The Rake to Redeem Her

by Julia Justiss

  Crossing to the window, he made sure the curtains were securely drawn. Lighting a taper, he said, ‘I think we can chance one candle.’

  As it flared to life, he saw Elodie Lefevre, still in old man’s attire, seated in the corner next to the window—her back to the wall, beside the quickest exit from the inn. The very spot he would have chosen, were he required to wait alone in this room, unsure of what danger might threaten.

  While he wondered whether she’d seated herself there by design or accident, she said, ‘What have you planned for tomorrow?’

  ‘Actually, I’ve planned for tonight. As soon as all is quiet downstairs and in the street, we will slip out by the kitchen door into the mews. I checked last night; no one keeps watch there. We’ll be out of the city and along the road to Linz well before daylight.’

  Madame nodded. ‘The sooner we begin, the sooner we arrive.’

  ‘When he travelled from Paris to Vienna for the Congress, Wellington made it in just ten days … but he only slept four hours a night. Though I don’t mean to dawdle, I’m allowing a bit longer.’

  ‘I’m ready to travel as quickly as you wish. Much as I enjoyed limping on my cane, though, I think another change of costume would be wise.’

  Will had a strong sense that this wasn’t the first time Elodie Lefevre had fled from pursuit. Had the Revolution forced her family out of France? She would have been scarcely more than a babe during the Terror.

  Quelling for now the urge to question her further, he said, ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘If anyone interrogates the innkeeper, they’ll be looking for a young gentleman accompanied by an older man. If that trail goes cold, they would probably next seek a man and a woman posing as a married couple or lovers or siblings or cousins. Whatever explanation we used, if I travel as a female with no maid and only a single male companion, we’ll attract notice, making it much more likely that innkeepers and stable boys and barmaids at taverns and posting inns will remember us.’

  ‘What makes you think we’ll be stopping at taverns or posting inns?’ he asked, teasing her to cover his surprise about her knowledge of the realities of travel. Had she spent her whole life eluding pursuers?

  Ignoring the remark, she continued, ‘We could pose as an older woman and her maid, but it’s still unusual for women to travel without a male escort, to say nothing of the difficulty of your being convincing in either role for any length of time. So I think our best alternative would be for you to remain as you are, a young gentleman, and I will travel as your valet. Men travel the posting roads all the time; you’d be just one more of many and no one pays attention to servants.’

  Her scheme for leaving her lodgings had been good; this one was even better. Trying to suppress the admiration he didn’t wish to feel, Will said, ‘You think you could play the role of valet better than I could that of an old woman?’

  She nodded. ‘Much more easily. As I said, a woman of any age travelling would excite curiosity, while a valet would be virtually invisible. Whether we stay at an inn—or under a tree or in a hedgerow,’ she added with a quirk of a smile at him. ‘And if we need to make a hasty exit, it will be much easier if I’m not encumbered by skirts.’

  Will couldn’t imagine any of the aristocratic ladies of his acquaintance—Alastair’s mother or sisters, for example—inventing so unorthodox a scheme or proposing it in such a straightforward, unemotional manner. ‘Why do I have the feeling you’ve done this before?’

  A faraway look came into her eyes, and for a long moment, while he hung on her answer, she remained silent. ‘I’ve had to come up with … contrivances upon occasion,’ she said at last.

  Which told him nothing. Where have you been and what have you done? Will wondered. ‘You’re a most unusual woman, Madame Lefevre.’

  She gave him a faint smile, but said only, ‘These old man’s garments will suffice until we can procure others. I’ve kept two gowns in my portmanteau, in case I might need them before we arrive at Paris. Have you a route in mind?’

  Will stifled a pang of disappointment that she’d not responded to his compliment by telling him more about her life. His curiosity fanned ever hotter by each new revelation, he was by now eager to discover what events had shaped her.

  Maybe along the way, he’d figure it out, find a way to fit the puzzle pieces together. Or, even better, maybe along the way he’d lure her into trusting him enough to volunteer the information.

  It would only be prudent to arm himself with as much knowledge about her as possible. As long as he kept in mind that anything she revealed might contain more craftiness than truth.

  ‘Have you a route in mind? Your suggestions thus far have been excellent.’

  She dropped her gaze and, though he couldn’t tell for sure in the dim candlelight, he thought she flushed. ‘Thank you,’ she said gruffly. ‘I’ve only travelled this way once, when I accompanied St Arnaud, so I don’t know the road. It would be wise, I think, to keep as much as possible to the larger cities, where one gentleman will hardly be noticed among the host of travellers. Have you the means to hire horses? It would make the journey faster.’

  ‘A gentleman travelling with his valet would more likely travel by coach.’

  ‘Not if the valet were a bruising rider. The further and faster from Vienna we travel, the safer we’ll be from pursuit.’

  Will wasn’t so sure. If Talleyrand were keeping tabs on madame, they would be more vulnerable the closer they got to Paris. But he didn’t want to voice that fact, adding more anxiety to what must already be a difficult situation, with her poised to assume yet another false identity. Despite the maid’s assertion that she could do ‘whatever she had to’, he didn’t want to push her too hard and risk having her fall apart.

  ‘Very well; I’ll travel as a young gentleman. “Monsieur LeClair”, shall we say? And you will be my valet, “Pierre”.’

  ‘“LeClair”?’ she repeated, a slow smile lighting her face. ‘Very good, considering nothing about this journey is “clear” or straightforward!’

  The honest delight on her face, so strikingly different from the expressionless calm with which she usually concealed her feelings, struck Will near his breastbone with the force of a blow. Warmth blossomed in its wake. Damn and blast, he didn’t want to start … liking her!

  While he wrestled with his reaction, she continued, ‘I’m pleased you approve my plan.’

  ‘For the time being, subject to change as I feel necessary,’ he cautioned, pulling himself back together. ‘I’ve got horses waiting at an inn on the edge of Vienna. With hard travel, we may reach the outskirts of Linz by late tomorrow.’

  ‘Excellent. You are very thorough, monsieur,’ she said approvingly. ‘Anything else I should know?’

  ‘No, Pierre; we’d better get a few hours’ sleep. I’ll rouse you when it’s time. You use the bed.’

  ‘Oh, no, monsieur, that would never do. Your valet should occupy a pallet at the foot of the bed. I’ve left the wig and cane over there—’ she indicated the dining table ‘—for you to return to your store of trickeries.’

  Flinging the blanket she’d held in her lap over her shoulders, she crossed to the bed and settled herself on the floor by the footboard—back to the wall, with a clear view of both the window and the door, he noted. ‘Bonsoir, Monsieur LeClair.’

  ‘Bonsoir, Pierre.’

  She closed her eyes. Within a few moments, the even sound of her breathing indicated she must have fallen asleep.

  Will should sleep, too. He had only a few hours before he needed to be up, all his wits about him, ready to spirit them out of the inn unobserved or to improvise some sleight of hand, should that be necessary for them to escape pursuit. But as he blew out the candle and lay down on the bed, Will found slumber elusive.

  Partly, it was his ever-deepening curiosity about Elodie Lefevre. What remarkable experiences had shaped this woman who noticed watchers at her corner, came up with plans for escape and evasion and talked of
disguises as casually as another woman might discuss attending the theatre or purchasing a bonnet?

  When he compared her reactions to the emotion-driven behaviour of the women he’d known, he was struck again by her calm. After leaving the only friend she knew, about to creep away with a virtual stranger in the middle of the night, she’d displayed no more than a natural sadness at parting from the maid. There’d been no panic, no fretting over whether she was doing the right thing. No worrying over her ability to carry out her part in the deception, no endless questioning over what was to happen next and—praise Heaven!—no tears. She hadn’t even called down evil upon his head for forcing her into this.

  Instead, she’d made a single terse compliment about his thoroughness.

  ‘You truly are an amazing woman, Elodie Lefevre,’ he told her sleeping form. But I’d be an idiot to trust you.

  She had paid him one other compliment in their short acquaintance—she’d called him ‘striking’.

  For the last few hours, the urgency of getting her out of her lodgings and the necessity of planning their escape had helped him dam up his strong physical response to her. But in the darkness, safe for the moment and all plans in place, that one memory was enough to send desire flooding over the barriers.

  Despite the contrivance of having her travel as his ‘valet’, with her bundled at his feet, her soft breaths filling the silence and the subtle scent of lavender beguiling his nose, it was impossible for him to think of Elodie Lefevre as anything other than a woman. A woman made even more alluring by her unique, exceptional abilities.

  A woman he wanted.

  He stifled a groan as, despite his fatigue, his body hardened. His mind might be urging him to review each detail of their upcoming journey, but his body was recalling the softness of her neck under his fingers, the surge of connection between them when she took his hand.

  Damn and blast, what had begun as a grim mission to vindicate Max had become a challenge that filled him with unanticipated excitement. He relished the idea of being on the road with her, overcoming whatever dangers arose, discovering bit by bit more pieces to the puzzle that was Elodie. At the same time, he must maintain a delicate balance between his growing fascination and the necessity to stay vigilant, lest she lull him into complacency and play him for a fool.

  And then there was lust. With an anticipation so intense it ought to alarm him, he looked forward to sharing a room with her at the posting inns—and all the enticing possibilities for seduction that offered.

  But when he recalled the disguises they’d agreed upon, he had to stifle a laugh. She could have contrived no better way to keep his amorous impulses at bay. They could hardly travel unnoticed if he was seen to be openly lusting after his valet!

  He’d just have to get her back into maiden’s attire as soon as possible.

  Chapter Eight

  Five days later, in a small inn south of Stuttgart along the road to Paris, Elodie loitered in a dim, smoky corner of the taproom, mug of ale in hand. Will sat at a table in the centre, gaming with a disparate group of fellow travellers.

  Wearing gentleman’s attire, the only disguise he employed was hair-blacking, there being nothing he could do beyond keeping his face downcast to camouflage those remarkable eyes. He lounged with cravat askew, long legs outstretched in an indolent pose, as he held the cards before him.

  To a casual observer, he appeared to be just another young man who’d decided to go adventuring now that Napoleon’s wars no longer threatened the Continent. A younger son of good family, probably, well born but not important or wealthy enough to require an entourage. A young man seemingly indifferent to his comfort—and that of his humble valet, since he’d chosen to ride on this journey, rather than spend the additional blunt necessary to hire a carriage.

  It was an image he’d calculated with care. But Elodie, now better attuned, knew that despite his lazy stance, Will keenly observed every detail of the men in the room and the inn itself, always assessing possible threats, ready to make a quick exit in case of danger. Much as she herself did.

  From the beginning of their odyssey, she’d watched him intently, at first apprehensive, since she’d had to commit her safety into his hands. By now she’d relaxed a bit, appreciating the high level of alertness he maintained—with remarkably little sleep—and the care he took to evaluate their surroundings and the people with whom they came into contact.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d been the one who had to be vigilant to protect herself and those she loved. How much easier it was for a man, who could interact with innkeepers and barmaids and grooms and tradesmen virtually unnoticed, as a woman could not. She’d even allowed—if only to herself—that his skill at disguise, invention and evasion equalled her own.

  She was beginning to believe that Will Ransleigh would get her safely to Paris after all.

  Though she must never forget he was expending all that effort for his own purposes.

  Over the last few days, they’d worked out a routine, riding hard by day, not choosing an inn for the night until well after dark, by which time she was so weary she almost fell out of the saddle. In the early dawn, Will would arrange fresh horses and buy food to carry with them for the next day, and they’d take their meals by the roadside.

  She smiled into the darkness. Breaking their fast in the open might have been a dreary, rushed affair, but in Ransleigh’s company, the meals had assumed almost a picnic atmosphere. She had to admit she was intrigued by him. Though she herself said little, with a bit of prompting, she’d persuaded him to regale her with tales of his many adventures.

  He was a marvellous storyteller, his vivid descriptions making her feel she was reliving the episodes with him. He had her laughing at his account of dismal billets and narrow escapes from marauders on the Peninsula, the comic ballet of Brussels packed to the gills with foreigners. Unknowing, he fed her starved soul with details of the Paris he’d explored before Napoleon slipped his leash at Elba and plunged France back into war.

  Notably missing among his tales, however, was any mention of his origins. Which was only fair, since she’d divulged absolutely nothing about herself. But she’d grown increasingly curious to know more about the man, as the relationship of captor and—though willing—captive subtly began to alter, until it now verged dangerously close to camaraderie.

  Which was perhaps the point of his tall tales. Perhaps he was trying to earn her trust, beguile her into thinking of him as a friend, a companion … a lover?

  Tightness coiled in her belly and she blessed again the disguise that required them to stay at arm’s length during the day, the arduous long rides that made her fall asleep almost instantly when she could finally rest for the night.

  Otherwise, the two of them alone in the secret darkness … She didn’t think she could have resisted the temptation to taste those sculpted lips that she watched, fascinated, as he spun his tales, acutely conscious of his sheer masculine power and the fierce pull of attraction between them. Resisted the desire to run her fingers down the muscled thighs she watched day after day control his mount with effortless precision. Denied herself the chance to explore the naked torso of which she caught only teasing glimpses when he pulled off his shirt to wash in the early mornings.

  Did he wait to do that until he knew she was awake, deliberately tempting her?

  Over the years, she’d used her body when necessary and, more often, had it used without her consent. It had been a very long time since she’d wanted a man.

  But she wanted Will Ransleigh. In his smoky gaze when no one was watching them, in the lingering caress of fingers on her arm or hand the few times touching her had been necessary, she knew he wanted her, too.

  The day of reckoning was coming when that mutual desire would no longer have to be denied. Heaven help her, how she burned for it!

  But that time wasn’t here … yet. They were still too far from Paris. And she was still too far from deciding just how—and when—she would s
educe Will Ransleigh.

  Tonight, announcing he needed to replenish their funds with a little gaming, Will had insisted, despite her fatigue, that she remain in the taproom and linger in the shadows. So she would be close at hand, in case they needed to leave the inn in a hurry.

  She’d forced herself to stay awake by watching the game, counting cards and points. She’d been annoyed to discover she must admire Will Ransleigh’s prowess at cards, too.

  With the same precision he analysed rooms and roads, he surveyed his opponents with that deceptively disinterested, downcast gaze. Having watched the game for several hours, Elodie was convinced he’d worked out just how much he could win from each opponent without straining their purses enough to provoke a belligerent response and just how much overall so as not to have his skill excite comment. He bolstered her belief by deliberately losing a hand from time to time and by his occasional crows of triumph when he won, as if winning were a surprise. Whereas, she was certain he could have fleeced all his opponents, had he chosen to.

  Clara had told her how he’d lifted her purse at the market.

  Would he have the skill to fleece her, when the time came? Smiling faintly, she thought of Will removing the rough, scratchy man’s garb, covering her mouth with his, her body with his, parting her legs to bare to his touch and possession that hottest, most needy place …

  The cold splash of ale on her knee jerked her back to awareness. Lost in sensual imagining, she’d drifted off and nearly dropped her mug. Alarmed to have come close to creating a commotion that would have attracted unwelcome attention, she looked up to find Will staring at her.

  Elodie froze; not wishing to bring her to anyone’s notice, Will never looked directly at her when in company.

  ‘Pierre, take yourself up to the room before you shatter the mug—or spill any more of that good ale! I can wash up and remove my own coat tonight.’

  A quick nod punctuated the command. Too weary to object, Elodie walked quietly out, hearing as she closed the door Will tell the others, ‘Doesn’t have the stamina of youth, poor Pierre. Old family retainer, you know.’