The Bed and the Bachelor (30 page)

“Wash up too then, and I’ll make you something light that won’t ruin supper,” she told him.

“Jam sandwiches?” he asked hopefully.

She smiled and took the basket of eggs from his grasp. “That might be arranged.”

“Make some for Monsieur Drake as well,” Luc declared with a smile. “Are you not famished from your travels, sir?”

Suddenly Drake did look a bit road weary. “I could do with a repast, if your sister would be so kind.”

“Did I hear you mention food?” a new voice said, her father coming through the rear door that led to his workshop in the backyard. “It’s been ages since breakfast.”

Sebastianne turned in time to watch him register Drake’s presence.

“And who might you be,
monsieur
?” her father said, tipping his iron grey head to one side in curious inquiry. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”

“This is Monsieur Drake,” Luc piped helpfully.

“Not Drake,” Julien corrected in a superior tone. “Monsieur Byron. Drake is his first name.”

Luc shot him a nasty look and opened his mouth to argue.

But their father spoke first, his gaze fixed on the other man. “Byron? Drake Byron?”

“Yes, sir,” Drake said.

“The mathematician and inventor?” Her father shot out his hands, clasping one of Drake’s in his own for a resounding shake. “I am Auguste Calvière, and it is an honor to have such an esteemed mind in my home.”

“Calvière?” Drake said. “The theorist? My God, I should have realized as soon as I saw the name. Of course, it all makes sense now.”

Her father smiled again. “Does it? Well, good, good. But come, we must talk. Sebastianne, that tea, if you please.” Taking Drake by the elbow, he steered him toward the table. “So tell me, sir, whatever are you doing here? There’s a war on, or have you not heard?”

Chapter 28

N
early an a hour later, with their light repast finished, Sebastianne sent the boys off to do a few chores, while her father drifted back to his workshop with promises from Drake that he would join him there soon. Clearing a forgotten plate and cup from the table, Drake joined Sebastianne where she stood across the room washing dishes in a bucket of hot, soap water.

He handed her the china. “How long has he been this way?” he asked in quiet English.

She rubbed a cloth over a plate, not pretending to misunderstand. “Since Maman passed,” she replied, also in English. “Although it’s been a gradual change. In most respects Papa is quite lucid, in others he’s . . . well, he likes to live in his own world. The real one, I think, is simply too hard for him to face, especially this past year.”

Drake took a moment to consider her words. “He was brilliant in his day. I remember reading his work at university.”

She shot him a look, then turned to dunk the plate in clean water. “He’s still brilliant, just not as focused as he used to be. He’s working on prime-number theory at the moment. It would be a great kindness if you would consult with him a bit. It would . . . it would make him happy.”

“Prime-number theory? It sounds as if you speak with some familiarity.”

She shrugged and washed a cup. “Papa taught me what he could, and I understand a fair amount of mathematics. But I’m no theoretical mathematician. I haven’t the patience for it or the singular turn of mind.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that what it is? My family calls it drifting off and not paying attention.”

“But you are paying attention, just not to them.”

She smiled, and he smiled back.

His chest tightened, nerve endings humming with sudden awareness. She looked so lovely, even in a faded, brown cotton dress with her hair pinned haphazardly around her face. If he let himself, he could drown in her whiskey-colored eyes, die for a taste of her sweet, strawberry pink lips.

His brows drew into a scowl, and he glanced away. How could he still want her after everything she’d done? How could he stand here laughing and talking as though everything were fine? As though she hadn’t lied and betrayed him and ripped out his heart?

“I wondered how you knew,” he said gruffly.

Her hands paused in the water. “Knew?”

“How you knew exactly what to look for, that you chose the right equation among all the other equations in the safe.”

Slowly, as if she were taking particular care, she scrubbed and rinsed a cup and set it aside to dry. “I told you, I know enough to understand what I’m looking at. I just can’t originate it.” She washed another dish. “Now it’s my turn. How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I’d made a copy of the cipher? I was very careful to make sure I replaced the original exactly where I’d found it.”

His smile returned, wry this time. “You did, and very likely I would never have known it had been copied if not for one thing.”

Her hands fell still and she met his gaze. “Yes?”

“Violets. The paper smelled like violets. Like you.”

Her lips parted in silent astonishment, then slowly curved upward. “Well, I guess I’m not so clever at this spying game after all. Or maybe part of me wanted to be caught, considering how much I hated doing it.”

An aching sensation burned in his chest. “Did you? If that’s true, then why did you do it?” he demanded harshly. “Was it for the money?”

She gave a hollow laugh and set the last dish aside to drain. Picking up a towel, she dried her hands. “What money? Does it look as if we live in fine style here? Believe me, if there were any money, I wouldn’t be washing dishes out of a bucket.”

His jaw tightened. “Then why did you do it? Or are you a true believer in Napoleon’s cause?”

She flung the towel aside with a disdainful toss. “I don’t care a jot for his cause, whatever it may be. All I can see is that he’s brought war and destruction to France—men, women and children whose lives have been torn apart by hardship and loss and misery. I hate the Emperor as much as you do, even if I still love my country.”

“England is your country as well, at least on your mother’s side.”

“
D’accord,
but Maman is gone, and Papa’s life is here. My brothers have never known anything else. This is their home. You want to know why I did it? For them. I did it all for them. Now, if you’re done with your interrogation, I have supper to prepare.”

“Anne—” He reached out and took hold of her arm.

She tugged herself away. “
Sebastianne.
I’ll thank you to call me by my proper name.”

“Very well, Sebastianne.”

“Now, go visit Papa. He, at least, will enjoy your company. As for tonight, you can bed down in the stable since it’s too much of a risk for you to stay in the village. There would be talk, even if you weren’t a foreigner. In the morning, you can leave.”

He stepped nearer, her sweet, clean scent coming to his nostrils. “I have no intention of leaving, not without you.”

“Then you’re doomed to be disappointed since I’m not going anywhere with you. Nor can you compel me. All I need do is tell them in the village that an English spy is in my house, and you’d be hauled off in an instant.”

“You could reveal my presence, it’s true,” he mused aloud. “But you won’t.”

Her chin tilted upward. “How can you be so sure? After all, I betrayed you once, why not again?”

He met her gaze, searching for the truth in her golden brown eyes. After all, she was right. How could he trust a word she said?

“Because if you wanted to turn me in,” he observed, “you’d have done it already.” Reaching up, he curved a hand around the back of her neck, his thumb stroking under her hair.

Her eyelids notched lower. “I just haven’t had time. Once you’re with Papa, I’ll be away to the village to tell them you’re here.”

If he were smart, he would take her statement at face value. He was a fool to believe she would do anything but use and deceive him, and yet he sensed there was more to her actions than he yet knew. She said she’d taken the cipher for her family. But at whose behest? Someone had planted her in his home, he knew that much. Someone influential had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange her employment. What else had they done to get their way? Suddenly he wanted answers more than revenge.

He carefully tightened his fingers, holding her in place. “You won’t tell a soul about me.”

A shiver ran through her, air soughing breathlessly from her lips. “No, I won’t.”

And he believed her.

“As for my sleeping arrangements,” he said, smiling, “I can think of far more appealing accommodations.”

A flush rose on her face, and she tugged against his grip. “You are not sharing my bed.”

He brushed his thumb against her nape. “Shall I not?”

“No,” she stated firmly. The effect was ruined, however, when another tremor ran through her body. “Go away, Drake.”

His smile widened. “For now. Be warned that our conversation isn’t over. We have a great deal more to discuss.”

“In that, you are right. Now release me. The boys will be back anytime.”

At the reminder, he lowered his hand and stepped away.

He would go see her father, and while he was there, take a few minutes to contemplate everything he’d just learned, including the fact that, fool that he was, he still wanted Sebastianne.

“V
ous êtes brilliant,
Lord Drake!” Auguste Calvière declared from where he sat behind the desk in his workshop. “That was precisely the suggestion I’ve been needing.”

Drake inclined his head, glad he had been able to help the older man, whose work was still impressive despite his mental retreat from the world.

“What luck that you could visit now.” Calvière stood and crossed to a cabinet on the far side of the room. Opening a door on the cabinet, he withdrew a bottle and a pair of small glasses. “I have so little opportunity these days to consult with colleagues,” Calvière continued as he bustled back to his desk, bounty in hand. “It’s all but impossible to keep up a reliable correspondence with one’s peers. They read everything, you know,
la militaire.
Like a pack of ferrets, nosing in everyone’s business. Have you not found that to be true,
monsieur,
even on your side of the sea?”

Actually, Drake supposed he had, aware that it had been slow and frustrating trying to maintain relationships with fellow mathematicians and scientists in countries other than England. As for the military reading his letters, he doubted they had the time or the nerve, especially considering his connections to the War Office. Then again, if some junior clerk wanted to snoop into his professional correspondence, Drake could only pity him since he doubted that the man would have enough knowledge to understand more than every third word.

Calvière pulled the cork from the bottle and poured two glasses of what gave every indication of being brandy. He slid one glass across the desk to Drake. “Glad my girl’s back safe and sound,” he said. “I worried about her while she was away, alone in Paris with only her sick cousin.” His thin grey eyebrows drew together on his forehead like a pair of diagonal lines. “Funny that I don’t recall having a cousin Paulette, but Sebastianne swears we do, so it must be true.”

He smiled, displaying teeth that were straight but faintly yellowed with age. “My pride and joy, Sebastianne. Never was there a better girl. Smart, you know, with a head for numbers. Sad she wasn’t born male. Oh, the wonders she might have wrought. Alas, neither Julien nor Luc has the gift. No talent for mathematics beyond the ordinary, though not many do, I suppose.”

Calvière shook his head with regretful introspection while Drake found himself thinking that despite Sebastianne’s intelligence and abilities, he was very glad she had not been born a boy. He liked her exactly the way she was.

“Drink, drink,” the older man encouraged, pointing to the glass sitting untouched before Drake. “I’ve been keeping this for a special occasion.”

Drake hadn’t realized this was a special occasion. Then again, perhaps Calvière was right, since it wasn’t every day he secretly crossed into enemy territory and spent time with a man who had once been an idol of his. Lifting the brandy glass, he took a swallow, finding it to be an excellent vintage.

“So you met my girl in Paris, correct?”

Drake paused, considering the truth of where and how he and Sebastianne had met. “In the city, yes.”

“I’m glad she had a man such as you around, not like that other one.” Calvière’s lips curled into a sneer. “He’s a bad sort. Came sniffing around here just before she left to take care of her cousin.”

Drake’s fingers tightened against the glass in his hand. “What man is this?” he asked, careful to keep his voice calm.

“Same one that was here a few days ago.” Calvière frowned. “Sebastianne was in the garden gathering vegetables, and the boys were off playing. Everything was quiet, then I heard voices, hers and his, arguing. I only caught bits and pieces of what they said, but enough.”

“What were they saying?”

“He wanted something, something she was supposed to have given him. She told him she’d hidden it, and that she wouldn’t hand it over unless he gave her something else in return.”

“What kind of something?”

“Don’t know,” Calvière said, glancing at Drake for a moment before furtively looking away. “I couldn’t hear that part. I just know that he threatened her and said he’d be back. I don’t want him back. I don’t want him anywhere near my family. He’s a vile, evil man. He must go away. He must stay away.” Calvière shook, his entire body suddenly trembling so that he was in danger of tipping over his drink.

Reaching out, Drake slid the glass out of harm’s way.

Calvière continued to shake, opening and closing his fingers against his thighs, muttering to himself under his breath.

Drake understood now why Sebastianne had made up her tale about caring for an invalid cousin rather than telling her father the truth. Whatever her motivations for going to England, her father clearly would not have been able to deal with the truth. Obviously, something had broken in Calvière. Whether from the death of his wife or from too many years living under the darkness of upheaval and war, he could no longer cope with reality. Instead, he dwelled behind a shield of rosy delusions and professional abstractions, which Sebastianne was wise enough to maintain.

As for her brothers, Drake reasoned, they were too young to be confidants, although he suspected Julien understood far more than the boy let on. Did he know that Sebastianne had not spent the spring in Paris? Was he also aware of the man who threatened her with harm? Julien had immediately come to Sebastianne’s defense when he’d found her with Drake, protective and willing to fight. What other responsibilities had he shouldered while she was away, as a boy who was on the verge of becoming a man.

“You are not to fret,
monsieur,
” Drake said soothingly to the older man. “You have my word that I shall take care of your daughter and your family.”