From the bridge they could see down into the noisy chaos of the market place where the peasants thronged, jostling and chattering as they bought and sold their wares. Two men were arguing by the fish stall, both of them dressed in clothes that had seen better and more fashionable days. The smaller blond man was berating the taller and slapping him across the chest with his hat as they argued. Lady Chantal's Du Lac handsome companion squeezed her arm and nodded towards the blond man.

"Zat is 'im."

"'Im? But he is a peasant!"

"Mais oui. But 'e is perfect, non?"

"'E is very scruffie…" she observed doubtfully.

"Are not all peasants scruffie? Zat is why zey are peasants."

"Oui. But why 'im?"

"'E has the looks and ze right build. I can do zings with 'im."

"But what of 'is friends?"

"Peasants do not know ze meaning of friendship. Zay will 'ardly notice 'e is gone!"

"But what if zey come looking for 'im?"

"Zen we will send zem away."

"But if zey persist?"

"Zen we will kill zem."

Chantal blinked doubtfully up at the impeccably dressed man standing beside her. Comte Henri De Mars was a handsome specimen with his naturally curly black hair and dark brooding looks. He had a fine turn of leg in his tight breeches and many a woman succumbed willingly to his charms. Chantal had known him longer than she cared to remember and knew exactly how cunning and devious he could be. When he said he would kill this peasant's friends if they got in his way, then he meant it. In many ways, he was a true French aristocrat.

"You would murder zem?"

"Zey are peasants! What murder? What is one less of zem, huh? Besides, 'e will only be interested in money. 'E has no more morals zan you do! 'E will soon forget 'is friends when 'e discovers 'e can be rich if 'e helps us."

Chantal frowned doubtfully, but set her hand daintily in Henri's when he impatiently held out his own. With a swish of rose silk panniers, she let him lead her down the steps into the market. Flicking her lace fan to her nose, she did her best not to inhale the decidedly fragrant aroma surrounding her or allow any of the peasants to touch her. She was very much aware of the glares they drew. The Comte De Mars was not a popular man among the peasantry. His reputation preceded him everywhere and Chantal had found herself tarred with the same brush. Ah if she only had the courage and the money to leave him...

"Ah la peche," Henri announced, reaching the fish stall and surveying the two men behind a pretence of examining the fish on display.

"None but the best, monsieur," the lugubrious faced fish seller assured him.

"Quite," Henri wrinkled his nose and stepped back, deliberately jostling the taller of the two peasants. The man staggered, nearly knocking his smaller companion over, and turned to glare at the aristocrat. "Watch where you are going, peasant," Henri sneered.

"I, monsieur?" he snapped. "I believe you jostled me!"

"Robert, do not be a fool," his blond companion said quickly, plucking at his grimy white sleeve.

"We have our rights, Jean Pierre," Robert replied. "An apology is called for."

Henri sniffed, fluttering a scented handkerchief under his nose. "You may continue."

"I? I do not apologise to the likes of you!"

Chantal held her breath, seeing the dangerous glow in Henri's eyes. He was deliberately goading this handsome young man into a duel, viewing him only as an obstacle to be disposed of. Against the Comte's swordsmanship this Robert would stand no chance.

Robert suddenly yelped and started hopping; clutching at his ankle as Jean Pierre kicked him and glided smoothly between his friend and De Mars. "Please, excuse mon ami, 'e is a little S.L.O.W. at times."

"Jean Pierre!" Robert wailed and shut up as Jean Pierre backhanded him across the chest with his hat.

Henri raised an eyebrow, surveying the blond Frenchman with an intensity that Jean Pierre seemed to find disconcerting for a moment. "And you are not?"

"No, monsieur, I am not." Jean Pierre gazed back at him levelly, poised and waiting.

De Mars considered this and smiled lazily, stirring himself to idly amble around the blond and look him up and down. "And how do you make your Francs, peasant?" he mocked insultingly.

Jean Pierre's head came up and he looked him straight in the eye. "More honestly than you no doubt, citoyen."

For a split second, Chantal thought Henri would draw his sword and skewer the peasant where he stood. From the look on his face Robert thought so too, but the Comte managed to control himself with an effort.

"Do you not know who I am?" he demanded.

"Non, citoyen, I do not. Nor do I care. Do you know who I am?"

Chantal fought down a smile. This grubby little peasant had courage and underneath the grimy frock coat and breeches was a nice, firm body to go with it. Washed and dressed in decent clothes he would be quite presentable. In fact, very presentable indeed….

She fanned herself faster, disturbed by the thoughts racing through her mind.

"Do not be ridiculous, peasant!" Henri snapped. "Of course I do not!"

"Zen we are even, non?" Jean Pierre exchanged a look with Robert and grinned wolfishly. "And we come to a parting of ze ways, monsieur, with no 'arm done." He turned away and caught Chantal studying him from behind her fan. His blue eyes widened in surprise for a second then darkened in speculation as he returned her own bold gaze with a speculative one of his own. "Are you enjoying ze….view of ze market place, mademoiselle?"

Chantal blushed, knowing that he knew that she knew he knew what she had been thinking. Her fan was practically a blur as she fanned herself. "I do not know what you mean."

Jean Pierre blinked and frowned, looking at her more closely. As his blue eyes widened in recognition Chantal flinched back, feeling a stab of forgotten feelings. No, it could not be…. Her lips shaped his name even as she sent him a silent plea with her eyes for his silence. Bafflement entered his gaze, but he followed the flicker of her eyes towards Henri and held his tongue.

"Ah, zen you come for ze atmosphere," Robert purred, gliding closer and confidently turning his charm on her.

Grateful for the distraction he provided, Chantal gave him a narrow eyed look and wrinkled her nose, fanning herself hastily to fastidiously waft away the aroma that came with him. "Mais oui, there is certainly much atmosphere 'ere," she said dryly..

Robert exchanged a doubtful look with Jean Pierre and appeared baffled by his friend's impish grin and finger pressed under his nose.

Henri took Chantal's hand, tucking it securely under his arm and glaring at the two peasants. "Come," he said briskly. "We shall not linger 'ere among zese peasants to be insulted any longer. Our carriage will be waiting."

Reluctantly, Chantal let the Comte lead her away, but was unable to resist one last peek over her shoulder towards Jean Pierre. The two men had vanished into the crowds of the market place already and she found herself suppressing a wistful sigh before Henri could hear her and question her commitment to his plans.

* * *

"Ah, Robert, when will you learn? No duelling!"

"'E challenged me!"

"Oui and 'e would have killed you!"

"You have too little trust in my abilities, Jean Pierre!"

Irritably, Jean Pierre glared up at Robert. "I have no trust in your abilities when it comes to common sense! 'E was an aristocrat! Have you forgotten already what Marie says? We must wait quietly for 'er and Francois to return. We cannot afford to draw attention to ourselves!"

"We cannot afford to eat either! I am bad tempered when I am 'ungry."

Glancing around the alleyway they had concealed themselves in Jean Pierre snorted and fished out a black velvet purse from the voluminous folds of his coat. "Ere, perhaps this will quell your whining, huh?"

Surprised, Robert snatched the purse and opened it, spilling a handful of coins into his hands. "You picked 'is pocket?" he cackled gleefully.

Jean Pierre gave him a sparkling grin. "I am 'ungry too, non?"

"Then we shall eat well!" Robert laughed, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulders. "We shall go to ze inn and make merry with ze serving wenches!"

"And what of Marie?"

"What Marie does not know does not 'urt 'er," Robert smirked as he reluctantly allowed Jean Pierre to take and stow the coins away in his own purse. He threw the black velvet purse away, knowing it would only lead to trouble if it was found on them.

"It will 'urt you if you are not careful and she does find out," Jean Pierre warned. "You should not trifle with 'er affections."

"And you are jealous, mon ami?" Robert chuckled teasingly.

Jean Pierre gave him a filthy look. "Non," he practically spat.

"Ah, Jean Pierre, but you are! Ze beautiful Marie wants me for my body and you are left with ze crumbs!"

Jean Pierre took a step towards him, then controlled himself and took a deep breath. "It is you who will be left with ze crumbs if you are not more discrete. Act like a gentleman even if you are not one, uh?"

Robert frowned, smoothing the grubby ruffles of his shirt. "Marie gives me no incentive to be other zan I am," he muttered sulkily.

"Do not be petulant, Robert!

"I am not! Why did she take Francois with 'er and not moi?"

"Francois 'as manners and you do not. Now who is jealous?" Jean Pierre softened, seeing the hint of anxiety in Robert's blue eyes. Robert was not used to being in love and Jean Pierre was not sure his not so bright friend had even recognised the emotion he was feeling for what it was yet. His feelings could be easily hurt. "Come, we shall go to ze inn and I will buy you a drink with ze Comte's money."

* * *

Gazing down at the busy street below the window of De Mars' town house, Chantal found herself daydreaming pleasantly of sweeter, younger days when the world was a nicer place and she did not have to be so coldly practical to survive. Jean Pierre had been part of that world. The handsome farmhand who had swept her off her feet and head over heels into love. The young man who had taught her that haystacks were for the fun of making hay…

"You are daydreaming, Chantal!" Henri's crisp voice snapped impatiently across the salon, startling her into looking round at the Comte.

"I am sorry, Henri? You said something?"

"I said, what did you think of our peasant? Does 'e not have ze looks of ze king?"

Chantal hesitated. "Mais oui…." she said slowly. Henri's scheme had seemed so simple, so practical. Assassinate King Louis and replace him with a puppet, someone who would obey them and turn France into the Utopia that the peasants dreamed of, while avoiding the simmering revolution that occupied all their minds. But to use Jean Pierre so…

"I hear a but…" Henri observed darkly as he strutted across to her side and peered down into the street. He wrinkled his nose at the view of the peasants below and turned his gaze to the prettier view of Chantal's lovely face.

"Can we be sure 'e looks so much like ze king? I 'ave never seen Louis…"

The Comte scowled. "I 'ave and zey are as alike as two peas in a pod," he assured her. "Are you 'aving second thoughts, mon Cherie?" he added sardonically.

"Moi? Mais non!" Chantal exclaimed, neatly dissembling. "Only zat he is very much ze peasant….Can we be sure zat we can groom 'im in time for ze ball?"

"Zat will be up to Herman," Henri retorted. He took her hand, running his thumb slowly across the base of her fingers. "You played your part to ze hilt today, like ze consummate actress zat you are." His grip tightened painfully. "But I do not zink zat this peasant will fall for ze blushing schoolgirl routine!"

Chantal glared at him. "I zink I know more of feminine wiles zan you, Henri!"

"Is zat so? You forget how well I know you."

Taking a deep breath, Chantal drew back her head and looked him straight in the eye. "You are 'urting me, Henri. And I do not zink that bruises will 'elp your plans."

The Comte continued to glare at her for a long moment, then he dropped her hand and stepped back with a gracefully mocking bow. "At your command, mademoiselle. But it is your plan too, no?"

Resisting the urge to rub her hand, Chantal moved away from the window and seated herself in a plushly striped chair. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and gazed at him with glacially cool blue eyes. "I shall play my part as you put it. I shall 'elp him pretend to be a true aristocrat with all the manners zat entails." Henri raised an eyebrow, aware of her sarcasm. "But even I cannot make ze silk purse from ze boar's ear."

Tucking his hands in the small of his back under his frock coat, Henri turned thoughtfully back to the window. "Let us hope you can. For ze peasants sake…"

Chantal felt a cold shiver run down her back at his words as she wondered in alarm whether he meant the hoi polloi in general or Jean Pierre in particular. "What do you mean?"

Henri waved a languid hand and smiled to himself. "It is of no consequence, mon Cherie."

"Per'haps it is. What if zis peasant does not agree to 'elp us?"

"Do not fear. 'E will agree. I shall make 'im an offer 'e cannot refuse…"

* * *

"Meg is a pretty one, non?" Robert observed several hours later, eyeing the sashaying long legged serving girl as she made her way back to the kitchens.

"She is more trouble than she is worth," Jean Pierre snorted, gazing gloomily into the bottom of his tankard. He had been feeling out of sorts ever since he had seen the beautiful aristocrat that afternoon. She had reminded him of things he could not have, stirred feelings he had thought forgotten. What was she calling herself now? he wondered.

"Ah, but I zink 'er kind of trouble is worth it," Robert chuckled appreciatively.

"Zat depends on whether or not you can afford it. And we cannot. She 'as two brothers, remember!"

"How could I forget? But it is not 'er brothers zat I am interested in!"

Jean Pierre gave him an irritated look. "You are all breeches, Robert!"

"And you are poor company, Jean Pierre," Robert scolded impatiently. "Zis is not like you. Where is your joi de vivre?"

"At 'ome in Limoge," Jean Pierre muttered.

Robert frowned and filled his friend's tankard again from the pitcher on the table. "You should find yourself a girl and 'ave some fun," he urged, flashing a huge grin at Meg as she returned with another pitcher. He let her put it down on their table before he put his arm around her and pulled her buxom figure into his lap. "N'est pa, Cherie?"

She grinned back mischievously, flicking her long black hair back over her shoulders. "Mais oui, Robert," she agreed, shooting a flirtatious look at Jean Pierre. It would not be the first time she had had the pleasure of sharing a bed with one of these two. "I am free, Jean Pierre. Perhaps the three of us could make a night of it as you keep promising me? You do not have to toss a coin for my favours," she purred wickedly. With a deep laugh, Robert hugged her and circled his hands around her waist and up to cup her ample breasts. Bending his head he captured her full mouth in a deep kiss, savouring the taste of her lips.

Jean Pierre snorted and finished his ale with one gulp. Surfacing for air Robert frowned at him impatiently. "Do not be so boring," he told him.

"And do not toy with me," Meg warned, squirming out of Robert's lap. Her breasts heaved enticingly as she stood over them with her hands braced on her hips. Robert couldn't take his eyes off them. "I love where I choose."

Jean Pierre refilled his tankard again. "Zen love comes to you too freely. Zere is more to love zan the pleasure of ze body!"

Seeing Meg's blue eyes flash with fury, Robert caught her hand and pulled her back into his lap, wriggling under her meaningfully. "Zen you shall 'ave my full attention, sweet one," he purred into her ear. Meg grinned in delight and nuzzled ardently into his neck, nibbling his throat happily. "What is wrong with you?" Robert hissed at his friend as the serving girl occupied herself with wriggling one hand into his breeches.

"I do not know," Jean Pierre sighed ruefully, watching Meg and wishing he wanted her. He was half tempted to say yes to distract himself, but knew he couldn't be that unfair to her. Meg was a sweet girl in her own way.

"It is zat hoighty-toity aristocrat woman, is it not?" Robert guessed, shaking his head. "She is too good for the likes of you."

"And 'ow would you know?"

"You wanted 'er. I could see it."

"What do you need a rich bitch like 'er for?" Meg asked curiously, squirming to get comfortable and making a pained expression of reaction cross Robert's face.

"She is not a bitch!" Jean Pierre snapped, startling all of them with his flash of temper.

"I zink Jean Pierre fancies zat 'e is in love with 'er!" Robert mocked, laughing. "Zeir eyes met and 'e…" He broke off with a gasp, spluttering indignantly as Jean Pierre hurled the contents of his tankard in his face.

"You are drunk! And you do not know what you are talking about," Jean Pierre snarled at him, pushing to his feet. "And zere are no words I can find to describe how foolish you are!"

"Yes, zere is; stupid…" Robert smirked then paused, belatedly realising what he had said. "Wait! What am I saying? I mean…"

"Hah! I will see you back at our lodgings! If you can find your own way 'ome alone!"

Robert gaped after him as his friend stalked out of the inn into the foggy night air. "'E 'as gone crazy!"

Meg frowned, winding her arms around his neck. "I zink per'aps you spoke more truly zan he wished," she said slowly.

"Jean Pierre in love with an aristocrat he saw once? I zink not! 'E is not a fool when it comes to women. Unlike moi who is a fool for your love!"

Meg punched him lightly in the chest. "Still, it was in 'is eyes. Zere is more zere zan you know, Robert."

"Are you jealous, mon petit chou?"

"I am still 'ere with you am I not? Or would you prefer zat I rush off to comfort 'im?"

"Non, Cherie. Of course not." Robert glanced towards the doors and frowned. "'E will calm down when 'e is ready."

"You zink so? Who was zis woman?"

Robert shrugged, more interested in unpicking the laces of her bodice. "No one. A chance encounter is ze market place. An aristocrat. Beautiful, yes. But no more zan zat. I prefer a woman I can touch not a statue on a pedestal to be admired from afar."

Meg gave him a thoughtful look and felt a wistful flicker as her handsome lover burrowed his way into her bodice. "Is zat how you feel about Marie?"

Robert froze then kissed her soft skin delicately. "Marie who?" he asked dryly, tightening his arms around her.

Meg sighed and surrendered to his embrace with a giggle. She had realised the first time she met them that neither Robert or Jean Pierre could be hers for long. They would move on all too soon. And it was not hard to see that Robert for all his sweet tongued lies was infatuated with the beautiful Marie and that she felt the same way about him. As for Jean Pierre, his mind and body might sometimes be in her bed, but never more than that. She thought perhaps he had been hurt deeply once and was loath to repeat the mistake.

"Meg?" Robert prompted her with a husky whisper, caressing her hip.

"Mais certainment, Robert. Come…" Sliding off his lap, she led the way across the inn, ignoring the whistles their exit drew.

* * *

Muttering under his breath, Jean Pierre stomped across the cobbled square outside the inn and headed for the alleyway that led to their lodgings. It was no more than a street or two over on a quiet square. Marie had paid for the rooms in advance, refusing to stay at the inn and setting up a cover for the two men as her servants awaiting her return.

"Servants! Hah!" Jean Pierre growled. The waiting was testing his patience as much as Robert's, making him short-tempered. And he had other things on his mind beside Marie's plans. "So it was 'er. She 'ardly threw 'erself into your arms. She 'as another beau. Forget 'er…."

"Hold, monsieur!"

"What?" Jean Pierre came to a startled halt, staring at the plump man who had leaped out of the doorway ahead of him and was now flourishing a pistol at him. He was dressed in smart cream breeches with a blue coachman's coat fastened over it. Jean Pierre compared his clothes to his own shabby outfit, eyed the gleaming pistol and finally squinted at him in suspicious disbelief. "Are you crazy? I have no money! I should be holding up you!"

"It is not your money we want, monsieur!" the coachman snapped.

Jean Pierre gaped at him, then flashed one hand towards the pistol under his own greatcoat as he started to turn, sensing someone creeping on him from behind. He was too late. Something hard and solid crunched down on the back of his head and he sagged limply to the cobbles, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"You should not have 'it 'im so 'ard," the coachman complained. "Now we will 'ave to carry 'im to ze coach."

His companion crouched over Jean Pierre, examining him carefully and disarming him. "'E would have shot you. What would you 'ave 'ad me do? I keep telling you zese peasants are not to be trusted."

The coachman sniffed. "If anything 'appens to 'im, it will be you who 'as to explain it to ze Comte, Citroen!"

"Hah! As if I am afraid of 'Enri."

"Do not call him zat!" The coachman looked round wildly. "You cannot tell who might be listening!"

"Stop worrying and 'elp me get zis one to the coach zen."

The coachman scowled, but came to help. "It is my turn to take ze feet," he insisted.

"No, it is not. I took zem last time!"

"But I have ze bad back…."

"You always have ze bad back! But very well, you shall take ze feet this time." Between them they lifted the unconscious Jean Pierre and carried him down the foggy alleyway into the next square where a nondescript carriage awaited them.

"What do you suppose ze Comte wants with zis one anyway?" the coachman wondered as they dumped Jean Pierre on the floor of the carriage. Citroen scrambled in after him and dug a length of cord from his coat to tie their captive up with.

"I do not know, nor do I care to ask. Ze Comte pays us in gold and zat is enough for me. Now, bring me ze chloroform and get ze horses moving. We must be away from 'ere before we are seen."

* * *

It was a noisy hammering at the door that woke Robert from a sound sleep to reach instinctively for his pistol that he kept under the pillow. It wasn't there. There was also a weight lying on his left arm and shoulder. And to the best of his knowledge, while he and Jean Pierre often shared a room, they did not share a bed. At first he couldn't remember where he was then he pried his eyes open and peered through the dim light shining through the curtains to see Meg snuggled against him.

"Ah mon petite bedmate," Robert grinned, caressing her arm as he slid his own arm from beneath her weight. He jumped as the hammering came from the door again.

"Robert! It is I! Francois! Open up, you dog!"

Blinking sleepily, Robert stumbled out of bed, pulled the coverlet around his waist and groped his way to the door. He unbolted it and peered groggily out at his plump friend through the crack. "What is it? You are never up so early as zis."

"Unlike you I 'ave not been to bed yet. Is Jean Pierre 'ere?" Francois demanded, pushing his way into the room and shoving the door too behind him. He was dressed in his sartorial elegance, with perfect white stock secured with a diamond pin and heavily embroidered deep pink frock coat over cream breeches. Only Robert and Jean Pierre knew the pin was a paste fake.

"Does it look like e' is?" Robert growled sarcastically, hitching a knot into the coverlet.

"I 'ad 'oped 'e would be 'ere. Where is 'e zen?"

"'Ow should I know? We had an argument and 'e left…"

"Robert!"

"What?! E' is a big boy who can look after 'imself. 'E went back to the lodgings and I stayed 'ere." Robert glanced over his shoulder with a grin as Meg made a sleepy sound and snuggled deeper into the pillows. "I 'ad business…"

"I know ze kind of business you mean, you lucky dog," Francois sniffed. "But Jean Pierre is not as ze lodgings and 'e did not return last night. No one as seen 'im since 'e left with you."

"And you zink I 'ave murdered 'im per'aps?"

"Non. Put on ze clothes and come at once."

"I 'ad in mind to linger…" Robert purred, glancing at Meg again.

"Marie is worried," Francois said shortly however.

"Because Jean Pierre is sulking somewhere? It would not be a first for 'im." Robert couldn't help a flicker of annoyance at Marie's concern.

"Robert, you know 'im better zan zat. 'E does not worry 'is friends." Francois paused, peering past Robert towards Meg as she turned over and sleepily called her lover's name.

"'Ow did you know where I would be?" Robert thought to ask belatedly.

"Where are you always when Marie is away?" Francois snorted. "Do you think she is stupid or something? Zat is why I came to fetch you alone."

Shaking his head, Robert reached for his breeches. "Jean Pierre will not be far away,. E' knew you were returning today."

"Zat is why Marie is worried. 'E should have been waiting for us."

"I was not."

"You are not Jean Pierre," Francois snorted. "Now, say your goodbye to ze girl, Robert, and 'urry. I shall wait below."

"I never say a quick goodbye."

"Zen make an exception!" Francois snapped impatiently and lowered his voice, leaning closer to Robert. "We 'ave 'eard rumours in Paris zat something is afoot. Marie zinks Jean Pierre may be in danger!"

"Jean Pierre? From who?"

"Zat I do not know. And zis is not ze place to discuss it. Now 'urry up"

* * *

Marie was waiting for them in the back room of the inn where the innkeeper, suitably in awe of her, had set out breakfast for his beautiful guest.

"So, you found zem," she said in relief as soon as Francois and Robert entered.

"Non, I found 'im," Francois corrected, gesturing at Robert who had headed straight for the food and helped himself to the croissants and strawberry jam. "'Ey, Robert! Show some manners!"

"But I am 'ungry!" Robert smirked. "I 'ad a busy night!"

Marie sighed. She was used to Robert and Jean Pierre spending most of their time cramming food down themselves whenever it was in sight. Frequent hunger made for poor manners and she had learned to accept their desire to eat whenever food was available. "So, where is Jean Pierre?"

"Who knows?" Robert answered, his voice muffled by a mouthful of bread. He shrugged with one shoulder. "'E will turn up."

"Does 'e often go missing zen?"

"Non," Francois replied gloomily, flipping back the tails of his coat as he seated himself at the table. "If it 'ad been Robert 'ere zen I would not be so alarmed…"

"'Ey!" Robert complained.

"Very eloquent, mon ami," Francois said dryly. "But you 'ave to admit it is true. Even when you are missing like last night, you are easily found."

Robert frowned and sat down, sampling a crystal goblet of wine while he thought long and hard. "But where would 'e go and why?" he said at last.

"I zink per'aps you should go and find out," Marie decided.

"Moi?" Robert said in surprise. "But always Jean Pierre….oh…"

"Oui, Jean Pierre is not 'ere," Francois pointed out. "And ze locals will not talk to Marie or I…"

Robert considered this and then sighed, starting to gather the rest of the croissants.

"What do you zink you are doing?" Francois protested indignantly. "Zat is our breakfast!"

"I shall 'ave to speak to ze street urchins," Robert explained, wrapping the croissants into a white napkins. "And food is of more value zan money when you are 'ungry…"

* * *

Jean Pierre woke slowly and painfully, aware of a zillion and one aches and pains and a muzzy feeling filling his head. The reasons behind it though were beyond him. It felt like he had drunk too much, but he could not remember when or why he should have done so. It had been a long time since he and Robert had been able to get drunk. Even if they could have afforded it, neither of them dared take the risk of being taken unawares: even more so now they had allied themselves to the Chartreuse Fox. He could remember nothing past leaving Robert after throwing his wine at him.

Gradually, he let awareness of his surroundings intrude on his misery. He was lying down on what felt like a remarkably soft mattress – which prompted a quick flicker of panic. The last time he had woken up drunk in a bed this soft had been at Venus' Cathouse and he had been fighting for his virtue shortly afterwards. He shifted gingerly and flinched as he felt the chill restraint of metal on his wrists. Last time it had been leather and buckles which he had been able to escape without his lockpicks.

Prying his eyes open one by one he peered upwards and groaned, finding his wrists fastened securely to the bedposts of a huge four poster bed by golden chains. His coat was gone as were his boots along with the lockpicks in them. He could see his toes through the hole in his sock and sighed. No doubt the redoubtable Lady Venus with her foot fetish would be in to attend to him, whether he wished it or no.

To his dismay – Lady Venus was known to have some very strange clients – there was movement suddenly and a shadow leaned over him. Long fingers brushing his leg. Jean Pierre turned his head against the pure white linen of the pillow and peered at the foppishly dressed, slender young man who was leaning over him with a tape measure. Jean Pierre stared at him in alarm. "'Ey! I am still alive! Zere is no need to measure me yet!"

Startled, the man stepped back and dropped his tape measure in shock. Fluttering one hand at Jean Pierre, he then bent an elegant leg to retrieve it. "Ah, bene! You are awake at last! I had feared zat Citroen had got carried away again!"

"Who are you?" Jean Pierre asked warily.

"Moi? I am Herman. Welcome to ze Chateau De Mars. I am sorry if you are not comfortable. But it was necessary zat you be restrained to stop you should you become violent when you woke. I also regret zat Citroen 'it you. Ze chloroform will wear off soon, I 'ope."

"Hah! Why have you kidnapped me? I 'ave no money. And no one will pay a ransom for me."

"You have not been kidnapped."

"Zen why am I 'ere? I warn you I am not into ze kinky stuff. For zat you should speak to Robert. 'E is into ze bondage!"

"Really?" Herman said in delight. "I should like to meet zis Robert of yours."

"'E is not my anything," Jean Pierre growled warily. He sensed no direct threat from Herman, but he wasn't prepared to take him lightly. "What is it you want of me? Why am I chained?"

"I like a man who comes directly to ze point," Herman purred, sliding his dark brown gaze up and down Jean Pierre's body. Jean Pierre found himself instinctively crossing his legs and glaring at him. "You are chained because you are a captive, non? But do not worry, ze Comte is not a man for men. Zat is not why 'e 'as brought you 'ere."

"It had not crossed my mind zat I should worry until you mentioned it," Jean Pierre admitted warily. "However, you would seem to be…?"

"D'accorde. Ze Comte appreciates my other talents; unlike my compatriots in Calais. Please, do not struggle so," he added as Jean Pierre jerked furiously against the chains. "You will 'urt yourself."

"Zen let me up!"

"In a moment. But cease to struggle or I will 'ave to chloroform you again," Herman warned sadly. "It would a pity to bruise such skin…"

Jean Pierre squirmed furiously then subsided, aware that he was only bruising himself and that Herman seemed genuinely concerned. "What does zis Comte want with me?"

"It is not for me to presume to discuss the Comte's plans even if I knew zem."

"Zen I will must see 'im. Where is 'e?"

"'E remains in Calais for a few days. Business, I understand."

"'E kidnaps me zen does not even come to see 'is victim?!"

"Please, monsieur. Zere is no need for this anger. Ze Comte will explain all when 'e comes. In ze meantime, you must consider yourself a guest."

"Does 'e chain all 'is guests zen?" Jean Pierre demanded sarcastically. "I should not think 'e 'as many if this is 'ow 'e treats zem!"

Herman sighed heavily. "No, e' does not. You are special."

"But why me? What have I done to 'im? Why do you treat me like zis?"

"I have my orders. And I did not say zat I approved of 'is behaviour," Herman reminded him gently. "Now, I must warn you, you cannot escape. But if you co-operate, I can release you from ze chains."

"And if I do not?"

"Zen you must remained chained until ze Comte arrives," Herman paused, nervously wringing his hands together for a moment before he leaned over Jean Pierre. "If you please, monsieur," he said softly. "I would advise you to be 'elpful or it could go 'ard for you."

"Excuse moi?!" Jean Pierre echoed in alarm at a perceived innuendo.

Herman grinned wickedly as he caught Jean Pierre's meaning. "Zat is not what I meant. 'Owever if it 'elps you to pass ze time?"

"Non," Jean Pierre said firmly.

Herman's grin widened even more. "I thought not. A pity. 'Owever, you should take my advice. Ze Comte is a reasonable man as long as zings go 'is way. It is when zey do not zat zey become painful and I would not wish to see you get 'urt, monsieur."

"Call me Jean Pierre."

"Ah? Mais oui. Will you co-operate zen?"

"Zat depends. What must I do?"

"Until ze Comte arrives? Nothing very much. I am to prepare you."

"Prepare me?" Jean Pierre echoed suspiciously.

"Make sure you take ze bath, are fitted for ze new clothes and so on…."

"I had a bath last month! I take one very month whether I need one or not," Jean Pierre protested indignantly.

"I can tell," Herman sniffed wryly. "Would it be so 'ard to spend a few days living in luxury? You will eat ze finest foods, drink ze finest wines…"

Jean Pierre considered. For all he knew the Comte might turn out to be a profitable contact; if not for him then for Marie. And if not, he could always escape later.

"You will be guarded at all times," Herman added as if reading his mind. "You would not escape ze chateau alive."

Jean Pierre met his brown eyes, oddly enough seeing the offer of sympathy in his expression. "Very well. I shall co-operate until zis Comte arrives at least."

"And you give your word not to escape before zen?"

"Oui. I am curious about ze plans of this mysterious Comte. Who is he?"

"Ze Comte De Mars," Herman answered as he fished a small golden key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked the chains.

"Ah…." Jean Pierre murmured wisely, gratefully rubbing his wrists as he was freed.

"You know of 'im zen?"

"I 'ave never 'heard of 'im," Jean Pierre admitted as he sat up and swung his legs off the bed. His head spun and a surge of nausea swept through him. Herman rested a steadying hand on his shoulder for a moment then fetched him a small glass of wine. Taking a swift gulp, Jean Pierre was irritated when Herman put a hand on his wrist and stopped him swigging down the rest.

"Savour it," Herman told him. "It is the best vintage from ze Comte's own vineyard."

"Wine is wine."

Herman sighed heavily. "If would be well for you if you learn ze manners of an aristocrat. And quickly," he warned.

"Why should I? I am only a peasant. What else does zis Comte expect?"

"'E would 'ave me teach you to behave like a gentleman. And, 'ard so zat may be for both of us, I shall do my best."

"I zink you will fail."

"I 'ope not. Ze Comte does not appreciate failure," Herman said slowly as he turned away. "It would not go well for me if you were to escape for example."

Jean Pierre paused in taking another gulp of wine, eyeing Herman's back. "'E would punish you for zat?"

"Oui," Herman admitted grimly.

Any thoughts of breaking his word and escaping at that moment evaporated from Jean Pierre's mind. Breaking his word to a kidnapper and his accomplice was one thing. To a fellow sufferer beneath the heels of the aristocracy quite another. He sipped his wine slowly and thoughtfully, savouring it and missing Herman's quick smile of simple relief.

"I zink you should rest now, Jean Pierre. I shall call you for dinner and draw you a bath later." Herman announced as Jean Pierre watched him head for the door and knock on it. "It is I, Herman! Open!" There was a rattle of keys from outside.

"So, zere is a guard outside my door?"

"And in ze grounds," Herman answered as the door was opened a crack and a burly footman peered in.

"No doubt for my safety?" Jean Pierre mocked sardonically.

"Or perhaps for ze king's," Herman answered.

"Ze king? Is 'e 'ere too zen?"

Herman hesitated and then shook his head. "I meant as any king," he corrected himself assiduously. "Zis door will be locked. I shall return to bring you dinner. Now, rest."

Jean Pierre frowned as Herman hurried out and listened to the heavy clunk of the lock begin turned. Pushing himself off the bed, he padded over to the balcony and peered out. Sure enough he could see two large footmen lurking in the shrubbery and from the bulges under their coats, both of them were concealing pistols in their belts.

Jean Pierre contemplated the view thoughtfully for a few minutes, then went for a tour of his gilded cage. There was a large bath in the anteroom decorated with fancifully gilded dolphins. Apart from a walk in wardrobe full of clothes and shoes, and a few ornaments that looked like they might be worth lifting at some point there was little else of any interest to him.

Ruefully, Jean Pierre made his way back to the bed, suddenly aware of how weary he was as he dragged the embroidered curtains across and flopped down gratefully on the mattress. His last thought before exhaustion dragged him down was to wonder whether Robert and the others would be looking for him yet and how he could get a message to them if they were.

* * *

"It has been over a week and zere is still no sign of 'im!" Francois complained as he impatiently paced the room. "I do not know where 'e as gone!"

Perched straight backed on a chair with her pale lime skirts spread out around her Marie looked the picture of dainty femininity. "As 'e no other friends per'aps zat 'e would go to?"

"In Calais? Non. Robert 'as checked everyone 'e knows."

"A woman per'aps zen?"

Francois glanced over his shoulder at her and pulled a wry face. "Robert especially checked zem; personally. No one has seen 'im."

Marie frowned thoughtfully, absently fluffing her lace fichu in a way that would have had Robert howling. "Per'aps zere is someone you and Robert do not know of," she said slowly.

"Meaning?"

"Jean Pierre is not as 'appy with ze idea of ze revolution as you and Robert," Marie said plainly. "Per'aps 'e seeks other friends?"

Francois stared at her in shock. "You zink Jean Pierre would betray us? Non! A thousand times, non! Jean Pierre would rather kiss Madame La Guillotine on ze lips zan betray a friend!"

Marie sighed heavily. She had been afraid of that. "Zen I zink we must fear ze worse."

Francois slumped heavily into an overstuffed chair. "'E 'as been murdered by footpads."

"I zink even worse zan zat. Ze Comte has him."

"Ze Comte who?" Francois asked warily.

"I will explain when Robert returns. I will say zis only once…"

* * *

Wandering along the harbour quay, Robert peered hopefully towards a sudden flash of blond hair and sighed ruefully as he realised his wishful thinking had got the better of him again. At first he had been unconcerned by Jean Pierre's disappearance. He was old enough to look after himself after all and it wasn't the first time that one or the other of them had taken it into their heads to go missing for a few days. A pretty girl might draw the eye, or boredom, anything…

But Jean Pierre had been gone too long without word. If he had planned to be missing for a few days, then he would have left a message. This mysterious vanishing act was, as Francois had pointed out, unlike him. Jean Pierre wouldn't have vanished when Francois and Marie were expected to return any day. And why had no one seen him? Even the urchins were afraid to speak to Robert.

Ahead of him an inane laugh rang out, followed by an exclamation from the fop of, "Egad! But this Frenchie market stinks like a fish!" to his younger male companion.

Robert eyed the handsome, brilliantly dressed man who easily matched his own height and build and sighed, turning away. Another Englishman over for the wine, no doubt. But he was right about the stink. There must have been a fresh catch that morning.

Leaning against the wall to watch the dandy's friend make a fool of himself bargaining to buy a rather rancid looking wheel of cheese, he let his thoughts wander wistfully as he pondered where his friend might have got to. They had had worse arguments than this one and he couldn't believe it had caused Jean Pierre to run out on him this time.

"Zey seek him here, zey seek him there. That damned elusive Jean Pierre. Is 'e 'ere or is 'e zere? Oh where, oh where is Jean Pierre?" he murmured under his breath.

"I say, what an excellent couplet."

Robert blinked, startled to realise that the Englishman had noticed him and overheard his words. "Monsieur?"

"Your poem, sir," the dandy replied in perfect French. "Quite excellent. Are you with the theatre, perhaps?"

"Non. I was only musing…Perhaps I am ze poet and did not know it," Robert grinned, pleased by the Englishman's appreciative laugh. "I make a rhyme every time."

"Splendid, quite splendid!" the dandy applauded him with genuine appreciation. "You have talent, monsieur. May I perhaps paraphrase your little rhyme in the future?"

"Mais certainment," Robert agreed, bowing politely even as he wondered what the man was on about.

Surprisingly astute eyes met his own. "I thank you, monsieur. And I trust you will find your friend safe and unharmed."

"So do I, monsieur. So do I," Robert admitted.

"Percy! Do come on! We will be late for lunch!"

The dandy grimaced at his friend's importunate demand and with a little bow to Robert ambled off to join him. Robert gazed after them for a long moment, then straightened up and strolled off briskly in the opposite direction. It was time to get back to the tavern and find out if the others had had any better luck in finding Jean Pierre than he had had. If not, then it was time to get serious about searching for him. He would not, could not allow himself to think that they might not find his friend safe.

* * *

"Who is zis Comte De Mars?" Francois questioned when Robert had finally, belatedly joined them.

"'E is a rich and powerful man, but 'e is greedy for more of both." Marie answered.

"But why would 'e want Jean Pierre?" Robert demanded, impatient for more information. Now that he had decided Jean Pierre was in serious trouble he wanted to take immediate action to find him.

"I am not sure zat 'e does 'ave 'im or zat 'e is even involved."

"You were sure enough to return 'ere early from Paris," Robert snapped, too worried to fawn on her every word for once. "But you did not see fit to tell us of what you 'ad learned."

Marie sighed. "Do not be sarcastic, Robert. We had no proof. We still do not."

"But proof of what?" Francois demanded.

Marie looked slowly from one to the other of them. "Zat ze Comte wishes to kidnap ze king."

"Zat would not be a problem," Robert snorted sardonically. "'E could find a villain on every corner to do zat if 'e wished it. Why, we could do it!"

"But zat is not all 'e wants. 'E wants a ringer to impersonate ze king also."

"He wants someone to ring his bells?" Robert asked, baffled.

"Non! She means a duplicate!" Francois exclaimed irritably, swatting him with one hand before turning back to Marie. "But why?"

"To con France. You, mes ames, should know all about zat."

Francois gave her a hurt look. "Zat was a matter of survival. How was we to know zat you were ze Chartreuse Fox? But you must admit we were good, non?" Marie smiled faintly. "But 'ow can one man con a country?" Francois went on. "Zat is impossible!"

"And what does zit 'ave to do with Jean Pierre?" Robert demanded impatiently.

Marie hit him with her steel ribbed fan, making him flinch and rub his bruised biceps. "Idiot! Have you never seen ze king?!"

"Non," Robert snapped. "I am a peasant. What do I know of kings?"

"Oh," Marie gave him an apologetic look. "And Jean Pierre? 'As he ever seen ze king?"

"I doubt it," Robert muttered sulkily. "Ze king does not frequent ze same taverns as we do."

Francois however looked thoughtful. "It is said zat ze king is not a big man," he said slowly.

Marie inclined her head graciously. "I 'ave seen ze king up close. I 'ave danced with 'im. And I zink zat is what ze Comte wants with Jean Pierre."

"To dance with 'im?" Robert said doubtfully, hastily dodging another swipe of Marie's fan.

"Non!" Marie snapped at him impatiently. "Jean Pierre could per'aps be ze ringer zat ze Comte is looking for."

"But 'e does not know 'ow to ring bells!" Robert protested in frustration.

"Be silent, Robert!" Francois scolded as both he and Marie swatted him again, catching him between them. Robert gave them both a hurt look as he rubbed both arms this time. "She means 'e means to have someone impersonate ze king," Francois went on exclaimed in awe. "Zat would be incredibly daring. Ze stuff of legends! But Jean Pierre is only a peasant. 'E does not have ze manners of a king."

"Ah, but 'e does 'ave ze looks of King Louis. I 'ave noted zat myself," Marie commented, wafting herself furiously with her fan. "Ze King is a most vigorous man…" She caught the way Robert glared at her and rushed on swiftly. "And manners can be taught."

Francois considered this, absently fiddling with the lace of his gillet. "Jean Pierre is an excellent actor," he mused.

Robert scowled. "But 'e would not leave me…us like zis! Not for money!"

"Per'aps zen for honour? Fame? To depose ze king would be a great service…" Marie suggested.

"Non," Robert snapped flatly. "Zat is not 'ow Jean Pierre is. If zis Comte approached 'im with zis scheme 'e would discuss it with us. Not vanish like zis."

Marie gazed at him silently for a long moment. "Zen you 'ad no indication of zis? 'E 'as not mentioned ze Comte to either of you? I 'ad thought per'aps, 'e 'ad not wished me to know."

"Why would 'e exclude you?" Robert asked ingenuously.

"Because Jean Pierre is not as naive as you," Marie said simply. "I zink zat it will be 'arder to earn his trust zan it 'as been for me to earn yours."

Robert and Francois exchanged a look. "Zat is true," Francois said slowly. "I 'ad to earn 'is trust, Robert. You know zat. Did 'e not mention zis Comte to you?"

Slowly, Robert shook his head.

"Per'aps 'e feared to tell you, zinking zat you would tell me?" Marie suggested hesitantly.

Robert licked his lips and shook his head again. "Non, Marie. If Jean Pierre asked for my word on a secret, zen I would give it and reveal nothing: not even to you and Francois. 'E knows zat." He looked at his large hands, a faintly embarrassed expression crossing his face. "Neither of us 'ave any family of our own. So we 'ave been each other's family for a long time. I could not betray 'im, any more zan 'e could betray me."

"Zen 'e has been taken unwillingly by ze Comte De Mars and is 'is captive," Marie decided firmly.

"Zen we must find some way to 'elp 'im. But 'ow?" Robert asked anxiously.

"First we must find ze Comte," Marie decided. "But zat should not be too difficult. 'Owever, I doubt zat 'e would be holding Jean Pierre in Calais so we must be prepared to follow 'im wherever 'e goes."

* * *

"Ze Comte De Mars? Of course, I 'ave 'eard of 'im," Meg retorted, pushing Robert's hands away from her waist as she cleaned the tables. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you know everything zat happens in Calais with ze aristocrats, you know all ze gossip," Robert purred into her ear, pulling her lush curves back against him. "And I must find 'im."

"Why should I tell you?" she repeated impatiently, slapping his hands with her wet cloth to make him let go. "You 'ave not even been 'ere to see me in days! And now you are only 'ere for information?"

Robert hesitated, struggling to keep his mind on business rather than pleasure. "Jean Pierre is missing and Marie zinks zat ze Comte 'as taken 'im. I did not know who else to turn to!"

"Oh, my poor Robert!" Falling for Robert's plaintive expression, Meg's eyes widened in genuine concern and she melted anxiously into Robert's welcoming arms. "When did zis happen?"

"Ze night 'e left 'ere angry," Robert admitted in his best forlorn voice.

"And 'e did not go to ze woman?"

"Woman?" Robert looked at her blankly.

"Ze aristocrat you teased 'im about."

"'Er?" Robert echoed in astonishment. "But 'e does not know 'er!"

"Are you sure?" Meg asked soberly, fiddling with the laces of his shirt. "I 'ave 'ad time to zink about it since you 'ave not been 'ere…"

"Ah, mon Cherie," Robert cautiously drew her closer, feeling his body reacting to the luxurious warmth of hers. "I am sorry…"

"Jean Pierre 'ad ze look of a man pining for a lost lover," Meg went on, maintaining her prim tone even as she responded in welcome to his touch. "Per'aps 'e went to 'er?"

"I do not zink so," Robert said slowly, daring to nibble her neck with a kiss. "But…ze Comte?"

"'E 'as a town house 'ere. For a price I shall tell you where to find it…"

* * *

"Jean Pierre? Are you decent?" Herman's dulcet tones chirped from the bedroom.

Jean Pierre hunched his shoulders and slid deeper into the scented waters of the dolphin bathtub in front of the fire. "As decent as I ever am," he answered gloomily, making sure he had a towel within reach.

The valet trotted in briskly with a suit hung neatly over one arm. "I 'ave brought your new clothes," he announced brightly as he started to lay them out neatly for him.

"Zey are blue," Jean Pierre observed warily as he finished rinsing the soap off his chest.

"Mais oui…" Herman turned to look down at him and then caught his breath, blushing and turning away again. "Ze colour will suit you perfectly…You shall look like ze…a king!"

Jean Pierre grinned and ignored the slip. Herman was a fascinating blend of honest lechery and shy confusion. Picking up the towel, he stood up and fastened it around his hips. "Zere, is zat better?" he asked teasingly as he climbed out of the hot water reluctantly.

"You are a tease," Herman scolded him as he snatched up Jean Pierre's dressing gown. "You allow me to look but not to touch! Why do you not screech and run away like ze others? Why are you not afraid of me?"

Jean Pierre gave him a predatory grin as he dried himself with another towel and ignored the robe. "Because I know zat you will not touch me and if you did, I would simply kill you. So what is zere to be afraid of, uh?"

Herman sighed, hugging the robe to him. "Of me, nothing. Of ze Comte, everything."

"I 'ave yet to see zis Comte of yours. I am starting to zink 'e is a myth."

"'E will be 'ere tonight and you will join 'im and Lady Du Lac for dinner."

Jean Pierre absently took the robe as it was offered again and shrugged into it, suppressing the feelings stirred by the mention of Chantal's name. He was sure that Herman had guessed there was something between them, but was too polite to mention it. "So, do you zink zat my manners are up to it?"

"I am certain of it," Herman said firmly. "And you will not prove me wrong, Jean Pierre? Uh?"

"I shall do my best to follow your instructions," Jean Pierre promised solemnly. "Go and wait in ze bedroom for me."

"Why, Jean Pierre, zis is so sudden!" Herman's eyes widened in good-humoured hope and it was Jean Pierre's turn to blush.

"I meant so zat I can get dressed alone!"

"But of course, you did," Herman purred. "But are you sure I cannot 'elp?"

"You can 'elp by waiting in ze other room!"

"Zen I shall turn down the bed for you, mon petit chou…"

Herman laughed and sashayed out, amused by Jean Pierre's discomfort. Muttering under his breath, Jean Pierre turned to examine the clothes. Everything Herman had produced for him to wear so far had fitted him perfectly and these looked as if they would be no different. But he couldn't help but wonder if the valet had gone a little overboard this time with his choice of a deep blue velvet frock coat embroidered with gold, with a paler blue satin gillet and knee breeches to go with it...

* **

The ornate coach paused before the huge gates blocking entry to the driveway. Set on the huge stone posts beside it, two massive stone dogs glared down menacingly at the arrivals, slavering from constantly wide jaws. A guard trotted into view and hailed the impatient coach driver, brandishing his musket.

"Ho, Chevrolet!" he called. "All is well?"

"All is well, Cointreau. I 'ave ze Comte and Lady Du Lac as passengers."

"Ah, zen 'old but a moment and I shall open ze gates." Swinging his musket over his shoulders Cointreau trotted forward and unlocked the gates with a huge iron key then swung them aside so the magnificent black horses could pull the coach through. The vehicle raced off up the drives, spewing gravel from under its wheels as it clattered into the shadows.

Cointreau shook his head as he shoved the gates closed and shook his head. "There goes the quiet life again," he muttered as he took care to lock the gates again and glanced up at the silent watchful dogs. He had always thought them to be hideous things, constantly watching him and waiting for him to make a mistake. They had been sculpted after some ancient Greek monster he had been told though he couldn't understand what would have been wrong with a good French lion. Still, no one ever questioned the Comte. At least, not and lived to tell the tale.

Shuffling back under the trees, he trotted back to his hut to take up the watch again.

* * *

"It is as I thought. Ze Chateau De Mars," Marie whispered, peering through the trees up the long driveway to where the sprawling mansion could be seen. Golden light filled its windows and poured from the doorway as they were swung wide and the servants rushed out to welcome their master home. The ornate coach came to a halt before the steps and a footman leaped down to open the door. The lean dark figure of the Comte leaped down, turning to assist his female companion to the ground. Ignoring the servants who scurried to collect the luggage they then paced up the steps and vanished inside.

Robert shifted on his knees beside Marie as they lurked in the shrubbery. They had left Francois back at Marie's coach a mile back having followed the Comte all the way from Calais, accompanied by a chorus of complaints from Francois about his back, derriere and other portions of his anatomy, not to mention the rough road and the poor coach suspension. Recognising the area, Marie had been able to guess the Comte's destination and they had abandoned their cautious pursuit when it seemed likely that they would soon be noticed.

Glancing at her now, he marvelled at her composure. He knew of no other woman who could dress so and still look lovely. She had removed her fine skirts and replaced them with a pair of breeches and a great coat that almost swamped her for their little scouting expedition. With her long hair tucked up under her hat, she looked like little more than a boy.

"But zere is no sign of Jean Pierre," Robert muttered uneasily.

"Did you expect 'im to throw 'imself into ze Comte's arms, per'aps?" Marie asked sarcastically. "'E is a captive, remember!"

Robert sighed and bit back his own hot retort. He missed Jean Pierre. Marie's sarcasm sometimes had a bite to it that he never heard in Jean Pierre's voice.

"I am sorry, Robert," Marie said softly, seeing the slump of his shoulders. "I am worried for Jean Pierre too. Do not fear. We shall find and rescue 'im."

"Tonight?" Robert pressed eagerly.

"Non. Tonight would be too dangerous. We must first scout ze territory and explore ze grounds. We must make sure of our escape route before we brave ze lion in 'is den."

"'E keeps lions?!" Robert exclaimed in alarm.

"Non, Robert. It was a figure of speech," Marie explained patiently and laid her hand gently on his arm. "Come, we are tired and should find somewhere to rest."

"But what of Jean Pierre?" Having come so close, Robert wanted no more delays to keep him from his friend.

"We must make sure 'e is 'ere first. I do not zink 'e is in any danger." Marie soothed comfortingly, keeping her own worries to herself. She knew Jean Pierre was smarter than he pretended to be at times, but he had a hot temper. She hoped that this time he would be smart enough to keep it in check until they could rescue him.

* * *

Chantal self-consciously soothed her red silk gown over the skirts of deep flower embroidered pink and patted at her elaborately styled blond hair. She had primped and preened after the journey with the help of two maids, preparing herself with care for this meeting with Jean Pierre. She wanted to look best for the man who had once been her lover and, if not for the difference in their ranks, almost her husband.

"You look excellent," Henri commented absently, noticing her nervous gesture. "Zere is no need to worry yourself. 'E is a peasant, remember? Smile and 'e will be dazzled."

The doors swung open before she could answer and Herman strutted in, looking distinctly smug as he bowed in Henri's 'guest'. Inhaling, Chantal turned with a swish of skirts, determined to overawe Jean Pierre with both beauty and rank and instead found herself speechless as she stared at him. Suddenly realising her mouth was open and her throat dry, she closed her lips tight and hastily snapped open her fan to cover her blushes.

Impeccably dressed in deep blue velvet and pale blue satin, Jean Pierre stared back at them sullenly, his long blond hair shining like new minted gold and neatly held back by a blue velvet bow. Chantal took a very deep breath and licked her dry lips.

"Ah, our guest has arrived," Henri said mildly as he rose to his feet and bowed graciously, if mockingly towards Jean Pierre.

Jean Pierre bowed back stiffly, begrudging the movement. "Comte De Mars, I believe," he said smoothly. "And this beauteous creature must be Lady Du Lac."

Chantal swallowed hard and dipped her head gracefully. "Monsieur citoyen, you have ze advantage of me."

I hope to do so, Jean Pierre thought even as he smiled at her pleasantly and introduced himself, bowing again and taking her proffered hand to lightly kiss her fingers.

The tingle that shot up her arm at the touch of his lips and the heat in his eyes, ignited a spark within Chantal that scorched right the way through her body and made her toes curl in her pink slippers. She gasped once and tugged her hand free as if burnt. A slow languid smile crossed Jean Pierre's face and his eyes took on a smoky look that told her she had given herself away again. Oh she wanted him, after all this time she still wanted him so much and he knew it…

"You will of course join us for dinner, citoyen?" Henri said sardonically.

Chantal ducked her head, blushing furiously. Both men knew her far too well for her peace of mind and she was aware of the scent of challenge in the air between them.

"Do I 'ave a choice?" Jean Pierre replied icily, shooting a challenging look at the Comte that was quickly nullified by an ingenuous smile. "I 'ave 'eard zat you set an excellent table, monsieur le Comte. How could I refuse such an offer?"

Henri frowned very, very slightly and came to offer Chantal his arm. "Come zen, we shall go in."

Chantal laid her fingers on his arm and then blinked nervously as Jean Pierre offered to take her other arm. With a flicker of a glance at Henri, she accepted the gesture from both men. "Fie, gentlemen, you shall turn my head," she exclaimed shakily.

"As long as your head does not turn on ze guillotine."

Jean Pierre muttered the comment so low that Chantal thought she might have misheard him and glanced at him sharply. Jean Pierre's expression was shuttered, his thoughts hidden safely away behind the blue glass of his eyes. When did he have to learn to hide his feelings so well? She wondered and felt a flicker of feminine concern and perhaps pride that it might have been love of her that taught him to guard his emotions.

"An enchanting prospect, Chantal," Henri said smoothly. "And who shall it turn to I wonder?" Chantal shot a quick look up at him, wondering if it was real jealousy that she heard in his voice or only part of the bait that he would lay for Jean Pierre. "Now, let us go in to dinner…"

* * *

"You zink zey would have at least one bath to spare!" Francois complained as he gingerly sank onto the slightly battered chaise lounge that was the best piece of furniture in the rooms they had hired.

"We are lucky zat zey had rooms," Marie snorted as held the door for Robert to stagger in with their luggage. He dumped them on the floor with a noisy clatter of falling boxes and miniature trunks. "Careful, Robert!" she exclaimed as she hastily righted a leather trunk.

"I am not a servant or I would be paid for zis," he growled indignantly. "Why do I 'ave to do ze fetching and carrying, uh?!"

Francois opened one eye to study his scruffily dressed friend smiled faintly. Marie had removed her disguise to change back into her fine dress for arrival at the inn. Francois was as elegant as ever in pink and green. Robert was still wearing his scruffy off white shirt and blue jerkin. "Because you look ze part," he told Robert smugly. "And Marie and I do not…"

Robert scowled and took a step towards him, only to be stopped by Marie as she stood up between them with a pistol in her hand. "Ze weapons are safe, but you should not treat zem so, Robert. Zey could 'ave gone off.."

"Zey were full of…?"

"Ze gunpowder? Oui…"

Robert looked like he was considering fainting for a moment, then tottered over and shoved Francois' feet off the furniture so he could sit down.

"Now," Marie began, oblivious to his alarm. "We must begin to make ze plans. First we must find out if Jean Pierre is 'ere. Zat will be up to you, Robert."

"Moi?" Robert echoed in consternation.

"I hope 'e 'as better luck zan 'e 'ad with ze croissants," Francois muttered. "Are you sure you did not eat zem all?" Robert gave him a dirty look and then turned his rapt attention back to Marie.

Marie ignored him. "Oui, Robert. I wish you to go down to ze inn and 'ave a few drinks."

"But I am broke."

"I will give you ze money. Zere is sure to be someone who 'as 'eard if ze Comte 'as a guest. 'Is servants will probably come to drink in ze village. You must find out where zey 'ang out."

"Zis I can do," Robert agreed, glad to be doing something useful at last.

"Wait. Zere is more," Marie said, stopping him as he started to his feet. "If ze Comte does plan to present Jean Pierre as ze king, zen 'e will 'ave to be sure zat ze impersonation will work. Zerefore, 'e will have to introduce 'im to strangers. So, 'ere is ze plan. Francois and I will pretend to be ze Comte and Comtesse De Chabriot. Zey are known to travel often and we will say we are 'ere on vacation from Paris. Ze Chabriots are known to be part of ze King's circle of friends and will be an excellent choice for ze Comte De Mars to show off 'is impostor to. You, Robert, will be our loyal and trusted servant…"

"'Ey!" Robert protested indignantly. "Why me? Why not Francois?"

"Because I am a gentleman," Francois retorted languidly. "Besides, ze innkeeper saw us arrive. 'E will be suspicious if we change roles now."

Folding his arms, Robert glowered at him until Marie placed her hand on his shoulder. "Remember, Robert, zis is for Jean Pierre. We must 'ave a way to get into ze chateau. You will go to ze inn and spread word of our arrival. Zen Francois and I will present ourselves at ze chateau tomorrow and make ourselves known. And zen ze next move will be up to ze Comte…"

* * *

Jean Pierre felt numb as he strolled down the corridor to his rooms, bitterly aware of the guard unobtrusively dogging his every step. The Comte De Mars was a man of terrifyingly intense personality. Henri had watched him like a hawk throughout dinner, observing his every move and waiting for him to make a mistake until Jean Pierre had been able to feel chill of nervous perspiration trickling down his back. He had no idea of what he had eaten, or what the polite conversation they had maintained had been about. And he was still no wiser as to why he had been brought to the chateau. At least he was now as sure as he could be that he was the only guest apart from Chantal…

He bit his lip, digging his suddenly cold hands deeper into his pockets. That Chantal knew what was going on he had no doubts. It had been there in her anxious blue eyes and the forced smile she managed when the Comte made a joke. She knew and feared it.

Coming to a halt at his door, Jean Pierre shot a glare over his shoulder at the guard who looked away sheepishly. Not bothering to comment, Jean Pierre then stalked into his rooms and slammed the door behind him.

There was a roaring fire in the grate to take the chill off the night air and candlelight lent a soft glow to the luxurious furnishings. Stripping off his jacket, Jean Pierre froze as a slender shadow stood up from the chair by the fire.

"I 'ave been waiting for you," Herman said quietly as he came to help him out of the frock coat.

"Why?" Jean Pierre snapped.

"The Comte assigned me as your servant," Herman replied, absently folding the coat neatly. "A drink?"

"Yes, thank you." Sinking wearily into the chair by the fire, Jean Pierre watched the valet pour something from the pitcher and wondered if he should throw him out. For all he knew Herman might be here to seduce him into some trap of the Comte's.

"Excuse moi?!" The look of amused shock Herman sent him told him he had spoken aloud.

"I am sorry. I am so tired I do not know what I am saying," Jean Pierre sighed, gratefully taking the small cup Herman handed him and sipping from it slowly. His eyes widened at the smooth sweet taste when he had been expecting wine. "What is zis?"

"Zey call it hot chocolate. It will 'elp you relax and sleep," Herman told him as he sat down without waiting to be asked. "Did ze Comte tell you anything?"

"Non," Jean Pierre took another sip, savouring the taste and deciding that there were some things about being an aristocrat that he could get used to.

Herman bit his lip, studying the flames in the grate. "Zen per'aps I should," he said slowly.

"It is not for you to presume to discuss the Comte's plans even if you knew zem," Jean Pierre commented in dry reminder.

Herman shot a rueful glance at him. "I do not trust ze Comte," he said slowly.

"Why should you? 'E is an aristocrat. You cannot trust any of zem! Mind you, you cannot trust ze peasants either!" Jean Pierre settled deeper into the chair, feeling the warmth of the fire and the wine he had drunk earlier finally start to work. "When ze revolution comes, zere will be a massacre."

"Ze Comte will be among zose first on ze block and 'e will deserve it!" Herman said firmly.

Jean Pierre gave him a thoughtful look as he undid his silk cravat. "Per'aps, but ze likes of you and me may follow 'im. Once ze revolution starts zere will be no stopping it. A protest against the killing of a good man for merely being rich will lead you only to ze block alongside 'im. Once ze cry of traitor goes up, zat is all zat will be 'eard. I zink zat once ze leaders of ze revolution get into power, zey will find zey like ze taste of it. And to keep it zey will kill all zeir opponents as traitors to France."

Herman stared at him wide-eyed. "You do not believe in ze revolution?"

Jean Pierre smiled ruefully. "I do not know what I believe," he said wearily. "Ze king 'as too much power and his advisors do not guide 'im well. Things must change if France is to survive. But I do not zink zat ze king is a bad man, only per'aps misguided." He broke off in surprise as Herman lunged out of his chair and pressed his hand over his mouth, silencing him as he knelt before him.

"Do not say zese things again, Jean Pierre," the valet whispered urgently. "It would be very dangerous for you."

"Why? Would you tell ze Comte on me?" Jean Pierre mocked.

Herman met his gaze solemnly. "Non," he said softly. "I would like to zink zat I am your friend, Jean Pierre. I seek to warn you zat 'e is a dangerous man."

"I 'ad noticed zat for myself. You zink ze Comte supports ze revolution?" Jean Pierre whispered back.

"Non. 'E may tell you zat 'e does. But, 'e supports 'is own power. 'E would be ze king's advisor. But ze king cannot stand 'im. Zat is why 'e 'as made zis plan."

"What plan?"

Herman swallowed and flashed a nervous look around him. "'E plans to 'ave you impersonate ze king."

"Moi? Zat is ridiculous!"

"Not so," Herman shot a quick look up and down Jean Pierre lean body as he sprawled lazily in the chair. "You are a perfect match, Jean Pierre. I 'ave seen ze king and know zis. And once 'e 'as you in ze palace…"

"With Marie Antoinette? In 'er bed?" Jean Pierre murmured, his eyes glazing. "She of ze big…?"

"Hush!" Herman scolded, doing his best to ignore the heated look in Jean Pierre's blue eyes. "Once you are installed in ze palace, he plans to 'ave you abdicate in favour of 'im and his chosen advisors. And 'ow long do you zink you will survive after zat?"

"Long enough to introduce Marie Antoinette to ze ways of a peasant?" Jean Pierre grinned.

"Will you be quiet about 'er?" Herman snapped impatiently as he pushed to his feet. "Zink about what I 'ave said, Jean Pierre. You are in danger. Now, I must go. I 'ave been 'ere too long and you know 'ow ze servants gossip."

Jean Pierre waved a hand as the valet hurried to the door and swung it open.

"Will zat be all, monsieur?" Herman asked loudly enough for the guard to hear.

"Yes, you may go." Jean Pierre supplied the appropriate response absently as he frowned into the fire. He barely heard the door click shut as he thought hard on what Herman had told him. It was an interesting plan. One that might even save France from a bloody revolution if it could be pulled off; so why then did he feel cold shivers running up and down his neck as if Madam La Guillotine herself was kissing him? Because ze Comte De Mars is behind it and I trust 'im as far as I can throw 'im…he answered himself silently. And 'ow long do you zink you will survive after ze Comte takes over France?

Pushing off his buckled shoes with his stockinged toes, Jean Pierre rested his head back against the chair and stretched out his feet to the fire. Why was life always so complicated? Only a week ago his only major problem had been to get enough money for him and Robert to buy food! Jean Pierre sighed heavily and set aside his empty cup. He missed Robert and the others. He knew where he was with them.

A soft knock at the door made him lift his head suspiciously.

"Jean Pierre? It is I, Lady Du Lac? May I enter?"

Jean Pierre sat bolt upright in delighted shock, shoved his feet back into his shoes and bounded to open the door. As soon as he flung it open, Chantal dived within and swung to face him as he hastily closed it again.

"I saw Herman talking to ze guard," she explained. "Zey did not see me. Oh, Jean Pierre, 'old me!" She flung herself into his arms, slamming him back against the door and kissing him passionately on the lips.

"What is going on in zere?" the guard called impatiently from outside.

"I tripped, citoyen. Too much wine zat is all!" Jean Pierre answered, dragging his mouth away from Chantal's tempting lips and reluctantly pushing her away to arms' lengths. "Come in 'ere…" Leading her by one hand, he led her through into the other room and turned to face her. "What are you doing 'ere?"

"I 'ad to see you," she murmured, pressing into his arms. "It 'as been so long." Winding her arms around his neck, she dragged him down into another hungry kiss.

It took a real effort for Jean Pierre to unwind her arms and push her unwillingly away again. Masculine instinct told him that she was his for the asking, but his pride held him back. "But you are with ze Comte De Mars now," he reminded her.

"'E means nothing to me!"

"And you zink I will believe zat?"

"But you must believe me!"

"How can I? Did you not abandon me before?"

"I 'ad no choice!" Chantal protested ardently, grasping his hands between her own and clinging to him. "After 'e caught us in ze haystack, mon pere sent me to Finishing School in Paris while 'e arranged a marriage for me to ze Baron De Bergerac."

"I know zis. I wrote to you many times, but you did not answer."

"I was afraid," Chantal hung her head in misery.

"Afraid of what?"

"Mon pere flogged you within an inch of your life! 'E almost killed you! I feared zat 'e would do so if I saw you again!"

"I did not. I would have taken more zan a flogging for you!" Jean Pierre paused, taking a deep breath at the painful memories. If it hadn't been for Robert finding him after that flogging… "But zen I loved you more zan you ever loved me. Non, what you were afraid of was of living like a peasant with me when ze Baron could give you everything."

"Everything except love. I did not love 'im, Jean Pierre."

"But you still married 'im! No doubt you loved 'is money!" Chantal's hand shot out without thinking, meaning to slap the words from his lips. Jean Pierre caught her wrist and held it tight. "And no doubt zat is why you are 'ere now. Ze Comte 'as money, does he not? And power?"

Chantal slumped. "Please, Jean Pierre, do not tell 'im who I am. If 'e find out I was married to a man who was executed as a traitor for conspiring with France's enemies, zen 'e would denounce me also! You would not wish to see me on ze block, Jean Pierre? Would you?"

"Non," Jean Pierre admitted, unable to resist brushing his knuckles gently against her cheek. "But 'as it not occurred to you, zat if anything goes wrong with ze Comte's plan, zen zat will be where you end up?"

"You know of ze plan?" Chantal's eyes widened in surprise.

"Do you zink I am stupid?" Jean Pierre demanded. "'E 'as sent you 'ere to my bed, hoping zat I am a foolish peasant who will fall instantly in love with you and do anything for you; including impersonate ze king!"

"Not so loud!" Chantal protested in alarm. "You are not supposed to know of zis yet! 'E plans to present it to you as a joke! Zere will be a ball 'eld and 'e will 'ave you pretend to be ze king. Only 'e will not admit zis to 'is guests at ze end of ze ball as 'e tells you."

"'E plans to entrap me as his conspirator," Jean Pierre guessed. "And no doubt 'e will also threaten to expose you as part of ze conspiracy if I do not 'elp 'im."

"Zat is it exactly!"

"But why do you 'elp 'im? What 'old does 'e 'ave on you?"

Chantal nibbled on her lower lip and sighed heavily, a gesture, which did spectacular things to her bosom and drew Jean Pierre's down into her cleavage by sheer instinct. "I met 'im by chance. 'E was handsome and I 'ad needs zat ze Baron could not…fill adequately. Henri could and did. We became lovers and when ze affair was over we parted as good friends. We met again a short while ago. I was alone and desperate and Henry's plan for saving France from revolution seemed a good one." She shot an anxious look up at him. "By ze time I knew whom 'e planned to use it was too late. I am in too deep, Jean Pierre. We both are now." She leaned closer to him, crushing her heaving bosom against his chest. "We are like Romeo and Juliet...trapped…"

"Zey were fools," Jean snorted.

"'Ow can you say zat? Zey were in love!"

"Zey could have taken zeir jewels and run off together. By ze time zey 'ad rolled in a few 'aystacks together zey would 'ave 'ad to get married! Ze feud would 'ave been over!"

"Zat is very unromantic!"

"We peasants 'ave to be practical. Romeo should have 'ad is Juliet and presented zem with a fait accompli!"

"As we did?" Chantal asked caustically.

"If you 'ad run away with me, oui," Jean Pierre told her flatly.

Chantal caught her breath and stepped back. "I told you, I could not…"

Jean Pierre gazed at her steadily. "Did ze Baron and ze Comte roll you as well as I did in ze 'aystacks zen?"

"Zat is none of your business! 'Ow many tavern wenches did you 'ave while we were together?"

"As many as you had footmen…"

Infuriated and insulted, Chantal lashed out again. Grabbing her wrist, Jean Pierre yanked her close, meeting her smouldering gaze with his own. "You know zat is not true!" she hissed.

"So do you…" he shot back and kissed her hard on the lips, demanding that she surrender her mouth to him. With a low helpless moan, she obeyed, melting in the heat of memory and passionate need for him. Releasing her wrists, his hands caressed her waist, gliding upwards to unlace the back of her dress as passion swamped his common sense.

"Oh, Jean Pierre…" Chantal groaned weakly as he bent his head to dab his tongue lightly into her cleavage and kiss her throat "We should not…"

"Yes, we should," he told her firmly. "Ze Comte expects it…"

* * *

"Ah, 'ow nice of you to join us," the Comte said wryly as Jean Pierre strolled casually into the dining room the following morning. Chantal, looking pretty in peach silk, was seated at the breakfast picking decorously at some fruit. She blushed furiously at Jean Pierre's entrance but didn't look up. "Smoked Kipper?" De Mars went on blandly, lifting a lid on a dish. Jean Pierre blanched and backed away.

"I do not zink so."

"Smoked Kippers are ze delight of ze English."

"But I am not English," Jean Pierre pointed out warily as he took a plate of eggs and toast headed for the table. He sat across from Chantal, not daring to look at her. After a wild and passionate night spent in her arms, it was not easy to pretend to barely know her. She must have sneaked from his bed early while he slept and it was not until Herman had woken him for breakfast that he had even realised that she had gone.

"Non, of course not. Did you sleep well?" the Comte asked as he sat down with a plate of the fish.

Jean Pierre flashed a quick look at him, meeting the challenge in his dark eyes. "As well as can be expected, oui," he said lazily.

"Excellent. Now, I suppose you are wondering why I have invited you 'ere."

"'Invited?" Jean Pierre began then gritted his teeth, catching the flicker of warning in Chantal's glance. "Mais oui…"

De Mars nodded, smiling wickedly to himself as he settled back in his chair. "It is like zis. I would play a joke on my friends. I would 'ave zem zink zat ze king' imself comes to my balls. It will be amusing to see 'ow zey pander to 'is whims." He glanced at Chantal casually. "And informative…."

"What does zis 'ave to do with me?" Jean Pierre asked.

"You, mon ami, will play ze king for me."

"Moi?!" Jean Pierre didn't have to pretend to be shocked. He hadn't quite believed any of it until he heard it from the Comte's own lips.

"Oui. It will be a masked ball of course. With no names mentioned until ze unmasking at ze end. What do you say?"

"It will be a good joke. But what is in it for me?" Jean Pierre shot back, deciding to sound as mercenary as possible for his own safety.

"Typical peasant! Is not living in luxury enough?" Henri frowned impatiently.

"I prefer money."

"Very well. I will pay you well for your time. But first, you must prove zat you can play the part of ze gentleman. Ze Lady Du Lac wishes to go into ze village to make some purchases. You will go with 'er as we shall see how well you do…"

* * *

Muttering under his breath, Robert prodded some of the plump peaches in the basket on the wagon and shot a glare at the irate owner. "You call zese fresh? I 'ave seen fresher mould."

"Zen go buy it," the peasant shot back.

"I am buying for ze Comte De Chabriot. 'E expects ze best."

"Tough. Zese are for ze Comte De Mars at ze chateau. 'E is holding a ball tomorrow. Now, get out of my way, peasant!"

Glaring, Robert shuffled out of the way and shouted a few obscenities after the man as he drove off. Inside, he was grinning. He was learning a lot of useful information at the market. The entire village was buzzing with talk of the Comte's ball and rumours about a surprise guest. Marie's hunch seemed to be paying off and he couldn't help feeling a little smug that he was being so successful.

"Robert!" Francois hailed him haughtily and he glanced round, ruefully acknowledging his 'master' and hurrying back to his side. "'Ave you found out anything?" Francois hissed as Robert reached him.

"Oui. Ze Comte is 'olding a ball tomorrow. If you can get invited to it, zen I will have ze chance to explore ze chateau. No one notices ze servants at a party!"

"Zat is true," Francois mused in agreement. Many a time they had taken advantage of a an aristocratic party to fill their pockets with whatever came to hand. "Marie wishes us to present ourselves as ze chateau after lunch. No doubt we will make a suitable impression. Ze Comte will not dare to snub us."

Robert snorted. "Do not get so full of yourself," he warned, glancing curiously towards a commotion being caused by a coach pulling up in the market square. "Remember who you are."

"'Ow could I forget with you to remind me, uh?" Francois retorted. "We play a dangerous game, Robert. I would wish zat we could find Jean Pierre and escape from 'ere. I only 'ope zat 'e will be willing to come with us."

"Of course, 'e will. 'E is a captive is 'e not?" Robert said absently, watching the finely dressed blond man climbing down from the coach and turning to help down a beautiful blond woman in a peach coloured silk dress, decorated with tiny roses at the neck and hem. The villagers were muttering, making awed comments as they eyed up the new arrivals.

"You should not stare so," Francois hissed, digging him in the ribs with his elbow. "We must not attract attention!"

"Oui, but…I know 'er…" Robert took a step towards her as she moved to stroll amongst the stalls, then froze and stared at the blond man as he followed the woman. "Francois?" he choked.

"Oui? What is it? Has lust taken you again?"

"Non. It is 'im."

"Ze Comte? Where?" Francois looked round in alarm. Once he knew who they were looking for he had taken pains to find out all he could about the man. The Comte De Mars had a reputation, both as a womaniser and an expert duellist. It was said he had never lost a duel in his life and Francois had no intention of antagonising him into fighting one with him.

"Not im! Im! Jean Pierre!"

"What? Where?!" Francois exclaimed wildly.

"Zere!" Robert pointed with his chin towards the woman's companion.

"Im? Do not be ridiculous! That is an aristocrat…" Francois laughed, relaxing. Robert was obviously having him on. The young man in the purple frock coat and black silk breeches and gillet could not possibly be their Jean Pierre. He was a noble from top to toe…. "Robert!" Francois made a grab at Robert's arm, but he was already out of reach and trotting rapidly across the square.

"Jean Pierre!"

The familiar, impatient yell made Jean Pierre's mouth go dry in shock. He found himself staring at Chantal in panic as she gave him a mildly inquisitive look then turned back to examining the melons she was considering purchasing for the ball. He took a step towards her, aware of the watchful eyes on the coachman on the back of his neck as Robert reached him and caught at his arm. One wrong move and Chevrolet would put a musket ball through his friend's head. The Comte De Mars had no intention of letting Jean Pierre escape his clutches so easily.

"Jean Pierre, do not walk away! I know it is you," Robert said eagerly. "Do you not know we 'ave been looking for you everywhere? I, we 'ave been so worried!"

"I zink you 'ave mistaken me for someone else," Jean Pierre said rigidly, flicking at Robert's hand with his handkerchief.

"Do not be silly. I would know you anywhere!"

"Unhand me, peasant!" Jean Pierre demanded, hearing the rising note of panic in his voice as he snatched his arm free.

Robert's jaw dropped and he recoiled as if he had indeed been shot. "You call me peasant! Why, you…cur! I should challenge you for zat!!"

"Do not be a fool! You know I am better zan you!" Jean Pierre hissed under his breath even as he winced and stepped back, dropping one hand to the sword De Mars had given him. "Be gone," he ordered. "I 'ave no time for ze likes of you." Turning his back on Robert's outraged and baffled expression, he turned and stalked over to Chantal. "Come, milady," he said curtly. "Ze air 'ere 'as turned foul."

"But ze melons…" Chantal; protested, cradling them against her décolletage.

"We shall purchase them elsewhere," Jean Pierre said woodenly, shoving them back on the stall and then marching her back to the waiting coach. Chevrolet smirked down at him as he handed Chantal into the vehicle and Jean Pierre glared back, wanting to smash his teeth down his throat or, at the very least, run him through at sword point. "Stop gawping and take us back to ze chateau," he growled at him as he ducked into the coach.

"What did zat man want?" Chantal asked curiously from her perch among the plump red cushions.

"'Im? Nozing. Money." Jean Pierre flung himself into the corner of the coach and gnawed on a knuckle as they lurched across the cobbles and out of the square. He could not get the expression on Robert's face out of his mind. He had looked so hurt, so betrayed…

"Robert?" Hurrying up to his side, Francois took his tall friend's arm and hastily dragged him away from the coach as it clattered out of the square. "Are you all right?"

"It was Jean Pierre," Robert muttered, his shocked anguish turning to rising anger. "I know it was. I would know 'im anywhere! But 'e treated me like dirt! Like a peasant! Who does 'e think 'e is?!"

"A friend stopping you from getting yourself killed, I zink."

"Why I shall go and beat some sense into 'im!" Robert paused and glanced warily at Francois. "Killed?"

"Ze coachman 'ad a musket on you ze whole time. Jean Pierre was protecting you ze only way 'e could. I zink 'e was afraid to speak..."

Robert thought this over slowly and then shuddered. "Zen he is in much danger. We must 'elp 'im, Francois! You believe me zat it is 'im?"

"I believe you, mon ami. And we shall 'elp 'im. But first we must tell Marie of zis."

"I shall follow ze coach…" Robert took a step after it as if meaning to follow the vehicle on foot all the way to the chateau.

"Non, Robert! Marie first. We must stick to 'er plan. Zis only proves zat Jean Pierre is 'ere. Freeing 'im I zink will not be so easy…"

* * *

"Already ze word is out zat se king 'as been seen," Marie said grimly when Robert and Francois returned to the inn. "Ze Comte moves more quickly zan I 'ad expected!"

Robert slumped down amid a pile of dresses and coats that Marie had been unpacking and propped his chin in his hands. Francois eyed him in concern and then turned to Marie, vainly attempting to get a word in edgewise.

"Ze rumours will spread swiftly zat ze king is 'ere and zat will work to ze Comte's advantage…" Marie went on, frowning at Robert's depression. "What is wrong with 'im?" she asked at last.

"We 'ave seen Jean Pierre," Francois answered, explaining what had happened in the market place.

"You are sure it was 'im?"

"Oui. It was 'im," Francois said firmly. "Robert spoke to 'im."

"And what did 'e say?" Excited, Marie turned back to Robert.

"Go away, peasant," Robert sighed miserably, picking out one of Marie's flamboyant hats and staring at it mournfully.

"Jean Pierre said zat?" Marie gaped at him. "'As 'e lost 'is mind? Did 'e not know you?"

"Oui, e' knew 'im," Francois said gloomily. "But ze coachman 'ad a musket. I zink 'e would 'ave killed Robert if Jean Pierre 'ad spoken out of turn."

"I miss 'im," Robert mumbled gloomily, crumpling the hat as he hugged it to his chest.

"Robert! Do not do zat!" Marie exclaimed in dismay, attempting to rescue the item from his hands. "Zat was expensive!"

Robert hugged it tighter and glared at her as she slapped impatiently at his arm. "Do not keep 'itting me zen," he complained.

"Zen do not be an idiot!" Marie scolded, smacking his arm again. "Give me ze 'at!"

"You zink more of your 'at zan you do of me!" Robert growled and flung it at her. As she gazed at him in hurt surprise, he got up, stalking over to the window to stare down into the street. "Jean Pierre does not. I miss 'im," he repeated sadly. "Jean Pierre does not treat me like an idiot. And 'e does not 'it me like you do. I zink zat when we are together again, we shall leave and go our own way."

Shocked, Marie shot a quick look at Francois and a grim expression that echoed Robert's own. "Francois? Robert?! You do not mean zat! You are my friends! Are we not risking all to save Jean Pierre?!" Scurrying to Robert's side, she clutched at his arm. "I miss 'im too. But if we are to 'elp 'im, we must be careful!"

Robert glanced down at her sadly. "You do not understand 'ow it is," he sighed. "I was raised by a peasant family who were good to me, but zey did not treat me like zeir own. Zey said zat I was ze son of a nobleman from ze wrong side of ze blankets. Zere was a little money for my keep at first, but zen ze money ceased to come. I left when I was old enough to care for myself. I stole what I needed. Survived somehow. But I was always lonely. And loneliness made me make a mistake. Zere was a girl…."

Francois snorted. "Zere always is with you."

Robert smiled wistfully. "She was young and pretty and she tempted me to dally with 'er. And while I dallied, ze barn was surrounded and I was caught. Zey would 'ave 'anged me and she was not even worth it! It was Jean Pierre who saved me from being 'anged. 'E rode up on ze white 'orse, pretended 'e was an aristocrat and I was 'is stray servant and rescued me. I found out later zat he stole ze 'orse from ze farm down the road." Robert grinned, his expression brightening as he remembered being young and foolish. "After zat, 'e kept doing his best to lose me but we kept bumping into each other." He paused, biting his lip and then said softly. "Jean Pierre 'ad a lover zen. When zey were found out, 'e was flogged. I found 'im in ze woods where zey 'ad left 'im barely alive. I could 'ave abandoned 'im, I suppose. But 'e 'ad saved my life and I owed 'im. It made us even. And while I cared for 'im, we became friends." Robert smiled again, shyly this time. "I zink 'e was lonely too. But after zat we 'ad each other for company."

"And ze girl?" Marie queried.

"She was sent to finishing school. Jean Pierre pined for 'er, but something else took 'is mind off 'er."

"And who was she?" Francois teased.

"It was not a she. It was ze man who killed Jean Pierre's family," Robert answered grimly. "But if you wish to know of zat we will 'ave to rescue 'im so zat you can ask 'im yourself. I will not speak of it without 'is permission."

Marie frowned. She had encountered Robert's deference to Jean Pierre before and its challenge to her sense of authority irritated her. She didn't think he was serious about leaving her, but it still rankled.

Seeing her annoyed expression, Francois lightly touched her arm. "I zink it is time we got ready to visit the chateau," he urged. "If we are to be in invited to zis ball zen we must present ourselves at once."

"You are right, Francois," Marie dipped her head and swished around in her long skirts until her back was to Robert. Perhaps she couldn't challenge Robert's affection for Jean Pierre yet, but there were other ways she could capture his attention. "Unlace me please, Robert? I must make ready…"

* * *

At the sound of a light knock on the bedroom door, Jean Pierre roused from his gloomy reverie and strolled over to open it. Hovering on the doorstep, Herman gave him an impatient frown and stalked past him.

"'Ow many times must I tell you? You do not answer ze door yourself. You are not ze footman!"

"'It is 'abit," Jean Pierre sighed, slumping back into his chair by the fire and resting his stockinged feet on the grate.

Setting down the tray of food he had brought Herman frowned. "Your trip into ze town went badly?" he queried.

"Non, it went well enough." Jean Pierre muttered, hoping his blush wouldn't show. When Chantal's questions about Robert had become too persistent for his comfort, he had silenced her by effectively distracting her with a quick bout of lust among the cushions of the coach. Ruffled and dishevelled by their exertions, she had been in no position to ask any more questions or to mention the incident to the Comte when they returned to the chateau.

"Ze Lady Du Lac is full of you."

Jean Pierre looked up in alarm. "What?"

"She is most impressed by you," Herman said calmly, oblivious to Jean Pierre's consternation as he fussed with the lunch tray. "Her maid says she talks of no one else." Glancing up from the tray, he winked. "I zink it will be she who is distracted and not you as ze Comte intends."

"Me?"

"Oui. All men are fools for ze love of a woman. Ze Comte zinks she can manipulate you into loving 'er and doing anything she commands. And 'er commands will be zose of ze Comte. Did you not know?"

Jean Pierre closed his eyes in pain. How could he have let himself believe even for a moment that it was love that brought her to his bed and not the Comte's orders?

"I see you did not. Drink zis," Herman urged sympathetically, offering him a glass of red wine. "I could be wrong," he admitted as Jean Pierre sat up and sipped reluctantly. "What ze Comte plans, may not be what she plans. Per'aps she does love you."

"What if she does?" Jean Pierre said bitterly. "Ze Comte will use 'er against me whether she wills it or no. As 'e will use you."

"Moi?" Herman put a hand to his throat, gazing at him in surprise.

"Oui. You are my friend, are you not? You 'ave done your best to 'elp and warn me. Ze Comte will not appreciate zat should 'e find out."

"I 'ad 'oped you would not tell 'im," Herman muttered dryly.

"I shall not. I do not betray my friends." Jean Pierre shifted in his seat, eager to steer the subject away from the painful one of Chantal. "I 'ave been thinking. Tell me, you asked me how long I thought I would survive impersonating ze king, but how long do you zink ze king will survive?"

"Ze King?" Herman said slowly.

"Ze Comte's plan is ingenious, uh? I take ze king's place as his marionette. But what happens to ze king? Is 'e to be locked away in an Iron Mask as a madman per'aps? Would it not be easier to simply kill 'im? Ze Comte is not a man to shun violence, is 'e? I 'ave 'eard of 'is duelling skills."

Herman gazed at him for a long moment then picked up the wine bottle and took a nervous swig. "You zink 'e plans to kill ze king?" he whispered.

"'E must. As long as 'e lives, ze Comte would be in danger."

Wide-eyed, Herman sat down slowly in the other chair and stared at him. "But zat is terrible. It would be murder."

Jean Pierre shrugged. "Oui," he agreed steadily, watching Herman to see how he would react. He wasn't sure yet what Herman really thought of the idea of revolution. Personally he felt that changes needed to be made, but at the expense of someone's life? He didn't think Herman wished to go that far any more than he did. Jean Pierre had done many things in his life, some of which he was not very proud of. But he drew the line at murder.

The valet licked his lips slowly. "We must do something…" he said finally.

"You did not care when you thought ze Comte meant to kidnap ze King."

"Zat was only kidnapping. I 'ad not thought he meant to 'arm 'im. I had not truly thought any further zan what I am ordered to do; to prepare you to pretend to be ze king. What I know I 'ave found out by accident. I thought zat with someone else on ze throne things could be better."

"Not with ze Comte behind it. Zat man means only to increase 'is own power. 'E will not act for ze good of France." Jean Pierre folded his arms across his knees and gazed thoughtfully at Herman. "Ze King is a pouf," he said solemnly.

"Excuse moi?" Herman exclaimed indignantly, half insulted.

Jean Pierre gazed back at him in wide-eyed innocence. "A pouf. 'E is small and soft and people put zeir feet on 'im,. But he does not deserve to be murdered for ze sake of ze Comte De Mar's ambitions. So, we must 'elp 'im. Will you do something for me, Herman?"

"If I can…"

"It may be dangerous."

"I laugh at danger. Hysterically, it is true. But still I laugh."

Jean Pierre grinned. "I need to get a message to someone in ze town. A friend…who can 'elp us."

Herman pursed his lips. "I must go to ze market to buy fruit for ze ball," he said slowly. "Ze Comte will not be suspicious of zat. But 'e may send zat lout Chevrolet with me."

"I will not ask you to endanger yourself zen," Jean Pierre said flatly and then jumped in surprise as Herman leaned forward and rested his slim hand on his knee.

"Ask me," Herman urged earnestly. "I do not wish ze king to be killed either. I can find a way to get rid of Chevrolet."

"Good. You must find a man called Robert. He is tall and good looking in 'is own way. 'E will 'ave been making free with ze tavern girls so it should not be difficult for you to find 'im through zem…."

"You expect me to go into a tavern!" Herman exclaimed in alarm.

Jean Pierre grinned. "It may be a new experience for you, but yes. I also expect you to get friendly with ze tavern girls…."

* * *

Pacing around the garden fountain with his hands clasped behind his back an hour later, Jean Pierre frowned at the sparkling water splashing into the seashell shaped bowl. Confinement to the chateau rankled. How the aristocracy put up with such mind numbing boredom baffled him. He wanted to be out doing something, anything. If it was not for the part he was forced to play, he could have been in town enjoying himself. A few drinks at the tavern would have passed the time, a girl perhaps, a game of boule… He must be desperate. He was even starting to miss Herman's company.

"You appear bored, Jean Pierre."

Henri's purring voice interrupted his thoughts and he whipped around to face the Comte, alarmed that he had let him get so close. De Mars stood at ease, one hip jutting out, as he stood poised, flicking an epee absently at the roses that adorned the gardens. He was dressed in black breeches, with a loose white open neck shirt.

The luxury of the last few days are dulling your reflexes, Jean Pierre scolded himself impatiently. "A little," he admitted cautiously. "But ennui is a sign of ze aristocracy, is it not?"

Henri smiled lazily. "For some, oui." He lifted the sword, its silver blade glinting as he saluted Jean Pierre. "Personally, I prefer to take a little exercise with ze sword. Tell me, 'as Herman educated in ze use of a weapon yet?"

The arch of the Comte's dark eyebrow was a calculated insult that Jean Pierre carefully ignored. "'E 'as not. I am told zat you are ze expert at zat."

De Mars' mocking smile turned into a black scowl. "Per'aps you would care to match blades with me?"

Jean Pierre hesitated. He had heard of the Comte's reputation from Herman and was inclined to take the valet's warning about fighting him, but frustration churned within him and he was tired of Henri's easy contempt. "Why not?" he said easily. "A king must know 'ow to duel, non? But will you trust me with a blade?"

"Come with me," Henri snapped and spun on a black boot heel, stalking back towards the chateau. Jean Pierre ambled after him with calculated insolence. He had been weighing the odds and had come to the conclusion that, for now at least, the Comte needed him far more than he needed De Mars. And, as Robert was so fond of saying, he could never resist the chance to tweak the lion's tail…

The Comte led the way into the chateau and into an empty room at the back. that had been clearly arranged to use as an exercise room. Jean Pierre looked around him warily, eyeing the racks of weapons on the walls. He recognised and admired the quality of the muskets and duelling pistols on display and longed to get his hands on some of the fencing swords, but many of the other weapons were unfamiliar to him.

"As you can see, I 'ave a little hobby. I collect weapons," Henri announced, noting what Jean Pierre was looking at. He strolled over to the wall, running his fingers across the gleaming blade of an axe. "This is supposed to be Saxon," he told him then pointed to a metal ball studied with spikes. "Zat is a Morning Star. You 'ave 'eard of a Morning Star, oui?"

"Oui," Jean Pierre agreed. He had heard of it, but never expected to see one.

Henri frowned, disappointed by his knowledge. Beckoning Jean Pierre closer, however, he led him along the wall, naming each weapon and lovingly describing its usage. Amongst the swords and pikes, he had several torture devices, which he took great pleasure in telling Jean Pierre all about. "And zese are ze short swords. Zis is a Roman Gladius," Henri touched a gleaming short sword with a sturdy hilt. "And zis is even older. A Greek blade…'Ere, you may 'old it." Lifting the ancient weapon down, the Comte shoved it at his captive, gleefully anticipating him fumbling the blade.

Jean Pierre took it instinctively, feeling the hilt fit naturally into his hand. Startled, he stepped away from the Comte and took up a fighting pose, aware of the weapon's perfect balance for him as he made an experimental lunge and thrust. The sword practically sang in his hand, flowing with his movements.

It was several moments before he realised that the Comte was watching him with narrow eyed suspicion. It took an effort to fumble the blade and nearly drop it before shyly offering it back to him. De Mars snatched the sword back and returned it to its place on the wall. Taking down an epee, he tossed it to Jean Pierre who caught it hastily. "Let us see 'ow you 'andle a real sword," he snarled as he picked up his own weapon and came after him.

Backing away across the wooden floor, Jean Pierre eyed him uneasily. Obviously he had made the Comte angry with his inadvertent display of expertise. The balance of the short sword had taken him by surprise and he had responded instinctively to its silent challenge by giving it his best. If he had thought about it at all, he would never have made such a dumb mistake. He had no idea of how good he was in comparison to the Comte and didn't dare presume to be his equal. But he could see no way out of the fight. Whether he was better or not, his only choice was to let De Mars win. And he suspected that that meant losing some blood…

Henri stalked him, his sword swishing menacingly. Angry though he was he was obviously still in perfect control of his temper. "En garde," he growled.

Taking a deep breath, Jean Pierre saluted him with his sword and took up a fencing stance, his left hand tucked behind him in the small of his back and out of the way.

"Messieurs?" Chantal's cool voice lilted across the room. "Excuse moi, for interrupting your games…"

"Zen do not interrupt, woman," Henri snarled, his eyes locked on Jean Pierre with the blood light burning fierce and hot in their black depths.

"But we 'ave guests," Chantal replied pointedly. "Ze servants are settling zem in ze reception room."

Henri hesitated, flicking a glance towards her. Jean Pierre felt his breath quicken and restrained the sudden wild impulse to attack while the Comte was distracted. De Mars glanced back at him instantly, reading the expression in his eyes. He laughed maliciously as he contemptuously lowered his sword. "Mais oui, you would kill me, non? If you 'ad ze chance…"

"In my position, would you do otherwise?" Jean Pierre retorted, reluctantly lowering his own weapon and bitterly aware of the Comte's mocking dismissal of him as a threat. De Mars clearly did not consider him a challenge at all.

"Henri," Chantal snapped impatiently, her foot tapping the floor. "Ze guests!"

"Who are zey?"

"Ze Comte and Comtesse Chabriot," Chantal retorted primly.

"'Ere?!" De Mars looked genuinely startled for a moment then recovered and headed for the door. "Zey could be useful. Zey are in ze King's circle. If we can fool zem, we can fool anyone." He paused to shoot a quick glare at Jean Pierre. "You will go to your rooms and stay zere," he ordered.

"I am not a child to be ordered to my room," Jean Pierre retorted.

De Mars moved so fast that his sword was practically a blur as it kissed Jean Pierre's throat and drew a drop of scarlet blood that stained his loosely tied cravat. "You are a peasant that rises above 'imself. You will not ruin my plans. If you dare to defy me, I will kill you. Do you understand zat, peasant?"

Jean Pierre glared at him hotly but nodded woodenly, too aware of the sword at his throat to do otherwise.

"Zat is good. You must not be seen until ze ball. Chantal, take him to 'is room and lock ze door. And do not dally!"

As De Mars stalked out, still carrying his sword; Jean Pierre gazed thoughtfully at his own epee and then returned it sadly to the rack.

"You should not anger 'im so," Chantal warned. "'E is a dangerous man. And you must not duel with 'im. 'E could kill you very easily. 'E is very good with a sword."

"So am I," Jean Pierre murmured, pausing to ran a lingering finger down the blade of the Greek sword. Gems, he had lusted after. Money, he had coveted. But that sword he desired, wanted it as much as he wanted Chantal's love, with every taut stretched fibre of his being. And he could not understand why. It had no true value to him. What was it except a piece of well-forged iron?

"Jean Pierre, listen to me." Suddenly anxious at his wistful tone, Chantal caught his arm and pulled him around to face her. "You must not fight 'im! You know nothing of duelling!"

"Do I not?" Jean Pierre gave her a caustic look.

"'Ow could you? You are a peasant…."

"And zat is still difference between us, is it not? I am still only a peasant to you."

"Non, you are Jean Pierre. Uniquely yourself."

"Am I? Or am I not now a mere copy of ze king? A marionette for ze Comte?"

"Please, do not talk like zis. I am afraid for you."

"Per'aps you should be afraid for ze Comte. Per'aps I should challenge 'im for you?"

"Do not be a fool! You 'eard him. Get in 'is way and 'e will kill you!"

Jean Pierre smiled wolfishly and reached out a gentle hand, running his fingers delicately down her cheek. "You zink so little of me?" he said quietly. "You zink I would not fight for you?"

"Zat is not ze point. You would not stand ze chance. Ze Comte is ze best. 'E was taught by ze Comte De Fevre 'imself." Chantal argued. "And zey say 'e was ze finest swordsman in Paris!"

A strange expression crossed Jean Pierre's usually animated face, an ice cold freezing that sent a shiver though Chantal. "Until 'e was killed in a duel," he murmured, turning away from her with a sigh to stroll towards the doors.

"What does zat 'ave to do with it?" Chantal demanded, scurrying after him to capture his hands in hers.

"Would you not say zat ze man who killed 'im would stand a chance against De Mars?"

"D'accord," Chantal agreed.

Jean Pierre studied their linked hands for a long moment then withdrew his own from hers. "It was I. I killed 'im," he said softly.

Chantal caught her breath. "Do not be ridiculous!" she stammered.

"What is ridiculous about it?" Jean Pierre asked distantly. "Zat I, a mere peasant, say I killed 'im? It is the truth. Would you like to know why?"

"I…" Chantal hesitated, confused.

"Because he murdered my family," Jean Pierre told her. "We had a farm zat had belonged to us for generation upon generation. It was not big, but ze land was good and fertile and we did well. Ze Comte De Fevre decided zat he wanted our farm so he could grow grapes for wine. We would not sell to 'im. So one day, when I 'ad been sent to ze village to buy something zat I cannot even remember, 'e and 'is men rode into our farm to take it. I returned early. And I was in time to see im' kill the last of my family and throw zere bodies into ze burning farmhouse."

His eyes glittering like chips of ice, Jean Pierre gazed steadily at Chantal without really seeing her as she bit her knuckles in horror. "I cannot remember what 'appened after zat. I must 'ave wandered away. 'Ow I escaped without 'im seeing me, I do not know. The villagers found me. Zey knew what 'ad 'appened, per'aps they knew who also, but zere was nothing zey could do. I 'ad relatives so zey zent me to zem. Ze Comte did not even look for me. I was only a child. What 'arm could I do 'im? I was safe with my relatives, far enough away from 'im zat 'e would never know I existed. But I knew of 'im. And I wanted to kill 'im as soon as I was old enough. I spent every spare minute with my Uncle learning to fence. And my Uncle is even better zan De Fevre..." Jean Pierre paused, focusing on her. "Zen I met you and for a while revenge no longer seemed so important. But when you left me, after I was flogged for daring to love you, it was too much. I could not stand to be treated so by ze aristocracy any more! We…I 'eard zat ze Comte was up to 'is old tricks and so I tracked 'im down and challenged 'im to a duel. I killed 'im and his butchers. After zat, we…I 'ad to 'ide for a while. I wrote to you. I thought you would wait if you loved me. But you did not. You turned to De Bergerac instead."

Chantal clutched at his hands again, her eyes filling with tears that tasted salty on her lips. "Why did you not come to me? Why did you not tell me? I could 'ave 'elped!" she protested. "I would 'ave left 'im for you!"

"Would you? I zink not, mon Cherie," Jean Pierre said sadly, kissing a tear from her mouth. "You are a pretty flower who 'as never known 'ow cold and cruel ze world is."

"Jean Pierre…" she pleaded.

"Non. I do not wish to talk of it any more. Ze past is ze past. If zere is to be anything between us, zen we must start from new. Now, you 'ad best lock me in my room and go to your guests before De Mars comes looking for you…"

* * *

Muttering under his breath, Herman picked up the orange one of the other servants had dropped from where it had rolled under the coach seat when they unloaded his purchases. He had done his best for Jean Pierre, visiting every tavern, seedy and otherwise in town without success during his shopping expedition: using the excuse to Chevrolet of buying the best wine. He had been pinched, tweaked, fondled and mishandled by every madam he came across. All of who seemed convinced they could make him mend his ways if he went with them for an hour.

Shuddering at the thought, Herman slid the orange into his pocket and climbed down from the coach. Jean Pierre's message was still safely tucked inside his inner pocket and he was dreading telling his new friend of his failure. It was odd that he considered Jean Pierre a friend rather than a potential bed companion; unique even. It wasn't that he didn't find him attractive. He did. Very much so in fact. Perhaps it was the situation they were both in…

Herman came to a startled halt, eyeing the handsome young man who had emerged from the stables. A warm flush rose through his body as he gazed at him admiringly, taking in the long legs in the tight butternut breeches, the shoulder length silken brown hair lapping against the dark cloth of his greatcoat, the blue eyes….

"It is 'im. Its must be," he breathed, drifting forward towards this vision of delight. "Robert?"

The young man glanced towards him instinctively, then flashed a quick nervous look around him in trepidation at being seen and his identity discovered.

"It is you," Herman said firmly. "Who else could it be? Those rippling thews, those muscles. Zose lips…I would know you anywhere….'Old me!" With a swift lunge, Herman was in Robert's arms and snuggling up to him in purring delight.

"Who are you?" Robert protested in alarm, unable to drop the puppyishly wriggling valet without appearing rude.

"A friend…a very good friend…" Herman growled.

"Not of mine, monsieur."

"Zat will change."

"I 'ardly know you!"

"Oh, Robert, zat is what zey all say," Herman pouted in disappointment and squirmed closer, his eyes widening in delight. "Is zat an orange in my pocket or am I pleased to see you?"

Robert let out a strangled scream as he dropped Herman and performed a balletic leap backward, plastering himself against the stable wall. "What are you saying?!"

Giving him a smouldering look from under his eyelashes, Herman extracted the orange from his pocket and smirked wickedly at him. "Zat I 'ave an orange in my pocket. What else?" he replied, sashaying closer and holding it up to Robert's lips. "Would you care for a bite?"

"Non…!" Robert stammered, doing his best to melt into the wall.

Herman leaned against him, using the movement to cover sliding Jean Pierre's message from his jacket and tucking it into the loose open neck of Robert's shirt. "'Ere, zis is for you, from a mutual friend," he whispered quickly before he stepped back with a disdainful flip of his head. "Well, Robert, if you wish to play 'ard to get, so be it! Two can play at zat game!" he announced and flounced off, vanishing around the corner while Robert was still clinging to the wall and floundering in a sea of bewilderment.

A snorted chuckle from a stablehand made him look up and blush furiously as he rearranged his shirt.

"I see you 'ave met Herman," the stablehand cackled.

"I do not know 'im!"

"It is whether he knows you, citoyen! It is whether he knows you!"

Shooting a look of embarrassed disgust at him, Robert strode off towards Marie's coach. It was bad enough having to play the part of a servant, without getting pounced on by the local hired help. And what had Herman or whatever his name was meant about a mutual friend?

As understanding dawned on him, Robert cupped one hand over the slip of paper rustling inside his shirt and wished earnestly that Marie and Francois would hurry up. He didn't dare risk reading any message until they were safely away from the chateau. Not even another visit from Herman would induce him to take any risk with Jean Pierre's safety!

* * *

"Zat went better zan I expected," Marie commented as she sat across from Francois in the back of her coach an hour later. They were well on their way back to town and Robert was driving at a breakneck speed that had them jolting all over the road.

"Ze Lady Du Lac is quite charming," Francois murmured.

"As is the Comte…" Marie murmured under her breath, fanning her self vigorously. He was clearly a man who took care of his appearance yet was sure enough of himself to be unconcerned by a minor amount of dishevelment. He had obviously been exercising and had only paused to straighten up and put on a frock coat before he joined them. Marie had found his aggressively physical presence quite….fascinating.

The lurch of the coach as it came to a halt startled her out of her thoughts.

"What is it?" Francois cried out. "Are we attacked?"

"Non," Robert called back as they heard the thud of him leaping down from the driver's seat and hurrying round to the side of the coach. Flinging open the door, he climbed in and sat down next to Marie, carelessly crushing her silk skirts. "I 'ave a message from Jean Pierre," he announced, thrusting the scroll with anxious eagerness at Francois. As soon as they were clear of the chateau he had opened the message and done his best to read it for himself. But the jolting of the coach and the dancing letters had defeated his best efforts and he had finally given in, knowing that Francois at least wouldn't mock him and hoping that Marie would not think less of him for the failure. "Please, read it?"

Quickly unravelling the scroll, Francois read through it swiftly. "'E is unharmed, Robert," he said soothingly and Robert let out a sigh of relief, slumping back into the seat and ignoring Marie's efforts to free her skirts.

"I 'ad thought zat is what it said. Thank you…"

Francois smiled faintly and went on. "It is as we thought. 'E is a captive of ze Comte who plans to 'ave 'im impersonate ze king…" He paused uncertainly, looking at Robert who gazed back gloomily.

With a final tug, Marie wrenched her skirts free and sat forward to take the message for herself. Her eyes widened as she read. "'E fears zat De Mars may plan to kill ze king also and zat 'is own life may be in danger if 'e does not co-operate." She shook her head. "Zis could be a trap for us. Who gave zis to you, Robert?"

"A servant while I was waiting for you. Someone said 'is name is Herman."

"Zat is also what it says in the message." Marie frowned. "But if you cannot read zis 'ow do you know it is from Jean Pierre? It is written so strangely, in zis print. It disguises 'is handwriting. Anyone could 'ave written zis…."

"Robert can read," Francois interrupted sharply, seeing the hurt look cross his friend's face. "But ze letters move when 'e looks at zem. Zey will not stay still for 'im. It is not 'is fault."

"Zat is 'ow I know it is from Jean Pierre," Robert rumbled, embarrassed. "'E spaces ze letters so zat it easier for me…And I know 'ow 'e signs 'is name."

Francois nodded. "Jean Pierre would not tell anyone zis. So who would know 'ow to do it?"

Marie inclined her head and patted Robert's knee. "I am sorry zat I did not understand," she apologised gracefully. "But now zat Jean Pierre knows we are ere, we can make plans to 'elp 'im. We must find some way to contact 'im."

"I can do zis! I shall creep into ze chateau like a cat on fog paws," Robert said eagerly.

"You do not know much about cats, do you?" Marie murmured dryly, smiling at his confusion.

Robert frowned back at her. "'E is my friend. It is my place to go!" he protested petulantly.

"No one is saying otherwise, mon ami," Francois said hastily.

"Now wait…" Marie began.

"Non." For once Francois forgot his impeccable manners and interrupted her. "Robert must be ze one to go. 'E is ze only one of us who will be free to move around ze chateau. You and I, Marie, must be at ze ball. We 'ave been invited to go by Lady Du Lac. Who knows? We may 'ave ze chance to spear to Jean Pierre zere without any of taking a risk."

"Zis is so," Marie admitted. "But I zink we must still warn 'im zat we will be zere. Ze message says zat zis Herman can be trusted and 'e will be in ze market place tomorrow. You will 'ave to take 'im a message, Robert."

"Moi?! Non!" Robert protested.

"Oui," Marie said firmly. "Zis servant knows you enough to recognise you. Francois and I must stay aloof. You will 'ave to go."

"But…" Robert protested firmly. "I cannot. I am a zink a brave man, but even so… Please, do not make me, Marie!"

"It will not be dangerous. No one will suspect if you bump into 'im…"

Robert coloured. "I do not zink I can do zat," he mumbled. "And I do not want to bump into zis man…."

"Do not be a wilting flower! It is for Jean Pierre!"

Robert grimaced, knowing that he was like clay in her slender fingers. She could bend and shape him at her whim. And she had one telling point. It was for Jean Pierre. "Very well," he said grimly. "I will do zis – for Jean Pierre! But I am not 'appy about it…"

* * *

Humming happily under his breath, Herman wandered among the market stalls, selecting choice fresh fish from one, cheese from another and ordering the two husky kitchen servants he had brought with him to carry it back to the cart. It was a bright breezy morning, the sun was up and throwing prismatic shadows in the iridescent puddles left by last night's rain.

"Pssst!"

Herman blinked and looked around him uncertainly.

"Pssst! C'est moi…"

Herman finally found the source of the voice and sidled cautiously towards the alleyway. He didn't particularly want to be robbed when he was carrying the Comte's money.

"It is I…Robert. Over 'ere…"

"Oooh…Robert!" Spotting the beckoning Robert, Herman trotted happily into the alleyway and smiled at him in delight. "Ooh la la…I did not expect to see you again so soon, my handsome beau."

"I am not your beau," Robert hissed.

"Non?" Impishly, Herman grinned up at him and offered him a couple of the cherries he had been nibbling on. "Can I tempt you with a cherry?" he purred.

"Non…" Blushing brightly, Robert dug Marie's scroll out of his coat and shoved it at him, rose and all.

"Ooh, for me? You shouldn't 'ave…" Herman exclaimed in delight as he took the blossom.

"I did not. You are to give ze rose and ze message to Jean Pierre. 'E will understand."

Herman gave him a little pout of disappointment. "Nothing for moi? You 'urt me, mon petit chou."

Robert glared at him. "Is Jean Pierre… all right?" he asked awkwardly however.

Glancing up from delightedly sniffing the rose to catch Robert's hastily hidden anxiety; Herman smiled in understanding. "'E 'as not been 'urt. Except per'aps by ze Lady Du Lac. I zink 'e fancies 'imself in love with 'er."

"Du Lac?" Robert echoed, recognising the name and missing the way Herman sidled closer to him in his surprised dismay. "Chantal Du Lac?"

"You know 'er?"

"I…'ave 'eard of 'er," Robert admitted slowly, realising how close the valet was and warily backing up. "You will give Jean Pierre a message also from me?"

"For you? Anything…" Herman fluttered his eyelashes adoringly at him as the wall stopped Robert's retreat. "Unless it a message of love…Zen I shall be most jealous."

"You will tell 'im zat a broken love once broken cannot be mended. It is like a broken pot, it always leaks," Robert told him firmly. "Zis woman is not for 'im and never 'as been. You…" He paused uncomfortably. "You will tell 'im zis?"

"When we are alone in 'is bedroom I will tell 'im zis," Herman promised earnestly.

"Alone? In 'is….? I do not zink I wish to know zis." Robert swallowed nervously. "Now, I must go…"

"Must you?" Herman sighed wistfully.

"Mais oui. Definitely…" Robert said and squirmed past him, hurrying off down the alleyway and vanishing around the corner.

"Ah, my 'ero. 'E retains 'is air of mystery…" Sighing longingly, Herman tucked the scroll into his pocket and wandered back into the square.

"Arranging a lover's tryst with your new beau?" one of the kitchen servants asked amiably. "Yet another rendezvous d'amor?"

Herman smiled mischievously and tapped him gently on the chest with the rose. "Zat is for me to know and you to find out, Egon. Are you jealous?"

The servant grinned at him cheerfully. "You are a flirt, Herman," he chuckled as he hefted a bag of vegetables and started back to the cart with it.

With a final wistful glance back at the alleyway, Herman strolled after him. There would be time to fantasise about Robert after the ball was over. In the meantime, he had a menu to plan…

* * *

"Zey are coming 'ere? Ere?! Zey cannot. It is too dangerous!" Jean Pierre exclaimed in alarm as he read Marie's message.

Perched on the edge of the bed with his feet swinging, Herman sniffed the rose and smiled. "I zink Robert also laughs at danger…but zen 'e is a 'ero…" he sighed dreamily. "It does not make 'im hysterical."

"Zat is because 'e zinks 'e is Hercule and is too stupid to know to be scared!"

"Hercule who?"

"Never mind." Jean Pierre flung himself into a chair and tossed the scrap of paper into the hearth, watching it crisp and burn. "Zey should not come to ze ball. Chantal may recognise Robert."

Herman glanced up, frowning faintly. He had given Jean Pierre Robert's message and noted its effect as Jean Pierre was torn between insulted outrage at the warning and rueful acceptance of its truth. "It is a masked ball," he offered carefully. "And I zink zey are worried about you. Zey wish to see for zemselves zat you are unharmed."

"Zey should worry about zemselves. I can handle ze Comte."

"I do not agree. Why do you not leave 'ere now? You owe 'im nothing. I will 'elp you get away."

"Non," Jean Pierre said flatly.

"Why not? We could take ze horses and be gone before 'e knows it."

"With a guard on ze door? Will you turn us invisible?"

"Ze equivalent. When you put on your costume with ze mask for ze ball and go down to join ze guests, I will go with you. Zey will not expect me to lie about who you are. We could slip away and take ze horses…"

"And what of my friends when zey come to ze ball?"

Exasperated, Herman jabbed the rose at him. "Ze Comte will not know who zey are. Zey will leave…."

"Non. Zey will come looking for me zinking zat I am 'eld captive And if ze Comte catches zem…I would 'ave to come back to save zem."

Herman sighed. "You are a brave man. A brave stupid man…And why do you lie? You wish to stay for Chantal."

"I did not mention 'er."

"You did not 'ave to. Your friend spoke wisely when 'e spoke of lost love," he said gently. "I do not zink zat ze Comte would 'arm 'er. In 'is own way, 'e is fond of 'er."

"I am not so sure. And Robert does not care for Chantal. 'E never did…."

Sliding to his feet, Herman offered Jean Pierre the sweet scented rose. "Per'aps 'e is jealous…" he teased as Jean Pierre absently took the flower. "'E seemed jealous when I spoke of being in your bedroom alone with you…"

"You told 'im zat?!" Jean Pierre looked up at him in alarm. "Like zat?!"

"Mais oui, it is true, n'est pas?"

"But 'e will zink…! Herman, 'ow could you?! Now 'e will come 'ere for sure! Ze idiot will zink 'e 'as to protect my virtue!"

Herman chuckled wickedly. "'Ow charming!"

Jean Pierre glared at him and swatted him with the rose. "You are a troublemaker!"

"I find zat it adds spice to life," Herman grinned. "And Robert is…intriguing."

"Zat is not what I would call 'im," Jean Pierre snorted. "'Ere, you may 'ave zis." He handed the rose back to the valet. "I am going to take ze bath."

"May I scrub your back, per chance?" Herman purred hopefully.

"I can scrub my own back," Jean Pierre growled. "And dress myself."

"I shall content myself with preparing your costume zen," Herman sighed in disappointment.

"Very well. If you must." Jean Pierre stalked over to the door to the anteroom and threw a hot glare over his shoulder at him. "But no peeking zis time!"

"As if I would…"

"I could feel ze draught," Jean Pierre sniffed and with a smirk sashayed into the other room, firmly closing the door on Herman's chagrined blush.

* * *

With Francois and Marie in their disguise of the Comte and Comtesse, they had arrived a few fashionable minutes late for the ball and Robert had drawn the coach up at the front of the chateau. The carriage turning circle was lit by lamps that threw pools of golden light across the gravel drive, illuminating it as night started to fall.

"Why do I 'ave to wear zis stupid costume?" Robert complained indignantly as he opened the coach door. He was dressed in brown woven pants and a butter coloured tunic that was tucked into his broad leather belt.

"Because it is ze only one zey 'ad left zat fits you. And you would not wear ze lionskin," Francois replied as he stepped down and then turned to help Marie out. While he was dressed in a costume of rich brown and gold velvet, Marie was classically attired in a pale cream, Greek style dress that draped and clung to her figure.

"But zese pants ride up," Robert muttered darkly.

"And I thought it was Herman making you walk so strangely…" Francois teased.

"I shall 'it you if you say zat again…" Robert growled dangerously.

"Citoyens, can you at least pretend to be gentlemen for now?" Marie demanded irritably as she slipped her mask into place and then rested her hand lightly on Francois' arm. "You both look very 'andsome. Now, Robert, go and mingle with ze servants and find Jean Pierre's room, while Francois and I find Jean Pierre."

"'E is probably with zat woman…." Robert growled. He had told them about Chantal Du Lac and her previous relationship with Jean Pierre and made his own opinion of any woman who would hurt his friend so very clear.

"Zen you must avoid 'er."

"She would not know me."

"You said she was with ze Comte when zey saw you with Jean Pierre in ze market. You must keep on your mask and be careful." Marie warned. Robert snorted in disgust. "Robert, please, do not ruin ze plan!"

Robert glared at her for a long moment then nodded curtly. "I shall not fail you…" he promised and was startled when Marie stepped forward and gave him a light brushing kiss on the cheek.

"I know you will not," she said gratefully and turned away, taking Francois' arm as she composed herself again.

Muttering under his breath, Robert swept them a mocking bow as they walked decorously up the steps of the chateau. He then straightened up cautiously, feeling the leather pants pinch in unexpected places. He was glad of the mask he wore hiding his expression. He had no intention of confining his explorations to the servants when the information Marie wanted could be easily obtained from Herman.

* * *

Marie could feel her tongue drying out as she stood with Francois, patiently awaiting her turn to be introduced to the Comte De Mars. She could feel Henri's hot eyes on her, devouring her and no doubt wishing she was nude. Part of her wished she had chosen something a little less revealing to wear, although Robert's reaction had made it worthwhile. Another part of her revelled in finding the Comte attracted to her. There was no doubt that he was a gorgeous man and knew it. He was dressed in pure black silk trousers, shirt and waistcoat with silver buttons and boot buckles that glinted in the light of the chandeliers. Over that he wore an exquisitely cut frock coat of scarlet silk embroidered in black. He had ignored the fashion of wearing a wig and wore his long black curly hair fastened back neatly with a black velvet bow. Compared to him, Chantal Du Lac seemed almost invisible in her pale green gown with a lace overlay that was a filigree of apple blossom flowers and must have cost a fortune. Her mask was decorated with tiny blossoms.

Henri smiled charmingly as Marie and Francois were introduced by their pseudonym. "Enchante, milady," he purred, bowing over Marie's slender hand. "You look quite ravishing."

Marie tapped him gently on the hand with her feathered fan. "You tease me, milord," she answered back, allowing Francois to slide his arm around her waist.

"Henri is renowned for his flirting," Chantal observed tightly, giving him a cool look.

De Mars frowned at her and straightened up, allowing Marie to withdraw her hand. "I am also renowned for my parties," he said coldly. "Do join ze festivities, Comte, Comtesse."

Marie laughed brightly, dipped her head to him and swished away, leaving Francois to bow to the Comte before he followed her. Behind them, De Mars moved closer to Chantal, glaring at her and he started to argue.

"I do not zink zere is much love lost zere," Francois murmured as he caught up with her.

Marie glanced back, hiding her frown behind her fan. "Zat is not love. Zat is lust, mutual 'unger…" she said thoughtfully and shivered in delicious speculation. "Per'aps if I could get close to 'im…"

"Robert would be very unhappy with zat," Francois murmured.

"Robert does not own me."

"And you do not own 'im. But still 'e sometimes makes you unhappy…"

Marie blushed. "Sometimes you are too astute for your own good," she scolded.

Francois smiled ruefully. "Sometimes it is obvious," he corrected dryly. "But we are not 'ere to discuss your love life. Can you see Jean Pierre?"

Reminded of their reason for being at the ball, Marie blushed even more and looked around her carefully, examining the other guests from behind the security of her feathered mask. "Ze Comte may be saving 'im for later as a surprise guest," she decided, having assured herself that Jean Pierre was not in the ballroom. "We must mingle or we will look suspicious," she went on. "Shall we dance?"

"My pleasure," Francois willingly took her hand and together they joined the small group of guests who had decided to start dancing early.

Nibbling on a sweet pastry, Robert watched Marie and Francois dancing together and gritted his teeth. Although he trusted Francois to keep his hands off Marie since his friend knew how Robert felt about her, he still wanted to be out there holding her in his arms himself. It was hard to be always relegated to the part of servant in these schemes of the Chartreuse Fox and he couldn't help wondering why she always sidelined him. Didn't she trust him to play his part? Or did she want to protect him? Robert frowned. That of course was a ridiculous thought. How could a woman protect him?

"Ooh la la, Robert. Vive la leather," Herman's voice coming from right behind him made him whip around and stare at the valet in alarm. The valet was dressed in close fitting black silk and satin from head to foot, his coat and tight fitting breeches revealing his lithe supple figure. Chestnut brown eyes that sparkled with wicked humour and delight gazed back at him.

"'Ow did you know it was me?" Robert hissed.

"I would recognise your…'eight….anywhere," Herman said carefully as his eyes roamed happily over Robert's frame.

Swallowing hard, Robert changed the subject. "Where is Jean Pierre?"

"'E should be 'ere at any moment. Ze Comte 'as gone to fetch 'im. Zey are pretending zat ze King 'as arrived by coach, having been staying in town in disguise. Zere are rumours of 'ired assassins being after 'im and zat ze Comte is 'is friend."

Robert frowned. He supposed that made sense. De Mars would want everyone to think that King Louis had come to his party especially. There was less chance of anyone thinking Jean Pierre was an impostor than if he had obviously been staying at the chateau.

"Aren't you going to offer me anything?" Herman prompted gently when Robert fell silent.

"Non!" Robert exclaimed in horror.

"I meant from ze buffet," Herman pointed out innocently.

"Oh…'ere, 'ave an orange…You seem to like zem." Grabbing the orange, Robert thrust it at him. Herman folded his fingers over it, holding Robert's hand trapped within his own.

"Oh, Robert, oranges are not ze only fruit. Personally I prefer cherries…" he purred.

Robert inhaled and felt himself go scarlet at the meaning he read in Herman's eyes. "I am not…I do not…." He sputtered.

"Jean Pierre tells me zat you like ze kinky zings…"

"'E said zat? I shall kill 'im!"

Herman chuckled and moved closer, crushing their hands between them. "Ohh, Roberrrt," he growled. "I love it when you are 'angry…."

"Stop it! People are looking! Zey will suspect…."

"Our love knows no bounds…"

"What love?! I do not know you!"

"But you shall…"

"Eek!" Robert floundered wordlessly and Herman softened at his panic.

"People will look but zey will not see," he assured him, smirking happily as he caressed Robert's hands.

Robert snatched them away, shooting an embarrassed look around him and catching several people hastily looking away from them. "It is what zey are looking at zat worries me!" he exclaimed. "Let go of me, Herman!"

"Playing 'ard to get, uh?"

"Playing impossible!" Robert snarled, backing away and finding himself cornered against the buffet table. Before he was forced to do anything drastic however, such as punching Herman in the teeth, there was a sudden silence around them that made him look round nervously. Herman moved closer to his side.

"Zey are 'ere," he whispered.

Robert gave him a puzzled glance then turned his attention towards the doors at the far end of the ballroom where De Mars had entered with his latest guest. For a long moment, Robert studied them blankly, wondering what the fuss was about and not recognising Henri's companion. He was dressed in a gold brocaded frock coat of rich purple velvet, worn over black satin breeches, shirt and a purple velvet, gold trimmed vest. Gold clocks on each knee fastened black stockings in place and gleamed on black leather shoes. His thick blond hair was fastened back by a black bow that made his hair shine like silk.

Bowing to him, the Comte led the way into the ballroom, politely introducing the others to his guest of honour. Robert's eyes widened as he watched the bowing and scraping going on as if a meadow of flowers were dipping before the wind.

"It 's is 'im," a man whispered from Robert's side.

"Mais oui, it 'is 'im…" his female companion sighed, fanning herself furiously. "I never knew ze king was so 'andsome…"

Herman grabbed Robert's arm, dragging him away from the buffet table. "Ze Comte must not see you," he hissed urgently. "Jean Pierre zinks 'e may recognise you."

Robert nodded numbly, his gaze fixed on the man with De Mars. His mind seemed to have stalled for he couldn't get past the idea that this was King Louis in person. "Zat is ze king?" he whispered uncertainly. "But…but he looks like Jean Pierre…He moves like Jean Pierre…."

Herman gave him a curious glance as he dragged him behind an extravagant display of flowers and ferns. "You 'ave studied ze way Jean Pierre moves zen?" he teased. "I 'ave also. He 'as a nice…." Herman paused as Robert gave him an embarrassed glare. "You are correct. Zat is not ze king."

"But..." Bewildered, Robert looked from Herman to the 'king' and back again. Despite all the warnings, he was still unprepared for the reality. "You are sure?"

"I elped 'im dress. And I did ze fitting of zose breeches in person…" Herman smirked. "I am good with a needle, non?"

Jean Pierre felt the nausea of acute nervousness churning through him and swallowed hard, gratefully snatching a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing servant. He wasn't used to drawing this much attention without the threat of a noose in the background and he found it hard to cope with the fawning admiration he was receiving.

"You should not drink so much," Chantal warned as she stood beside him. De Mars had left him with her as a guard while he was drawn away to dance.

"I 'ave 'eard zat ze king drinks 'eavily at times and I must play my part to perfection, non?"

"Non. Because 'e drinks does not mean zat you 'ave to," Chantal scolded.

Jean Pierre deliberately drained his glass and beckoned to the servant to bring him another. "Why not?" he asked mockingly. "It adds verisimilitude to ze part…"

Chantal glared at him. "You are being foolish! You cannot 'old your drink."

"Ze boy you knew could not old 'is drink," Jean Pierre corrected bitterly. "But zat 'is because, unlike ze king, I cannot afford to drink as often as 'e can."

"Still you will make ze mistake…"

"Do you 'ave so little trust in me? Zis is my life zat is on ze line, not yours."

"Jean Pierre…."

"Your majesty," he reminded her sardonically, sipping from his new glass. "And if you wish to speak of mistakes…"

Chantal bit her lip at the warning. His eyes flashed from behind his black mask, reminding her of blue diamonds and sending a shiver of delight arcing like electricity through her. Even feeling the cruel edge of his tongue thrilled her. "Why do we fight so?" she whispered, laying her hand on his arm. "We can be together now…."

"For 'ow long? Until ze Comte clicks his fingers and you run to 'im?"

"Why must you be so cruel?"

Jean Pierre gave her a cool look and didn't answer. How could he tell her that it was his only protection against her? His feelings for her ran as strong and deep as ever, but the taste of her betrayal was still bitter. He could not bring himself trust her completely. Always there was doubt between them. The knowledge that she had more to gain from this situation than he did. If he escaped he lost nothing. If she ran away with him she would be giving up her entire life and he doubted she would throw away her wealth and position for him. And if he ran and she did not, what would De Mars do? The Comte probably doubted her as much as he did. He might kill her… "Does 'e love you?" The words were out before he could stop them, startling them both with the hurt in his voice.

Chantal gazed at him in confusion, blushing faintly. "I do not zink so."

"But do you love 'im?"

This time her answer was even slower. "I do not know," she said at last.

Jean Pierre sighed sadly. "But you did not say no," he murmured and turned away. "So, you do not know who you do love which is an answer in itself."

Chantal reached for his arm then caught herself, recognising that to anyone else it would be seen as an affront to the king to pull him back to her. Before she could say anything a beautiful blonde woman in a Greek style dress had approached and smiled at him shyly.

"Your majesty, I am know I am being forward, but may I 'ave zis dance?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Jean Pierre smiled as woodenly as any puppet, knowing his place. "I would be charmed, Madam la Comtesse," he said politely, offering her his arm and leading her onto the dance floor.

Clenching her hands tight, Chantal fixed a bright smile on her face and watched as her lover swept the Comtesse into the stately forms of the dance. Jean Pierre danced well, be it the simple peasant dances he had taught her when they were both young or the dances of the ball that she had practised with him so recently under Henri's watchful eye. She wanted to be in his arms now. Not watching him with some blonde hussy whose husband had probably sent her with the sole intention of getting the king into bed with her.

"'Ow are you?" Marie asked quietly as Jean Pierre took her gracefully into his arms with the first movements of the dance. Around them the other guests stood back politely to watch the king as his companion lead them before they joined in.

Feeling a little of the pressure ease as they stopped watching, Jean Pierre dared to relax a little and let himself enjoy the feel of having Marie in his arms. "I 'ave not been 'armed," he answered her softly. "Scared oui, terrified, oui. But not 'armed."

"Do you know what ze Comte wants?"

"Do you?"

"I do not know what 'e 'as told you, but 'e would 'ave you pretend to be ze king. Jean Pierre, you are in terrible danger. If 'is plan fails, 'e will kill you!"

"Zis I know. But what can I do? If I leave, 'e may kill Lady Du Lac in revenge."

"Zen bring 'er with you."

"I cannot. Ze Comte will not let 'is plans fail so easily. 'E will come after me and 'e will kill all of you. 'Ow can I live with zat?"

"You forget who I am," Marie reminded him primly.

"I forget nothing. I know what ze Comte is like and I fear 'im. 'E 'as power and 'e is greedy for more. We cannot let 'im kill ze king. 'E must be stopped for ze good of France!"

Marie frowned, bending her knee to dip gracefully before him as the music ended. Standing up again, she applauded the orchestra politely with the other guests as she looked up at Jean Pierre. "Ze king stands in ze way of ze revolution," she whispered.

"Oui, but a revolution zat begins in murder will be no revolution at all," Jean Pierre responded coolly and turned away, smiling pleasantly at De Mars as the Comte stalked towards them.

"Your majesty," Henri greeted him, bowing. "I see you 'ave met ze most beautiful of our guests. Per'aps I can tear 'er away from you to dance with me."

"It would be my pleasure, monsieur le Comte. If his majesty permits?" Marie blushed and fanned herself, giving Henri a coy look from under her eyelashes.

"Be my guest, Henri," Jean answered deliberately and backed away, letting the Comte take Marie's hand while he retreated to the sidelines and a tangle of awed guests who all wanted to speak to him. Gritting his teeth, Jean Pierre did his best to be polite but he was grateful when Chantal came to his rescue and back onto the dance floor.

"Why did you dance so close with 'er?" she demanded as they paced out the measure.

"Why should I not?" Jean Pierre retorted. He wasn't about to admit it had been so they could have a private conversation if it made Chantal jealous. Besides, he had enjoyed it. It had been nice to dance with someone he could trust, someone who knew him for himself.

"You encouraged 'er."

"So would ze king. 'E is a flirt, is he not?"

Chantal gave him a venomous look. "But you are not!"

"'Ow do you know and why should you care? Remember, if ze Comte's charade goes to plan I will be sharing Marie Antoinette's bed. And from what I 'ear of her she will be disappointed if I do not avail myself of 'er charms." Jean Pierre tightened his grip on her hand, aware from the tension of her muscles and the angry blaze in her eyes that said she wanted to slap him. "Be careful, Chantal, I may zink zat you care for me after all."

"You are a bastard."

"It comes with being ze king. Come to me later?"

"Why should I?"

"Because it pleases you…" Jean Pierre said softly as he released her and stepped back as the music ended. She bent her knee to him, but he caught her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, meeting her eyes. "Oui?"

"Oui," Chantal agreed breathlessly, quivering in excitement. "I shall come…"

"I shall see to it…" Jean Pierre grinned and let her go, turning to answer a polite question from one of his 'subjects'.

The next few hours passed in a blur for Jean Pierre. He had a little chance to talk to Marie as the Comte monopolised her attention and, even though he longed to do it, he didn't dare speak to Robert although he saw him several times hovering in the background. Kings didn't speak to strangers unless it was to order them around. Besides, De Mars would have had something to say about him betraying his identity and he wasn't ready to face him at sword point yet. He did manage a few discrete words with Francois, interspersing telling him what was happening with comments to be overheard about the grace of his wig. And later he noted that Robert had managed to distract himself with a beautiful black haired sapphire-eyed young woman to the point of disappearing with her for a while. When they finally returned, she was looking distinctly and happily dishevelled while Robert looked smug.

Towards the end of the ball as the guests started to leave, Jean Pierre found himself alone for the moment, his head arching from tension. Left to his own devices he would have retired gratefully, instead he found himself watching the Comte and willing him to come to him. The knowledge that he was dependant on this man's whims galled him and his hand strayed to his mask, itching to remove it and end this charade with an announcement of his identity. Two things stopped him; the alarm on Chantal's face and the panic he glimpsed on Robert's as his friend hovered by the now empty buffet table.

The next moment De Mars was beside him, iron self control keeping him from glaring at Jean Pierre. "Retire now," he ordered. "You do not need to stay for ze unmasking."

"I thought zat was the general idea," Jean Pierre replied silkily.

Henri's eyes narrowed and he guided him away from the crush of the crowd. The gesture alone ensured their privacy, no one dared intrude on a private conversation with the king. "Don't make me zink I made a mistake with you," he warned grimly. "You can be replaced."

"By who? You know of another twin for ze king?"

The Comte's hands closed into tight fists as he rested them on his hips. "It would be easier to have a double on ze throne. It would mean you get to live, unlike ze king."

"Eh?" Jean Pierre blinked uncertainly, not so much at the threat to his own life but at what he heard between the words.

De Mars leaned closer, practically purring into Jean Pierre's ear. "Your presence will make zings easier it is true, but you are not a vital part of ze plan. So do not make ze mistake of zinking zat I cannot continue without your co-operation. I am in such a position zat I would 'ave great power if ze king were dead. Marie Antoinette can be manipulated in 'er bed as easily as you can be out of it," he murmured and met Jean Pierre's shocked blue eyes at he looked up at him.

"You are 'er lover?" he whispered.

"Oui, I 'ave been from time to time," De Mars smirked. "As for you, you will co-operate or I will personally 'ave you 'anged and your friends hunted down and butchered – like your family."

Jean Pierre's stiffened. "What do you mean?" he hissed.

"I know what 'appened to your family. I know 'ow you killed ze Comte De Fevre in a duel. I know 'ow you and your companion tracked down ze friends who 'elped 'im and killed zem too. You and your friends are peasants, Jean Pierre. I could 'ave you 'anged for what I know."

Jean Pierre turned to face him square on, quelling the cold panic in the pit of his stomach. "And I would tell all zat I know…"

"Do you zink I would give you time? I shall tell 'ow you and your friends were plotting to assassinate ze king. No one questioned De Fevre. Do you zink zey would question me for killing a few more of your kind?"

"No one would believe zat a 'andful of peasants would dare such a zing!"

"But I shall 'ave all ze proof I need with ze king dead tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Jean Pierre choked.

De Mars wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gently punched at his jaw. "No one knows it, but I but ze king is coming 'ere. We are to be reconciled. You and I shall ride out to meet 'im on ze north road and we shall kill 'im."

"Non, I will 'ave no part in murder."

The Comte tightened his grip. "But you will."

"My friends can protect themselves and I 'ave no fear of you killing me."

"I know your price, mon ami. It is Chantal. What of 'er?"

"She matters not to me."

"I do not believe you. I 'ave seen 'ow she looks at you, 'ow you look at 'er. I also know De Bergerac was executed as a traitor. I shall not 'ave to kill 'er, will I? France will do zat. She does not know zis of course. She zinks zat she act for ze good of France by deposing ze king and trapping you in 'oney."

Feeling nausea threatening again, Jean Pierre closed his eyes. "You will let 'er go if I co-operate?"

"Oui. She will 'ave to go anyway. We cannot 'ave 'er drooling over ze king. And she will not dare to speak out when she discovers zat I know of De Bergerac."

"And you will no doubt tell 'er zat I was ze one who told you zis?"

"D'accord."

"I 'ave no choice zen," Jean Pierre sighed and slumped.

"None at all," Henri said smugly. "Now, you will retire. Ze guests 'ave seen zat we are reconciled with zis ball. All is going to plan. Zey will all assume zat ze king arrived 'ere early and was killed on 'is return rather zan his arrival. Herman!" With a flick of his hand, De Mars called the valet to his side. "Show his majesty to 'is suite, Herman," he ordered loudly as the servant reached them. "Now, remove your mask and go, Jean Pierre. I shall tell zem you 'ave 'ad too much to drink, not unusual in our dear king."

Giving him a dirty look, Jean Pierre lifted his head proudly and snatched off his mask with a dramatic flourish. There was a startled pause from around them, then applause and delighted laughter as the other guests started to remove their own masks and greet their unrecognised companions with surprise. Jean Pierre stalked through their midst with Herman discretely hovering as his heels in servile guidance as he left.

"Something is wrong," Robert's hiss came from behind him and made Francois twitch and jump nervously. They were watching Jean Pierre leave the ballroom, barely acknowledging the guests wishing him good night.

"Why do you say zat?" he asked with turning around.

"'E did not stay after ze unmasking," Marie murmured. "And 'e looks angry."

"He also looks worried," Robert added in concern. "Should I fetch ze coach?"

"I zink zat would be a good idea," Marie agreed. "It would be wise if we left…"

Robert bowed and hurried away, slipping out of the ballroom to return to his role as servant. No one bothered to stop him as he hurried down through the back entrance and found his way around the building to the stables. The coach was where he had left it, the horses peacefully munching from their feedbags. Patting them as he removed the feedbags and blankets, he was tightening the harnesses when there was a soft hiss from behind him.

"Psst, Robert. 'Ey, sweet cheeks."

"What?" Alarmed, Robert turned to peer into the shadows as a blacker patch detached itself from the rest and hurried to his side. "Herman? What did you call me?!"

Herman grinned and caught his hands. "Listen very carefully, I shall zey zis only once. You must come to Jean Pierre's room tonight after ze ball. 'E will leave a lit candle for you so you will know which is 'is room. 'E must speak to you urgently."

"Wait!" Robert protested as the valet started to pull away.

"I do not 'ave time, sweet cheeks," Herman protested.

"Do not call me zat!"

"Later…you can come to my room afterwards to allay suspicions if you are caught..." With a flick of his fingers in a wave, Herman darted back into the shadows as another coachdriver trotted around the corner to fetch his vehicle. He chuckled as he saw Robert floundering.

"Herman at it again is 'e?" he chuckled as he trotted past. "You want to watch it with 'im, citoyen, you will yourself arranging a rendezvous with 'im before you know it."

* * *

Biting on a knuckle, Jean Pierre paced his room, kicking a fallen cushion out of his way. Herman had assured him that he had passed on the message to Robert for him and that he would delay Chantal's visit, but Jean Pierre could feel events creeping up on him with the stealth of a hunting tiger that he had no protection against.

Scuffling noises from the balcony made him freeze, straining his ears to make it out. It sounded as if someone was climbing the roses. There was a grunt and a muffled curse, then a shadow moved at the edge of the rail. Hurrying though the open windows, Jean Pierre stepped onto the narrow balcony. "Robert?" he called softly.

"Mais oui, c'est moi!" Robert answered as he appeared over the balcony rail and gave him a huge grin. Grinning back, Jean Pierre caught at his shirt and helped the bigger man haul himself onto the balcony beside him then he flung his arms around Robert's waist and hugged him as hard and fiercely as he could.

"It is good to see you, mon ami!"

"It is good to see you also, Jean Pierre. But if you do not let go of me I shall start to zink zat Herman 'as 'ad a strange affect on you."

Jean Pierre released him hastily and stepped back, colouring in the candlelight. "Why are you dressed like zat?" he demanded, taking in Robert's costume under his greatcoat

"Do not ask." Robert retorted as his friend drew him into the room out of sight of the gardens. "Are you all right?"

"Oui."

"Zat is good. I was not sure zat I should come tonight, you know. I 'ad thought Herman might be tricking me into 'is room."

Jean Pierre smiled. "Do not zink it 'ad not occurred to 'im," he snorted. "He fancies you, my long legged friend."

"I 'ad noticed," Robert retorted dryly. "'E is not a man to turn your back on."

Jean Pierre chuckled then sobered quickly. "Listen, Robert, I could not speak to you before. Ze Comte 'as told me zat 'e is going to kill ze king tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Robert echoed in alarm. "Zen you must leave with me now before you are discovered."

"Why should I be discovered? Do you not zink I make a good king?" Jean Pierre demanded loftily.

"I zink you would make a very good king. Right up until zey chop off your 'ead when ze revolution comes…"

"I 'ad not thought of zat…"

"I 'ad… You would not look so good without your 'ead my friend. "

"Zere is zat…. 'De Mars must be stopped. We cannot let ze king be murdered. It will mean chaos."

"But what can we do?"

"I do not know," Jean Pierre admitted helplessly. "But ze Comte insists zat I go with 'im. We are to meet ze king on ze north road and kill 'im. Zat is all I know. Robert, I am afraid. I cannot do zis! If zis goes wrong, 'e will kill me."

"Zen leave now. Come with me…"

"But I cannot leave! I cannot let ze king be killed. I cannot let 'im 'arm Chantal."

Robert rested his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Be calm, Jean Pierre," he said steadily, holding him. Jean Pierre met his eyes for a moment, then took a deep shaky breath and nodded. "Marie will zink of something," Robert told him confidently. "We will be zere to rescue you."

"And Chantal?" Jean Pierre pressed. Robert gave him a wooden look. "Robert, I…"

"I know 'ow you feel about 'er. And you know 'ow I feel. She left you. She betrayed you…"

"I love 'er…" Jean Pierre whispered miserably. "I cannot 'elp it…"

Robert sighed heavily and put his arms around his diminutive friend, hugging him carefully. "You will 'ave to warn 'er zen. If you zink you can trust 'er…"

"I do not know. I do not know 'ow she feels. I only know 'ow I feel…" Jean Pierre mumbled, his voice muffled by Robert's shirt.

"Zen tell 'er what you zink you can trust 'er with…" Robert paused, breaking off in surprise at the sound of a light tap from the door.

"Jean Pierre? It is I. Open up." Chantal cooed from outside.

Jean Pierre pulled quickly away from his friend and gave him an embarrassed look.

"I see you still 'ave ze 'ots for each other zen." Robert grinned wickedly.

"You must go." Jean Pierre propelled him towards the windows.

"Why? Per'aps we could share? Or do you zink she will be jealous if she finds me 'ere?"

"Go. Tell Marie…" Jean Pierre urged, glaring at him and shoving him onto the balcony. He barely managed to slam the windows shut, slamming them into Robert's back as Chantal opened the door and stepped into the room. There was a muffled yelp from outside, a scrabbling noise and then a distant thud and squawk as Robert dived headfirst into the roses below.

"What was that?" Chantal asked in bewilderment.

"Zere is a cat in ze garden," Jean Pierre answered solemnly.

"It is making a lot of noise," Chantal observed doubtfully at the crashing noises coming from below.

"It is a very large cat…" Jean Pierre replied and stepped away from the windows, holding out his open arms to her.

"Ah, Jean Pierrre…show me your sword play again…" With a hungry growl of anticipation, Chantal leaped across the room to him, shedding her flimsy peignoir as she flung herself bodily into his arms. Jean Pierre laughed and scooped her up, carrying her to the bed to temporarily at least forget about kings and impostors as he sampled her charms.

* * *

Marie paced beside the coach, cursing silently that she had let Robert take one of the coach horses and go back to the chateau on his own. He could get into all kinds of trouble with no one to back him up and no doubt would drag Jean Pierre into even more danger at the same time. She shivered, tugging her wrap a little tighter around her. What if they got hurt? She would never forgive herself.

The thud of hooves on the soft earth made her look round warily. Francois stuck his head out of the coach and climbed down, relaxing as Robert hailed them quietly from the darkness. A moment later he rode out of the trees and slid to the ground beside her, graciously accepting Marie's hug of relief at seeing him.

"'Ere, I brought you a rose," he smiled at her, producing a battered bright red blossom from inside his coat.

Marie took it and sniffed in delight. "Zank you. It is beautiful. But…a little… crushed per'aps?"

"Zat is because I landed on it. After I fell off ze balcony. After Jean Pierre slammed ze window in my face…" Robert told her sourly and gave her another lopsided smile. "Fortunately I am un'urt. Would you like to 'elp me remove ze thorns though?"

"I do not zink so, Robert." Marie smiled.

Robert shrugged. "C'est la vie…"

"You must 'ave upset Jean Pierre," Francois teased.

"No, it was because zat woman turned up," Robert retorted as his good humour evaporated and he explained what Jean Pierre had told him. "Zen she arrived and I 'ad to leave."

"Why did you not wait until she 'ad gone and find out more?" Marie asked impatiently.

"I do not zink zere is any more. Besides, she did not leave." Robert blushed. He had waited, hanging around in the shadow of the roses as long as he could. From what he had been able to hear of Chantal's passionate moans and sighs though, she had had no intention of moving from Jean Pierre's bed until she was forced to do so. "What are we going to do? We must 'elp Jean Pierre."

"And save ze king," Francois added.

"Oh, oui, 'im too," Robert agreed vaguely. "But 'ow?"

Marie was frowning. "I do not zink we 'ave a choice. We must ambush ze king on ze road before 'e reaches zem and change coaches with 'im. Ze Comte will need ze royal coach if 'is plan is to succeed. We must go now and get in position quickly."

"Now? But we 'ave ;ad no sleep!" Francois protested.

"You can sleep later. First we must collect our luggage from ze inn. It will not be safe to return zere. Harness ze horse, Robert. We must 'urry…"

* * *

"Are you sure zis will work?" Francois asked nervously. He and Marie were huddled inside the coach, listening to the wind and rain outside. Robert had gone off, cursing darkly, to watch for the King's coach further up the road. They had left their luggage in a heap under the trees, ready to be transferred into the king's coach. Marie had no intention of returning to town to be captured by the Comte if anything went wrong.

"It must," Marie said grimly. "Zere is no other way for us to take De Mars by surprise. Hush…I 'ear Robert…" Pushing open the door, she leaned out to see Robert jogging down the road to them.

"Marie! Francois!" Robert called, panting for breath as he ran. "Ze king is coming."

"Did 'e see you?" Marie asked as she and Francois slithered to the ground.

"No," Robert took the bridles of the horses and hustled them out onto the road, turning to face them in the direction that the king was coming. "But 'e is coming fast. We must 'urry."

"Francois! Take your place!"

"Why cannot Robert do zis?!" Francois protested as Marie grasped his arm and tugged him over to the open door of the coach.

"Because ze king will not stop for a peasant, but 'e will for one of 'is own kind. Now, get down…"

"It is muddy..."

"Good…" Robert muttered darkly.

"I 'eard zat!"

"Francois!" Marie exclaimed in exasperation, tugging up her cloak hood like Robert to hide her face. "Would you rather I did zis?"

"Non, but I would rather Robert did zis…" Francois retorted, miffed, as he settled his plump figure into the mud and gingerly stretched out on the road. He groaned loudly.

"You do not 'ave to start ze groaning yet unless you are practising…" Robert snorted as he reluctantly knelt in the mud beside him.

"Zat is not why I am groaning. I am lying in a puddle…" Francois replied and then shut up as a gilded carriage hurtled around the corner. Marie didn't have to feign her shriek of alarm as the vehicle barely managed to swerve to a halt and miss hitting their own coach.

"What is going on 'ere?!" the indignant coachdriver yelled as he hauled the sweating horses to a stop. "You are blocking ze road!"

"Oh please!" Marie wailed in distress, going into her best hand wringing performance. "My 'usband! 'E is 'urt! Zis fool of a driver took ze turn too fast and 'e fell out!"

"Ze door is broken, madam la Comtesse, it was not my fault!" Robert argued.

"Zat is not my problem," the coachdriver snorted, brandishing a musket. "I 'ave an important passenger on board. Move your 'usband and ze coach aside so zat we may pass."

"Oh you beast! 'Ow can you be so cruel!" Marie circled the coach, sobbing pitifully as she approached the door and noting the royal insignia emblazoned in gold on the sides. "Please, monsieur, madam, will you not 'elp us?"

There was a growl from inside and a pistol appeared from the curtains aimed at her face and making Marie recoil in genuine alarm. "Be gone, woman," a low male voice growled. "I've seen tricks like zis before. What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"Oh, do not be an idiot, Roquefort. Get out of my way." The pistol was shoved aside and the door opened, revealing the king himself. Marie drew back a step or two, holding her breath as Louis climbed down. He was resplendent in a rich deep pink frock coat over white, his wig immaculate. For a moment the similarity between him and Jean Pierre totally threw her. Roquefort climbed down behind the king, scowling furiously.

"Jean Pierre?" Robert whispered in awe from behind her.

"Who?" the king asked, circling Marie to peer down at Francois who groaned theatrically on cue. "'E does not appear to be 'urt," he commented astutely.

Marie recovered herself and plucked at his sleeve. "Your majesty, if I might….ooooh…" She timed her swoon perfectly. Turning hastily, Louis caught her like the gentleman he was and shielded her from his bodyguards. Drawing her pistol from the folds of her cloak, Marie pressed it swiftly into the king's ribs and regained her balance. "Please tell your men to put down zeir weapons," she said crisply. "We do not wish to 'arm anyone."

Louis looked down at her pistol nervously. "Are you sure of zat, madam?"

"I shall explain, if zey put down ze weapons," Marie promised.

"Do as she says," Louis ordered and Roquefort and the coachdriver reluctantly obeyed.

"Zat is good,." Climbing to his feet, Robert hurried over to get the musket and pistol while Francois tugged on his mask before coming to help him. He and Robert had their own weapons out and herded the bodyguard quickly into their coach.

"I apologise for zis, your majesty," Marie told the king politely. "But we are doing zis for your own safety. We mean you no 'arm."

"Excuse moi?" Louis laughed sarcastically.

"I know it is 'ard for you to believe. But ze Comte De Mars planned to assassinate you zis very morning on zis very road."

"Would it not 'ave been easier to tell me zis in ze first place?"

"Would you 'ave believed me?"

"I make it a practise to always believe beautiful women," Louis purred flirtatiously. "Especially one's 'olding guns on me. I 'ave never trusted ze Comte De Mars."

Marie blushed and lowered the pistol, stepping away from the king. "Yet you come to be reconciled with 'im?"

"'E is a powerful man zese days. Better to 'ave 'im where I can watch 'im zan planning to murder me behind my back. I zank you for your assistance, mademoiselle. But what do you plan to do now?"

"Take your coach and go to confront ze Comte."

"And why do you and your trusty companions plan to do zis? What do you 'ope to gain?"

"Ze freedom of our friend," Marie answered.

"Zat is all? You expect me to free 'im? Where 'is 'e?"

"Zat is not necessary, your majesty. 'E too 'as been trapped by ze Comte. 'Is life is in danger. Zat is why we stopped you as we did. It was safer for all. Now, I suggest you take our coach and return to Paris."

"And pretend zat I am not surprised when I 'ear of ze Comte being murdered on ze road zis morning?"

"Would it bother you if 'e was?" Marie asked dryly.

"Not particularly. But if I do not 'ear it, I shall 'ave 'm hunted down. And you also if you do not return my coach. I am fond of it. It is ze only one with decent suspension!"

"It shall be returned zen, your majesty. We shall leave it at ze inn in town. Now, please, go. We must 'urry to our rendezvous with ze Comte."

* * *

Jean Pierre huddled deeper into he heavy cloth of his blue cloak, wishing it would stop raining. He was cold and damp, chilled to the bone by the weather and fear. Kissing Chantal as if he was merely going on a hunting trip had been the hardest thing he had ever done. He had told her of the Comte's plans and been glad to see her as horrified as he was. Unlike him however, she did not believe that De Mars would turn on her whether he knew about De Bergerac or not. Something in the way she spoke told Jean Pierre that she believed she had her own secrets that would protect her from Henri. Whether she would run or not while she had the chance he didn't know. He had a horrible feeling that she wouldn’t. She had too much to lose by running away and that left the weight of her safety once more lying on Jean Pierre's shoulders. He could see no choice. He was going to have to find some way to kill the Comte.

A harsh hand slapping his shoulder made him jump. "Keep your 'ood up," the Comte ordered him sharply. "I do not want you recognised."

Jean Pierre glared at him, but tugged his cloak hood further forward. They were not alone under the trees. De Mars had brought his thugs with him. Citroen and Chevrolet stood huddled together, passing a wine bottle between them as they muttered at the weather. Further back, the Comte's coach was a dark black shape among the shadows.

"You know what you are to do?" De Mars went on, disturbing Jean Pierre's thoughts again.

"Oui, I am to go and fall into ze road in front of ze coach. 'Oping as I do so zat I do not ruin your plans by getting run over."

De Mars smiled mirthlessly. "You know, Jean Pierre, if you were not a peasant I could almost enjoy your company."

"I wish zat I could say the same about yours."

De Mars scowled, tightening his grip on his pistol. A voluminous black cloak hid his body from view, but Jean Pierre knew for a fact he carried a brace of loaded pistols in his belt. Jean Pierre kept hoping he would trip and shoot himself somewhere vital by accident.

"Monsieur le Comte?" Chevrolet called. "I 'ear ze coach…"

"Excellent. Jean Pierre? Off you go, and remember, I am right behind you…."

Giving him another dirty look, Jean Pierre obediently ambled down the slope and trotted out onto the road. He was aware of De Mars holding his pistol on his back the whole way as the Comte followed on his heels.

The coach came rattling around the corner, driven at high speed by the hooded driver. Jean Pierre balked, reluctant to commit suicide by leaping in front of it. A push from De Mars sent him stumbling out of the trees and he swerved aside, dropping limply to the ground. The coach missed him by several feet, coming to a halt a few yards away. The driver started to climb down as De Mars hurried out of the trees.

"What is going on?" the driver called as De Mars stooped over Jean Pierre.

For Jean Pierre time seemed to suddenly slow down as he recognised Robert's voice. The Comte was grinning as he took aim at the driver, his weapon concealed by his cloak. "No! Robert, look out!" Bolting upright with a wild yell, Jean Pierre shoved the pistol aside and was half deafened by the noisy report of the gun as it went off. The ball whistled past him and Jean Pierre heard Robert's startled curse as he leaped to shelter behind the coach..

"You fool!" De Mars snarled and backhanded Jean Pierre across the face with the butt of the empty weapon. Jean Pierre sprawled dazedly back to the ground, tasting blood in his mouth as De Mars ran towards the coach. Groggily he recognised the slender, familiar figure that leapt from the vehicle. Marie had a pistol in each hand as she fired into the woods, hitting one of the Comte's thugs in the back. Francois fired his own pistols from within the cover of the carriage, less accurate than Marie's lethal aim but none the less effective in making Chevrolet think twice about attacking and take cover in the undergrowth.

"Cowards!" De Mars roared after them in rage and swung back to Jean Pierre as he lurched to his feet. He was on him before Jean Pierre could realise his intention. Seizing him by one arm, he yanked Jean Pierre in front of him as a shield and drew one of his pistols to press against Jean Pierre's temple. "Throw down your weapons, madam la Chabriot," De Mars snarled at Marie.

Marie glared at him for a moment, torn between obeying and risking the shot. Finally she lowered her last loaded pistol and let it drop to the ground. "I do not know what you are talking about," she said calmly. "We were merely protecting ourselves from an ambush. I 'ad no idea it was you, Comte. Who is zis peasant?"

De Mars snorted and ripped back Jean Pierre's hood. "Do you recognise 'im now, madam?"

"Oh, ze king…" Marie fluttered her hand to her throat and De Mars laughed.

"I am not a fool. You know what is going on 'ere," he snapped. "You in ze coach, get out where I can see you. And you also, driver. Tell zem, madam. Tell zem or I shall shoot your friend 'ere…"

"Do as he says," Marie said steadily, watching the Comte for a chance to free Jean Pierre. She noted and approved that Jean Pierre stood calmly, awaiting his own moment as he regained his balance. Francois climbed down carefully beside her and Robert emerged reluctantly to join them. At a gesture from De Mars they put their pistols on the ground with Marie's.

"Much better. Chevrolet, Citroen, get down here!" De Mars bellowed. Chevrolet emerged sheepishly from the trees, limping on his bleeding leg. There was no sign of Citroen. "Where is Citroen?"

"She killed 'im," Chevrolet answered bitterly, pointing at Marie. Eyeing her he leered suggestively and wiped a grimy hand across his mouth. "What do you want us to do with zem?"

"Tie zem up," De Mars ordered, his eyes glittering in the grey light. "And zen what shall I do with you?" he sneered, watching his captives. "Where 'is ze king?"

"You 'ave 'im zere," Marie nodded towards Jean Pierre as Chevrolet turned Francois around and started to tie his wrists. Jean Pierre shifted slightly in De Mars' grip, watching Robert carefully.

"You know 'e is not ze king as well as I do. Somehow you learned of my plans and 'ave done your best to ruin zem. 'Ow else could you 'ave ze king's coach? It is no matter. Ze one zing a king cannot do is 'ide."

"We 'ave told 'im of your plans," Francois warned. "'E will 'unt you down."

De Mars raised a dark eyebrow. "And I shall explain 'ow your wife was lied to by 'er peasant lover and his companion and led into a trap…where you were tragically killed protecting me…" He retorted, inclining his head towards Robert as Chevrolet stepped towards him. For a moment Robert was hidden from De Mars view and the Comte lifted the pistol away from Jean Pierre's temple to aim at Marie.

"Now!" Robert yelled and Jean Pierre moved, ducking forward and slamming one foot down hard on the Comte's instep as he yelled in warning. Screeching in pain, De Mars released him and hopped backwards, his pistol exploding without warning as he waved it around. Shoving Chevrolet aside, Robert dived at Marie tackling her to the ground as Chevrolet went down with a muffled cry of pain as a musket ball hit him in the back, killing him instantly.

Jean Pierre spun to face De Mars, ready to leap back into the fray. The Comte had regained his balance and as Jean Pierre turned he drew his remaining pistol from his belt and aimed again at Marie and Robert. Jean Pierre didn't know who was the target, or care. He moved to protect his friends, yelling as he dived at the Comte and meaning to push him off balance. Instead De Mars turned, his dark face twisted by cold fury as he lifted the pistol and fired.

Jean Pierre slammed to a halt, stunned by the pain that exploded through him as he instinctively clapped one hand to his chest. The pain of it dragged him to his knees, unable to breathe through the needle sharp agony searing through him with every shocked gasp he took. Dimly through the crimson haze that shredded his vision and swamped his thoughts, he heard Robert scream his name and saw the exasperation cross De Mars face. Then the Comte was gone. A musket shot exploded close by and then there was only descending blackness.

"Nooooo!" Robert screamed as he saw his friend waver in mid stride and go down. Shoving to his feet, he ignored Marie's frantic grab at him as he grabbed his dropped pistol. De Mars was sprinting into the trees as Robert fired after him, the musket ball zinging off a tree in a puff of exploding bark that narrowly missed the Comte's head. Swearing, Marie grabbed at her own pistol and Francois' and pelted after the escaping aristocrat. Robert made a grab for her to stop her, but she skimmed past him and he stared after her blankly, the pistol hanging limply from his hand as she vanished into the trees.

"Robert!! 'Elp me!" Francois had headed straight for Jean Pierre, lifting him out of the mud and pressing rain chilled fingers to his throat to feel for a pulse. He didn't care about the wet or the dirt anymore. His clothes were ruined anyway and there were more important things to occupy his attention.

Robert gave him a dazed look. "No, I…Marie…" A musket shot cracked among the trees making him twitch towards the sound.

"'E is alive! 'Elp me move 'im."

"Alive? But 'e was shot…" Robert forgot Marie and hurried to Francois' side.

"Oui, I know, I know…Do not stand zere gawking!" Letting Robert take Jean Pierre's weight, he stripped aside the cloak and tore at his coat and shirt, ripping aside the cloth so that he could see the wound. "Ze ball is still in zere…" he muttered grimly.

"Is zat good or bad?" Robert worried.

"Oui…" Francois muttered. "'Old 'im…"

As Francois hurried back to the coach, Robert gathered Jean Pierre a little closer for warmth and looked round worriedly. Unconsciously, he found himself rocking his friend, reminded of another wood and another time he had held his friend so. "You cannot leave me, Jean Pierre," he whispered as he cradled him against his chest. "You are family, ze only family I 'ave got…"

"I am not going anywhere…" Jean Pierre croaked. "You do not 'ave to 'old me so tight. People will talk…I am all right…."

"Jean Pierre!" Robert loosened his grip in surprise.

"Where is ze Comte?" Jean Pierre made a feeble attempt to sit up, then fell back into Robert's arms, startled by his own weakness.

"I did my best to kill 'im for you, but….I missed. Marie 'as gone after 'im..."

"'E got away?!" Jean Pierre turned a disapproving look on his friend, baffled by how blurred his vision seemed. "Robert, did you go for ze head shots again? You are very bad at ze head shots…"

"Oui, I know," Robert sighed. "But I was distracted…."

Jean Pierre snorted and made another effort to sit up on his own. And failed…again. "We must go after… 'im and… 'elp Marie…" It seemed to be getting harder to breathe again.

"No, Jean Pierre! You cannot. You 'ave been shot!"

Jean Pierre patted him feebly on the chest, vaguely surprised to find that only one hand would respond. His shoulder burned with fierce stabs of pain, but his left arm hung cold and limp and heavy, immobile as a slab of rock. Somehow he couldn't quite grasp the connection between the two. "It is nozing…I am only bleeding….a little…" He blinked, peering down at the blood soaked white linen of his torn shirt. "Robert?" he quavered, his voice rising a little in uncertainty.

"Hush…" Robert soothed anxiously. "Do not talk. Francois! 'Urry!"

"But Robert….I am bleeding, Robert! Zis is not right…Zis is not…good…"

"Ssssh!" Robert held him closer, attempting to gather his own cloak around the pair of them.

"I am…cold…" Jean Pierre whispered. His head suddenly seemed to heavy too hold up and he leaned wearily against his friend, aware of squelching mud and a shadow crossing his vision. He heard Marie's startled exclamation and did his best too look up at her. But he was too tired and oblivion beckoned so sweetly. The last thing he heard and felt was Robert's voice and his breath warm on his ear.

"'Old on, Jean Pierre, 'old on…."

Kneeling beside them in the mud, Marie watched anxiously as Francois poured a clear white spirit into the purple lipped mouth of the wound in Jean Pierre's shoulder and then padded it with bandages from the small, marquetry inlaid chest he had insisted on bringing with them.

"Where is De Mars?" Francois asked as he worked.

"'E got away in 'is coach. I missed 'im." Marie could have shot herself for the failure. She blamed herself for Jean Pierre being wounded and now blamed herself that they also had an enemy on the loose. True, if the king kept his word and De Mars had any sense, he would be more concerned with saving his own skin. But the idea that he had got away with shooting one of her friends didn't sit well with her.

"I missed 'im too." Robert muttered bitterly. "But I will not miss ze next time…"

"We cannot stay 'ere," Marie continued, glancing at him thoughtfully. "De Mars will flee but 'e may come after us first."

"I agree. Jean Pierre needs to be cared for. 'E needs to be kept warm and dry," Francois answered her. "And ze musket ball must be removed quickly…"

"I 'ave friends who will 'elp us. But we will 'ave to get rid of ze coach," Marie decided, scrambling to her feet.

"'Ow far away are zese friends of yours?" Francois asked however.

"A few hours…but we can find a physician zere we can trust. We can tell 'im it is a duelling wound…"

"Zat is no good. A few hours to get zere and zen to find a physician will be too long. Jean Pierre needs 'elp now."

"Zere is zat barn we passed earlier," Robert offered. "Francois could stay zere with Jean Pierre while we get transport."

"And do you propose to remove ze ball yourself?" Marie snapped sarcastically.

"Francois will do it," Robert said confidently.

Francois nodded shortly. "Oui. 'Elp me get 'im in ze coach, Robert. Lying 'ere in ze mud will not 'elp 'im."

Marie stared at them in amazement as Robert moved to obey, showing his muscles as he bodily lifted Jean Pierre in a straight lift and carried him to the coach. She recovered quickly, hurrying after them and scrambled in to help Robert ease Jean Pierre carefully down amongst the luxury of the plump red cushions. Jean Pierre opened his eyes as they settled him, moaning softly as he struggled feebly to sit up.

"Hush, go to sleep," Marie crooned, smoothing back his sweat soaked hair and drawing him down to rest with head in her lap.

"Oui, sleep," Robert agreed, his voice drawing Jean Pierre's febrile gaze to his face in recognition.

"Where…?" Jean Pierre croaked.

"Ze closest I 'ope you ever come to being a king, mon ami, you are riding in 'is coach…" Robert answered.

Jean Pierre inclined his chin in a tiny nod of understanding, peered up at Marie in the dim lighting and then strained to lift his head again. "Francois…?"

"'Ere, my friend," Francois pulled Robert back and shoved him out of the coach. "Get us moving, Robert," he ordered as he knelt on the coach floor to lean over Jean Pierre and hold up a small silver cup off his brandy flask. "Drink zis now…"

"What..?"

"Drink." Francois ordered with an uncharacteristically curt tone and Jean Pierre obeyed, his eyes wide with awe. He wrinkled his nose at the bitter taste, but managed to down the cup's contents valiantly. "Zere, zat will 'elp you feel better soon. It is laudanum," Francois told him as he eased onto the other seat as the coach jolted into movement.

Jean Pierre groaned aloud as his body protested the movement and Marie took his good hand in her own, giving it an affectionate squeeze. He looked at her hand blankly, then peered suspiciously at his thickly bandaged shoulder before giving Francois a dazedly questioning look.

"Ze musket ball is still in zere," Francois responded without waiting to be asked.

"We will find you a physician…" Marie promised.

"Non, no physician. Too risky…" Jean Pierre argued weakly. "Francois?"

"Oui," Francois smiled at him and reached across the coach to pat his arm. "I will do it. Do not fear, Francois is 'ere…"

"Good…" Jean Pierre smiled weakly as the laudanum took effect and his eyes slid shut again.

"I do not believe zis!" Marie spat impatiently. "Do you wish to kill 'im? What do you know of removing musket balls?"

"More zan I wish, Marie," Francois answered grimly, lifting his box onto his lap and opening the hinged lid to reveal the instruments within. "I 'ave been well trained."

* * *

The rattling of the coach lulled Marie into a light doze after a few minutes but she awoke swiftly when Francois banged heavily on the side of the coach, yelling at Robert to stop. As the coach came to a halt, Francois leaned anxiously over Jean Pierre as he lay with his head in Marie's lap.

"What is it?" Marie asked in alarm as Francois felt quickly for a pulse and then started to remove the bandages. Jean Pierre's pallor had worsened and the bandages were wet with blood.

"I do not like ze way 'e is looking," Francois answered grimly as Robert pulled over the coach door and peered in anxiously.

"We are almost at ze barn," Robert announced. "Can it not wait? It will be warmer zere…"

"No," Francois said flatly as he peered under the bandages and shook his head. "Zis must be attended to now. I 'ave waited too long. Marie, you 'ad better go 'old ze horses…"

"I am no shrinking flower, Francois," Marie snapped, insulted. "I can 'elp."

"Oui, by 'olding ze horses. I do not 'ave time to teach you my ways. Robert will 'elp me."

Robert grimaced but nodded, pulling the door wide and offering Marie a hand in climbing down. "Zis is ridiculous…" she complained as she tugged her wrap around her.

"Per'aps to you. But I will not take chances with Jean Pierre's life," Robert answered as he quickly scrambled into the coach to take her place and slammed the door.

Left alone in the drizzle, Marie glared at the coach and then walked round to talk to the horses. Distantly she noted that there was blood as well as mud on her skirts now and the absurd thought crossed her mind that her dress was probably ruined. She could always buy a new dress, of course, but new friends? Being the Chartreuse Fox had been a lonely, stressful life until she met Francois, Robert and Jean Pierre. Things had been easier since she met them. Facing losing even one of them was not something that she wanted to do.

Standing alone with the horses, Marie found herself losing track of time as she strained her ears to listen to what was going on the coach. Occasionally, there was a pained yelp from Jean Pierre, more often protesting whimpers. Robert's mellow voice constantly soothed and consoled, blocking out Francois' muttered rare curses and his impatient but gentle scolding of his patient. Marie found herself glad that she wasn't sharing the confined space with the three men. Her own thankfully rare wounds had been enough to cope with, let alone those of another.

Finally the door swung open and Robert climbed shakily down to the ground. "It is done," he said quietly when Marie raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"'Ow is 'e?"

"Francois zinks 'e will be all right. But 'e does not look good…"

"And 'ow are you?"

"Moi? I am fine..." Robert mumbled, dazedly. "Why should I not be?"

"Because it 's a 'ard thing to 'urt a friend to 'elp 'im" Marie answered. "I am proud of all three of you…" Sliding her arms around his waist, she hugged him hard, inhaling the indefinable masculine scent of him.

"Marie…" Robert began uncertainly, tightening his own arms around her.

"I know," She murmured, suddenly conscious of her own response to him. "But now is not ze time…"

"Will it ever be time?" Robert asked.

Marie met his eyes slowly, unsure of how to answer and was saved by a half sobbed cry of pain from the coach. "I am coming, Jean Pierre!" Robert answered instinctively, releasing Marie to go to his friend and then pausing to look at her again.

"Go, 'e needs you," Marie ordered. "I zink I can manage to drive ze coach for once…"

With Robert calling directions, Marie found the rundown barn a short while later. Halting the tiring horses close to the wall, Marie hitched up her skirts and climbed down to open the coach door, giving her friends a mocking bow as Robert bounded down.

"We 'ave arrived, citoyens," she said as brightly as she could manage.

Robert gave her a weary grin, offering his hands to help Jean Pierre as he wavered shakily in the doorway. Jean Pierre took them and half fell into his arms, letting Robert lift him down and use his own body to shelter his wounded friend from the wind. Francois scrambled down behind them, ungainly with his hurry.

"Inside now, quickly," he urged, tugging the cloak up around Jean Pierre's shoulders.

"I can walk…" Jean Pierre whispered huskily.

"And I can carry you. Allez oop…." Robert scooped him off his feet and carried him to the barn. Marie ran ahead to open the door and hurry inside to check it was empty. Following her in, Robert deposited Jean Pierre on his feet and helped him settle himself into a pile of fresh straw. "Like old times, eh?" Robert grinned as he knelt beside his friend. "We 'ave slept in such places often.."

"Oui…" Jean Pierre smiled faintly, flicking an uneasy glance at Francois as he settled his own bulk into the straw on his other side.

"Lie down…" Francois commanded.

"I do not wish to."

"Do not argue with me, Jean Pierre. You are going to rest…"

"You are a bully…."

"Who knows what is best for you. Now lie down…"

"You and Francois 'ad better stay 'ere with Jean Pierre," Marie decided, shaking out her bedraggled skirts as she started back to the doors. "I will go and get another coach from ze staging post."

Exchanging a swift glance with Francois and giving an oblivious Jean Pierre a worried look, Robert scrambled to his feet and hurried after her. "I will go with you…"

"Zere is no need."

"Zere is. You are a woman alone. Zey will believe zat I am your coachman and zat I am taking you to or from your lover. Zey will not believe zat of you alone Zey will zink you are running away..."

"In ze king's coach…?"

"Especially so. Also, I am a better driver and I would like to get Jean Pierre to safety as soon as possible…" Robert glanced back at them. Jean Pierre had reluctantly curled up in the straw with considerable if subdued cursing, but he had gone to sleep within moments and Francois was carefully tucking his own cloak around him.

"Francois seems to know what 'e is doing…" Marie offered cautiously. "I do not zink you need to worry…."

"'E is very good. 'E took a ball from my leg once. Would you like to see ze scar?" Robert's teased with an effort.

Marie smiled and linked her arm through his. "Per'aps some other time. We must put Jean Pierre first zis time. But later, who knows? Now, let us go. Ze horses are waiting…"

* * *

The doors crashed open and the Comte De Mars strode into the parlour, bellowing for Herman as he stalked across the room, flinging aside his wet cloak as he headed for the brandy decanter.

Chantal stared at him, a chill creeping through her limbs. She knew. In the moment he came through those doors alone. She knew. "Henri?" she questioned.

"Zat damn peasant! 'E fooled me! 'E led me into a trap!" De Mars snarled. "Somehow ze king knew! It must 'ave been zat bitch Chabriot! She was involved I am certain!"

"Where is Jean Pierre?!" Chantal demanded, amazed by how crisp and calm she sounded.

"Dead," Henri snapped.

"Dead?" The choked echo came from the doorway where Herman had appeared, gaping at them.

"I shot 'im," De Mars growled, glaring at his valet. "Remember your place, Herman. 'E was a peasant. A nozing. Get me a change of clothes ready. And 'ave my trunks brought down. I leave for Calais immediately." As always he was prepared for any eventuality. Even having to run for his life was arranged in style.

"Oui," Herman said shakily, took a step back and then paused, looking at Chantal. "And Madam Du Lac?"

Chantal could see tears in Herman's eyes, bright glittering sparkles of pain that reflected the shards of ice in her own soul. Her ice-cold soul, chilled like a glacier by Henri's carelessly cruel words. Do I love Henri? No, Jean Pierre, I love you…And, as always, she had learned the lesson well but late. Far too late…

De Mars glanced at her. "Well?" he demanded.

"Where will you go after Calais?" Chantal asked steadily.

"To my yatch and then on to England."

"You zink ze king will be looking for you?"

"I know 'e will be. But England is out of 'is reach." Henri stepped towards her, took her cool hands in his own. "Come with me and I will show you a glittering world of new conquests to make."

Chantal dipped her head. "Very well. I shall come…" She heard Herman's sharp intake of breath at her words and smiled mirthlessly. "I 'ave a few zings to pack."

"I will buy you more. Bring what you will need but 'urry. I do not know how long I 'ave…"

Chantal smiled again and moved gracefully to the doors, swishing out ahead of Herman.

"You are going with 'im?!" the valet hissed bitterly as he slammed the doors.

"Oui…" Chantal replied coolly.

"'Ow can you?"

"'Ow else can I kill 'im unless I go to England with 'im?" Chantal answered, glancing at Herman calmly as her soul froze over.

Herman stared at her. "You mean zat?"

"I swear it, Herman, I swear it. I will make 'im suffer and pay for what 'e did to Jean Pierre. To me. To us…"

Herman bit his lip, his eyes round and frightened. "'Ow can I 'elp?" he whispered.

Chantal brushed her fingers lightly along his cheek. "'By having someone else pack for 'im while you leave 'ere…"

"Leave? But milady…"

"You gave yourself away, Herman. You also love Jean Pierre. De Mars will not trust you now and I do not want to see you killed also. We shall go our separate ways."

"If ever you need me…."

Chantal smiled mirthlessly. "I will need no 'elp in killing 'im. And it will give me great pleasure to make 'im suffer…Now, go, Herman. I wish to know zat at least one friend is safe from De Mars…"

* * *

Jean Pierre floated, drifting from dream to dream, aware that someone far away kept calling to him. Out there though was pain, not something he ever been very good at facing. Despite all his best efforts though, he found himself gradually drawing closer and closer to the light until he was finally forced to open his eyes and look around him. He was lying in a soft feathered four postered bed in a room of pale creams and golds, lit by flickering candlelight that set shadows to dancing on the walls. A savage throb of pain from his shoulder made him bite back a hiss and squinch his eyes shut again, letting the darkness drag him back down even as he heard Robert's anxious voice call his name…

The next time he woke, he could hear voices and lay quietly, drowsing as he listened to them.

"I picked zem in ze garden. Do you like zem?" Marie's voice, light and friendly and determinedly cheerful.

"Zey are as lovely as you…" Robert answered, his baritone tinged by tiredness and barely hidden worry.

Jean Pierre opened his eyes, worried by that tone. With an effort, he managed to focus on his surroundings again. The candles had been put out and an open window spilled fresh air and sunshine across the covers, making him blink and gingerly wriggle in fingers in the warmth. He growled softly at the pain the movement caused, then flinched back into the plump pillows supporting his back as Robert and Marie both leaned across him with identical twin expressions of worry and relief. "'Allo?" he offered shyly.

"'Allo yourself," Robert choked, looking as if he wanted to cry; much to Jean Pierre's bewilderment.

"Ze flowers are pretty…" Noting the roses Marie was holding, Jean Pierre attempted a smile, feeling it pull muscles that hadn't been used in a while. "Where am I?"

"Ze chateau of my friends," Marie answered for him and leaned over to very gently kiss him on the forehead. "And ze flowers are for you…Welcome back, Jean Pierre. Now, lie still while I get Francois."

"Francois is 'ere also?" Jean Pierre mumbled as Marie put the roses down on the bedside stand and hurried out.

'E is resting. You 'ave 'ad us all very worried," Robert explained, picking up his hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

"I 'ave? 'Ow long 'ave I been 'ere?"

"Three days."

"Three days?"

"One of us 'as been with you all ze time."

"You mean you 'ave", Francois growled as he hurried in, for once wigless and attired in a simple shirt and breeches. "'Ow do you feel, Jean Pierre?"

Jean Pierre considered this, obediently lying still as Francois pressed a cool hand to his forehead and then examined his shoulder. Francois' touch was as skilled and delicate as ever. Sore though he was, Jean Pierre only winced a little, aware of Robert and Marie's anxious faces as they hovered behind him. "I am 'ungry…" he decided.

Robert sniffed and scrubbed one hand across his eyes while Marie smiled through tears of joy. "Zat is good to 'ear. I shall get you some broth," she promised. "In fact I shall make it myself…"

She practically ran from the room, leaving Jean Pierre to look at his friends in confusion. "Can she cook?" he asked.

"I do not zink she can 'arm broth," Robert said, his voice choked and thickened by his own relief.

"I am sorry," Jean Pierre muttered, contrite. "I did not mean to worry you…"

To his astonishment, Robert leaned across the bed and gave him a careful, affectionate hug. "It is all right. As long as you are all right," he told him warmly and ruffled Jean Pierre's hair in the way he knew annoyed him.

Jean Pierre smiled wearily, too tired to protest and feeling oddly comforted by the gesture. "Broth is 'ardly a meal," he complained however.

"Per'aps not, but is it all you will be able to manage," Francois observed dryly, his own grin huge with relief. "You are lucky, Jean Pierre. I do not zink you will 'ave much more of a scar zan Robert 'as." He wasn't about to admit how darkly the fear that he would lose Jean Pierre's arm, if not his patient, had tormented him.

"But will I be able to play ze fiddle?"

"You could not play ze fiddle before," Robert snorted.

"'E can learn," Francois said with quiet confidence. "But I do not zink it will be for a little while yet. You will find all your time taken by eating and sleeping…"

"I will be bored!" Jean Pierre protested indignantly.

Francois smiled mysteriously. "We shall see, Jean Pierre. We shall see…"

* * *

"Time goes slowly 'ere," Jean Pierre murmured as he and Robert strolled in the sunshine of the chateau's rose gardens. A week of rest, good food and plenty of sleep had seen him as bored as he had suspected he would be but finally back on his feet. His left arm was still securely bound up in a sling that he would have been loath to remove even if Francois hadn't threatened to force him back to bed for another week of rest for doing so. He still felt weak and shaky, but the sunshine was easing aches from his bones that he hadn't known were there and he felt almost good for the first time in days.

"Are you sure you do not want to go back inside?" Robert asked, hovering anxiously over him.

"I am sure…" Jean Pierre came to a halt, sniffing a sweet smelling rose and swaying as his balance shifted.

Robert caught his good arm and steadied him. "Zat is it. Francois will kill me for letting you come outside. Come back inside…"

"I will go back to bed before 'e and Marie return from town," Jean Pierre promised.

"Jean Pierre, it is me zey will yell at."

"Good."

"At least sit down…" Robert propelled him over to a garden seat and pushed him down on it.

Jean Pierre gave in with a exasperated sigh that hid his relief at the chance to rest. "Why did they go to town anyway?" he asked.

"Zey 'ad zings to check."

"About De Mars?"

"I did not mention 'im."

"I did." Jean Pierre gazed up at him steadily as Robert rested a booted foot on the seat and leaned forward casually, resting his folded arms on his knee.

"'E 'as run away to England."

"And Chantal?"

Robert paused for a long moment. "She went with 'im."

"'E forced 'er?"

It was obviously meant to be a denial but it came out as protest. Robert gazed at him for a long moment and then sat down beside his friend. "I cannot lie to you, I never could," he sighed. "No, she was not forced." Jean Pierre ducked his head, hiding his face with his good hand. Robert put his arm around his shoulders. "Listen to me," he said softly. "I will tell you what Herman told me…"

"Herman?" Jean Pierre shot a quick look at him.

Robert nodded. "I am not supposed to tell you zis. When I went to get supplies for Francois for you, I saw him. He ran away from ze Comte on 'er instructions. Zat is why Francois and Marie went to town; to speak with 'im. 'E told me where De Mars 'ad gone and why Chantal went with 'im. 'E told 'er 'e ad killed you. She told Herman zat she would go with 'im so she can find a way to kill 'im…"

"Non…" Jean Pierre breathed.

"Oui," Robert said flatly. "I believe 'im. Because it is what I would do…"

Jean Pierre blinked and blushed faintly. "She will be in danger," he murmured. "I must go after 'er."

"Non," Robert said grimly. "Not until you are stronger."

"Robert…"

"When you are strong enough, zen you can go and I will go with you."

"Marie will be angry with you…"

"Let 'er…"

"And Francois."

"'E can come too."

"We cannot afford it."

Robert grinned and dug under his blue frock coat, digging out a magnificent sapphire, diamond and sliver pendant. "I zink we can…"

"Where did you get zat?!"

"I confiscated it from ze Comtesse Xenobia at ze ball. I considered it payment for services rendered, eh?" Robert smirked and nudged Jean Pierre in the ribs.

"We should give it to Marie for ze cause…." Jean Pierre protested, fingering the gems.

"It is going to a good cause. Ours. To ze poor. And we are poor are we not?"

Jean Pierre nodded, a sparkle of hope appearing in eyes as blue as the pendant's sapphire. "It would be good to see Chantal again…" he mused.

"Oui. Together we shall find your lost lover…" Robert promised, smiling at him affectionately and glad to see Jean Pierre showing some enthusiasm at last. His own enthusiasms lay elsewhere. He would do this for his friend. Whatever Marie said or however she protested at the danger involved, together they would go and find Chantal. And once they had found her for Jean Pierre, then Robert could fulfil his own quest. He had a score to settle personally with Henri De Mars. However long it took him…