Page 98 of When Dashing Met Danger

“Lucia, I need you to be strong,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Can you stay strong for me?”

She glanced toward Camille’s corpse and the pool of red that had spread beneath it. Alex turned her face toward him, forcing her to look only at him. “Can you stay strong, Lucia?” She closed her eyes and nodded.

“Good. Go to the window,” he said, “and part the curtain. Just a sliver. Tell me if you see any men outside.”

Alex watched De´charne´ as she went to the window. He couldn’t bear to look at Camille’s dead body. She’d betrayed him. She’d been ready to kill him. And he’d never seen it coming. He’d trusted her with his life. He was torn between anger and anguish, but when he thought of Lucia—the danger she’d been in—anger won out.

“There are four men on the street below,” Lucia told him, peeking out the window.

“I was afraid of that.”

De´charne´ rolled again, and Alex kicked his fallen pistol out of the man’s reach then tucked it and Camille’s into a pocket of his greatcoat. “Go into my bedroom. In the wardrobe you’ll find papers and money. There should also be a small portmanteau. Put everything in it. Hurry.”

Lucia started toward the bedrooms, then paused, eyeing him warily. “You are not going to—to shoot him, are you?”

“No,” he answered. He wanted to. For once, he’d relish killing a man, but dispatching De´charne´, a pathetic sight moaning and defenseless on the floor at his feet, felt too much like murder.

Lucia gave him one last look and hurried into the bedroom. Alex wasn’t going to shoot De´charne´, but that didn’t mean he had to leave the bastard unscathed. He checked to be certain Lucia was out of sight, and then bent down and hit De´charne´ on the back of the neck with the sword hilt. De´charne´ stilled.

Alex still had a score to settle with the skeleton— for Henri’s death, his own capture, and even Camille’s murder—but it wouldn’t be this night.

Lucia emerged a moment later carrying the portmanteau. He took it from her and grasped her small, cold hand in his. “Stay beside me,” he said, opening the door.

He pulled her relentlessly through hallways and down stairwells into a dark side street. He paused only when she stumbled and then just long enough for her to catch her balance. He took her along the banks of the Seine, past Notre Dame, and down the shadowy, tree-lined avenue they had traveled by coach only hours before.

When they reached the doctor’s house, Alex pounded on the door. Joubert opened it himself, his features wan.

“I’ll need horses, Joubert,” Alex said, thrusting Lucia into the house. “There’s no point in securing a carriage. We’ll never get through the gates. Any moment, an alarm will go out through the city. The only way is on horseback. Do you think you can ride, Mr. Dashing?”

He’d seen Lucia’s brother gingerly descend the stairs. The boy looked tired but stronger than he had that afternoon. Lucia ran to him and helped him down the last few steps.

“I can ride,” Dashing panted, “but tie me onto the saddle. If I faint I won’t fall off.”

Lucia shot Alex a look full of terror, but he could offer her no comfort. He didn’t even have time for a reassuring word. Joubert ushered them to his stable, and Alex tied Dashing to a horse. Lucia was already astride, and Alex handed Joubert a wad of money before mounting a gray gelding and signaling to John and Lucia to follow.

Dashing fainted an hour outside Paris, regaining consciousness only when Lucia prodded him to drink or eat while Alex changed horses or rode ahead to scout for danger.

A day and a half later, Alex and his charges stumbled onto the road to Calais and the Good Patriot. It was midmorning, and they’d had no rest for two days. At the Good Patriot’s stables, Alex pulled Lucia off her horse, and she collapsed in his arms. Alex lifted her, but she protested. “No, I can walk. I’m fine.”

“Shh, no arguments,” he told her. Dewhurst had been waiting for them, and Alex followed Freddie, who had Dashing slung over his own shoulder, inside.

Alex and Freddie skirted the inn’s common room, ascending the servants’ stairs to the rooms Freddie had secured above. Freddie set Dashing on the bed, and Alex slipped Lucia into a chair. Lucia wanted to tend to her brother, but Alex made her drink a few swallows of brandy first.

“How is he?” he asked later after recounting the ordeals to Freddie, who then left to fetch food and drink.

“I’ll live,” Dashing murmured, and Alex grinned. The boy had spirit.

“I want to hear from your nurse,” he said.

“He seems a little stronger, but I think he’s trying to hide a lot of his pain.”

“No pain,” her brother said, and Lucia rolled her eyes.

“We’ll all feel better after some sleep. Be ready to leave at dawn for Calais.” He glanced at the sun streaming through the slats in the closed shutters of the small room. They’d sleep through the day and most of the night. “I want to be on a ship at first tide. Until then, we rest.”

Lucia nodded and scooted closer to Dashing, obviously intending to lie down next to her brother.

“No,” Alex said, pulling her up. “We have the room next door. Freddie stays with your brother.”

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