The general staff and war office would go unscathed. Not so the English army that was down to less than thirteen thousand troop strength from the original twenty-one thousand soldiers who had landed at Kalamita Bay in September. Aurore was right when she’d said that England would lose the war if not for the French.
The French army was one hundred twenty thousand strong, well equipped, well fed, well housed. Famous chefs had organized the menu and camp kitchens, recruited the cooks and ordered the food stuffs for the army. The uniforms had been designed for the cold and ordered in vast quantities, French arms were equally abundant, their tents as well superior to anything the English had.
The French army never went without food, nor had they slept in summer-weight, ragged uniforms in muddy trenches without blankets like the poor, suffering English troops.
The sheer horror of the English soldiers’ living conditions was the main reason Darley had volunteered his time and expertise. The English army needed all the help they could get. And for months, he and his men had supplied Cattley and Raglan with a steady supply of critical intelligence.
Until now.
He felt as though he’d come to some inexplicable crossroad in his life.
It was a thoroughly illogical feeling.
Or at least one he’d not felt for a very long time.
The last time he’d stood at a crossroad was in Parma eighteen years ago.
Softly swearing, he shut his eyes and willed himself to think less painful thoughts. He’d soon see his family; that would be agreeable. And tonight, he’d be sleeping in his own bed on his yacht. There was the prospect of Aurore’s company as well—a not unpleasant consideration.
Then spring was in the air as well—an added pleasure.
He could feel his tension ease in some small measure.
Perhaps fate had taken a hand in all that had befallen them.
Or maybe it was simply time to move on.
Exhausted in body and spirit, largely sleepless since he couldn’t remember when, the warm sun and gentle breezes tranquilizing, he dozed off.
When Aurore walked out on the front portico, she stood for a moment, watching him. He lay sprawled on his back on the warm marble—the scratched, worn leather of his breeches and boots, his dark linen shirt, his weapons tucked under his belt, pistols fastidiously oiled, kinjal large and lethal, all proclaimed him a Caucasus mountain man—a warrior.
She noticed that some woman had lovingly embroidered red stylized horsemen within the frame of entwined initials on the yoke of his shirt, and Aurore was surprised at the pang of jealousy she felt thinking of it. How foolish that would be, she decided, with a man like Gazi—she smiled…Darley. An English lord. She wasn’t used to it yet.
He slept with his arms over his head like a child at peace.
Not that he had anything of the child in his beautiful, stark visage.
Nor in his strong, virile body.
But she liked that he felt at ease on her porch.
She liked a great deal about him—when she shouldn’t.
No sensible woman should. That first night in Sevastopol, he’d said that he’d been wandering the world for eighteen years—remained unattached for eighteen years. A man like that wasn’t likely to change.
Although why she was even thinking such thoughts was ludicrous.
She would find Etienne in Eupatoria and bid this English lord adieu.
There. Reality.
She thought she and Etienne might settle in Istanbul for now. It was a compromise; far enough away to possibly thwart the Third Section, yet close enough to quickly return home should the war end well for them.
She had also forgiven Gazi…Darley—really she must get that right—for his part in her flight. He couldn’t have helped what happened at Adlberg’s, no more than he could help that the war still presented risks for them all. She would have gone to find Count Adlberg’s dispatch regardless. In truth, he’d probably saved her life.
Or at least partially saved her. She liked to think she could have talked her way out of the predicament if she’d been discovered in Adlberg’s study. She had lied convincingly many times before in her role as spy for Pelissier. It helped to be a woman—a hapless, flighty woman who wandered into places she shouldn’t.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
She looked down and found him smiling up at her.
“I was thinking how much I’m looking forward to sleeping tonight.”
“You’re ready then.” He came to his feet, all grace and supple muscle.
“Yes, ready.”
A small silence fell, only the sound of the waves washing against the shore faintly heard.
“You haven’t changed clothes.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She’d been tired and he was in a hurry.
“No, of course not. Are the horses in back?”
She nodded, and he offered her his arm with the casual charm she knew now wasn’t part of his role but intrinsic to the man. With equal urbanity, he engaged her in conversation of the most banal nature as they made their way down the stairs and around the side of the house to the back.
He helped her mount like he had so many times before, sprang in his saddle with his usual ease and with her carriage and luggage following in their wake, they rode to Balaclava.
They could very well be under scrutiny on their journey to the harbor, but the area was awash with Allied military. He wasn’t concerned for their safety.
But he understood that the Third Section’s reach was long.
He wasn’t fool enough to think they would be forgotten.
Chapter 19
Darley and Aurore were observed from the shore as they were rowed out to Darley’s yacht. Kubitovitch’s deputies were efficient—or more to the point, numerous. The harbor was only one of many sites being watched.
As their launch pulled alongside the yacht, Aurore saw that Darley had named his vessel Argo, the name painted in Greek letters on the prow. Had it been named before or after Parma, she wondered? After, he would have said had she asked, the sleek 120-foot corvette constructed in 1838—although it had been retrofitted several times since. The latest refinement was a recent conversion to screw-propulsion. With their schedule no longer tied to the winds, the run time from Balaclava to Istanbul had been much improved.
An asset considering the yacht’s recent missions.
As the launch came to rest at the base of the gangway, Darley lifted Aurore onto the stairs. The sea was becalmed, making it possible to ascend the stairway with ease. Was this an omen, she reflected. Did placid seas auger a tranquil voyage and possibly a tolerable exile?
On nearing the top of the gangway, however, any notions of tranquility were dispelled as an increasing clamor reached her ears. And stepping onto the gunwale a moment later, she stood transfixed.
No tranquility here. Chaos and tumult instead.
The deck was a mass of cots and makeshift awnings from fore to aft, starboard to port, the cots filled with wounded soldiers, while scores of doctors and nurses ministered to their needs. The sight of so many mangled, ravaged bodies brought back memories of Etienne’s ordeal in the hospital at Sevastopol, the soft anguished cries beneath the din of activity all too familiar.
“Welcome aboard, my lady.”
Jolted from her reverie she saw a wiry, red-haired man in a plain blue jacket devoid of embellishment or insignia offering her his hand. As she stepped down to the deck, she heard Darley say behind her, “Good afternoon, Harris. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Aye, my lord. And you as well.” The two men shook hands a moment later, a smile creasing the captain’s leathery cheeks. “Still have all your limbs intact, I see.”
“Just barely. We’ve recently outrun the gallows. Allow me to introduce Miss Clement. Miss Clement, Captain Harris.”
“Pleased to meet ye, my dear. I heard things were heating up for spy folk inland. We’re locked up right and tight here. No Russkies aboard. Those
blackguards—and there be a right passel o’ them ashore”—he indicated the docks with a jerk of his head—“can just cool their heels, eh, my lord?”
Darley grinned. “That’s the current plan.” He shot a glance at the crowded deck. “We’re full up I see.”
“To the gunwales, sir. We were about to sail when I received your message.”
“Excellent timing then. Miss Clement will be using my cabin. Have her things carried there.”
“Beg pardon, sir. But there’s ten men in your cabin. The worst of them, sir,” the captain added under his breath. “Lost legs, the lot of ’em.”
“Then we’ll find some other quarters for Miss Clement.”
“Anywhere, really,” Aurore said, surveying the multitude before her. “I’ll be quite comfortable in any corner at all.”
Darley had other plans, but he only said, “Harris will manage something, won’t you, Harris.”
“Yes, sir, not a problem, sir. I’ll put Tait on it.”
While his crew brought aboard Aurore’s luggage, Darley escorted Aurore to the officer’s wardroom and offered her a chair. “Let me have the cook bring you tea while I go and pay my respects to the medical staff.”
“I’ll go with you. We’ll have tea later.”
He found he liked the thought of having tea with her later. This from a man who didn’t drink tea. But she would be keeping him company, which made all the difference. And no doubt cook had some brandy on hand.
Since Darley hadn’t answered, Aurore quirked one brow. “Is it my clothes? I could change.”
“No, no…no one stands on ceremony here. I was thinking about the tide,” he lied. “Come, I’ll introduce you. I have a marvelous medical staff. Scottish.” He smiled. “They’re the best. Exemplary education, no nonsense, scrupulously clean in their surgeries. Their recovery rate is outstanding.”
“How did you happen to involve yourself in this?” she asked as they walked down the passageway.
“How could I not? When Cardigan slept on his yacht every night while his soldiers died in the cold and mud, I felt like throttling him—vile beast. But I was helping Cattley and didn’t want any repercussions. So I had the Argo brought up from Kerch instead and hired a medical staff. Harris shuttles the wounded to Mary Stanley’s hospital at Kulali. Mary and her twenty nurses lasted a week at Scutari with Nightingale—egotistical bitch that she is—before leaving and opening her own hospital. It’s excellent. She’s already saved four hundred of the men we’ve brought her. Here’s my cabin.”
Darley introduced Aurore, then talked with each doctor, nurse and wounded man. He was cordial and warm to one and all, speaking to them of their families and friends, encouraging the injured who most needed heartening, joking with others, asking each one what they needed. A clerk had materialized behind him as though familiar with the drill and, pencil and pad in hand, registered each requested item.
Darley repeated the process in each cabin in turn, speaking to everyone. He did the same on deck, moving between the cots and men with a sympathetic word or a benevolent smile, promising them that they would soon be safe in Istanbul and ultimately home in England.
If it was possible to fall in love with someone because of their compassion alone, Aurore was very much inclined to do so as she watched Darley minister to all those less fortunate. Deeply moved by his generosity and kindness, she found him even more captivating. He offered comfort with touching tenderness, personalized every conversation with ease, never resorting to a litany of conventional phrases. He listened with genuine sincerity and responded in kind.
She had always considered herself a benevolent estate manager, but Darley put her to shame with his goodness.
As if she needed another reason to fall under his spell.
As if she wasn’t already much too infatuated.
Which would not do. After the painful loss of her parents, she’d managed by sheer will and single-minded purpose to surmount her sorrow and take charge of the estate and her life.
She would not allow herself to succumb to some indefensible, ultimately futile desire.
She would not become mired in some romantic, fanciful illusion.
By the time Darley finished his rounds and they returned to the officer’s wardroom, Aurore had brought her unruly emotions to heel. She could not afford to yield to unrealistic sentiments with not only her world but the greater world in such desperate straits. Good judgment and sound decision making were called for—indeed required—at times like these.
Tea was awaiting them, the china service prettily flowered and made for a lady’s table. “How lovely.” Aurore smiled, admiring the display—dainty sandwiches, scones, brandy for Darley. Once again in command of her passions, she said, sweetly cordial, “You have a very clever cook.”
“He did it for you.” Darley pulled out a chair for her.
She knew he hadn’t. He had done it on Darley’s orders. But she liked that Darley had wished to please her. “I must admit I am becoming increasingly enamored of you,” she said in a deliberately coquettish tone as she sat down. There was safety in flirtation and none at all in sincerity. “You were just wonderful with everyone—staff and wounded alike. You made them laugh and smile; you truly brought them comfort. Is there anything you can’t do, my darling Gazi?” She’d used the name deliberately; he seemed more hers when he was Gazi. When he wasn’t an English lord who would sail away. When he might instead live in the mountains for another five years.
“Later tonight we’ll see what I can and cannot do,” he said with a wink. “Although, I warn you, I’m quite willing to try anything,” he added as he poured her tea.
His voice was teasing, seductive. He knew exactly how to respond in the game of amour. She almost wanted to say, thank you, for so facilely rising to the lure, for reminding her that this was only sport. “How charming you are, Gazi. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. I don’t know you yet as Darley.”
“Perhaps later,” he said, looking up from pouring himself a brandy, the decanter dwarfed by his large hand. “You can practice tonight.”
How smoothly he’d done that. Double entendre—with such finesse. She felt quite unaccomplished.
“One or two sugars?” He indicated the sugar bowl.
“Two please.” She met his gaze. “And thank you for everything.”
“I should thank you,” he said, picking up two sugar lumps with silver tongs and dropping them into her cup. “You bring me pleasure.” He smiled. “In any number of ways—most of them curiously innocuous. I’d forgotten such pleasures existed.”
“We’ve been at war too long.”
“Perhaps that’s it,” he said, sitting down across the table from her, sliding down on his spine into a comfortable sprawl. Lifting his glass to her, he grinned. “Personally, I think it has something to do with magic.”
She laughed. “A most benign magic if it is.”
“One we should enjoy while we may. We reach Kulali in two days.” He hadn’t meant to speak so gruffly at the last. But she must be told and better now than after several brandies when his mood would be less predictable.
Aurore set her cup down and looked at him. “Not Eupatoria first?”
It took him a moment to reply. “Your brother sailed for Marseille yesterday.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He drained half his glass before he answered. “I wanted to avoid a fight.”
“He’s on his way to Paris then.” She could be civil; why fight with Etienne already gone.
“I would assume.”
“Am I that difficult?”
“No, of course not.”
“Liar.”
He grinned. “Only when necessary.”
“When you’re placating a lady.”
“I suppose,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t say you haven’t told a lie or two for dalliance’s sake.”
His smile was quite beaut
iful. She found him hard to resist. “You’re sure about Etienne now.” Irrationally, she didn’t wish to think about Gazi’s former amusements.
“I’m sure. The message came from a reliable source. Are you hungry?” A man’s attempt to avoid conflict, or in Darley’s case, his intent was twofold. He was hungry. “I can’t remember when we ate last.”
“Last night at Adlberg’s.”
“I drank instead to allay the tedium.” He pulled himself upright. “What do you want to eat? These tiny sandwiches are not going to suffice for me.”
“You decide. Your cook has his hands full I expect with the ship full to capacity.”
“He’ll find us something.” Darley rose to his feet. “Excuse me—I’ll be right back.”
Aurore barely had time to drink her tea and sample a sandwich before Darley returned. “They found you a cabin, and cook promises me some food before long.” Moving to the table, he tucked some sugar into his jacket pocket, picked up the decanter of brandy and the teapot and nodded toward the door. “Take your cup and the sandwiches and follow me.”
He led her down the passageway, past several cabins to the bow. Tucking the decanter under his arm, he opened a small door and stood aside to let her walk in.
“They cleaned out the carpenter’s storeroom,” he said, bending low to avoid the lintel, following her and shutting the door behind him. “Tait is a wizard at overcoming difficulties.”
“It’s lovely.” A folding officer’s bed had been balanced between the two portholes, the coverlet an elegant Turkish silk in shades of green. Her valise was set on a chair beside the bed and a small pot of cherry blossoms was hanging from a hook nailed into the hull planking. “You must thank him.”
“I already have. He brought up your valise, I see. He can find your trunks if need be, or,” he said with a smile, “I could lend you one of my robes tonight.”
“Will you be sleeping here too?” There was no evidence of male clothing or accoutrements—no shaving things or personal items.
“It’s up to you. I wasn’t certain what you wished with so much company aboard. If you’d prefer I didn’t, I’d understand.”
At Her Service Page 16
