Annette Blair - Scandalous Brides

A few muffled exclamations from within the coach attested to the difficulty of carrying out his instructions in such close quarters, but eventually the door opened. Nessa emerged, clad in the black stuff gown and a voluminous shawl.

“Some of the hooks in the back would not quite hook,” she explained, “but the shawl should disguise the fact.”

Jack nodded his approval. “It covers your hair as well. Excellent. Now to discover whether we can leave Paris as easily as we entered it.”

This time Jack took the reins, while the others rode inside. With some difficulty, he managed to back the horses and carriage out of the alleyway. Turning them, he then headed northward, taking back streets wherever possible. Most of the activity seemed to be centered near the Tuileries and Palais-Royal, so that once they'd gone a mile or so, the traffic lessened considerably.

They were nearing the city wall, and he was beginning to breathe easier, when he saw the blockade. Though it did not look particularly official, a few burly Frenchman had apparently taken it upon themselves to search each conveyance leaving the city. Cursing, Jack turned the coach again, to seek another route, only to find the next exit similarly blocked by zealots eager to earn their Emperor's gratitude.

Halting yet again, he looked about for a likely alternative when the thing he had most dreaded occurred.

“Is this Jack Ashecroft I see?” exclaimed a female voice in French. “I should have known that if any Englishman had the fortitude to still be in Paris, it would be you.”

“ Bonsoir , Collette,” he responded, realizing that attempting to ignore or evade her would likely do more harm than good. In fact, if she still held any tender feelings for him, she might be induced to help. “You are a sight for sore eyes.” And indeed, his onetime paramour was as lovely as ever.

“Finding yourself in difficulties?” She sauntered close, looking up at him with a half smile.

“Rather,” he replied. “I returned to Paris only this evening, after visiting friends in the countryside, to discover this.” He indicated the blockade a few hundred yards ahead. “Has the arrest of all English been ordered?”

She shook her head. “Not ordered, no, though the silly English behaved as if it had. And now that the Emperor is expected momentarily, some of my countrymen seek to curry his favor by acting on their own.”

“Can you help me, Collette? For old times' sake?” He smiled down at her, summoning all of his charm —for Nessa.

She glanced at the coach. “Who do you have with you? English friends?”

“Just my servants,” he said quickly. Too quickly, it seemed, for Collette now looked suspicious.

“Indeed?” Before he could prevent her, she opened the carriage door. Jack jumped off the box to stand beside her.

“My valet,” he explained, pointing to Parker, “an under-housekeeper, and a maid.” He indicated first Simmons, then Nessa. “The two women were employed at the house where I visited. They wished to return to England, so I hired them.”

Collette's glance lingered on Nessa. “I can imagine what you hired this one to do!” She flashed a knowing glance at Jack. “And yet you wish me to help you?”

Jack glanced negligently at Nessa. “A pretty face, but nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, wishing Nessa's French were not so good. “She can't hold a candle to you, of course, Collette!” He forced himself to keep his eyes on the Frenchwoman.

“That goes without saying,” she agreed. “Very well, mon Jacques , for the sake of what was—and what may be again—I will assist you. Help me up, so that I may sit beside you.”

Jack gestured for the others to reenter the coach, then boosted the woman onto the box before climbing up to take the reins again. To his surprise, she directed him back toward the first barricade he had seen.

“Raoul there, on the right, is my cousin,” she told him as they approached. Then, more loudly, “Raoul! Are you minded to fill your pockets tonight?”

The burly man scowled up at her. “Helping English to escape, Collette?”

“Only peasants, servants left behind to make their own way by their curst, cowardly masters —but with the money to pay passage.”

“How much money?” Raoul's eyes gleamed in the dim torchlight.

Recognizing his cue, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold sovereign. The man snatched it from him, then carried it closer to the light, to examine it suspiciously. He then returned to open the carriage door.

“Not that I don't trust you, Collette.” He stared at the three inside for a moment, then grunted and closed the door. “Very well, then. Odds are they'll never make the coast anyway, before our Emperor conquers the English for good.” With an uproarious laugh, he waved them past the barricade.

“Thank you, Collette,” said Jack, when they had gone half a mile down the road. “Now, if you can give me directions to the most likely route to the coast, I'll be forever grateful. You'll want to return to Paris, will you not?” He slowed the coach.

But she shook her head. “I live in this direction, and you'll be needing a place to spend the night safely. Continue as you're going—it's only a few miles away.”

Collette had been pure Parisian, as Jack recalled. No doubt it was her parents who lived up ahead. At any rate, she was right. They'd need to stop soon for the night, for the sake of the horses as well as themselves. It was more than an hour later that Collette directed him down a long track off to the right, which eventually led to a sturdy farmhouse.

“Wait here,” she told him, then clambered down and hurried into the house—to apprise her parents of company, he presumed. A moment later a tall man slammed the door open and strode to the carriage. While Jack was still preparing his speech, the man reached up and pulled him roughly to the ground.

“So, Jacques Ashecroft! I have longed for an excuse to do this,” he roared in French. Before Jack could regain his balance, the man planted him a stunning blow to the face.

Falling to his knees, Jack looked up confusedly. He could feel the blood running freely from his nose. A muffled scream came from inside the carriage, but he resolutely ignored it, silently willing Nessa to remain where she was.

“Have I offended in some way, monsieur?” he asked, in what should pass for native French.

The man's chuckle held a vicious edge. “Offended? Offended? Why should your seduction of my wife offend me? Only the thought of the Emperor's reward keeps me from killing you here and now. I confess I once doubted her story of how you forced her, but Collette has now proved her faithfulness by bringing you here.” He glanced back to where she stood in the open doorway of the house, her arms folded across her chest.

“There are three more in the coach,” she told him. At Jack's incredulous stare, she merely shrugged.

“They are but servants,” said Jack. “You will gain nothing by holding them here.”

Collette stepped forward. “Two are servants. The third? I think not.” She pulled open the carriage door and gestured, with the pistol he only now noticed she held, for the occupants to get out.

Jack's mouth went dry. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned . He was seeing the proof of it yet again. Somehow he had to convince them to let Nessa go. She stood there bravely, glaring at her captors.

“You're right,” he said abruptly. “She's not a servant. She's a whore I picked up in Paris, who promised me her favors for free in return for passage to England. As I seem unlikely to collect now, you may do what you wish with her.” He struggled to stand, but the hulking Frenchman immediately grabbed him by the collar.