by Louise Allen
‘It is going to rain,’ he said, taking the notebook out of his pocket and studying one of his meticulous maps.
‘Is it?’ Eva looked round, puzzled. ‘I am no weather expert, but it looks just the same as yesterday afternoon to me.’
‘No. It will rain.’ Jack gathered up the reins and turned his horse’s head down the fork in the track through the woods. Ahead, across fields, a church spire punctuated the low hills. ‘Or there will be a heavy dew in the morning. Or a thunderstorm.’
‘Or a plague of locusts?’ Eva enquired, beginning to see where this was going. ‘You are looking for an excuse to find an inn. Why not say so? Do you think I am going to accuse you of becoming soft because you want to bathe in a tub instead of a cold stream?’
‘I think you might be alarmed if you guess the things I would like to do when I get you alone in the Poisson d’Or’s best bedchamber with its big goose-feather bed.’ Jack grinned, managing to look nearer twenty than thirty.
‘Indeed?’ Eva attempted a severe expression. She appeared to have forgotten how. ‘What a very depraved imagination you have, Mr Ryder.’
‘I am shocked you can know of such things,’ he teased back. ‘Tell me, what would you like to do in that big feather bed?’
‘Ooh…’ Eva pouted provocatively. ‘I would like to take all my clothes off—very, very slowly. Then I’d brush out my hair, bathe in a deep hot tub with scented soap, climb out, dripping wet…’ Jack’s eyes were glazing in a very satisfactory manner. ‘Dry myself, then climb into bed. And—go to sleep.’
Laughing at his expression, she urged her horse on, cantering down the track. It curved, perhaps fifty feet above the main road that cut across the country between them and the village. Some instinct made her glance to her left. Dust was rising above the scrub and spindly trees that covered the slope. Eva reined in, holding up her hand to halt Jack, who was rapidly catching her up. They moved into the shelter of a coppice and waited.
‘Soldiers,’ Jack breathed as the sound of tramping feet reached them, drowning out the song of skylarks over the wheat field. ‘French soldiers heading towards Charleroi. A lot of them—this is different from what we have seen so far. I thought our luck would not last much longer.’
‘Are we in danger from them?’ Eva shaded her eyes and tried to make out uniforms, but her knowledge was not good enough.
‘No, probably not. There is nothing about a pair of apparently unarmed riders to cause them any concern, provided we merely cross their path and do not appear to be shadowing them.’
He sat watching the slowly vanishing column of infantry through narrowed eyes. ‘Wellington is assembling an Anglo-German army around Brussels, but our agents along the way so far have not known what the weight of troops were on either side, and they were very vague about where Bonaparte is heading. That is Fontaine l’Eveque ahead. I’m going to strike north-east tomorrow and aim for Nivelles.’
‘You haven’t been talking to me about all this,’ Eva accused. ‘I should have worked it out for myself—my brain must be turning to porridge. I suppose I have just been so focused on our own adventure I haven’t been thinking about the wide world. Of course Bonaparte isn’t just going to sit there in Paris, sending out a few scouting parties, and the Allies certainly aren’t going to let him.’
‘No.’ Jack was scrutinising the plain. ‘You know, that cannon fire is a fair way off to the north and east, but it is almost continuous now. I think there is a battle going on.’
‘And by making for Brussels we are riding right into the middle of it.’
‘Maybe. If we do not take care.’
‘Jack,’ Eva asked with a calm she was far from feeling, ‘have you been keeping quiet about this so as not to worry me?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted ruefully, surprising her by his frankness. ‘My orders were to bring you back overland to Brussels; it seemed faster and safer than risking the sea route. It probably still is the right thing to be doing; we just need to avoid wandering into Napoleon’s HQ or the no man’s land between the two front lines by mistake.’
He dug his heels in and sent the black gelding and the packhorse trotting down to cross the main road. ‘After today we ride hard and fast for Brussels and skirt round any trouble we see. I’ll dump the pack and we can rotate between the three horses—it will keep them fresher. We’ll do it in the day that way.’
‘Have we been going too slowly up to now?’ Eva asked, suddenly feeling guilty again. ‘Have I been holding you up?’
‘No, and, no you haven’t.’ Jack reined back to a walk. ‘We were right to take to the horses—Henry’s encounter with Antoine proved that. And I could see no merit in flogging the horses at such a speed that we would have had to be changing them as we went. It draws attention to us, and it was no part of my instructions to deliver you bruised and exhausted. We can make it to Brussels tomorrow, even if we arrive after dark.’
‘So tonight is our last night on the road.’ The last one alone with Jack. Things would be different in Brussels, she would become the Grand Duchess again then. Even if Jack was still her escort, that was all he could be. Did he realise? Had he thought about that? Probably not—he had a job to do and personal considerations would always come second. ‘What is the date?’ she asked, wanting to fix this night in her memory for ever.
‘June 16th,’ Jack said. ‘Look, there is the Poisson d’Or.’
‘What about my clothes?’ she asked, suddenly recalling the way she looked. ‘It hasn’t been a problem because I have not been close to anyone yet, but I cannot hope to fool people close up.’
Jack seemed unconcerned. ‘I will speak quite frankly to the landlord, and anyone else who stares, and say that I do not like my wife riding about the countryside with all these troops about. Of course, if we did not have to hurry to the bedside of your ailing grandmother in Celles it wouldn’t arise, but you insisted, so here we are.’
Eva nodded—that was a good tactic, to confront the issue, not to try to keep her sex a secret and arouse suspicion. Jack rubbed his chin, rasping the stubble as though in anticipation of a shave in ample hot water. ‘We will have a good dinner to celebrate our last night on French soil. Shall I order champagne so we can drink to the confusion of our enemies?’
‘Of course,’ Eva flattered herself that the smile she managed was perfectly natural. To the confusion of our enemies and to the last night in Jack’s arms.
Chapter Fifteen
‘To victory,’ Jack said quietly in French, touching the rim of his glass to Eva’s.
‘To victory,’ she echoed. There was no private parlour at the Poisson d’Or, but there was a low-beamed room with tables set around. The noise level from the other diners was high enough for them to talk quietly without fear of being overheard, but they kept to French so there would be no unfamiliar rhythms of speech to draw attention to them.
Outside, the rumble of the distant guns continued. Inside everyone pretended not to notice it. Yet there was a febrile excitement in the air, an unease, a whisper of rumour. Did these people really want their emperor back? Eva wondered.
Where were the Maubourg troops? Following where Antoine led them into the midst of a battle or reluctantly marching north and not yet in danger? Were they convinced of the rightness of joining the Imperial cause, or was it simple obedience that kept them with him? If she had been in the carriage when they had stopped it, could she have won them round, convinced them to go back to the Duchy, their families and safety? Eva gave herself a mental shake; thinking what if and maybe was futile, but when they reached Brussels she would do what she could to ensure the men were found and treated well.
Up ahead was bloody battle, men dying and being wounded and there was nothing they could do. Wellington would win, of course he would, she assured herself. Anything else was unthinkable.
‘To victory, and to us,’ she added to the toast, touching the painful subject like someone with toothache who cannot resist worrying at the sore tooth. ‘It has be
en good, Jack, these last few days, has it not?’
‘It has.’ He watched her over the rim of his glass as he took a mouthful of wine before setting it down. ‘And it is not over yet.’ There was a familiar heat in his gaze, a heat that made her feel hot inside, roused the fluttering pulse of arousal so that she shifted on her chair. The anticipation of a night spent in that big soft bed made her mouth dry and she was uncomfortably aware of her nipples peaking against the restriction of her waistcoat.
‘One more night,’ she agreed, lightly. One more night and day while he was still hers and hers alone. One more set of memories to live on.
‘And then Brussels, and the journey back to England.’ Jack stopped speaking as the maid brought bread and a pitcher of water. He dropped his broad hand over hers and squeezed reassuringly. ‘Fréderic will be beside himself to see you again.’
‘If he remembers me,’ Eva said. It seemed to be her evening for probing all her worries.
‘He does!’ Jack lifted her hand in his and kissed her fingers, earning himself a sentimental smile from a plump bourgeoise sitting opposite with her family. ‘He told me so—not in so many words, but with what he said, what he mentioned of Maubourg and you. He has no doubts—lads of that age don’t. He knows he will see you again, he knows you are there waiting for him, and he feels quite safe. It is you who has suffered, knowing that you have missed those years of him growing, knowing you have had to trust him to the safekeeping of others.’
‘Thank you.’ Eva blinked back tears, dropping her cheek momentarily to rest against his raised hand. He smiled at her, then she saw his eyes focus beyond her, the laughter lines creasing attractively. ‘And who are you flirting with, might I ask?’
‘Behind us. A most respectable dame who obviously thinks we make a pretty couple.’
‘We do.’ Eva dimpled a smile. ‘Look, see the mirror to your right, you can see us in it.’ Jack glanced across. She was right—on the wall was an ancient mirror, probably something that had found its way from one of the great houses of the district during the Terror, for it was too fine for this workaday place
The old glass was soft and kind, framing them as a portrait of lovers, hands clasped, heads close. Eva, so feminine despite her severe man’s clothing, with her dark plait lying heavy on her shoulder. Him, just a man…Jack stared. That was him, it couldn’t be anyone else, but somehow the reflection looked different. Younger, more—he fought for the word—more complete. Which was nonsense. It had to be the flattering effect of the mirror. But Henry had said he had changed, and he felt different.
He stared deep into his own eyes, deep into the eyes of a man in love. Hell! Jack shut his eyes on the betraying image, turned his head sharply and released Eva’s hand. No, that was not going to happen, he could not let it, it was impossible and there was nothing there for him but misery.
But the trouble was, he knew it was too late. That warm centre of contentment, that feeling of completeness that threaded through the desire he felt for Eva, that stab of black misery that hit the pit of his stomach when he thought of leaving her—he had never felt those things before.
The bustle of the inn dining room faded around him as he sat there. He had fallen in love, the one thing he had sworn he would never do. And he had fallen in love with the most inappropriate, most unobtainable woman he could have chosen, short of one of the royal princesses. He felt his lips part without conscious volition and tried to control his instinct to say the words, here, now, at once.
‘Jack? What is it?’ Eva was staring at him, her lovely mouth curving into a smile that was half-amusement, half-concern. He must be gawping at her like the village idiot, that fatal declaration trembling on his lips.
‘Nothing.’ Everything. My heart. My world. My soul. ‘Nothing at all important, just a thought that struck me. This chicken is good, is it not?’
‘It is pork.’ The smile became a teasing grin as he clenched his hands around knife and fork to stop himself reaching across the table and pulling her to him. ‘Does champagne always have this effect on you?’
No, you do. ‘No. It is not the champagne, it is pure, unadulterated desire.’ He made himself match her bantering tone and found himself smiling as the ready colour stained her cheeks. She was so deliciously modest and reserved, yet when they touched she was utterly abandoned in her lovemaking. It was like her whole character. Outwardly she could be aloof, autocratic, reserved; inwardly she was warm, vulnerable, loving. ‘We will take another bottle upstairs—I have wicked thoughts about what we can do with the contents.’
The brown eyes watching him opened wide with speculation that was both shocked and titillated. Jack called up reserves of self-control he had never had to apply to his own feelings before and made himself focus only on the here and now. This meal, this tension between them and the sound of cannon fire which was becoming fainter and less frequent as the darkness drew in, became the whole of the world. Jack felt the urgency draining out of him, to be replaced by a sense of anticipation that was thrumming through his body with almost orgasmic intensity.
He was going to make love to Eva tonight, and when he did it would be astonishing, even better than all the times before, and yet that was not all he wanted any more. He wanted—no, he needed—to watch her, see her in minute detail. He needed to learn the way she wrinkled her nose at a flavour she did not like, how she smiled when she thanked the maid for some small attention, how the colour of her eyes changed in the candlelight, how the tiny mole at the corner of her left eye moved when she frowned at him in mock-anger at a teasing word.
He packed away the pictures of her at every moment, the sound of her voice when she chuckled, the throaty laugh of real, uninhibited amusement, the sudden, serious, expression that kept transforming her face and which he could not persuade her to explain. All of these impressions he saved, learned, as he would a map of enemy territory or a complex brief from a client, storing them away for the time when they would be all he had of her. All he could ever have.
Eva pushed away her plate with a little sigh of repletion. He poured the last drops of the champagne into their glasses and gestured to the maid for another bottle. ‘Shall we go up?’
Their chamber had been cleared of bath tub and shaving water. The puffy white eiderdown on the big wooden bed had been turned down invitingly and candles burned on the dresser and beside the bed. On the washstand a bunch of June roses made a blotch of warm colour in the pale room.
‘Eva.’ Jack reached for her.
‘No.’ She held up a hand, halting him. ‘No, tonight I want to make love to you.’
‘What have we been doing up to now?’ he asked, conscious of the straining ache of arousal that had been building all evening towards this moment.
‘You have been making love to me, we have been making love together,’ she explained. ‘Tonight I would like to…to lead.’
Had he the strength, the willpower, to let her set the pace? Jack swallowed, realising he wanted this, badly, and that his imagination was already threatening to tip him over the edge. Unable to speak, he nodded.
‘Good.’ She was blushing, but determined. ‘Undress for me.’
He could not unlock his eyes from hers. By touch Jack pulled off his neckcloth, unbuttoned his waistcoat, shed it with his coat, careless of where they fell. He had hardly any recall of how his shirt got off, or his shoes, but he found himself standing there in bare feet, clad only in the light trousers he had changed into when they arrived.
‘Everything,’ she said huskily, releasing his eyes as her own gaze slid down his torso.
He was so hard his fingers fumbled momentarily on the fall of his trousers, then he was pushing them down, feeling the relief as his erection was freed from the constriction, hearing her gasp as she saw him. ‘You have me excited almost beyond bearing,’ he confessed.
‘Do not apologise,’ Eva murmured, apparently transfixed. Her intent regard made him swell harder, larger, as if that were possible. ‘Lie on the bed. On y
our back, please.’
Intrigued, Jack did as she ordered. This was a new experience. What was she going to do now?
What she did was to proceed to torture him by slowly removing each article of her own clothing with deliberate intent to send him insane. She took off her coat and waistcoat with prim care, hanging them carefully on a chair while he admired the tight fit of her breeches over her buttocks and the slender length of her thighs.
She eased off her boots, sliding each down her leg in turn in a way that made him fantasise about sliding in and out of her body. Her neckcloth came next. She stood by the bed untying it, shaking her head reprovingly as he reached for her and only moving again when he lay back. Then she used it to trail down his body, the featherlight touch of the muslin wafting the subtle scent of her heat to him as it teased his nipples into hard knots, then slithered over his groin.
‘Have some mercy!’ He grabbed for it, only for her to whisk it away, leaving him aching. Jack fought the urge to take himself in hand to gain some relief from this torment.
Eva began to unfasten her shirt, then turned her back on him as she slowly slid it over her shoulders, giving him the view of her slim, white back, and the merest hint of the curve of her breast as she moved. Jack locked his hands into fists in the sheet as the leather belt fell to the floor and she eased the breeches down over her hips, taking her linen underwear with them.
She was a Venus standing there, white and smooth and exquisite. But it was not a marble statue that looked over its shoulder at him but a warm, soft, curving female. How had she learned to be this provocative, this alluring? He sensed this had not been the way she had behaved with her husband. Eva was doing this for him and because of him. Unable to bear the throbbing need any longer, he curled his fingers round the hard flesh that was tormenting him.
