Page 72 of The Darkest Oath

She sat across from him, a faint smile playing on her lips, though the unspoken tension lingered between them.

His attention returned to his food. She wondered if he was still upset at her involvement in Paris, so she asked. “Are you upset with me?”

“Yes, and no,” he nodded without looking up.

“Why?”

“You promised to stay in Charonne until the Estates-General adjourned,” he answered, his tone tight.

She placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. “And I did until the king dismissed Minister Necker. That was the end of it.”

Rollant shook his head, his brow knitting in frustration. “You could have been killed.”

“What did you expect me to do? Ignore the king amassing troops to take back the National Assembly?”

“Stay out of harm’s way like you promised,” he said.

Her cheeks grew red. “What do you care? You left, remember?” She pushed her plate away. “You discarded me like I was nothing.”

“I did not discard you,” Rollant said, slamming his hand down. “I wanted you to build a life here, Élise!”

“I can’t build a life here when Paris burns a few steps away,” she yelled, standing up.

“Yes, you can.” His tone was more restrained. “You chose to go into the city. You chose to incite the people. I’m sure you even helped plan yesterday’s actions.”

“And why were you there, Rollant? Were you not supposed to be on a ship? How did you leave the ship, return to the mainland, and come to Paris? All in a day? Just for me?” She crossed her arms.

He stopped eating, lofted an eyebrow, and averted his gaze. “I—I told you?—”

But she cut him off before he could answer. “More secrets . . . landlord.”

His eyes shot to hers.

“Who told you that?”

“Does it matter if it is true?” She leaned back as he stood and stepped closer to her. Her belly knotted at his approach. She stiffened. Her body recoiled from instinctual fear, but her mind soothed it. Even though Rollant was a mystery, she knew he would never raise a hand to her.

But she was angry and had a right to be. “So you are at least a member of thebourgeoisie, if not the nobility, Monsieur RollantdeMontvieux. Did you leave me because I am beneath you? Did you stop me at the Bastille to keep your privileges over us?”

He leaned into her space, locking eyes with her. Her knees weakened at his intensity.

“Do you believe that?” he gritted.

She licked her lip, remembering the gash and his touch there, her first in Charonne. If he thought she was beneath him, he would have taken what he wanted from her and then left. Her shoulders slumped, knowing the answer. “Then why did you leave?”

He leaned back and sighed. “I already told you. Would you want a life with me, knowing you’d only see me a few days out of the year for the rest of your life?”

Her arms flew to her sides. “But you own this land. You don’t collect rent, so I assume you don’t pay taxes, which means you are nobility. You could stay here.” It didn’t matter if he was nobility, though she hated the Second Estate. He was different. He cared about her, she was sure.

He grumbled and muttered, “I didn’t know about the land until after I signed my life away to His Majesty’s Navy. I am not nobility anymore, though I have the name and must work to pay the land tax.”

Her heart sank. Part of her sensed deception, but maybe it was regret. Either way, she wanted him with her. She stroked her arm, clawing through every solution to let him stay. “Well, didn’t the National Assembly declare all taxes illegal? You wouldn’t need to pay taxes anymore. You could stay.”

A gleam came over his eyes. His fingers grazed hers, trembling for a fraction of a second before he withdrew them. “I’m not even supposed to be here. They pulled us off the ship because of the rampage in the streets?—”

Again, he brushed her aside, and she was tired of his lack of answers.

“Then where is your uniform?” She nodded to his civilian coat on the sofa’s arm.

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