1939912059 (R) (29 page)

That tone hardened. “Your death is assured if you stay and try to help people.”

“Not if I do it right.” Gérard corked his brandy and set it aside. “Where are the papers?”

Sade muttered something and then grabbed the leather valise from beside him, tossing it at him. “Now what?”

Catching its weight, Gérard gripped the edges of the leather hard. “You tell Robespierre I hold thirty-two pages of documents collected by royal spies that will damn well turn all of France against him and this revolution. You tell him I will give him a single page for each person he lets me strike from the guillotine list. The names will be of my choosing, not his. He will then let me get those people out of the country before he can put them back on that list. Thirty-two pages equals thirty-two lives.”

“Are you including
yourself
in any of those pages?”

“By the time half these pages are released to Robespierre, I will be long gone. Which is why I need your help. Negotiate this for me with Robespierre. Can you do that?”

Sade snorted. “You must seem to think I am God. And whilst I genuinely appreciate your newfound faith in me, I—”

“My godfather died in the name of this country. And with the papers he bestowed upon me, I intend to honor him by saving more than myself.” Gérard slowly let out a breath. “I need money. Are you willing to lend me a few hundred more? So I can start gathering resources to shuffle people out?”

Sade sighed. Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a massive wad of bound money that required a few tugs before it was able to make its way out. “This was supposed to be allotted for your journey to London.” Wagging it at him for a moment, he tossed it into his lap. “Try not to spend it all on rescuing others. You have to get yourself out, you know.”

Gérard blinked, picking up the weighty assignats. He dragged in a breath and thumbed through it in the shadows that were barely lit by the street lamp fingering its way in through the glass window of the coach. “Christ. This is—”

“Five thousand. No need to count.”

“Thank you, Sade.”

“Do not thank me,
Monseigneur
. Every last
livre
came from Thérèse’s own pocket. She wanted to give you more but I talked her out of it. Moving such large amounts of money from her accounts would have raised a few brows from the bankers who are closely connected with the Convention. Be aware that this money was supposed to get you out of the country, so I suggest you put away enough to enable that to still happen.”

Gérard swallowed, knowing his woman was now taking care of him given he couldn’t do it. It was as bitter as it was sweet. For while his pride hated it, his heart reveled in knowing she loved him enough to want to save him.

He brought the money to his lips, kissing its edges, wishing to God it was her. Wishing to God he could carry her in his pocket much like a wad of paper. “I am the luckiest bastard alive.”

Sade was quiet for a moment. “If you do not want her knowing about you staying in Paris, I suggest we settle you into your own quarters separate from my own given she visits me often. I will inform the Committee of Public Safety of the move to ensure there are no misunderstandings and will hold a private meeting with Robespierre about striking people from the list. I cannot guarantee he will agree to it.”

Stuffing the money into his inner coat pocket, Gérard tightened his hold on the valise. “I understand.” He pointed. “You, Sade, have a friend in me to the last breath. If you ever need someone to swing a fist for you, call on me. I will do it without even asking you why.”

The man’s cane thumped the roof of the carriage, signaling them onward. “You and I both know people betray each other when it matters most.”

“When your own father betrays you, trust is a relatively non-existent word.”

“Then why trust me?”

“If Thérèse trusts you, there is a reason for it.”

Sade swiped his face. “So you intend on staying?”

“Yes. I have to.”

“I need you to leave tonight,
boudin
. I am asking you to leave tonight.”

Gérard took another swig of brandy. “I will leave once the Laroche’s family is safe.”

“Even knowing you may die?”

“Especially knowing it. I will not be the coward my father was and seek to only save myself.”

“Allow me to respond to your righteousness.” Sade jumped up and whip-lashed the cane against Gérard’s thigh so hard, Gérard felt as if the muscle in his leg had leeched out more than blood.

The flask clattered from Gérard’s hand, spraying everywhere. Choking on blinding pain that reminded him all too well of endless days in prison, Gérard jumped up and grabbed that cane with every riled beat of his heart.

Unsheathing the blade from within it, Gérard used his leather boot to shove Sade down against the seat. Angling the tip of the blade into the man’s chest just below his lace cravat, he bit out, “Do not think you can intimidate me. Unlike the rest of this godforsaken world, I will
always
do what is right.”

Sade grabbed the blade with his bare hand and turned it, spurting blood as the man whirled the blade back into his own gashed hand. He shoved Gérard back onto the seat with the bash of a shoulder and used the tip of the blade to now hold Gérard in place. “What is right can sometimes be wrong,” Sade bit out, blood leaching its way down his hand and sleeve. He leaned down and grabbed Gérard’s face with rigid fingers. “Do you understand?”

Gérard cringed in between disbelieving, ragged breaths. He paused, realizing he could feel Sade’s…erection digging into his outer thigh. “I said friends. Not lovers.”

Sade straightened and smacked him upside the head. “
That
is for making me gash my hand.”

Sitting down with a mutter, he swept the blade back into the cane and tossed its blood-slathered handle. Grabbing up the flask of brandy, Sade poured it onto the open slit of his wound with a loud hiss, then gulped the rest of the brandy with the tilt of his head. He whipped the flask at him. “Next time you rile me like that, you will no longer be a virgin.”

Gérard cleared his throat. “I will remember that.”

Sade methodically yanked off his cravat and wrapped the white lace hard around the wound, securing it tightly into place. “Doing the right thing is not always the best thing. I should know.” Shoving his hand into his pocket, he withdrew a lock of dark hair tied with a red ribbon. Wagging it at him, he kissed it and then shoved it back into his pocket. “A woman’s heart can only be tested so many times before it ceases to beat for you.”

Gérard shifted his jaw, slowly rubbing at the pinching, raw soreness of his thigh that still seared his skin from the blow Sade delivered. There was a measure of comfort in that pain. It meant he was still breathing. “Who was she?”

Sade averted his gaze to the night darkened window. “My wife.”

Astounded, Gérard leaned toward him. “You were married?”

“Still am. I preferred every last woman over her, and yet she haunts me the most.” That voice became detached. “She lives in a convent and will not see me. Like you, I have loved greatly, but
love
does not fucking keep the world from burning. In fact, sometimes, it becomes the very reason
why
everything burns. Remember that.”

Closing his eyes, Gérard eased out a breath knowing that although he was leaving his Thérèse behind, he would never let her go. Not until his soul and his body were dead.

Eleven days later – afternoon

Residence of Citoyen de Sade

“Cease panicking.” Sade angled in. “Have more faith in me as a teacher and as your friend. I promise you will be in control of how this ends. Now set those books aside so I may begin.”

Thérèse frantically pushed aside piles of obscene books from Sade’s desk to make room for the small silver tray he was holding. She patted the open space.

Setting the tray before her, Sade nudged it into place with a bandaged hand that covered a wound that had been threaded shut from ‘an accident’ he did not care to explain.

She refused to ask. She had a feeling a quarrel with a lover was at fault.

Leaning in, Sade tapped at the silver edge of the tray that displayed a beautiful array of over eighteen cinnamon-sprinkled sweets piled like a pyramid. He peered toward her, his dark, deeply set eyes becoming ominous. “These,
mon coeur
, are from my days of youth. When I used to truly have fun at the expense of every whore around me. They will ensure you remain in control of whatever this evening with Robespierre brings given you two will be alone. They are called ‘slumber cakes’. I am giving you a personal and full guarantee that with one cake, Robespierre will flop on the dock at whatever hour you clock. He will lose consciousness for at least three hours.”

Thérèse blinked. “Can I give him the whole tray?”

A maniacal laugh escaped him. “Now, now, before you get overly excited, understand that with these cakes come a measure of responsibility. Lesson one: it takes about twenty minutes for its effects to set in. Lesson two: if you offer any wine or cognac to go with one, it will take about eight minutes, instead of twenty. And yes, my little flea, I have counted. So keep an eye on that clock if you wish to stay out of trouble. Once he falls into unconsciousness, you have anywhere from about three to five hours of no movement. Aside from maybe some twitching.”

Nature certainly seemed to know women needed a bit of assistance when it came to dealing with men. Thérèse leaned in toward the tray and sniffed at the large, savory and honey-scented mounds, poking at what appeared to look like an ordinary sweet. “What is it made of? Is it any good?”

“It makes the soul melt. Which makes these incredibly dangerous.” He picked one up and shoved it entirely into his mouth, chewing it in between appreciative nods. “Some of the ingredients include: a ridiculous amount of poppy seeds that have to be well-measured lest it result in death, laudanum, a good dash of cantharide and aniseed. Together, it produces
delirium.
”

Leaning back, she cringed and pointed at his mouth. “Should you be…eating that?”

He grinned, still chewing. “Whilst darling of you to worry, I have grown rather tolerant. It takes eight of these to render this son of a bitch unconscious.” Still grinning, Sade yanked out a handkerchief with the snap of his wrist and dabbed at the corners of his mouth before tucking it away. “Lesson three and this is a rhyme easy to remember: serve one and he is done. Serve two or more and he will end up dead on the floor. So keep him away from eating more than one. Let me repeat that. One and only one. And ensure he eats the whole thing or you may end up with his cock between your thighs whether you want it or not.”

Certainly not good. Certainly not an option. “One and done. Anything more and he is dead on the floor.” She quirked a brow. “Do I get the recipe?”

Sade smirked. “Why? Do you plan on using it again?”

She set her chin. “Any man who dares come to my door will be served nothing but cake.”

He pointed at her with the tilt of a finger. “You are the best student I have had yet. All I ask is that you not kill them all.” He leaned in and pinched her cheek hard between fingers, making her wince. He pinched harder.

“
Ow
!” She smacked his hand hard to get him to stop. “Cease pinching me, you brute.”

His brows went up. Angling toward her, he smacked at her hand hard in return. “Now you.”

She paused, in between rubbing her stinging cheek and hand, realizing the man was getting overly excited. She pointed at him, missing his nose. “I am on to you.”

Catching his tongue between teeth, he met her gaze. “Playing with crops does not require penetration or nudity. Penetration of the anus, however,
does
make the pain worthwhile. Are you interested in either?”

At this rate, she was going to need to open up her own bakery full of ‘slumber cakes’ and sell them to every woman in Paris in order to liberate the female population from men. She plucked up said sweet from the tray, sidled closer to Sade and shoved the entire sweet into his mouth with the tap of dainty fingers. “If you ever ask to penetrate me again, I will ensure you eat the whole tray. Do we understand each other, Sade dearest?”

He chewed and enthusiastically nodded. “Perfectly.”

The chiming of the bell made them pause.

Swallowing the rest of the cake, he held up a wagging finger. “Allow me.” Striding out of the small parlor to the door in the foyer, he yanked open the door. He paused, as if astounded by what he saw. “These female callers of mine keep getting…
younger
. How might I help you, little one?”

An overly young girl’s voice struggled to convey a bit of French, “I am…
Mademoiselle
Madeleine. I am…looking…
Monseigneur de Andelot
.”

Thérèse’s eyes widened. Dearest God. The girl was looking for Gérard. Why was she—

Gathering her skirts, Thérèse hurried to the door, her breaths uneven. She stumbled in from behind Sade and almost shoved the man out of the way.

A prim young girl of about thirteen or maybe even fourteen, wearing an expensive lilac gown with a large white sash around her corseted waist, peered up at her from beneath a bonnet with a matching colored sash that framed a freckled, pale face with eager green eyes.