Chapter Nineteen
“This soup is awful.” Frankie peered into her bowl through the lowering gloom. “There are dark bits floating around in it. Is that tree bark?”
“Dried beef, more likely,” Reynard said, practically inhaling his soup. “Or maybe dried sausage. Depends on where they provisioned last. Beef in London, sausage in Calais.” He watched her poking at the contents of her bowl. “Try holding your nose.”
She gave him a scalding look and he laughed. A full, resonant sound that made her stare at him in wonder. What a marvelous laugh. Why had she not noticed it before?
“The food will be better the closer we are to Paris,” he said, grinning.
“I’ve heard that French food is a marvel,” she said, setting her bowl on the floor and climbing back onto what she had come to think of as her half of the bunk. “So where do we get horses to carry us to Paris?”
“About that . . .” He set his empty bowl down and pushed back on the bed so that his back was against the wall. “I think it would be faster and generally safer to catch a local train to Lille and then take one of the main lines to Paris. They run frequently—we should be able to get there from Lille in a few hours, as opposed to a couple of days collecting saddle sores.”
“A train?” She looked at him in dismay and he raised an eyebrow.
“I believe from Lille to Paris they have first-class cabins.”
“Oooh. Lille it is.” But she had another thought. “Wait—how much does it cost?”
“You’ll have to fill out a special form”—he seemed quite serious until he finished with “promising them your firstborn.”
She narrowed her eyes. “My
firstborn. What about your
f irstborn?”
“My firstborn is already spoken for. I assume yours is still available.”
“It is. But how would they collect a twinkle from your eye?”
“I beg your pardon.” He looked at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the phrase ‘I’ve known him since he was a twinkle in his father’s eye.’ It’s one of Uncle Red’s. It implies—”
“I know what it implies.” He frowned slightly, concentrating. “So, you think your firstborn is a twinkle in my
eye?”
“Well, it has to be in somebody’s eye,” she said, with as straight a face as she could muster. “It could be you or any one of a hundred fellows I have yet to meet. Don’t take it personally.”
“Good God.” He seemed genuinely flummoxed. “You are the most outrageous female I have ever met.”
“Likewise.” She met his gaze with a steadiness that surprised her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you say things that astonish and puzzle me on a regular basis. You’re warm and inviting one moment and cool and condescending the next. You make arrogant pronouncements, and then turn around and say something that is downright funny and endearing. I don’t know how to deal with you. Yet.
But I will. It’s on my list of things to accomplish before I die.”
“Assuming you know me for that long.”
“I will. I plan to have a long, eventful life.”
He pulled his chin back and gave her a dubious look.
“I don’t know how I feel about you planning your life around me.”
“Good Lord, Reynard. It’s not like I’ve asked you to marry me or something.” She sniffed and tilted her chin. “Back to this train from Lille. What are the chances we’ll have to ride in a boxcar with the livestock?”
He seemed truly unmanned by her quicksilver changes of subject. “I’ll be stark raving mad by the time we reach Paris.”
“If it’s more than four pounds sterling, we’ll probably have to walk.”
She sighed internally. Her plan to keep him at arm’s length was working, so far. But the longer she stayed cooped up in this cabin with him, the harder it was to not stare at him and want to touch his handsome face and explore his long, lanky body.
“If only we had a deck of cards,” she said, rousing a triumphant “Ah-ha!” from him. He slid off the bunk and delved into the side of his valise for a small box that turned out to be playing cards.
They agreed on rummy and began to play. Several rounds of cards had Frankie well ahead in points and Reynard growing frustrated by her luck.
“Perhaps we should try another game,” she said. “I’ve always been terrible at euchre, but I’ll try it if you’ll refresh my memory of the rules.”
She turned out to be abominably lucky at euchre, too.
With a huff of disgust, he looked up at her.
“You, Frankie Bumgarten, are impossible.”
It came out because she just couldn’t keep it in any longer.
“That’s the problem, Reynard Boulton. I’m all too possible.”
His gaze locked with hers and lightning struck along that visual connection. Seconds later, he was up and launching himself across the cards, headed straight for her lips.
She didn’t move, didn’t gasp, didn’t brace to resist. When his chest made contact with hers and pushed her back onto the bunk, she wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips in invitation. He accepted with a heat and urgency that answered every question her heart could ask.
Sweet Heaven—it was like every part of her body cheered at those long-awaited sensations. Her face tingled from her lips outward, her breasts heated and their tips became tight little bundles of anticipation. His weight against her was divine and his kisses were long and positively liquefying. She was turning into a pool of exquisite, swirling sensations that seemed to have no beginning and no end.
He touched her face, her hair, her throat, and groaned at the barrier her dress presented. With a nod from her, his clever fingers went to work and soon freed her chest and the tops of her breasts to his ministrations. She was almost delirious at the feel of him kissing and nibbling his way across her chest and up her throat. Such sensations, such pleasure . . . she’d never imagined . . .
When at last he paused to look down at her, his eyes were that lovely bright silver again, glimmering with pleasure, and his lips were curved in a delicious smile that she traced with her fingers.
“I’ve never felt anything like this,” she said, not bothering to shield the emotions that accompanied her awakening passions. For the moment, she didn’t care about anything but the warmth and pleasure of having him against her, loving her. And it was loving
. His touch was gentle, his kisses were lush and inventive, and his face—his features glowed with a tenderness that took her breath.
“I will never, ever say you are too pretty again,” he said. “Because you are far beyond that. You’re beautiful. I never realized there were feelings so far beyond words. Feelings you can only show by touching, holding, giving.” He dropped light kisses from her forehead down her nose to her lips. “Do you know how many times I have wanted to kiss you like that?”
“I hope it is as many times as I have wanted you to,” she murmured.
He smiled softly and in that moment, she wondered if that was what angels looked like. Eyes glowing, face alight with passion and caring. And she understood, finally, what Daisy had meant when she said there were no words to truly describe the depth and joy of love between a man and a—
Love.
Her breath froze in her throat, as if an icy draft from the tempest outside had brushed her bared soul. She stiffened with shock.
He read the change in her, and whether or not he sensed what caused it, he responded with a withdrawal that dimmed those beautiful eyes.
He sat back, straightened his coat, and began to pick up the cards.
She rose and with clumsy fingers began to re-button her bodice. Love.
A thousand different thoughts and feelings clamored for attention—but the ones she chose to recognize were regret, disappointment, and anxiety that he would think less of her for what just happened. For starting something between them and then stopping something between them.
He said something about needing fresh air as he left.
She focused on the door as it shut, feeling limp and empty, like a balloon with the air let out. And yet, she knew if it had gone further—if they had indulged their true desires—it would only have complicated things. Their lives, their futures were complex enough as it was.
As she sat on the bunk feeling the ship shuddering and shouldering its way through the heavy seas, she realized her emotions were as chaotic as the weather outside. And for the second time in years, her eyes filled with tears.
* * *
The ship rolled and tossed in the dark, making sleep impossible, and when the waves and spray drenched the deck and cabin, the temperature dropped enough to set Frankie shivering. The lantern overhead swayed and jerked against the gimbal, dousing the wick and leaving the cabin in darkness. She stood on the bunk and tried to reach and relight the lantern, but she lost her balance twice and decided it was useless to fight such churning elements.
He didn’t return to the cabin for some time, and when he did, he brought a chair and sat in it with his feet propped on their valises. She lay on the bunk, cold and miserable. He must have heard her teeth chattering—it was certainly loud enough—and he delved into his valise for a coat to put over her. She was so grateful that she didn’t object when he lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms, fitting himself against her.
“Don’t you need your coat?” she stuttered.
“No. I’m cold-blooded. Ask anyone in London.”
He was back to his sardonic, self-disparaging mode. She sensed that it was a form of protection for them both, but it dealt a bruise to her heart all the same. His breath was warm against the nape of her neck, and she shivered.
“Still cold?” he asked.
“I’m getting warmer.” She paused. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it. And for Heaven’s sake, don’t let word of it get around. It would wreck my reputation as a heartless scandalmonger.”
There was a softness, an intimacy in his voice that took some of the sting from those words. In spite of her best intentions, she snuggled deeper against him and allowed herself to absorb the pleasure of his embrace while it lasted.
Warm and secure against him, she fell into an exhausted sleep, and didn’t feel the sweet press of his lips against her hair in the dark.
* * *
The ship seemed to have stopped moving when she awoke. There was light in the cabin and the bunk beside her was empty. She stood for a moment, brushing her clothes while adjusting to the lack of motion.
Today began the next phase of her mission. Her thoughts were crowded with potent impressions of the previous night, both pleasurable and agonizing. She was falling in love with Reynard Boulton and couldn’t seem to stop. No amount of reasoning or good sense could persuade her heart not to want things he was not prepared to give her. The duke’s dark words were ever in her mind; Reynard was not who he appeared to be. He had troubles of his own. His help with finding her sister was already more than she had a right to expect.
Her task, then, was to make sure it went no further, to barricade her heart against feelings that would never be returned.
When Reynard appeared in the cabin with a cup of tea, a hunk of dry bread, and a plateful of overcooked, brown-edged eggs, she was mostly prepared and greeted him with a barrage of questions.
As she picked at the food, he answered. They were in the harbor, waiting for a berth at the quay, which accounted for the minimal motion. The captain said they would be docking soon and Reynard had already inquired about train schedules.
“Excellent,” she declared, leaving the plate on the now bare bunk. “Then we’ll have time to get some real food.”
In the end, they had no time for food. The closest departure time for Lille was barely an hour from their docking. They hurried down the gangplank and across the dock to a place the captain had said they might find a cab to the train station. British coin was accepted for tickets, but Reynard negotiated an additional exchange of currency that he was pleased to say was in their favor.
They were seated in the train’s one and only passenger car, when Grycel Manse entered and stowed his satchel on an overhead rack. He took a seat at the rear of the car, propped his hat over his eyes, and appeared to nap.
Frankie looked to Reynard and he nodded, letting her know that he was aware of his friend’s presence. She drew a deep breath, reassured. Reynard had been to France a number of times and spoke French fluently. It did worry her a bit that he had arranged for head-cracking help in case they needed it.
Lille was a bustling city much larger than Frankie expected. The train station, the Gare de Lille-Flandres, was still under construction in places, but managed to accommodate a great number of travelers daily. They found the ticket windows and purchased tickets to the Gare du Nord in Paris.
No firstborns were required.
They settled into seats in first class and Frankie was too occupied with thoughts of what they would do in Paris to realize that Reynard was watching her closely. She couldn’t decipher the trend of his thoughts in his carefully neutral countenance, and decided to come right out with it.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” he responded, setting the newspaper he’d acquired aside.
“You’re staring.” She tried not to let him think it was important to her.
“You are a better traveler than I would have expected. Kept your stomach down on that abysmal crossing last night.”
“It was empty. I travel better on an empty stomach,” she said. “I’ll be ravenous by the time we reach Paris.” She studied him for a moment. “So, what is really on your mind?”
He took a deep breath and looked out the window at the passing fields and farms. “I’m just wondering what you will do when you find your sister and Julian. She made the choice to leave her home and family and the rest of the English-speaking world to come with him to Paris. What do you think would convince her to return home with you and submit to your mother’s will?”
“I’ve been thinking about that myself. I fear it won’t be easy. Julian has the lure of the exotic and the forbidden on his side. Not to mention music in all of its magnificence, which is a big part of Cece’s heart. Hopefully, she will have had enough experience on this impulsive journey to see that running off like this is not going to solve their problems, it will only create new ones.” She smoothed her skirt over her knees. “She claims not to care about money and comfort, but she’s never known anything else. A taste of the reality of a lowly musician’s life may change her mind.”
She followed his gaze out the window. “There is also the possibility that Julian may not seem quite so desirable once he is in a sea of Frenchmen—just one of many. She has known him for mere weeks. I doubt he has shown her his worst moods, habits, and qualities yet.”
“And you think such things may disenchant her? The way he loses his temper over small things, the way he belches during a meal, his penny-pinching or free-spending ways, whatever else he does . . . if you believed you were deeply, eternally in love, would such things discourage you?”
He seemed to be asking about more than Cece’s devotion, but she wasn’t sure what he wanted. “Perhaps not.” She bit her lip, thinking. “Cece always looks for the best in people, and some men hide their flaws better than others.”
“Very true.” He turned a searching gaze on her. “Your friend the duke, for example.”
“Yes.” Once again, she felt the burden of the rumors the duke had shared—or invented—about him. “He is all smiles and manners at first, but is too arrogant and impatient to hide his true nature for long. And I will tell you that he says the same things about you.”
“Me?” He thought for a moment. “Of course. He sees me as a rival.”
“Worse,” she continued. “He tells stories of gossip you spread that ruined careers and humiliated families. That you are not so concerned about the truth of the gossip as the juiciness of it. That you are not to be trusted.”
He shifted in his seat growing more intent, and then sat forward.
“Part of what he says is true. I was responsible for the downfall of certain men. I can make no excuse for it, except that I was young and arrogant. I felt justified in wielding such power and believed they deserved what they got, not thinking that such actions would reach further than the wretches themselves. I never intended families or business partners to be unjustly injured by my actions. I know in some cases, it happened. An older and wiser man would have been more judicious. I now hold many secrets I will never reveal, for that very reason.”
She glimpsed pain in his face, but only briefly, as it was mastered and hidden. It was always there, she realized, just below the surface, masked by a façade of wit and indifference. She began to see the toll that collecting and keeping secrets had taken on him. Reynard—the Fox—bore more of that burden than anyone in the realm. Perhaps she should warn him. . . .
“There is one more thing the duke said, one that I found difficult to credit, but believe you should hear.” She paused. “He says you will never inherit, because of your birth. He said . . . you are base born.”
He looked like he’d just been gut-punched. A moment later, he rose and walked out of the compartment without a word.
He was wounded by that allegation, more so than anything else the duke had said. The duke’s sneering smile rose in her mind, and she realized with a sinking heart that wounding Reynard was probably the very reason the duke had told her. She had just, unknowingly, been the duke’s foil in an ugly strike against his prime rival.
For a long while, she sat staring at but unseeing the countryside passing by the window. She wouldn’t blame Reynard if he got off the train, headed back to London, and didn’t look back. It took a while for her to collect the nerve to go and look for him. She found him just before she reached the dining car. He was returning to their compartment bearing a tray filled with food.
As he stood in the passage holding that tray, searching her reaction, she could see the man inside him, a man tempered enough by time and trial to acknowledge his mistakes and take responsibility for them. But in doing so, he allowed others the same freeing, life-giving honesty that he had chosen. Painfully aware of his flaws and shortcomings, he was now more accepting of imperfections in others. In her
. It was a lesson in the meaning and power of forgiveness that she would not soon forget.
“Hungry?” he said, glancing down at the linen-covered tray.
“Absolutely,” she said, feeling tears pricking her eyes. Blinking them away, she turned back to their compartment with a heart suddenly filled with stubborn and defiant joy. For this moment, for however long it might last, she was with the man she wanted more than anything else in her life.
She had just fallen completely and irrevocably in love with Reynard Boulton.