Jack Chiltern's Wife (1999) (16 page)

‘Quite.’

‘But you told me to forget Jacques Faucon, to deny all knowledge of him.’

‘That was while we were at my uncle’s, where I expected you to stay. Your flight changed everything. We have left there now and nothing we say or do must lead anyone back there, you understand?’

‘Yes. I would not for the world betray his hospitality.’ She was a little hurt that he had even thought that she might, but, remembering what Gabrielle had done, she could understand why.

‘Turn left here,’ Thomas said, as they reached the edge of the woods. ‘The track is rough, but the cart will make it if you are careful.’

It was an understatement. It took all Kitty’s efforts to retain her seat and several times she grabbed Jack’s coat sleeve to save herself as they bumped their way between the trees. The only consolation was that they were now out of the sun and it was cooler. After several more concisely given directions they reached a clearing and there before them was a tiny cottage, dappled in sunlight.

They stopped in front of it and the Captain jumped down. ‘Here we are, safe as houses.’

Jack climbed down and turned to Kitty, holding out his hands to help her. ‘Come, my dear. This is as far as we go for the moment.’

She grasped his hand and jumped straight into his arms. After the relief of being rescued and sitting so long on the hard bench, she felt weak at the knees and unable to stand.

He held her for a moment longer than he needed to, savouring the feel of her small body against his, wishing he could claim it, to make love to her, to tell her she need never be afraid again. But that was foolish; they had a long way still to go and heaven knew what dangers still faced them. If only he could keep her safe. He had to, whatever it cost. She was dearer than life to him. He bent to put a kiss on her untidy curls and then released her.

‘Come inside,’ Thomas called to them from the door.

The little cottage was very primitive, having only one room downstairs, with a lean-to addition at the back, but it was clean and warm and the food Thomas prepared, though simple, was
good and hot. Jack would not allow her to speak until she had eaten her fill, by which time she was feeling decidedly sleepy, although it was barely dusk.

‘Did you sleep last night?’ Jack asked, smiling at her.

‘No. There was no room to lie down and too much to think about.’

‘Then it’s time you went to bed.’ He reached out his hand towards her.

‘But what about James …?’

‘Leave your brother to us. Come along.’

It had been a long day. She had lived through terror and isolation even in the crowded cell, had felt herself slowly giving up hope. And then there had been the immeasurable relief at seeing Jack waiting for her, followed by that bone-shaking ride which had numbed her bottom. And meeting Captain Trent and eating and drinking while the two men talked generalities and never once mentioned their plans. It was all too much.

She took Jack’s proffered hand and allowed him to lead her across the room to a narrow staircase which led up to the loft. ‘Up you go.’

He followed as she climbed the stairs. There was only one room which contained a narrow bed and very little else. She stared at it, then turned to face him, noticing how tired he looked. His face seemed grey and the lines about his mouth and on his forehead were more pronounced, though his eyes still seemed able to see deep into hers and winkle out whatever thoughts she might be trying to keep hidden.

And the thoughts she were trying to hide were shameful. She wanted him to sleep with her, to hold her and make love to her, and she knew if they shared a bed again, it would happen. Since they had been at the château, they had behaved correctly towards each other, putting on a semblance of gentility with their good clothes, bowing and referring to each other by their titles and
avoiding being alone together. Which was as it should be, she told herself, but it put a distance between them.

‘You may have the bed,’ she said. ‘You need it more than I do. I shall go downstairs. There is a settle …’

She turned to go down but he grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him. His own emotions were so ragged, he could only control them with levity, by teasing her; he could not handle tenderness, not now, not yet. ‘No. You will have my friend Thomas wondering what sort of a wife you are if you cannot be pleased to see me after the ordeal you have endured.’

‘You are despicable!’ Why, after all the time they had been together, she should choose this particular moment to think about propriety, she did not know.

‘You would rather I had left you to the mercy of Madame Guillotine?’

‘No, of course not. I am grateful for your timely rescue, but that doesn’t mean I am prepared to … to …’ She stopped because he was doubled up with mirth. ‘What are you laughing at?’

‘My poor dear Kitty, we travelled three hundred miles and spent—how many nights was it?—on the road, often in the same bed, what is so different now?’

She wanted to say, Because now I know I love you, because now I know that what I want most is to be your wife in reality and not just pretend, that if I lie beside you, I should surely give myself away. Because you are married and love your wife and I could never respect a man who betrayed his wife with me, however much I loved him. And because you are a nobleman and I am nothing, a nobody. Instead she said, ‘That was an expediency for the duration of our journey—’

‘Which is not yet ended. In fact, this is less than halfway. The second half will, I hope, take us back to England.’

‘Us? You mean you are coming too?’ She could not keep the pleasure from her voice.

‘Yes.’

‘And we go on as before?’

‘How can we? Things are different …’

‘Yes,’ she said. Did he mean different in the same way that she meant it? ‘Tomorrow, James will come and …’

‘And what will James do? Will he be able to make everything right again? James says he loves Nanette and wants to take her to England.’

‘She told me she would not leave her parents,’ she said.

‘Then James might want to stay here.’

‘It is too dangerous.’

‘Love conquers all, you said that yourself, or something very similar.’

She looked up at him then and he thought his heart would burst. She was extremely pale; there was no colour in her cheeks and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes and tears glistening on her lashes. He reached out and wiped them away with the back of his forefinger.

‘What are you trying to tell me?’ she asked. ‘That I have been on a wild goose chase? Do you think I don’t know that? I know I never should have come. I know I should have turned back at Calais. Judith would still be alive if I had. And even after you rescued me the first time, I could have said I did not want to go on to Lyons. It was not too late to turn back.’

‘Yes, it was. There was no one to accompany you, not even Judith, and I could not return with my mission unaccomplished …’

‘Intelligence gathering?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Finding James seemed to be the only solution.’

‘And now you are telling me it was not?’

‘I am telling you that, for me, there was no alternative. From the moment you stepped ashore at Calais, our lives were inextricably linked.’ He smiled wearily. ‘Call it fate, if you like.’

He possessed himself of her hands and drew her to sit on the bed beside him. ‘Now, let us have no more teasing because I want to talk to you very seriously and I want you to understand.’

‘I am listening.’

‘Play-acting is all very well here in France where we are not known and where everyone is more concerned with their own lives than with propriety, but what happens when we return to England? Had you thought of that? You have spent days and nights in my company unchaperoned—what do you think that will do for your reputation and how will your grandfather, the Viscount, react, do you suppose? Will he cut James off? Will he turn your uncle from his living?’

‘He would surely not punish them for something I have done?’

‘Mud sticks, my dear.’

‘Oh, that is so hypercritical. And it isn’t fair. James has done nothing wrong. And neither have we.’

He smiled. Was she being deliberately naive? ‘Will anyone believe that?’

‘Perhaps not, but as I have no intention of going home, not to Beresford …’

‘Then where will you go?’

‘I shall find somewhere. You need not concern yourself about me.’

‘No? What do you think I have been doing these past six months?’

‘Six months? Is it as long as that?’

‘January to July. I am sure it must seem a lifetime to you …’

‘No, it seems shorter.’ She spoke softly, not daring to look up at him. ‘You have looked after me so well, I hardly noticed the days passing.’

‘Some would say otherwise. Some would say I had ill used you.’ He knew he should have found some other way, he should not have insisted on her playing his wife, or on sharing a room.
The first night he had done it to drive home his message that she was not safe alone, which was true. The second night, he had sat in a chair by the hearth, listening to her tossing and turning and crying out in her sleep. Once, he fancied she had called his name. And he had answered her, gone to take her in his arms, to comfort her, sleeping beside her. He had known what he was doing; she had not.

‘Jack, please don’t make it sound sordid when it was nothing of the sort. What you did was good and chivalrous …’

He laughed harshly. ‘Chivalrous! Chivalrous to share a room, sometimes a bed …’

‘You did it for my protection. I had nightmares …’ She shuddered. ‘You have no idea how bad they were. Thanks to you they are far less frequent now and not half as frightening.’

‘For heaven’s sake, don’t make me into some kind of saint. I am nothing of the sort.’

‘Jack, I am very tired. Please tell me what all this talk is leading to.’

‘A way out of our dilemma,’ he said, stroking the back of her hand idly with his thumb. ‘You could marry me. I mean a real marriage, not this charade we have been playing.’

‘Marriage!’ She was so startled she pulled her hands from his and gaped at him. He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘Are you mad? Or is bigamy accepted in this Godforsaken country now?’

‘Bigamy?’

She laughed shrilly. ‘Had you forgotten you are married? I believe her name is Gabrielle. Nanette told me all about her. She said you were devoted to each other.’

‘Gabrielle is dead,’ he said flatly. ‘She died last year.’

‘Oh.’ She was so shocked she could not go on, but pulled herself together quickly. ‘I didn’t know. Oh, Jack, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.’

‘There is nothing to forgive.’

‘When did you find out? How did it happen?’

‘She went to the guillotine. I learned of it while we were in Paris. Now we will talk of her no more.’

‘Of course. I can see it is a painful subject. But how can you talk of marriage to me? You do not love me and …’

‘What has love to do with it?’ he broke in before she could force a confession out of him. How could he tell her that ever since he had saved her from that hanging, perhaps even before that, the one thing he had wanted was to make love to her? That his desire that been overwhelming and could only be controlled by teasing her or being harsh with her?

He wanted to marry her, to have her legitimately in his bed. And James, hearing how they had come this far without a chaperon of any kind, had insisted on it. ‘My sister is an innocent,’ he had said when Jack finally caught up with him two days before. ‘She doesn’t understand that she can never go back to England unmarried. You must make an honest wife of her.’

Jack did not need to be told; it had been occupying his mind for some time and the solution he had offered was the only one. It was also the one he most wanted. She was looking at him now, hurt and puzzlement in her lovely eyes, and a dash of anger too. He could hardly bear it.

‘Is this another tease?’

‘No, far from it. I am in deadly earnest.’ He retrieved her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, that was not the most romantic of proposals, but you must know me by now. I am not a romantic man, and the circumstances are hardly conducive to tender declarations. Perhaps if we were in England …’

‘If we were in England,’ she snapped, ‘I would not even entertain such a proposal.’

It was such a set-down, he gave up the struggle to redeem himself, but neither could he withdraw the proposal. ‘Then let us come to an amicable agreement,’ he said brusquely. ‘We will marry tomorrow. Thomas will fetch the
curé
and he and James can be witnesses. And though I do not hold with breaking marriage
vows, I shall raise no objection if you decide to ask for an annulment after we arrive safely in England.’

She was staring at him as if he had run mad and he supposed he had, mad enough to think they might be able to find happiness together in spite of the circumstances. ‘Think about it,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Think about the alternatives and give me your answer tomorrow.’ Then he bent to kiss the top of her head and left her.

He joined his friend downstairs. The roadmender was sitting by the hearth, smoking a clay pipe, but knocked it out on the fender when he saw Jack. ‘All is well?’

‘I think so. What do you think happened to James?’ Jack asked, taking a seat at the table. ‘He should have been here hours ago. Do you think there’s trouble up at the château?’

‘Could be. After all, the guards know you are related to the Marquis and if they think you are in the area …’

‘By me, you mean Jack Chiltern, not Jacques Faucon?’

‘Either. The two will be connected before long. You can’t afford to hang about waiting for someone who may never come.’

‘Kitty won’t go without him. Not willingly.’

‘Then you’ll have to make her. Marry her or something.’ Thomas stood up and pocketed his pipe. ‘I’ll take the horse and see if I can find out what is happening. If I ride over the top of the hill, it should only take a couple of hours. But whether I come back or not, you must leave at dawn.’

He went from the room, leaving Jack with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. It had been a nerve-racking day and he was exhausted. So was Kitty and he should have waited until they had both had a good night’s sleep before proposing to her. He had handled it very badly, stressing the practical arguments instead of opening his heart to her. ‘I am not a romantic man.’ He grimaced as he remembered his words.