His Forbidden Liaison: A brotherhood of spies in Napoleonic France (The Aikenhead Honours Book 3)

by Joanna Maitland

  Out of the corner of her eye, Marguerite could see that Berthe was hovering by the door, ready to sweep Mama away if she became too agitated. "Close the door and come to the fire, Berthe," Marguerite said encouragingly. "May I bring you a glass of wine, Mama?" At her mother's nod, Marguerite rose to fetch it. Now was the moment. She must tell Mama what she was about to do.

  "Mama, I have to leave for Paris at first light tomorrow. You remember, do you not? The Duchess of Courland's silk has to be—"

  At that moment, the door opened again to admit Jacques. He had not knocked. He was making free of their sitting room as if he owned it. And Guillaume was at his shoulder. Why? They had barely exchanged a civil word since Jacques had escaped. Marguerite began to fear that Guillaume was planning something. Why else would he have brought Jacques into this family gathering?

  Both men bowed low to Marguerite's mother.

  "I know you," she said.

  "Yes, Mama. This is Guillaume, who has served you faithfully since before I was born."

  "I will thank you not to patronise me, Marguerite. I know perfectly well who Guillaume is. I was referring to the other one. The duke's son." She nodded towards Jacques.

  Marguerite was aghast. Where on earth had Mama got such an idea? "Mama, allow me to present Mr Louis Jacques. He came to my aid when Guillaume and I encountered some slight difficulties in Marseilles. When we were there to meet the new agent. You remember? Mr Jacques was kind enough to escort us home to Lyons. But he is leaving tomorrow."

  "And you are leaving tomorrow. For Paris, did you not say, Marguerite?"

  "I— Yes, Mama, I am."

  "Are you proposing to travel with this gentleman? Without a chaperon?"

  Oh dear. Unfortunately, Mama was awake on all suits today. What if she should forbid Marguerite to leave? "Mr Jacques has kindly offered to escort me, yes. Guillaume cannot be spared, you see, and neither can Berthe."

  "Suzanne may go," her mother said firmly. "You may chaperon each other."

  "No." Suzanne had jumped to her feet. "No, Mama, that is not possible. I am needed here, to …er… to take charge of the business while Marguerite is away."

  "There is no cause for you to be concerned, Mama," Marguerite said, improvising quickly. "Mr Jacques and I shall travel as brother and sister. It will be quite innocuous. No one will pay us the least heed."

  Marguerite's mother rose to her feet and fixed a stern gaze on her errant child. "The daughter of the Marquise de Jerbeaux does not travel alone with a man who is not a relative. No lady of breeding would do such a thing." She turned to Jacques. "Do you tell me, sir, that you have agreed to this outrage?"

  Jacques stepped forward and bowed again. "My lady, this journey cannot be avoided. But if it will set your mind at rest, I will gladly give you my word of honour to treat your daughter throughout as though she truly were my sister."

  Guillaume snorted loudly. "We know what his word of honour is worth."

  "That is enough," Marguerite cried. "Leave us, Guillaume."

  "Stay!"

  Marguerite cringed. This was Mama at her most aristocratic, and her most unpredictable.

  "Fetch the family bible, Guillaume."

  Guillaume smiled slyly. "At once, my lady."

  No one said a word until he returned. He laid the huge bible on a small table and placed it at his mistress's hand before returning to stand by the door. Marguerite could see that Mama was beginning to look agitated, and anxious. Her fragile control might break at any moment.

  "Step forward, young man," she ordered. When Jacques obeyed, she said, in a slightly querulous voice, "You offered me your word that you would treat my daughter honourably, as a sister. Now lay your hand on this bible, and swear it." She reached out to grasp his hand, to pull it down and place it on the dark leather, but she misjudged the distance and began to topple. Berthe started forward with a cry. There was no need. Jacques caught Mama in his arms and set her safely on her chair before anyone else could reach her.

  He turned for a second towards the door where Guillaume stood. The look they exchanged explained much to Marguerite. In Guillaume's eyes, she saw gleeful triumph; in Jacques', she saw stiff-necked pride, and shrewd calculation. Guillaume had not won yet. Jacques turned back and placed his right hand flat upon the bible. In a clear voice, he declared, "I swear that, so long as your daughter Marguerite is in my company, I will treat her with all honour. I will protect her from harm, if needs be with my life. And any dishonour to her shall be dishonour to me. On this holy book, I swear it." He took his hand from the bible and raised Mama's fingers to his lips. "On my honour, my lady," he said softly.

  Marguerite's mother had begun to shake in agitation. "What is this bible doing here?" she cried. "You know we never bring it into this room. Guillaume, take it away. Take it away."

  Berthe hurried forward and put an arm round her mistress's shoulders, urging her towards the door. "Come back to your chamber, my dear lady. You will feel much more comfortable there, with your own things around you. I have built you a fine fire. And there are macaroons for you to dip in your tisane."

  "I like macaroons." Nothing more was said. Berthe led her mistress gently towards the staircase.

  Marguerite forced herself to appear icy calm. She did not so much as glance towards Jacques. Such an oath. Mama had asked him to treat Marguerite like a sister but, goaded by Guillaume, he had sworn to treat her like a queen, and to be her champion. No, on second thoughts, it was even worse than that. It was as if she were a goddess and he the worshipping high priest at her feet. And all to spite Guillaume. She never would understand men. If they were so much at odds, those two, why had they not simply brawled in the street until one of them could no longer stand? It would have done a great deal less harm, in Marguerite's view.

  She had been so close. She had found the man she loved and learned that he was worthy. She had seen her one chance to win his love and she had determined to seize it. But it was now crushed under the weight of a petty male squabble over honour. Men. She would like to horsewhip them all.

  "You did what?" Ben gasped.

  "I had no choice, Ben. I had Guillaume on the one hand, declaring that my word was worthless, and the mother on the other, daring me to put my hand on her bible. If I had refused, Marguerite would have believed the worst of me. And her mother would have forbidden her to travel. You did persuade me that I needed her, remember?" Jack tried to grin down into Ben's worried face, but he knew he was not being very convincing.

  "So what exactly did you swear?" Ben was not to be diverted.

  "Exactly?" Jack paused, trying to recall the scene. "I'm not sure. I was so determined to scotch Guillaume's confounded lies, and so furious, that I decided to make a grand, sweeping gesture, with an oath full of fine words about treating Marguerite with all honour, like a sister, and putting my life at her service. You can imagine the kind of thing, probably."

  Ben snorted. "A little difficult to imagine, old man. Not the kind of gesture one encounters every day."

  Jack had to laugh then. After a moment, Ben began to laugh, too. Jack was glad. It was important for Ben not to be concerned about Jack. He must concentrate on getting well, and then on getting safely back to England. "I've been thinking, Ben," he said casually, not wishing to insult his friend, "that once you're on your feet again, it might be best to go home by ship. Travelling across France on your own could be very dangerous, now that Bonaparte is back."

  Ben did not bridle, as Jack had feared he might. "Suzanne said something very similar earlier. But we have agreed to wait and see. After all, by the time I'm able to leave, it may all be over. Bonaparte may be a prisoner of the King's army."

  Jack raised an eyebrow. "You believe that the French army will remain loyal to fat Louis when they could have Bonaparte? And glory?"

  Ben tried, unsuccessfully, to shrug his shoulders. It clearly hurt, for he was unable to prevent himself from groaning. "Confound this blasted shoulder. I shall be mightily relieved when I'm b
ack on my feet."

  "If you paid a little more attention to where you were putting your feet, my clumsy friend, you would be a great deal stronger than you are," Jack said, trying to hide his concern. Then, looking round the tiny, gloomy room, he added, "Not all your fault, I admit. This chamber is very cramped. The ones on the floor above are much bigger."

  "Suzanne said this was the only vacant chamber on this floor. She didn't want to be carrying bandages and hot water up two flights of stairs."

  "And she also wanted you to be conveniently close, I think."

  Ben coloured a little. "I shall be closer after you've gone, as it happens. Miss Marguerite has said that I am to be moved into her bedchamber, after you have both left for Paris."

  "Does it happen to be next to Miss Suzanne's chamber, by any chance?" Jack asked with a wry grin.

  "Certainly not. The silk store lies between Suzanne's bedchamber and her sister's. According to Suzanne, the silk is much too precious to be stored downstairs where it might get damp or be pilfered by strangers visiting the house. So it is kept up here."

  "I see. I had wondered where that door led. I'd assumed it was another bedchamber. I was more than a little insulted to be sent up to the top floor. I assumed they did not think it safe to allow me to be on the same floor as the Grolier young ladies."

  "They would probably have been right, too," Ben said, giving his friend a knowing wink. "But now that you've sworn on the bible to treat Miss Marguerite like a sister, you'll be no threat at all to her virtue, will you?"

  Jack had to struggle hard to prevent the memory of their one searing kiss from invading his senses and making his rebellious body react like a schoolboy's. "I swore an oath to Marguerite's mother that I would treat her daughter as honourably as a sister. And I shall, even if it kills me."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jack thrust the purse of silver down into the hidden pocket in the side of his valise. His gold coins, and the rest of the silver, were stitched into his clothing, as ever. A valise might be lost, or stolen, and he could not risk being without blunt, for they would be several days, perhaps as much as a week, on the road to Paris. The hire of post-chaises for such a distance was going to eat up much of the money the Vienna embassy had provided. However, once he had secured a safe refuge for Marguerite in Paris, he could always travel on to Calais on horseback, if he found himself getting short of funds. There was no need to make a decision on that now.

  He took a last look around his bedchamber, bare now that most of his belongings were packed. Only his coat, hat and gloves remained, lying across the chair where he had sat as a frustrated captive, until freed by Marguerite's mother. He still did not understand why she had done it. Was it possible to understand her? She was the strangest combination of the apparently normal and the apparently demented. The poor lady was obviously subject to delusions, for why else would she claim to be a marquise? What was that name she had used? He could not quite remember, but it had been nothing like Grolier.

  It occurred to Jack that, once he and Marguerite were alone together in the post-chaise, he might be able to probe a little into the circumstances of her family. She might rebuff him but, then again, she might welcome a chance to share her problems with someone she could trust to be discreet. Why was her father so seldom at home to look after his business and his sick wife? No responsible father would leave his daughters to shoulder such burdens alone. Yet neither of the daughters had uttered a word of complaint in Jack's hearing. They seemed to accept their huge responsibilities as the most normal thing in the world.

  They were remarkable women, both of them. Remembering Marguerite with her candlestick, Jack smiled. Yes, she was certainly remarkable. At first, he had thought that Miss Suzanne was quite different, a meek, retiring girl. She had avoided his eye, and spoken barely a word when Jack and Ben first arrived. But things were different now, for Miss Suzanne was deep in love with Ben. She was prepared to face any danger, take on any responsibility, in order to defend him. Did love do that to all women? Jack had no idea. It was another of the disadvantages of growing up in a family without sisters.

  That pulled him up short. Confound it, he was going to have to pretend to be a brother to Marguerite. Or at least a half-brother. How did a brother and sister behave to each other? One thing he was sure of—a brother's behaviour did not include passionate kisses, or bodies pressed against each other and straining towards fulfilment. All thoughts of that description must be banished completely.

  He had begun to realise that it was going to be a very trying journey, cooped up together for days in the narrow confines of a post-chaise. He would have to keep the maximum possible distance between them. There must be no touching, and only the most decorous of conversation. Marguerite would be of the same mind, Jack was sure. She was a clever, practical woman. She would be able to see all the risks, as clearly as Jack did.

  Marguerite finished tying the ribbons of her bonnet and began to pull on her gloves. Guillaume was about to carry her valise downstairs.

  "A moment, Guillaume."

  He turned back, a look of enquiry on his lined face. "Yes, mistress?"

  "While I am gone, I should like you to keep an eye on Herr Benn. None of the neighbours knows he is here. That is how it must stay. It is dangerous for him to remain here, but we dare not allow him to leave."

  "I understand, Miss Marguerite."

  Did he? Did he know what was going on between Suzanne and Herr Benn? Marguerite had intended to ask Guillaume to extract the same kind of oath from Herr Benn as her mother had extracted from Jacques. Her conscience was urging her to do so, for Suzanne's sake. Once Herr Benn was himself again, there would be nothing to stop him from taking advantage of Suzanne. Was it not Marguerite's duty to protect her younger sister's virtue?

  Suzanne would not see it in that light. Marguerite grasped that in a trice. No, Suzanne would be incensed, as Marguerite had been last evening, when Guillaume had interfered in that officious, mule-headed way. He had behaved as if Marguerite were a mere child, unfit to make decisions about her own life. Was Marguerite about to do the same to Suzanne?

  "I shall rely on you, Guillaume, to ensure that no harm comes to him." She nodded his dismissal.

  Once he had gone, it was too late to change her mind. Had she done right by her sister? Truly, she did not know. She hoped so. But in the back of her mind, she knew that Suzanne was not always sensible in her decisions. She was a quiet dreamer, and sometimes her dreams intruded into the real world. She believed that Herr Benn loved her. She probably saw him as her preux chevalier, a chivalrous knight who would carry her off on his saddle-bow. As well he might. But would his goal be a virtuous union? Or would this love destroy her?

  Marguerite refused to let feelings of guilt overwhelm her. Suzanne was in love. She was old enough to decide about her own future, and she was wise enough to understand the consequences. Unlike Guillaume, Marguerite would not interfere.

  She turned back to her glass for one last check of her appearance. The deep green bonnet with its grosgrain trim became her very well, with her fair curls gleaming against the dark silk. Her pelisse, in matching fine green wool, hung in beautifully draped folds to her ankles. She flattered herself that she looked her best. Jacques was not going to find it easy to keep to that stupid oath. On that she was determined.

  She ran lightly down the stairs to the hallway. Suzanne was waiting by the door, and looking anxious. Marguerite embraced her sister warmly. "Do not be concerned, my love. We shall take every care. I expect to return with the payment for the Duchess of Courland's silk, and some new orders, besides."

  Suzanne made a choking sound that could have been a sob and hugged Marguerite even more tightly. It was a long time before they parted.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Marguerite saw Jacques appear from the street. He looked her up and down assessingly. He did not smile, or speak, but she thought his eyes warmed. Then he stepped forward to take her valise from Guillaume. "The silk is safely s
towed. Have you made all your farewells?"

  Marguerite nodded. It was one of her mother's bad days. She had not risen from her bed. She had seemed to understand when Marguerite kissed her goodbye, but it was impossible to be sure.

  "Good. Then we had best be off at once. Miss Suzanne, I must thank you again for your care of my friend Benn." He took her hand and kissed it gallantly. Suzanne blushed and murmured something inaudible. "And I promise I will take equally good care of your sister." With a distant nod to Guillaume, he strode out to the waiting chaise and stood by the door, ready to hand Marguerite up.

  "Godspeed," Suzanne whispered.

  Marguerite reached out to give her sister's fingers a quick squeeze. "May God protect you all," she said, and hurried out.

  He was standing by the step, his hand outstretched, waiting. She fancied there was a degree of impatience in his expression. So that was to be the way of it, was it? He clearly thought he was to be master here. Well, she would show him otherwise. Ignoring him completely, she climbed nimbly into the chaise and began to settle herself comfortably in the far corner.

  A moment later, he had climbed in beside her and they were off.

  Neither spoke while the chaise threaded its way slowly through the narrow, bustling streets of the city, but soon they were climbing away from the river, the horses pulling strongly. Marguerite could feel a child's excitement welling up inside her, for she had never thought to travel in a post-chaise, especially one drawn by a team rather than a pair. It must be costing a fortune. The Grolier family had not been able to afford such luxury since their arrival in Lyons.

  Marguerite examined the chaise with interest. It looked and smelled almost new. The seats were deeply cushioned and the buttoned leather showed no signs of wear. The paintwork gleamed, inside and out. Their journey to Paris would be more than tolerable, especially if they found adequate horses at every change.

  "This is a remarkably comfortable vehicle, Mr Jacques," she said politely. "I should even say sumptuous. Did you select it yourself?"