1939912059 (R) (18 page)

She cringed. So much for the actress knowing how to act whilst pregnant. Fortunately, Jacques and his brother Léon were two of the few people she did trust amongst the gossip-hungry trenches of the theatre.

Taking a dainty swig of her tea, she leaned in. “Unfortunately, I cannot refute it quite yet.”

Those dark eyes searched her face and grew serious. “I will take a damn carriage wheel to his head for— The man should have taken precautions.”

“Yes, well, I should have, too.” She shouldn’t have taken on Gérard knowing he was drunk.

Jacques squinted. “Who is this bastard? I will ensure he never walks straight again. Do I know him? Is he from the theatre? Or an admirer?”

Now
that
she sure as heaven was not saying. Not even to Jacques. Disapproval from the world aside, half-aristo babies were anything but welcome in this new society. “I have no idea who the father is,” she tossed, playing her flippant, usual self. Better to be seen as a whore in complete control of the world than to be seen as virgin who had no control at all. “There have been so many. So, so many. I am downright exhausting myself merely thinking about it.”

Jacques drew his lips in, taking on the very visible age of what he was: seventeen. “Why do you never give me a chance? I adore you. What will it take for us to—”

“You and I have had this discussion before. I like you too much for that.”

He gave her a withering look. “Then I suggest you start hating me.”

She let out a pert laugh, tapping his arm. “Cease. The last thing you need in your life is an actress who has no time for you. I would neglect you.”

A look of anguish overtook his boyish features. “Am I really that unattractive?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why do women avoid me? Not even the ones here at the theatre scrubbing floors want to look my way. For some reason you women only ever prefer the broody, moody, muscular types. Why?”

A laugh escaped her. “The moody, broody, muscular types attract most women, yes, but they cause far too many problems. Believe me. Never change anything about yourself. Gallantry, my dear friend, is always rewarded, and the moody, broody types only appeal to certain girls. Not all of them. That leaves you a sizable selection of women to choose from. You simply have to wait for the right girl.”

He puffed out a breath, grudgingly looking off to the side. “What is the point? No girl is even willing to kiss me.”

Men were so grouchy when it came to women. She sighed, leaned in and gently kissed his smoothly shaven cheek. “There. Now you can you say you are no longer a virgin. Go tell the boys.”

His lips parted. He gaped. “You kissed me.”

She patted his shoulder, still smirking. “I told you gallantry is rewarded. But that is where this ends. You and I are friends, and I will not repeat that. Now cease gaping and go. Go, go, go. I will see to it my cousin issues you and Léon an additional five
livres
a week. Given every seat has been accounted for every night since
Nina
took to the stage, you both earned it with all the hours you put in.”

Jacques’s brows went up. “Five more
livres
a week? Are you
certain
you are not madly in love with me? Maybe we could attend a musical together? Or…visit your flat?”

She rolled her eyes. “Cease being a flirt and remember to be outside my dressing room in twenty-five minutes to help me with the crowds. I have countless letters to write and plan to have supper with Rémy later tonight. The only person you may allow entrance is
Citoyen
de Sade. Everyone else, give them my apologies and turn them away.”

Jacques hesitated. “Did you not see
Citoyen
de Sade yesterday?”

“Yes. But he forgot his gloves.”

“No doubt strategic.”

“Everything you men do around women is strategic.”

“Then why entertain the bastard? Why—”

“Because he is part of the
convention nationale
and given the way some of these theatres are being shut down for content by the Republic, I cannot afford to agitate the wrong men and put us all out of business.” She sighed and rubbed his shoulder. “I thank you for the tea. Now, go. I will speak to Rémy later tonight about you and your brother getting an additional five
livres
starting next week. Agreed?”

He hesitated, then grabbed her face with both hands and startled her with a sound kiss to her lips. “You, madame, are the reason why I breathe. Never forget it.” He released her and lowered his voice. “Friends can turn into lovers, you know. It will happen.” He slowly grinned and waggled his brows. “We already kissed twice.” Still smugly grinning, he trotted backward, then turned and with the click of boots into the air, scurried off.

She tsked and called after him, “Do not make me hire a new apprentice!”

He turned and amorously set a hand to his heart. “One day,
ma poupée
, you and I will make passionate love under the stage lights for the world to see. One day!” He thudded his chest with an assured fist and darted off.

Gah, gah, gah. Even the ones she trusted turned against her and only ever wanted sex.

Taking another sip of tea, she sighed and sashayed toward her dressing room, which she knew she had better get to before the crowds descended in the next twenty minutes. Making her way through the bustle of actors in costumes, angling left and right, she turned into a private, narrow corridor leading to her dressing room.

She paused.

The long private corridor, which was usually well lit with more than sixteen candles, was barely lit with a single one by the door, blackening everything except for a sliver of the door itself. She couldn’t see anything before or after it.

Something was not right. Jacques always ensured the candles were lit.

Not trusting it, she quickly set her glass down outside the corridor and hitched up her skirt, tugging out the small blade she always carried with her. Her admirers had a tendency to be a bit more amorous than she liked.

Angling the blade out, she cautiously made her way into the darkness toward the door.

Someone was hiding in the darkness. She could feel their presence.

Coming to a halt before the closed door that bore the gilded letters of
MADAME DE MAITENON
, she touched a hand to her stage name and called out in firm tone, “I have a blade. Leave, or by God, I will use it.”

The shadow of a tall, male figure pushed away from the nearest wall, startling her.

Tightening her hold on the blade, she scrambled back, her heart pounding. “Do not
dare
come any closer or everything below your waist will get sliced into too many pieces for you to pick up!”

A gruff laugh reverberated in the narrow corridor. “Still the butcher’s daughter, I see,” a deep male voice rumbled out, stepping toward her from the shadows. “Despite all the finery, you are still the same girl I met in the forest.”

She gasped and almost dropped the blade. She dragged in a disbelieving breath, her gaze veering up past an expensive ensemble of smoke grey and dark blue even the shadows could not hide.

Steel blue eyes and a rugged good-looking face with a square jaw she knew all too well made her almost drop the blade again. “Gérard,” she breathed.

He eyed her. “I am pleased to know you still remember my name. Now put the blade away. God forbid you try to hug me.”

A startled laugh escaped her. She frantically hitched up her skirt and scrambled to slide it back into the leather belt and sheath attached to her thigh. She peered up at him in between attaching it. “My. You look divine.” She skimmed his outfit that showcased those broad, muscled shoulders and wide chest. “Bravo for finally wearing something worthy of you.”

He shifted his jaw and held her gaze for a long moment in the sliver of light from the lone candle. “Is that all you have to say after three months?”

She puffed out an exasperated breath, letting her skirts drop and glanced down the empty, shadow-infested corridor. She knew it wouldn’t remain empty long. They barely had twenty minutes.

Opening the door, she peered into the well-lit room of pale blue velvet, to ensure it was empty, then grabbed that muscled arm and shoved him into the room, slamming the door behind them. She latched the door, then turned and fell against it in an effort to keep her heart from popping out of her chest.

Calm. She had to remain calm. He didn’t need to know she wanted to grab him and kiss him and molest him beyond measure for turning her life into a fairy-tale.

Potential pregnancy aside.

He adjusted the red ribbon in his dark hair, indicating she had overly mussed his appearance, and turned toward her, widening his stance with each boot. “Next time, ask me to come in. Because my queue barely survived that, and I have places to be and countless women to see.”

Well, well. Someone wanted to look good and brag about his life.

Annoyingly, she felt a large pinch of jealousy. Was he really entertaining other women? And why did it bother her? It wasn’t as if they were married, but the last time they had seen each other had given her hope for…more.

She stared him down, scraping her nails down the wooden surface of the door she leaned against. “It certainly took you long enough to make time for me. I wore several white ribbons in my hair over these past few weeks and yet you never once bothered to see me. You keep sending over Naudet who rarely speaks enough to make up for the disappointment.”

Gérard searched her face and offered in a cool tone, “I am a very busy man and have little time for socializing with overambitious actresses.”

She blinked, sensing he was anything but pleased. “Overambitious? What is this? Have I not been producing enough leads?”

“Quite the contrary. You have been keeping me busy and are performing well beyond my expectations. We have already used most of your leads to prevent thirteen arrests.”

She lowered her chin. “Then what is it? Why are you upset?”

“Do you really expect me to say it?” Gérard scanned the dressing room surrounding them, momentarily pausing on an array of her satin corsets piled on a red velvet chaise lounge. A large pair of male leather gloves were still draped over one of the corsets. A muscle flicked in his square jaw. “I did not realize your hands had grown so large.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, knowing full well what he was thinking. “They were left there last night. They belong to
Citoyen
de Sade.” She lowered her voice. “He visited me yesterday after the performance and will be coming back to fetch them shortly. I am still getting to know him, but he is about to become a member of the Piques section that is part of the committee of the Convention. Unlike the rest of these men coming to my door, his elbow is about to rest on the very same bench with that of
Citoyen
Robespierre. This man will have the ability to give us the sort of information you seek pertaining to
Sa Majesté
.”

Setting both gloved hands behind his back and locking it in place, Gérard stared her down. “I already know about Sade.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Naudet told me this morning.”

“Impossible. I only met Sade last night and never told Naudet. In fact, I have not seen Naudet in almost a week.”

“Do not seem overly surprised. I pay him several hundred a week to watch over you given you do not appear to watch over yourself. And just because you do not see him,
or me
, does not mean either of us are not watching. We are. Believe me, we are.”

This man was certainly miffed about something. She lifted a brow. “I appreciate your concern but ask that you deliver it with less…
bite
. I hardly deserve it. I am working my wig off here.”

“Yes, I know. I can assure you, I appreciate that.”

Sensing he was still agitated, she pressed, “Then what is it?”

He was quiet for a moment. “I came to…” He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “I am waiting for you to say it.”

She blinked. “Waiting for me to say what?”

Gérard crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes roaming over her gown and towering wig. “For one, you look nothing like yourself.”

Was this about her appearance? “Are you daft? I am in costume and have more powder on my face than there ever was in the jar. I am
required
to look like this. Have you not been to any of the performances?”

“All of them. And you, madame, are an inspiration to watch.” His nostrils flared. “But that is not what I meant or why I came to talk.”

“Well then say it. Before your nose falls off from all that heavy breathing.”

He drew in a ragged breath. “You appear to have gained some weight.”

She gasped, knowing full well she
had
gained half a stone. Her new chef was making incredible food neither she or Rémy could resist. There was also the possibility she was pregnant. Neither of which she appreciated.

She glared. “So you came here to insult me?”

“No. You misunderstand.” He continued to stare her down. “I am merely disappointed that you would not have tried to confide in me given all of the concoctions you have been drinking on the hour. ’Tis obvious you know something you have not deigned to pass on to Naudet. Because nothing you do ever goes on without my knowing it.
Nothing
. Let me be clear in that. When you breathe, I hear it from a mile. Now out with it. Are you pregnant or not?”

Ohhhh
. Now she knew why he was here being all grouchy-grouchy. He was obviously stressed about it. Which made two of them.

She puffed out a breath in exasperation. “Whilst I have been battling a bit of nausea, it could be nerves. I am rather hoping it is. I am, after all, still getting used to stage life and its harried nature and therefore cannot be certain. I most likely will not know for another month or so.”

His brows came together as he edged closer. “How the hell can you not be certain? It has been three months.
Three
. Did your mother not educate you about your menses?”

Barely five minutes in his presence and she wanted to smack him. “My menses is irregular. Sometimes it arrives in two months and sometimes it arrives in four. Which means, in another month, I most certainly
will
know. But not sooner. So do calm yourself and be thankful you are a man. Because my menses appears to be about as irrational as you.”