Helen Dickson (23 page)

‘So, where is she?’ he asked, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts, but he was frowning slightly and Maria at least had the satisfaction of knowing that he was giving the problem his full attention. She retained a deep conviction that, if he wanted to do something, he would find a way.

‘At a village close to Calais. I—I have her letter.’ Quickly she produced her cousin’s crumpled letter from her reticule and handed it to him. ‘As you see, there is an address.’

‘How did the letter reach you?’

‘It was brought to me by someone she paid to smuggle it out of France. She says she is having problems getting a boat to bring her to England—that everyone trying to cross the Channel is treated with suspicion. She has tried and failed. That is why she wrote to me in the hope that I would help her.’

‘And am I to assume you want me to go to France, to return to a country that is gripped in a reign of terror, to find your cousin and bring her back?’

Maria swallowed and nodded, her anxiety and hope apparent in her eyes. ‘It is a matter of life or death. Can you find a way of helping her? It will be dangerous, I know…’

His eyes flashed unexpectedly. ‘I am all too aware of the perils of embarking on such a mad scheme—I have first-hand experience, remember? What you are asking is insane.’

Maria bit her lip, unable to face the expression of aloof contempt in his eyes. There was an undercurrent
of fierce inflexibility in his voice, which was difficult to confront. She had inadvertently angered him, already forgetting her resolution to be humble.

‘If you found yourself in my place, wouldn’t you do the same?’

‘Maybe, but I cannot believe you have come all this way to ask this one mad, impossible thing of me.’

Maria felt a wave of desperation as she strove for control and to calm her mounting fears. ‘Mad, yes, that is true—but not impossible—surely not impossible?’ she cried, gazing up at him imploringly.

‘No,’ he conceded. ‘Perhaps not.’

Maria was conscious now that he was studying her with a different interest. She returned his look. His expression did not alter and yet she felt the air between them charged with emotion, as if he were reaching out to her, drawing her to him by some irresistible force. At last she forced herself to say, ‘You have to help me, Charles, for without you Constance is doomed.’ Now she felt anguished. What was she to do if he refused? ‘All she needs is someone to go to her and help her get safe passage over the Channel.’

‘And what happens to Constance if I am apprehended?’

‘I sincerely hope you won’t be.’

‘And if I am arrested and detained and thrown into prison—accused of being a British agent? I could even be shot. Have you given any thought to what tragedy could ensue?’

He stared at her for a long, unyielding moment. Maria looked away, unable to meet his cold gaze. The flame of hope that had risen in her heart dwindled to a pale glimmer. She was feeling very shaken, but
unable, in all honesty, to argue with him. She knew his objections were valid and she had no answer to them. Her eyes filled with tears at this cool, sardonic reference to the perils he would have to face on Constance’s behalf and a lump came and went in her throat, a lump of misery and shame that she was asking him to put his life in danger. But what else could she do?

‘I confess that I haven’t given much thought to how it can be achieved—and I really shouldn’t be asking this of you, but, as I said, I am quite desperate. I cannot simply ignore Constance and carry on with my life. If you cannot help her, then perhaps you know of someone else who can be trusted—who would do this? Naturally I would—I would reward them well—and you, too, of course—’

‘Reward!’ Charles’s icy voice sliced through Maria’s words like a knife. ‘Save your money, Maria. To speak of paying me for such an undertaking—something I would like to think I was doing for a friend—I find insulting and you earn my contempt.’

The scorn in Charles’s tone, even more than his words, stabbed straight at Maria’s heart, striking with the freezing intensity of a winter frost, and she regretted having drawn such a strong, emotional response from him. She dragged in several painful breaths, no longer feeling the warmth of the room. She was thrown into a dark, barren world of her own, the words flung into her face with uncompromising directness by a man she could not help but love.

‘I realise you must despise me,’ she said tonelessly.

‘No.’ The word was harsh, but the fury had gone out of his voice. ‘I pray God I will never have cause to do that.’

‘But I can understand why I have earned your con
tempt. I am sorry, but ever since I received my cousin’s letter, I have been shaken out of my usual reserve.’ She stepped away from him and drew her cloak around her. ‘I see it as my duty to help Constance, to do everything I can. It is clear to me that you feel you cannot help me—and, if I am honest, I can understand your natural apprehension. I can see I should not have come to you.’

‘Did I say I wouldn’t help?’

A tentative flicker of hope flared in her eyes. ‘You mean you will go to France?’

‘I might,’ he said, more gently.

‘That isn’t good enough. You have to be positive.’

‘There is a lot to consider. It will be complicated. It is not always easy for even the wisest man to decide on the best course of action.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’

‘What will you do if I refuse to help you?’

Maria blanched and took a step back. ‘Then I would have to find some other way. I am deeply suspicious of entrusting such an undertaking to a stranger—unless he is recommended by you, for I trust your judgement. If you refuse to recommend someone, then I shall go to France myself.’

His eyes were as watchful as ever, but they didn’t lack warmth. ‘I believe you would and I salute your courage and boldness. You are undeniably brave—and totally reckless.’

She managed a little smile. ‘Goodness. Am I supposed to feel complimented or chastised?’

‘Both. I compliment your commitment to your cousin, and I reproach your foolhardiness to go rushing off into a situation that could well get you into trouble.’

Maria’s eyes locked on his. ‘Will you help me, Charles? I shall be most grateful.’

‘You should be.’

Turning from her, deep in thought, he considered Constance’s predicament, for the thought of Maria’s cousin at the mercy of the mob, should she be discovered, was almost more than he could bear. Doing his best to calm himself, he pulled himself together, knowing he must get over to Calais as soon as possible.

‘It will be best if you leave it up to me as to how I proceed. It is unfortunate that Constance is unwell, but the good news is that we know she is close to Calais. I know the town and the surrounding villages well so I should have a better chance of getting her back than if she were in a place that is unfamiliar to me.’

‘When will you go?’

‘At first light I will head for Dover.’

‘How will you travel?’

‘On horseback. It’s quicker than the carriage. Why?’

She shrugged. ‘I—just thought—well, that I might go with you and wait there when you cross to Calais.’

‘No, Maria. Definitely not. I absolutely forbid it,’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘Our days of travelling anywhere together are behind us. You can wait here—although on second thoughts, perhaps it would be advisable if you were to return to Gravely.’

He passed a hand over his hair, which immediately fell over his brow. Maria saw the movement and wanted to go to him and smooth the lock of hair back again, perhaps touch his cheek and tell him how grateful she was for his concern, for his help—for him. He had been there at exactly the right moment in all the adversities
of her life since she had left the chateau. Steadfast, reliable, steadying her with his calm strength, smiling sometimes to let her know that everything would be all right—just as he would see it was for Constance. Keeping a cool head, he would be calm and in control.

Maria was suddenly overwhelmed with weariness. ‘I do not wish to impose, but I didn’t give any thought to where I would stay when I set out.’

Seeing the sudden droop of her shoulders, Charles wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, kiss her and soothe her and tell her he would make everything all right. And yet how could he after what had happened between them? But she was evidently much distressed, and who could blame her after what had befallen her cousin? Walking past her, he went to the door to instruct Denning to have rooms prepared for her and Ruby.

‘You look exhausted,’ he said, coming back to her. ‘The journey has obviously tired you. A meal will be brought to you in your room and after that I suggest you go to bed. Tomorrow you must return to Gravely and wait for me there.’

‘But Denning informed me that Lady Osbourne is away.’

‘That can’t be helped. Does it concern you that you will be in the house with me alone?’

She shook her head wearily. ‘Let people say what they will. This is too important a matter to worry about protocol. And my coachman?’

‘Will be taken care of.’

‘Thank you, Charles. I—I don’t deserve this.’

‘No, you don’t. As you said, Maria, your cousin needs help. It’s impossible for you to go to Calais, so I must.’

His mouth, which at the moment was not smiling, was well cut, curling and sensual. He was doing his best to appear calm, but Maria could see he was only being polite. She wished she didn’t have to put him through this, for though he was a basically decent person, he did not want to be involved with anything that had to do with her, but because he was the sort of man who had a tendency to rescue a defenceless creature—just like he had rescued her in France—he wouldn’t let her down.

In the same room she had occupied when she had been a guest in the house before, Maria tossed and turned in her bed, too anxious to sleep and unable to still her churning thoughts. At midnight she gave up trying and got out of bed and paced the carpet, her thoughts as bleak and dismal as tomorrow promised to be.

She paused in her pacing when she heard soft footsteps outside her door. It was Charles, going to his own rooms, who had paused and stood looking at her door, seeing a light beneath and a shadow passing too and fro, which told him that she was having difficulty sleeping.

When Maria heard the soft tap on her door she was momentarily startled and didn’t move. When the tap was repeated, wrapping her robe over her nightdress, she went and opened it, surprised to see Charles standing there.

‘Charles!’

‘I saw the light under your door. Can’t you sleep?’

‘You shouldn’t be here—and, no, I can’t seem to settle. I have too much on my mind.’ She smiled wanly, pushing her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear. ‘I can’t help it. Ever since I got Constance’s letter I have been so worried.’

‘Care for some company?’

‘Do you mean you want to come in?’

‘If you like. Nothing that has happened between us—our journey across France and the times when we found ourselves in each other’s arms—should make us antagonistic to each other now. Should it?’

‘No, of course not. But—the times when you—when we—’ colour crept into her cheeks when she recalled the intimacies they had shared ‘—it was nothing but a mild flirtation—wasn’t it, Charles?’

His eyes met hers in mocking challenge. ‘And you are sure about that, are you, Maria? That’s not the way that I remember it. I think you’ve tried very hard to convince yourself that it was nothing more than that.’ His gaze settled on her lips. ‘You were something more to me than a mild flirtation.’

Beneath his penetrating gaze Maria’s flush deepened and she looked a little flustered, her delicately beautiful face framed by a halo of black hair—a dainty image of fragility standing before a man who dwarfed her. They were like vulnerability and strength, stubborn pride and iron resolve—two opposites whose differences had once drawn them together and now those differences separated them.

‘There is still no reason why we shouldn’t be cordial to each other,’ she said.

‘Flirtations don’t usually end in duels.’

‘I know and I’m sorry Henry shot you.’

‘Forget about it.’ Without waiting for her to reply he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. Moving to stand close to her, he looked at her upturned face and smiled, his eyes warmly glowing. ‘I seem to recall that
we’ve been in a similar situation as this before, Maria—in France, when you posed as my wife. Remember?’

Hot, embarrassed colour stained Maria’s smooth cheeks as they faced each other. He stood there with his dark hair tousled, his sternly handsome face stamped with nobility and pride. Having removed his jacket and loosened his neck linen, his muscular body emanated raw power, and she thought he seemed as rugged and invulnerable as the cliffs at Dover.

‘I shall never forget it. I also remember how afraid I was—afraid that we wouldn’t make it to Calais.’

Laughter shone in his eyes and his smile broadened. ‘Afraid? You? I recall a beautiful young woman who came to my defence and bravely confronted a rampaging mob who would have torn us to pieces had you not covered your face in spots and frightened them away.’

‘That wasn’t bravery, it was desperation. In fact, I recall you berating me so severely for not staying in the coach that I was tempted to get out and walk to Calais.’