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. Had 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?”

She could have kissed him. Now would have been the perfect time for him to slip away, but he kept his promise. He did not leave her alone.

“Evans, will you send the tea tray? Miss Fournay has had quite a scare and could use a bit of fortification, I think.”

“Yes, sir.” The butler departed, and Collette sank into a chair. Hysteria churned within her. She had almost died, almost been killed today. Beaumont had saved her life. If he had acted even one second slower, she would have been dead. But she couldn’t think of that. She couldn’t allow what-ifs to enter her mind or she’d dissolve into a crying fit right here and now.

“You look a bit shaky, Miss Fournay,” Beaumont said. “I say we add brandy to the tea. Does Lady Ravensgate keep any in here?”

“As far as I know, she has none in the house at all. She drinks only wine and then only claret.”

“That is a travesty. Claret won’t keep you from falling apart.” He sat beside her on the couch. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.” But the hand she lifted to smooth her hair back shook.

He caught it and held it firmly, linking her icy fingers with his warm ones. She was suddenly very, very cold. “Stay with me, Miss Fournay,” he said. “Take deep breaths.”

She nodded, her throat too choked for her to be able to speak.

“Are you certain there’s no brandy?”

She nodded again.

He shrugged. “Then I suppose there’s nothing else for it. I’ll have to kiss you.”

* * *

The look she gave him was half fear, half longing. He had been teasing, for the most part, but he could admit that if he hadn’t seen the fear, he might have taken her mouth right then. He certainly wanted to kiss her enough. He’d wanted to kiss her since he’d first stepped into Lady Ravensgate’s residence and Miss Fournay had been standing there in her proper white dress and stiff straw hat tied under her chin with prim blue ribbons.

Now, he held up both hands as though he meant no harm. “I was not serious. As your friend, I admit to worrying about you. You are so pale and shaky.” And he had only himself to blame for that. What the devil had he been thinking? Why had he agreed to Jasper’s scheme? Even knowing the driver of the cart had been paid to miss the lady, Rafe’s heart had jumped into his throat when he saw it bearing down on her. He’d saved her, as they’d planned, but if anything had gone wrong, she might have been seriously injured or killed.

Lady Ravensgate was fine. He’d shoved her out of the way, and she’d fallen on a soft patch of grass. Rafe was sorry she’d twisted her ankle, but if the Foreign Office had the right of it, the woman was a traitor and deserved far worse.

That meant Miss Fournay—rather, Fortier—was a traitor too. Rafe wasn’t quite so resigned to her inevitable fate.

“I only need a few minutes to gather my wits,” she said. “The tea will help.”

Brandy would have helped more, but he’d have to make do without it. He’d also have to make do without taking her into his arms. He had a mission, an assignment, and he could not afford to fail. His replacement might not be so civilized.

“I daresay it will. I could use some myself. I’ve seen carriage strikes from time to time, but the cart seemed to come straight for us.”

“What happened to the driver?”

“The bastard, forgive me, didn’t even stop. If I ever find him, he’ll be sorry. He must have been drunk or…” He paused, as though something had just occurred to him. “There isn’t any reason to think the man was heading for you, is there? There’s no one who would want you dead?”

Her face paled further, and Rafe had to keep his expression from changing to reflect the rush of disappointment he felt inside followed by the surge of fear for her. The woman had something to hide, something worth killing for, and Rafe wished to God that, for once, the Foreign Office and Draven had been wrong.

“Did I say something to upset you?” he asked.

“No.” She smoothed her hair back. Her hat had long since fallen from her head and dangled by the ribbons about her neck. Her hands shook violently as she reached for the ribbon to release the hat. But the silky blue trimming had knotted, and her hands were shaking too badly to grasp it, much less untangle it.

“Allow me,” he said. Before she could object, he took the flimsy ties in his hands and began to work on the knot. He could feel her trembling. Her body quaking under his hands. Her pulse beat against his knuckles, which lightly brushed her throat. Her skin was soft and warm, lush and ripe beneath the starched muslin of her dress. But he could not afford to think of that.

“The majority of snorting during hedgehog courtship originates from the sow.”

Rafe paused in his efforts. She must have been anxious if she was referring to hedgehogs again. “And the male? He is silent?”

She nodded. “For the most part, the boar does not snort, although there have been reports of boars snorting.”

“I can well imagine.” He freed one of the knots. “Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill you?” he asked casually, starting on the next knot in the ribbons.

“No!” But the answer was too hasty, too vehement to be believed.

“Good.” He loosened the other knot and lifted the hat away, placing it on the table beside the couch they occupied. “I wouldn’t want you to be in any danger.”

She bit her lip, looked at him, then looked away.

Come on, he thought. Tell me. Trust me.

“I can’t think of a single reason,” she finally answered, firmly though not convincingly. “It was an accident, nothing more.”

Evans entered with the tea tray, and Rafe served, noting she had to set her cup on the table since it shook so much. “Do try and drink,” he told her.

“I think I might feel better if I lie down.”

That was his dismissal. Rafe didn’t like it, but he didn’t have much choice. He took his leave and walked straight to his club.

After greeting Porter, Rafe ascertained that Phineas and Stratford were playing billiards while Neil was alone in the reading room. Since Jasper was not at the club and Rafe had no idea how to find the man, he headed to the reading room to join Neil. He needed to think and might have gone to one of the empty chambers, but he didn’t particularly enjoy being alone.

He entered the small chamber, which was paneled in dark wood with high-backed chairs flanking a crackling fire. He sat in a chair beside Neil, who briefly glanced up at him from some papers. Rafe didn’t bother to engage his friend in conversation. He stared into the fire and tried to scheme, a skill he lacked for the most part.

Finally, Neil lowered the paper. “I can hear you thinking. Stop before you hurt yourself.”

“Don’t you have a dozen orphans to harass?”

“Yes, but they aren’t as much fun to goad as you. In any case, Lady Juliana took them to the park today. Something about taking advantage of the sun or some such nonsense, and as I had business to attend to, I could not accompany her.”

“Business?”

“That’s right, and if you ever tell her any differently, I will shave your head and your eyebrows. Ewan will hold you down while I do it.”

The thought of himself bald made Rafe shiver. “Your secret is safe with me.” He went back to staring into the fire. Neil lifted his paper again. Rafe sighed and tapped his fingers on his chair. Finally, Neil tossed the paper down.

“Out with it.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Just say it already. I don’t have much time left, and the sooner I am rid of you, the sooner peace and quiet is restored.”

“Do you remember the French soldier we followed in Portugal? The courier?”

“Unfortunately.” It had been unfortunate for the courier as he’d ended up dead. But such was war.

“We followed him for half a day, and then when he made camp and fell asleep, Aidan relieved him of his courier’s bag.”

“We wanted to see the dispatches he carried.”

“It was cold and rainy,” Beaumont said.

“I recall because you complained without ceasing. Jasper was this close to accidentally shooting you in the foot so you’d really have something to complain about.”

“Very amusing.”

Neil’s face didn’t change expression, and Rafe wondered if perhaps he wasn’t kidding. “In any case,” he continued, “the weather distracted me somewhat. Seems like Aidan returned the bag, and we sent the courier on his way, waited for him, and then…” He drew a finger across his neck. “Why didn’t we just kill him after we’d stolen the contents of his satchel?”

“Who is this we?”

“Fine. Why didn’t you three kill him after you rifled his satchel?”

“Because then he wouldn’t have been able to deliver the false documents.”

Rafe nodded. “I remember something about that. You took the real papers he’d been carrying and replaced them with false ones.”

“Exactly. We carried the real ones, orders from Jourdan himself, back to Draven and Wellington.”

Rafe remembered gathering intelligence about Jourdan, who had been one of Napoleon’s most trusted and skilled military advisers. “And the false ones gave incorrect orders to the French.”

“They were to rendezvous with the core of the army, but we sent them in the other direction. A small thing, but by the time their general realized his mistake, he was too late to be of any service in the intervening battle. And that’s how wars are won.”

Rafe smiled and rose. Perhaps he was not so lacking in the ability to scheme after all.

“Now what are you doing?” Neil asked.

Rafe looked back over his shoulder. He had risen and was already halfway across the room. “I have a war to win.”

“This is a first.”

“Let’s hope it’s the last.”