The Paris Affair Part 47

Harry snapped the reins, the cart wheels groaned, and they rattled forwards, through the gates of Paris.

Cordelia leaned against Harry's shoulder. The solid warmth of his flesh felt singularly rea.s.suring. "We made it," she said at last.

"We'd probably have made it without having to get out of the cart if the sergeant hadn't wanted to get a better look at your legs."

"But you have to admit it left him thoroughly befuddled. If he's asked about us, I'm all he'll remember."

"Very true. I'm just sorry you had to go through being mauled."

She shrugged. "It's not the first time. Oh dear, that is-"

He lifted a brow. "I'm difficult to shock."

"I'm glad flirtation has a productive use."

"You're a natural at this." His mouth twisted in a dry smile. "I mean espionage."

She looked up at him. "Did you ever-"

"I'm hardly the sort to whom seduction comes easily."

"But there's very little you can't do when you put your mind to it. In the service of Crown and country." Her voice was playful, but the images that flashed into her mind were distinctly unsettling.

"You've heard me rail against Crown and country often enough."

"But I know just how loyal you are."

Harry fixed his gaze on the donkey's back. "I fear there are few deceptions I've failed to put into practice in the course of my work."

Cordelia swallowed. Hard. "I wouldn't have expected anything less, dearest."

O'Roarke put down his spygla.s.s. "Good. They're safely away. That took a bit longer than antic.i.p.ated, but I think that might be due to Lady Cordelia's powers of distraction."

He tucked the spygla.s.s back into his coat. They waited another five minutes, then touched their heels to their horses and galloped from beneath the shelter of the stand of trees and down the main road to the gates.

"Have you seen a peddler's cart?" Malcolm demanded of the sergeant who stood guard, pulling up on the reins of his horse and making his breath sound labored.

"Peddler's cart?" the sergeant repeated.

"Yes, man. The peddler would have had his wife with him. And his mother."

The sergeant cast a glance about, as though already fearing he had made a mistake. "Er . . . yes, sir. It pa.s.sed this way not ten minutes past."

"d.a.m.nation." Malcolm cast a glance over his shoulder at his three companions. "We've just missed them." He gathered up the reins.

"Sir," the sergeant said, "what-"

"That old woman is wanted for questioning by Fouche."

The sergeant blinked. "What would Fouche want with-"

"It's a disguise, you fool," O'Roarke said. "Open the gates. Quickly, man. We've already lost precious time."

"You heard the captain." The sergeant jerked his head at his men, perhaps eager to avoid questions about his detailed examination of the fugitives he had allowed to escape. "Open the gates. Be quick about it."

Two soldiers ran to comply. Malcolm, O'Roarke, Simon, and St. Gilles galloped through and out of the environs of Paris.

They had pa.s.sed the first hurdle.

Gabrielle glanced out the inn window. "This does seem loweringly tame compared to what everyone else is doing."

"Waiting can be the hardest part," David Mallinson said. "And without us to meet them they'd be able to make it no further than this inn."

The two of them and Gui were in a first-floor private parlor of this inn along the road to Calais. The clothing and papers that would take Paul St. Gilles and Juliette Dubretton and their children out of France were stowed in a false compartment beneath the wicker hamper on the back of their barouche, presently in the inn's stable. No one had thought to question the fashionable aristocratic party, all easily recognizable and plainly bent on pleasure.

Gabrielle smiled at David. She'd always thought he had a kind heart, but she hadn't realized quite how much until now. Such a pity she couldn't find a man like him or Rupert who was interested in her. They were both much finer men than Antoine Rivere had been.

Gui paced across the room and poured himself a gla.s.s of wine from the bottle on the pier table between the windows. "That doesn't make the waiting easier."

Gabrielle bit her lip. "Don't. I can't help but worry-"

"I'm sorry, Gaby." Gui crossed to her side and gripped her shoulder. "But in his position Rupert would be the safest of any of them if they're discovered. Except perhaps Malcolm."

"I would have said so a few days ago," Gabrielle said, looking up at her brother. Her pretend brother. No, she couldn't stop thinking of him as a brother. "But now I'm not at all sure Lord Dewhurst would come to his rescue."

"He would." Gui held the gla.s.s out to her. "He'd want to save the family from the scandal if nothing else."

Gabrielle took a swallow of wine, deeper than she intended, and coughed. "There is that."

Gui squeezed her shoulder. When she made to hand the gla.s.s back to him, he shook his head and curled her fingers round the gla.s.s. She took another fortifying sip. "You must be worried about Mr. Tanner," she said to David.

"I-" He opened his mouth as though to protest, then said simply, "Yes."

She sensed that single word was an admission of trust. She looked into his eyes and smiled. An answering smile broke across David's reserved face.

Gui wandered back to the windows and picked up a fresh gla.s.s. "If-Good G.o.d." He froze in the midst of uncorking the bottle of wine, gaze fastened on the view outside the window.

"What?" Gabrielle sprang to her feet and ran to his side, prepared for armed soldiers or her husband in irons. Instead she saw a chaise drawn up in the inn yard. An ostler had hurried forwards to see to the horses. A man in a top hat and blue coat who must have descended from the carriage was speaking with the ostler. Then he turned towards the inn. "Dear G.o.d," Gabrielle breathed.

"What?" David hurried to her side.

Gabrielle reached for Gui's hand and squeezed it hard. "My father-in-law."

"What the devil is Dewhurst doing here?" David watched Dewhurst stride towards the inn.

Gabrielle swallowed. "Suppose he's learned that Rupert-"

"There's no proof of that." David touched her arm. "It could just be a coincidence."

"Well, whatever it is, we need a plan of action," Gui said. "We have a fugitive arriving at any moment whom Dewhurst will recognize."

"Do we have any laudanum?" Gabrielle asked. She was only in part joking.

"Whether it's a coincidence or not," David said, "that's the way to play it."

"With laudanum?" Gui asked.

"As a coincidence."

Gabrielle and David hurried out the door onto the landing. In the hall below, Gabrielle could hear her father-in-law's decisive accents and nearly native French. She couldn't quite make out the words, but she caught something about "dark-haired man." Dear G.o.d, was he trying to describe St. Gilles? But from her one glimpse of him at an exhibition at the Louvre she wouldn't have called St. Gilles dark haired.

"Lord Dewhurst!" She gathered up the jaconet folds of her skirt and and ran down the newel staircase. "We saw your carriage through the windows. What a surprise!"

"Gabrielle." Relief flashed across Dewhurst's face as he stared up at her. "Thank G.o.d."

Gabrielle nearly skidded on the stairs, caught herself on the railing, and ran down to her father-in-law's side. "Were you looking for me?"

"For Gui." Dewhurst caught her hands in a hard grip. "Is he with you?"

"Yes, he's just upstairs." Relief that Dewhurst seemed to know nothing of St. Gilles warred with confusion. "He came with Lord Worsley and me."

Dewhurst squeezed his eyes shut. "G.o.d be praised." He released Gabrielle's hands and ran up the stairs, pushing past David without acknowledgment.

Gabrielle exchanged a look of confusion with David and ran back up the stairs after Rupert's father, aware of a confused look from the serving maid and groom in the hall below.

She reached the landing as Dewhurst stepped over the threshold into their private parlor. "Gui. Thank G.o.d I've found you. You must come back to Paris immediately."

"Sir." Gui's footsteps sounded on the floorboards, concern sharp in his voice. "Is something the matter? Is it my uncle? Or my aunt?"

Gabrielle reached the open door to see Dewhurst stride across the room and seize Gui by the shoulders.

"Of course it's your uncle and aunt," he said. "Can you imagine they wouldn't be distressed to the breaking point by such a letter?"

Gui jerked away from Dewhurst's hold. "That's my affair, sir. Not yours."

"What letter?" Gabrielle demanded.

Dewhurst whirled towards her. "This is a private matter, Gabrielle."

"Private." Gui gave a harsh laugh. "It's more her affair than yours, sir."

He pulled away from Dewhurst and walked towards Gabrielle. David, who had followed her into the room, made to withdraw. "No, you'd best stay as well, Worsley," Gui said. "There's no point in making it a secret. That was the sum of the letter I left for my uncle and aunt."

"For G.o.d's sake-," Dewhurst said.

"I'm not going back to Paris with you," Gui said, ignoring Dewhurst and moving towards Gabrielle. "It's time this farce came to an end. Perhaps I should have said that to Oncle Jacques and Tante Amelie in person, but I fear I was too much of a coward. I left them a letter telling them I am not the son of Georges Laclos and can no longer go on trespa.s.sing on their hospitality. Easier for all of us to make a clean break."

"Oh, Gui." Gabrielle put up a hand to brush his hair back from his forehead. "You can't think you can just walk away."

"On the contrary. As I told our uncle and aunt-your uncle and aunt-I don't see what else I can do." He cast a glance over his shoulder. "I didn't realize Oncle Jacques would go to Lord Dewhurst. Why did my uncle send you after me, sir?"

"Because he wants you back, you d.a.m.n fool."

Gui's mouth twisted. "If he truly wanted me back, surely he'd have come after me himself. My uncle-my supposed uncle-has never been shy about making his wishes known. You were kind to me when I was a boy, sir, but I wish you'd stay out of this."

Dewhurst drew a breath of frustration. The door from the pa.s.sage burst open, and Rupert strode into the cross fire. "Gaby, I've just realized-"

He pulled up short, taking in the scene before him. "Father." His voice turned as cold as a January wind. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father is delivering a message from my uncle," Gui said. "He's just leaving."

"On the contrary," Dewhurst said. "Rupert-"

"I have nothing to say to you, sir."

"So you've made abundantly clear. I didn't come here to see you as it happens. This is a private matter-"

"Rupert knows," Gui said. "I told him and Gaby." Gui turned to Rupert. "I've told my uncle and aunt the truth. Or rather I left them a letter. I'm making a clean break. It's better for all of us."

"You don't know what's better for them," Dewhurst said.

"Gui." Rupert took a step towards him, back ostentatiously to his father. "You can't know what your family is thinking-"

"No," Gui said, "and neither can you. Nor your father."

"Gui." Dewhurst put a hand on Gui's shoulder. "If I could speak with you for a moment in private-"

Gui jerked away from Dewhurst's hold. "For G.o.d's sake, sir. See to your difficulties with your own son and stay the h.e.l.l out of my life. If you feel guilty because you brought me to England, I absolve you of it. I wasn't a child."

"You were a boy."

"I was old enough to know I was colluding in deception."

"You don't understand-"

"You're right. I don't understand what on earth makes you think this is any affair of yours. Is it that you knew I was Georges Laclos's b.a.s.t.a.r.d? Or Oncle Jacques's?"

Dewhurst stared at him. "Is that what you think?"

"It's one explanation for my easy acceptance in the household. It doesn't change things. I'm still not the rightful heir."

Dewhurst drew a harsh breath.

"If you knew-"

"I know enough to know you should stay well out of it."

"You can have no notion-"