Page 21 of The Rake to Redeem Her

Basket of oranges on her arm, she proceeded south-west to the Marais. This area of elegant town houses, so popular during Louis XIV’s reign, had been already in decline by the Revolution, and many of the magnificent hôtels with their courtyards and gardens looked shabby and neglected. Elodie paused before one of impressive classical grandeur which, unlike its unfortunate fellows, was well tended, its stone walls and windows clean, its iron fences painted, its greenery freshly clipped. After staring at the edifice for a few moments, she turned down the alleyway leading to the garden entrance at the back.

Was this the abode of the mysterious ‘Philippe’?

Watching her walk towards the gate, Will pondered his next move. Prudence said to take her before she could disappear within, if that’s what she intended.

But if he stopped her now, he might never learn who occupied that house. She had to know he’d be furious if he caught her; if she hadn’t revealed the secret of this elegant Marais town house to an accomplice and fellow traveller, there was little chance she’d do so to an angry pursuer.

Curiosity—and, though it pained him to admit it, jealousy—battling logic, Will hesitated. If he waited here, intending to seize her after she came back out, it was possible she might exit by the front door and he would miss her. But in her disguise as a farm girl, it was unlikely she’d be permitted to leave by the grand entrance.

Unless Elodie de Montaigu-Clisson Lefevre had resources he wasn’t aware of. During his stay in the city after Waterloo, he’d learned enough about official Paris to know this fine mansion wasn’t Prince Talleyrand’s home, though it might belong to one of the Prince’s spies or associates.

While he dithered, uncharacteristically uncertain, she trotted down the pathway and disappeared through the kitchen entrance and his opportunity to grab her was lost. Exasperated with himself, he retreated down the alleyway bordering the hôtel and scrambled up the wall beneath a tree conveniently clothed in thick summer greenery that camouflaged him while allowing him a clear view of the kitchen and garden.

Huddled on the wall against the tree, calmer now, he considered his options. There was no point berating himself for not nabbing her when he’d had the chance. After a night of little sleep, his reflexes and timing were off. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a woman so much, longer still since he’d met one who affected him as powerfully as Elodie Lefevre. As the sensual spell she’d created continued to fade, these atypically intense emotions would subside and he’d recover his usual equilibrium.

With that encouraging conclusion, he set himself to evaluating whether to wait where he was, within view of the servants’ entry, or move towards the front. Before he could decide, Elodie exited the kitchen.

At the sight of her, his pulses leapt and a stab of pain gashed his chest, giving lie to the premise that his intense emotions were fading. Think, don’t react, he told himself as he tried to haul the still-ungovernable feelings under control.

Fortunately, after exiting the back gate, she turned down the tree-bordered alleyway and walked right towards him. This time, he’d grab her at once, before she could elude him again.

Heart rate accelerating, breathing suspended, Will waited until she passed beneath him. He jumped down, landing softly behind her, and seized her arm.

She’d been trained well; rather than yelping or pulling away, she leaned into him, slackening the tension on her wrist while at the same time dropping to her knees, trying to yank her arm downwards out of his grip.

Being better trained, he hung on, saying softly, ‘Hand’s over, and this time all the tricks are mine.’

At his voice, a tremor ran through her and she stopped struggling. Slowly she rose to her feet and faced him, expressionless.

Will wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see on her face: shame? Regret? Grief? But the fact that she could confront him showing no emotion at all while he still writhed and bled inside splintered his frail hold on objectivity with the force of an axe through kindling. Fury erupted anew.

He wanted to crush her in his arms and kiss her senseless, mark her as his, force a response that showed their passion had shaken her to the marrow as it had him.

He wanted to strangle the life from her.

Sucking in a deep breath, he willed himself to calm. He hadn’t allowed emotion to affect his actions since he’d been a schoolboy, when Max had taught him channelling anger into coolly calculated response was more effective than raging at his tormentors.

It shook him to discover how deeply she’d rattled him out of practices he’d thought mastered years ago.

But one thing she couldn’t master. The calm of her countenance might seem to deny he affected her at all, but she couldn’t will away the energy that sparked between his hand and her captive arm. An attraction that sizzled and beguiled the longer he held her, making him want to pull her closer as, despite the hurt and anger he refused to acknowledge, his body, remembering only passion between them, urged him to take them once again down the path from desire to fulfilment.

Though he didn’t mean to follow that road now, just feeling the force crackling beneath his fingertips was balm to his lacerated emotions. He clutched her tighter, savouring the burn.

‘Bonjour, madame. I had to hurry to catch up to you. Careless of you to leave me behind.’

‘Ineffective, too, I see,’ she muttered.

‘What of our bargain? Did the heat of the night’s activities scorch it from your mind?’

When she winced at that jab, he felt a savage satisfaction. No, she was not as indifferent as she tried to appear.

‘I merely wished to begin early to take care of a family matter, just as I told you I would.’

‘Here I am, ready to assist.’

‘It’s better that I do it alone.’

Will shook his head. ‘I’ll go with you, or you can leave Paris with me now. I move when you move, like lashes on an eyelid, so don’t even think of trying to give me the slip again.’

The last time he’d warned her about escaping, he’d talked of crust on bread and she’d licked her lips. A flurry of sensual images from their surrender to passion last night flashed through his mind. In the light of this morning’s abandonment, each gouged deep, drawing blood. Cursing silently, Will forced back the memories.

‘So, what shall it be?’ he asked roughly, giving her arm a jerk. ‘Do we head for Calais or …?’

She opened her lips as if to speak, then, shaking her head, closed them. A bleak expression flitted briefly over her face before, with one quick move, she wrenched her arm from his grip and walked off.

In two quick strides he caught back up, grabbing her wrist again to halt her. ‘Tell me what we’re about to do.’

Freeing her wrist again with another vicious jerk, she said, ‘Follow if you must, but try to stop me and, le bon Dieu me crôit, I swear I’ll take my knife to you, here and now. Observe what I do if you must, but interfere in any way and our bargain is finished. I won’t go a step towards England with you, whatever retribution you threaten.’

She delivered the speech in a terse blast of words, like a rattle of hail against a window, never meeting his eyes. Even working with his normally keen instincts diminished, Will was struck by her ferocity and an odd note in her voice he’d never heard before. Something more than anxiety, it was almost … desperation.

Her urgency also shouted of danger, finally giving him the strength he needed to bury emotions back deep within the pit into which he’d banished all loss and anguish since childhood. They weren’t in England yet; his first duty to Max was still to protect her so he could get her there.

She resumed walking at a rapid pace, eyes fixed straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. Falling into place beside her, he asked several more questions, but when she continued to ignore him, abandoned the attempt. Instead, he transferred his efforts into assessing all the people and activities in the streets they were traversing, alert for any threat.

While keeping a weather eye out, he was still able to watch Elodie. Her unusual abstraction allowed him to stare at her with greater intensity than she would have otherwise allowed. He tried to keep warmth from welling back up as he studied her striding form and set face, every nuance of the body beneath those garments now familiar to his fingers and tongue.

When his gaze wandered back to her face, he noted it was abnormally pale, her eyes bright, her expression as tense and rigid as her body. She paced rapidly, almost leaning forwards in her haste.

Whatever ‘family matter’ she was about to address, it was both urgent and vitally important to her.

From the hôtel, they passed through the streets of the Marais towards the Seine, south and west until they reached the Queen’s gate at the Place Royale. Though some of the houses inside that beautiful enclosure, like those of the Marais, were shuttered and forlorn, even shabbiness couldn’t mar its Renaissance beauty.

Rows of lanes, presided over by trees serene in early summer leaf, were well populated by nursemaids with their charges, finely dressed ladies followed by their maids, men with the self-important air of lawyers conversing and a few couples strolling hand in hand. In the distance, on the lawn, several children frolicked.

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