St. Raven (30 page)

“I don’t doubt it.” She’d always thought that being an outside passenger would be uncomfortable and dangerous. Miss Mandeville of Matlock had never had to contemplate such a fate. If she didn’t get the jewels, she might end up traveling that way.

Dread tangled with screwed-up tension, making her want to scream. Instead she fixed on their purpose. They were going to get the jewels, and that would solve most of her problems. She and her parents could live in decent dignity—and she would never travel in a curricle again.

That meant, she knew, that she wouldn’t travel with Tris Tregallows again, but that was an old wound by now.

“What is our plan? Where are we going?”

“Hatfield, where a certain Jean-Marie Bourreau lived before he was arrested for being Le Corbeau.”

“Oh, of course. How clever! But will he still be there?”

“Having been proved innocent, I hope he’ll have stayed put. Anything else might look suspicious. He has lodging and employment there.”

“Employment?”

“He does portraits in pastels, and is quite good at it.”

This struck Cressida as very peculiar. “An artist? Are you sure he is Le Corbeau?”

“Artistic skill guaranteeing virtue?”

A tollgate blocked the road ahead, and he slowed to toss a coin to the waiting toll-keeper, whose son was already swinging open the wide gate. In moments Cressida was pressed back by speed again, and Tris’s attention was all on the road.

“So he’s in Hatfield.” She concentrated on that, not on the speed. “And he has the statue. Didn’t you say he has a cottage?”

“But he knows that cover is blown. I had the place checked before we left Nun’s Chase. He’s cleared out all his important possessions.”

“So if he has the statue, it is probably with him in Hatfield.”

“That’s the hope. If he’s found a new hiding place, I’ll squeeze it out of him.”

“And how are you to do that without revealing that it has some importance?”

He flashed her a glance. “I’ll find a way. Do you truly think me hotheaded enough to forget the need for discretion?”

Had her thoughtless words hurt him? “No, of course not. You’re coolheaded. I’m in a fret.”

“Trust me, Cressida. This is the last stage. We’ll soon have your jewels.”

The last stage. She certainly couldn’t accuse him of sugarcoating things.

“How are we to get it from him without him knowing its true value?” After a moment, she answered herself. “Perhaps I should handle that. It doesn’t sound as if he’ll be disposed to please you.”

“I’m willing to beat it out of him if necessary—but the less fuss, the better.”

They slowed to pass through a small place called Finchley.

When he didn’t say any more, her lips twitched. “Do you have any less violent plan?”

She saw her humor echoed in him. “Robbery still appeals.”

“Unless we get caught.”

“I am a duke.”

“Which doesn’t make you immune to criminal arrest.”

“But makes it unlikely. Unjust, I know, but there have to be some compensations. He’s living at an inn called the Cockleshell. We could take rooms there and be enterprising.”

One word registered. “Rooms?”

“Rooms.” He slowed the team and glanced at her. “We can’t pretend to be married, Cressida, even under a false name. There’s too great a chance of being seen by someone who knows me. And anyway, that outfit and hat cry out a lack of funds. A fine husband I’d look to be dressed by the best and driving this rig but with my wife in servant’s clothes.”

“I thought they would be inconspicuous,” she muttered, and did not tell him they were part of her everyday Matlock wardrobe. She could point out that they were made of durable cloth, and very well made, as well, but what was the point?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Cressida snapped alert. “I’m constantly worrying about being thrown out of this ridiculous vehicle.”

“I’ve slowed.”

“We are still going too fast.”

“Be bold. Be brave. You were far away, weren’t you? Are you worrying about the night? You can trust me.”

“That’s what I feared.” It slipped out before she thought.

“Devil take it, Cressida. You’ll drive me mad. We can’t. It’s too dangerous. And it won’t make it any easier.”

It—the inevitable parting.

“We’ll doubtless be too busy in the night anyway. Switching the statues,” she added, in case it was unclear.

“Yes.” But the horses broke step as if he’d given them some conflicting signal.

She found some satisfaction in that. The noble Duke of St. Raven wanted another night, perhaps as much as she did. What’s more, she believed that he wanted more than her body. There was a bleak sort of comfort in that.

They drove for a while in silence, and the less-than-suicidal speed allowed her to think more clearly. She noticed that even at their moderate pace, they passed three coaches of the slower sort, lumbering north on this busy road. She was grateful for her veil.

“Perhaps,” she said, “we should arrive separately.”

“Why?”

“It would avoid any chance of a scandalous connection, and allow us more options…” Before he could interrupt, she added, “At the next coaching stage, I could take a coach to Hatfield. They seem to pass by quite frequently.”

“Impossible! You could end up traveling on the outside.”

“If I don’t succeed in this venture, I could end up traveling there for the rest of my life!”

He drew the horses to a halt and faced her. “We are not going to fail.”

“Even you can’t shape fate to your choosing.”

“I should at least be able to shape this. We’re dealing with a foreign petty criminal who doesn’t realize what he has. There’s no need for you to take risks.”

“Yet nothing in this seems to go smoothly, remember?” When he didn’t agree, she said, “You cannot dictate to me in this. My plan makes the most sense.”

“Does it, indeed? Then what is this plan other than to travel in discomfort?”

“You call hurtling along in this thing
comfort
!”

She wouldn’t have thought that his jaw could tense any further, but it managed to. “The plan, Cressida.”

She swallowed another retort. “You will arrive and demand to speak to Bourreau. I will arrive separately and search his rooms when he’s with you.”

“Out of the question. As soon as you enter his rooms, you’re a criminal.”

“Surely my lord duke can extract me from jail.”

“I may decide to leave you there if you ‘my lord duke’ me again!”

The desperate violence behind his words stilled her breath. She pushed up her veil so she could see him more clearly.

“I’m sorry, but you’re bullying me. I did not grow up trained to the male bridle. Your word is not my law.”

“So tempting to marry you, to hear you promise to obey me.”

“A prime argument against matrimony!”

But they were dancing close to an impossible edge, and she saw that knowledge in his eyes, along with a great many other painful things.

“You can distract Bourreau,” he said, “and I will search the rooms.”

“And how am I supposed to do that, dressed like a servant?”

His brows twitched. “Did that offend you? For heaven’s sake, Cressida, you can’t deny—”

“These clothes are my everyday wear in Matlock, sir, and I like them.”

“Then I wish you joy of them. But,” he added, his expression softening, “you won’t make yourself any less attractive to me that way.”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t… Wretched man, you will not distract me that way! I cannot guarantee to hold Bourreau away long enough. You can. I will search the rooms. I have come up with a story.”

“What?” She heard a disbelieving sigh.

“I’m an abandoned lover come to beg him to take me back. That gives me an excellent reason to sneak into his rooms and one not likely to land me in jail.”

He seemed angry at its reasonableness. “Not if you’re caught red-handed.”

“How would that be? I have the similar statue in my hatbox. I need the merest moment to switch them, and only a little more to remove the jewels from the one he has.”

“Dammit, Cressida, I don’t like it!”

“Clearly, since you’re swearing at me again.”

“You’ll hear worse than that before this is over.”

She bit back laughter and touched his tense gloved hand. “It is not so outrageous a plan as that, Tris, to travel by stage for a few miles and then sneak into a man’s rooms.”

His raised brows were sufficient commentary.

“Not outrageous for mere mortals, at least, my lord duke.”

“Harpy.”

“Winged and clawed.”

“I’m running blood to prove it.” He turned his hand to take hers. “Cressida, I need to keep you safe.”

Ah, that could break her heart. “Truly, the risks are not great, and the advantages are. Especially one. Think. We will not be linked. Even if we meet someone who knows you, or who knows me, there will be no connection, so no scandal.”

She put into words what had not yet been said. “After Stokeley, we can’t afford any scandalous connection.”

His thumb rubbed against her hand. “I’d marry you, Cressida, but it would only make matters worse.”

She knew what he meant. “It would put me in the center of the world’s eye, and somebody would put two and two together and realize that I was your houri at Stokeley. Crofton would make the connection between you and Le Corbeau—”

“That doesn’t matter, and we can stare down scandal—”

“No! No, I don’t want that, Tris. Truly I don’t. Bad enough to be the center of the world’s attention, but to be the center of the world’s disgusted whispers all my life? No, no, no!”

She controlled herself. “We’re running away with things anyway, aren’t we? We both know I am not the stuff of which duchesses are made, so there’s no future for us. This is a fleeting folly. We’ll forget each other within days when this is over.”

“You’re doubtless right,” he agreed in an indifferent drawl that was as artificial as her bobbing curls. “And given that, your plan does have merit. But Bourreau may have the statue hidden, along with any other loot he owns.”

She slipped her hand away from his. “Then you must try to create time for me to search. Do we know if he has any servants?”

“I doubt he’d have any personal servants at the inn, though he has accomplices when he is Le Corbeau. It’s too dangerous—”

“No, it’s not. As long as his accomplices are not in the rooms. And if they are, I have my story.”

“What happens when he declares that he’s never seen you before?”

She raised her brows. “Well, he would, wouldn’t he?”

“Cressida…”

“You have to let me do this, Tris. It’s the only rational plan. For heaven’s sake, I was willing to risk whoring to get the jewels. Risking jail seems a lesser evil to me.”

His jaw worked. “We’ll stop at Barnet and see if there’s a suitable vehicle passing north soon. We can’t delay too long. We don’t want Miranda there ahead of us.”

“You can go ahead to watch for that.”

“And leave you unescorted?”

A laugh escaped her. “Were you going to drive this ridiculously expensive vehicle alongside the stage to keep me safe?”

He gripped her chin. “Funny, am I? I’ve enticed you from your home, Cressida Mandeville. Your safety is my responsibility. How am I supposed to wave you off on a common stage and put you out of my mind?”

She cradled his gloved hand. “Have you ever traveled on the stage, Tris?”

“Don’t sneer at me for my pampered life.”

“I’m not, but… among so many, rape and pillage becomes a little difficult, you know.”

“Squeezing and fondling would not be.”

“I’d throw a fit of the vapors, and the other passengers would have the villain ejected.”

“Tell the truth. Have you ever traveled alone on the stage before?”

Cressida might have lied except that she knew she was blushing. “No, but I have traveled by stage with my mother. It will present no particular hazard, and it will only be for a few miles. It is the sensible thing to do, Tris.”

“Sensible. Oh, by all means let us be sensible.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Their hat brims collided, and they moved apart, laughing.

“Our headwear has more sense than we do,” he said.

Such tender longings washed over Cressida that she could not speak, and had to fight not to cry. He reached beneath the seat and produced a long, flat piece of metal.

“What’s that?”

“The man who provided it called it a winkler. You push the thin bladed end under the hasp of a lock or hinge and lever it off.”

“I can’t use that.”

“You’re the one who wanted to do the thievery.”

Cressida took the implement, which was about twelve inches long and surprisingly heavy. “Perhaps I won’t be strong enough.”

“The power of leverage. I tried it. It’s quite effective as long as you can force the blade beneath what you want to move. How else are you going to deal with a locked drawer?”

He was expecting her to back down at this point. Cressida opened her hatbox and stuck the tool in there. “Right, then,” she said, pulling down her veil.

“Right.” He cracked his whip above the horses’ heads. They were off again in a spurt of dust and anger. Cressida clutched the rail again, resolved not to lose courage now.

If he was angry with her, it was doubtless for the best.

They slowed to take the hill up into Barnet, then pulled up by the Green Man. They had arranged the details, and Tris followed the plan. He leaped down and spoke to an ostler in an offhand manner of his passenger who required a ticket to Hatfield. Everything about him made it clear that said passenger was not worthy of his particular attention.

Cressida was helped down by an inn servant and went to purchase a ticket. A suitable coach was due to arrive in under fifteen minutes and should have space.

That disposed of Tris’s strongest argument—the need for speed. When she turned with the ticket in her hand, she saw his lips tighten. However, he strolled into the inn for some refreshment. The ostler was walking his horses, obviously awed by their quality and by his. And obviously convinced that Cressida was a servant.