Page 92 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
The trunk.
“Stop the coach!” Rocking nearly drove Gilles to his knees again while he fought to unlatch the door. The coach finally righted, and Gilles threw the door open. “Stop the coach!” The trunk lay on its side in the gutter several yards behind them. Martel’s coach swerved around it, nearly hitting a wagon going the opposite direction.
The carriage swayed, slowing slightly as it turned toward the docks. The driver continued cracking his whip. He hadn’t heard. Let the carriage go on to the docks. Lead Martel away. Gilles had to get to Caroline.
He threw himself through the door and twisted so his back hit the ground first. Screams echoed around him as pain flared up the length of his back. Something popped along his side, sending a stabbing sensation through his ribs and up his spine. He let himself roll over the packed dirt, curling his arms against his chest to protect his already aching side. When he came to a stop on the filthy street, he gasped for breath.
“Monsieur! Are you hurt?” Someone hauled him up. For a moment he stared at the faces around him.
“Idiot! Why would you do that?”
“Jumping from a moving coach!”
He held up his hands while trying to shake the fog from his head. “I am well,merci.” His voice wheezed. He waved them off and slipped through their ranks. He had to get to the trunk.
One figure did not back away. “Monsieur Étienne, that was quite the jump.” Light hair. Large eyes. One of the baker’s daughters. She leaned in, fluttering her long eyelashes as she followed him to the sea chest. Gilles stiffened his arm to keep her from pushing against his injured ribs.
“It was nothing.” He attempted a laugh. What was she doing here?
“Quite the fuss for a trunk,” she said sweetly. “Why did you not ask the driver to stop?”
“He—he wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t have my things stolen.” He discreetly felt along his ribs under his coat. They didn’t seem broken, only displaced. But he couldn’t tell for certain.
The girl raised a brow and cocked her head. “Monsieur Martel didn’t tell me you’d be throwing yourself at my feet.”
Gilles halted. “Martel?”
She clasped her hands behind her, as though hiding something. Her cheeks turned rosy. Did she practice this perfect coyness? “He gave me a few coins and a kiss to tell him if you came by the docks.”
How long had he suspected Gilles would run off? “It is fortunate you were unoccupied this morning.” They reached the trunk, and Gilles carefully righted it. He couldn’t tell if the soft moan came from the trunk or from inside it. It was all he could do to keep from tearing open the lid in front of one of Martel’s agents.
The girl slipped between him and sat on the trunk before he could block her. She lifted her face toward him. “Are you really going to sea, as Monsieur Martel said?”
Best to keep him guessing untille Rossignolwas safely out of Marseille’s harbor. If he played along with this distraction, Martel wouldn’t have as much time to focus on his search for the Daubins. “I have not yet decided.”
“It must be thrilling to go to sea,” she said with an airy sigh. “Always in motion. Seeing new lands and meeting interesting people.”
“In truth, most days are rather dull.” He had to get her off the trunk. But then what? His shoulder throbbed from his landing, and too much movement agitated his ribs. He couldn’t very well drag the trunk to the ship himself, nor could he get Caroline out of it with passersby watching. Any Jacobin-minded citizen would run for reinforcements at the sight of a woman climbing out of a trunk on the side of the street.
“Will you tell me about it?”
Gilles glanced over his shoulder. Any moment Martel could double back. “Perhaps another time.” Could he drag the trunk to the alley a few shops away? They’d have to cover Caroline in his clothes and run forle Rossignol.
The baker’s daughter stood, putting her so close she was nearly pressed against him. “You are leaving, then.” Her wide eyes locked on his face. “A kiss and a few coins, and I’ll tell Monsieur Martel I didn’t see you.” As though she could keep a secret from that monster.
“He already knows I’m headed for the docks. He followed me.” Once he would have welcomed her proximity as an easy conquest, but now her closeness made his insides writhe uncomfortably. He stiffened, intensifying the ache in his bones. Dragging the trunk any distance by himself was out of the question.
“But does he know there is a person in your sea chest?” She said it with such innocence.
His body went cold.
“So there is a person.” Her lips curled. “I wondered what was shifting beneath me.”
Blast it. She was baiting him. Gilles scanned the street behind him. If he grabbed Caroline from the trunk in the middle of the street, how much of a stir would he cause? If this girl sounded the alarm—or worse, followed them—they wouldn’t stand a chance. She couldn’t be Martel’s only lackey in the area.
“I won’t tell,monsieur.” Her brows lifted, but he caught the uncertain tremor in her voice. How old was she? Eighteen? And clearly desperate to prove herself beautiful enough to catch a young man’s eye.
Gilles drew in a breath. He could do it. Buy her silence long enough for them to get away. A few months ago he wouldn’t have blinked at the suggestion, especially not with the girl mere inches away and begging. For the Daubins, for Caroline, he could kiss this young woman and send her on her way.
