

  “No, I…” She took a breath. “I meant I could sleep on the floor.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He walked to the bed and took a pillow. “You need your rest.” Turning his back to her, he fumbled with his coat, pulling it off his shoulders. He didn’t hear her moving. Presumably, she would wait until the candle was doused before undressing.

  Good God. How was he supposed to lie within reach of her, knowing she was warm and sweet and half naked, and not touch her? He needed more wine.

  A lot more.

  He reached down to pull his boots off when he heard rapid footsteps on the stairs. The door burst open, and Alex stood wide-eyed before them. “They’re here!”

  Ramsey dropped his boot and Gabrielle jumped. “What should we do? The fireplace?” she asked.

  “No time!” Alex said. “Get undressed and get in bed. Together. You’ve been here all night. You’d better make the bed and yourselves look like it’s been a fulfilling night.”

  She rushed out, closing the door behind her.

  A moment later, she flung it open again. She pointed at Gabrielle. “When the soldiers come in here, show some skin. That always helps. And if you can be…in flagrante delicto, all the better.” She was already unfastening her own gown as she closed the door a second time.

  A moment later, they heard the pounding below. Ramsey raised a brow. “Do you need help removing your gown?”

  Chapter 10

  Gabrielle wanted to burst into tears. Every time they eluded danger, it caught up with them around the next corner. But she wouldn’t cry. A fit of hysterics solved nothing, and it certainly didn’t save either her or Sedgwick.

  What would save them was removing this gown and climbing into bed with the man. Ridiculous as it sounded in her head, she realized Alex had a point. If the soldiers were looking for them, Sedgwick and she needed to appear as though they had been here all night. And Gabrielle had been a married woman. She understood something about men. A little flesh couldn’t hurt matters.

  She glanced at him. He had blood on his cheek, where he’d been hit by the soldier in the cemetery. “Your cheek,” she said. “Quickly! Clean off the blood.”

  While she struggled with her gown, he rinsed his cheek using the water pitcher and basin on the room’s small table. When he was finished, she was still fumbling with fastenings. “That looks better,” she said. “I”—there was no room for modesty now—“can you help me with this gown?” She could remove it herself but not quickly. He crossed to her, unfastening his cravat as he did so. Her heart kicked when she saw the bronze skin of his throat, but she tried to ignore the sensation. His dishabille was about survival, not lust.

  She turned, offering him her back, and he made quick work of her tapes and laces. If she had suspected he’d undressed women before, she no longer had to wonder. He obviously knew what he was about.

  As the gown slipped from her shoulders, she felt heat rise in her cheeks. But she couldn’t afford to be self-conscious. Below them, she heard the boots of the soldiers click on the wood floors and the bark of an angry order. Alex’s soft, seductive voice answered, and all quieted for a few moments. Gabrielle stood shivering in her chemise and petticoats. Behind her, Sedgwick was warm. She imagined he’d be even warmer once they climbed into the small bed together.

  “You’d better hurry,” he directed.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw he’d removed his shirt. Taking a deep breath, she slipped out of her petticoats and tossed them onto the floor. Next, she removed her stockings. Naked but for her chemise, she pulled back the coverlet.

  Sedgwick’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Take it all off,” he told her.

  Anger and indignation rose in her veins. Her face felt hot, but she heard the soldiers’ boots on the stairs. With a huff of protest, she dropped her chemise about her ankles and climbed into the bed. Sedgwick doused the candle and firelight illuminated the room. In that amber glow, she could see he’d disrobed completely as well.

  It had been a long time since she’d seen a man naked.

  A very long time.

  She’d had little with which to compare George’s body. Certainly, she’d seen paintings and statues of the male figure. George had been nicely proportioned, his body warm and satisfying to her.

  But he did not look like Sedgwick. Where George had been rather soft and pudgy about the middle—still housing baby fat and adding to it with overindulgence at the gambling tables—Sedgwick was all hard planes and ridges. Muscles rippled along his sleek shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen had the terrain of a rugged mountain ridge, and his legs were sculpted as though by an artist.

  She tried not to focus too much on that middle part of him, but it had been a long time.

  And she was curious.

  She did not see much, as he was moving quickly to climb into bed with her, but what she saw convinced her he did not look so different from her husband there.

  He caught her looking at him as he pulled back the coverlet on the other side of her. “What did you think?” he asked, sliding into bed next to her.

  She had been right. His body was warm. But it wasn’t soft. No, not in the least.

  “What kind of question is that?” she bristled.

  “Embarrassed because I caught you looking?” He was propped on one elbow and smiled down at her. “I looked.”

  “Sedgwick!”

  “I give you leave to address me as Ramsey.”

  “I have a better name, you arrog—“

  His mouth descended on hers, cutting off her next words and leaving her breathless. She wanted to protest—the last dregs of her survival instinct surfacing—but she heard the soldiers on the landing.

  “Forget about them,” Ramsey whispered, d
rawing the sheet down and caressing her breast with his hand. “Think about what I’m doing.”

  “Right,” she said, trying to sound unaffected, an actress playing the part of his lover. “Of course.”

  But she did not feel like an actress when his fingers rubbed her nipple, causing it to peak and harden. She did not feel like an actress when he pulled the sheet down farther, exposing her naked breast and belly to his sight. She did not feel like an actress when his mouth—good God that mouth—trapped her earlobe between two teeth and worried it gently.

  She was actually arching for him, turning into him.

  The soldiers outside the room spoke, but that wasn’t what made her pause. She felt him, hot and hard between them, and realized she wished the soldiers were gone. She wished it really were just the two of them, and that they could see this through to the end.

  “Ready?” Ramsey glanced up, met her gaze.

  “Yes,” she said, surprised at how husky her voice sounded.

  “Good, then moan.”

  He took her bare nipple between his lips and sucked, oh so gently. It was no trouble at all to moan for him. No trouble to arch her back, thrust her nipple farther into his mouth, twine her hands in his hair…

  “Halt! In the name of the republic!”

  In her haze of arousal, she heard the door slam against the wall and the clomp of boots on the floor. She jerked in fear, but Ramsey took a long time releasing her breast. He rose slowly, and she had to fight the urge to pull the sheets up to conceal her nudity. But that would defeat his purpose. He moved unhurriedly to give the soldiers time to take in what was happening.

  Gabrielle saw the two men at the door. They were young, their eyes wide. She thought they might be twenty at most, and that would work in her favor. She might have met their gazes, if they were looking at her face, but they were staring at her chest. She drew the sheet up languidly.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ramsey demanded, shielding her, belatedly, with his body.

  “D-domiciliary visit,” the shorter of the soldiers stammered.

  “I’m so sorry,” Alex said from the doorway then scowled at the soldiers. “I told you my brother and his friend were sleeping.” Her dressing gown fell off one bare shoulder.

  “They weren’t sleeping,” the taller soldier quipped, a smirk on his face. Another soldier stepped into the room. He was older and his uniform, with its gorget hanging from his neck, marked him as an officer. He scanned the room quickly, taking in the hastily shed clothing and the two lovers. Gabrielle prayed he would see what they wanted him to see. His gaze didn’t even rest on her half-naked body, and she knew this was not a man to be easily distracted. He did study Ramsey.

  “How did you injure your cheek?” he asked.

  Ramsey pretended to be surprised, then touched first one cheek and then that with the scratch. It was no longer bleeding, but it was deep enough to be visible. “Ah, this?” He glanced at her. “Mark of passion.”

  Gabrielle felt her face explode into heat and color. Was that the only explanation he could think of? The soldiers were laughing, but she refused to bow her head. She stared straight ahead.

  “Show me the rest of the house, citoyenne,” the officer said to Alex. “And you two here—“This time he spoke to the young soldiers. “Conduct a thorough search.”

  “Yes, citizen!” the shorter soldier answered with a quick salute.

  Alex led the leader out of the room, and Ramsey huffed. “Go ahead and search. Do you think we’re hiding Royalists here?” He indicated the tiny room that didn’t even house so much as a cupboard. “Perhaps we have the queen hiding in the fireplace.”

  Suspicious, the soldiers moved to the fireplace, held their hands toward the flame to test the heat. Gabrielle had to stifle a laugh.

  “And the Scarlet Pimpernel is hiding under the bed,” Ramsey said.

  The soldiers turned to him, their eyes narrow. “You’d better rise, citoyen,” the shorter one directed. “We need to see your papers and search the room.”

  “My…” Ramsey glanced at her. “Friend is not dressed. Could you step out of the room for a moment to give her some privacy?”

  “I’m afraid we cannot, citoyen,” the taller soldier answered. He grinned at Gabrielle, and she knew he was just hoping to get another glimpse of her body. She wouldn’t give it to him.

  “Thank you, citoyen,” Gabrielle said, placing a restraining arm on Ramsey. Not that she thought he would fight the men. This, like everything else, was an act.

  Their lovemaking had been an act, hadn’t it?

  Gathering the sheet about her, she rose as graciously as possible. She tucked the sheet under her arms and lifted the excess as though it were a train. Ramsey pulled on his breeches and sorted through their discarded clothing for their papers. “Here.” He held the documents to the soldiers. “You see we have nothing to hide.”

  The taller soldier examined the papers while the shorter man searched under the bed and in every corner of the small room. He lifted his bayonet and sliced through the mattress, and Gabrielle stood back as feathers rose like startled birds from the wreckage.

  “Is that really necessary?” Ramsey asked. He stood, bare chested, arms crossed over that glorious expanse of bronze. Gabrielle found it increasingly difficult to look away, especially now that she could see the corded sinew and muscle of his back. She wanted to touch him there, run her fingers along the skin, kiss it with her lips…

  The soldiers had answered while she’d been distracted, and now Ramsey asked, “Who are you looking for?”

  “A prisoner escaped from the Conciergerie tonight,” one of the soldiers answered. “The former duc de Courtenay. We have instructions to search every house in Paris.”

  “Long night,” Gabrielle murmured.

  “Yes, mademoiselle,” the shorter man said. The taller man elbowed him. “I mean, citoyenne.”

  “Why are you wasting your time here?” Ramsey demanded. “We’re clearly not harboring any ducs. No comtes or vicomtes either.”

  “We have to be certain,” the taller soldier said. “You would be surprised at what we have found—men and women, seemingly loyal to the republic, aiding the aristocrats. Hiding them, helping them escape. Some will do anything to avoid being taken to the guillotine.” He looked hopefully at Gabrielle.

  She took a step back, sighing in relief when the door opened again and the officer stepped inside. “Anything here?”

  “No, sir!” the shorter soldier answered. “All appears in order.”

  “Very well.” He gave Gabrielle and Ramsey long looks. Gabrielle kept her gaze steady on his, though she felt he could see right through her, knew she was Viscountess McCullough, and not a simple lace maker.

  “Watch yourself,” he said with a backward glance at Alex, who Gabrielle now saw stood behind him. “I have a feeling about this house. We could be back.”

  Gabrielle listened to his footsteps retreat down the stairs and didn’t let out her breath until she heard the door close. Ramsey moved toward her, as though he might put his arms around her, but instead opened the door a sliver. Gabrielle didn’t know why she should feel disappointed.

  Alex appeared at the door. “We’re fortunate they weren’t searching for you,” she said, her gaze on Ramsey, who was still bare chested. She raised her brows. “I thought all aristocrats were plump and lazy. Obviously, I have more to learn.”

  Gabrielle bit her tongue. There was a retort on it, and she didn’t want to know what it might be. She didn’t care if this Alex looked at Ramsey. He wasn’t her husband. He had made it quite clear years ago that he didn’t want to be her husband.

  And now she wouldn’t imagine what it would have been like if they had married. What sharing his bed every night would have been like, instead of sleeping alone…

  “Does this happen often?” Ramsey asked, pulling his shirt over his head. “These domiciliary visits?”

  “More often than I’d like,” Alex admitted. “You two
did very well, which is surprising. I’m relieved we didn’t have to use the fireplace. Oh!” She put her hands to her face. “I suppose I’d better let le duc know it’s safe to come out.” She turned and scampered down the stairs.

  Gabrielle stared at the door and then at Ramsey. “You don’t suppose…” she began.

  “That she has the duc de Courtenay hiding in the fireplace? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Still clutching the sheet about her, Gabrielle followed Ramsey down the stairs and into the drawing room, where a large, cold fireplace dominated the room. Alex’s candle scattered shadows on the walls, making the appearance of feet dropping down within the hearth rather alarming. Gabrielle drew in her breath as a man ducked out. He brushed at his already ragged coat, dislodging a layer of soot.

  Seeing Gabrielle and Ramsey, he bowed graciously. “Mademoiselle. Monsieur.”

  Gabrielle’s head began to pound. The man the soldiers were looking for was standing in front of her. Of course, she was relieved he hadn’t been discovered, but what if he had? They would all be on their way to prison right now. She was halfway there without the aid of the duc de Courtenay.

  And this, she supposed, was why the populace of France had turned on one another. It was kill or be killed. How did Alex continue to risk her life? Gabrielle feared she didn’t have the fortitude.

  Oh how she longed for London and the quiet of her home on Audley Street. She might have creditors at her doorstep, but she didn’t have soldiers in her bedchamber. The events of the night had left her shaken, and she could have used one of the special teas Mrs. Cress made or Diana’s unfailing fortitude. She was ashamed to admit it, even to herself, but if there hadn’t been a Mr. Pin, she would have returned to London at the first opportunity.

  What did that say about her? That she was such a coward that she was willing to leave the comtesse and her daughter to the mercy of this revolution?

  Ramsey, in the meantime, was staring at the fireplace. He nodded to her. “From this vantage point, it looks normal, but it’s actually quite large inside. Still, I don’t think all three of us would have fit.”