Under a Stern Reign (18 page)

Genevieve felt as though her heart was exploding. Nothing seemed real. She ran to help, terrified of the man on top of Rodolfo and what he might do. They were wrestling. The driver was overweight but he was hurting her man, pounding him with punches to the back of his head. She screamed.

‘Be quiet!' Rodolfo gasped from under the man. ‘Hit him with something!' Panicking, Genevieve tried to grab the man by the shoulders and wrestle him off Rodolfo. The wounded revolutionary, lying nearby clutching his chest, stared at her in disbelief.

‘Fuck...' he muttered, distracting Rodolfo's assailant, and in that instant the dagger struck again. The assailant cursed and rolled to the side, and Rodolfo struggled up and kicked the man in the stomach, making him groan again and curl up defensively.

Rodolfo stared at the man on his back, his face contorted in agony as he held his wounded chest. ‘Don't hurt me please, sir,' he begged, a terrified smile making him grimace.

Rodolfo bent over the body of the dead one and hurriedly hauled off his boots, breeches, shirt, topcoat and hat, and threw them into the nearest wagon.

‘Get up!' he ordered Genevieve, pushing her into the back and throwing the clothes at her. ‘Put these on,' he told her.

The overweight driver rolled onto his side, clutching his wounded shoulder, and watched Rodolfo as he clambered onto the wagon and lashed at the horses. ‘Stop them!' he yelled. ‘Someone, they're getting away!'

The horses broke into an immediate gallop and the wagon lurched away down the drive.

‘D-did you see her?' the man with the chest wound groaned to his overweight associate.

‘I did,' the driver muttered, checking the damage to his shoulder and realising it was not much more than a bad cut. ‘Aye, I did, and I'll fuck the slut harder than she's ever been fucked when we catch them... the bastards.'

‘I - I don't think I'll have the chance to,' the man with the chest wound gasped, and then coughed. ‘I'm not going to make it. Just be sure to fuck that cute little arse of hers for me, if...'

 

 

 

Elise awoke to an unpleasantly acrid smell and numbness in her left cheek. She blinked a few times and yawned, wincing as she felt a sudden pain in her jaw. She touched it tentatively, making her wince again.

Curiously she was draped in a thick woollen cloak. It felt itchy and she scratched her arms a few times. She tried to sit up but gasped in surprise, for she was lying on stone slabs, cold and abrasive. Her fingers grasped rough straw, and her left buttock and thigh were as numb as her cheek.

Beneath the cloak she was almost naked, only covered by one of her white shifts, which was now grimy and stained.

‘Get her up!' a gruff voice ordered.

Straw clung to her black hair, which hung loosely around her shoulders. She brushed at it, about to turn over, but there were footsteps coming towards her. Two stocky men approached and lifted her onto her unsteady feet.

‘Gently!' the voice commanded, and she shook them off determinedly. ‘Leave her!' The voice added.

Elise looked around. She was in a dingy, damp cell, and it was cold. Beneath a small barred window, from which dull grey daylight seeped, there was a chair and a desk, behind which hulked a man, another beside him with his back against the wall.

‘Come here,' the man behind the desk beckoned. They were both sullen, a fresh-looking scar marking the cheek of one who spoke to her. She moved to the desk, feeling chilly, her thighs and shoulders aching. ‘Take a seat,' he ordered. ‘I've been waiting for you to wake up, Elise de Tranville. You've had a long sleep. Have a drink.'

There was a bowl of water on the desk in front of her, so she sat on the vacant chair and drank thirstily.

‘I have some bad news for you, and some good news,' the man behind the desk went on. He held a riding-crop and swished it casually through the air. ‘Which would you prefer first?'

Elise stared at him. He was a tall man with grey hair. He had sharp features and a long nose, his complexion slightly pockmarked. His eyes were dull, lifeless. She glanced at the crop. It was Count de Tranville's.

‘Well, the bad news first, I suppose,' he answered for her, smiling, his teeth looking sharp, like those of a rat. ‘Bad news for you, at least, but not for the revolution.'

‘What is it?' Elise snapped impatiently. Her head hurt.

‘Your stepfather is dead.'

She stared at him coldly. He rubbed his nose with a bony finger and gazed at her coolly.

‘He died of the wound inflicted by Rodolfo de Agora before our surgeons could do anything to help him.' The man smiled and looked down. ‘And before he could be tried for his treachery.'

Elise's eyes watered slightly; she did not want to cry in front of this loathsome creature.

‘That was a nasty knock you received,' the man went on, watching her closely. ‘You've been unconscious for over a day. I'm sorry my men were a little boisterous, but they couldn't afford to put themselves at risk. You understand, I'm sure.'

‘Where are they?' Elise asked, feeling sick at the realisation that her stepfather was dead. ‘Where are Rodolfo and Genevieve?'

‘Ah,' the man sighed. ‘Now, that is a very good question. One that I was hoping you could help me with.'

Elise stared at him blankly. What was he planning to do to her?

‘But first that piece of good news I promised you.' He smiled in a way that disconcerted Elise. ‘It seems you have a friend in a high place who thinks very highly of you. A certain Madame Coubette. According to her, you are an ardent supporter of the revolution and you are willing to assist us in any way you can.'

He looked at Elise quizzically, and she felt compelled to lower her eyes.

‘She has requested that no harm come to you,' he continued. ‘She wants to take you home to help you recover, but I need to keep you here for questioning,' he smiled in a way that made her shudder, ‘for a while, at least.'

Elise remained silent.

‘You're very lucky, you know,' he went on. ‘If it wasn't for her insistence on your revolutionary ideals, you would not only be sharing the same fate as all other aristocrats, but I would make your punishment a matter of personal pleasure.' He slammed the crop down on the table with a loud snap, making Elise flinch where she sat. He chuckled, bending the crop in his hands, smirking through his sharp teeth. ‘What a strange bunch you aristocrats are,' he sniggered, staring at her coldly.

Elise noted tightness setting into his jaw. She felt warmth filling her cheeks, a tingling in her nipples, but she stoically fixed her eyes on his. ‘If Madame Coubette, your high-placed friend, has expressed a wish for me not to be harmed,' she said, as calmly as she could manage, ‘I would suggest you do as she says.'

The man remained silent, but still the inquisitor's glaring eyes did not flicker from her face, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity with which his fingers gripped the crop, the implement forming a slim leather arc between his two fists, and she wondered at the wisdom of goading him. He was clearly very volatile and very dangerous.

‘Monsieur Coubette and his wife have been very generous and very useful to me,' he said, so quietly Elise could barely hear him. But there was menace in his cold tone. ‘He has donated considerable funds to our cause, and she has extended numerous services of all kinds. However, I am the head of Rency's revolutionary committee, and let me warn you that if you provoke me I shall whip you like a cur, regardless of what our bourgeois friends request.'

The man was in control again. Elise's cloak had slipped open slightly, and he casually glanced down a little, blatantly admiring the upper slopes of her creamy breasts and the beckoning shadows of her deep cleavage. He drew his tongue pensively over his upper lip and looked back up into her eyes. He was mocking her again.

‘While you have been sleeping,' he went on, ‘Madame Coubette and I have been discussing you at length. You, and your future.' Elise thought it wise to remain silent. Perhaps she shouldn't push him too much too soon.

‘What do you know about this man Rodolfo?' he asked sharply.

‘He is Portuguese,' Elise told him without compunction; she felt nothing but loathing towards the man who had murdered her stepfather, and would rejoice on the imminent day when the guillotine took his head. ‘He is a man of leisure, an aristocrat. He was planning to take my stepfather and me to Portugal. I didn't want to go, of course.'

‘Where is he now?'

‘I expect he's making his way out of the country, as planned.' Elise shrugged. ‘He may have already parted with Genevieve, to save his own worthless skin.'

‘Genevieve de Montvert?' the man probed curiously, and then smiled. It was an icy smile, a smile that made even Elise shudder. ‘It is strange,' he went on, as though thinking aloud, ‘but it is clear that Madame Coubette harbours a hatred for this Genevieve de Montvert.'

‘I know exactly how she feels,' Elise muttered, and the man observed her silently, his dead eyes once more flitting down to her smooth slopes of bared flesh.

‘Personal feelings aren't my business,' he said firmly. ‘But spies are.'

Elise frowned with puzzlement.

‘I believe this Rodolfo is in touch with other aristocrats in France, as well as their sympathisers. I believe he passes funds to those with cause to interfere with the revolution. I also believe he intends to continue with his activities, despite his near capture.'

As he spoke Elise followed the movement of the man's eyes, crawling over those areas of her flesh that were naked to him. She felt her lascivious nipples stiffen and pulled the cloak tighter so that their outline could be seen through the rough fabric, deciding it would be much wiser to have the man as an ally rather than an enemy.

The sight of her sultry beauty was clearly distracting him, so she smiled invitingly and crossed her legs, allowing the cloak to slip apart, baring her slender thighs. He stared down for a moment, and then lifted his eyes back to hers.

‘It is for these reasons that I want Rodolfo de Agora to be located and captured,' he continued, as though unmoved by her beauty. ‘Captured or killed, either will suffice.'

Elise smiled alluringly. ‘It is a commendable ambition, sir,' she purred in hushed tones. ‘And one that would make me very happy, too. I would have nothing but the highest regard for the man responsible for instigating the operation. He would have my undying gratitude and admiration. He would be a man worthy of my most sincere affections...'

‘Madame Coubette believes that you might be able and willing to help me with this objective,' he went on, his penis hardening under the desk as he interpreted her innuendos correctly.

Elise remained silent, but absently smoothed a hand over her thighs.

‘According to her you are able to facilitate his capture, and as a bonus, the capture of Genevieve de Montvert, either in France or wherever they hide like the vermin they are.' He watched her hand gliding over her thighs. ‘In exchange for your assistance you will be freed. You will also be entitled to keep a proportion of your property.'

Elise frowned. ‘What do you mean?' she asked.

‘Your stepfather's chateau and goods have been confiscated by the revolution,' he answered blankly. ‘However, there are certain debts that we have owing to Monsieur Coubette. In part exchange for the write-off of these debts we are handing over fifty percent of the estate to his wife. The other fifty percent will be given to you in exchange for your services; this one I have just mentioned, and those that either myself, others in the committee or Monsieur and Madame Coubette may from time to time call on you to perform.'

Elise grimaced, her eyes staring at him coldly.

‘But relax,' he said slowly. ‘As far as I am concerned, the capture of Rodolfo is the only real service I want from you. And if it happens that in some way you can help with the capture of other traitors, then I may call on you further.'

Her lips were still tightly clenched.

‘As far as Madame Coubette is concerned,' he continued. ‘Well, she is well known for her fiery temper, a temper so strong that it often clouds her wisdom. As we spoke she swore that if you could offer her Genevieve de Montvert as a prize, she would well consider returning her half of the estate to you. It is something I'm sure you two can discuss together. I believe she is coming this afternoon to invite you to enjoy her hospitality at her home. Her hospitality is splendid, I can assure you.'

The man stood up to leave, and Elise stood up too.

‘I hope we understand each other, Elise de Tranville,' he said, and then without warning his eyes narrowed and with the speed of a snake he snatched her wrist and spun her round. Elise could only offer a staccato shriek under the speed and surprise of the attack, unable to offer any resistance as he twisted and pinned her arm excruciatingly up behind her back. The desk bumped against her thighs as he breathed down her neck and leant his weight against her, pushing her down flat over the rough wood and ripping off the cloak, which he dropped to the grimy floor. Her cotton shift rucked up, leaving her bottom bared, and she grimaced as her breasts squashed painfully against the wooden surface, his weight pressing her down.