Lady Scandal (24 page)

They stepped out into a dark ally, and
Alexandria wrinkled her nose against the stench of refuse.
Paxten
glanced both ways and started towards the glimmer of sea visible
from their left.

Following him, Alexandria winced as she
stubbed her toe on a loose cobblestone.
Wet chilled her feet.
She
wished now for shoes.
Her dress hung loose on her, and she
struggled to pull the laces at the back tighter and tie them.
Diana
had managed to get hers done, but her black hair streamed out
behind her, tangled as a Gypsy child's.

At the end of the alley,
Paxten hesitated.
He glanced both ways along the street that
fronted the inn before leaning close to Alexandria.
"No matter
what, keep walking to the quay.
We're to sail on the
Mouiller
."

Mouth dry, Alexandria nodded.
Her legs
seemed not to have any strength, as if made from soggy pastry.
And
her body ached in odd places.
Had it been only moments ago that she
lay in Paxten's arms, satisfied and warm?

She shivered now, the damp mist from the sea
wrapping around her.

Paxten's hand rested on the small of her
back.
He stepped into the street, urging her and Diana forward.
They had taken only a few steps when the words thundered out.

"
Arrêter-les!
"

Next to her, Paxten tensed, and he
whispered, "Run—now!"

He shoved her forward and whirled, his shirt
loose and billowing around him.
Boot heels clattered on
cobblestones, men shouted, and dark forms loomed in the shadowed
night.

Alexandria glanced at Diana.
"Run for the
quay.
Hurry!"

The girl shook her head, as unwilling to
leave as Alexandria.

There was no further time to hesitate—or to
flee.

Paxten lunged at the first soldier who
reached them.
Alexandria choked back a cry, but Paxten grabbed hold
of the man's musket with one hand, jerked hard, and caught the man
a blow with his other arm.
The solider went down with a grunt, and
Paxten swung the musket up and around like a club at the
others.

He glanced at Alexandria again and shouted
in English.
"Go on!"

Swallowing hard, Alexandria grabbed Diana's
hand.
Fear pounded in her, urging her to escape.
She stood,
trembling, heart pounding, Diana's cold hand gripped in her own.
But she could not do it—she could not leave Paxten to face this
alone.
She could not put herself, or even Diana, before all else.
She stood, watching, shaking, her pulse pounding.

More soldiers poured from the inn, their
boots also pounding on the cobblestones.
There had to be a
half-dozen of them at the least.
Light glinted off a raised musket.
Letting go of Diana, Alexandria threw herself at Paxten, knocking
him down as something rushed past them and the sharp echo of a
report filled the night.
A musket ball.
A near miss.
Too near.

Before she could think, someone had hold of
her arms.
Struggling, she was dragged to her feet.

Two other soldiers had hold of Diana and the
rest crowded over Paxten their muskets pointed at him as he lay on
the cobblestones.
The soldier whom Paxten had struck rose.
With a
snarl, he slammed a booted foot into Paxten's side.

Teeth and eyes clenched, Paxten rolled and
clutched at his side.

Alexandria let out a cry and struggled to go
to him.
"Stop that—you, you ruffian!" She realized she had spoken
in English.
They would not understand.
She tugged on her arms, but
strong hands held her.
What was the French for ruffian?
Or to let
go?

Frustration welled in her and she kicked at
one man, her bare foot slapping against boot leather and doing
nothing more.

Sharp words in French from someone—someone
in command it sounded—made her twist.
In the darkness, she could
see nothing more than another dark silhouette, this one taller than
the others, and starlight glinting on gold braid.

The soldiers pulled Paxten to his feet and
started to drag them all back to the inn.

Fear tight inside, Alexandria glanced at
Paxten.
He hung slumped between the two burly soldiers who held
him, his steps stumbling.
His shirt fluttered open and she glimpsed
the dark stain spreading across the white bandages.
That vicious
kick had started him bleeding again.

She twisted again, trying to free herself.
Rough hands pushed her into the inn.
She tried to turn, to protest,
but found herself thrust into the taproom.
She staggered, and found
herself freed.
Rubbing her wrists, she glanced around, her heart
beating too fast and the sweat cold on her skin.

A lantern sat on the mantle above the unlit
fireplace.
The room had but one small window, set high.
A moment
later, two more soldiers pushed Diana into the room.
The girl spun
on her heel, spitting out a vicious flow of words in French.

The soldiers grinned at her, and stepped
back.

Diana pulled in a breath, and Alexandria
stiffened, as the captain who had stopped them on the road strode
into the room.
Captain Taliaris.
Alexandria remembered the name
now.
He said something to his men; they nodded and shut the door
behind him.

Wetting her lips, Alexandria asked in her
basic French, "Where is our friend?"

He glanced from her to Diana, and strode
forward.
Reaching out, he touched a hand to Diana's black hair.
She
lifted her chin and glared at him.

With his English heavily
accented, he said, "No wonder we could not find
la belle mademoiselle
.
Mademoiselle
Edgcot is it not?
And you—" He turned toward Alexandria.
"Lady
Sandal?
You pick a bad companion for traveling, milady."

Alexandria lifted her eyebrows and replied,
her tone icy, "How do you come by our names?" It flashed into her
mind how he might have, and her hands clenched into fists.
"Marie-Jeanne—what did you do to her?"

His mouth thinned.
"Your maid?
Do you think
the army has also the methods Fouche's police once used to sniff
out aristos trying to flee justice?
She and your footmen and
coachman have been detained.
But, after this, I see no reason to
keep them any longer under arrest."

Alexandria stepped closer to Diana.
"And
what is to become of us?
And...and our traveling companion?"

His eyes darkened.
"Marsett?
To recognize
that cur is a little more easy than mademoiselle here.
But it is a
pity the shot at him in Paris did not hit more accurate and save us
all this trouble."

His stare traveled over them then, and
awareness of her disheveled state washed over Alexandria.
Her gown
must be rumpled, and her bare toes showed from under her limp
skirts.
Her hair hung down in a tangle, and she had neither gloves
nor shawl nor bonnet to make her respectable.

Diana looked no better.

And she knew had the scent of Paxten's on
her skin—and the scent of their time together.

She flushed as Taliaris's stare swept over
her, all too knowing, and touched by pity.

"I must beg your pardon that we did not
rescue you in time from this Marsett."

Incensed, Alexandria
stiffened.
"In time?
Rescue!
Do you imply, Captain Taliaris, that
either my niece, or my person, has been compromised in some
fashion?
I shall have you know, sir, that our state of undress owes
more to the rude awakening by your men than to anything done by Mr.
Marsett.
And as to rescue, I should call
this
abduction and assault!
Mr.
Marsett has been a...well, not a complete gentleman, but certainly
I know him to be honorable, and quite incapable of the crime for
which he has been found guilty without trial!"

Taliaris listened to her, his expression
unmoved.
"He will be tried.
And shot at dawn.
And you will return
to Paris under escort."

With a curt bow, he turned and left.

Diana let out a gasp and ran to the door.
She pulled it open only to stare into two, rock-faced sentries,
their muskets resting at their sides.

Glaring at them, Diana said in stuttering
French, "Stand aside.
I want to see Captain Taliaris."

They did not so much as look at her.
She
thought about trying to push between them, but they looked far too
stocky to be easily moved.

With a muffled curse, she slammed the door
and turned back to her aunt.
"What do we do now?"

Her aunt moved to a wooden bench and sat
down.
Shoulders hunched, she rubbed at her forehead.
The poor dear
looked exhausted, with shadows under her eyes.
Her hand shook
slightly.
"I do not know.
I do not know."

Diana frowned.
Someone had to do something.
She opened the door and told the guards, "I wish for a hairbrush,
hot tea, hot water, and clean cloths.
And if one of you does not go
to fetch these at once, I shall start to scream and I will not stop
until they arrive."

Folding her arms, she waited.
The guard on
the left slid a glance to the one on the right.

Diana's eyes narrowed.
"You have until the
count of three.
One...."

This time the guard on the right frowned at
her.
She did not care.
What would they do?
Strike her?
Shoot her?
She doubted that their captain—cruel as he seemed—would allow such
utterly despicable behavior.
He had, after all, stopped his men
from pillaging their luggage.
Still, she risked a great deal.
But
she could not just sit down and cry—she would do that later.

"Two...." she said, still counting in French
and scowling to make her voice firm.

This time the guard on the left growled at
her, "Get back inside."

"I shall, once I have my tea, and hairbrush,
and hot water, and cloths.
Three!" Pulling in a deep breath, she
opened her mouth.
A thick-fingered, grubby hand slapped across it.
She drove her teeth into the fleshy fingers, the man yelped.
She
started to scream.

The shorter guard cursed her, the other
lifted a hand as if to slap her, and the captain strode into the
hall, demanding, "What is this?"

The guard dropped his hand and French flowed
from the man as he stammered an explanation.
The captain gestured
for the guards to step aside, and as he loomed before her, Diana
paused in her scream.
A tremor fluttered through her.

He did not look a happy man.

However, she was not pleased just now
either.
She put up her chin and met his hard stare.
"What sort of
officers do you have in France that you keep two gently bred ladies
in a taproom without so much as an offer to see to our needs.
I
asked for simple things—hot water, hot tea, and a hairbrush.
And I
am treated as if I were no more than a maid at this inn who can be
ignored!"

The captain's mouth edged up at one corner,
and he answered her in French.
"I did not know English ladies could
scream like fishwives."

"I can assure you, I can scream much louder
than that!"

His mouth edged up a little more and
admiration warmed his eyes.

A treacherous softening eased into Diana.
She had to remind herself that no matter how handsome he could be
when he smiled, he was the enemy.

He nodded at the shorter guard, and the man
left.
The captain turned back to Diana.
"Is there anything else I
may do for you?"

"Yes—give us our freedom, and allow Mr.
Marsett to leave with us."

His smile vanished again into a cold, hard
face.
"I cannot.
Besides, such a devil is not worthy of your
concern.
But I give you my word that you and your aunt will not
come to harm."

She bit her lower lip, and then she said,
her voice low, "And how can I trust the word of a man who would
shoot an innocent gentleman?"

He stiffened.
"How is it that this Marsett
can make everyone think he has such virtue?
If you knew that—"

"What?
That he stands accused of rape by a
woman whose own virtue I sincerely suspect?"

For a moment he said nothing.
Mouth
tightening, he shook his head, and said, "You're a child.
You know
nothing."

"And you are a fool!
You
know nothing if you
think Madam D'Aeth anything like a lady!"

He glared at her, and she wondered if he
would strike her.
He looked as if he might.
His eyes had darkened
and his fists clenched.
He leaned forward as if to intimidate
her.

But the guard hurried back with a wide-eyed
maid who carried a wooden tray piled with Diana's requests.
The
captain stepped back; the maid bobbed a curtsy and hurried into the
room.

The guards would not allow the maid
to linger, but ushered her out.
Diana thought of perhaps opening
the door again and dashing the hot tea into the guards' faces.
She
and her aunt could escape then.
But what of Mr.
Marsett?
They did
not know where he was, and how could they leave him
behind?