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‘You would make me walk the plank, I have no doubt.’
‘Tempting, I admit, but pirates don’t throw money away like that; not when you would fetch such a handsome profit in any slave market in the Mediterranean. You would be an ornament in any man’s harem.’
She glared at him. ‘That is a vile thing to say.’
‘It’s the truth.’ He paused. ‘Of course, I might decide to keep you instead.’
‘What, and lose a handsome profit?’
‘There would be other compensations.’
The implications of that outrageous remark rendered her temporarily speechless. No doubt it had been made with the intention of provoking her into an unguarded reply that he could exploit to his advantage. However, she had no intention of obliging him. The conversation was already in dangerous waters and he was probably enjoying the fact. She darted another look his way, but his expression remained inscrutable.
The passage to St Helier was chilly but uneventful. Claudine was so eager to reach their destination that the discomforts of a small fishing boat were rendered negligible in comparison. She spoke little to her companion on the journey, partly because it wasn’t practical to move around in the limited space, and partly because she was too preoccupied to wish for speech. Duval too seemed preoccupied, when he wasn’t engaged in private conversation with Matthieu or Pierre. He barely even glanced her way. Their earlier conversation might never have happened. No doubt such teasing came easily to him, but it had resurrected memories that she would have preferred not to revisit. Moreover, it seemed that he had not forgotten either. His words were a further demonstration of how he regarded her. If she were to give him the least bit of encouragement …
For a moment her treacherous thoughts returned to the intimacy they had shared and the touch of his hands on her body, and in spite of the chill she felt hot inside. You could take a lover. Was it himself he had meant? Probably not, in the light of what had occurred between them. I prefer my women willing. No doubt there were many such, but she wasn’t one of them. She had got carried away for a while, that was all. When she got home she could put all this behind her. She glanced in Duval’s direction but his attention was apparently focused on the horizon. No question but he was looking forward to the end of their journey as much as she was.
On arrival at their destination they bade farewell to Pierre and then repaired to a quayside inn. Hot food and a cheerful fire acted as restoratives against the chill and counteracted the effects of the voyage. It was replaced by a feeling of well-being in which relief played no small part. She was safe; the chances of anything untoward happening now were minimal. It occurred to her again how much she owed to her companion. He might be a rogue, but, having stood between her and disaster, he had risked much on her account. That realisation did much to dampen the anger she had felt earlier. It had come as a shock to discover that he was married but it shouldn’t have. He had always been forbidden fruit. When they reached England and said their goodbyes she would never have to see him again.
Sensing himself observed Duval looked up and then found his gaze lingering. The view across the table was very agreeable indeed. Warmth had brought a delightful flush of colour to her cheeks and lips and enhanced the beauty of those huge dark eyes. Tendrils of hair had escaped from the confining ribbon. They curled about her face and neck in a manner that was both artless and damnably alluring.
Under that intense scrutiny Claudine was more than ever aware of her dishevelled appearance. Apart from wearing the same clothes for days she had been able to make only the most basic toilette at each of the inns where they had stopped. She returned a wry smile.
‘I know. I look like a gypsy.’
‘Not the word I was thinking of,’ he replied with perfect truth.
‘I won’t ask what that is.’ She glanced with distaste at her gown. ‘The first thing I shall do when I get back to Oakley Court is to take a leisurely bath.’
Duval was suddenly very still. ‘Oakley Court?’
‘My house … in Sussex.’ She looked up and saw his expression. ‘Do you know it?’
‘I know of a house of that name.’
Claudine nodded. ‘Of course, I remember you saying that you were familiar with the area.’
‘The house I speak of belonged to the Earls of Ulverdale.’
‘That’s right. It still does.’
He strove to keep his voice level. ‘Then … I think that Claudine may be an assumed name.’
When she saw his expression some of her cheerfulness faded. ‘I would have said something earlier only … well, you never asked so I assumed you didn’t want to know.’
Duval mentally cursed himself. ‘I’m asking now.’
‘My real name is Claudia … Claudia Brudenell, Countess of Ulverdale.’
His heart seemed to miss several beats and suddenly all the apparently unconnected pieces fell into place with appalling clarity. As the memory of their previous conversations returned, all the small coincidences rose up to taunt him: the houses in Sussex and London, the estate in the north and, of course, the estranged soldier husband. Only a prize idiot could have failed to make the connections.
Mistaking his silence entirely Claudia experienced a twinge of guilt. ‘Forgive me, I should have told you …’
‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied.
‘Surely it doesn’t make any difference now.’
The blue gaze locked with hers. ‘I rather think it does.’ He rose from the table. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and see about our passage to England.’
Claudia rose too. ‘Of course.’
He headed for the door, his face unwontedly grim.
‘Duval, please don’t be angry with me.’
He paused on the threshold and turned, surveying her in silence for a moment. Then the blue gaze lost a little of its hard glint. ‘I’m not angry with you.’
With that he was gone leaving her staring at the closed door. Claudia frowned. In spite of that parting reassurance she knew that he was angry, and it sat ill with her to have incurred his displeasure in that way. It had never occurred to her that he might wish to know her real name; in their line of work it was something people didn’t ask. His reaction to the truth had been totally unexpected. Perhaps he had been genuinely shocked to discover a lady of rank so far embroiled in such a shady business.
The more she thought about it the likelier that seemed. Everything he knew about her now must only serve to confirm his first opinion of her. It was an oddly lowering thought.
It took less than an hour for Duval to arrange the next passage to England, but the boat wouldn’t leave for a while yet and he was in no mood to go back to the inn just then. Needing time to put his thoughts in order he went for a walk instead. For a long time he stood by the sea wall staring out at the white-capped water, but in truth he saw nothing. As he had told Claudia, the revelation of her identity made a great deal of difference. It was just that he had no idea what he was going to do about it. Each possible course of action seemed more unsatisfactory than the last. Perhaps he should have spoken up when she told him who she was. A part of him had wanted to, but another part of his mind recalled what she had said before: The past cannot be changed. All I want is to forget it. And he had given his assurance that he would not do anything to remind her of it. He sighed. Could he now go back on that? In the light of the morning’s revelation how could he not go back on it? Whatever he did next was going to cause hurt.
The remainder of their journey was memorably uncomfortable: the crossing was rougher this time and most of the other passengers on the little packet boat succumbed to sea-sickness. Conversation was reduced to what was absolutely necessary. In spite of the poor weather conditions, Duval remained above deck with Matthieu for much of the time, returning only occasionally, so Claudia wrapped herself in her cloak and tried to sleep. However, her troubled mind refused to allow it. Ever since he had returned to the inn Duval’s manner had been different. She couldn’t identify exactly what had changed but knew instinctively that there had been a fundamental shift which could never be reversed.
She wasn’t in the least bit sorry when they reached dry land again. Moreover, it was English soil this time. The knowledge gladdened her immeasurably.
Duval accurately surmised the source of her smile. ‘I think you will be glad to see your home again.’
‘Yes, although there were times when I thought I might not.’ She looked up at him. ‘But for you that would have been a self-fulfilling prophecy. I owe you much.’
He guessed that it hadn’t been easy for her to say, and yet the tone was sincere. It took him by surprise.
‘I am glad to have been of service, truly.’ He paused. ‘All that remains now is for me to organise a post chaise for your onward journey.’
He was as good as his word. Within the hour the vehicle was ready at the inn door. It reinforced her earlier surmise that he wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible. In the light of events it was hardly surprising. She felt much the same.
Pausing by the waiting chaise, she turned to face him. ‘Will you go on to London now?’
‘Yes, for a while. I have urgent business there.’
‘I can imagine.’
He seriously doubted that, but forbore to say so. ‘It will take a few days to sort out.’
‘Well, don’t let me delay you.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Duval.’
Warm strong fingers closed round hers and retained their hold. ‘When my business there is concluded I shall do myself the honour of calling on you at Oakley Court.’ Seeing her startled expression, he added, ‘There will be important matters to discuss.’
‘Don’t put yourself to any further trouble on my account. I’m sure Genet will write to me himself.’
‘The matters I spoke of do not merely concern Genet.’
‘What then?’
While she was grateful to him for getting her out of France, she had no wish to meet him again. Time and distance would help to put him out of her mind and let her forget about what had happened.
‘I am not at liberty to say at present.’
It reinforced the notion that he was seeking an excuse to continue their relationship. If so, he could have only one possible reason for doing so. That she should have been instrumental in putting such an idea in his head was mortifying. It was also extremely awkward. Moreover, he still had hold of her hand and she couldn’t break free without causing a scene.
‘I think you had better,’ she replied.
‘I ask your patience for four days more. Then we will talk.’
‘No, we will not. Our association is at an end, Duval. You must know that.’
‘I’m afraid it isn’t over yet, my sweet.’
The soft tone was deeply disquieting. Given what had occurred, he had the power to ruin her if he chose; he could demand money or other favours, or both, in exchange for his silence. She was reluctant to think him so underhand, but what other reason could there be for his wishing to pursue a connection so clearly unwelcome to her?
‘There is nothing for you here, Duval. I really think it would be better if you did not call.’
‘And I really think I must.’
It was quite evident that he wasn’t going to be deterred. Claudia shrugged.
‘Very well, though I fear you will have a wasted journey.’
‘We’ll see about that when the time comes, won’t we?’ He led her to the chaise and handed her in. ‘Until then, my lady.’
Chapter Five
Claudia saw nothing of the passing countryside on the last leg of her journey. Instead she was entirely preoccupied with the spectre of the man she had just left. The cool and civil parting she had once envisaged could scarcely have been further from reality. Now, instead of putting the whole business behind her, it hung overhead like the sword of Damocles. Nor could she see any way out of the situation.
The sight of Oakley Court had never been so welcome. It seemed like a sanctuary after the adventures of the past week. Her first act was to order a hot bath and, having done so, to scrub from head to toe before luxuriating in the suds for another hour. It was a delight to don a fresh gown and, with her maid’s help, to arrange her hair properly. When at length she looked in the mirror the dishevelled hoyden was gone and in her place was an elegant woman of fashion. Only the memories remained. Memories that she was going to have to deal with, somehow.
The maid’s eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘It’s good to have you home, my lady.’
Claudia summoned a smile. ‘It’s good to be home, Lucy.’
The girl glanced in disgust at the pile of dirty clothing on the floor. ‘It’s plain that some maids don’t know how to care for a lady. Next time, take me with you, ma’am.’
‘I am not planning on going anywhere for a while, but when I do I’ll certainly take you with me. It just wasn’t possible last time.’
Lucy beamed. ‘You won’t regret it, my lady. I swear it.’
Gathering up the discarded clothing the maid retired. Claudia watched her leave. While it would have been wonderfully convenient to have taken her along, she could never have justified putting Lucy’s life at risk; nor could she tell the maid why her presence wasn’t required. The girl’s feelings had been hurt, but better that than the possible alternative.
Try as she might, Claudia could not rid her mind of Alain Poiret and the others, or of what had happened after their arrest. Although they were beyond help, it went against the grain to leave the matter there; to let a traitor escape justice. What other evil deeds might he perpetrate as a result? She wondered if Genet had any information, any clue at all that might point to the betrayer’s identity. It occurred to her that a talk with Genet might be both useful and productive.
In the meantime, there were more immediate tasks awaiting her attention. Having spoken to the cook and the housekeeper, she took herself off to the salon to deal with a pile of correspondence. With its south-facing aspect and the view over the garden it was a pleasant place to work, particularly now that the spring flowers were in evidence. Snowdrops were giving place to daffodil foliage. Soon the tight buds would burst into soul-warming gold and banish winter dullness with glad colour. Save for hazel catkins and pussy willow, the trees were still bare but each branch and twig was covered with new buds. Later perhaps she would go for a walk. The day, though cold, would stay fine. The clouds were high, like fleecy islands in a sea of blue. The blue of a man’s eyes …
The sky faded and without warning she was looking into Duval’s face. With it came the memory of a bed chamber in Paris; a lean hard body pressed close to her nakedness; the pressure of his mouth on hers, searing, persuasive, his arousal, hard and shocking, awakening a throbbing pulse of warmth between her thighs. She drew in a sharp breath, forcing the image away. It was shameful to think of it let alone to have enjoyed it. She was no different from any of the other women in Madame Renaud’s establishment. I knew I was right. The mocking voice returned with force. Duval suspected the same. How could he not? Claudia felt her cheeks and neck grow hot. Her brief liaison with him was immoral, wrong in every way, and yet she knew now that he had awakened something in her that would never sleep until he was out of her life for good.
The thought of his forthcoming visit filled her with unease. She had no idea how she was going to handle it, only that it must be faced and decisively too. He was not entirely without a sense of honour. Perhaps she could appeal to it; make him understand that she meant what she said. He could have no hopes of her. She could not suppose he would be easily persuaded, but she must succeed in this. He represented danger in too many ways.
With a determined effort she returned her attention to the pile of correspondence, forcing herself to concentrate. It took her some time to read through all the letters and then to prioritise the replies in order of importance. A missive from Lady Harrington lightened her mood a little. It contained news of their mutual acquaintance, including a witty and entertaining account of a hunt ball, and expressed the hope that she and Claudia would meet in London: ‘… for the winter has been tedious, and I long for your lively company again. It seems an age since I had any word from you. Do let me know soon how you go on.
Your affectionate friend,
Anne.’
Claudia smiled to herself and set about writing a reply. She could not tell her friend where she had spent the last few weeks, but did provide as much local news as she felt would be of interest. In truth she would be glad to have some female company again, and Anne’s was particularly agreeable.
By the time she had written the letter, her sense of shame had faded a little. She wrote a few more, shorter, replies and seeing the pile diminish a little did something to ease her conscience. She spent the majority of the morning on the task and then, needing some fresh air, rose and retrieved her shawl from the back of the chair.
As she turned she glanced towards the fireplace and the portrait hanging above it. A tall, slender figure in scarlet regimentals returned her gaze. His expression was cool, aloof, giving no clue as to the thoughts behind those vivid blue eyes. Deep gold hair complimented the face with its chiselled lines and almost sculptural good looks. Claudia surveyed it steadily. How old had Anthony been when it was painted? Twenty, perhaps? It was probably an accurate likeness, but somehow it gave no real sense of the young man she had known so briefly. No doubt he looked different now anyway. Eight years of military campaigning must have left their mark. The picture was all that remained. But for that, she might have forgotten what he looked like. She sighed and turned away.
A discreet knock at the door announced the arrival of the butler. ‘The newspapers have arrived from London, my lady.’
‘Thank you, Walker. Leave them over there on the table.’
‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but I thought you’d like to see them at once.’
‘Why? What has happened?’
‘Napoleon has escaped from Elba.’
‘What!’
‘It’s true, my lady. Apparently he landed at Cannes on the first of March, and is now trying to rally support.’
‘Good gracious.’
Claudia seized The Times, scanning the front page. It was apparent that Walker had spoken the truth. She frowned. The paper was already several days old and the news older than that, so Napoleon had been at large at least a week. If he managed to rally enough men and raise an army it would mean war again. They’d had less than a year of peace, and now this. In addition there was a French spy on the loose who already knew too much about the British network. It had all manner of far-reaching ramifications that she didn’t like in the least.
She was afforded little time to dwell on the matter because, having been away for some weeks, there were matters of estate business requiring her attention. A meeting with the land agent turned her mind towards spring planting, lambing, and the purchase of a new seed drill. After that she sat down to study the account books. She was in the study with a pile of ledgers when Walker entered to say that a letter had arrived.
Somewhat reluctantly she took it from the salver, assuming it was from Duval to confirm his arrival the following day. However, one glance at the direction on the front revealed that it could not be from him. Her mouth dried. Although she had seen it on relatively few occasions, the elegant masculine hand was unmistakeable. With thumping heart she stared at it a few seconds longer. Then, taking a deep breath, she broke the wafer. The letter was a single sheet and contained only a short message:
‘My Dear Claudia,
I trust that you will forgive the brevity of this letter but, since I am now returned to England, it seems superfluous to write at length here. Rather I shall look forward to speaking to you in person when I arrive at Oakley Court tomorrow. You may expect me by three in the afternoon.
Your obedient servant,
Brudenell.’
