Return of the Runaway (6 page)

Why not?
Raoul asked himself.
Because she is English and an aristocrat. Everything you despise. Everything you have cause to hate.

He glanced at the lady, noticed how tightly her hands were clasped together as she waited for his answer. She was also a woman and for all her bravado she was vulnerable and alone and it was not in his nature to turn his back on a defenceless creature.

He would prefer to travel to Brussels, but he had to admit that without money to pay his way any journey would be difficult. And once they reached a port he might well be able to find a ship to take him north along the coast.

‘How much?'

She shook her head.

‘I cannot say. I will pay for a carriage from Reims and our lodgings on the way and after that I need to find a ship to carry me home. I do not know how much all that will cost. However, if you will trust me, I will give you whatever I can spare, once I have booked my passage to England.'

Well, whichever way he went there was danger, but Raoul could not deny that the going would be easier if he had money.

‘Very well,' he said. ‘I will help you.'

She smiled, visibly relieved.

‘Good.' She put out her hand. ‘In England our tradesmen shake hands on a bargain. We will do the same, if you please.'

His brows went up, but after a brief hesitation he took her hand. Once they had shaken solemnly he did not let go, but carried her hand to his lips.

‘Now I consider our bargain sealed, milady.'

He might have been holding a wild bird, the way her fingers fluttered within his grasp. Desire reared up again and he wanted to pull her into his arms. A shadow of alarm crossed her face. Had she read his mind? Perhaps she, too, was recalling that moment in the pool when she had wrapped herself about him, their warm bodies melding together in the cold water. Had she felt that tug of attraction?

‘Yes, very well.' She pulled her hand free and turned away from him, saying briskly, ‘If we are going to travel together, then the first thing is to find you a decent set of clothes, and a razor. You are a disgrace. I cannot have my servant dressed in rags.'

His lip curled. There was his answer. That was what she thought of him.

‘So,
madame
, I am to be your servant?'

The look she gave him would have frozen the sun.

‘Of course. I am the daughter of a marquess and—'

He broke in angrily. ‘I do not acknowledge that your
birth
gives you superiority over me.'

* * *

Cassie had been about to confess that it would not be easy for her to imitate the behaviour of a servant. She had intended it to be self-deprecating, but his retort sent all such thoughts flying and she responded with icy hauteur.

‘I shall be
paying
you for your services,
monsieur
, since I have money and you do not.'

She was immediately ashamed of her response. It was ill bred, but his bitter interruption, the assumption that she was so full of conceit as to think herself superior, had angered her. Yet that in itself was wrong. What was it about this man that put her usual sunny nature to flight so easily? She was still pondering the problem when he jumped to his feet.

‘Well, now we have settled our roles in this little charade we should be on our way.'

He held out his hand to her, his face unsmiling, his eyes black and cold. As he pulled her to her feet Cassie bit back the urge to say something conciliatory.

This is how it should be. You do not want to become too close to this man.

He would help her reach England, she would pay him. It was a business arrangement, nothing more.

* * *

When they reached the city gates the road was so crowded and bustling with traders and carriages they were able to slip through without being questioned. The savoury aroma of food emanating from a busy tavern tempted them to stop and dine.

‘What do we do now?' asked Cassie, when they had finished their meal and were once more on the street, Raoul leading their tired horse. ‘My preference is to find a respectable inn, like the one ahead of us, but...' she paused and, recalling their recent altercation, she chose her next words carefully ‘...I fear our appearance would cause comment.'

Raoul rubbed his chin. ‘Yours may be explained by an accident to the carriage, but I agree my clothes are not suitable for a manservant. I have a plan, but I will need money, milady.'

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you intend?'

‘You will go ahead of me, tell them your servant follows. I will find new clothes and join you in an hour.'

Cassie dug a handful of coins from her purse and gave them to him, then she watched him walk away. There was a tiny
frisson
of anxiety at the thought that he might not return.

‘Well if he does not come back there is nothing I can do about it,' she told herself as she turned her own steps towards the inn.

Despite her own dishevelled appearance Cassie's assured manner and generous advance payment secured rooms without difficulty. She requested a jug of hot water and set about repairing the ravages to her hair and her dress. She was only partly successful, but once she had washed her face and hands and re-dressed her hair she felt much more presentable. A servant came in to light the candles and Cassie realised with a start that darkness was falling outside now. Where was Raoul?

She sat down on a chair and folded her hands in her lap, willing herself to be calm. If he had taken the money and gone on his way she could hardly blame him, but she could not help feeling a little betrayed and also very slightly frightened at the thought of being alone.

Her ears caught the thud of quick steps on the stairs and she rose, looking expectantly towards the door, only to stare open-mouthed as a stranger entered the room.

Gone was the rough beard and shaggy, unkempt hair. Gone, too, were the ragged clothes. In fact, the only things about Raoul Doulevant that she recognised were his dark eyes, alight with laughter.

He was, she realised with a shock, devastatingly handsome. His black hair had been cut and brushed back from his brow. His cheeks, free of the heavy black beard, were lean and smooth above the firm jaw. His lips were so finely sculpted that Cassie felt a sensuous shiver run through her just looking at them. He stood tall and straight in a coat of dark-blue wool that stretched over powerful shoulders. The white linen at his throat and wrists accentuated the deep tan of his skin, while his long legs were encased in buckskins and top boots that showed his athletic limbs to advantage. To complete the ensemble he held a pair of tan gloves and a tall hat in hands. He flourished a deep bow and Cassie swallowed, unable to take her eyes off him. The laughter in his eyes deepened.

‘Well, milady, do I have your approval?'

‘Very much so.' Her voice was nothing more than a croak and she coughed, hoping to clear whatever was blocking her throat. ‘Where did you find such elegant clothes in this little town?'

He grinned. ‘There are ways.'

It was all he would say and she did not press him. On closer inspection it was seen that the coat and breeches were not new and although the boots were highly polished they bore signs of wear. However, Raoul Doulevant presented the picture of a very respectable gentleman and Cassie glanced ruefully at her own clothes.

‘I fear the servant is now more grand than the mistress.'

‘That
is
a concern,' agreed Raoul, coming further into the room. ‘When I arrived the landlord took me for your husband.'

‘Oh, heavens.' She put a hand to her cheek, distracted by memories of standing with him beneath the waterfall. Suddenly her mind was filled with wild thoughts of what it might be like to be married to such a man. She closed her eyes for a moment. It would be disastrous. She had rushed into a marriage once and had suffered the consequences. Falling out of love had been almost too painful to bear. She would not go through that again.

‘Our host appears to be in some confusion over our name, too,' Raoul continued, unaware of her agitation. ‘I told him we are Madame and Monsieur Duval.' Her eyes flew open as he continued. ‘I believe, upon reflection, that it would be best if we travel as man and wife.' He put up his hand to silence her protest. ‘I considered saying we were brother and sister, but although your French is enchanting, milady, you do not speak it like a native.'

‘No, but—'

‘And it would be impossible to pass you off as my servant, you are far too arrogant.'

‘I am not arrogant!'

He continued as if she had not spoken.

‘No, it must be as man and wife. It is settled.'

Cassie took a long and indignant breath, preparing to make a withering retort but he caught her eye and said with quiet deliberation, ‘You asked for my help, milady.'

There was steel in his voice and she knew it would be dangerous to cross him. She doubted he had ever intended to travel as her servant. Well, she had a choice—she could dispense with his escort, and thus break the bargain they had struck, or she could go along with his plan. The infuriating thing was she could not think of a better one.

‘Man and wife in name only,' she told him imperiously.

‘Even after the...er...intimacies we shared in that shady pool?'

The laughter was back in his eyes, although his voice was perfectly serious. Cassie fought down her temper. He was teasing her, he
enjoyed
teasing her.

‘We shared nothing but being in the same water,' was her crushing reply. ‘It was a mistake and will not be repeated.'

‘No, milady.'

‘It should be easy enough to keep a safe distance between us. It is not as if we are in love, after all.'

‘Indeed not.'

‘And in my opinion,' she continued airily, ‘love is an emotion that is best left to poets and artists. Its importance in real life is grossly exaggerated.'

‘Truly? You believe that?'

He folded his arms and regarded her with amusement. Really, she thought angrily, he was much more at home in these new clothes. He was so assured. So arrogant!

Even as she fumed with indignation he said, grinning, ‘Explain yourself, milady, if you please.'

Very well, she would tell him. Cassie had had plenty of time to ponder on this over the past year. She waved her hand.

‘What passes for love is mere lust on the man's part. It makes him profess feelings he does not truly feel and engenders a false affection that can never last.' He was still grinning at her. Cassie said bluntly, ‘Let us say that the man is led by what is in his breeches, not his heart. And for the woman, why, it is nothing more than a foolish infatuation that fades quickly once she becomes better acquainted with her swain. Marital bliss and heavenly unions are not to be had by mere mortals. I am right,' she insisted, when he had the audacity to laugh at her. ‘I have been—am married, after all. I know what goes on between a man and a woman. It is not as special as the poets would have us believe.'

‘If you think that, milady, it occurs to me that your husband is not an expert lover.'

Her brows rose. ‘And you are, perhaps?'

‘I have had no complaints.'

She met his dark, laughing eyes and for one panic-stricken moment she feared he meant to offer a demonstration of his prowess. She said hastily, ‘This is a most improper discussion. Let us say no more about it.'

‘Very well. But I fear my next news will not please you. Our host sends a thousand pardons to milady, but the servant's room is not available.' He patted his pocket. ‘He has refunded your payment for it.'

Cassie's eyes narrowed and, as if reading her mind Raoul put up his hands.

‘This is no plan of mine, I assure you. The prefect has bespoke the room for a visitor and the landlord dare not refuse him. We must think ourselves fortunate he did not throw us out on the streets.'

Cassie was in no mood to consider anything but the fact that she must now share a room with this insufferable man. She dragged two of the blankets from the bed and handed them to him.

‘Then
you
will sleep on the floor!'

With that she threw a couple of pillows on to the chair, climbed up on the bed and pulled the curtains shut around her.

Cassie sat in the dark, straining her ears for every sound from the room. She was half-afraid Raoul might tear open the curtains and demand to share the bed. She remained fully dressed and tense, listening to him moving about the room, and it was not until she heard the steady sound of his breathing that she finally struggled out of her riding habit and slipped beneath the covers.

* * *

Raoul scowled at the blankets in his hand. By the saints, how would he make himself comfortable with these? But honesty compelled him to admit it was no more than he deserved. It was his teasing that had angered her, but for the life of him he could not help it. He had seen the flash in her eyes when he walked in. It had been a look of admiration, nay, attraction, and it had set his pulse racing. He had been determined to treat her as an employer, to convey the landlord's news dispassionately and then they might have discussed the sleeping arrangements like two sensible adults. Instead he had given in to the temptation to bring that sparkle back to her eyes. He grinned at the memory. Even now part of him could not regret it, she looked magnificent when she was roused, a mixture of arrogance and innocence that was irresistible. With a sigh be began to spread the blankets on the floor. And these was his deserts. Well, he would make the most of it. He had slept in worse places.

* * *

Cassie had no idea of the time when she woke, until she peeped out through the curtains to find the sun streaming into the bedchamber. Cautiously she pushed back the hangings. The room was empty, the blankets and pillows on the floor showing her where Raoul had slept, but there was no sign of the man himself. Cassie slipped off the bed and dressed quickly, but a strange emptiness filled her as she wondered if Raoul had left for good. Perhaps, when he had realised she would not succumb to his advances he had decided to go his own way. The thought was strangely depressing and she could not prevent hope leaping in her breast when she heard someone outside the door, nor could she stop her smile of relief when Raoul strode into the room, a couple of large packages beneath one arm and a rather battered bandbox dangling from his hand. His brows rose when he saw her.