The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (24 page)

She listened for sounds elsewhere in the house.
 
Then, detecting none, she slid out of bed and pulled on her robe.
 
A peep around her door revealed the empty landing and stair-head and put an end to hesitation.
 
Wraith-like, Athenais padded down to the kitchen.

Mercifully, there was no sign of either Archie or his new boon-companion.
 
She put her brick in the side-oven and set about brewing a concoction of herbs and honey.
 
It was just beginning to simmer when she heard two pairs of booted feet descending the stairs and a rich, familiar voice saying with good-humoured impatience, ‘Oh God, Jem –
I
don’t know.
 
I imagine it would probably be all right provided you leave everything as you find it.
 
But you’ll have to ask Madame Fleury.’

No!
thought Athenais, completely horror-struck.
 
No, no, no!
 
Not him.
 
Not now
.

‘Ah.
 
Well that’s just the problem, Captain.
 
I know I doesn’t parley the old French as good as you and his lordship but I usually got enough to get by on.’

‘You mean you speak it well enough to order a pot of ale and get your arm round a girl’s waist.’

‘And what more does a man need, Captain?
 
Answer me that. Trouble is, the old tabby always makes out she can’t understand a word I’m saying.
 
She looks at me like I’m something nasty stuck to her shoe and she keeps saying pardon.
 
Then she waves her hands about and gabs on faster’n shit off a shovel.’
 
Jem heaved a sigh. ‘Truth is, I reckon she don’t like me very much.’

‘If you spent less time carousing with Mr Stott, she might feel differently.’

Still frozen in mild panic behind the kitchen door, Athenais resolved never, ever to speak English to the gentlemen-lodgers until she’d improved her accent – which she realised was worse even than that of their servant.

‘She might,’ Jem was saying.
 
‘Then again, she mightn’t.
 
But it don’t alter the fact that I can’t ask the old dragon nothing.
 
Not and get an answer, I can’t.’

‘Meaning you’d like me to ask her, I suppose.’

‘Yes, Captain.
 
If you wouldn’t mind.’
 
And, hopefully, ‘She’s usually somewhere about at this time of day.’

There was a long pause.
 
Then, on a note of mild exasperation, ‘Jem.
 
Just sod off, will you?
 
Otherwise I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

Athenais heard a snort of laughter, immediately followed by the sound of someone – presumably Jem – leaving the house.
 
Then the Captain (who’d said he was a Colonel) muttered something under his breath and strode away down the hall.
 
It struck her that he’d probably gone to the parlour in search of Pauline and that, when he didn’t find her, he’d almost certainly try the kitchen.
 
Panic spiralled out of control and sent Athenais flying across the room to snatch her pan from the heat.
 
Then, without stopping to think, she threw herself into the pantry and shut the door.

Seconds later, she heard him coming back along the hall, his boots ringing on the tiled floor.
 
The kitchen door swung back with a faint creak and he called, ‘Madame?’
 
Then he seemed to pause as if, realising that Pauline wasn’t there, he was about to leave.

Athenais held her breath.
 

It would have been all right if she hadn’t sneezed.
 
It might even have been all right if she’d had any warning of it.
 
But the sneeze came out of nowhere to arrive with malevolently disastrous timing.
 
And it wasn’t even a dainty, ladylike sneeze.
 
It was a violent explosion that, in the confined space, set things rattling on the shelves.
 
Athenais clamped her handkerchief over her face, unable in the pitch-black to think of anywhere to hide, while on the other side of the door, feet were heading in her direction and an aggravatingly amused voice said again, ‘Madame?’

‘
Merde!
’ thought Athenais desperately.
 
And promptly sneezed twice in quick succession.

Then the door opened and she was face to face with the most beautiful man she’d ever seen and whose extraordinary, gold-flecked eyes, damn him, were brimming with laughter.

Unaware that he was the one being in the entire universe she didn’t want to see at this precise moment, Ashley conducted a swift appraisal and came to the inescapable conclusion that
la petite Galzain
was hiding in the larder because she looked like hell.
 
Having previously found her perfection irritating, the discovery should have been satisfying.
 
It ought also to have immediately bred an accusation of vanity.
 
Due, however, to the fact that she looked about fourteen and was quite obviously ill, it produced a completely different reaction that he could have done without.

Fortunately, it was also funny.
 
Managing not to laugh but failing to conceal the fact that he wanted to, he said, ‘Mademoiselle?
 
I’m so sorry.
 
I hope I didn’t startle you?’

Feeling every bit as foolish as she no doubt looked, Athenais could have hit him.
 
Instead, she tried to salvage what was left of her dignity by saying freezingly, ‘Not at all.
 
I was looking for … for a lemon.’

His brows rose over an expression that said,
In the dark?
But he had the sense not to voice it.
 
‘Ah.
 
But you didn’t find one?’

‘Obviously not.’
 
Unfortunately, as she attempted to sweep majestically past him, the words were lost in another magnificent sneeze and she half-tripped on the trailing hem of her robe.

Helpfully, the Colonel grasped her arm and, still on that annoying quiver of laughter, said, ‘Allow me to assist you, Mademoiselle.’

And that was when Athenais suddenly found herself remembering clambering over fallen masonry on the Petit Pont … and wondered how on earth she hadn’t recognised him before.

‘You!’ she croaked, accusingly. ‘It was you that night on the bridge.’

‘It was.’
 
He grinned at her over folded arms.
 
‘You told me to bugger off.’

And I’d like to do it again
, she thought crossly.
 
Furious, embarrassed and thoroughly at a disadvantage, she stalked to the fire and blew her nose again before saying abruptly, ‘Did you know who I was?’

‘Yes.’

She turned, frowning.
 
‘That means you’d seen me before.’

‘Once,’ agreed Ashley. ‘I don’t recall the name of the play … but there was some business with feathers.’

She stared at him, feeling – if possible – even more irritable. He’d seen her come perilously close to making an idiot of herself on-stage, then get out of it by means of a childish trick.
 
He’d heard her swearing like a trooper and been spoken to with neither courtesy nor charm – which meant he knew precisely how deep the veneer of gentility went.
 
No wonder he didn’t like her.
 
With something akin to despair, she wondered why she couldn’t feel this insane attraction for his friend instead; his friend who was equally good-looking and a Viscount, to boot.
 
But it was pointless to speculate.
 
From the moment she’d laid eyes on him in the Green Room, the Colonel had dazzled her … and infuriating as it was, he still did.

She opened her mouth, sneezed again and was finally able to say thickly, ‘So what the devil are you doing here?’

‘Here in your house – or here in the kitchen?’

‘Don’t be obtuse.
 
You may have noticed that I’m not in the mood.’

‘My apologies.
 
I was looking for Madame Fleury.’

She slammed the posset pan back on the hob and blew her nose.
 
Then, in the hope that he would go away, she said, ‘Pauline’s not here and won’t be until late this evening.
 
What did you want?’

Ashley wished she didn’t look and sound so ill and had to crush a totally unacceptable impulse to say something comforting.
 
Worse still was the faint but persistent undercurrent of recognition which he was at a loss to explain and from which he instinctively recoiled.
 
It wasn’t the girl’s fault and he ought to be able to handle it without resorting to boorishness.
 
On the other hand, things being what they were, he suspected that it might be best if he carried on finding fault with her.
 
Keeping his tone utterly neutral, he said, ‘Nothing that can’t wait.
 
Forgive me for asking … but shouldn’t you be in bed?’

‘Yes.’
 
Athenais poked at the cooling, sticky mess and wondered if, once warmed up, it might still be drinkable.
 
‘Are you going to tell me what you want or not?’

‘If you wish.
 
It was merely that Jem wondered if it would be possible to use the kitchen from time to time to cook supper.
 
It would be cheaper than eating at the tavern and we’re getting tired of pies and cold sausage.’

She turned slightly to encompass him in an oblique stare.
 
Then, because she knew all about struggling to make ends meet and because he had stopped laughing at her, she said curtly, ‘I don’t see why not – so long as everything is cleared away by the time Pauline and I get home.’

‘It will be.
 
Thank you.’

His smile was courteous and impersonal but it still had a strange effect on her insides.
 
She looked at the thick fair hair, the long-lashed green eyes and the firm jaw; she observed the lean, well-proportioned body with its graceful carriage and the strong, beautifully-boned hands.
 
It came to her that, if it was he and not the Marquis who was hell-bent on seducing her, he wouldn’t have to try very hard.
 
She suspected that this man would never coerce a girl into his bed.
 
He’d probably never needed to.
 
She wondered what he would be like if he chose to exert his charm – then decided it would be better not to know.
 
Her life was complicated enough.
 
And something told her that, beneath his easy manner, Monsieur Peverell was nobody’s plaything.

Suddenly realising that the spoon was burning her hand and deciding that the best form of defence was attack, she turned back to the pan, saying, ‘I seem to recall you telling us that you are a Colonel?’

‘Yes.
 
Presently unemployed, of course – but yes.’

‘And yet your man calls you Captain.’

He leaned against the wall and said in English, ‘You’ve sharp ears, Mademoiselle.’

Cursing her own stupidity, Athenais said quickly and still in French, ‘I understand enough English to know the difference between the ranks.
 
Are you avoiding the question?’

‘Not at all.
 
Jem was once, by profession, a highwayman.
 
For a brief time a few years ago, so was I.
 
And in England, all highwaymen style themselves ‘captain’.
 
Simple.’

‘
It
may be – but
I’m
not.
 
Do you seriously expect me to believe that?’

‘Why not?
 
Do you think I’m too respectable?
 
Don’t.
 
Four years of civil war and five more of pursuing a lost cause stop one being finicky and teach that the end usually justifies the means.’

She frowned, half-tempted to ask if sleeping with the right people fell into this category.
 
Then, deciding that this wasn’t something one could ask a man one barely knew, she said, ‘So to what end did you become a common criminal?’

‘That of financing an escape route for the melancholy man whose inability to compromise eventually cost him his head,’ shrugged Ashley, his tone part-careless and part-bitter.
 
Then, with a swift return to levity, ‘And I was never common.
 
I like to think I had
style
.’

Her brows rose.
 
‘You sound like an actor.’

‘Is that a compliment?’

‘Not necessarily.’
 
Reaching for a pewter mug, she poured the contents of the pan into it and eyed the less-than-appetising tisane dubiously.

‘Yet you enjoy what you do.’
 
It was not a question.

‘You have to if you’re to do it well.’

‘I imagine there is a good deal of rivalry.’

‘And bickering and back-stabbing – and loyalty, too, when it counts.’
 
She paused and turning slowly back to him added, ‘The worst thing is being at the mercy of the public.
 
Put on the wrong play and we’re howled off the stage.
 
Offend our noble patrons and we’re out of work.
 
Let the pit get wind of some amusing titbit and every line brings forth a chorus of jeers.’
 
Another pause.
 
‘Which is why I … I must ask a favour of you.’