Intriguing Lady (3 page)

“Please, Ashley, don’t fuss. I want to get to the bottom of this. Am I correct, Henri?”

Henri nodded, the embarrassment he felt obvious and acute.

“Would you mind giving me an explanation?” Roberta asked in deceptively mild tones. “After all, I do think I’m owed one, don’t you?”

“If you had only listened to me, mademoiselle, when you had first arrived, this—this wouldn’t have happened,” Henri protested as he edged his way over to the Englishman. He knelt down and felt for a pulse.

“He’s all right, I think,” Roberta said, suddenly amused by the man’s rudeness. “But perhaps we should carry him to my bed and call for a doctor.”

“Non, non. That will not be necessary. I will myself take a look at the wound. First, if you wouldn’t mind, I will fetch my son. He can help me.”

As Henri left, Mrs. Ashley rounded on Roberta. “Really, Roberta, I would never have believed you could behave in such a vulgar fashion. I—I—”

“For goodness’ sake, Ashley, where’s your sense of adventure?” Roberta asked. “We have a real mystery to unravel, and all you can concern yourself with is proprieties. Where is your compassion for a fellow countryman? Do you propose we abandon him to his fate in a foreign country? Oh, Ashley! Don’t you see, he may need our help.”

“It appears to me, Roberta, that Henri has everything well in hand. I do not see the necessity of involving ourselves in the affair.”

“Dear Ashley,” Roberta cajoled, her eyes brimming with excitement, “please don’t overset yourself. Let me find out what this is all about, and then I’ll do as you wish. Don’t you see, when I return to England, I’ll have no choice but to conform to the dreadful rules Society dictates.”

Before Mrs. Ashley could reply, Henri and his son, Jacques, returned. She watched in silence as the two men lifted the Englishman up and laid him gently on the bed.

“Go to His Lordship’s room, Jacques, and bring back a nightshirt,” Henri commanded in a low voice. “Then we can undress him and make him comfortable. “

“Who is he, Henri?” Roberta asked impatiently. “I think it time you explained what is happening.”

“I don’t know that it is my business to tell you, mademoiselle,” Henri began. “It’s not the wish of His Lordship to have his name known, I think.”

“Come, Henri,” Roberta responded in exasperation. “You may as well tell me, for I will refuse to leave until I have the answer.”

“But mademoiselle…”

The Englishman, forgotten for a moment by Roberta and Henri as they argued, shifted uncomfortably on the bed, and his eyes flickered open. Roberta, unaware that she was being observed, stared haughtily down at Henri and in lofty tones informed him that she did not intend to spend the rest of the night bandying words with an innkeeper.

A roguish smile touched the edges of the Englishman’s firm mouth until he was overcome by a fit of coughing.

Roberta spun around and went to his side, putting her hands on the bed as she bent over him. As she peered at him, she felt a slight movement, and before she could withdraw her hands, they were trapped beneath the Englishman’s.

“How dare you take advantage of me so!” she whispered fiercely. “Let go of me.”

“Am I in heaven? Are you an angel?” the man quizzed as he gently squeezed her fingers.

“No,” responded Roberta roundly. “As you will soon discover if you continue in this fashion.”

“Monsieur,” Henri said, as he, too, joined Roberta at the bedside. “Are you all right? What has happened? Are you in trouble?”

With seeming reluctance, the Englishman relinquished his hold on Roberta and turned his attention to Henri. “The merest of scratches, my good friend,” he replied nonchalantly. “Nothing serious, although I’m afraid my presence here will be discovered by the comte shortly, for I carelessly left a blazing red trail for him to follow.”

“He will get no answers from me, monsieur,” Henri answered stoutly. “I will send Jacques to hide your horse. You have nothing to fear.”

“Except this angel, it would seem. Who are you, mademoiselle?”

“Who—who am I?” Roberta spluttered. “It is the very question I want to ask of you. You—you have the unmitigated impudence to come bursting into my room, disturb my night’s rest, take over my bed, and now you want to know who I am? Really, sir, I think you have taken leave of your senses. I demand an immediate explanation of your intrusion; otherwise I shall have to report the entire incident to the proper authorities.”

“My angel shows spirit,” the man said playfully. “Is she or is she not a vision of true beauty, Henri?”

“Enough!” Roberta said. “I refuse to be drawn into any further discussion of my spirit or beauty. Who are you?”

“Sir Nicholas Thomas, at your service,” the Englishman answered promptly. “Pray excuse my tawdry manners in not making the proper leg, but as you can see, I am handicapped.”

Roberta nodded perfunctorily. The name was unfamiliar, and she saw no reason whatsoever to give it any further acknowledgement. “And how do you propose to explain away your intrusion into my bedroom at such a strange hour?”

“I don’t, for I have no wish to embarrass you further, my dear young lady.”

Roberta eyed him speculatively, totally unaware of what an alluring picture she made in her shimmering blue night attire. Her hair, still ruffled from sleep, resembled a halo, and her eyes, glinting in the flickering light, sparkled like diamonds.

Suddenly she recalled the conversation she had had earlier with Jacques. “The comte’s sister!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Of course! How obtuse I have been.”

Henri looked at Sir Nicholas in dismay. “I swear, monsieur, I have not said anything.”

“I know that, Henri,” Sir Nicholas replied curtly. “But as the fair lady seems to know of the compromising position I now find myself in, the need for secrecy appears to be over. Who told you of my affair, mademoiselle?” As he posed the question, there was a steely ring to his voice that caused Roberta to draw back.

“That is none of your business, Sir Nicholas,” she replied, determined not to be intimidated by his manner. “Although, if you wish to indulge yourself in such cloak-and-dagger activities, I would suggest you be more discreet.”

“It must have been Jacques, monsieur,” Henri interrupted. “Although why he should see fit to prattle on about things that are of no concern to him is beyond my comprehension.”

“No matter, Henri,” Sir Nicholas said, brushing his brow wearily with his left hand. “The most pressing problem I have at the moment is escaping from the comte and getting back to England. He is bound to have blocked off all routes to Calais, and I’m afraid the wound I have sustained is going to make it impossible for me to travel in any effective disguise. My right arm is useless, and he will have instructed his men to watch for anyone on the move so incapacitated.” He lay back in thoughtful silence, watching Roberta from half-closed eyes. “Unless, mademoiselle, you will agree to help me,” he added. He spoke so softly that Roberta was certain she had misheard.

“Help you?” she queried in outraged tones, forgetting for a minute that she had suggested this possibility to Mrs. Ashley just a little while earlier. “And why would I want to do that?”

“To save my life. As worthless as most people consider it, I happen to hold it in great esteem.”

Roberta looked about her. There was a tenseness to the two men as they waited for her response, and Mrs. Ashley was shaking her head vehemently. Perhaps it was this that decided Roberta, or the encouraging smile that suddenly lit Sir Nicholas’s rugged features. Without further consideration, she nodded her head.

“Worthless life or not, Sir Nicholas,” she said, “I cannot be party to abetting a Frenchman in dousing it. I suggest we all get a good night’s rest and discuss how I may be of assistance on the morrow.” Without a backward glance, she joined Mrs. Ashley, who was speechless with horror, and quietly bid the two men good night.

“One moment,” Sir Nicholas said, halting her at the doorway. “Does my angel have a name?”

“Miss Rushforth. Roberta Rushforth,” she responded. She left with quiet dignity, taking Mrs. Ashley with her.

“Well, I never, Henri,” Sir Nicholas exclaimed. “I wonder what her uncle would say if he knew she had agreed to help me.”

“
Je ne saispas, monsieur,
”
Henri replied as he quickly stripped Sir Nicholas of his outer garments. “But I’m certain you will have found a way out of your dilemma by the time you reach England. Yon have the papers, non? Is that how you received this—this cut?”

Sir Nicholas nodded.

“Perhaps you should tell mademoiselle the truth, then?”

“Never,” Sir Nicholas rejoined, “for that would jeopardize the lives of too many people. ’Tis best, methinks, that she believes what Jacques told her. Ignorance is the best defense, should anything go wrong.”

C
hapter 3

By the time
the morning sun was casting its pale-yellow light through the thin muslin curtains of the parlor, Roberta was already enjoying a substantial breakfast. Marie, attending her, didn’t hesitate to express her admiration for Roberta’s appetite, in view of suffering such a disturbed night.

“That is the very thing that makes me hungry,” Roberta responded. “How is the patient? I trust he is recovering?”

Marie shrugged her plump shoulders. “Henri says he is in some pain and unable to move his arm easily. I say he is lucky to be alive. It is not sensible to—to entice a woman like the comte’s sister. She is not well liked in these parts,” she added as she saw Roberta’s inquisitive expression. “And the comte is very possessive of her.”

“She must have certain attractions,” Roberta said, “else Sir Nicholas wouldn’t have taken the risk of incurring the comte’s wrath.”

“Ah! Indeed, mademoiselle. She is beautiful. But, unfortunately, she is like the rare butterfly, whose name I forget, that feeds only on the leaves of milkweed.”

“But I thought milkweed was poisonous to insects,” Roberta commented, surprised by the venom in Marie’s voice.

“As is her soul,” Marie responded firmly. “I have seen what she has done to many of the young men here. But that is not our concern. Sir Nicholas is a determined man and refused to heed my warnings.” She retrieved Roberta’s empty plate and bustled to the door. “I will bring you some fresh coffee now,
oui?
”

Roberta nodded, sorry that Marie’s confidences had ended. She would have liked to have heard more of the beauty Sir Nicholas had risked his life to see. There was something about the story that bothered her. Her first impression of Sir Nicholas had been that he was a forceful person but not foolhardy. And surely only a foolhardy man would have persisted in conducting an illicit liaison with the comte’s sister.

Her reverie was rudely interrupted by the sounds of someone banging loudly on the outer door of the inn. The noise echoed down the corridor, bringing her to her feet in haste. It was a noise only a thoughtless person would make so early in the day, a person who cared not at all for anyone else’s desire to sleep. She was about to open the parlor door and find out the cause of the commotion, when Marie appeared.

“Oh! Mademoiselle, please stay here,” she whispered in great agitation. “It’s the comte. Henri will see what he wants.”

“Indeed? I think I want to see this comte for myself,” Roberta responded with spirit. “Anyone who displays such bad manners deserves to be rebuked.”

“Non—non—Please don’t go,” Marie said as she tried unsuccessfully to block the doorway. “Sir Nicholas would not like it, I’m sure.”

“Nonsense, Marie. You stay here if you wish, but I’m not going to. This is the first piece of excitement that has come my way in the longest time, and I refuse to turn my back on it.”

She swept past Marie and reached the corridor just as Henri withdrew the last bolt from the front door. She stood back in the shadows as he swung the heavy oak door open, and she was able to get a clear look at the comte.

He was very tall and distinguished. His thick black hair, swept backward in a style similar to Sir Nicholas’s, was caught at his nape by a black ribbon. His brows, black and menacing, were pulled together in a frown, and in his left hand a riding crop was raised as if he were readying himself to pound the door again. His dress was all black except for the white relief of his stock, which fell in careful folds over his riding jacket. Even the three rings on his fingers were black. Roberta shuddered. He was not a man she would care to cross.

He glowered down at Henri and appeared to consider him for the longest time, in much the same way a bird would consider a worm. Henri stood his ground, and Roberta was impressed by this show of defiance.

“Bonjour, Monsieur le Comte,” Henri said pleasantly. “Do we have the pleasure of serving you breakfast this morning?”

“Mon dieu!” the comte said, his teeth clenched. “You know why I’m here. Do not make the mistake of thinking me a fool. I know you are harboring the Englishman. The one my men injured last night as he fled my sister’s boudoir. Take me to him immediately.”

Henri shrugged his shoulders, and Roberta imagined the bewildered look he must be presenting. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Monsieur le Comte. We have no one of that description staying here. You must be mistaken.”

The comte brought his riding crop down savagely on the doorpost. “I will not bear with your lies, you idiot. Stand back and let me search this place myself.” He pushed past Henri and strode toward the stairs.