“Not so quickly, my love,” he murmured into her ear. “I want to make this last.”
Slowly, agonizingly, he took his time, kissing and fondling her, bringing her closer and closer to the brink, until finally neither of them could wait any longer. In a mutual explosion of passion —of love— they shattered in a climax beyond any they'd yet shared, holding nothing back from each other.
Gradually, the little bedroom came back into focus, obscuring the heavenly realm they'd visited. Jack smiled gently at the precious woman he held with his arms and his heart. “I never knew such happiness existed on earth,” he whispered.
“Nor I. But Jack, I have something to tell you that may make you happier yet.”
“Not possible,” he stated, but the eager excitement in her eyes aroused his curiosity. “All right, tell me.”
She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, her eyes searching his face, suddenly serious. “I believe —in fact, I am all but certain —that I am with child. Our child.”
“You… We… Nessa!” He pulled her close, to say with his kiss what he couldn't seem to manage in words.
~ ~ ~
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS were the most idyllic Nessa had ever known— even taking her almost daily queasiness into account. And Jack felt the same. At least, he told her so regularly. When the weather permitted, they wandered the surrounding countryside, exploring every little lane and byway. They exclaimed over each crocus or jonquil they found in bloom, watched clouds or birds in flight, delighting in the world around them and in each other.
Simmons, Parker and even the capable Mme. Guignard left them completely alone, appearing only when their services were needed before fading discreetly into the background again. During their walks, or in front of the parlor fire on inclement days, Jack and Nessa talked, discovering more and more about each other— likes, dislikes, pasts and future hopes.
Now that all danger to Wellington was past, Jack told her the whole story of his meetings with Miranda Dempsey, to her great relief. He also confessed how marriage had benefited him financially. As she had similarly benefited, Nessa could not hold it against him.
When they tired of talking, they walked or sat in companionable silence, or retired to the bedroom for yet another rapturous round of lovemaking.
Though Nessa knew this perfect, private time could not last forever, she sighed when the day came that Jack suggested they consider a return to England.
“I cannot neglect the estate forever,” he pointed out, seeming as reluctant as she to end this special retreat from the world. “Too, I'll rest easier knowing that should you have any health problems, Mr. Mooring, our family physician at Foxhaven, is within easy reach.”
Unable to argue against his touching concern, Nessa agreed. “But perhaps someday we can come back here,” she suggested. “This house will always have a special place in my heart.”
“And mine.” Jack kissed her tenderly.
The next morning they headed back to Paris, where they intended to remain only one night before continuing on to the coast, and thence to England. It was now mid-March, and spring was beginning in earnest. But though the weather was milder, the roads were more rutted and muddy than before, making their journey even more tedious. Night had already fallen when they reached the outskirts of Paris.
“It seems… different,” Nessa said, peering forward through the window of the coach. At first, however, she wasn't sure just what had changed —other than herself.
Jack was able to put his finger on it, however. “It does indeed. The crowds are still here, but their composition has changed. More of the common folk, fewer of the nobility, I'd hazard a guess.”
“I wonder why?”
But Jack only shrugged.
As they neared the center of the city, Nessa's unease increased. The people outside seemed agitated, either very happy or fearful, she was not sure which. Glancing over at Jack, she saw that he was frowning as well.
“I haven't seen a single English officer,” he commented at length. “I wonder…”
The coach halted. They had not reached their hotel, but were as close as the traffic in the streets would allow at present.
“Wait here a moment,” Jack said. Before Nessa could respond, he opened the door and leapt down, melting almost instantly into the shifting throng on the walkway.
Nessa waited, her heart pounding in anticipation of she knew not what. As the minutes passed, she felt more and more certain that something was wrong, terribly wrong. But what?
After ten minutes of agonized waiting, Jack suddenly reappeared. Climbing into the coach, he secured the door behind him and turned to face her, his expression grim.
“Napoleon has escaped from Elba,” he said flatly. “He is in France at this moment, marching toward Paris, and is expected within days. The royalist troops are deserting in droves, joining his forces.”
Across from her, Simmons gasped, and Nessa felt the blood leave her own face. “The King?”
“Still here in Paris, it would seem, but whether the city will support him or Napoleon it is impossible to say. His troops in Grenoble and Lyons have already allied themselves with Bonaparte.”
That explained the mixed emotions she had sensed from the streets, and also the absence of English officers. “What… what should we do?”
Jack took a deep breath. “As far as I've been able to determine, we may well be the only English left in Paris. We must follow the others and make our way to the coast as quickly and secretly as we can. Our freedom, perhaps our very lives, are at stake.”
TWENTY-TWO
ALTHOUGH HE SPOKE matter-of-factly, Jack was fighting to master an all-engulfing fear—not for his own safety, but for Nessa's. In her delicate condition, what would be the consequence of capture? He didn't dare think about it. He would simply make certain they were not captured. He must.
“Were you recognized?” Nessa asked.
He shook his head. “I don't think so, though I fear the fact that I'm English will have been obvious.” He looked down at the blue superfine coat he wore. “I should never have gone out there dressed like this.”
“You had no way of knowing beforehand,” Nessa pointed out. “But what are we to do now?”
“First, we must find a less conspicuous place to make our plans.” Jack opened the trap door on the roof of the coach to direct the coachman, only to find the man gone. “Damn. It seems our driver has heard the news as well. I hope he'll not feel it his patriotic duty to betray us.”
“I'll drive, my lord,” volunteered Parker.
Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man! See if you can find a relatively unoccupied alley nearby.”
The valet climbed atop the coach, and a moment later they were in motion again, though slowly. They turned, went more quickly for a minute or two, turned again, then stopped.
Parker opened the trap door. “Mayhap this will do, my lord.”
Peering outside, Jack saw that they were in a narrow lane between tall buildings. It stank to high heaven, but appeared to be deserted. “Excellent, Parker! Now, unfasten that smaller trunk and I'll help you to bring it down.”
A few minutes later, he had the trunk open and was rifling its contents. Ah! Here were just the things he wanted. “Nessa, you'll need to change into this.” He held up one of her abigail's plainer gowns. “Twill be a bit tight, I fear, but that can't be helped. Parker, I'll wear this black coat of yours—'tis the Frenchiest thing in here, I believe.”
He turned to examine the servants. “Mrs. Simmons, you'll do well enough, but I'd advise you, Parker, to divest yourself of the ruffles at your wrists and throat. You're rather too obviously a gentleman's gentleman as you are now.” He and Parker then left the women in the carriage so that Simmons could help Nessa to change, and completed their own transformations outside in the alley.
“If anything goes wrong,” he murmured to Parker as they adjusted their clothing, “get my wife to the coast and on a ship to England. Nothing else ma
tters.” Parker nodded silently.
A few muffled exclamations from within the coach attested to the difficulty of carrying out his instructions in such close quarters, but eventually the door opened. Nessa emerged, clad in the black stuff gown and a voluminous shawl.
“Some of the hooks in the back would not quite hook,” she explained, “but the shawl should disguise the fact.”
Jack nodded his approval. “It covers your hair as well. Excellent. Now to discover whether we can leave Paris as easily as we entered it.”
This time Jack took the reins, while the others rode inside. With some difficulty, he managed to back the horses and carriage out of the alleyway. Turning them, he then headed northward, taking back streets wherever possible. Most of the activity seemed to be centered near the Tuileries and Palais-Royal, so that once they'd gone a mile or so, the traffic lessened considerably.
They were nearing the city wall, and he was beginning to breathe easier, when he saw the blockade. Though it did not look particularly official, a few burly Frenchman had apparently taken it upon themselves to search each conveyance leaving the city. Cursing, Jack turned the coach again, to seek another route, only to find the next exit similarly blocked by zealots eager to earn their Emperor's gratitude.
Halting yet again, he looked about for a likely alternative when the thing he had most dreaded occurred.
“Is this Jack Ashecroft I see?” exclaimed a female voice in French. “I should have known that if any Englishman had the fortitude to still be in Paris, it would be you.”
“Bonsoir, Collette,” he responded, realizing that attempting to ignore or evade her would likely do more harm than good. In fact, if she still held any tender feelings for him, she might be induced to help. “You are a sight for sore eyes.” And indeed, his onetime paramour was as lovely as ever.
“Finding yourself in difficulties?” She sauntered close, looking up at him with a half smile.
“Rather,” he replied. “I returned to Paris only this evening, after visiting friends in the countryside, to discover this.” He indicated the blockade a few hundred yards ahead. “Has the arrest of all English been ordered?”
She shook her head. “Not ordered, no, though the silly English behaved as if it had. And now that the Emperor is expected momentarily, some of my countrymen seek to curry his favor by acting on their own.”
“Can you help me, Collette? For old times' sake?” He smiled down at her, summoning all of his charm —for Nessa.
She glanced at the coach. “Who do you have with you? English friends?”
“Just my servants,” he said quickly. Too quickly, it seemed, for Collette now looked suspicious.
“Indeed?” Before he could prevent her, she opened the carriage door. Jack jumped off the box to stand beside her.
“My valet,” he explained, pointing to Parker, “an under-housekeeper, and a maid.” He indicated first Simmons, then Nessa. “The two women were employed at the house where I visited. They wished to return to England, so I hired them.”
Collette's glance lingered on Nessa. “I can imagine what you hired this one to do!” She flashed a knowing glance at Jack. “And yet you wish me to help you?”
Jack glanced negligently at Nessa. “A pretty face, but nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, wishing Nessa's French were not so good. “She can't hold a candle to you, of course, Collette!” He forced himself to keep his eyes on the Frenchwoman.
“That goes without saying,” she agreed. “Very well, mon Jacques, for the sake of what was—and what may be again—I will assist you. Help me up, so that I may sit beside you.”
Jack gestured for the others to reenter the coach, then boosted the woman onto the box before climbing up to take the reins again. To his surprise, she directed him back toward the first barricade he had seen.
“Raoul there, on the right, is my cousin,” she told him as they approached. Then, more loudly, “Raoul! Are you minded to fill your pockets tonight?”
The burly man scowled up at her. “Helping English to escape, Collette?”
“Only peasants, servants left behind to make their own way by their curst, cowardly masters —but with the money to pay passage.”
“How much money?” Raoul's eyes gleamed in the dim torchlight.
Recognizing his cue, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold sovereign. The man snatched it from him, then carried it closer to the light, to examine it suspiciously. He then returned to open the carriage door.
“Not that I don't trust you, Collette.” He stared at the three inside for a moment, then grunted and closed the door. “Very well, then. Odds are they'll never make the coast anyway, before our Emperor conquers the English for good.” With an uproarious laugh, he waved them past the barricade.
“Thank you, Collette,” said Jack, when they had gone half a mile down the road. “Now, if you can give me directions to the most likely route to the coast, I'll be forever grateful. You'll want to return to Paris, will you not?” He slowed the coach.
But she shook her head. “I live in this direction, and you'll be needing a place to spend the night safely. Continue as you're going—it's only a few miles away.”
Collette had been pure Parisian, as Jack recalled. No doubt it was her parents who lived up ahead. At any rate, she was right. They'd need to stop soon for the night, for the sake of the horses as well as themselves. It was more than an hour later that Collette directed him down a long track off to the right, which eventually led to a sturdy farmhouse.
“Wait here,” she told him, then clambered down and hurried into the house—to apprise her parents of company, he presumed. A moment later a tall man slammed the door open and strode to the carriage. While Jack was still preparing his speech, the man reached up and pulled him roughly to the ground.
“So, Jacques Ashecroft! I have longed for an excuse to do this,” he roared in French. Before Jack could regain his balance, the man planted him a stunning blow to the face.
Falling to his knees, Jack looked up confusedly. He could feel the blood running freely from his nose. A muffled scream came from inside the carriage, but he resolutely ignored it, silently willing Nessa to remain where she was.
“Have I offended in some way, monsieur?” he asked, in what should pass for native French.
The man's chuckle held a vicious edge. “Offended? Offended? Why should your seduction of my wife offend me? Only the thought of the Emperor's reward keeps me from killing you here and now. I confess I once doubted her story of how you forced her, but Collette has now proved her faithfulness by bringing you here.” He glanced back to where she stood in the open doorway of the house, her arms folded across her chest.
“There are three more in the coach,” she told him. At Jack's incredulous stare, she merely shrugged.
“They are but servants,” said Jack. “You will gain nothing by holding them here.”
Collette stepped forward. “Two are servants. The third? I think not.” She pulled open the carriage door and gestured, with the pistol he only now noticed she held, for the occupants to get out.
Jack's mouth went dry. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He was seeing the proof of it yet again. Somehow he had to convince them to let Nessa go. She stood there bravely, glaring at her captors.
“You're right,” he said abruptly. “She's not a servant. She's a whore I picked up in Paris, who promised me her favors for free in return for passage to England. As I seem unlikely to collect now, you may do what you wish with her.” He struggled to stand, but the hulking Frenchman immediately grabbed him by the collar.
At that moment Parker's foot shot out, kicking the pistol from Collette's hand. Grabbing Nessa with one hand and Simmons with the other, he bolted for some nearby trees. With a strangled oath, Collette scrambled for the pistol.
“Stop,” her husband barked. “Let them go. We can't guard so many anyway, nor do I wish to feed them. I have the only prize I need in one of Wellington's most valuable officers.”
Jack offered up a fervent prayer of thanks for Nessa's escape, just before a savage blow to the back of his head made everything go black.
~ ~ ~
FOR A MINUTE OR TWO, sheer panic kept Nessa's legs moving. She scarcely noticed the undergrowth snagging her skirts or the branches stinging her face. But as reason overcame fear, she slowed, pulling against Parker's iron grip on her wrist.
“Wait! Wait,” she panted. “We can't leave Jack. They'll kill him!” Remembering his last words, she almost felt he deserved it—but no. Surely he'd said that only to save her. Still, right now she rather wished she didn't know any French at all.
Parker pulled her forward again. “They won't kill him. They want a live prize to give the Corsican when he arrives. He should be safe enough for now.”
Nessa stopped resisting and trotted by his side. “For now? But what if he fights? Tries to escape, come after us? Mightn't they kill him then?”
“His lordship won't come after us,” Parker assured her. “His first concern will be your safety. I'm to get you to the coast at all costs. Those were his orders.”
“Do you mean he expected this to happen?”
“Of course not. But he's a man who likes to be prepared for every—”
Just then Simmons, who'd been panting more and more loudly, stumbled over a root and nearly fell. Parker released Nessa's wrist to support her.
“There, now, mum, we can walk for a bit,” he said kindly. “I hear no sounds of pursuit, so we should be safe for the present.”
Nessa considered taking the opportunity to bolt back to Jack, but realized that would likely only endanger him more. In fact, without her along, he would never have been in this predicament at all. Remembering how he'd disappeared into the crowd in the Paris streets, she was certain he could have escaped the country easily, had he not had her safety to consider.
They walked now, conserving their energy, Parker murmuring encouragements to the flagging Simmons. Nessa followed along, deep in thought. She'd brought Jack little but trouble from the moment he'd met her, she realized. Far from giving him the respectability he'd sought, she'd embroiled herself —and him—in one scandal after another, each worse than the last. 'Twas her fault they'd had to leave England, and now it would be her fault if Jack were imprisoned or killed by Napoleon's forces.
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