Fear and Honor

“Go!” He yelled over the roar of the wind. “It’s not safe for you to be out here. Go!”

  At any other time, I would have argued, but I was feeling so sick that I did as I was told. I might still throw up, but at least I wouldn't end up in the middle of the ocean while I was puking my guts out.

  Not that I had anything left to get out. Each time I felt like I was going to get sick again, all I managed was painful dry heaving. I wanted to sleep it off, but I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to sleep while my husband and everyone else was fighting. Still, no matter how much I wanted to help, I knew I had to stay put. So, I screwed my eyes shut, pressing my hand to my unsettled stomach, and tried not to think about anything.

  I felt like a failure...and really hoped this wasn't a foreshadowing of things to come.

  Chapter 16

  It was the beginning of November when we finally reached dry land, and I had a feeling we'd gotten in on one of the last ships. The docks didn't look much different than American ones, but I was still trying to adjust to how much different everything looked from my own time. Not that I'd been to France before, in any time.

  It felt strange, the land not moving under my feet, and the lack of movement was almost enough to throw me off balance as I walked down the dock next to Gracen. Most of the sailors had gone on ahead of us, and even though Gracen tried to pretend that they were just eager to get some real food, I knew that most of them were off to find the closest brothel.

  I wasn't going to try to explain to my husband how I knew that though. I doubted he'd look kindly on the sort of conversations I'd had with Rogers and Wilkins. Hell, I hadn't even told Bruce half the shit those two talked about.

  “We haven't really talked about what we're going to do here,” I said.

  Gracen nodded. “My family has some connections over here, but I thought it best if we appear to be on holiday, so we can be a bit more subtle about our inquiries.” Something like concern crossed his face. “Washington made it clear that we would be acting in an unofficial capacity, and while our views are not treasonous in France, we will need to be cautious to ensure word of our actions does not reach the wrong ears.”

  I appreciated the fact that he was including me despite the fact that Washington probably didn't know I'd stowed away, and even more so as I realized that things were still dangerous for us. I hadn't considered what would happen if someone we spoke to ended up reporting what we were doing to someone in England, or even someone back in the colonies. Now, I was even more grateful that I'd come along. If something went wrong, I wanted us to be together.

  “Paris is a few hours from here,” he continued. “But I thought we would like a day to rest before renting a carriage.”

  “Good call.” I felt like I was staring at everything like an overenthusiastic child. I was so caught up in the novelty of new sights and smells that it took me a moment to think of a question that hadn't occurred to me until now. “How are we going to pay for any of this?”

  Gracen looked surprised. “What?”

  “You had to trade your watch to pay for my passage. How are we supposed to afford a carriage? A place to stay? Paris?”

  He chuckled. “The watch wasn't for your passage, my love.” He put his arm around my waist. “That was a bribe for his cabin.”

  I stopped and stared up at my husband. “I thought he offered it to us because I was a woman.”

  “You were a stowaway,” Gracen corrected. “And the captain would have been within his rights to throw you in the brig. Which I would have needed to protest. Vehemently.”

  “I'm confused,” I said. “Didn't he know who your father is?”

  “He did. But he also knew that my dad isn't fond of you, so I gave him the watch to offer his cabin, and he agreed to use it to retrieve an additional payment from my father for your passage and the use of his cabin.”

  “An additional payment?”

  When he grinned, I could see that he wasn't just amused. He was pleased with himself.

  “I might have taken my father's seal,” he said. “So if I write a letter to promise money, and I use the seal...”

  “Your father will have to pay or risk losing face.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Damn,” I said with a smile. “I married a brilliant man.”

  His kiss took my breath away, and I almost forgot that we were in public during a time when these sorts of displays of affection warranted attention. When he released me, my face was flushed, hot despite the blustery November weather.

  “I cannot wait to get you in a proper bed,” he murmured.

  I seconded that sentiment, and the two of us moved along a little faster, the tension between us humming as we searched for a place to rent a room. The French proprietress led us to a room on the upper floor, her expression stuck in the chilled mask she'd worn since the moment Gracen had introduced me as his wife.

  We'd barely been in the room more than a few seconds before a plain young woman came in with a pail of water. As soon as she emptied it into a ceramic basin, I crossed over to it, already anticipating the cool, crisp feeling. I exhaled appreciatively as I washed my face of the salt water that had soaked into my pores. The soap smelled spectacular, but I was pretty sure that anything would've smelled great after having been packed onto a ship for a month with a dozen men who probably hadn't bathed in a year.

  Still, fresh soap and water had always been a part of my coming home ritual, and it helped me feel better now.

  I straightened and gave a sigh of appreciation. Gracen wrapped his arms around me from behind, touching his cheek to my damp one, earning another sigh from me, though this one was much more sensual.

  “Alone at last,” he said, close to my ear. “Truly alone. Did you ever think it would happen?”

  I chuckled softly. “I had my doubts. I mean, the cabin was a little more private, but knowing those guys were out there all the time, yeah, it didn't exactly scream alone.”

  “Do you know what I think is an ideal situation?” Gracen asked.

  “Hmm?” I murmured.

  He pulled me even closer against him. “Having you as close to me as possible, for as long as possible.”

  “I agree,” I answered. “Aren’t you glad I snuck aboard?”

  Gracen captured my gaze in the mirror, the heat in his eyes making the answer obvious.

  My own body responded with a similar heat. “So, now that I’m here, what can I do to help?”

  Gracen lowered his eyes in thought, his hand circling over my stomach.

  “I have a question,” I asked before he could completely cloud my thinking. “While we're playing Loyalists for the public, am I going to be your servant–”

  “You’re always my wife,” he cut in as he pressed his lips against the curve of my neck.

  I turned, lightly scratching his back with my nails. “Am I, you Loyalist snob?”

  His embrace tightened. “Remember, you’re one too. For now.”

  I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

  He laughed. “You are the one who wanted to come and help in France.”

  “Mostly I just wanted to be with you,” I whispered before kissing him. “I already know how it's going to end. But, I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now you’ll do what I tell you?”

  “Yes. As long as it’s pretty close to what I want to do.”

  He laughed as he released me. We had a few more things to put away, and then dinner to eat. While both of us wanted to take advantage of our room, I had a feeling that after we ate, we were going to take advantage of our bed in a different way. As much as I was looking forward to being able to take our time making love to each other, I couldn't deny that sleeping in a bed that wasn't rocking back and forth was immensely appealing.

  I brushed my lips across his, then moved my mouth across his cheeks and chin, making my way toward his neck. I wanted to wake him up in a special way, let him know how thankful I was to be here, with him. The
moan escaping from his lips conveyed my success so far.

  “How are we doing this morning, my love?” I murmured in his ear as I nipped it and moved back towards his lips. I'd never been one for terms of endearment, but I loved when he called me my love.

  “What are you doing?”

  His question was one of sleepy curiosity rather than lack of interest, so I kept going as I answered, speaking between kisses. “Showing you how happy I am to be able to spend some time with you without worrying about being sea-sick or if one of the crew is going to come knocking.”

  He ran his hand over my hair, and I lifted my head. My eyes moved to his, and we stared at each other for a moment in complete silence before each moving forward, intent clear, but unspoken, between us. Our mouths crashed together, igniting the fire that always seemed to exist between us, smoldering, waiting for something to ignite it.

  My hand fisted in his hair, while he gripped my waist as if I was his lifeline. As his tongue plundered my mouth, my free hand explored the ridges and planes of his torso. The hand on my waist slid up to cup my breast through my shift, and I moaned, back arching as his thumb grazed my nipple.

  He broke away just long enough to mutter a single word, “Off,” and then began to kiss and bite his way down my neck, mixing the sting of pain with the soft, wet pleasure of lips and tongue. His hands tugged at my shift, and I let him pull it over my head, immediately moving to return the favor.

  “You're so beautiful,” I murmured as I pressed my mouth against his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart. He swore as I circled his nipple with my tongue, his body jerking when I switched to teeth.

  Suddenly, he was flipping us over so that I was on my back, staring up at him. His eyes burned into mine as he wrapped his hands around my wrists and pulled my arms above my head. My already racing pulse did a funny little skipping thing, and my breath caught in my throat.

  “I have been imagining this moment for far too long,” he said as he shifted, moving both of my wrists to one hand so he had the other free. “All I wanted to do the moment you revealed yourself to me on the ship was taste every inch of you.”

  His hand skimmed over my stomach, dropped between my legs. I parted them eagerly, wanting him to touch me, but he went to my thighs, leaving me frustrated and wanting.

  “I sometimes find myself wondering if you are real,” he continued to speak, but I wondered if he was talking to himself now. “If I am not touching you, not inside you, then it could be my mind playing tricks on me, torturing me with the idea of loving someone as much as I love you.”

  His grip on my wrist tightened, his free hand moving up to palm first one breast, then the other.

  “The night we were apart, I was unable to sleep, terrified that you would return to your time while I was away, that all I would ever have again was the memory of you.” He leaned down and took my nipple between his lips, sucking on it hard enough to make me whimper and writhe.

  “I'm not going anywhere,” I said breathlessly. In the back of my mind, I knew it was an empty promise because whatever had brought me here could take me back again, and there'd be nothing I could do to stop it, but as long as I had a choice, I would stay.

  He moved over me, releasing my hands as he settled between my legs, the tip of him brushing against my curls. He held himself on his elbows, his body resting on mine, but not crushing me. Every breath I took made my already sensitive nipples rub against the hair on his chest, sending shivery sensations across my nerves.

  “Love me,” I said as I ran my hands down his back to his hips. “Make love to me, Gracen. Remind us both that we are real, that we are here, together.”

  He took my mouth as he slid inside me, filling me in one slow, sweet stroke. We moved together with a different sort of urgency than the kind that had filled our time recently. This wasn't a race toward release, but a steady building of something significant between us.

  The first time I came, it was with a shudder and a cry that he swallowed, his tongue continuing its gentle exploration. I wrapped my legs around him, heels resting just under his ass, and used the leverage to meet him again and again. When I knew he was close, I pulled my mouth away from his.

  “I love you, Gracen Lightwood,” I said the words with as much force as I could muster. “More than anything, I love you.”

  He called out my name as he buried himself deep, losing himself in me. I clung to him, his orgasm triggering my own, and we rode it out together.

  Together. How we were meant to be, and what I would go to hell and back to keep.

  Chapter 17

  I was prepared to call myself the wife of a Loyalist, but I wasn’t prepared for what it meant to be the wife of a well-to-do man with all the types of connections necessary to help our cause in eighteenth-century Paris.

  One of the things I'd never considered about going to Europe two hundred years before I was born was how much of it would actually be the same. There was a joke that said five hundred miles was a long distance to an Englishman, and five hundred years was a long time for an American, and I was seeing that now firsthand.

  Buildings that were historical sites recognizable through entertainment were new and fresh. Areas of the city that would become known for their contributions to the artistic community were just starting to come together.

  If we'd been here for any other reason, I might've been eager to explore, to enjoy my time. Except this wasn't a vacation. We'd met up with some acquaintances of Gracen's late mother and were staying with them in their new house in the Faubourg Saint-Germain area of the city. Well, house didn't exactly convey the sheer size of the place. It was a mansion. An absolutely beautiful, massive mansion.

  And after two weeks, I was going stir-crazy.

  I'd taken a couple years of Spanish in high school and had picked up a couple words in various Middle Eastern dialects while on tour, but none of that helped me here. The family we were staying with only knew a couple words of English, so they usually talked in French to each other and to Gracen, which left me smiling like an idiot most of the time.

  It also meant that it was Gracen who was making all of the initial connections. I'd be on his arm whenever appropriate, but it hadn't taken me long to figure out that my presence here was entirely unnecessary. He didn't need me.

  Still, I had to keep up appearances. After all, a big part of this job was being able to blend in, which to the rich meant attending parties and being as superficial as possible. Which meant that if only the men were going out, I had to smile and stay home.

  So when Gracen left every evening, dressed in newly tailored clothes, and didn't come back until the early hours of the night, it made me wonder if it would've been better if I'd stayed in Boston. Since we'd left the little inn near the docks, we'd hardly spent any time together, and none of it had been of the intimate nature.

  I’d never experienced the feeling of being the little wife who had to stay at home while her husband went out to do all the exciting work. I didn’t like it. And I missed my husband.

  “You’re coming with me tomorrow.”

  Gracen's words startled me. I hadn't heard him come in, but I wasn't sure if that was because he'd been extra quiet or because I'd gotten used to the small sounds of servants moving around and had subconsciously dismissed his footsteps. I set down the book I was reading – one of the only English books I'd seen – and turned toward him as he came into the room we shared.

  I frowned at him, not wanting to hope that I was finally going to get to do some good. “What do you mean I’m going with you? To do what exactly?”

  “Remember when you said that the French government wouldn't officially be helping the colonies for a while?”

  I nodded. “And they still don't actually support the revolution itself. There were – are – some idealists like Lafayette who want things here to change, but most of Europe is terrified of what will happen if the colonies win.”

  Gracen sat down on a nearby chair and began removing hi
s shoes. “Then what makes France send assistance at all?”

  “From what I remember from my brother, France pretty much just wants to piss off the English, and helping the colonies is the best way to do it.” I pulled aside the covers as he finished undressing. “Franklin and Lafayette will be the ones ultimately credited with obtaining France's help, but there were a couple other people who assisted.”

  “Which is why you suggested that the best way to help was to collect names of sympathizers.”

  I nodded. “Names and promoting the cause are two of the biggest things we can do.”

  “Which is why I now need your assistance.”

  “What can I do? I don't even speak the language.” I hoped I didn't sound as whiney to him as I did to myself.

  “I have been invited to a ball being thrown by an important man here. Alexandre St. James is extremely influential both politically and socially. Our hosts were able to introduce me, and I was invited to a ball he is holding three nights from now. I believe he may be amenable to supporting the revolution...but he is also a distant relative to the king.”

  I nodded, understanding his concern though I didn't yet know what good I'd be. “If you say the wrong thing and it gets back to the king, people at court may have connections to British.”

  “That is what makes this both important and dangerous.”

  “Does that mean I'm a distraction so you can make a pitch without the wrong person overhearing?”

  “No, not a distraction...not exactly. More like a distraction with ears.” He leaned back to brush the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “Did you not say that you would be charmingly unsuspicious as a spy?”

  I had, though I'd been thinking more about being behind enemy lines back in the States where I'd at least know the names of important players, as well as the important dates. Here, I wasn't sure of much.

  “You don't believe that what we're doing here is important,” Gracen said suddenly.

  “That's...” I sighed. “I just know that our being here won’t do any good. Not for a while, anyway.”