Chapter 4
March 27-28, 1814
A narrow room adjoining the great hall had been transformed into a library by Lisette Beauvisage, and Grey had discovered its pleasures. After shedding his cravat, opening his collar, and plucking several volumes from the carved bookshelves, he sank into on a wing chair and gazed at the pages by candlelight.
How inexpressibly sweet it was to be at liberty after more than a year! In prison, he had been deprived not only of good food and warm clothing, but of nourishment for his soul. He had missed his books desperately, the glorious feeling of sunlight on his face, freedom to come and go as he pleased, stimulating conversation with friends, holding a woman’s body in his arms...
“Oh!” Natalya passed through the low, arched doorway and started at the sight of Grey. “Excuse me! I saw the light and assumed that Uncle Nicky had forgotten to put out a candle. I thought that you had already retired for the night...”
“You aren’t interrupting. My mind’s too busy to slow down enough to really read, but it’s a tremendous pleasure just to touch fine books again.” He half rose and gestured toward the chair next to his. “Would you care to join me?”
“Well... perhaps for a moment.” As she crossed the cozy library, it seemed to Natalya that the air fairly crackled with male energy. She found that she couldn’t look at him, and her cheeks were growing warmer by the minute.
Grey, meanwhile, was grateful for her averted gaze, because he seemed to be unable to stop feasting on the vision before him. Natalya’s beauty was a delicious treat for his starved senses. The light batiste of her loose nightgown and wrapper covered her more completely than the décolleté, form-fitting gown she had worn earlier, yet this ensemble was much more alluring. When Natalya curled up on the other wing chair, artlessly tucking her bare feet under her bottom, Grey caught a whiff of her scent and was beset by a sudden stab of arousal.
She tried to look straight at the Englishman and found that it was like meeting the gaze of a silver-eyed panther. Panicked and confused, yet curious nonetheless, she swallowed hard, then looked away. They were completely alone; no one even knew that they were downstairs together. Despite the fact that St. James had held her at knifepoint and threatened her life, she realized that she wasn’t really afraid of him. She wasn’t even certain that fear was one of the cluster of emotions that raced through her body. Moistening her dry lips, she managed to inquire, “What were you reading?”
“Chateaubriand’s Rene.”
“That’s my copy. Why don’t you take it with you? I know how it feels to be hungry for books. I’d like you to have it.”
“Thank you.” His finely wrought mouth curved upward. “It’s been years since I read it.”
Natalya smiled at him. Grey realized that she possessed a beauty unlike any in his experience. Most of the women he had known in London had been fashionably pale and slim in their high-waisted chemise frocks, but Natalya’s skin was dusky and her body was lush, womanly. Her hair was like silken honey twisted into a liquid braid, and her face was mesmerizing with its sensual mouth, tip-tilted nose, glowing complexion, and great turquoise eyes. Part of the secret must be her age, he decided. She was more mature than girls in their first Season... and yet instinct told him that Natalya was still innocent.
Natalya watched as a bemused-looking St. James rubbed an elegant forefinger across his lower lip. Her feelings were in a jumble. Was it possible that Lisette had been right? Was she attracted to him—and was that the reason she was afraid to travel with him? The possibility that she might really be a coward was distinctly unnerving.
“Have you made up your mind?” Grey asked suddenly, his voice low and firm.
She had been twisting the corner of her dressing gown, but now she looked up. “Yes, I think that I have.”
“Wait!” He held up a hand, laughing. “I sense a refusal coming, so to be fair, you must first give me the opportunity to convince you. I realize that I did not create the best first impression earlier today, and I apologize for that. Will you come with me if I promise not to threaten your life again?”
Natalya listened with half an ear as he went on, all easy charm and artful persuasion. Why was she afraid to go with him? Never before had she lost her head or her good sense when dealing with men. That sort of romantic weakness was merely a plot device in her books, designed to throw her heroine together with the hero.
She smiled suddenly. Yes, that was it! She’d simply been spending too much time in her own novels, and was confusing her heroine’s emotions with her own. She must plunge ahead fearlessly, treating her association with Grey St. James as a business arrangement. He was only a man, after all, and therefore inferior. However, in this instance he could prove highly useful, for he knew how to get her back to Philadelphia, and that was more important than any other consideration.
“Yes,” Natalya said suddenly, interrupting him.
His black brows flew up. “Do you mean to say I’ve actually convinced you?”
“Certainly not! I wasn’t even listening. I simply changed my mind.” She stood up. “This is very, very exciting. I’m going home tomorrow!”
More than a little amused, Grey replied, “It may not be as simple as saying it.”
“If I concentrate on the goal, all the rest will be tolerable. I’ll even be able to endure your company, sir, if I think of Philadelphia.” She laughed, eyes dancing. “Do you want to leave at dawn? Shall I stay up all night packing?”
“Packing what?” He stood up facing her, looking down, and wondered what he was getting himself into. “We’re going to have to travel in disguise, which means that we’ll take no more than we can carry. Roll up your plainest gown with clean stockings, a comb, and a chemise inside. Don’t bother to arrange your hair in the morning. I’ll bring you something to wear at about seven o’clock. There’s no need to leave at dawn.”
Natalya nodded dutifully in response to everything he said. “I understand.”
“I must say, this cooperative pose is very impressive, but I’m not dim. It’s obvious that you are a strong-willed woman. I respect that, but if this arrangement is going to work, you will have to agree to take directions from me. There can be no arguments in moments of crisis.”
Her eyes flashed for an instant, then she managed to smile sweetly. “I promise to do your bidding, sir, as long as your directions preclude physical contact between us.”
“I promise you, nothing could be farther from my mind.” “Good. Good!” She felt vaguely insulted. “Bon nuit.”
“Sleep well, Miss Beauvisage.”
She glanced back from the doorway, trying not to respond to the splendid sight of him standing in the candlelight, white shirt open to expose part of his broad chest. “I shall,” she said. “I’ll dream of Philadelphia.”
“Each to his own,” Grey replied, and gave her an enigmatic grin.
* * *
“I think that I should get up,” Lisette mumbled, without conviction. A thin ray of early sunlight parted the bedhangings, informing her of the time.
“Why?” Smiling, Nicholai slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her more snugly into the curve of his body. “Mmm.” He kissed the back of her neck.
This was their morning ritual, wherein they pretended to debate whether to get out of bed at all. Nicholai, naked between the soft linen sheets, would fit himself to the elegant curve of Lisette’s back and derriere, and they would slowly come awake together, murmuring reminders of the love they’d shared the night before. Sometimes, if they were feeling especially decadent, they would mate again in this sentient, dreamy state.
Today, however, Lisette turned on her back and stretched in her husband’s embrace. He ran his hands lightly over her breasts, smiling.
“You look as though you have a secret,” she remarked.
“I was just thinking about the night we made love in the bathtub at Lion and Meagan Hampshire’s house.”
“You took advantage of me!” Hair splayed across the pillows, Lisette beamed at Nicholai and caressed his roughened cheek. “I was only in the same room with you and that bathtub because I was nursing you after that cursed duel. I had no idea you were capable of bathing yourself... let alone—”
“It was a long time ago,” he whispered.
“More than two decades. You know, I fell in love with you during those weeks at Hampshire House, when you were helpless and I was taking care of you.”
Nicholai laughed at her choice of words, then retorted, “My dear, you insult me. You fell in love with me the instant you saw me.” He gathered her into his arms and held her fast so that her breasts pushed against his chest in a way that was both familiar and keenly exciting. “You are even more beautiful now, if that’s possible. Truly.”
Lisette knew he meant it, and that was more important than reality. She kissed the hard, flat surface of his chest and inhaled the scent of his skin, smiling. “Thank God we found each other.” She wanted to stay in the warm cocoon of their bed, to let their kisses deepen with passion, to feel Nicholai’s strong fingers caressing her... but her instincts told her that she had already tarried for too long. “Darling, I must get up. Look at the sun!”
Nicholai released his wife and propped himself on one elbow, watching as she moved around the bedchamber, pouring water to wash her face, then brushing her hair and slipping on a dressing gown of sea green silk.
“I suppose it’s possible that St. James has already gone,” he remarked. “Thank God Natalya had the sense not to take part in that mad scheme of his. If she’d agreed, I don’t know what I’d have done....”
In the midst of fastening her dressing gown, Lisette glanced at him under her lashes. “I think I’ll just go and check on both of them. Your niece may have changed her mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative, you know.”
He was scrambling to the edge of the bed in an instant, yanking open the bedhangings. “What? Is that your notion of humor, or are you just testing my reflexes?”
Halfway to the door, Lisette looked back over her shoulder and shrugged. “I’m merely suggesting that you brace yourself in case she’s had a change of heart.”
With that, she strolled out of the bedchamber, leaving her husband to stare after her in consternation.
* * *
“How did you ever find so many horrid articles of clothing?” Natalya asked Marie-Helene as she stood before the pier glass and surveyed her reflection in disbelief.
The little maid giggled. “M’sieur St. James and I have been searching together since dawn. He’s a very charming man, mam’selle! We inquired of all the servants, and it was Colette, the milkmaid’s grandmere, who provided this. She even had a trunk of her late husband’s trousers and coats. M’sieur St. James was as happy as a little boy who has discovered buried treasure!”
“Who can blame him?” Natalya remarked dryly, wrinkling her nose as she stared at herself. She was wearing the ugliest assortment of clothing she’d ever seen. A whalebone corset and rusty old side hoops reshaped her body, while Marie-Helene had added insult to injury by stuffing in padding to fill out strategic areas. “I certainly feel disguised.”
“No one will know you, mam’selle.”
“Well, I should certainly hope not!” She was almost afraid to touch the musty-smelling gray gown that covered her padded, boned undergarments. Like the corset and panniers, the rest of her costume was distinctly out of fashion. “Why in the world would the milkmaid’s grandmother have kept these old things?”
Marie-Helene giggled. “She was still wearing them, I think. She prefers the fashions from her youth, when Louis the Fifteenth was king.” The maid leaned forward and pulled two tattered cords hidden near the gown’s waistline. Magically the skirt parted in the middle to reveal a discolored red silk petticoat.
“Dear God. How hideous!” Natalya grimaced. “I wonder when these last saw soap and water?”
Crossing the ends of a water-stained fichu over her mistress’s bosom, Marie-Helene stepped behind her to tie them in back. “Vraiment, I think that is part of m’sieur’s plan. If you should encounter the men who are searching for him, he intends that both of you will appear so authentically decrepit that they will not suspect for a moment.”
“Exactly, my dear Marie-Helene.”
Hearing St. James speaking from the doorway, Natalya turned, then squinted in surprise. The man standing before her bore no resemblance at all to the imposing, black-haired, bearded madman who had pressed a knife between her ribs upon their meeting less than a day ago. Gone were the stark black clothes, the appealingly virile good looks.
“How reassuring to see that someone in this chateau is uglier than I this morning,” she said brightly.
Grey cocked an eyebrow. “But you haven’t done your hair or painted your face yet, my dear Miss Beauvisage. The best is yet to come.” With a flourish, he brought his hand out from behind his back to display a long, large white cone that Natalya vaguely remembered had once been used to protect the face while a person’s hair was being powdered. She took a step backward, and Grey laughed. “You may as well submit without a struggle. Otherwise I’ll have to restrain you while Marie-Helene applies the powder, and that wouldn’t be pleasant for any of us, would it?”
She felt like crying with frustration. It was obvious, looking at him, just how horrid he intended her to be. His own appearance bordered on the grotesque. He wore a powdered bagwig under a huge tricorn hat, and his face was virtually unrecognizable. He had applied powder to heighten his pallor, and added dark smudges under his eyes and cheekbones to make himself appear even more gaunt. Moreover, he had chosen a costume that was just as antiquated and unflattering as hers: a flowing lace jabot that was torn and stained, a long pink brocade waistcoat, baggy green knee breeches, and a matching, ill-fitting green coat with wide soiled velvet cuffs and gold buttons, several of which were missing. His square-toed black shoes had large buckles, and his calves were covered by sagging grayish stockings. The entire effect was that of a loathsome old man who had not changed his clothes since the storming of the Bastille.
“How can you bear to appear in public looking like that?” she asked.
“My dear Natalya, you must hold fast to your sense of whimsy if we are to succeed with this little plan. Words cannot describe the fun I had unearthing these costumes, and of course the objective is to look as unlike ourselves as possible. Hence, these amusing new identities.” Grey leaned on his long, amber-knobbed walking stick with one hand and reached into the deep pocket of his coat with the other, producing a tarnished silver snuffbox. He flicked it open, inhaled a pinch of imaginary snuff, and struck an attitude. “Madame, meet your husband, Maurice Galabru. What name would you like?”
“Do you mean to suggest that I have a choice in the matter?”
He favored her with an imperturbable smile. “Mais oui, ma chere marie!”
“You’re too kind.” Natalya stared at herself in the mirror, watching as Marie-Helene pinned her long hair up in an elaborate style. “I believe I’ll be Antoinette, in honor of our late queen.”
“Very good,” Grey said approvingly. “I’m pleased to see that you’re beginning to enjoy yourself.”
Marie-Helene placed the cone over her face, covered her dress with a sheet, and began to squirt powder at her head from a cloth bag fitted with a special nozzle. Her victim made outraged choking noises all the while. When she was finished, the sheet and cone were set aside, and the little maid produced a voluminous mobcap, which she drew over Natalya’s coiffure until it was nearly covered.
“Voila!” Marie-Helene cried proudly.
Grey nodded. “Well done.”
“I look like an old witch,” wailed Natalya.
“But I am not yet finished,” Marie-Helene protested, reaching for a tray of cosmetics. Quickly she covered her mistress’s beautiful face with white powder, then painted her cheeks dark pink and her mouth red, adding a black patch near her lower lip. At last she stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Natalya was so repelled by her own garish reflection that she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Slowly her crimson lips turned upward. “At least no one will guess who I really am.”
“That’s the spirit!” Brandishing the walking stick, Grey crossed the dressing room in his buckled shoes and extended his hand. “Come to your husband, my beautiful Antoinette.”
When Natalya placed her hand in his, he bent to kiss it, smiling into her eyes.
“I was afraid of this.” Lisette stood in the doorway, her expression one of bemusement. Shaking her head, she remarked, “Either there are two very bizarre strangers in my niece’s dressing groom, or Natalya has decided to travel to England after all....”