The Duke's Daughter (28 page)

The first time it happened, Avery put it down to Lucy being overtired. The strain of the long journey to Paris and their ongoing disagreement was beginning to take its toll on her.

The night following their fight, they made quick, perfunctory love. As soon as it was over, Lucy rolled over onto her side and faced away from him. Avery thought it odd, but accepted that she had been in a peculiar mood all day. His apology for their blistering row, followed by him coming back to their room drunk in the early hours, had been accepted with a curt nod of the head.

She had every reason to be angry with him. He had no right to take his frustrations out on her. Lucy had been nothing but supportive of him throughout their trip to France.

When it happened the second night, he lay in the dark listening to Lucy’s breathing, seeking the telltale signs that she was asleep. Her breathing, however, remained steady; barely a whisper. She was awake.

And then it hit him.

Lucy had ceased to curl up against his back at night and whisper ‘I love you’ since the day they had met with Madame Rochet. She had said little of what she thought of his revelations regarding Pascal Rochet. Under the withering gaze of Pascal’s mother he had revealed far more than he ever intended. Lucy now knew much of the vicious and desperate struggle which had taken place that fateful day. He prayed she did not judge him a monster.

Since giving up the watch he had retreated into his self-contained existence, the only place he felt safe in a world he sensed judged him daily.

‘You are a Fox and everyone knows Foxes have no honour.’

The words of taunt thrown at him long ago by Thaxter still rang in his ears. Every day he wondered if he would ever feel like a true man of honour. How he could conceive of ever being a good husband when he felt like this was beyond his comprehension.

What was not beyond his understanding was the gnawing sensation that Lucy was slowly, irretrievably pulling away from him. Day by day, trapped in his private world of self-recrimination, he watched her retreat. Saw the pain in her pale blue eyes.

He was losing her.

Reaching out in their moonlit bed, he touched her hair. She shivered and pulled the blankets up around her neck, blocking him from any further physical contact.

The words were on the tip of his tongue. He knew he should tell her.

Lucy had given everything to him, and he had taken it. Greedily. Now as he stared at his wife’s back, the fear that she had reached the end of her generosity filled him with dread.

His wife was from a family where love was central to all their lives. He could not recall having ever loved anyone. Whatever emotions he might have felt for his long-dead mother were shadows of memory. Until Lucy, no one had ever loved him. Lucy had been brave enough to speak the words, but never once had he been man enough to offer up his own unbidden words of love. Never truly declared himself to her.

He was a fraud.

After lying on his back for a frustrating hour staring at the ceiling while sleep eluded him, Avery finally gave up and climbed out of bed. He dressed and left the hotel. He would seek the numbness of oblivion in the bottom of a whisky bottle.

‘Why are you here?’

William Saunders threw himself lazily onto the couch opposite. Avery looked down at the whisky glass in his hand and tried to ignore him.

‘I don’t think that is any of your business, Saunders. I do not answer to you,’ he bit back.

Will sighed. ‘Nor, apparently, to your wife. So who do you answer to, Mr Fox? Tell me; I am intrigued to know.’

Avery shook his head. He was three drinks into what he planned to be a long night. Why he was seated in the Café de Foy was anyone’s guess. He had a perfectly good hotel in which to get drunk. But the cafe was crowded and afforded him a greater sense of anonymity than the hotel where the staff all knew him by name.

He put the glass down. The cafe was only a quarter of a mile from the Hotel Meurice, but he knew Lucy would not venture out to find him.

He had admitted that much to himself, at least. He was hiding from his wife, because he didn’t know how to face her. He was a coward.

‘Have you come to lecture me once more on my marriage, because I don’t think you, as an unmarried man, have any right to preach to me. When you too have a wife, then perhaps I might listen,’ he replied angrily.

Who the devil was William Saunders to wade into his private matters?

‘I had one; she died,’ Will replied flatly.

Avery picked up the whisky glass and drained its contents down his throat.

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied.

‘So am I.’ Will got to his feet. ‘Come with me.’

From the way he spoke, it was not a request. Avery knew an order when he heard one. He rose from the chair and, after putting on his coat, followed Will to the door of the cafe.

‘Merci, Monsieur Lacerte,’ Will said, shaking the maître d’hôtel’s hand. Monsieur Lacerte bowed and put his hand in his pocket. Avery looked away, shamed to know that the very man who had been serving drinks to him for the past two hours was a spy in the employ of William Saunders.

Outside, Will stopped in the cool night air and put on his hat.

‘Sorry, old man, but I had the feeling you might revisit the cafe. Let’s walk.’

He headed down Rue de Richelieu in the direction of the River Seine. Avery hesitated. Will turned and beckoned him on.

Before they reached the turn at Rue de Petits Champs, Will turned into a small, poorly lit alleyway. Avery followed, but with a growing sense of unease.

A few yards inside the alleyway, Avery could discern the figures of couples huddled in doorways. From the groans of the men and the giggles of the women, he realised he was in a local haunt of Paris’s streetwalkers.

He stopped.

The idea of going back to his hotel suite and crawling into bed beside Lucy after seeing what was going on made him feel nauseous. In another time, another life, he might well have taken the opportunity to select one of these ladies to share his company. But not now.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ he demanded.

Will beckoned to one of the ladies of the night. After handing her some coins he escorted her over.

‘I thought you might like . . .’ He turned to the girl and spoke to her in a rough Parisian accent. She said something which Avery did not understand. Will simply nodded.

‘Her name is Colette, but she said she is happy to be whoever you wish her to be.’

Colette sidled up to Avery and stroked her fingers down his arm.

‘Monsieur,’ she purred.

Avery took hold of Colette’s hand and firmly pushed it away.

‘I don’t need this, for God’s sake, Saunders, I have a wife!’ he snapped.

Will shook his head and the girl backed away, still smiling. It was the easiest coin she would make all evening.

‘Why have you brought me to such a place? How could you do this to Lucy?’ he demanded.

Will rounded on Avery and punched his fist hard into his chest.

‘Because you spend your days sulking in your hotel room and your nights drinking yourself to oblivion. Since you neglect your beautiful bride the rest of the time, I assumed you would be the sort to indulge in this kind of activity. I was merely doing you a favour by showing where you could find a suitable, clean girl,’ he replied.

‘Then you know nothing of me,’ Avery bit back.

It was taking every ounce of his self-control not to grab Will by the throat and throttle him there and then on the spot.

He began to walk back toward the main street. He didn’t need Will’s help to find his way home.

Once he reached Rue de Petits Champs he turned and waited for Will. Anger coursed through his veins. He wasn’t finished with William Saunders. No man branded him an adulterer without consequences.

‘I should give you a damn good thrashing,’ he said as Will caught up with him.

‘Only if I can knock a bit of sense into you in the process. Subtlety does not seem to work on you, Avery. That girl was just a more direct approach,’ Will replied.

Avery sighed. ‘I am a Yorkshireman, we prefer plain speech. I don’t understand your riddles, so out with it, man.’

Will nodded. ‘All right, but not here. Not everyone on the streets of Paris at this time of night is as friendly or accommodating as Colette. We can talk back at your hotel.’

Back at the hotel, the night porter indulged them with a bottle of wine and the promise that they would not be disturbed.

‘I’m sorry if you think I misjudged you earlier. I was merely testing you,’ Will said.

The anger still burned within Avery. No matter how things stood between him and Lucy, he would not break his commitment to their marriage.

Not now.

Weeks earlier, he had been ready to throw away their union, to give her the freedom she asked of him. But now, even as he stood on the verge of losing her, he determined to fight to retain what was his. Whatever lay between them, what he had with Lucy was more than he had ever had before in his life.

‘Forget about it. But don’t you dare make mention of this evening’s misadventure to Lucy. I don’t want to cause her further distress,’ he replied.

Will replied to Avery’s words with a derisive snort.

‘You say you don’t want to hurt Lucy, and yet from where I continue to sit, all you do is cause her pain. Frankly, Avery, you are a self-centred, selfish ass.’

‘Well ––’

Will slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair.

‘I’m not finished! All you have done since you got to Paris is bellyache about yourself and your precious honour. You’ve allowed yourself to remain blind to the ongoing anguish you cause your wife. Damn it, man, she loves you, but you surely don’t deserve it.’

Avery put down his untouched glass of wine and slowly got to his feet. Controlled rage seethed through his body.

‘Thank you for a most illuminating evening, Mr Saunders, goodnight.’

‘Avery?’ Will said, still seated in his chair.

Avery turned. His mind vacillated between listening to Will’s parting words, and punching him swiftly in the head.

‘Yes?’

‘You asked me a few days ago how you could ever repay me for helping to save your life. I’ve settled on my price.’

‘What?’

Will closed his eyes and sat silent for a moment.

‘Pascal Rochet is dead but you are not. Leave the past behind. Bury it here in Paris. Go home to England and make a happy life for yourself with Lucy.’

Avery crept quietly into the hotel suite.

It was late. The clock in the hotel lobby had read three as he passed it on his way to the staircase.

He closed the door silently behind him and crossed to the chair near Lucy’s side of the bed. Not wanting to climb into bed beside her just yet, he was content to sit and watch her. She had left the curtains of their room open and the moonlight shone on her long, flaxen hair.

He smiled. One thing he and Will did agree upon was Lucy’s beauty. Her soft English complexion and rosy lips had him enthralled.

She snuffled in her sleep. There were so many unique things about his wife he was just beginning to appreciate.

Brushing his fingers over the top of the chocolate-brown felt of his hat, which sat in his lap, he pondered his lot. His clothing, finely cut, fitted elegantly to his form. He had more money to his name than he had ever possessed before. He was set for life.

He put the hat aside. To know Lucy loved him was a privilege beyond mere worldly possessions. Happiness. Contentment. Joy.

Even thinking the words seemed like speaking a foreign tongue.

He had spent his whole life hiding from any form of emotional connection. Until Lucy came into his life, he had prided himself on being able to exclude all but the simplest of emotions in his heart.

The loss of army comrades over the years had elicited the occasional temporary sensation of grief, but otherwise, safe in his heavily fortified castle, no one had ever breached his thick outer walls. And yet here Lucy was, the beautiful enemy at his gate. A girl prepared to lay siege to his heart and starve him out. She didn’t need a wall-wrecking cannon, she simply laid down her arms and waited.

William, damn him, was right. Lucy deserved to be loved. Any man who didn’t love, desire and crave her heart was a madman.

But how?

How, after a lifetime of being alone, could he truly open himself to the concept of happiness? Dourness was at times his only trusted friend.

Lucy rolled over in her sleep. Her hand reached out across the bed. Searching. Yearning for him. Still held in the depths of slumber, she gave a small mew of disappointment.

In an instant Avery was up, out of the chair and hurriedly ridding himself of his clothing. He slid beneath the blankets and took hold of Lucy’s hand, placing it over his heart. She snuffled once more in her sleep and he felt the warmth of her left leg as she wrapped it over his. She locked him in place, ensuring he would not be leaving their bed again this night.

He smiled.

She might have been the victor, but he was a willing captive to her army.

‘Bind me in chains and never let me go,’ he whispered into her hair.

Her hand slowly drifted down from his chest, over his stomach and came to rest on his manhood. Lucy shifted lower in the bed and Avery felt himself go hard in the knowledge that she was now awake.

She took him in hand and slowly began to rouse him with long, skilful strokes. As he lay back in the bed and allowed her to indulge him, Avery was struck with the answer to his question.

He didn’t have to fight for happiness. All he had to do was open the door and let it in. He rolled over and filled her with one long, deep thrust.

In the dark, Lucy raised her hips, taking him deep inside her body.

‘Love me,’ she murmured.

When Avery woke in the dawn light he rolled over and came to Lucy. Brushing her sleep-tussled hair from her face, he kissed her lips.

‘Good morning, wife,’ he said.

He was determined that today would be the beginning of something different. A new dawn for them.

‘Come on, time to get up and head out,’ he said, dragging his reluctant wife from their bed a short while later.

‘Why?’ she replied.

‘Because you and I need to escape this hotel suite and see Paris together. The city awaits. There are churches and monuments to explore. And I’m certain there are shops you wish me to visit.’

She frowned and her gaze fell upon her travel trunk. She had had the hotel maids pack it. It was evident to her mind that their departure from Paris was imminent.

He snorted. They were not going anywhere until matters between them had been resolved. Until Lucy finally understood that she now possessed his heart.

‘Are you sure you want to?’ Lucy replied.

Avery pulled her to him, planting a hasty but sure kiss on her lips. When Lucy tried to pull away, he held her to him. Today he would counter no arguments. He was going to seize the day.

‘Yes. I have much to atone for after the way I have treated you. Besides, when we arrived I promised to take you on a tour of Notre Dame. Having sat and stared at the top of the western facade most days since we have been here, it is time I made an effort to see it up close. We need to visit it together.’

Appealing to Lucy’s love of all things historical was one way he planned to get on her good side. His wife was both beautiful and intelligent. If his luck held, she would soon understand what he was trying to tell her.

‘Fine. We shall do a little tour of the city. I must admit I have been rather keen to see Notre Dame; I have read so much about it. Will offered to take me, but I told him I wanted to share it especially with you.’

Ever-loyal Lucy had kept something of Paris just for the two of them. Avery felt ten feet tall. He quickly dressed and put on his coat.

‘Good, then that is settled. A day spent together sightseeing in Paris. I have an early appointment this morning, but I shan’t be too long. I shall see you downstairs in an hour,’ he said.

As he opened the door to their room he turned and gave her a hopeful smile.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

When Lucy finally met Avery downstairs, she greeted him with a warm smile. Hope flared in his heart. He quickly rose from the armchair and put down the week-old copy of
The Times
he had been attempting to read. With his thoughts now centred on Lucy, he had absorbed little of the news from home.

‘You look so beautiful. I promise to make today very special for you,’ he murmured.

As they passed the office of the hotel concierge, he gave the night porter a sly nod.

The man, who was just coming off duty, bowed deeply before rushing to the front door and holding it open.

‘Monsieur Fox, Lady Fox. I hope you have a wonderful day today,’ he said.

Stepping out into the September sunshine, Avery offered Lucy his hand as she climbed up into an open-topped carriage. She sat down in the seat facing toward the front and quickly threw a blanket over her skirts to keep warm.

Avery stifled a grin when she scowled at him as he sat beside her and pulled the carriage blanket over his knees.

‘A gentleman is supposed to sit in the seat opposite a lady,’ she said.

‘You must remember that I am no gentleman, only an earl in training. Besides, I want to sit next to you; it gives me the opportunity to do this,’ he replied, slipping his hand under the blanket and stroking his hand along her thigh.

Without a moment’s thought for where they were or who could see, he pressed a warm kiss on her cheek. Let the world watch and say whatever it pleased. Convincing Lucy of the sincerity of his words was all that mattered.

‘So where are we headed to first?’ she asked.

Avery rapped his knuckles on the top of the seat in front and the driver instantly urged his horses on.

‘I was thinking the Arc de Triomphe first, since it is a long way from the hotel. Then a picnic lunch along the river, before a visit to the cathedral. After that, who knows where the afternoon will take us,’ he replied.

If matters went according to plan, their day would end with them both in a state of serious undress in their hotel room, Lucy hot and sated in his arms.

‘Did you know Napoleon had a wooden version of the Arc built just so he could parade under it? Foolish man,’ Lucy said.

She and Avery were standing on the side of the Avenue des Champs Elysées looking at the partially built stone Arc de Triomphe. When finished it would be a masterpiece of architecture.

Avery shook his head.

‘He has been many things, but a fool is not one of them. There is a very good reason why he is held captive on the remote island of Saint Helena,’ he replied.

‘Really? He lost at Waterloo.’

‘Waterloo was a near-run thing. Too many of the allies didn’t take it seriously until the battle had actually commenced. While we were camped out in the cold and mud, the social elite were holding balls and parties.’

Lucy pursed her lips. She knew many of those who had attended the Duchess of Richmond’s famous ball on the eve of the battle at Quatre Bras. In her youthful exuberance she had once thought it all rather dashing. Now, hearing how the soldiers in the field viewed it, she felt differently.

He reached out and took hold of her hand. She trembled. All morning he had been so attentive and affectionate she didn’t know what to make of him. Where was the angry, closed man who had shared her life for the past weeks? Making love earlier that morning, she sensed something different about him, but she had lost the thought in the throes of passion.

He kissed her fingertips. Even through the fabric of her gloves she felt the heat of his mouth.

‘I am just so glad you survived,’ she murmured.

‘So am I. Otherwise I would never have known you.’

The morning spent travelling the streets of Paris was one which would forever remain etched in her memories. For someone who had never before visited the French capital, she was surprised as to the amount of knowledge she had managed to accumulate through her reading.

Whenever they reached a point where the conversation touched on the recent war, she gently steered matters to a more neutral subject. Even as she attempted to maintain an emotional distance between Avery and herself, her thoughts continually came back to him.

When the subject of Waterloo came up once more, she stopped mid-sentence, and cast him a wary look.

‘Go on, I am interested to hear about it,’ he encouraged.

She made tentative mention of Will and his role during the war, stopping when Avery held up his hand.

‘We must protect Will,’ he said.

The carriage drew up at one end of the Petit Pont Bridge, close to Notre Dame Cathedral. Avery quickly opened the carriage door. As soon as her feet hit the pavement and she looked up, Lucy let out an appreciative sigh.

‘I have managed to catch a peek of the rooftop from our hotel room, but to stand and see the whole magnificent edifice takes my breath away. Have you ever seen anything so splendid in your life?’ she exclaimed.

He chuckled.

‘I prefer my magnificence in human form,’ he replied.

She gave him a quizzical look. He was up to something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. There was an unexpected tenderness about him this morning, something which she had never seen before. Her heart stirred with hope.

‘Where do you want to start?’ she asked.

They began to walk toward the main entrance. A little way short of the main door, he stopped.

‘I am happy for you to tell me everything, and I mean everything that you know about the cathedral. On one condition.’

‘Hmm?’

‘First, you have to come and share the luncheon picnic I have especially arranged for us. If the basket does not come back empty, I am certain the hotel’s chef will be disappointed.’

He steered her toward the riverbank. At the bottom of a series of stone steps, a table and chairs had been set up. Standing beside the table was a waiter, liveried in the colours of the Hotel Le Meurice.

When she smiled, she saw her own joy reflected back in Avery’s face. Her heart leapt with anticipation. Today had been one of constant surprises and delight.

‘Avery, what a sweet gesture; you shouldn’t have,’ she whispered, her voice breaking.

‘Actually, I should. And I promise to do more things like it from now on,’ he replied.

As soon as they took their seats, the waiter poured them both a glass of champagne. Lucy held her glass in her hand, welling up with tears once more as Avery made a short speech.

‘To you, Lucy, my wife. I hope that we are able to look back upon today and remember fondly that this was where our life together truly began,’ he said.

Words failed Lucy as she sipped her champagne. Whatever had transpired to bring Avery to her, she was at a loss to understand, but she was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Were the gods finally smiling upon her?

They sat overlooking the waters of the River Seine, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching the boats sailing by. After a wonderful lunch of poached salmon, served with
aligot
and green beans, the waiter produced a chocolate pudding, which made them both smile.

‘I am beginning to think it would have been a terrible mistake for me to come and live in Paris. I should have been the size of a small cow within weeks with all this wonderful food,’ Lucy said. Avery nodded as he licked the delicious, rich chocolate sauce from his spoon. When the last of the champagne was gone, they made their way back up the embankment stairs to the cathedral.

Avery watched as Lucy rattled off a comprehensive list of details about the cathedral. So detailed was her knowledge of Notre Dame, he wondered if there was anyone else in the city of Paris who knew as much as she did.

‘Did you know there used to be a tall belltower spire on the cathedral, but it was taken down in the last century? I’ve seen sketches of it. I wonder if someday they will rebuild it.’

When she turned and looked at him, an easy smile found its way to his lips.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he replied.

Sometime during Lucy’s dissertation he had stopped hearing her words. It was his heart which had his full attention. It had finally spoken.

The realisation that he loved her was not completely earth-shattering. He had suspected he was falling in love with her long before they set sail for France. At the Key he had felt the first stirrings of what had been for him an unknown emotion.

His whole life he had stifled any thought of joy. Stuffed it back down inside, locked it away. A miserable childhood, followed by years of hardship and war, had left him wary of people who found delight in life.