Richard staggered toward the nearest of Duval’s men. “Such a miserable night. Might you spare a few sous for a poor unfortunate with no dry spot to lay his head?”
“Be gone, impudent lout,” the man retorted.
He reeled closer to the man, taking his arm beseechingly. “Have pity, kind sir.”
The man shook him off. “If you’re not out of my sight at once, I will give you my boot.”
“Your boot? Ah…You mean like this?” Richard leapt into the air and kicked the man squarely in the face, sending him tumbling against the rail with such force that he fell careening backward over the edge and into the water below.
This had happened in less than half a minute, which was all the time the second man needed to unholster and aim his revolver. But in a lightning draw, Richard had produced his own pistol from his belt and, without aiming, fired a shot that hit his opponent’s hand, sending his gun clattering along the bridge.
With that, the inspector reached for his own weapon, but Richard was on him like a panther. In one swift movement, he grabbed him by the arm and leg, raised him above his head, and flung him into the Seine, kicking and screaming and flailing his arms as he dropped.
Mason rushed to him. “I thought you were dead.”
“Far from it. Are you all right?”
She went into his arms. “I am now.”
He held her for a moment, then said, “We have to go.”
As he turned, he spotted the three men on horses in the distance: Duval’s escort, which had stopped and was standing vigil several leagues from the bridge. One of them had a rifle. In the pouring rain, they couldn’t see exactly what had happened; for all they knew, it had been Inspector Duval who’d fired the shot at his intended victim. But their rapt attention indicated a suspicion that something might be going wrong.
Richard quickly unfastened the horse from the coach, leapt onto its back, grabbed Mason by the arm, and hoisted her up behind him. The escort, seeing this, moved into position to block the fugitives’ easy escape. They could cross the bridge to the Left Bank, but that would make them an easy target for the marksman with the rifle. Instead, Richard kicked his heels and charged the three men head-on. They hadn’t expected this, nor had their horses. Two of them reared, unbalancing their riders. The third Richard kicked off his mount as he barreled past.
They galloped down the cobblestone street. As Mason tightened her arms around his waist, the sound of gunfire echoed behind them. She felt a sting in her upper back, as if she’d been hit by a flying stone chipped off a building. It hurt, but only for a moment, and then the pain went away. She clutched Richard with all her might as the rain beat against them.
“They came and arrested me,” he called back to her. “But I managed to get away from them in the crowded lobby.”
“It’s my fault. I went to Duval. I had no idea he would do anything like this. I was so confused. I just wanted to make it go away and start over.”
“It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault.”
She felt so strange. Her head was spinning. She wasn’t even cold anymore. “I told Emma who I really am and she tried to kill me. So I went to Duval and told him, and he tried to kill me. Can this really be happening?” Her voice sounded to her as if it were coming from a tunnel far away.
“Don’t think about it now. Just hold on.”
Her body felt numb and weak. It was all she could do to force out the words. “We have to help Lisette.”
“They have her locked up in Santé Prison. We’ll have to figure out some way to get her out.”
“How did you…find me?” Again, it was an effort to wring out the words. Every ounce of energy had drained from her body. It was taking everything she had just to hang on.
“I had a feeling they were going to try something like this. I’ve been keeping watch outside the Prefecture, waiting. As your coach left the Cité, I jumped onto the back of it. Luckily, the escort went ahead, so they didn’t see me.”
Mason felt herself losing her grip on him. She began to slip to the side.
“What’s the matter?” he called back.
She couldn’t answer. He reached around to keep her steady and slowed the animal. When he withdrew his hand, it was covered in blood. “Christ, you’ve been hit!”
Abruptly, he reined in the horse beneath a gaslight, slid down, and pulled her off into his arms. As he held her, he tore the back of her dress and examined the wound. Propping her against him, he yanked his shirt from out of his trousers and ripped it to make a bandage, which he pressed to her back with great pressure to stop the bleeding.
“I’ve got to get you to a doctor, but I have to keep the pressure on this wound with my hand or it will start bleeding again. So we’re going to have to do this on foot. I’m going to carry you. All you have to do is just try to stay awake. Can you do that?”
Mason tried to speak, to reassure him, but she was so lightheaded she couldn’t tell if she’d spoken aloud.
As he trotted through the empty streets, holding her as gently as he could, the deluge continuing to pelt against them, she could hear his words coming to her as if from a dream. “What have I done to you? This is all my fault. How can I ever make it up to you? You’ve got to hang on so I can find a way. Do you understand, Mason?”
The tenderness with which he said her name buoyed her. She rested her cheek on his chest, feeling his strength pour into her. It wasn’t long before they stopped. She heard his fist pounding on a wooden door. It was met by silence. He pounded harder, not stopping. Finally, she heard the door crack open and Richard’s voice, demanding, “I need the doctor at once.”
“The doctor is asleep,” a female voice complained. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Still holding her as gently as possible, he pushed his way through the door and past the startled maid. “Wake him up.”
After that, there was a series of sensations. Arguing voices. A bright light shining in her eyes. The feel of a hard wood table against her stomach and face. Richard’s tormented voice saying, “She has to pull through, doctor. Do you understand? She’s—got—to—pull—through!”
Then the smell of alcohol, a burning pain in her back, the sound of a metallic object hitting a tin pan. The pain dissolved into darkness.
That darkness was broken by Richard’s voice. “I’ve got to get you to a place of safety. Duval’s had time to be fished out of the river by now and to have wired every precinct in the city regarding our escape. They’ll be paying visits on everyone we ever knew and watching all the roads. The doctor says it’s dangerous for you to be moved, but I have to get you out of here. Can you hang on, just a little while longer?”
It took all her strength to nod her head.
She felt him pick her up again, and soon after that he laid her onto an upholstered surface, wrapping several blankets around her. “I’m commandeering the doctor’s carriage,” he told her. “I’ll take it as gently as I can.”
The concern in his voice was cradling, giving her a sense of safety and well-being. It was warm inside the blankets, cozy and dry. But where was he taking her? He was going relatively slowly for her sake, and the pleasant sensation continued. In the distance she could hear the hum of his deep voice, talking to her, gentling her. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it didn’t matter.
Time passed. She had no idea how much. Then the carriage pulled to a tentative halt.
“Good evening, messieurs,” Richard’s voice said.
“Get down,” a male voice responded. “We have to search your vehicle.”
“Working on a night like this?” Richard commented dryly. “How barbaric.”
“Stand aside and hold your tongue.”
A moment passed before she heard a thud, then sounds of scuffling and cries of alarm. Then gunshots. Dear God, please keep him safe!
Someone jumped back into the driver’s seat, a whip cracked, and the horse raced off, this time at a full gallop. Now she was bouncing up and down in the carriage and the pain shot through her. Before long, she felt the damp stickiness and realized she was bleeding once again.
After several minutes of racing through the night at breakneck speed, the carriage pulled to a sudden halt. She felt herself being lifted in powerful arms, smelled Richard’s sweet breath against her cheek as he said, “You’re bleeding again. I’ve got to keep the pressure on the wound, so I’ll carry you the rest of the way. It shouldn’t be that far now. Just stay with me.”
He held her to him, keeping pressure on the wound as he ran. Soon his breath became labored. She felt herself slipping away again.
As if sensing this, his voice sought to steady her.
“I don’t know why I’ve treated you the way I have. I’ve never understood myself, or why I do the things I do. But I do know this. I love you, Mason. I’ve never loved anyone else. I can’t lose you. I can’t. I won’t! Hold on, my love. Hold on…hold on…hold on…”
Finally, he stopped, dropping to his knees as he held her, breathing so heavily she feared his heart might burst. “We made it,” he panted.
“Where…?”
“Belleville.”
He waited for his breathing to slow, then stood again, taking her with him. Another banging on the door. More voices. Being laid on a soft bed. Her bandage being changed. Someone putting cognac to her lips. Her clothes being removed with infinite care. A warm cloth sponging her.
Then it was dark again. She felt someone sit beside her on the bed, felt his warm lips on her cheek. Then he shifted, lying down beside her, to tenderly pull her into his arms.
Blackness claimed her again. But every time she awoke in the night she was aware of him beside her, holding her close.