Surrender to a Stranger (15 page)

With a little sigh she retired behind the screen to tie the pillow around her waist. She emerged a few minutes later, her slender shape totally transformed by the round swell of the pillow.

“Well?” she demanded. Something in the intense way he was staring at her made her uncomfortable.

“Remember not to move too quickly,” he instructed her. “The extra weight you carry is heavy and cumbersome. Your movements must reflect that.”

Thinking back to the memory of her mother’s swollen shape when she was pregnant with Séraphine, Jacqueline arched her back and slowly padded across the room.

“Much better,” Citizen Julien commented. “Your name is Thérèse Poitier. You are nineteen years old and you are expecting your third child. I am your husband, Jean. We have spent the day in Paris trying to sell what little is left of our turnips and potatoes. Now we are headed home. I have traveling documents for both of us. You will not speak to the guards when we are stopped, unless you are asked something directly. Is that clear?” he demanded.

She nodded, wondering how far it was to the city gates from here. She had to get away from him before they were near any guards.

“Good.” He opened the door for her. “After you, wife.”

Justin was in the kitchen packing food into a basket. As Jacqueline walked in he stopped what he was doing and stared at her in disbelief. “You really are a woman,” he stammered in amazement.

“Of course I am a woman,” she snapped, somewhat insulted that her previous disguise had been quite so convincing. She was used to men being overwhelmed by her feminine beauty when she walked into a room, not gaping at her as if she was some kind of freak.

Citizen Julien tossed her an old cloak and shawl. “Put those on,” he ordered. He shrugged into a tattered blue overcoat and shoved a heavy pistol into the waistband of his trousers. Then he turned to Justin.

“My friend, I am indebted to you for your assistance,” he said, his voice low and serious.

“Never,” replied Justin as he reached out and gripped Citizen Julien’s shoulder. “It is I who will forever be indebted to you.” The words were heavy with emotion.

They stared at each other a moment, a hard, intense look that spoke of some secret understanding, of some bond that united them in their game of danger and intrigue. If Justin was ever suspected of helping an escaped prisoner, he would be executed. Jacqueline found herself wondering what it was that drove him to risk his life to assist Citizen Julien. Perhaps it was money, but somehow she did not think so. She reflected on how angry Citizen Julien had been when she told him that Justin had lied.
Don’t ever lie to me about someone I trust,
he had told her. Given the dangers inherent in his line of work, trust was not something to be treated lightly. It was a matter of life and death. These men obviously shared some experience that had earned that trust. Suddenly Jacqueline felt deeply ashamed for having accused Justin of lying.

“The cart is out in the back,” Justin was saying as he handed Citizen Julien the heavy basket he had packed. He turned to Jacqueline. “I wish you a safe journey, Citizeness.” He bent low and kissed her hand, an act of gallantry that had all but disappeared under the new Republic. Such courtesies were considered courtly and therefore suspect.

“Thank you, Citizen Justin,” she replied. “Your good wishes for my welfare are greatly appreciated.” Regardless of whether I am on my way to England or not, she added to herself.

“Come, Mademoiselle,” said Citizen Julien. He swept into a low, mocking bow and gestured grandly toward the door. “Your carriage awaits.”

She followed him outside into the yard. The leaden sky was shadowed with dark clouds, casting a pall over what little remained of the day. An ancient gray horse with bony ribs and a scruffy winter coat stood patiently waiting in front of a rough farmer’s cart. Jacqueline could see that the cart was about one third filled with decrepit baskets of moldering turnips and potatoes.

Citizen Julien walked around to the other side of the cart, placed the basket inside, and climbed up onto the seat. He grabbed hold of the reins and looked at her.

“Are you coming?” he demanded abruptly.

She looked at him incredulously. “Are you not going to help me get up?” she asked.

“You are Thérèse Poitier,” he reminded her. “You do not require assistance.”

She stamped her foot on the ground. “I am practically nine months gone with child,” she pointed out indignantly. “Any gentleman would offer his assistance, and I would certainly expect no less from my husband.”

He shrugged his shoulders and spat on the ground. “Your husband is a peasant farmer, not a gentleman. And he expects you to get yourself on this cart. Now.”

With a little huff of annoyance she walked over and awkwardly hoisted herself up onto the cart.

“That’s better,” he remarked. “Now listen to me, Mademoiselle. From this moment until we reach Boulogne you will act exactly as you would if you were Thérèse Poitier, is that clear?” he demanded.

“Perfectly,” she replied, reminding herself that it would only be a short while before she was free of him.

“Good.” He snapped the reins and they began to move slowly down the lane.

For the next while neither of them spoke. Jacqueline focused her thoughts on finding the right moment for her escape from Citizen Julien, but an opportunity did not present itself. The cart moved slowly through the streets, not attracting any attention whatsoever. She knew that if she jumped off the cart and began to run, Citizen Julien would simply stop the cart and run after her, so that was not an effective plan. She considered asking him to stop so she might look after her personal needs, but since they were in the midst of the city and the streets were crowded with people, that hardly seemed like a credible request.

Before she knew it they were approaching the gate. Already about a dozen carts were lined up to pass through. Several soldiers of the National Guard were performing inspections under the watchful eye of their sergeant. They questioned the men and women driving the carts, examined their loads, and usually demanded that a cask or crate be opened or a basket overturned so they could make sure nothing and no one was being smuggled out. The sight of them made Jacqueline experience a fresh wave of fear. What if she changed her mind, and decided not to stay and kill Nicolas? What if she chose to give up the fight and to flee with Citizen Julien to a new life in England? And what if, after making that decision, she was caught at the gate and arrested? She would be returned to the Conciergerie and guillotined tomorrow. Nicolas would be informed of her arrest and would undoubtedly visit her tonight, anxious to finally slake his lust for her before she was removed from his power forever. She would be degraded and then executed, and Nicolas would be left to live. The idea was intolerable. Panic began to grip her. She could not risk discovery. She could not pass through that gate.

“Citizen Julien,” she whispered frantically as she turned to him.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped between clenched teeth. He fought to keep his self-control. If this little idiot made that mistake when a soldier was near, it would cost both of them their lives. He should have smuggled her out hidden in something, preferably bound and gagged.

“Jean,” she began again tentatively, realizing her mistake.

He looked at her. She seemed extremely agitated, and he realized she was terrified of being discovered as they went through the gate. He was surprised by this sudden show of fear; it seemed incongruous with the courage and daring she had exhibited thus far on their escape. But of course she was a woman, and perhaps underneath her adopted bravado and moments of instinctive defense she was just as helpless and vulnerable as most women. Once again he found himself wondering what she would have been like in another time and place, before the terror and bloodshed of the revolution had torn her from the sheltered walls of her château. He reached out and took her slender hand in his. Her thin fingers were chilled to the bone. He cursed himself for not having thought to supply her with a warm pair of gloves.

“Fear not, Mademoiselle,” he said in a whisper meant only for her ears. “If we play our parts right, we will get through. Have faith.” He gave her hand a little squeeze.

She shook her head and yanked her hand away from his. “I am not going through,” she told him abruptly. “I cannot leave Paris.” She quickly moved to step down from the cart before any of the guards noticed her, knowing he would not risk a scene so close to the gate by trying to stop her.

She was wrong. His hand shot out and snaked around her wrist, yanking her back into her seat.

“You are not going anywhere,” he informed her brusquely, anger rising within him as he hauled her up against his side and crushed his arm around her. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that what he saw in those luminous gray eyes was fear? This little aristo was too damned stupid to be afraid of anything, except not getting a chance to murder a man who would probably throw her to the ground and toss her skirts up over her head before she knew what she was about.

She struggled to remove his arm from around her waist. “Let me go,” she bit out. “It is not up to you to decide what I do with my life.” She tried to pry his fingers off of her, but his grip remained strong and sure.

“You would not have a life at this moment were it not for me,” he grated out savagely. “So sit still and shut up before you get us both arrested. Unlike you, I am not quite ready to die.” He squeezed his arm around her so tightly she could barely breathe, much less break free and disappear into the evening light.

“You have no right to force me,” she blazed as she punched him hard in the side of his ribs. The knuckles in her fist crashed into a rock-hard wall of muscle and bone, sending a streak of pain up her arm.

His other hand dropped the reins and reached up to roughly grab her face. “One more move like that and I’ll—”

“No, no, I beg of you, this is all a mistake!” The desperate cry cut through the air and distracted him from completing his threat.

His arm still clamped firmly around her, they ceased their struggle to look up and see what was happening.

An elderly man whose cart was being searched stood wringing his hands beside one of the guards, who had evidently discovered something in one of the wine casks he had opened.

“Come out of there now,” snapped the sergeant into the darkness of the cask.

Everyone watched as a young man crawled out of the opening and stood defiantly before the guard.

“Well now, my friend, would you like to explain why you choose to travel in a wine cask?” drawled the sergeant sarcastically.

The man shrugged. “I rather liked the peace and quiet of it,” he answered flippantly.

“That is lucky for you,” said the sergeant, unimpressed by his evident calm. “Since I can almost guarantee that soon you will have all the peace and quiet in the world.”

The man acknowledged the threat with a small bow of his head. “The driver was unaware of my presence,” he informed the sergeant. “He is a loyal citizen of the Republic and should not be charged.”

The sergeant nodded to two other soldiers, who left the carts they were inspecting and enthusiastically took hold of the old man. “His innocence must be proven,” said the sergeant. “Until then he is also under arrest. Take them away.” He turned to the remaining guard. “Get an ax and chop up the remaining casks,” he ordered.

“No!” cried both the prisoners in unison.

The sergeant looked at them and smiled with satisfaction. “Would you like to tell me which other casks to look in?” he suggested pleasantly.

His face stricken, the young man stepped forward and moved several casks out of the way before opening one that was situated in the middle of the cart.

“It’s all right, my sweet,” he said gently into the dark hole. “Come on out.” He reached his hand in to offer assistance.

A frightened young woman in her early twenties emerged from the black cavern. The man wrapped his arms around her protectively as she sank against him and buried her face in his chest. “It will be all right,” he murmured soothingly. “Trust in God and try to be brave.”

“There is no God anymore, Citizen,” laughed the sergeant, “or hadn’t you heard?” He spat on the ground. “Take them away.”

Jacqueline watched as the woman turned in her husband’s arms. Her delicately chiseled face was white with terror and sorrow. She knew there was no escape. They had tried, and they had failed. She looked up at her husband and managed a small smile. Jacqueline felt a tightening in her chest that cut off her ability to breathe. She knew their moments together were at an end. They would be separated and imprisoned, and then they would be executed. It was that simple.

“You must do something,” she whispered urgently to Citizen Julien.

He watched the pathetic little party being led away by the soldiers, anger and frustration churning within him. Yet he managed to keep his expression perfectly neutral, as if the incident was not his concern and therefore of no interest to him.

“What would you have me do, Mademoiselle?” he whispered harshly. “Shall I go over and have a word with the sergeant and tell him that he has made a mistake? Shall I barter with him, and offer him you in exchange for them? Or do you think I should race in, kill all the guards and everyone watching, and then ride away to freedom with four escaped prisoners in tow?” He turned to look at her. “Which plan do you think will succeed?” he drawled sarcastically.

“We cannot just sit back and watch!” she protested with helpless fury. “They are going to die!”

“Yes,” he agreed. “They are. And there is nothing we can do.” His arm tightened around her, effectively pinning her against the hard length of his side. “But like it or not, you are going to live, Mademoiselle, so keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.” He snapped the reins against the old horse’s rump and the cart jolted forward to take its place in the line.

It was fear that made her obey him, rather than any change in her desire to stay and kill Nicolas. The sight of those people being arrested stunned her into a temporary state of submission. She realized she had waited too long to escape from Citizen Julien. She could not make any move here that might attract the attention of the soldiers. She wanted to kill Nicolas more than ever, but to do so she had to stay alive and out of prison.