Chapter Eleven
They waited together in the darkened room, not speaking, Celeste’s gun drawn against the window as they watched the night sky fade into darkness and the moon rise above the city.
This morning they had felt like strangers, but this evening they were more than that again. Stronger feelings were there, too, but he could not at the moment think about those.
He teased the silk of a scarf he had in his hands through his fingers, the strength of it reassuring. Every part of his body was honed and ready for action.
* * *
The sound came an hour later, small at first and then more loudly. Scraping and a footfall. Shay took in a breath and kept it there, not a single thing upon him moving. Still. Readied. Focused.
The shadow of a man and then the body with a blackened face turned to the room.
‘Stand very still.’
At Celeste’s voice the figure stopped immediately. ‘Now step in slowly and raise your arms.’
Guy Bernard stood there now in the light of the candle Shay had struck, beardless, thinner, a smile upon his face. His hands were devoid of weapons.
‘Major Shayborne,’ he said softly in French, ignoring Celeste altogether. ‘So all those rumours from Nantes were true?’
‘Rumours?’ He could not understand quite what Guy Bernard meant.
‘Be quiet, Guy.’ Celeste’s words showed the steel in her voice, but the Frenchman wasn’t listening.
‘You do not know of the sacrifice that she made for you?’
‘What the hell are you talking of?’
‘This.’ When he tipped his head Shay could see the scar of her knife’s work on his neck. ‘As well as her accusations against Benet. It was a pure exchange. Her life for yours. The things she had to say were more important than what might have come from your interrogation, I suspect, and she’d promised to go without fight to Paris if you were left alone to take safe passage back to England.’
Shay glanced briefly around at Celeste, sick with the realisation of the danger she had placed herself in for him. When she refused to meet his eyes he swore, for nothing with her was ever as he thought it and he could see the truth of Bernard’s words in her eyes. Sacrifice.
‘And now no doubt she is crawling into your bed with all her gifts, a woman who might see her best chance and take it.’
‘Enough.’
But Guy Bernard was not ready to cease, not by a long shot.
‘Perhaps it might be wise to ask her about some of her other secrets. They are certainly worth listening to.’
‘You speak of the soldiers who took her after her father’s murder? I want to thank you for your part in seeing to their demise. It was the honourable thing to do.’
That surprised him, a heavy frown on his face settling.
Shay took two steps towards him. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I want my wife back. I want her to return with me to France. It is her place, after all.’
‘An unlikely conclusion to our meeting.’
‘She owes me her life. She owes me for this.’ His hand again indicated the old wound at his throat. ‘We were never divorced in the law courts and any judge in France would back me up on that.’
‘You are delusional.’ Celeste pushed into the conversation now, no careful diplomacy in what she said.
‘Go back to France and never return to England.’ Shay spoke across them both. ‘That promise is the only way you will leave here alive and I allow it only because of the way you dealt with the soldiers.’
For a moment Shay thought he might go, indeed he made to, his body turning even as the knife was flung. Towards Celeste.
‘If I cannot have you, Brigitte, then this Englishman most certainly will not. I swear it.’
The blade hit her in the arm, spinning her off her chair and sending her tumbling to the floor, a bright splash of red on the rug. Then there was another blade in Bernard’s hands as he stepped towards her, his focus only on Celeste.
The scarf came around the Frenchman’s throat as Shay bore down upon him, the light thin silk unbreakable and solid. He ignored the heavy thumps against his back and twisted the fabric twice before jerking the neck up, a slight small pop telling him it was finished.
Bernard’s inert body fell to the floor, the reddened face frozen in a mask of death as Shay’s fingers checked the pulse just to make certain that he indeed did not live.
Celeste simply kneeled there in shock after pulling the knife from her injured arm, her face pale and breath shaky as he moved across to her.
‘It’s not a fatal wound. You’re not bleeding heavily.’
She shook her head hard. ‘It is my fault, all this, and you are the one to pay for it...again.’
She was breathing so fast now he could barely make sense of the words. It wasn’t the wounded arm that was upsetting her at all, but his part in the demise of Guy Bernard. He held her carefully up against him, his hand pressed down on the injury so that the slow seepage of red would cease altogether.
‘Life is never one thing, Celeste, and you of all people must know that. Bernard died for your safety and for your deliverance, and I would kill him again in a second. This had to happen in order for you to live and for me this is honourable.’
Such words seemed to reach her through the mist that was fogging her brain and her fingers came up to his face, tracing the line of his cheek, stopping just short of his lips. ‘You are beautiful, Summer, both inside and out.’
He began to smile, then kissed her forehead carefully. ‘You choose damn strange times to tell me things, Celeste. Or rather, not to tell me?’
‘Nantes?’ She picked up his meaning.
‘Is it true what Bernard said? Did you sell yourself there to allow me to go free?’
‘Yes.’
Already there were footsteps coming up the stairs and along the passageway, the noise of the contretemps attracting the attention of his staff. Within a second the door was opened, by Aurelian de la Tomber of all people, three of Shay’s servants standing behind him.
His friend’s eyes flickered over the carnage in the room. ‘I had come to tell you Bernard has been spotted in London, but I see you already knew that. Are you going to live, Miss Fournier?’
‘I am.’
‘Good. Shay has been like a wounded bear since you parted in Nantes. It is time to resolve the troubles between you.’
Calling his man forward, he instructed him to fetch a physician promptly and then he turned towards Celeste.
‘You were right in exposing Mattieu Benet, Mademoiselle Fournier, but I would like to give you my side of the story if I may...’
He waited until she nodded.
‘The Ministry of War already had him in their sights. He’d been known to be unscrupulous and we needed to find solid proof. It was why I was there at the scene of the murder. We had word he was after Felix Dubois and I knew he was planning to leave Paris. I tried to protect the children, but I couldn’t.’
Celeste was glad of his honesty, but she had some of her own also. ‘It was my fault, too. The documents that were found on them came from me. The courier I sometimes used also worked for Mattieu Benet and he made sure that they were implicated.’
A new voice was heard outside and a physician stepped into the room.
‘This man said I was to come immediately...’ He gestured to the servant at his side, but his words dwindled to nothing as he saw Guy Bernard’s body on the floor lying before them.
‘It seems there is nothing at all I can do for the gentleman, but perhaps the lady might need my ministrations?’
‘Thank you.’ Shay stood and lifted Celeste up in his arms, ignoring completely her protests to be put down.
Aurelian turned to go. ‘Then I shall retrieve my great-aunt, Shay. She has been in London visiting with her sister and you would be hard pressed to find two more proper Dowagers. Their presence in the house is important to protect the reputation of your young guest.’
Both he and Celeste looked over at him.
‘Unlike Paris, London prides itself on the rigorous upholding of manners and decorum. We should not let the city down. Tante Adalicia and her sister will be in residence within the hour. It is my gift to you both.’
With various servants looking on and the doctor nodding his head vigorously, Shay had no way of insisting otherwise. He could only walk behind the procession of doctor and servants with Celeste in his arms as they led the way to the yellow bedchamber on the second floor of the Luxford town house.
* * *
She was finally alone.
All the prodding and stitching and bandaging had finished, the elixirs given, the candles lit, and beside her bed, well protected against the autumn cold, the old great-aunt of Aurelian de la Tomber sat, black shawl around her shoulders and drinking a generous brandy.
Celeste could hardly believe what had happened. Guy Bernard was dead, never to trouble her again, and Summer seemed to be having no trouble at all in digesting the fact that he’d killed him. She had also told him that he was beautiful in a way that would leave him with no doubt at all that she wanted more.
Her frown deepened for he had not replied or given her any compliment back. Granted, her timing was probably off, but still...
She looked across at Aurelian de la Tomber’s aunt and smiled, a stretched parody of a smile, she supposed, because all she truly wanted was Summer here in her bed, here where she might touch him and kiss him and...
‘My sister and I are quite elderly, Miss Fournier, and our usual retiring hour is long since reached, so I will bid you a good night. We both sleep very well and deeply and I hope that you shall, too.’
Celeste was not quite sure what the old lady was telling her.
‘Viscount Luxford speaks French remarkably well for an Englishman. His accent is that of a perfect Parisian gentleman, though when my sister quizzed him on his time in Provence his speech took on the musicality of that part as well. A man of many talents, my dear. A good man.’
‘He is.’
‘Our chambers lie on the first floor to the very back of the house. Lian insisted that we take such rooms because of the many stairs. A most insistent man, my great-nephew. And wily, too. I sometimes wonder whether the darker arts might have been more his calling than the banking he is involved in. I said as much to his mother many times, but I doubt she ever told him.’
For a moment Celeste could not quite find her voice. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly and on such short notice, madame.’
‘Oh, it is my pleasure, Miss Fournier. Respectability has its uses, my dear, as does putting on a fine face. It is just as well that we were here to be of assistance.’
When she left, Celeste sat up. Her arm had been pulled into a sling, the cotton soft against her skin. A nightgown had been procured from somewhere, as had a night jacket and warm woollen slippers. A maid had combed her hair and tied it into a ribbon and she had been bathed in lilac water and rose oil, the soap of lavender adding its bit to the potpourri of toilettes.
All in all, she smelt like a flower shop, albeit an expensive one. It had been a very long time since she had felt so very pampered and coddled. Underneath all the shock she liked the feeling, although she knew on the morrow she would return to Langley.
It was over. Danger. The past. Retribution. She was safe. They were safe, she and Loring and Summer. The absolute relief of it all made her heart sing.
‘Please God, let him come.’
She whispered this under her breath and was mindful of the quietening of the house around her: the last footfalls of the servants, the clock on the mantel ringing out the early hour of morning, one plaintive note at a time.
Then the door handle moved and the door opened and Summerley Shayborne, Viscount Luxford, stood there, newly bathed himself, his necktie loose and without any sort of a jacket.
‘May I come in?’
She nodded and he walked forward, holding a candle that was almost burned down to the wick.
He stopped a little distance from the bed, placing the candle down at her level on the small bedside table.
‘Is your arm feeling better?’
‘Much.’ She could barely say more.
‘Tell me about Nantes, Celeste. Let me hear the truth from you.’
‘You do not think Guy Bernard had the way of it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He did and he didn’t. He didn’t know that the only time I have ever felt honourable was when you were with me. He couldn’t know that if you had died I would have, too, because seeing you safe was all I had left.’
‘The agents of Les Chevaliers were at the port then and you spoke to them when I went to meet Aurelian?’
She nodded. ‘There were five of them and they had been waiting for a week. Two of the older men held great ambitions to replace Benet, so my allegations whet their appetites for a regime change.’
‘You knew that about them?’
‘I made it my business to.’
‘So you struck a deal with them? Your honesty for my safe passage?’
‘Well, it was a little more complicated than that. You were right out in the open and one of the agents was the finest marksmen in all of France. He would not have cared if others were in the way and got hurt and I knew that he hated Aurelian de la Tomber with a passion.’
‘So it was for both of us, then?’
‘I decided to implicate de la Tomber, too, for if I could not save him in Paris, then at least I might try in Nantes and I had seen him outside the Dubois home just before the children were killed.’
‘A fortunate happenstance?’
‘I thought so. I promised I would accompany the agents back to Paris of my own free will and give my accusations when I got there, but I also insisted that I retained my weapons at hand. If anyone touched me, I would kill myself. They made certain no one did, for arriving empty-handed in Paris would have invited sterner questions than each thought they might survive.’
‘And in Paris?’
‘Well, things went a bit awry there because Benet is wily and de la Tomber is clever. But I kept saying what I thought was true despite the opposition and within a day there was an inquiry.’
‘And then you left?’
‘Carefully at midnight on the third day, for everything I had set out to do was done and de la Tomber seemed to be safely absolved from it all.’
‘A perfect outcome for everyone, save you?’
She smiled. ‘It was the end of everything, anyway, and the resulting confusion made my escape easy.’
He shook his head and walked to the window, looking out with his hands on the sill. Then he turned.
‘You told me today that I was beautiful, both inside and out. Was that something you have regretted saying since?’
A jolt of shock ran down from her throat to her stomach, making her breathless. He never had been a man to skirt about issues, but then, neither had she. ‘It is not. I love you. I will always love you. For ever and ever.’
‘God.’
‘When you left the port safely and I watched the sails of your fishing boat fill with air as it made for the open sea, all I could think was, this is my finest moment. I had not lost you to death and there was still hope in life for us.’
‘Us?’ A new tone in his question held her still.
‘I missed you and I hoped you might have missed me, too.’
‘I did, every day.’
She watched him as he came forward to kneel on the thick Aubusson rug next to the bed, his hand searching for hers and taking it into his own, the fingers warm and strong.
‘Will you marry me, Celeste? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
‘Your wife?’ She had never believed he would ask her this, never even hoped for it. Such a proposal was so far from any expectation that she was momentarily mute.
‘My wife, to have and to hold for ever. In sickness and in health. For richer, for poorer.’ He began to smile. ‘In bed and out of it. In danger and in safety. In France and in England. In my heart and blood and soul. That sort of wife.’
‘You were always good with words, Summer.’
‘And you were always good at hiding, Celeste.’
‘If I say yes, you might regret it, and besides, you have said nothing at all to me of love. I have to have that.’
‘Have I not? Is it not here?’ He touched their joined hands with his free one and then his fingers rested lightly on the bandage above her elbow. ‘Or here?’
Celeste had the honesty to nod.
‘I promise you faith and hope, but mostly I promise you love and the grace to stay exactly as you are.’
‘And what am I, Summer? To you?’
‘Everything,’ he whispered and when his voice broke she was amazed. Here was a man who had saved armies and enabled countries to throw off the mantle of an unwanted ruler. A man who was a hero to one half of Europe and a hallowed enemy to the other. Yet he was promising her fealty. Her with her chequered past and a future that was uncertain, to say the least.
Everything.
She could not stop the tears falling as he kept talking.
‘I love you so much that I have allowed Aurelian to place these ancient relatives in my home, precluding me from any sort of hope of luring you to my bedroom. I love you so much that I am prepared to wait until our wedding night to know again the utter joy I knew in France. I love you so much that I wish to do everything properly from now on.’
‘Properly?’
‘I will court you until I wear down any resistance to my proposal and you marry me out of love and lust.’
She smiled at that, but knew she could not capitulate completely.
‘You must come with me to Langley on the morrow, for I have one last secret for you. A good one,’ she added when she saw him frown. ‘The very best.’
‘And if I do this, will you give me your answer?’
She pulled his face into her hands and kissed him with all her heart, nothing hidden or held back.
‘I will.’
‘Then I shall hold you to it, but for now it’s best if I am not here alone with you.’
He stood, tipping his head in a goodbye. Then he was gone.
‘Please God,’ she whispered, wiping away the tears. ‘Please God, let me be good enough for him and let him love Loring.’
She was exhausted and her arm hurt, but the wonderment of her day danced over everything.
* * *
The tension between them was back as they drove south, all the confessions and high emotions from the night before quietened now into the reality of what they had nearly lost and what they still hoped to gain.
‘Aurelian made certain Guy Bernard’s body was dealt with. At least there won’t be an official inquiry into it.’
Waking this morning, Shay had felt no remorse at all for killing the Frenchman, his knives poised to murder Celeste. He could never bother them again and Celeste appeared as relieved as he to have the threat dealt with and removed.
He wanted her to tell him that she loved him again. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and understand the magic that had never gone away in all the months that they were apart.
She had almost forfeited her life for his in Nantes. That gift alone told him everything he needed to know.
‘Where did you go after leaving Paris?
‘I went to Calais. It was large enough to get lost in, but small enough not to be lost to myself.’
There were things there in her expression that he wondered about. She had not gone to Italy and to the warmth, ease and beauty of a place where she had contacts. She had gone instead to the colder climes of the department of Pas-de-Calais. Nothing made sense.
She was fidgeting with her clothing, her fingers playing with the material in her old and worn-out trousers. She’d insisted on wearing the cloak on top as well and no amount of persuasion on his part would have her shed it. Hiding as usual. She was both nervous and desperate. He could read the emotions on her face.
As they came up the driveway to Langley, she leaned forward, watching the windows above the portico and positioning herself to move the second the conveyance came to a halt.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ He asked this because he so plainly could see that she was.
‘When the carriage stops we will go into the house and straight upstairs. I have to tell you now. I don’t want to wait.’
‘Very well.’
He could not for the life of him understand what might be awaiting him but, if it was important to Celeste, then it would be important to him, too.
She smiled at his answer and for the first time since last night touched him gently on his hand.
‘I am not mad or delusional or whatever you may be thinking. It will all be explained when we go upstairs. But we must hurry.’
The second the conveyance ceased moving she was out, hurrying for the front steps, the front door, the tall and winding staircase, a darker passage and then another door.
‘Stay here for just a moment. Please.’
He heard quiet voices inside and then the door reopened and a maid scurried away, curiosity bathing her homely face as she glanced across to him.
A second later Celeste was there, her hand held out waiting for his.
‘He needs to see us together.’
The cot was small and beautifully decorated with Brussels lace and the finest lawn. When she pulled back the blankets a child lay there watching them. A light-haired child with eyes the colour of his own and a nose and mouth that reminded him so forcibly of something he sought to put a name to.
The picture in his bedchamber in London. The one done in red chalk and fine lines. Himself as a small baby all those years before.
‘He is ours, Summer. His name is Loring, which means son of a great warrior in old French. He is almost five months old.’
‘My God.’ He came closer and the movement had the baby’s eyes following him. ‘My son. Our son.’
‘Yes.’
Happiness and joy were imprinted upon Celeste’s face as she lifted him up and cradled the baby against her, one hand behind his head and the other tight beneath his bottom. She kissed his hair with reverence and relief and pure utter delight and then kissed him again.
‘You restored my honour, Summer, and Loring restored my hope. So the answer to your proposal is, yes, we will marry you, if you can accept us together.’
At that he placed his arms about them, a circle of love and protection, a circle that would never be broken, not today, not tomorrow and not, God willing, in all the years of their marriage.
‘I love you both, but I never expected a gift like this. A son. Our son.’
At that she handed the little bundle over, showing him how to hold up Loring’s head and keep him safe. Small fingers rose and clutched at his own, the nails with perfect crescents of white.
For the second time in two days he felt undone, he who in all his years of warfare had barely shed a tear.
It was the end of a long and lonely journey. He had finally come home.
* * *
Lady Faulkner met them as they walked down the stairs, her face alight with interest.
‘Luxford?’ Her glance went to their joined hands and then to the baby. ‘He is the father, I presume?’ She looked straight at Celeste. ‘The resemblance is there for anyone with eyes to see.’
‘He is, Grandmère, and it was not impossible, after all.’
At that, the years on the older woman’s face fell away, the creases of tension softening.
‘It could not be more marvellous,’ she said finally. ‘If I could have conjured up someone for my granddaughter, Summerley, the man on the top of the list would have been you.’
‘Not just someone,’ he said quietly. ‘Celeste has consented to marry me as soon as we are able and I hope you will give us your blessing.’
‘Then God has answered all my prayers and the sadness of Langley has been lifted for good. From now on there will only be wonderful times.’ She stopped. ‘At least until Loring grows up and begins to worry us with the taste for adventure he has most assuredly inherited. Then we will all have to take in a breath.’ Stepping forward, she took his hand in her own. ‘Your parents would have been pleased, Shayborne, and so would your grandfather, Celeste. Perhaps Mary Elizabeth, August and Jeremy will be looking down and smiling, too.’
‘I hope so.’
* * *
Much later, Loring was asleep in his cot and the night outside was silent and dark. Although Summer had wanted to do everything properly, as he put it, Celeste had no more will to wait.
She wanted him now, inside her, making her feel everything she had always thought she never would again.
‘Are you sure?’
His words entered the night as he slipped into the bed beside her, the warmth of his skin sending a blazing desperation through her.
‘I am. But you will find me different.’
She kept the sheet knotted in her hands, anchoring the fabric under her chin.
‘Different because you are now the mother of our son?’
‘Childbirth is not an easy thing.’
‘Let me look. Let me see you in the candlelight. Please.’
When she dropped the sheet he traced the small scars of childbirth that she knew crossed her hips and then his fingers rose up to the new curve at her breasts.
‘It’s why you did not want me to touch you in London?’
She could only nod.
‘You are even more beautiful than I remember you to be and that is saying something. You are tempered in steel, but bathed, too, in honey, sweet and supple and soft, and I want you.’
Relaxing back after such a compliment, she looked straight at him.
‘This time, Summer, we will make love from the fullness of our life. This time the future, not the past, will rule us.’
His hand fell lower as he leaned down to kiss her. ‘This time, Celeste, it is for ever.’
She came to him bathed in faith and when the hardness of his sex drove into her centre, she shut her eyes and breathed. Always she had tried to fill the nothingness with a temporary dissolution of fear, a momentary escape.
Tonight she could only find the joining, the place where they ceased to exist separately and both became one. Tonight as a nightingale called from the tree outside the window, Celeste knew she would hear these sounds all of the years of her existence, their existence, hers and Summer’s and Loring’s and any other child with whom they might be blessed.
‘I want lots of children,’ she told him as the waves inside her heightened and he lost the power to hold back and came within her strong and deep and true.
‘As many as you like. You are mine,’ he said as her own release followed. ‘For ever.’
* * *
As the moon rose he brought her a glass of white wine and they sat in the candlelight and talked.
‘Why didn’t you go to Italy, Celeste, to have our son?’
She took a large sip and leaned back. When she spoke she did not look at him.
‘The pregnancy was difficult. I was so sick I simply could not face the thought of a long journey south, so I chose to travel north instead.’
‘What happened?’
‘I became sicker and finally a woman took me in. Eloise Mercier was her name and she was a healer. She had a way with natural herbs and made a living in administering medicines to those who were ill in the area.’
‘And so you recovered with her help?’
‘I did. It was so good being away from deceit and subterfuge and for a while I stopped glancing over my shoulder and looked inside instead. To Loring. I didn’t have you, but I had him, and all I could hope was that he would be a child that might resemble his father so that I had a part of you left. But even then I knew that there would always be people who would want to harm me and I needed to keep Loring safe. So I wrapped him up in the warmest blankets I could find and took passage on a boat to England.’
‘And returned to your grandmother?’
‘Yes. I had no notion you would ever forgive me and I knew that you were probably a viscount to boot. It was a risk to return to Langley with Luxford so very close, but for Loring’s sake it was one that I was willing to take.’
‘I should have come looking for you. I nearly did many a time, but...’
‘I’d run from you once already?’
‘That and the fact that if I had tried to locate you, it might have made everything far more dangerous for you.’
‘Maybe it would have. When you cast out such a wide net it is never certain who might be caught within it.’
‘Then I thank God that you and Loring are safe now and home.’
‘Summer?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d like our wedding to be here at Langley with only a handful of guests. Grandmère. Vivienne Shayborne and perhaps Aurelian de la Tomber? Do you think that is something you might want as well?’
‘I’ll get a special licence and send word to Lian tomorrow. If all goes to plan, we can be married within three days.’