Saffina's Secrets Page 7

  Do ghosts hide in alcoves?

  Slipping the precious key into my bosom, I stepped out into the corridor. I tiptoed across the hallway, seized the heavy velvet and snatched it back. A shimmer of white was disappearing through a slowly closing panel. With a shout I lunged forward and grabbed it.

  Now both ghost and I got a shock. With a screech, Madame Junot tumbled backward into the alcove before me, clutching the sheet covering her gown. “Milady? Bon sang, lâchez-moi. Let go of me, for pity’s sake.”

  I’d had enough. My temper rising, I dragged her back to my room, hauled her inside and turned the key in the lock. “Now, Madame, tell me what’s going on or I swear I’ll throttle you with my bare hands.”

  She knew all about Jacquard. She knew all about Toulon. She even knew about the passages. She’d taken Jacquard his meals while he’d been hiding. And to my amazement, I learned she’d even made up the legend of the ghost to explain any unusual noises and to keep the servants away.

  Her cunning astounded me, but I still had questions. “If Toulon’s really so dangerous, why did Jacquard stay here?”

  She snorted. “Foolish child. His lordship only pretend to go to Paris. To lure Toulon away from you. But when you tell Toulon about your fortune, Toulon change ’is mind. He go after you instead. So ’is lordship must stay also—to protect you. He refuse to leave, even when I beg.” Her eyes filled with angry tears. “And now Toulon trap you both. Espèce d’idiote. You little fool.” Her black eyes flashed.

  “But Jacquard? Where is he now, Madame? What will happen to him?”

  She clenched her scrawny face in a rictus of fear. “In the east tower. Toulon stay to meet Wellington. After that, he take milord to Paris.” She drew a finger across her throat.

  I shuddered.

  “And later, milady…he come for you.”

  “Me?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Toulon wants your fortune. Now he take your guardian’s place. And with Lord Endale dead, Toulon gets you and your fortune. All of it. You will become ‘is.”

  Shock stunned me for a long moment. Then it stirred my sluggish brain into action.

  What I’d thought were simply country-house frolics had turned into a deadly game, with death for a prize.

  I’d been wrong about many things and foolish about many more. But now I knew the stakes. And in an instant, my mind magically cleared.

  One thing I did know about was survival.

  I took a deep breath.

  Then I had a long talk with Madame Junot.

  I started with a few sharp words on the folly of keeping young females ignorant of facts. After that, we made plans.

  At last I finished with a command. “Now lay out my finest gown and my jewelry. And fetch me a couple of gold coins from his lordship’s room. Anything will do—a half sovereign, a half louis—it matters not. And hurry. There’s not much time.”

  “But your finest gown is for tomorrow’s ball, milady. And milord Endale keeps no gold—”

  Enraged, I snapped, “Yes, he does, you irritating crone. Fetch me some coins.”

  An hour later, scented, rouged and dressed to the nines, I slipped through the panel and followed Madame Junot through the network of passages to Jacquard’s cell.

  His burly jailer gave a grunt as I came near. A great bear of a man, he towered over me in the low passage. With his bulbous face, single yellowed tooth and stinking gums, he cut a terrifying figure.

  I gave him a glacial stare and peered past him into the room behind. What I saw there turned my stomach.

  Jacquard was slumped on a bare wooden bench, stripped to the waist, his magnificent chest gleaming with sweat and patchy with grime and bruises. A trickle of crimson glistened over one eye.

  As he caught sight of me, his face split into a lazy smile. “Ah, a fairy princess comes to visit me. Or is she a dream? Let her through, master jailer, or she’ll turn you into a toad.”

  The guard looked scared.

  I lifted my chin and mustered my schoolroom French. “Monsieur Toulon has given me the prisoner for a plaything.” I managed a haughty frown. “And be warned, I am now your master’s mistress and will soon be yours. Monsieur Toulon and I are to marry. And if you defy me now, I swear I’ll see you hanged the morning I wed. Now let me pass.”

  Frightened now, the jailer lumbered aside. Jacquard slumped back on his bench, his eyes blazing. “Dammit, Saffina, what’s all this? You’re to marry that brute? My most bitter enemy?”

  I fixed my lover with a stony glare and slapped him hard across the face. “Silence, you dog. Or I’ll have you whipped.”

  He stared up at me, rigid with shock as a crimson stain spread over his cheek. The sight of it tore my heart. At the same moment I hoisted my skirts and straddled his lap, winding my arms around his neck. “That was for the jailer,” I whispered, covering his face with kisses. “But these are for you.”

  Jacquard jerked his head away. “You came here to torture me, child? Save your strength. These thugs are experts.”

  I laid my cheek against his, fighting down nausea at the very thought of what he must already have endured. I whispered again, lower now. “I came to save your life, my lord, or what’s left of it. The Duke of Wellington attends the costume ball tomorrow. All Europe wants to see him, so there will be a big crowd and much confusion. We can slip away through the tunnel you used to reach the maze.”

  He nibbled my ear. “Nice try, my sweet, but impossible. All the exits are watched, especially the maze.”

  “Curse it.” I bit my lip in frustration. “Then I’ll think of something else.”

  I clung to him, dropping soft kisses all along his jaw and wound my legs up round his waist. He pulled me to him, breathing deep as his manhood bulged between us, stirring already and pressing hard on my splayed gap with all his usual vigor.

  He grinned, his teeth gleaming against his sweat-stained face. “Dammit, Saffina, you’re the answer to a prisoner’s prayer. You look like a princess. You smell like a meadow. Rise up a little.”

  He found my mouth as he reached down to free himself. In seconds his cockstand leaped to attention, hidden in my skirts and jutting hard against my belly.

  I fondled it lovingly, letting its heat warm my chilly palm. “Shall we amuse the jailer, do you think? He seems a worthy soul,” I whispered.

  “Damn the jailer, his captive needs it more. You dazzle me, ma’am. I’m your captive now. Do your worst.”

  Poised over his swelling cock I plunged down onto it and rose up a little, thrilling to the look of ecstasy that crossed his face as he threw back his head and sighed. And now we rode together, our coupling subtle and private under my layers of silk but as hot as if we were alone.

  His thrusts soon brought me to one climax after another as our bodies moved in perfect rhythm. At last he arched his neck and groaned.

  As he pumped and finally stilled, we clung together, me weeping gently into his bloodied shoulder, him still inside me, breathing deeply in my perfumed neck.

  Both of us keenly aware it might be for the last time on this earth.

  At last I felt a touch on my shoulder and saw the bulbous, pockmark-faced guard looking down at me anxiously.

  “L’on approche, madame.”

  I could hear voices in the distance. Jacquard pushed me off his lap and kissed my fingers. “Go quickly. Monsieur Toulon might not like to see his future wife in the arms of a felon.” He arched a cynical eyebrow. “Assuming he even knows he’s engaged.”

  I dropped a playful kiss on his forehead and turned to his guard with tears in my eyes, dizzy with emotion after so much pleasure. I pressed a small gold coin into his hand. “Here, master jailer. And guard my plaything well. I’ll be back tomorrow. And remember—say nothing, or you die.”

  Still tearful, I leaned up and kissed the guard’s gnarled cheek then hurried back along the dusty passage.

  I told myself the news about the maze being watched was just a hitch, but my heart was heavy. As Madame
Junot prepared me for bed, we hatched another plan—even riskier this time, but all we had.

  Several times during the evening Henri banged on my door, furious he was forbidden entry. He even threatened to break the door down.

  Madame Junot shrieked that I was prostrate with grief and unfit for visitors.

  * * * *

  The next day was the day of the ball. All day we were left in peace. Servants and guards alike stayed away. In the distance we heard no sinister clatter of returning guards, just the constant rumble of carriages arriving for the evening’s festivities and the shouts and scurry of arrivals and their servants.

  Madame Junot reported that Jacquard was not molested again. He and the jailer passed the time at cards, but for us there was much to be done.

  We spent all day getting ready. At last, as evening set in and strains of music wafted up from the ballroom, we shared a look.

  “It’s time, milady.” She swallowed, as nervous as I. But this was no time to panic.

  I clutched my costume tightly around me, gave her a thin smile and set off to find Jacquard.

  This time the jailer bowed low and accepted another small coin in silence, pocketing it swiftly.

  I glared at him. “You have him ready?”

  Madame Junot had conveyed to the guard, along with Jacquard’s evening soup, the news that the prisoner was to be unfettered so I could lead him down to the ballroom to amuse the guests.

  And if the bewildered jailer was surprised at my choice of costume, he masked it well. I had borrowed Madame Junot’s disguise. Her white sheet turned me into a perfect image of the White Lady.

  And I flung myself into my lover’s arms once more. He was on his feet now, still half-naked, the bruises on his beautiful body turning crimson and black. But his eyes were bright and his arms were firm, so I judged that though he’d tire quickly, he’d make a convincing Huguenot General for just long enough to see out my plan.

  As we entered the ballroom, all the guests turned to stare. My first thought was elation at the success of our disguise—many of the costumes were wild, even outlandish, but we were a sensation.

  Thanks to Madame’s clever fiction, everyone here knew—or thought they knew—the legend of the White Lady and her lover, the persecuted Huguenot general. And as we walked in everyone saw—or thought they saw—their living image.

  Better still, with my face partly veiled in the sheet and Jacquard’s covered in a black harlequin mask, no one even knew who we were.

  My second thought was that the risk was far, far worse than I’d feared. Henri was also here. His guards lined the walls and surveyed the guests with stony faces, grim and menacing.

  As long as no one recognized us, we were safe. All we had to do was cross the ballroom and leave by the front entrance. Our carriage was already waiting, heaped with our luggage. Our coachman was primed with Madame’s instruction to drive us to the border.

  Now the Duke himself had just arrived. He was surrounded by about thirty people, some in costume, others not. Guests were already pressing forward to be introduced to the great man, Europe’s hero since his great victory at Waterloo.

  The perfect diversion. And the perfect moment. My heart leaped. We could slip through the crowd unnoticed. In minutes we’d be on our way to freedom…

  Wellington scanned the room, as haughty as his portraits. Clearly the marquis and his guests fell far short of his expectation.

  But as his eyes fell on us, his face split into a delighted grin. “Endale, my lad. Why, bless my soul. You here too? Come here and let me shake your hand, you old rogue.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Arthur. Indeed a pleasure. Let me introduce my ward, Lady Saffina Wilby. Saffina, meet the famous Iron Duke. Not so iron at cards—I’ve beat him so often he’s lost count.” Suave as ever, Jacquard introduced me as smoothly as if we were at court.

  No one could have suspected the blood and bruises on his splendid physique were real, or guessed the effort it took him to sound casual.

  As I pushed back the sheet to reveal my face the great man beamed down at me. “Dash it, Jacquard, she’s a stunner. I’ll wager your debut’s costing Endale a pretty pile, what?” He slapped my guardian on the back, making him stagger a little.

  I winced for Jacquard.

  He rocked for a moment then laughed. “Worth every penny.”

  Across the room Henri had started forward at Wellington’s bellow. Now he was edging round the crowd, muttering instructions to his guards.

  They started to close in, silent and grim-faced.

  But Toulon had caught the Duke’s attention. He seized Jacquard’s arm partway through some juicy scrap of Piccadilly gossip. “Deuce take it, Endale, who’s that ruffian over there? Damned jackanapes looks like a clerk. They let the oddest fellers into balls these days.” He curved his hand at the side of his mouth to shout over the crowd. “Be off with you, sir. I’ll tell the marquis his guest list needs a trim.”

  The guests looked shocked for an instant then burst out laughing. But even at this distance, it seemed Henri once more failed to see the funny side. An angry flush spread over his face.

  Yet again, he was the butt of the joke. Yet again, milord Endale was at its root.

  Luckily the crowds around us were pushing forward to greet the Duke. The guards were powerless to reach us.

  I tugged Jacquard’s arm. “Come, my lord. Hurry.”

  “Forgive me, Arthur.” Jacquard grinned. “Milady’s impatient to leave. We’ll have another game next time we meet.”

  “Capital, my boy.” The Duke smiled kindly at me and made a small, stiff bow. “Mustn’t delay the ladies. I’ll wager she plays a pretty game of her own, what?” He shook Jacquard heartily by the hand. “Catch you later in Vienna or somewhere. Come over to Cambrai after the summer. We’ll hunt some boar.”

  As we finally turned away, others pressed forward to take our places. We slipped through them easily, steering well away from the gathering guards.

  Outside, the courtyard was a confusion of coaches. Over at the far side, clear of the others, one stood facing the open road, ready for the off. Its door swung open, a thin yellow hand firmly on the sill.

  Madame Junot waved frantically.

  I felt Jacquard slump against me, clearly exhausted.

  “Bear up, sir. Just a few more yards.” My low whisper barely reached him but I felt his arm weigh on my shoulders. I half supported, half dragged him, threading a path through the carriages and their restless, pawing horses. I tried to shut out the menacing shouts from behind.

  The guards were gaining.

  By some miracle we reached it just in time. Madame and I hustled him into the waiting coach, already heaped with our luggage. But as the coachman’s burly assistant held open the door for me I got another shock. It was our jailer.

  Madame gave me an impatient push and clambered in after me. “His name is Pérot, milady. Toulon ill-treat him. But Pérot say he was never before kissed by une princesse.” She grinned. “From now on, he swear to serve you always.”

  As the coach gathered speed, I stared at her. “He does, Madame? How kind of him.”

  I promptly burst into tears.

  * * * *

  The journey to the border was long, difficult and terrifying. It was not far in miles but the roads were full of potholes. Every so often we had to make a detour onto back roads to avoid lookouts.

  I spent most of the time with Jacquard’s head in my lap. He lay along the seat and slept, his beautiful body and its cruel bruising mercifully hidden by the White Lady’s sheet.

  Now and then I slept too. I jerked awake at every turning, terrified Henri would send his men to capture us and drag us back.

  At long last, as the sky ahead was just turning blush-rose at the first hint of dawn, we crossed the border and pulled into the courtyard of an Alsatian inn.

  After a hurried meal of cold cuts and some excellent beer, we headed off to our rooms to snatch a few hours’ sleep.

/>   The minute our door was shut and Jacquard’s valet had gone, I seized my cloak and prepared to lie down beside him, moving gently so as not to wake him.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jolted to attention, still kneeling on the bed. “Jacquard? You’re awake? We thought you—”

  “Half dead? Unconscious?”

  To my astonishment he sat up next to me, wincing a little. “You think you can join me in a strange bed without pleasing me first? Am I so close to death that I’ve no need of your favors, ma’am?”

  He was pulling me close, pushing the loose cloak away from my shoulders and making short work of my rumpled traveling gown. Buttons flew as he wrenched at my neckline then found my breasts and buried his head in them with a sigh.

  I laughed and stroked his hair, relishing the sparks tingling all over me as he kneaded my breasts to find my nipples, hauling on each in turn with hot, eager kisses. “You’re injured, sir. Madame says you must rest. So do I.”

  “I mean to. But I see no reason not to enjoy it, nor to ease up on your discipline while I do it. You thought your greedy little cunny would have a night’s peace? You thought wrong. Strip.”

  To my unbounded joy, I saw he meant it. As I started on my gown, I gave him a sly look. “I thought this would take weeks, sir. In the carriage you looked like death.”

  His eyelids lowered. “I dozed a little. Mostly I was blissfully cradled in your lap, I seem to remember. Most stimulating. Take off the shift also. I want to see your all.”

  Slowly, swaying a little to prolong the effect, I slipped off everything. His eyes glittered in the low light from the candle.

  “Now kneel up over me. Hold onto the bedpost for support.”

  His sharp command sent shivers through me. I hurriedly obeyed, hoping I’d humor him into slumber.

  My hope was dashed. As I clung with one hand to the post. Splaying my thighs for his delight, he shot his greedy tongue inside me. For long moments he teased and explored, searching so thoroughly I thought I should cry out. “Sir, you’ll undo me.”