Page 10 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“Is that food for me?Mon dieu,Hélène! Everything looks positively delicious. I’ve never seen pastries look so perfectly flaky and golden, have you, Antoine? Come,chérie, bring in the tray and have a cup of tea with us.”
“Oh, I don’t think I should—Monsieur Rocher would be furious if I was found out.”
“Nonsense! You may tell your employer that you stayed to help me dress.”
I tugged her into the room and secured the door behind us. She placed the tray down and began to set the table for two.
“No need,chérie.Antoine and I will not stand on ceremony. Please, have a seat. I’m sure your poor feet could do with a bit of a rest,” I said with a wink. Hélène blushed prettily and sat in the chair across from Antoine, who tracked her with a hooded gaze. I felt irrationally annoyed with him—and with sweet, pretty Hélène.
Don’t be absurd, Charlotte. You’re trying to get information from the girl and dispense with this crossbow-wielding madman as soon as possible.
Nodding to myself, I pasted a bright smile on my face and sat on the bed. Neither Antoine nor Hélène reached for the tray of food. The smell of buttery pastries, warm bread, strawberry jam, and a simple, soft cheese made my stomach rumble. Not wanting to wait any longer, I poured everyone a cup of tea and began to butter a roll for myself.
“Monsieur Antoine,” I began, realizing I didn’t know his surname. “This is Hélène. She’s been working here for—what was it you said to me,chérie?—four years now?”
Hélène nodded.
Antoine tore at a chunk of bread and spread some of the cheese on it. His expression was grave, but I paid no attention. I’d dealt with surly gentlemen like him before—in fact, I’d been married to one. I knew the best way past their grumpy defenses was usually in some mix of infuriating femininity and good-natured teasing. Good food and copious spirits didn’t hurt, either.
I sipped my tea and bit into the warm roll. It was soft and sweet—almost melting on my tongue. I moaned in satisfaction.
“Hélène, do you bake these yourself? They aredivine.Simply the best rolls I think I’ve ever had. Don’t you agree, Antoine? Oh, youmusttry yours with the strawberry jam. It’s positively sinful!”
Hélène smiled and blushed again at my praise. She lowered her lashes in a fetching sort of way, and Antoine’s bread paused in its journey to his lips. I found myself dreaming of strangling them both.That would be one way out of your predicament, Charlotte,I thought sourly.
“I imagine you work long hours here, as this is the only tavern and inn nearby. You must receive such fascinating patrons!” I gushed with false enthusiasm, taking another drink of my tea.
Antoine’s eyes flicked to me as he chewed his bread.
“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Hélène agreed.
“Do tell,chérie,” I urged. “Has anyone particularly interesting come through the inn recently? Any exceedingly handsome men? Or perhaps someone from abroad? I do so love to hear thrilling tales from people who’ve come from other parts of the world. Here, Hélène, allow me to refill your cup.”
The bewildered girl automatically held out the chipped China.
“Oui, Madame!We had some soldiers in here not two days ago. But, how did you know?”
“Well, of course I didn’t! It was only a guess—my curiosity is insatiable, you see. My father always said that I got it from my mother, bless them. Do indulge me,chérie.Tell me of these soldiers. What were they like? Did they bring news from some foreign front? What kind of uniforms did they wear? Oh, I dolovea man in a uniform. I’d wager they were handsome.”
Antoine’s teacup shattered in his hand, spilling scalding tea all over him. Hélène leapt up to help clean up the mess, but he waved her away. He mumbled oaths that made her blush even redder—mon dieu, has the chit never heard such language working in a tavern? —and she rushed to the door.
“I’ll bring another cup, Monsieur, and I’ll fetch some more rags.” With that, she was gone, as was my opportunity to discreetly learn what she’d observed about the soldiers who’d attacked us.Merde.
Antoine’s hand was an angry red, nearly matching the hue of his furious face. I huffed and yanked at his arm, pulling him toward the pitcher of cool water on the bedside table. I dunked his palm in and scowled up at him.
“You have got to be the most infuriating, thick-headed, blundering lout I’ve ever crossed paths with, and that’s saying something considering my former husband was the true king of prize idiots,” I hissed.
Antoine glared at me and pulled his hand out of the water, flinging droplets about the room.
“You’re one to talk! Why are you badgering that poor girl? Don’t you realize how dangerous those soldiers are? If word gets round that some ridiculous woman was asking questions about them, she’ll be in danger, too,” he argued. “Besides, what do you mean by asking her if they were handsome? They’re not handsome! They’re horrible!”
I rolled my eyes at his petty male jealousy—if he had stirrings for Hélène, he could conquer her on his own time.
“I was trying to put her at ease so I could question her about them. I want to know when they came into town, what they said, why they’re here—if she knew they were after you, in particular. I’m trying to find out more about them, since talking toyouisn’t getting me anywhere useful, and I need to know what I’m up against. I would have found out plenty from her if you hadn’t behaved like a fool and sent her away when she was about to answer my questions.”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t need answers. All you need to know is that those soldiers are dangerous, they’ll come for you, and I’m the only one who can protect you,” he practically growled.
Reflexively, I made to protest but forced myself to pause and consider him. What did I know about this man? He’d snuck into Versailles, murdered Sade, abducted me for some unknown reason, and was trying to take me to—where, exactly?—when we were set upon by a group of soldiers he was obviously familiar with. That likely meant he was either a fugitive from justice even before his recent venture into aristocratic murder, or that he knew the soldiers personally and was possibly a soldier himself. He’d been armed to the teeth when he waded into the fray on the road and had handled himself well, so he was no stranger to violence, and he’d repeatedly professed his insistence at helping and protecting me. It could be a bluff, of course—he might be keeping a close eye on me merely because I was the only witness to his murder of Sade—but I didn’t think so. His barely restrained emotions made me think he was unused to deceit. It felt chivalrous to me.A soldier, then.
