Page 9 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“Woolen stockings, good…good…quilted stays, very good. The skirt isn’t a particularly flattering color for me, but it’ll be warm enough to see me back to Versailles. Hopefully the soldiers who were after you won’t pay too much attention to a woman…” she trailed off, muttering to herself again.
Distracted by the nearly sheer chemise spread across the blankets, I swallowed hard. Blood was rapidly leaving my head and venturing south again, making me feel slow-witted and uncomfortable. Distantly, I heard myself arguing.
“After me?”
“Well, I would assume so,” she stated matter-of-factly. “They certainly weren’t after me, and I imagine if you go around murdering marquises and kidnapping young gentlemen, it makes sense that you’d have a posse of Prussians and petulant Parisians pursuing you.” She chuckled at herself. “Ha! Try saying that five times fast.”
She lifted the edge of her blanket and began to slide on a woolen stocking, apparently unconcerned that I was in the room. She was still talking, but all I could hear was the rushing of blood in my ears. The blanket lifted again, affording me another tortuous glimpse of graceful, shapely legs, and my tattered composure snapped.
“You can’t go back,” I almost shouted. “I won’t allow it.”
She paused, tying a ribbon garter around her stocking, her eyes narrowing in warning.
“Please,” I said. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. If you leave without my protection, you won’t make it back to Versailles.”
3
CHARLOTTE
November 1, 1767
Somewhere outside Versailles
“Mon dieu,”I said, exasperated. “Will you please just tell me what you’re on about?”
My patience was wearing thin. I was cold, tired, sore, and hungry to the point of ill-humor, which was not often a state I found myself in. If this brooding beau didn’t stop gawking at my calves and carry on with his message, I’d have to resort tounladylikebehavior.
Still, his eyes followed my movements, captivated. Deep down—very deep, of course—I preened with the thought that I’d pulled one over on him and that my unabashed manner had him unsettled.Good.Heshouldfeel bad for walloping my skull and tossing me across his horse’s rear.
“Monsieur,”I prompted, hoisting the thick skirts in place and tying the last few ribbons. The garments were plain, but warm, and they would help me blend in with the common folk until I could get away. I sat back down to plait my hair to better hide it beneath a simple lace cap.
“You cannot leave,” he said again. “They will find you.”
“Your concern is noted,” I said archly. “Was that your life-saving information? That those soldiers would be bent on revenge and scour the countryside hunting me to stretch my neck?Please.I expected that from the first. I doubt they’ll bother a plain old maid, though.”
“They’ll find you anyway. They’re not like normal men. They don’t have to look for you. They’ll be able to smell you from a mile away,” he muttered darkly.
“I beg your pardon! How uncouth to comment upon my odor when you’re the one who threw me across your foul beast and made me retch up last night’s oysters. Besides, I’ve just had a bath.”
That muscle in his jaw twitched—the one that indicated extreme displeasure. I smiled to myself.
“That’snotwhat I meant,” he growled.
“Then speak plainly, Antoine,” I replied.
My use of his name seemed to unlock something inside him. Abruptly, he stood and started to pace the room.
“How do I know I can trust you?” He ran his hands through his hair, agitated. Loose waves escaped his tight queue, leaving him looking distressed and disheveled. It was adorable, really.
“You don’t,” I shrugged. “And honestly, I wouldn’t advise it.” I secured my cap and tilted my head toward the door. I could hear a slight creak outside—someone was eavesdropping. I motioned to Antoine to be silent, and he looked at me in confusion. I gestured to the door, grabbed the pistol, cocked it, and walked over as quietly as possible. I aimed forward while I threw the door open with my other hand.
The tavern girl, Hélène, shrieked and stumbled backward, nearly dropping the tray she held in front of her. I lowered the weapon and grabbed her arm, steadying her.
“Pardon, Madame!”she gasped. “You startled me. I was just coming up with your breakfast tray and to see if you needed any help with your hair, but I see you have managed.”
I smiled sheepishly. “My apologies. I’m afraid I read too many Gothic novels and have my mother’s nervous disposition. I startle at the slightest sound.”
She eyed the pistol warily but was eventually disarmed by my vivacity.
