Tender the Storm (58 page)

"It was to be expected," said Tallien in a not unkindly tone. "You have nothing with which to reproach yourselves. No, gentlemen, it is not
Le Patron
who interests me. His influence is finished. He must have known it before he betrayed his own people. But this
Cache-Cache
fellow, the one who tried to murder me —I shall not rest until that young terrorist is found and executed."

"That is only a matter of time," answered Housard, and changed the subject with a smoothness which Rolfe inwardly applauded. "I wish my young colleague here could remain to assist us, but as you know, he must leave France with all speed."

"I do know it," said Tallien, rising to his feet and coming from behind his desk to extend his hand to Rolfe. His eyes were twinkling.
"A most unusual assignment for you, eh, Ronsard?
And a most uncommon obligation for me —to thank an enemy for his aid to France.
Theresia will miss Zoë. She's very fond of your . . . the girl. Please convey my compliments to her."

Rolfe murmured something suitable if vague, and Tallien continued in the same jocular tone, "It's as well that you did not kill young Tresier, else you would have placed me in a very awkward position." He laughed, and Rolfe managed to look shamefaced. "Oh yes, I know about the duel," he said. "Good God, man, you've quite restored my faith in the English character! I thought you were a cold-blooded race!"

Shaking his head, laughing softly to himself, he returned to his desk. "And now, gentlemen," he said, lacing his fingers and resting his hands on the flat of the desk, "time is short. Shall we get down to business?"

*
   
 
*
   
 
*

The other gentleman who was party to that duel was, at that very moment, talking the stairs which led to his rooms two at a time. He had spent hours looking all over the city for Paul Varlet. But that gentleman was nowhere to be found. And since it occurred to Tresier that Rose might have heard something of the duel and become anxious for him, he had given up the search.

Rose heard the click of the latch as he entered, and she sprang to her feet, spinning to face him.

"Jean," she said, "It's all right. You don't have to go through with the duel. You can snap your fingers at Paul Varlet. She's given me gold and passports.
D'you
see
? We don't have to stay in Paris. We're free. We can go anywhere you want to go."

She knew that she was babbling and that she wasn't making sense, but she could not seem to stop herself. "We can go to America.
New Orleans, perhaps.
There are always merchant ships in the harbor at Bordeaux. Zoë said so. We should have no difficulty in booking
— "

"Rose!" Tresier reached her in two swift strides. His eyes anxiously scanned her paper-white face. She was quivering like a wild thing caught in a trap. "Rose," he said again. "What is it, my love?"

"The duel," she whispered brokenly. "It isn't necessary for you to go through with it. Oh God, promise me you won't go through with it!"

"Too late," he said, smiling. "I already have."

Her eyelashes fluttered and she swayed against him. "No!" she sobbed. "No! Do not say so! Do not say you killed him!"

"What the devil . . . ?" Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the small sofa beside the win
dow. He sat down, cradling her against his chest.

"Look at me, Rose."

Her eyelashes were spiked with tears. Slowly, they lifted.

"Everything is all right. I could not go through with it. I might easily have killed him. I did not. I could not. I am more my father's son that I knew I was. And do you know —the most extraordinary thing—I've taken a liking to Ronsard? We parted the best of friends."

If he thought to win her to smiles, he was to be disappointed. A great shuddering sob wracked her shoulders, and, as if a dam had burst, the tears overflowed.

For several minutes, he did nothing but
hold
her and soothe her with soft words and gentle touches, stroking his hands through her hair and down her spine to her waist. When it was evident that the storm had run its course, he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Now, what is all this about gold and passports and going to America? You are not making sense, Rose."

It took some time to get the story out of her. Haltingly at first, and then with growing confidence, she began to relate that morning's events.

On her own initiative, she had gone to see Zoë, she told him.

"For what purpose?" he asked.

"To try to stop the duel.
How could we know that it was already in progress?"

"Go on."

Her eyes dropped to her clenched hands. Zoë Devereux, she was thinking, was not as she had imagined the girl would be. She was beautiful. She
was wealthy. She moved in the highest reaches of Parisian society. She had refused two honorable offers of marriage and had taken an old man for her lover.

Such a woman, Rose was sure, must be voluptuous to the point of vulgarity and would be a calculating bitch. Zoë Devereux was none of those things. She was simply a warmhearted girl who had tactfully if determinedly elicited from Rose the whole story of her relationship with Tresier. And Rose had felt as if a burden had lifted from her shoulders.

"She's in love with Ronsard, you know," said Rose. "She was just as eager as I to find a way to stop the duel."

"And did you think of a way?" asked Tresier in some amusement.

"Zoë was going to approach Charles Lagrange to have him use his influence to stop the duel."

Tresier stifled a smile, but he could not prevent himself pointing out that Charles Lagrange had been one of Ronsard's seconds. "Go on with your story," he said.

Having some confidence that the duel would never take place, Zoë then turned to the problem of Rose's future with Tresier.

More sternly than he meant, Tresier said, "And I suppose you told Zoë that we had sometimes talked of going to America if only we have the funds to establish ourselves there?"

"No . . . yes." Her eyes slid away from his. "I didn't mean to. It just seemed to come out naturally in the course of the conversation. It was Zoë who introduced the subject of America."

"In what connection?"

"Something to do with her sister Claire.
And that's
when I told her that we had talked of going to America to start a new life."

"And she promised to get hold of passports and gold to buy me off?"

"It was nothing like that! Zoë said that it was the hand of Fate."

"The hand of Fate?
What was the hand of Fate?"

Wordlessly, she struggled free of his arms and moved to a commode against the window wall. She lifted the lid and looked back at him.

Tresier rose to his feet and obediently answered that silent invitation. "What's this?" he said, peering into the depths of the commode. He extracted two official-looking documents. Beneath them he found a small leather grip. It was so
heavy,
it took both hands to lift it out. Inside were hundreds of gold pieces.

"It's the loan she promised you," said Rose earnestly. "She was going to invest it elsewhere. But this very morning, she discovered that the opportunity for doing so was no longer there."

Bewildered, Tresier asked, "And the passports? Where did they come from?"

"She had them there with her. The people for whom they were meant no longer have need of them. She said so."

Passports and gold —there was an interesting story here, Tresier was thinking
,
if he cared to pursue it.

"She said it was the hand of Fate," said Rose, studying his closed expression.

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Rose's eyes were alight with hope. Her thoughts were transparent. The passports and the gold represented a solid foundation for their life together. They could marry. They could start afresh.

"We could stay in France," he said.

She shook her head. "No. Let's not tempt Fate. This was meant to be. Don't you see?"

She was so intense, so much on edge, as if her life was hanging in the balance. For a moment, he closed his eyes, searching for the words that would forever banish that uncertain look from her face. He had done this to her. She loved him and he had taken everything she had to offer. God, Rose deserved so much better than what he had given her.

A pain seemed to lodge itself in his chest. He had taken her love, her innocence, her honor, with callous indifference. He had made her his mistress. In return, he had given her nothing which was of any significance to her. She had no desire to move in his exalted circles. Fine gowns and baubles held little interest for her. Her ambitions were modest, and oh God —he could see it now—so much finer than his own.

He had to swallow before he could find his voice. Softly, as humble as she had ever seen him, he said, "I don't care about the gold. I don't care about the passports. If you want to keep them, fine, we'll go to America. If you want to give them back, fine, we shall remain in France. It's you I care about, Rose, you and our child.

'Just as soon as I can arrange it we are going to be married. No, don't say anything yet. Let me finish. I've been giving this a lot of thought. My father had very humble beginnings, did you know? He started off as a clerk. I've had things too easy. I see that now. But I swear to you, from this moment on, I am going to follow in the Tresier tradition. I don't care if I start off as a clerk, or a farmer, or whatever. I'm go
ing to make my own way in the world. And one day I hope to make you proud of me."

Though her throat ached with tears, she managed to get out, "Oh my darling, I'm proud of you now. I'm proud to be carrying your child. I shall be proud to be your wife. And if you let me, I'll be proud to follow in the Tresier tradition."

She was in his arms and they were both laughing and crying at the same time. And then the laughter left them as they became lost in each other and the miracle of their love.

Much later, he asked softly, "What are you thinking about?"