Grave Consequences (Grand Tour Series #2) (13 page)

“I wouldn’t mind dinner and company like this every evening,” Pierre said in my ear, daring to squeeze my hand under the table.

“Is this like other Grand Tours that people have taken?” I asked the bear, eager to change the subject and shift the attention as my cheeks flamed from Pierre’s touch. Had I not been thinking of sharing only Will’s kiss, these last two days? But what was this? Pierre seemed…different. Somehow more in reach,
accessible
, than when we were in Paris. More like when we’d met on the ship.

“No. The tours are far more relaxed, these days. Our predecessors of the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries, even the Victorians, would never do something such as this.” He motioned to the quaint but rustic room. “But the tour is what we make it, is it not? I want you to feel like you are in these places as they really are. Living them. Touching, smelling, hearing,
absorbing
them.”

I smiled over the older man’s passion. I loved it when he talked this way. “Today, as we toured the ruined chateau, wandered her walls—I could imagine enemy forces gathering, trebuchet stones battering the chateau. It came alive in my mind.”

“Excellent!” the man said, clapping his age-thickened fingers together. “Such memories will stick with you until you’re as old and gray as I am. That will serve you as well as the knowledge of nobles and art you gain along our trail.”

“It is all well and good,” Andrew tossed out, putting a thick pat of white butter on his bread, “but there is a part of me that wishes I was back at home, working with our fathers, learning more about my future than about the past.”

“What? No, no,” said the bear. “These experiences shall serve to connect you to others and your world, your whole life through. Even if you never meet any of the people you’ve met here again, speaking with someone in the States who has been in Carcassonne, for instance,” he said, waving toward the windows of the café, “in this ancient city, gives you immediate connection. It is much like sharing the same alma mater.”

“I suppose,” Andrew said doubtfully, stuffing another piece of bread into his mouth.

Just watching Andrew lather the bread with that amazing, creamy butter made me want another, but the trays were empty. Soon after, the waitresses arrived with wide bowls of vegetable soup and, after that, perfectly roasted hens, their skin a lovely golden brown and sprinkled with herbs, and to the side, tiny red potatoes. The chicken was so tender it practically fell off the bones. When we were done, I couldn’t remember feeling so full. Or so happy to have eaten what I had.

Afterward, we walked the streets, enjoying pockets of locals singing and dancing. In one small plaza, people walked beside us, speaking rapidly in French, flirting playfully. They gestured over and over to the musicians and others dancing, and at the bear’s nod of permission, we turned and followed them. They gave us a brief lesson in a peasant dance, and we split up, several of our group joining clusters of the locals. The detectives—as well as Will and Antonio—did not take part, each moving to a different side of the square to keep watch. It was then I realized that they still worried that we might be trailed…targeted. Here, now, the threat of our would-be kidnappers seemed distant. I disliked that their actions reminded me of it.

It made me sad for them, having to maintain the role of constant vigilance, because to be at the center of the dance was joy itself. Pierre knew the steps—having learned them as a child—and proved a skilled teacher. I let him lead me, enjoying the sway and dip, jump and skip, turn-turn-turn, sway and dip…and only once caught Will glancing my way. In frustration? Consternation? Anger? It was impossible to discern.

I shoved away a sense of guilt. Had he not turned from me in the chateau stairwell when he had his chance? Had he not insisted that it was better for us to stay apart? We traded partners, and Hugh swung me around in a circle, then led me in a broader one.

“Pay no attention to the bear’s apprentice, Cora,” he whispered. “You are right to welcome Pierre. Will’s intentions…” He shook his head.

We parted and turned for three claps, then rejoined for a moment. He left me hanging on his last words, of course. Made me ask. My eyes flicked to Will and then across the circle to Pierre.

“What? What do you know of his intentions?”

“He has none,” Hugh said, and for once I believed him. “The bear accused him of loving you from afar. He denied it. Said he only wished to get through the tour, collect his fee, and return to university.”

I swallowed hard and forced a smile. “As well he should. I have my own plans to return to school come autumn.”

He scoffed and looked at me in disbelief. “A Kensington girl as a country schoolteacher? Ah, no. Likely Wallace has far greater intentions for you. This is but the beginning. And none of your father’s plans would include a man of McCabe’s low means, regardless of his fine character.”

I frowned. “No, Wallace and I only agreed—”

But then we were separated, and I was in Arthur’s arms. “Are you all right?” he asked, looking down at me with concern. I missed a step, and he caught me, one hand at the small of my back and the other holding tight to my hand. Within a moment we eased back into the rhythm.

“I am fine, fine,” I said, forcing another smile, suddenly wishing to return to the chateau, to my room, to put a door between me and everyone else. “Only getting tired, I think.”

“It’s been a long, full day.”

“Indeed.” I peered up at him. “Are you enjoying this? Joining us for part of our tour?”

“I am,” he said, searching my eyes. “And you, Cora? Isn’t this more a joy than a trial?” He paused as I digested his question. “I take it you’ve experienced nothing like it. You’re like a duck in a new pond. Cautious but exulting in it.”

“What a thing to say!” I sputtered in surprise.

He smiled. “What? It’s true, isn’t it? Couldn’t you say those words yourself?”

The song came to an end, and he gave me a little bow as I followed the women in the group, giving him a small curtsy. “Yes,” I said. “I suppose I could.”

We stayed with the locals for several dances, then the men tossed coins into the musicians’ open baskets and we moved on in pairs down the cobblestone streets—past smoky cabarets and empty cafés where waiters and waitresses cleaned tables and swept floors; past storefronts with lovely Provençal linens or brightly painted pottery in the windows; past a young couple caught in a secret embrace; past welcoming old men, three to a bench, smoking pipes; past old women frowning at us as they dumped cold dishwater, silently telling us to go back to where we came from.

At last we returned to the chateau, and the old bear stood by the door, counting as we all entered, like a mother hen making sure all had returned to the roost come nighttime. He nodded, looking weary but content, as was I. Antonio and I held back, and I stepped beside the old bear. “Thank you for one of the finest days of our entire trip,” I said, touching his arm.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Rest well. For tomorrow is another.” He and Antonio paused, obviously waiting for me to say good night to Pierre. So I turned to him.

“Thank you for journeying all this way to see me for but one night,” I said, taking his hands in mine.

He leaned forward and gave me as slow and tender a kiss on either cheek as was permissible. “I could do nothing other. I only regret that I must leave you again. The memories of our time together, our dance, shall have to sustain me in the meantime.”

I laughed at his dramatic words. “I will look forward to it,” I said, genuinely feeling it. Whatever was transpiring between us was not entirely unwelcome. However far-fetched it was, the idea of us being together beyond the summer wasn’t
impossible
, was it? I enjoyed his company. And, unlike Will, he made me feel wanted. Worth being pursued regardless of what it cost him. “Good night, Pierre.”

“Good night,
mon ange
,” he said, reluctantly releasing my hands.

I entered the foyer and saw that the others had reached the landing and were separating to their own wings. Will was not in sight, and I swallowed hard, past a lump of disappointment. But what had I expected? A good-night kiss? A hug? If I were honest, part of me had wanted him to see my tender parting from Pierre. Part of me wanted to spur him with jealousy, drive him to truth.

But it was clearly true, what Hugh had said. Will had made his decision. Regardless of what we’d shared, or nearly shared…

CHAPTER EIGHT

~Cora~

I paced my room like a caged tiger. My mind was swirling with thoughts of Will, as well as of Pierre, of Wallace, of my future. It didn’t help that the room was hot, given its placement on the western side of the chateau. All afternoon, the stone walls seemed to absorb the sun’s rays, and now they seemed bent on cooking me inside.
I have to escape it.…

I pulled my summer dress back on, easing the tight sleeves over my sweaty skin. How I longed for the light, flowing work dresses from the farm! But there was nothing like that in my trunks; my lightest, airiest dresses were far too formal for an evening’s walk. And I didn’t want to draw any undue attention. I only wanted fresh air. And space.

If we had still been along the Rhône, I would’ve taken another dive off the deck into the blessedly cool waters. My best chance for relief was a walk along the walls, where the breeze came up from the sea, through the valley, washing over me and easing my tension. I exited my room quietly, not wanting to disturb Vivian in the room to my left or Lil to my right.

At the end of the hall, Antonio straightened and watched my approach. “Something you need, miss?”

“Yes. Some fresh air. It’s terribly hot in there,” I said, gesturing back to my room. “Perhaps after an hour’s walk, it will have cooled enough to sleep. I hate to impose on you….”

“No, no,” he said in his thick Italian accent, frowning and rocking his head back and forth as if my words pained him. “It is no trouble at all. Let me get another man to take my post. You will wait here?”

I nodded and knit my hands together, hoping against hope that it would be Claude or Yves who came to take his post. I wasn’t in the mood to see Will. I bit my lip and tapped my toe, waiting for what felt a long time, considering leaving on my own. But that would be foolhardy, inviting trouble…. At last I saw shadows dance at the far end of the hall, entering from the servant’s staircase.

I found myself holding my breath as they approached. Every nerve in my body felt alive. I trembled, alternately excited and furious, fighting for composure. Both Yves and Will followed Antonio. Which one of them was to accompany me?

“Master Will says he’d do well with a walk too,” Antonio said with a conspiratorial grin in his dark eyes. “I shall remain at my post here.”

“Yves will come too,” Will said. “Given the hour. And your reputation.”

“Of course,” I replied evenly. “But surely Antonio and Yves can manage a late-night walk with me? There is no need for you to be troubled, Will.”

“My knee is aching,” Antonio said regretfully, his dark brow lowering in confusion. Plainly, he thought I’d welcome Will’s company. “But I can manage if—”

“No, no,” I said, already turning, agitated. “It will be fine.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Will closed the gap between us. “Don’t let my presence upset you, Cora. You will have the space you seek. I can follow you by five paces, as your guardian, nothing more.” Not daring to speak, I nodded and forced myself to walk through the door he opened for me, and then ahead of him.

Yves quickly took the lead, and Will followed me, each five paces from me. We walked down the street and then climbed the turret stairs, round and round, up to the top of the city’s inner wall. The wall was dotted with other late-night pedestrians out enjoying the cool of the night and a tapestry of stars above us. I sensed Will close the gap as we passed several gentlemen having a leisurely smoke, then felt him ease back when we passed two young lovers, arms intertwined, caring neither for propriety nor reputation. Even as I tried to push away all thoughts of Will, I longed for such freedom, but it still felt deliciously intimate to be even this close to him. His eyes on my back, my hair. Even if he didn’t want me. Even if this was as close as we would ever be.

I’m walking the walls of a medieval city
, I thought, striving to remember this moment, absorb it, as the bear had encouraged. I ought to be thinking of it, committing it to memory so that I could share it with my future students, rather than thinking of the man behind me.

Especially with Pierre here in the city, coming all this way to see me…

But again and again my mind went to Will.

Will. William. William McCabe. I wonder what his middle name is.

Two men came directly toward me, speaking rapidly, trying to catch my eye.

Ahead, Yves turned, and Will edged closer to me again. I watched as the men caught sight of Will, and their eyes widened in understanding. They immediately gave me a wide berth, passing me by with a genteel nod rather than engaging me. It made me smile, Will’s powerful presence. Other men respected him. Not because of his money or his clothing, but simply because of his presence.

I breathed in the cool night air, feeling more and more calmed the farther I got from the chateau. The farther Will and I were away, together. I stopped at a city tower topped with a steep cone of a roof as the others were and glanced back at Will. I pointed up and raised my eyebrows, silently asking his permission. He tipped his head toward me, assenting, but held up his hand. He gave a low whistle, and Yves turned, saw what we wanted, and then went up to the tower to make certain no one else was there.

Yves soon returned and, with a flourish and a smile, gestured upward. I climbed the stairs, around and around. When I reached the top, my breath caught. I went to the tower window to look out upon the city and beyond it, the mountains in silhouette, blocking the pale stars, competing with the moon. It was beautiful. A fairy tale. And yet if I were the princess, who was the prince? Pierre, back at the chateau, peacefully sleeping? Or the man who had denied me, keeping his distance below?