‘Have faith, Arabella. My brother is strong. He will not give in to his captivity without a fight,’ Verity said with a slight smile. Whether it was meant to reassure Arabella she did not know, but it did nothing to lessen her anxiety.
She immersed herself in social events with Verity, spent long hours playing with the children and did anything to distract her mind from thinking of Edward. But at night, in the quiet of her room, she would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, remembering every moment they had spent together, that wonderful night and the tender sound of his whispered endearments when he made love to her.
* * *
In the middle of October, King Charles, who had eluded capture, joined his mother, Queen Henrietta Maria, in exile. He received a rapturous welcome, but he was described as a sad and sombre figure.
What had happened to him since Worcester? everyone asked. Where had he been? It had taken him six weeks to reach France. There was much speculation among the English courtiers about the truth of his escape, but he did not speak the names of the courageous and daring men who had assisted him for fear of endangering them.
With no means of sustaining himself, he was reliant upon a pension granted by the government of France.
The Royalist exiles might not have won the war, but they had something to celebrate at last—King Charles was safe and lived to fight another day. And for now these poverty-stricken exiles would not allow their lack of money to interfere with their pleasure. Everyone was caught up in the dazzling spectacle of celebratory balls, of feasting and masquerading.
* * *
Four weeks after Edward had been arrested, Arabella began to suspect she might be with child. It was the only explanation she could think of for missing her flux. She did not want anyone to know and blamed her nausea on something she ate. But she began to dream about the baby and the man who was its father, but not her husband, and she thought about the passion and the gentle loving that had brought about this child. Because nothing had been heard of Edward’s execution she had every reason to believe that he was still alive. When she thought of this her heart was surprisingly light. How would he react, she wondered, when she told him? Would he be happy? Excited?
Would he make her his wife?
* * *
The more time Arabella spent with Verity, the more impressed she was by her. Verity had lived in Paris for so long that she was wonderfully au fait with everything that went on. When she told Arabella about the ball to be held at the Royal Palace, which was the residence of Queen Henrietta Maria, Arabella would have preferred not to attend.
She had no interest whatsoever in the shallow amusements of the exiles or in being admired by any of them. How could she eat and make polite conversation and dance as if everything in the world was well, when she didn’t know what had happened to Edward? However, Verity, swept along on a wave of activity and eager to appear at an event which would be attended by French royalty, would not hear of her staying behind and in the end Arabella was persuaded.
‘But—what am I to wear?’ she asked. ‘I have nothing suitable.’
Verity thought for a moment, her face undergoing various transformations. Then, clapping her hands, she suddenly said, ‘Leave it to me. I have several gowns that will suit you perfectly. I am not as slender as you, but I am sure one of them could be altered to fit you. They may not be as grand as some of the other ladies’ gowns, but it is the lady inside who will make it shine.’
* * *
With the danger of discovery ever present, Edward had travelled mostly under cover of darkness, resting during the day in barns and thick woodland and any other suitable hiding place—often for days at a time since the presence of Commonwealth soldiers was everywhere. Fortunately he was not without money, so he was able to buy food.
It had taken him almost four weeks to reach Bridport, a small fishing village on the Dorset coast, where he had finally arranged for the master of a coasting vessel to convey him to France for twenty pounds.
Leaving the vessel at Cherbourg, he had managed to purchase a horse and headed for Paris. Passing through St Germain, he encountered Robert Stanhope, who told him that Arabella was still in Paris, staying with Verity and Gregory. After taking a much-needed bath and acquiring a change of clothes from Robert, he considered what to do next.
Arabella would be shocked to see him. He did think of sending word to the house first, rather than arrive without warning, but such was his impatience to see his son and Arabella, to pull Arabella and Verity into his arms and soothe away their concern and the tears they would shed when they realised he was still alive, that he went directly.
His disappointment was acute when Pauline informed him Sir Gregory and his wife and Lady Fairburn were attending a ball at the Royal Palace. Impatient to see Dickon and told he was abed, after gazing down at his son’s sleeping form he went directly to the Palace.
* * *
The Royal Palace was like a rabbit warren of Cavaliers. Not only did this gracious building house Queen Henrietta Maria’s own attendants, it was beset by an array of Englishmen and their families, all exiled to France because of their adherence to the Royalist cause and all consequently feeling they were owed support.
The hallways were crowded, the room where the dancing was held filled to capacity. Standing in the doorway, he took a moment to survey the colourful and dazzling scene of lords and ladies displaying their finery. Perfume and wig powder permeated the air. In adjacent rooms could be heard the clinking of glasses, the shuffling of cards and the rolling of dice as these exiled Englishmen tried to enliven their dull and idle lives.
Dozens of couples were on the floor, stepping with as much grace and dignity to the strains of the music as was possible. Not one for large gatherings, he found the heat and sweat of so many bodies packed together mingled with perfume and wine nauseating. Many of the ladies were shameless in their low-cut gowns and flaunting manner as they laughed and teased and flirted with husbands and lovers.
His eyes swept the room, his lips curling with disdain as he decided the battles he’d fought were less intimidating than a ball at the Royal Palace. Many of those present recognised him. Having heard the rumours about his capture and not having expected to see him in Paris—if at all, for many had expected him to be sentenced to death—overcoming their surprise they gave him a hearty, heart-warming welcome.
Moving further into the room, he could feel every eye settle on him, the ladies as predatory as the males. They smiled at him as he pushed his way through and one lady dressed in a revealing coral-pink gown had the audacity to accost him.
‘Why, Sir Edward Grey,’ she purred, fluttering her eyelashes in accompaniment to her fan. ‘You are fresh in Paris?’
When he did not reply, not to be deterred, she continued, ‘You must be, otherwise we would have heard. How nice it is to see you. I do hope you are to be a permanent fixture in Paris.’
Having no idea of the identity of the woman, when he replied his tone was agreeable, but his eyes had hardened. ‘I sincerely hope not. Excuse me.’ On that note he sidestepped and went on his way, secure in the knowledge that despite the ravages of war and the hardship he had endured since his escape, he still held some allure. Please God let Arabella find him so.
He saw Verity first and his heart warmed on seeing his only sibling looking so well. He let his gaze dwell on her for a long moment before shifting them to the woman standing serenely by her side. She commanded all his attention, for what he saw stole his breath away. That was the moment when he realised just how important she was to him and the thought of her vanishing from his life once more was not to be borne.
Arabella was attired in an alluring, off-the-shoulder gown of shimmering sapphire-blue satin, the bodice tight with full sleeves and skirt. The swell of her breasts above the bodice was distracting, and if there was a man who didn’t see how well that gow
n fit her figure, he was either blind or dead. Her glorious wealth of hair—just begging for him to run his fingers through—was dressed in a mass of tight curls. They framed her enchanting face, resting gracefully on one shoulder.
But it was her face that caught Edward’s breath in his throat. Starved of feminine beauty for so long, she was the loveliest, most alluring creature his eyes had ever beheld. Delicate pearl-drop earrings brushed her cheeks and drew the eye to her lovely face, and never had Edward envied a piece of jewellery so much until now.
Beneath her thick fringe of dark eyelashes, eyes the colour of amber that could enchant and weaken a man gazed candidly about the room, completely unaware of their mesmerising effect. Her softly pink, generous mouth was slightly parted, as if waiting to be kissed, yet at the same time warning the gathering of admiring males, drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet surrounding her, not to get too close.
How was it, he wondered, that she managed to look seductive and provocative, yet untouchable? It was that contrast and her clear unawareness that added to her allure.
He waited for the moment when she would turn her head and look at him. Suddenly, as if she sensed his eyes on her, her head slowly turned and she met his gaze. She seemed to freeze and some of the colour drained from her face, and she watched as he slowly made his way towards her, his eyes not relinquishing their hold on hers.
Chapter Seven
Rendered speechless by amazement, Arabella stood there, while her mind struggled to take in what was happening. She was afraid to move lest this man, who had haunted her dreams and tormented her days, disappeared as she gazed at that well-remembered, brooding face. Every night her sleep had been troubled because him, her dreams filled with such longings as she had never thought to experience.
His dark hair curling to his shoulders and attired in a black-velvet suit with a broad white linen collar marked him as a handsome, dangerously desirable man than any she had met before. There was a roaring in her ears and she swayed.
Taut with excitement and happiness, she watched him approach, her eyes huge, round and sparkling. Her entire being began to glow, such was her joy on seeing him again. For the first time in years she felt as though she was completely alive. Remembering her reluctance to attend the ball, she was suddenly appreciative of the care Verity had taken with her appearance, how she had painstakingly arranged her hair into elaborate curls with the heated curling tongs and the alterations she had made to make the gown fit.
Mentally she wanted to cross the distance between them, to reach out and touch his beloved face, to make sure he was real, but such was her recent alternations of fear, grief, shock and hope that all her resistance was worn out.
Her eyes registered the changes wrought by the time they had been apart. Clean-shaven, he was thinner due to his ordeal. Lines circled his eyes as if he had slept little in weeks. There was a weather-beaten look about him, but he was just as tall, just as handsome, as every woman in the room seemed to have noticed as their eyes settled on him. There was a whispered stir, a rustling among those present. When he walked across the floor he sparked a wave of interest among the ladies as they leaned forward and devoured his every move, commenting to each other behind a vigorous fluttering of fans.
Beside Arabella, Verity, having recognised him also, was immobilised, staring at him, her hand pressed to her throat. He reached them, a smile softening his grim features. Taking his sister’s hand, he raised it to his lips before folding her in his embrace. Neither of them spoke until he released her.
‘Thank God,’ Verity whispered, touching his cheek with affection, tears of relief and happiness swimming in her eyes. ‘But where have you been? We have been so worried—you were captured—we thought...’
‘The worst, I expect. I managed to escape my captors—although I had the devil of a time reaching the south coast and finding a boat to take me across the Channel. It’s taken me the best part of six weeks to reach Paris, but as you see I am alive and well.’
‘I thank God for it. You have been to the house?’
He nodded. ‘Your servant told me you were attending a ball at the Palace.’
‘Did you see Dickon?’
‘I did, but he was asleep.’
‘As all little boys should be at this hour. Now, say hello to Arabella. She has been quite beside herself with worry about you. It was a brave thing that she did, bringing Dickon to Paris by herself.’
Verity smiled when she turned to Arabella, who was unable to conceal the heady surge of pleasure and relief she was experiencing on seeing Edward again. It was painted like a confession on her lovely face. Neither of them spoke. The moment stretched between them, each savouring the moment and enjoying the sexual pull that drew them together.
‘Thank you for keeping him safe, Arabella, and for bringing him to Paris. I am in your debt—more than you will ever know.’ His voice was rich and hypnotically deep. He extended a hand towards her, impatient to be alone with her. ‘Come. Walk with me. If we are fortunate, we may find a quiet place. Excuse us,’ he said to those gathered round.
Finding refuge in the shadows of an adjoining room, they were relieved to find it was less crowded. They stood by the window, gazing at each other. Edward touched her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers, his gaze holding hers.
‘You are surprised to see me, Arabella?’
‘Of course I am. I cannot believe you are safe—that you are here. When I saw Colonel Lister arrest you, I did not hold out much hope. I worried about you so much,’ she whispered, loving him with every fibre of her being.
A smile curved his lips, the light streaming from a nearby candelabra illuminating his smile and his eyes that settled unswervingly upon her face. ‘You need worry no more, Bella. As you see, I have returned to you unharmed.’
‘How did you manage to escape?’
‘They were taking me to London. It was the second night of my captivity, the guard was slack and I managed to get away.’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘I can’t tell you how concerned I was about you and Dickon. You boarded the Albion with no trouble?’
‘Yes, and we had no trouble getting to Le Havre—and then on to Paris. Dickon missed you—it was difficult explaining to him why you were suddenly not there any more. When he was settled I intended returning to England—I was desperate to know what had happened to you,’ she confessed quietly. ‘Verity and Gregory persuaded me to remain in Paris until we had news of your welfare.’
‘I thank God they did. It was knowing you were here in Paris with Dickon that kept me going. I admire your courage, Arabella.’
‘Courage?’
‘You executed the task of bringing Dickon to Paris with the bravery of a soldier. But your courage isn’t the only thing I admire about you, and if we were alone I would show you.’ He cursed softly when another couple walked boisterously by. ‘How I detest events such as this,’ he growled, his eyes following the offending couple as if he could do murder.
Arabella laughed. ‘They do no harm. They are simply enjoying themselves.’ She gazed at his face, unable to believe he was really here. His eyes seemed to be as blue as the cornflower one minute and the next as purple as the darkest pansy, and then a combination of the two. The impact of his gaze was a potent thing. ‘When they took you away I thought—I feared...’
Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. Had they been in an empty room he would have taken her in his arms. ‘Why, Arabella, what an imagination you have. I’m not killed as easy as that.’ He smiled at her in an attempt to reassure her, realising then just how much he wanted her. ‘Ever since I was arrested I’ve been unable to think of anyone but you. You haunt my dreams and I wake wanting you beside me. When I arrived and saw you surrounded by admirers—which is hardly surprising—for the first time in my life I experienced a jealousy that cut through me like a knife. You are beautiful, Arabe
lla. You outshine every other lady present. You deserve to be gowned in silks and satins, with jewels as bright as your eyes at your throat.’
His compliment worked its way into Arabella. She flushed prettily. His words wrapped themselves around her like a warm blanket. ‘To be perfectly honest, I had no wish to attend the ball. Verity persuaded me to come. I find the attention of those admirers you speak of tiresome. If only they knew that their attentions are unwanted.’
‘Does that go for mine, too?’
‘No, of course not. I believe you know that. You are different and when you arrived your mere presence saw off those persistent gentlemen.’
‘So you see me as your knight protector. Is that it?’ he teased softly.
Arabella smiled winsomely. ‘I suppose you are—in a way. I’ve never had a knight protector before.’
‘I’m flattered.’
She smiled up at him. ‘I hardly recognised you when I saw you just now. You are much thinner and when we parted you had a beard.’
He grinned. ‘And do you prefer me with or without a beard?’
Tilting her head to one side, she considered him, a puckish smile tugging the corners of her lips. ‘I think I like you better without it. Without all that fuzz you cannot hide what you are thinking so easily and become less a man of mystery.’
He laughed. ‘In which case I shall cease shaving if you can read me so well. I rather like the idea of being a man of mystery. Now come and dance with me.’
He held her eyes with his own. For a moment she stared at him. His animal-like masculinity was an assault on her senses and she was unable to resist him. In that instant, right there in a room where people strolled in and out, they acknowledged they had reignited that which had been lit between them in England and exchanged a carnal promise as obligatory as any spoken vow.
‘You do dance?’ he enquired quietly.
Arabella gave him an aggrieved stare. ‘Of course I dance. My education covered all the finer points of a lady’s upbringing. Although I was given neither the time nor the opportunity to put them into practice in my marriage to John.’
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