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A flush spread on his cheeks but his gaze didn’t waver. “On the contrary, I never betrayed you to my superiors.”

“No?”

“I never told them I had proof of your spying activity, that you had undoubtedly fled to France knowing both the French and the Home Office were after you. I merely gave my superior the bare minimum of information and let them come to their own conclusions.” He gave a bark of laughter. “I went so far as to say you had gone to France when
you’d received a message from a sick relative.” He shook his head. “If they’d ever wanted another spy, they certainly would not have needed one as gullible as I.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. “Why did you do that for me?” she whispered.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

They continued gazing at each other. Before she could gather her wits, his mouth crooked upward. “I never thought I would be given the chance to come to France and find you. Yet it didn’t stop me from asking to be sent here. No one was more surprised than I when my superior gave his approval.” He shrugged. “Perhaps my knowledge of French—and the fact that I was well qualified for clerical duties—convinced them I’d be useful on Wellington’s staff.” He paused. “My only goal was to look for you.” His gaze traveled from her face to her hand. “Though I expected to find you spoken for.”

“It is bare, you see.”

He cleared his throat. “After you left, I went to . . . visit this young lady . . . and I spoke very candidly with her. Even though there had been no declarations between us, I admired and respected her as a dear friend, and I . . . I didn’t want her to hold out any hope that I might . . . someday offer her marriage.” He swallowed, his stilted words reflecting his difficulty with the topic.

Céline tried to picture this young lady—far younger than her now twenty-nine years, she was bound. She felt a sudden, irrational jealousy for this unnamed woman. “What was her name?”

He looked surprised at the question, and Céline wished she had not asked it. Finally, he replied, “Jessamine.”

“What a beautiful name.” She hated it. “It’s lovely.”

She was being childish. In an effort to get hold of her emotions, she said, “That was kind . . . and brave of you, Rees. A woman does not like to be kept waiting, and it was unfair to keep her hopes alive if she indeed was expecting a declaration.”

“My sister had always encouraged the suit and perhaps had spoken
to her about it. I’m afraid I may have hurt her, but it was unintentional though not excusable—”

He was a noble man. She couldn’t help admiring his behavior. “You cannot marry someone you do not love.”

“No.” The way he was looking at her told her he was no longer referring to himself. “You know that from experience, do you not?”

She looked down. “Yes.” A moment later, she let out a shuddering breath. “If it had not been for Valentine’s shoulder to cry on after I received word of Stéphane’s death, I don’t know what would have become of me.”

This time he reached for her hand on the table and covered it with his own. She remained still, although she felt the touch of his warm hand throughout her body.

“I went about in a state of numbness for a long time. I didn’t care what happened around me. When my mother insisted I accept the earl’s suit, I thought it would at least help my mother out—and end the drama of another season for me. I had vowed never to go through that again.”

He waited as if for more. But she didn’t want to talk of her marriage. After a moment he bent to his plate again.

They ate in silence. When the waiter came to remove their dishes, Rees thanked him and sent his compliments to the chef.

Céline shook her head with a smile. “I cannot accustom myself to your command of French.”

“I learned most of it in one of your prisons.”

She gasped softly. “You were a prisoner of the French?”

He sat back in his chair. “I told you the truth when I said I had been in the navy. What I left out was that I was captured off your coast. Our ship sank. I survived and was taken prisoner by your people. I suspect my French is not of the finest variety.”

Now she began to see more. “It sounds quite polished to me.”

“I had a French governess as a child, but it was during that year in prison that I grew proficient. It was only because of the brief peace that I was released and able to come home.”

She gestured toward his chest. “When you were shot in the shoulder, I noticed a scar.”

He glanced downward. “Yes. It was a nasty sword wound.”

Leaning her chin in her hand, she smiled faintly. “I always wanted to ask you how you obtained the scar on your chin. Was it also during your time in the navy?”

He fingered the area on his chin. “Yes. Another fight on deck, this from a knife blade. I didn’t think it noticeable.”

“Not unless a person is very close to you.”

Her breath caught at the look in his eyes. Was he, too, thinking about their kiss?

Rees left Céline, his mind and heart full. He spent the next hour walking the streets of Paris, knowing he would not be able to sleep for a long time. Thankfully, Céline had agreed to see him again on the morrow. This time, she had asked him to meet her at the Jardin du Luxembourg on the Left Bank. She promised to take him to Gaspard’s restaurant afterward.

For the first time, he felt hopeful that maybe he had a chance with her. He could scarcely imagine that she might care for him, but he felt that at least he could begin to court her as a proper suitor. He was relieved in a way that she appeared in reduced circumstances. He wanted to provide for her, take care of her, even if it would not be in the manner she had been accustomed to.

The next day, he arrived at the appointed hour and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her already there, beside the central basin in front of the palace. She walked toward him when she saw him. His heart lightened immediately, and he realized he had been afraid she wouldn’t show up today.

“Would you care to take a stroll?” she asked after their greeting.

“If it’s not too warm for you.”

“Not at all. I have my parasol.”

He offered her his arm, and the two walked over the wide path. “Paris is very beautiful. Much more so than I imagined.”

“Despite what you English think of him, Napoleon did make some improvements to the city. Although it was Marie de’ Medici who had the palace built, it was Napoleon who improved and enlarged both the palace and park. This was his home for a few years before he declared himself emperor, you know.” They stood in front of the palace a few moments.

“And now he is sitting on a small island, still calling himself emperor.”

“Yes.”

“‘Their inward thought is, that their houses shall continue forever, and their dwelling places to all generations,’” he quoted.

“That sounds like Scripture.”

“It is, a psalm of David.”

“I’ve been reading the Bible.”

He flashed her a look. “Have you indeed?”

She looked away from him. “Since that day I prayed for you—” Her words came out softly, as if she were uncomfortable uttering them. “I have sought to know God . . . more deeply . . . to know the God that you held so dearly.”

“And have you?”

She nodded.

Rees felt more moved than he could express in words. All he could do was press the hand resting in the crook of his arm.

She tilted her head up to him. “Perhaps you are an answer to prayer now.”

“Why do you say that?”

She turned away from him, making a vague gesture with her free hand. “The way you found me—” She laughed shortly. “Don’t pay me any mind. It’s foolish.”

He scrambled around, seeking to prolong this line of conversation. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Why do you say that?”

He swallowed. “Perhaps because I was praying to find you.”

Her amber eyes looked searchingly into his. The tip of her tongue moistened her upper lip.

Then she turned away from him again, saying in a brisk tone. “Come, let us walk down this alley here. I shall show you another of Marie de’ Medici’s lasting works.”

His hopes plummeted. He was deluding himself that he could ever win her.

He followed her lead, content for now to be in her company, vowing he would be patient and win her.

Céline looked beautiful, and he felt proud to be seen with her. Today, she was dressed in a deep yellow gown that brought out the warm tone of her skin and the reddish tints in her dark hair. She looked more like the fashionable lady he had grown accustomed to in London. Had she dressed for him?

He shook aside the vain thought.

They walked under the shade of the elm trees planted along the avenue. The vast park was filled with couples and families strolling its many formal gardens and tree-lined alleys.

They spoke some more of what had happened since she’d left England and finally turned to the topic of her present work in France.

She waved an arm in outrage. “The British were determined to put Louis on the throne. Well, you have succeeded.”

“I know he is not the perfect solution.”

“Hah! Not even approaching perfect.”

“There was no one else who could bring a modicum of stability to France at this time,” he began, knowing it was a weak argument.

“He will do more than bring stability. Don’t you see what the royalists are doing? They will turn France back to its prerevolutionary state. Already, the press is having a hard time publishing anything that goes contrary to the royalists’ view. Anyone who served under Bonaparte is being punished.”

Rees could only gaze in admiration at the passion she displayed in her tone, her eyes, her very gestures when speaking of the political
situation in France. “Wellington won’t allow the far right to take away the freedoms of the people,” he countered.

Her lips thinned. “You English can be so idealistic at times.” Instead of arguing further, she sighed. “I hope you are right, but I have seen so much corruption and desire for retribution since I’ve returned that I wonder what will become of France.”

It was the first time he had detected any discouragement in her. “With people like you fighting for democracy, France has a chance.”

She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, and it was all he could do not to lean toward her. “I feel like a very small drop in the desert.”

They arrived at a grotto made of rustic stone at one end of the park. Two jets created a refreshing splash of water in its basin. A marble statue was tucked into the arch. “Very pretty.”

“Yes, it is. It, too, has been refurbished by Napoleon’s architect.” Céline trailed her fingers in the pool. “Have you seen the Arc de Triomphe? It is Chalgrin’s work as well.”

“Yes. I am lodging at the British embassy, not far from there. It is quite impressive, though not completed.”

She gave a sardonic laugh. “Perhaps good King Louis will do so.”

“I’m sorry the area is so overrun with British soldiers at the moment. Wellington will doubtless bring them to order.”

She shuddered. “They are nothing compared with the Cossacks and Prussians. They are out for revenge for the French having destroyed their cities.”

He frowned at her. “It’s not safe for a lady to go out alone. I hope you have someone to accompany you.”

She dismissed his concerns with a toss of her head. “I have become accustomed to taking care of myself.”

Her answer didn’t satisfy him, but there was little he could do at the moment. How he wished he could protect her.

They continued to walk. The park was so vast he couldn’t see the city on the opposite end of it.

She questioned him about his background. “I have not had the benefit of reading your file, you see.”

He acknowledged her barb with a smile. Then his tone became serious. “My father was once a prosperous merchant, but the blockade ruined him, since the majority of his trade was with the Continent. As a staunch Christian, he did not believe in indulging in the smuggling trade.”

“I see where you come by your principles then.”

“He was a fine example as a father—and as a man.”

The shouts of children came to them from afar.

“I remember very little of my father.”

“I am sure he was a man to be proud of as well.”

“Thank you. My mother has always spoken highly of him. Perhaps that is why she needed so much to be wealthy again. She felt she must regain what was taken away from him during the Revolution.”

He smiled, recollecting her mother’s gambling. “How is your mother?”

“She is here in France at the moment. Perhaps you shall see her at the British embassy. She spends her days badgering any public official she can obtain an audience with. She is trying to regain her lands, you see.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how she will succeed.”

“Perhaps I can help in some way.”

She tilted her head at him. “Why should you do that?”

“Because she is your mother.” He smiled ruefully. “I haven’t much influence. I’ve only arrived here myself. But if I can mention something to the duke, perhaps he will look into her case.”

“You are sweet.”

Her tone was tender, but instead of encouraging him, it filled him with despair. Is that how she saw him? As a kindly man who meant well, but was, after all, still little more than a poor clerk with pretensions of a gentleman?

To mask his thoughts, he asked, “Is your mother staying with you?”

“Oh no. My house is not grand enough. She is staying with old friends in one of the imposing
hôtels
in the Place Vendôme. You are
bound to run across her at one of the functions you will doubtless attend. Young British gentlemen are in high demand at all the balls and soirees at the moment.”

He grimaced. “I’m hardly that.”

“Of course you are.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You mean because you are a merchant’s son?” She laughed outright. “Goodness, you are worse than the ultra royalists. Didn’t you read any of those works I gave you?”

His lips curved upward, unable to disguise the pleasure her words—her scold—gave him. “Yes, I did.”

Before he could say anything more, she pressed his arm. “But please continue with your own story.”