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 m