Compromised for Christmas Page 5

leave Paris immediately.

  As much as she hated for Claude to return home, she knew he must. If he didn’t, the soldiers would become suspicious. The boy began his way back up the streets, the croissant long gone. Lisette followed, her heart heavy with fear of what they might find.

  She watched as Claude turned onto the street in front of his house before she ducked into the narrow street and made her way to the back of the Vaux home. She silently opened the back door, expecting to find Jean Pierre where she left him, but the spot was vacant. Shots rang out from the front of the house as she stepped into the kitchen.

  Lisette rushed into the parlor, knife clutched in her hand. Vaux’s head lay on his desk. Crimson blood stained the parchment and a gun remained clasped in his hand. A soldier lay on the floor in front of the desk, hand over his bloody chest with eyes unseeing towards the ceiling.

  Two other soldiers were on the rug in front of a settee. She assumed they were dead as well. Jean Pierre fought with the fourth man, his gun on the floor by the door. It was a matter of strength between the two, with the other man bending Jean Pierre backwards, hands clasped around his throat. Lisette didn’t hesitate. She rushed forwards. Before she could reach Jean Pierre, the soldier paused, gasped, and collapsed at Jean Pierre’s feet, a knife protruding out of his belly. Her stomach revolted at the carnage. She had been trained for this and was prepared to take a life, or so she had thought. This was the first time her skills had been tested or she witnessed death.

  Jean Pierre straightened and rolled the man out of the way.

  “Papa,” Claude called from the foyer. Lisette panicked. She couldn’t let the little boy see the dead soldiers, and most certainly not his father. What would become of the child? His mother died a few years ago, and essentially he was now alone in the room.

  She rushed past Jean Pierre to stop Claude.

  “Stay where you are, Claude,” Vaux called from behind her.

  Lisette turned to find Vaux sitting, a hand to his forehead. Blood still ran through his fingers, but she was relieved just the same to know he wasn’t dead. She continued until she came to Claude and kept him from the entry of the parlor. “Your papa would like you to wait here while his business is concluded.”

  The boy nodded solemnly.

  “Burn everything,” Jean Pierre order while pages rustled beyond her sight.

  “I’ll gather a few belongings and meet you by the back door.” Vaux entered the foyer. He had found a handkerchief and pressed it against his forehead, though it was quickly turning red. He smiled gently at his son. “My head is harder than they anticipated.” He tousled his son’s hair. “Wait here with Lisette, and I will be back in a moment.”

  She gestured to Claude to sit on a bench away from the front door where he still could not see further into the house and placed herself by a window where she could watch the street. No other soldiers were about, and the soldiers’ horses remained tied to a post outside. They needed to get out of here in the event anyone came to check on the men, though they probably didn’t expect them to return anytime soon.

  Vaux vaulted down the stairs, two traveling bags in his hands, as Jean Pierre came to the door. Flames crackled behind him.

  “You are burning the house?” Alarm rose in her breast.

  “I told him to. We can’t risk anything being discovered.” Vaux stopped by Claude and focused on Lisette. “You warned Etienne and Pasquel?”

  “Yes.”

  “They will let the others know. Now, we need to get out of Paris before it is too late.” He held his hand out to Claude, who hopped down from his seat and took it. The party turned down the hall and made their way to the back door. After checking to make sure the back of the house and narrow street were still empty, they made their way into the shadows. Vaux headed north with his son. Lisette and Jean Pierre turned towards the river. Her arm linked with his, looking as if they were doing nothing more than going out for a morning stroll. Her heart still beat a mad tattoo, and she fought to keep from checking over her shoulder.

  The streets were more crowded with people, carriages, and horses. It was easier to blend in and disappear. They wove southwest along streets and avenues until they came to the Seine. A cold wind whipped around them. Jean Pierre turned up the collar of his coat. They continued west along the river, and the further they traveled, the more the crowds thinned. Lisette cast glances in many directions as they walked. She wished she knew where Jean Pierre was headed, but he hadn’t bothered to say a word to her after they left the house. Her contact for getting out of the country was in the opposite direction. She hoped they were walking towards his, because it was unsafe to be wandering the streets for Paris without a plan.

  When they reached another of the many stone bridges, Jean Pierre directed her down the steps leading towards the water edge. At least below they were out of the direct wind, though they weren’t completely sheltered. The blue sky and bright sun were deceiving, as one would think it would be a bit warmer.

  Several fishermen sat along the walls, casting their lines into the water. Ahead was a cluster of small fishing boats mixed in with larger boast. “Some of the men who don’t have families choose to live on their boat,” Jean Pierre explained.

  She stopped. “Would your contact own a boat?” The words were a whisper, but she didn’t take her eyes off the soldiers.

  Bloody hell. Soldiers stood at Maurice’s boat. He turned Lisette under the bridge. John glanced down at the woman who clutched his arm. To anyone observing, she looked like a serene young woman, her arm linked with his, enjoying a stroll along the river. But he could feel the tension in her grip. It radiated from her being. He suspected she could feel the same from him.

  As soon as they were on that boat, if that were even possible now, he and Lisette would leave Paris behind. He wasn’t sure he was ready to leave this city. Of course staying would see him killed, so it was not an option, but he had come to love it here. He wondered if Lisette felt the same. Maybe they could return together someday, when Napoleon had been dealt with and they didn’t have to pretend to be who they were not.

  John quickly stifled that thought. Once they were safely on English soil, they would part ways and never see one another again. He had no doubt the Home Office would continue to use her, as they would him. Their being in this position, hiding and running from soldiers, had not been due to any mistakes on their part. But would he and Lisette ever work together again?

  The chance was unlikely. She could never work in England. Had she been poor without family, perhaps, but he was certain there were enough who already knew her as Danby’s granddaughter that subterfuge would be impossible. More than it was for him. Where would the Home Office assign her next? What would they call her? She may have been christened Elizabeth, but to him she was Lisette.

  John glanced back. Two soldiers stood at Maurice’s boat. Three more were on the deck. How had the man been caught?

  “I tell you, I don’t know what you are talking about.” Maurice’s voice carried on the wind towards them. “I fish, I sleep, I eat, I fish some more.”

  “We’ve been told you deliver messages, and people, for England.”

  Maurice spit on the ground. “I am an old man. Why would I do such a thing?”

  “I hear the money is good.”

  Maurice laughed. “As you can see, I am a very rich man.” He gestured to the boat that needed a good coat of paint. It was far from the opulent yacht his family owned in England.

  “We can’t find anything,” a soldier called from the deck of the boat.

  “Search again,” another called from the shore.

  The three on the boat shrugged and disappeared below.

  Maurice shook his head, turned and waved the soldier away in disgust before he took a seat on the bench along the wall. John wasn’t sure what to do. It would be too obvious if they returned up the steps, but they couldn’t walk towards Maurice either. Of cou
rse, most Parisians did turn away from the military police, whether they were guilty of anything or not.

  Elizabeth pulled on his arm and John broke his focus. It was stupid of him to have stood and stared. Thank goodness the soldiers didn’t notice. Elizabeth turned, and they continue further under the bridge but were stopped by a wall halfway through. Bloody hell, now they couldn’t go anywhere.

  “Can they still see us?”

  John bent forwards and glanced towards the boats. The soldiers who had been below deck had once again emerged. They shrugged and John wished he could hear what was being said. “If they come this way, yes. But not from the boat.”

  If it was darker, or the sun at a different angle they would be in the shade, but such was not their luck.

  They stood there for a few moments looking out at the river. “We can’t just stand here. It looks odd. Let’s go back up to the street and wait to see what happens.”

  John nodded his head and tugged her hand. They emerged at the foot of the stairs just as the soldiers turned in their direction. Maurice remained safely by his boat and John knew he noticed him. Elizabeth sucked in her breath, and John acted. He put Elizabeth against the wall and did what any other healthy Parisian man would do when taking a walk along the Seine with a lady. He kissed her.

  The impact of Jean Pierre’s lips on hers stole