by Jane Feather
From Milner he discovered that Gabby was driving to Lymington in the chaise on Thursday evening. Gabby told him she was taking a fishing boat to France from Lymington quay. Jake knew that fishing boats had decks with coils of rope and nets, and usually they had a cabin. He would find somewhere to hide, he was sure. The chaise had a narrow ledge at theback and astrap for a spare groom to hang on to, but therewouldn't be a groom on the short journey to Lymington. Thepros pect of clinging up there himself made him feel rather sick, but it didn't dent his purpose in the least.
From Primmy and Nurse, he learned that his father was leaving on the same day and expected to be away for several weeks. If his father was away, Jake couldn't see how he'd discover that Jake had gone until he came back, so there'd be nobody to chase him even when his disappearance was discovered. And that wouldn't be until the morning, when Nurse came to wake him up. And once they reached France, Gabby would look after him. His mind couldn't stretch beyond that immediate goal, and he was untroubled by speculation on the future.
Gabrielle was puzzled by the suppressed excitement she felt in the child. She'd expected him to be unhappy, cross even, blaming her for leaving him. But in stead his eyes were unnaturally bright and he giggled ina most unJakelike fashion,and he seemed hard pressed to put a coherent sentence together.Primmy commented on it too, and Mr. Jeffrys complained at length to his employer about his pupil's general inattentiveness.
Nathaniel heard the complaint in frowning silence, then delivered the acerbic comment that he'd assumed a tutor to whom he paid the princely sum of one hundred pounds a quarter would know how to command the attention of a six-year-old.
A chagrined Mr. Jeffrys left the library, and Gabrielle observed from her secluded fireside corner, "Much as I enjoy his discomfiture, I hope he doesn't take his mortification out on Jake in the interests of gaining his attention."
"Jeffrys knows exactly what I will and will not permit," Nathaniel said shortly.
"And how are you to know if he doesn't keep within those boundaries?" she inquired. "I don't see Jake telling you, do you?"
Nathaniel ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "Idon't know why he wouldn't. Igive him plenty of opportunity to talk to me."
Gabrielle shook her head but said nothing. It was too late now for her opinions. They hadn't been accepted before, and there was no reason to believe that a flash of insight would illuminate the eve of departure and bring forth a change of heart.
Nathaniel had made all the arrangements for her journey and given her the details calmly and efficiently, as if he weren't describing the way she would walk out of his life forever. Gabrielle had responded in the same fashion. They were pleasant and polite to each other; they made love, but the spark was missing. Gabrielle supposed it eased the prospect of parting. One withdrew from addiction by slow steps. But it also felt soulless, almost as if they were determined now to negate the strength of what they'd shared.
They dined early on the Thursday evening and Gabrielle went up to say good-bye to Jake. The little boy was sitting up in bed, unusually pale, but his brown eyes had an almost febrile glitter to them. Gabrielle felt his forehead as she kissed him. He was warm but not feverish. Most unusually, he didn't seem to want her to stay. Instead of prolonging the visit in his customary fashion with questions, requests for another story, or endless narratives with neither beginning nor end, he docilely accepted her good-bye kiss and said good night, snuggling down almost before she'd left the nursery.
It was a relief, of course. She'd been dreading tears and recriminations. But it was still a little hurtful to think how quickly one could be dismissed by both father and son.
"Are you ready?" Nathaniel came into her apartments just before nine o'clock. "The tide's full at eleven o'clock and you have to catch it."
"Yes, I'm ready." She looked up from the jewel casket she was closing and blinked in surprise. Nathaniel was wearing boots and britches, a plain white linen shirt open at the neck with a scarf knotted carelessly at his throat. He had a cloak slung over one arm and leather gauntlets held in one hand.
"That's a very serviceable dress," she commented. "Are you intending to travel all night?"
"It might be necessary," he replied in the tone that she'd learned prohibited further inquiry. "Has Bartram taken your traps to the chaise?"
"Yes, and I've said good-bye to Ellie and Mrs. Bailey."
"Then let's go."
There was a lump in Gabrielle's throat as she followed him downstairs. She couldn't understand why she wasn't excited, triumphant at the success of her plan. She had the spymaster where she wanted him. But she was aware only of a bleak depression and a deep and irrational hurt. She wanted Nathaniel to be as regretful at their parting as she was, and he patently wasn't.
Nathaniel handed her into the chaise waiting at the door and climbed in after her, first checking that the luggage was properly stowed on the roof. He knocked on the panel, the coachman clicked his whip, and the carriage moved down the long drive.
At the bottom of the drive they stopped while the gatekeeper opened the gate for them. A small figure crept out of the bushes and clambered onto the narrow ledge, standing on tiptoe to seize the leather strap, pressing his slight body against the back of the coach as it rattled through the gate and down the lane. The gatekeeper closed the gate after them, muttering to himself as his rheumaticky hands fumbled with the heavy iron bar. He was shortsighted and it was a dark night. If he discerned a darker shadow against the rear panels of the coach as it swayed down the road, he thought nothing of it.
Gabrielle tried to think of some topic of conversation, something to break the silence. But there'd only ever been one acceptable topic of conversation, and it was hardly appropriate at this juncture. Although the last time they'd traveled in the coach, on the way from Vanbrugh Court, it had been more than appropriate…
Nathaniel sat back against the squabs, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes hooded as he watched her face in the shifting shadows of the coach. She wasn't happy about this mission; in fact, if asked, he would have said she was downright depressed. As indeed he would be if he believed they were about to part ways. Not even her treachery, it seemed, could destroy his passion for her. There was some level on which they were totally compatible, and in his more detached moments it struck him as the most damnable twist of fate that they should find themselves on opposite sides in the dirty war they fought. They would have made the most amazing partners if they shared the same goals and the same loyalties.
Instead, they were bitterest enemies, each out to manipulate and betray the other. And in his heart he knew that even if he won, as he intended to, they would still both be losers.
In half an hour the chaise clattered across the cobbles at the Lymington quay. Lamplight poured out from the Black Swan Inn as inebriated fishermen staggered out, yelling, cursing, and singing. Most made their way to the fleet of boats tied up at the quay, leaping on decks with a dexterity that belied the effects of carousing. But time and tide made no concessions when a man's livelihood came from the sea.
Jake slipped to the cobbles and darted behind a coil of tarred rope. In the general melee no one noticed a small boy in nankeen britches and a knitted blue jersey. He watched as the coachman snapped his fingers at one of the inn's ostlers lounging against the timbered wall of the inn with a pipe in his hand. The man shook out the pipe and sauntered across. Money changed hands, and between them the ostler and coachman unloaded the bags from the roof of the chaise. They took them to a relatively large fishing boat at the far end of the quay. A man standing in the stern greeted them with a hail and gestured that they should come aboard.
Jake slipped from his hiding place and darted forward. His father and Gabby were still standing by the coach, talking to each other. No one was looking in his direction. Around him people were running, shouting, leaping from the quay to the boat decks and back again. Ropes were being untied, sheets loosened, and sails unfurled. Lymington es
tuary was in full flood, the tide flowing strongly toward the Solent at its mouth, and there was a night of fishing and crabbing to be done. Some would trawl their nets in the deep waters off the Brittany coast, on the lookout for hostile French shipping, and one craft at least, like the Curlew, would ferry and offload those who sailed by night about clandestine business.
The three men had their backs turned to the gangway. Jake leaped across it in four steps and dived behind a roll of canvas sailcloth in the bow of the boat. He crouched there, his heart beating fast, but too excited for fear. In a minute Gabby would come aboard and his father would drive off and the boat would sail out of the river. He wouldn't tell anyone he was there until they got to France. How long did it take to sail to France? Perhaps all night?
"Let's get you aboard," Nathaniel said, putting an arm lightly around Gabrielle's shoulders, shepherding her toward the craft riding easily on the swelling tide. "I'll give you your detailed instructions in the cabin."
He went ahead of her across the gangplank, jumped down to the deck, and, turning, held out his hand to her. He was smiling, and there was something raffish about him, Gabrielle realized as he stood there in the torchlit night, the carelessly knotted kerchief at his throat, one booted foot on the gangplank, his other hand resting on his knee, the cloak falling back from his shoulders revealing the slender, tensile frame.
She didn't think she'd ever seen him like this, radiating some secret pleasure… just like Jake, she thought, recognizing one of those flashes of similarity between parent and child.
Nathaniel was obviously relishing the prospect of whatever adventure awaited him once she'd left. Not to be outdone, Gabrielle forced a smile of her own and sprang lightly across the gangplank, disdaining his helping hand with an airy wave.
"There's a cabin of sorts below," Nathaniel said, ushering her toward the hatchway. "Primitive, I'm afraid, but hopefully not too fishy." His voice was bright and his eyes had the wicked gleam in their depths that Gabrielle associated with their most imaginative playtimes.
Obviously the prospect of a dangerous piece of espionage, or whatever he was about to engage upon, gave him as much of a sexual thrill as lovemaking, she decided morosely, following him down the narrow companionway.
There was a strong smell of fish, and the oil lantern hanging from the low ceiling gave off noxious smoky fumes, its flickering light casting grotesque shadows on the planked bulkhead. A skinny bunk was set into the bulkhead with a coarse blanket over a straw pallet. It was airless and yet dank and chill. However, Gabrielle told herself, the journey shouldn't take more than twelve or thirteen hours, and she could always go up on deck.
She turned to her companion. “So, perhaps you’d better give me my instructions."
Nathaniel leaned back against the stained planking of the bolted-down central table, arms folded, his eyes hooded.
"No, I think I'll wait a bit."
"Wait? But for heaven's sake, Nathaniel, the boat's about to sail."
"I know."
"Just what are you getting at?" Gabrielle glared at him in infuriated bewilderment.
Nathaniel remained unmoved. "Simply that you're not going alone."
Gabrielle felt as if she'd lost touch with her own moorings just as the boat lurched beneath her and a voice yelled an instruction accompanying the squeak of a sail running up the masthead. She grabbed the edge of the table as the boat swung slowly away from the quayside and the wind filled the mainsail.
"You're coming to France?" she asked carefully.
"Just so."
"But why?"
"My dear girl, I never send an agent into the field alone on a first mission," he informed her coolly. "They always have a mentor, someone who knows the area and the setup. I'm going to act as your mentor on this mission, and if all goes well, then I daresay future ones you may conduct alone."
"Well, why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, her eyes blazing.
"I wanted to see how you would behave when faced with the prospect of going alone into danger."
The authoritarian, matter-of-fact statement was the last straw. What the devil did he know about how she faced danger?
"I am sick to death of your damn tests," Gabrielle declared, jabbing at his chest with a forefinger. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Your spymaster," he said, catching the jabbing finger and holding it away from him. "And you will submit to any test I decide to set-unless you wish to abandon this plan?"
Gabrielle drew breath deep into her lungs. He was still holding her finger, and there was a sudden intensity in the eyes resting on her face.
Tell me you'll give it up. Go on, Gabrielle, say it. It's not too late. The fervency of his unspoken thoughts shocked him. He'd believed he was resigned, accepting of her treachery, but he wasn't. He didn't know if he could forgive, if they could make some new start. But perhaps if Gabrielle pulled back now…
Their eyes held for a minute, then Gabrielle laughed and pulled her finger out of his grip. "Don't be silly. Of course I don't want to."
"No, of course not," he said.
Gabrielle sat down on the narrow bunk, frowning. At least it offered a satisfactory explanation for why Nathaniel hadn't appeared unduly depressed at the prospect of their parting. But she wasn't accustomed to having the ground cut from beneath her feet, and just recently Nathaniel had been doing chat with tiresome regularity.
Yet, despite her annoyance, she couldn't deny the little prickles of pleasure and excitement at the prospect of extending their time together despite the complications that were bound to result.
"So you're traveling to Paris?" she said after a minute.
"Yes, under your protection," he informed her without batting an eyelid. "Your laissez passer I assume will cover a servant."
Gabrielle gazed at him, for a moment speechless. Of all the effrontery! But it was still a brilliant strategy, one she would have come up with herself.
"Nathaniel Praed, you are… you are… oh, there isn't a word strong enough to describe you."
Nathaniel reached for her, hauling her to her feet and pulling her between his knees. Her eyes were on a level with his.
"Would you rather travel alone, Gabrielle?"
She shook her head ruefully. "No. You know I wouldn't. I didn't want us to part."
"I know you didn't. And neither did I. We seem to be intertwined, you and I," he said with a dry smile.
"Yes," Gabrielle agreed quietly. A chill ran down her spine as someone walked over her grave. Intertwined enemies. Deadly enemies. She hated Nathaniel for what he had done to Guillaume and to her, and yet she could barely contemplate being away from him.
She looked into his eyes and saw her own reflection in the dark irises. There was something in the brown depths that she couldn't read, something of a most powerful intensity that sent renewed chills over her skin. It was more than simple passion, it was almost menacing. And then he caught her head between his hands and brought his mouth to hers and reason and unease yielded to the familiar heady rush of desire.
On deck, Jake shivered in his hiding place as the fishing boat ran before the wind up the estuary. Papa had gone into the cabin with Gabby and hadn't come out. He was still on the boat, and now they were going to France.
Voices reached him from the other side of his hiding place, the rough male voices of the skipper and his crew. Jake shivered with terror and the tears tracked soundlessly down his cheeks. He inched closer to the deck rail and the surging cold black water beneath. He couldn't swim. If he jumped, he'd drown. But if he stayed, they'd find him. And Papa would find him… and…
He couldn't imagine what his father would do when he found him. He shrank down as far as he could behind the sailcloth and closed his eyes tightly, trying to believe as he had when he was very little that if he couldn't see people, they couldn't see him.
"Oh, that's better." Gabby's voice penetrated his terrified trance. "It's so stuffy in there."
"It'll be very cold once we roun
d the Needles and reach the open sea," Nathaniel replied. "You'll be glad enough of the shelter then."
"Maybe." Gabrielle held the deck rail and threw back her head, looking up into the overcast sky, where the misty shadow of the moon hung over them. The spray stung her face and she breathed deeply of the salt-tanged air. It felt good deep in her lungs. She looked back to the diminishing lights of Lymington quay. "I hope it stays calm. I'm not the world's best sailor."
"Goodness me," Nathaniel said in tones of feigned amazement. "Don't tell me you have a weakness."
"Unkind," she protested with a soft laugh. "I have many weaknesses." Being herewith you is one of them. But for the moment there was nothing to be gained by fighting that weakness.
"I'm hungry," she said. "It seems ages since dinner. It must be the sea air."
"You've been sailing for only half an hour," Nathaniel pointed out. "However, I had the forethought to bring some provisions. Shall we go below?"
"No, let's have a picnic up here."
The voices were so close to Jake, he could almost imagine touching Gabrielle. He wanted to jump up and run to her, bury his head in her skirt, feel her warmth and her arms around him, her lips brushing his cheek when she kissed him, her hand ruffling his hair. But then his father spoke again, and he huddled wretchedly back into his corner.
"So what did you bring?" Gabriel e turned from the rail as Nathaniel reemerged from the companionway. She smiled and the moon broke through a gap in the clouds, throwing her face into silver relief.
Her smile was candid, inviting, as if she had nothing to hide, and despite everything he knew, he couldn't prevent his own lips curving in response.
