1939912059 (R) (21 page)

Swallowing hard, Thérèse knew full well Gérard was thinking about doing it. And although a part of her wanted him to, she knew if it happened here in her dressing room, the entire committee would ensure they
both
die.

Pulse roaring, she scrambled toward Gérard and grabbed at his trembling wrist hard. “Gérard,” she choked out. “You cannot do it.
You cannot
!”

Sade further extended his throat.

Gérard released Sade with a shove. “’Tis obvious your mother sucked animal cock for money, you—” Gritting his teeth, Gérard whipped the blade aside, sending it clattering against the farthest corner of the room. He slammed a full fist into the man’s gut, causing Sade to gasp and fall into the wall.

Thérèse winced and genuinely hoped it hurt.

An exasperated grin overtook Sade’s flickering features as he casually staggered up. He pointed at Gérard. “You, my fellow aristo friend, define a true hero. So angry and obscene toward the wicked. But will it save you from the guillotine that now sits in the square? I dare say no. You need me in order to survive. And all you have to do is help me write a book.”

She edged back, unable to decide if this man was deranged or wanted to be deranged.

“I need these sketches,” Sade grouched. “You two are the epitome of what I see in my head. I promise it will be genuinely worthy of your approval.”

Gérard swung away, raking his hand several times through his hair, while adjusting his queue. He stalked across the room. “This is— No. Absolutely not.
Especially
if she is with child. Are you— no.”

Citoyen de Sade let out a breathy, half-disappointed sigh. Swiping up his periwig and hat, he set each on his head and wiggled it back into place. “I wish to assure you our session would have been done tastefully. I usually sit behind a viewing screen. It allows for more natural interactions. Whenever I sketch, you see, I cannot play. I think I am being perfectly reasonable and would only require
one
session. If you give me what I want, I will give you the secrets of the committee. Or...I can take your scheming to the committee. You decide.”

Maybe she was used to men being mad or maybe the idea of death just didn’t appeal to her. Either way, knowing that Sade was not going to be joining in on any of it and would be hidden behind a screen, sketching, made it more—

How difficult could it be? Sex was sex. She cleared her throat. “Gérard, dear?”

Gérard turned toward her, his gaze capturing hers.

She gave him a prim and pointed look. “All that matters is that we would have an ally on the committee. I can easily survive one session. And if I can, I know you can.”

His shaven face flushed. “Setting aside that I do not want this maggot seeing us together in that way, I am
not
taking a whip to you. Do you think so little of me, Thérèse, that you would allow for any of this?”

She edged back. Apparently, she was far more sexually liberated than he was.

Citoyen
de Sade cleared his throat. “I have no trouble counter-offering. All you had to do was ask. Given her pregnancy, which a vase full of pea soup has more than verified, I will grant leniency. I rather like the idea of giving this book a new perspective. Usually the women sustain most of the injuries. So she can whip and cane you instead. It matters not to me. There will be plenty of food and wine on hand, including whatever salve you need to ease your pain. Are we in agreement?”

Gérard choked.

Food and wine and salve and pain. How utterly fitting. It was the epitome of the revolution at its finest. And the fact that the committee was about to instate this man into the chambers of the new Republic said it all.

Sade drew in a well-satisfied breath. “So. Shall we plan for early next week? Say…Monday, early evening? I should be done sketching shortly after midnight, depending on how well things go.” He smiled and leaned toward her. “Madame, you still have my card, yes?”

One would think they were making
soirée
arrangements. She tried not to let on that she was mildly amused, lest Gérard think
she
was deranged. “I am afraid this rests with Gérard. I am not the prude here. He is.”

Gérard stared, betraying no emotion. “I am more than fine with it. Monday at seven.”

She dropped her hands to her sides. Holy God. They were doing it?

Citoyen
de Sade swept up her hand and bowed over it, kissing it once. “I foresee this publication being a success and promise to alter your features enough to hide your identities from the public.” He thumbed toward the vase set on the side table. “You may want to put a few flowers into that. The stench is overtaking the room.”

She gave him a withering look.

Striding up to Gérard, Sade snapped out a hand. “Until Monday, my beloved prude.”

Gérard narrowed his gaze. “You are not touching me. Get out.”

Sade smirked and adjusted his coat. “Long live the Republic, and adieu to you both.” With that, he strutted to the door, whistling. Yanking open the door, he winked at Thérèse and slammed the door after himself.

Gérard swung toward her and glared. “You,
Thérèse
, are outrageous. Do you know that?
Outrageous
. You encouraged him!”

She gaped. “I did not! How did I encourage him? Are you saying I gave him the idea of turning us into the committee if we did not entertain his sexual delusions?”

He still glared. “You know full well what I mean. You clearly
want
that man watching us copulate like animals in a cage rattling shackles. And whilst I have no trouble with us using shackles and whips and whatever the hell you want, I am not doing it in front of an audience!”

He really was a prude. “Unlike you, I have no trouble letting an artist watch us do what we do best if it means we are not going to
die
. ’Tis a matter of priorities, Gérard.
Priorities
. What else would you have us do? He said he would go to the committee. And as deranged as he appears to be, I believe him! And so should you.”

“I need brandy.” He swiped at his mouth with a trembling hand. “I have not even had a finger of brandy in three goddamn weeks.
Three
! And now with my godfather going to trial and this…
I am losing the last of my rational mind
!”

Her brows rose. Heavens above. The darling! That certainly explained his agitation throughout this entire evening. He’d done away with the brandy.

Her heart squeezed, knowing full well he did it for her.

How could she not adore this man?

She quickly strode toward him, her robe rustling around her feet. Leaning in, she smoothed her hand across his shaven jaw.

He stiffened, capturing her gaze.

She softened her voice. “Did you set aside the brandy for me?”

A breath escaped him. “Yes. I was tired of being weak.”

She kissed his jaw. “No man has ever fought to prove himself like this to me. I am in awe and so proud of you. Three weeks is something to celebrate.”

His dark brows flickered. “Thérèse. We cannot reduce ourselves to the sort of corruption this man wants us to. We are better than this.”

Bless his noble heart. She knew even if they never ended up together, she would spend the rest of her life dreaming about him and wanting him. Because he was the definition of the same thing that beat within her: passion. She dragged in a breath knowing it. “I agree that you and I are better than this. But being better does not make us invincible. We are all mortal. Even you, O dear son of a
duc
. You bleed like the rest of us.”

He hesitated. “My mother used to say that right will always win out over wrong. And yet nothing but wrong seems to win.” After a long moment, he lowered his hand, gently setting it to her stomach. “I vow to protect you both. No harm will come to either of you.”

This man was trying to steal her heart
and
soul.

She ardently pressed his hand against her belly.

Drawing his hand back, he averted his gaze. He quickly rounded her and gathered his clothes from the floor behind the fallen dressing screen. He bundled them tight. “I have to go.”

She swung toward him, her breath hitching. “Where are you going?”

“We are not reducing ourselves to the vile games of the Republic. I am done with this shite. I am going straight to my father.”

“And then what?”

He stared her down. “We get the hell out of France, is what. Well before Monday ever has a chance to rise.” He averted his gaze and choked out, “Though it breaks me, if I try to stay and save my godfather, we will all die. Which means you, my father and I have two days to plan an escape and less than three to carry it out.”

Her throat tightened. Dearest God. He wanted her to leave France.

Setting aside how close she was to her cousin, her brothers and parents were still in Giverny. And though they had yet to respond to any of her letters or the money she had repeatedly sent, she owed them to stay. She
needed
to stay. After all, what if they
died
because of her? “Gérard. I-I cannot leave. My life is here.”

Coming closer, he leaned in and whispered, “Given our alliance, they will kill you if you stay. Do you not understand that?”

She dragged in an uneven breath, knowing it. “They will also kill me if I try to flee. At least if I stay, I would not be putting my cousin or my family in harm’s way. Because you and I both know if I flee, the Convention will go after them. And I would
never
toss them toward the direction of the guillotine given I was the one to make this decision. I was the one who agreed to help you and will therefore live by it or die by it. Whatever I deserve.”

He leaned in and gripped her shoulders hard. “Cease talking nonsense. You and the babe are coming with me. I am
not
leaving either of you to die.”

She swallowed back whatever panic threatened to overtake her. She slowly removed his hands from her shoulders, first the left, then the right. “You speak as if you can protect us from harm. You cannot guarantee my safety anymore than you can guarantee your own.”

He angled toward her. “Upon all that I am, I hold something that will ensure no one touches us. Something that will turn everyone in this country against the committee. And with the recent execution of the
duc d’Orléans
, who was on their side, I have no doubt they are looking to bury what I damn well hold. A gentleman my mother used to know is holding a set of papers for me with instructions to print every last page and distribute it to the masses should I or any name I wish to save be executed. And you are on that list. These
moutons
hold no power over me or us. None. Believe it.”

She gaped. “If they hold no power over us, then why do you insist on leaving?”

“Because you and I both know things can and will go wrong. It is best we leave. Do you understand?”

She was not saving herself and leaving her family to die. “What about my cousin or my family?”

“We can send for them later.”

“No.” Trying not to get emotional, knowing she was saying good-bye, she choked out, “I am asking you to leave without me, Gérard. It is best.”

He grabbed her. “No! What are you— What about the babe? Or the future of us? What about us?!”

Squeezing her eyes shut long enough to regain her ability to remain calm, she re-opened her eyes. “There could never be a future at the expense of my family. As for me, I am told they do not execute pregnant women.”

He stared. “Until after they give birth, damn you.” After a pulsing moment, he pointed rigidly. “I am not done with you. You are coming with me whether you damn well want to or not. I will be back in two days. And if you see Naudet, if he
dares
show his face to you, tell that
bourgeoisie
son of a sodomite, he is dead for doing this to me.
Dead
!”

“Please do not speak of killing people. Or you are no different from these revolutionaries.”

“It is either them or us. And it is not going to be us. Do you understand? What is being allowed in this country is–”

Grabbing his face, she captured his lips, desperately wanting and needing to erase everything happening to them.

Dropping the clothing he held, he also grabbed her face and kissed her, molding his lips harder against hers. The searing heat of his tongue feverishly worked against hers as his fingers dug into the skin of her face. He kissed her, harder and harder.

She could feel his genuine passion and affection for her.

It pulsed from his hand and his lips. It was—

He broke away and dragged in several ragged breaths. “Wait to hear from me.” He gathered his clothes, bundling them again then stalked to the door. “Pack whatever you need and make sure it fits into one sack and one sack only. No trunks. The less we carry, the more effective our movements will be. More importantly, do not stray from your regular routine until you hear from me.”

Her heart pounded, realizing he wasn’t accepting that she wasn’t going.

Though she didn’t want to believe in the dread scraping itself into her, a dread that whispered of horrible, horrible things to come, things that would happen to him if he tried to leave, she swung toward him and knew she had to say it. “Meeting you has changed my entire perspective on life and men. I have no regrets. None. I adore you.”

He paused and jerked toward her, staring.

Blinking back tears she did not want to cry, she set her hands on her belly. “If it is a boy, what shall I name him? I will let you decide.”

His features twisted. “Do not
dare
say good-bye to me. I will come back for you in two days.
Two
.”

No. He would not. She was not going. “What shall I name him?” she softly insisted. “Please. It will make me happy. And I need happy thoughts.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Henri. After my mother’s father. In English it is
Henry
.”

Henry. English. Someday she would learn to speak it. Someday. “And if it is a girl?”