Natalya (4 page)

Nicholai patted him on the back, then glanced back at his son. "Ah—I've been remiss. Grey, I would like you to meet my son, James. James, this is Grey St. James, Viscount—"

"I don't use my title," Grey said. "Life is much simpler without it. Hello, James. I'm glad to meet you."

James Beauvisage put out his hand and tried to match the Englishman's grip. At fifteen, the youth was blessed with shining chestnut curls, clear gray-blue eyes, and a ready smile. He had much of his height, but he had yet to fill out and was at that precarious age when he was no longer a boy but not yet a man. "How do you do, sir?" he said politely.

The trio started to walk toward the gallery as Nicholai brushed dirt from his buckskin breeches and muttered, "God, I need a bath. It's not a day to be on the roads, hmm?"

Natalya remained in the entry hall, fuming. When her uncle didn't miss her, she cleared her throat before the men were out of earshot.

Nicholai glanced back. "What is it, little Talya?" When she tensed, blushed, and glared in response, he took a guess. "Don't say that you have not been formally introduced to our guest! My dear, I do apologize." Eyes twinkling, he beckoned her over. "Grey St. James, may I present my niece, Natalya Beauvisage?"

She wanted to make a scene, but somehow she suffered through her uncle's introductions, giving St. James what she hoped was a poisonous smile as they ascended the long, winding stairway to the second floor. Upstairs, Nicholai presented the Englishman to Lisette, who was now clad in a chemise frock of pale yellow muslin. Her blond hair was caught up with tortoiseshell combs so that loose curls framed her lovely face, and around her neck she wore an exquisite gold locket that contained a miniature of her husband and a lock of his hair.

Nonplussed by the sudden appearance in her home of such a bedraggled, dangerous-looking stranger, she nevertheless managed to greet him warmly. Then, enlisting the aid of Nicholai's manservant, Honore, she hurried off to show St.

James to a bedroom and arrange for his bath and fresh clothing.

Natalya waited impatiently for her young cousin to retire to his own bedchamber. By the time she was finally alone with Nicholai, he was already peeling off his damp coat, now-limp cravat, and shirt. Marie-Helene had been dispatched to heat water for two baths, and she and another serving girl would be returning any moment with the first steaming pitchers.

"Uncle Nicky," Natalya burst out, "I
must
speak to you about that... person!"

"This isn't the most opportune time," he replied mildly, sitting down to pull off his top boots.

"You don't understand, you must send him away immediately! He's a
criminal,
escaped from prison, or some such thing. There were men here, looking for him, and they said that he's an enemy of the emperor, and—"

"My darling niece, don't you realize that St. James is an Englishman and France is at war with England?" Beauvisage laughed gently. "Of
course
he's the enemy, and regarded as a criminal, especially if he was able to harm France in any way. But, you know that I have always tried to remain neutral. My loyalties are really American, after all, and I've no right to judge Grey St. James." He watched two maids pour steaming water into the porcelain tub and waited until they had left the room to continue. "Talya, you don't give a damn for Napoleon. I should think that you'd be congratulating St. James if he's managed to be a thorn in that tyrant's side. And, apart from that, the Beauvisage family owes a debt to his father. I wouldn't dream of turning Grey out."

"But he threatened me to keep me quiet while those men were here. I was afraid for my life! I cannot believe that you could take his side over mine."

He came over to her and patted her cheek. "It's nothing to do with that, and I think you know it. Must I make a choice? I have come to trust my instincts about people. Let's allow St. James to bathe and have a hot meal, hear him out, and then decide, all right?"

Furious, Natalya bit her lip and started toward the door.

"Talya, this is between the two of you, isn't it? There's no reason for you to be angry with me," her uncle reminded her.

"I cannot bear to be
near
that man. He is insufferable." She paused in the doorway and added, "You may give him my place at dinner, Uncle Nicky, because
I
won't be there." With that, she swept from the room and narrowly missed slamming her hem in the door.

* * *

"I must say, you do look transformed, Mr. St. James," Lisette proclaimed. "Will you have more
feuillete solognote?"'

Grey glanced at his dwindling portion of puff pastry filled with pheasant and partridge. "Perhaps I should wait for a moment. It's been a long time since I have eaten so much delicious food."

Sitting across from the Englishman, Natalya longed to mimic his polite tone or engage in some other shockingly rude behavior designed to drive him from the chateau. She had changed her mind about staying in her room during dinner when it occurred to her that St. James would be free to lie and connive as much as he pleased if she weren't present to monitor the conversation. Her first sight of him in the vaulted dining hall had made her glad she'd reconsidered.

It was hard to believe that this could be the same man who had appeared so menacing and uncivilized just two hours earlier. Honore had done a splendid job as barber, and now Grey's clean, gleaming hair was cut into the current windswept style. His ragged beard had been shaved, uncovering a chiseled jaw and arresting mouth. In truth, although pale and in need of some added weight, Grey was magnificent to behold, from his keen eyes to the expert knot of his borrowed cravat. His strong good looks only intensified Natalya's antipathy.

For his part, Grey was more than a little intrigued, and even amused, by Natalya Beauvisage. Holding her lush body in his arms earlier had reminded him painfully of appetites too long suppressed through no choice of his own. She was exquisitely lovely, self-assured, intelligent, and obviously well past the age when similarly blessed maidens took husbands. Was hers off in the war? Dead? Yet she was American... and still had the name Beauvisage. What the devil was she doing in France? Knowing that it would make her furious, Grey decided to inquire openly.

"I hope you won't think me too bold, but I've been wondering, Miss Beauvisage... are you a spinster?"

Her mouth dropped open and she gasped. "What... an extraordinary thing to say!"

"You're married, then?"

"No, but-"

He nodded shortly, as if attempting to gloss over some terrible secret he had accidentally learned about her. "I see. Believe me, it was not my intent to call attention to your rather... sensitive circumstances." He had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning at her outraged expression. "You appear to have adapted very well, and are doubtless grateful to have such understanding relatives offer you shelter."

Lisette, torn between horror and a mad urge to giggle, interceded. "Natalya's situation is not what you think, Mr. St. James. She is unmarried by choice, and supports herself independently. Her first novel will be published in England next month."

Natalya glared at him, nostrils flaring. "Not that it is any of your business,
sir."

"I'm certain I can speak for my sex," he replied, with a straight face, "in mourning the fact that you have chosen to deprive some fortunate man of sharing a lifetime with a woman as warm and charming as you, my dear Miss Beauvisage."

Desperate for something, anything, to say before his niece lunged across the table and assaulted their guest, Nicholai heard himself remark, "Talya is longing to return to Philadelphia, but I don't know how we'll ever get her there as long as this war, and the war between England and America, continues."

"I wish I were in Philadelphia right now," Natalya declared.

"To tell you the truth, so do I," Grey said, with heavy irony.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be there if you were there!"

"For heaven's sake, stop it," scolded Lisette. "Natalya, I don't know what went on between you two before Nicholai came home, but whatever it was, you must put it aside while we are all at the dinner table. Mr. St. James is our guest. If you cannot be friendly, at least be civil."

As their plates were cleared, a dish of cheese and fruit and a bottle of calvados appeared on the table. Natalya pressed her lovely lips together and folded her hands in her lap.

"Grey, perhaps now might be a good time to tell us what has brought you to Chateau du Soleil, and how I may help you," Nicholai said.

St. James sat back in his chair and sipped the fiery brandy made from Norman apples. "My story is a long one, but I will try to confine it to the pertinent facts. I was the commander of one of Britain's finest warships until it was captured, and I was taken prisoner. I was considered a prize, because I am a cousin to Wellington..."

"And quite a favorite of the regent's, as I recall," Nicholai said.

Grey nodded. "Yes, he and my cousin have both tried to have me freed, which has only whetted Napoleon's interest in me. He sees me as a bargaining chip—and came to see me in my prison at Mont St. Michel this past autumn. He took an immediate dislike to me, no doubt in part because I am at least a foot taller than he is. At any rate, he gave orders that I was to be guarded more carefully than any other prisoner, and that if the Allies should win the war, I must be shot."

Natalya took a sip of her calvados, trying not to listen, determined that nothing would soften her heart toward this man.

"I won't go into the details of how I managed to escape. Suffice it to say that, as rumors continued to reach the prison regarding the imminent end of the war, many of the regular routines were forgotten. Meanwhile, the warden, a brutish man named Jules Auteuil, taunted me with promises of my death. When I escaped he followed me, he and his henchman. No doubt he thinks I'll lead him to Wellington! They were the men who came to your door today. I couldn't risk even the slightest chance that they'd discover me, so I... well, I threatened Miss Beauvisage and your maid with death if they betrayed me." He smiled tentatively at Natalya, who refused to meet his eyes. "I fear that she'll never forgive me for frightening her so cruelly."

"You're quite right," she murmured.

"That's an amazing story," Nicholai said slowly. "Now that you have found a safe haven, what do you want to do next?"

St. James looked at him with keen gray eyes. "Like your niece, I am determined to get out of France. Perhaps I might be able to deliver
both
of us safely to England. From there I could arrange passage to America for Miss Beauvisage, but it would mean spending several days in my company. She would doubtless consider that a fate worse than death." He looked across the table at Natalya, whose heart had begun to pound, and arched an eyebrow. "It's madness for me even to hope that you might agree, isn't it?"

She took a deep breath. "Tell me your plan."

Chapter 3

March
27, 1814

Nicholai and Lisette stared in astonishment. Natalya pretended not to notice. Only the two spots of color on her cheeks betrayed her awareness of the humbling leap she'd just taken. Meanwhile, James alone seemed oblivious of the dinner table conversation. He was more interested in the wedge of caramelized apple tart that had just been put before him.

"What are you looking at?" Natalya finally demanded of her aunt and uncle. "There's no need for shock. I've only agreed to hear the man out, not become his mistress."

St. James lifted his brows mildly. "What a relief."

"Pray, sir, tell me your plan without further insults!"

After a well-timed pause, he began to explain. "The difficulty of my situation is that Auteuil and Poujouly—the prison warden and his assistant—know my horse, and they'll be looking for me alone. The perfect solution, as I see it, would be not only a disguise and a different horse, but also a
wife
to travel with me. Knowing my past—the year in prison, and before that, the war—they'd never think to look for me with a wife."

"Well, they would be right, wouldn't they. It's ludicrous!" Natalya's turquoise eyes registered stunned surprise. "I guessed that you were mad, sir, but thought perhaps I'd judged you in haste. Now there is no doubt that I was right all along."

"Right about the fact that you judge too hastily?" he replied innocently. "I fear I must agree; but it's heartening that you are examining your character defects—"

"If you play with me, Mr. St. James, I shall leave the table without listening to one more word of your so-called plan," she ground out between clenched teeth.

"Then spare me your sharp-tongued interruptions," Grey said coolly. "I can assure you, Miss Beauvisage, that my reference to needing a wife was in no way a declaration of love and proposal of marriage
for you.
I only need someone to
pose
as my wife, for a mere week, perhaps, and although it would be pleasant if that person were also someone whose company I enjoyed, it would seem that I am not in a position to set such conditions." He paused, fine nostrils flaring slightly, and took a sip of calvados. "You and I can help each other. We both need to get out of France, and the odds are against either of us doing so alone. Together, we can be successful. I'm not asking you to do me a favor. We would each benefit equally." He shrugged. "I suppose it depends on how much you want to leave this country at the moment."