An Affair with a Spare

by Shana Galen

  “A friend. That is innocuous enough.”

  “If it smells like a dead rat, look for the corpse.”

  “That’s a disgusting phrase.” Rafe shook his head. “Fortier is not an uncommon name. Perhaps it is a coincidence.”

  “Then why does she use a sham one?”

  Rafe sat back and blew out a breath. Jasper was not combative, but he had a rebuttal for every point. And why shouldn’t he? Rafe thought. Rafe might pretend to play devil’s advocate, but he wanted to defend Collette Fortier. He didn’t want her to be the enemy.

  “She may not be a spy,” Jasper said, “but if I were the Foreign Office, I would be suspicious.”

  “I’ve watched her for weeks, Jas,” Rafe said, sitting up. “I don’t see any evidence of spying.”

  “Maybe you’re too close to see it.”

  Rafe took a moment to consider. “No. If anything, I’m not close enough.”

  Jasper sipped the port. “You? Not close enough?”

  “We’re becoming friends, but I don’t have time to wait for her to confide in me. I need to gain her trust.”

  “That’s easy enough.”

  Rafe sent his friend a scowl. “This isn’t a rogue in Seven Dials. I can’t press a ha’penny into her hand and buy her loyalty.”

  “You couldn’t buy any rogue worth his salt for a ha’penny either, not unless you paid it regular.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Save her. Then she’ll owe you.”

  Rafe sat very still for a long moment. If his plan had been to give her something for nothing, his friendship, this was the perfect extension. Now, he’d save her life. If she were thus indebted to him, she couldn’t possibly refuse to answer a few personal questions when he put them to her.

  “I can see your brain box working. Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “Stubble it. No, wait. How do I save her? She’s not the sort who takes many chances. And if I have to wait for her to jump into the Thames or wander into a dark alley where thieves beset her, it might be years.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “Is that one of your many talents?”

  Jasper gave him a half smile. “When do you see her next?”

  “The day after tomorrow, or rather, the day after today since it’s already tomorrow.”

  “Right.” He pulled a notebook and pencil from his coat. “Give me all the details.”

  “Now? It’s almost two in the morning.”

  “Just like old times, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but during the war, we always said if we ever made it back, we’d never again take sleeping in a bed for granted.”

  “And as I recall, you were about the only one of us who had the luxury of sleeping in a bed.”

  “That was work.”

  “No, Beaumont. This is work.” He lifted his pencil and looked at Rafe. “Start talking.”

  Seven

  Collette was looking forward to seeing Rafe Beaumont far more than was wise. But she’d had such a wonderful time at the opera and it had been so refreshing to have an actual conversation with someone. Lady Ravensgate only lectured her, and when Collette was required to make conversation at the various functions she attended, it was always about the weather or the scandal of the day. The night before, she’d had to attend a dinner party where the hostess had assured Lady Ravensgate the assistant to the assistant secretary for the Foreign Office would dine. But the man had not made an appearance, and Collette had to listen to the men drone on about foxhunting, which, privately, she thought rather barbaric. Why anyone would want to discuss hounds tearing little foxes apart at the dinner table was beyond her.

  And so it was no surprise that she eagerly anticipated her visit to the British Museum today. Lady Ravensgate looked less than pleased and rather weary after the late night out. She was of the opinion the British Museum had little of interest and held nothing that would benefit Collette. She’d been increasingly impatient with Collette’s lack of progress. But Collette would not be thwarted. She still believed Beaumont might be useful, and she had all but demanded Lady Ravensgate accompany them.

  He arrived exactly on time, rapping the knocker three times. Since Collette was already in the foyer, she might have opened the door herself. Instead, she had to wait for Evans to make his slow, steady way to the door and creak it open.

  “Yes?” the butler said, as though he didn’t know who was at the door and why.

  Collette supposed Beaumont said something in return, but she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart. They were friends. That was all. She had to remember that. She needed a friend, and that was all Rafe Beaumont could ever be. And then he was walking through the door, and she had to remind herself to breathe. He wore a charcoal-gray coat, gray trousers, and a waistcoat of burgundy. His hat sat rakishly on his head, his dark hair curling around the brim. His high collar brushed his freshly shaven jaw, the white emphasizing its strength. He was dangerously handsome, and Collette began to fear she had made an awful mistake agreeing to go on an outing with him.

  She might have turned and run at that moment if her feet were obeying her brain. As it was, Beaumont stepped inside, removed his hat, and bowed. “Miss Fournay. A pleasure as always.” He raised his violet eyes to hers and she caught the glitter of mischief, as though they shared a secret that amused them both.

  “Mr. Beaumont.” She gave a quick curtsy, relieved her voice had not deserted her. “Lady Ravensgate will be down in just a—”

  “Here I am.” Lady Ravensgate swept down the stairs, her gaze moving up and down Beaumont. “Don’t you look dashing!”

  “I do try,” Beaumont said, then offered her his arm. She took it, and Collette followed, happy to be given a moment to catch her breath and settle her racing heart. In the hackney, the three talked of trivialities—the weather, the museum’s collection, the upcoming social events. The museum tour was equally pleasant. Beaumont was the perfect tour guide. He knew just enough about each piece to add something of interest, but not so much that he became obnoxious. The only problem was that Beaumont proved so interesting and entertaining she found it difficult to find an opening to discuss Draven. She was still searching for the right moment to mention the lieutenant colonel when Beaumont gestured behind them. “I fear Lady Ravensgate is becoming overly tired.”

  They had finished their examination of the natural history collection, but Collette had barely had time to study the Rosetta Stone before Beaumont came to stand by her side. She glanced a few yards away, where the lady sat on a bench, near one of the classical sculptures donated by Townley. Lady Ravensgate did look weary. Her face was pale and her lips tight.

  “Shall I see the both of you home?”

  Collette wanted to say no. She hadn’t yet seen the Parthenon statues, and she was not tired in the least. But she could not stay with Beaumont unchaperoned. And it was very perceptive—and kind—of him to notice Lady Ravensgate was weary. Undoubtedly, he too could have stayed at the museum longer.

  “Thank you,” Collette said simply, accepting his offer. “I fear I did not even notice how tired she looked.”

  “My stepmother has that same look in her eyes when she has exhausted herself on an outing,” he said. “She won’t admit it, though, so I always claim I am exhausted.”

  Collette raised a brow. “Does she believe you?”

  “No, but she’s an intelligent woman and pretends to believe me. I think I shall try the same tact with Lady Ravensgate. If you will excuse me.”

  Collette watched as he approached the lady and made a show of false fatigue. Lady Ravensgate looked skeptical, much as she imagined Beaumont’s stepmother did, but she eventually inclined her head and agreed to leave. Strange to think of Beaumont as a son. She’d met his sister twice now, and he obviously had more siblings and a father, but she could not picture him as a child. H
ad he always been so elegant and charming? Had he been born with those looks that made women forget propriety? And what of his mother? He only talked of his stepmother. Was it his stepmother who had taught him to take care of his elders and to offer friendship to friendless foreigners feeling lonely in the city?

  Once again he took Lady Ravensgate’s arm and led her through the museum and to the exit. Collette walked beside them, making last remarks on all that they had seen, including the enormous giraffes that presided over the entryway. When they stepped outside, they saw the sun had made an uncharacteristic appearance, and she squinted in the sudden brightness. “It is difficult to believe there are such large creatures in the world,” Collette said as Beaumont led them toward a line of hackneys. He raised his hand to signal one.

  “I am certainly glad we don’t have such creatures in England,” Lady Ravensgate said. “They might eat half of us for breakfast and the other half of the population for lunch.”

  “I believe they are herbivores, my lady,” Beaumont said, steering them around a group of passersby and toward the waiting hackney.

  “That sounds even more terrifying!”

  Collette smiled, looking down to hide the expression. When she looked back up, a scream lodged in her throat. The three of them had been forced very near the street because of the people passing them on their way to the museum. And on the street, headed straight for them, was a large cart, the sort used to move heavy items, and it careened toward them at breakneck pace. It seemed something had spooked the team pulling it because the horses were wild eyed and out of control. The driver half stood, whip in hand, hollering at the top of his lungs, but the horses paid no attention. They headed straight for the walkway. Straight for Collette, who had been walking on Beaumont’s other side, closest to the street.

  She barely had a moment to react, and her reaction was quite ridiculous. She stopped, crouched, and covered her head. She knew the defensive posture was ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to summon the will to run, which would have been smarter, although probably just as useless. Collette closed her eyes and said a prayer, waiting for the bone-jarring impact of the carriage on her person.

  Instead, she felt strong arms lift her by the waist and drag her away. Then she was falling, something heavy falling beside her.

  When she opened her eyes, she realized she must have been killed. The most beautiful man was looking down at her, his violet eyes only inches from hers. And he spoke, but she couldn’t hear him over the high-pitched ringing in her ears. The sunlight lit him from behind. He looked over his shoulder and more people gathered, blocking out the light.

  People. Not angels.

  This was not heaven but London, and the angel had been Rafe Beaumont.

  She tried to speak, but her lungs burned and she could not find her voice.

  “Just lie still, Miss Fournay,” Beaumont said. She could hear him, hear everything around her, the sound returning slowly like each piece of an orchestra added one after another.

  “You’ve had quite a scare,” he said.

  She nodded, still unable to speak. Then she remembered Lady Ravensgate and looked about frantically for the woman. Though Collette did not particularly like her sponsor, she needed the woman to stay in contact with the royalists who had her father.

  “She is fine,” Beaumont said, seeming to read her thoughts. “I shoved her aside and then went back for you. I think she may have hurt her ankle. A woman and a man who claims to be a physician are with her. Are you hurt anywhere?”

  She didn’t know. She couldn’t feel her body.

  “Just stay still, then. I will take you home and see to everything. If you’ll excuse me for one moment.”

  “No!” She grabbed his hand, holding on tightly so he could not move away. Her voice sounded strained, as though she had pushed it through a tight opening. “Stay with me.”

  “I won’t leave you, sweetheart.” He touched her cheek with one gloved hand. “But I must see to Lady Ravensgate. I promise I will be right back.”

  Collette knew she should release his hand, but she could not seem to manage to uncurl her fingers.

  “I won’t leave you,” he said. “I won’t ever leave you. Do you believe me?”

  She did. His eyes, his beautiful eyes, were so sincere. Though it terrified her, she let him go. As soon as he moved away, feeling seemed to come back to her body. Everything hurt. Her back, her arms, her head. She had fallen hard, and though she didn’t think anything was broken, every bit of her felt battered and bruised. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears. She could hear the people around her whispering and murmuring about her. How she wanted to move away, to have her privacy back. The whispers and the crowds looking at her reminded her too much of Paris. But then the crowds had not murmured with sympathy. They’d whispered out of fear.

  She felt a cool hand on her cheek and opened her eyes again. Beaumont was there, his bare hand on her skin. “Can you stand, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. She tried to rise, to make her body do as she commanded, but when she lifted her head, the world spun. “Give me a moment,” she said, putting her fingers to her temple.

  “Don’t move,” Beaumont said. “I have you.”

  Collette tried to protest when he lifted her into his arms. She did not need to be carried, especially not in front of the prying eyes, but there was no point in arguing. He was already carrying her and doing so with very little effort. He seemed to behave as though she weighed nothing, carrying her as one might carry an infant.

  And there was another reason she did not object. She liked being in his arms. The scent of him—spices and musk—tickled her nose. She leaned her head against his strong shoulder and breathed him in. His arms tightened around her, strong arms, powerful arms that cradled her against a muscled chest. For all his appearances, this was not a man given to idleness. She wondered if he would look like the men the Greeks had sculpted. If his legs would be as shapely, his torso as defined, his buttocks as round. And then because the very thought of him naked made her blush, she closed her eyes again.

  He carried her into the hackney. When the door closed and Beaumont called out the direction, she opened her eyes again. He hadn’t set her down, and she found herself on his lap, her arms around his neck. Across from them, the seat was empty.

  “Lady Ravensgate!”

  “I sent her with the physician and his wife. They had a private carriage, and I thought she would be more comfortable.”

  “I see. That was thoughtful of you.” Except that it left the two of them alone. And he was still holding her, his arms around her in a way not permitted before marriage. “But we have no chaperone.”

  He quirked a brow. “Do you think I will suddenly turn into a beast and ravish you? I thought we were friends.”

  “You’re right.” He still thought of her as a friend. Holding her meant nothing to him. But what she felt in his arms was decidedly more than friendship. “I think you should put me down.”

  “If you like. Are you feeling steadier?”

  She nodded and he slid her off his lap and onto the seat beside him. But he did not move across the conveyance to take the seat opposite. Instead, he stayed beside her, his body warm and strong.

  “Are you concerned about your reputation?” he asked. “There really did not seem another way to escort you home. Lady Ravensgate was laid across one seat and the physician and his wife took the other.”

  “I suppose it is fine. No one could be compromised in one short carriage ride.”

  He gave her a slow smile but didn’t speak. Still, she understood his meaning well enough. A short carriage ride was plenty of time to compromise a woman. Wonderful. The last thing she needed was to be ruined and shunned from any remaining social events where she might learn information that would save her father. “I don’t care if I am whispered about,” she said. And she
didn’t. At this point, all she cared about was rescuing her father. “I am just grateful to be away from all of the people staring at me.”

  “You are shy?” he asked.

  “I don’t like to be stared at. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.”

  “When were you stared at before?”

  “In Paris, whenever my father and I would go out, people would stare at us from windows and shops. But when we’d turn to meet their gazes, they would look away.”

  “Why is that?” he asked almost casually.

  “Because my father…” She trailed off. She was hurt and emotional. But she could not slip now and reveal who her father really was, even if it was unlikely a man such as Beaumont would know of him.

  “It’s not important,” she said quickly. “That is over.”

  “And I promise you this day will be but a bad memory soon enough. And I swear if there is any talk of you being ruined, I will challenge the liar to a duel.”

  Collette had thought the typical response was to marry the ruined woman, but she could not see Rafe Beaumont as a husband. “What if the gossip originates from a woman?”

  He shrugged. “Then I will let her shoot me. It’s the only chivalrous thing to do.”

  She couldn’t help but giggle. Collette looked out the window and there was Lady Ravensgate’s town house. The physician’s carriage was already in front of it. Beaumont helped her out of the hackney, paid the driver, and took her arm on the walk. The more she moved around, the better she felt. Nothing was broken or even strained, but she surmised she’d be a little stiff in the morning. Evans opened the door before they reached it and pointed to the stairs. “They’ve taken her ladyship to her bedchamber.”

  “Shall I go up and see her?”

  “The physician is with her, Miss Fournay. It might be better to wait until he gives instructions.”

  “And his wife?” Collette asked.

  “She is assisting the gentleman.”

  Collette looked at Beaumont. “Shall we wait in the parlor?”