Spoken to him? What on earth could she have said? Pray, sir, what did you mean when you said you would never abandon me? And how long is "never"?
She threw down her pen. Whatever Benn had meant by those hasty words, it certainly would not include either love or marriage. Had he perhaps been thinking of the danger they were all in and of the debt he owed to the Grolier sisters for sheltering two English spies? Once Bonaparte was finally defeated—for that blessed day would surely come—there would no longer be any need for protection. The English spies would return to their comfortable life. And the Grolier sisters would return to their daily grind at the loom.
She stared down at her desk. Even the simple figures in her ledger seemed to be tinged with gloom, as if a fine grey gauze had been thrown over everything. The future that stretched before her was far from appealing. She knew she would probably end her days as a worn-out old spinster who had never known the joys of marriage and children, a dried-up husk who had never been loved.
Your future is your own to decide, Suzanne.
Her inner voice was back. And at the most inconvenient time. She did not wish to be reminded of all that she had lost.
Marriage and children may not be for you to decide, but love can be sought and found in other ways. Your future lies in your own hands.
Suzanne jumped to her feet and began to pace. She allowed herself the indulgence of a few choice curses, though only under her breath. They helped to drown out the sound of that inner voice. It was tormenting her, sketching a tantalising vision of things she could never have. Still, one thing was true. She was mistress of her own life. And although the Groliers had lost land and status in the Revolution, they had not lost everything. Unlike some, Suzanne had not been reduced to abject poverty. She knew she had much to be thankful for. She might have been forced into menial service—or worse.
She took a deep breath and smiled round at the silent room. It was functional, but comfortable. In Marguerite's absence, Suzanne ruled here. She could make her own decisions. She would choose to ignore Benn's strange promise. Since he would not be with her for much longer, she would live every second of the time they had left. To the full.
Once he was gone from her, she would have only memories. She was free to choose to make those memories the sweetest they could possibly be. And she would. She would show him a smiling face and a glad heart, and she would live for the moment, no matter what he said or what he did.
Still smiling, she sat down once more and picked up her pen. In her new and composed state of mind, even the columns of figures did not dare to rebel.
Days and days of hard, painful effort had made a difference to Ben's physical state. His shoulder was still not fully healed, but he was now able to use his right arm quite a lot, though only with caution. His muscles were still weak and sudden movements could be very painful. Still, the bandages would soon be removed for good and he would eventually be almost back to normal. Unfortunately, that also meant that Suzanne would cease to visit him here in his bedchamber.
To be honest, she should have stopped doing so already, in fulfilment of a promise to her sister. She had agreed not to spend time alone in Ben's chamber once he was back on his feet. Which he now was. Ben was proud that Suzanne had shared that confidence with him, but he had not been equally frank with her. In fact, he had taken the greatest care to hide the truth. As far as Suzanne knew, he was mending remarkably slowly and was still much too weak to rise from his bed.
A minor deception, Ben assured himself. For a very good cause.
It was not that he was about to break his pledge to ensure Suzanne's future. He was determined not to fail her there. Nor did he plan to take advantage of her during their short times alone together. That would be the work of an utter scoundrel. No, it was more that those times with her had become so very precious of late. He still revelled in the touch of her hands on his skin, but he had also learned to appreciate her sharp brain and her lively sense of fun. Scarcely a day passed without gales of laughter filling his bedchamber. That had helped him to forget the dangers surrounding them all. He knew he would treasure those moments once he had left her, and was far from Lyons.
That would be all too soon.
"Mistress!" Guillaume burst into the office without bothering to knock. His face was full of alarm.
Suzanne rose quietly to her feet, doing her best to disguise her concern. She was in charge of this little household. It was her duty to remain calm and businesslike. "Goodness, Guillaume," she said, a little testily, "since when have you forgotten how to knock?"
He stopped short. His weather-beaten skin could not conceal the colour that flooded into his face. It was a very long time since he had had to be reprimanded by anyone. Whatever his news, it must be important.
"What has happened?" she asked, a bit more encouragingly.
"Mistress, I must warn you that the house is being watched."
Suzanne's breath caught in her throat, but she managed to keep silent.
"One of Bonaparte's agents is lurking on the other side of the street, two houses down."
"But how do you know he's an agent?" she choked out.
Guillaume smiled grimly. "He's become very free with his opinions since we heard the news of Bonaparte's triumphant entry into Paris. I suspected him before, I may tell you, but now there's no doubt. He's watching our street. And he may be watching our house. We can't be sure, but it's best to assume the worst."
Suzanne looked over her shoulder towards the window. "Can I see him from here? It would be best if I knew exactly what the enemy looks like."
Guillaume nodded. "I knew you would not be afraid to fight, mistress." Then, as Suzanne started for the window, he said, "You'd be best to look from Miss Marguerite's window, upstairs. He's unlikely to be watching the upper storeys. If you look from here, he may see you and realise he's been rumbled. We don't want to risk that. They might replace him with someone we don't recognise."
Suzanne grinned at the servant. "You are a fine old schemer, Guillaume. I am glad that we are fighting on the same side."
He shrugged. "I only wish we knew more of what the Bonapartists are plotting. That way, we might be able to forestall them."
"Well…" Suzanne paused, thinking. To her surprise, she was not afraid. She felt as if her blood was all afire. If she had been a man, she would have been buckling on her sword for the coming battle. But she was only a woman, so she would have to find another way. "Tell me, Guillaume, do Bonaparte's agents know where your sympathies lie?"
"No, of course not."
"Forgive me for seeming to doubt you. I had to be sure. Now, are you prepared for a little spying on your own account?" When he nodded, she smiled broadly and told him exactly what she wanted him to do.
Suzanne was humming to herself as she raced up to Marguerite's room. Guillaume had provided her with the perfect excuse for visiting Benn, though she had no intention of telling him that the house was being watched. Such disturbing news would merely serve to frustrate him. Poor man. It was taking such a long time for his wounds to heal.
She reached the door and raised her hand to knock. What if he was asleep? She put her ear to the door. Nothing.
There was another way. Taking her keys from her pocket, she unlocked the door to the silk store that had been created in the gap between the walls of Marguerite's bedchamber and her own. There was no window inside, and she had not thought to light a candle so early in the evening. So she unlocked the connecting door that led from the store into her own bedchamber and threw it wide. Light flooded in. A stray beam caught some fine red silk shot with silver, making it glitter like a spider's web hung with dew. She could not prevent a little smile of satisfaction at the sight. She had woven that silk with her own hands.
Ben forced himself to move stealthily back from the window. A man watching the house. Ben clenched an impotent fist and cursed under his breath. He had to do something. But what?
Racking his brains, he went back to walking qui
etly up and down between the bed and the window. The house was safe enough for the moment. He was sure he could not be seen from the street below and, as always, he was taking care to step softly so that no one in the house would suspect that he was on his feet. Regular exercise was making his legs almost as strong as before; his upper body was improving, too, though his right arm still hurt abominably whenever he raised it above his shoulder or tried to grip. He was certainly in no condition to fight.
If he warned the household about the watcher, Suzanne would discover that he was much, much better than he pretended. She would know he had deceived her.
But he could not keep quiet if Suzanne was in danger. Surely there was something he could do?
He could enlist Guillaume's help, though he doubted that even two of them together could deal with this danger. The watcher opposite might appear to be alone, but there were bound to be others, probably quite close. In a busy city street, a pistol shot would be worse than useless. They could try kidnapping the man, but that might bring even more of Bonaparte's agents down on them. They might start to search from house to house.
No, the only solution was to watch and wait. There were many houses packed into this street. The man could be watching any of them. No need to terrify Suzanne's household by warning them too soon. Ben simply had to ensure that nothing happened to draw the watcher's attention on to the Grolier house.
He risked one more glance into the street. The watcher was still there, but making no effort at concealment. Perhaps he was not a spy after all? Ben shook his head at his own naivety and continued with his furtive exercise program. It was safest to assume that the watcher was a spy unless there was proof that he was not.
A slight noise startled him, breaking his train of thought. Was someone there? He was safe enough, he knew, for he had locked his door before starting his exercises. He would tell his visitor to return later, by which time he would be safely back in his bed, to all appearances still an invalid.
Suzanne was still smiling as she relocked the door to the landing and turned to unlock the connecting door to Benn's bedchamber. First, she listened again. This time, she fancied she could hear some kind of movement, but it was strangely muffled. He must be awake, but what on earth could he be doing? If she opened the door, would she see something that would embarrass them both?
Taking care to make no noise, she inserted the key into the lock. She hesitated. Did she dare?
Of course she did. Their house was being watched by the enemy. They might all be arrested at any moment. She and Benn might never have another chance to be alone together. Compared with that, what was the risk of a little embarrassment?
She turned the key, rapped a quick warning knock on the wood and opened the door a little way. "Forgive me, Benn, I—" She took one step into the room and stopped dead. "Why, you—" She felt the blood rushing to her face. "You…you charlatan. You wicked trickster. There is nothing wrong with you at all."
Benn had gulled her, yet again.
He was not lying in his bed, still weak and suffering, as she had expected. He was not even struggling to get back on his feet. He was fully upright, wrapped only in a skimpy sheet, and padding very softly up and down his bedchamber. As he walked, barefoot, he was stretching and flexing the muscles of his injured shoulder and arm. Suzanne's carefully applied bandages and the sling she had fashioned were hanging loose against his naked torso.
He had played her for a fool. First he had led her to believe that Mr Jacques was a Frenchman; and now he was pretending to be a bed-ridden invalid when he was nothing of the sort. What else was he capable of? Were all those kind words mere flirtation, to divert her from asking questions about what he was really doing? And those touches of the hand, those caresses… Did they mean nothing at all?
She took a deep breath. This time, she would not be diverted. This time, she would tell him exactly what she thought of him.
Chapter Ten
Ben was shocked to see the locked door in the middle of the side wall swing open. It had never been used before and he had assumed it never would be. Foolish to make assumptions, for now he was caught by his own lack of foresight.
Suzanne stepped into the room, and seemed to take in the whole situation at a glance. Her face instantly became flushed with anger, overlaid with humiliation at the way she had been deceived. He could not blame her.
"You charlatan. You wicked trickster!" she raged. "There is nothing wrong with you at all."
Her voice was rising with every accusation. Ben knew she had to be stopped before the sound reached the street and aroused the suspicions of the watcher below.
"And to think that I felt sorry for you, that I was worrying about why it was taking so long for your wound to heal. You were laughing at me all the time, weren't you? Oh, you…you… You are beneath contempt."
He did not hesitate any longer. She had now given him the best possible excuse for yielding to his baser instincts. He pulled her against his body and stopped her mouth with a long, hard kiss.
She squirmed against him, trying to free herself, but without success. Ben might be far from fully fit, but he was still much stronger than Suzanne. He was certain that she was not afraid, however. She was much too angry for that.
He could not stop kissing her. It was heaven.
He wrapped his arms more tightly around her body, ignoring the pain that stabbed into his shoulder. It was well worth the pain to hold her. The warmth of her glorious body against his bare skin was sheer delight, as was the subtle scent of lavender on her clothes and in her pale gold curls.
"Mmm." A groan of pure pleasure escaped him before he could swallow it.
That sound had a strange effect on Suzanne. First, she stopped trying to break free, and then she slid her arms around Ben's waist. What had been anger seemed to be turning into desire. Instead of fighting his kiss, she was returning it, and with more innocent passion than Ben would have dreamt possible.
He groaned again, as he gentled and then deepened the kiss. He had never known anything like this. It was as if he were drowning. Everything else was forgotten, everything except his driving need to taste her luscious mouth and to show her the pleasure that mutual passion could bring.
When he touched the tip of his tongue to the tender flesh inside her bottom lip, he felt a great shudder run through her whole body. She reached up to put her arms around his neck and pull his mouth even closer to hers.
"Argh!" Ben's cry of pain was swallowed in Suzanne's kiss, but it broke the spell of their mindless desire. They pulled apart, both gasping for breath and beginning to gabble apologies.
"I hurt you. I'm sorry, I—"
"I'm sorry, I should not have—"
They stopped in the same moment. And then Suzanne began to laugh, a joyous sound that somehow reminded Ben of pealing bells under a perfect blue sky. The image in his mind was perfection. Just like Suzanne.
Ben touched a finger to her cheek. Her eyes widened. Her laughter died away, leaving her lips curved in a knowing smile.
"Forgive me," he said quietly. "I should not have done that. But you were starting to scream at me and I had to stop you. There is a man down below, watching—"
"How did you find out?" she exclaimed sharply. Her smile had vanished.
Ben eased his left arm round her shoulders and began to stroke the top of her arm. She did not resist. She even leaned towards him, as the tension began to leave her. "I am a spy," he said. "It's my business to keep watch."
"Even when you're supposed to be too ill to rise from your bed?"
"Even then." He dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead and let her go. Then he crossed to the window and carefully glanced out. "He has gone. The danger is over for now. But I do apologise for having deceived you. I assure you I meant no harm."
"What you meant, sir, was to entice me into your lair, to get me into your power so that you could…you could…"
"So that I could…?" He grinned wickedly at her.
"Oh, you
are a wretch, Benn. You know perfectly well what I mean. You simply wish to put me to the blush." She put her hands to her hot cheeks.
While what she said was perfectly true, she was completely ignoring the most obviously improper aspect of this strange tête-à-tête—that Ben was wearing nothing but a thin folded sheet, tied around his middle. He ought to ask her to leave so that he could make himself decent, but after that mind-shattering kiss, he was quite incapable of letting her go. If she could treat a nearly naked man as if she were meeting him in a drawing room, who was he to object?
"I apologise, Suzanne. I shall now attempt to make amends by changing the subject. Tell me about your silk store. I presume that is where this door leads? I did try it several times, but it was always locked."
"Naturally. It would have been improper to have it otherwise, since there is another door on the far side which leads straight into my bedchamber." She pulled the door wide. "See?"
The silk store was a dark, narrow room, little more than a wide corridor. Immediately opposite the door into Ben's room was another. It stood wide open, letting in the light from the bedchamber beyond. Ben could see the end of a bed, and a delicate lace-edged bedgown lying across it. He tried not to imagine how Suzanne would look when she was wearing it, but it was all too real. The fabric was as thin as gauze.
Goaded, Ben marched smartly into the store and pulled Suzanne's door closed. He was suffering enough temptation already, with Suzanne standing beside him, even though she was fully clothed.
When he returned to his room, she was frowning at him. "I thought you were interested in our silk."
"I was. I am. But with my door open, there is more than enough light. Will you show me the wonders you have created? I would welcome a chance to admire your skill before I leave Lyons."
Her expression froze for a second, but then she smiled brightly at him. "It will be my pleasure," she said in a brittle voice. "Though some of the work is Marguerite's, not mine."
His Silken Seduction: A brotherhood of spies in Napoleonic France (The Aikenhead Honours Book 4) Page 6
