A Fine Caprice - A Regency Romance (30 page)

‘You speak my language?’

‘I do. Which is fortunate as you don’t seem to speak mine very well.’ She sat down on the floor, crossing her legs. Whatever the reason for this man’s presence in the attic of Abbey Cross, she could not believe that he was going to do her any harm.
And clearly, he was a missing piece in the puzzle that wa
s currently plagu
ing the place
. Not that she could believe this man – this almost absurdly handsome man who would have rivalled the great Beau Brummell
himself in the clothing department
– was the spy that had been smuggled in the previous morning.
‘Tell me how you
come to be here.’

He hesitated, apparently
tussling with conflicting priorities. Clearly he was
not
meant to be
discovered
hiding away in an attic but just as clearly, he was injured and in considerable distress. He needed help and Caprice was the only one around. ‘I am not meant to see anyone…’

‘How surprising. And yet I am here. How did
you
come to be here?’

He regarded her for a long moment,
then
sighed.
‘
I think I must trust you. And perhaps you will be kind, yes?’ Caprice kept her face noncommittal but whatever he saw there must have been encouraging. ‘
I had to leave France. My… my situation was very difficult.’ He glanced at her from under impossibly thick dark lashes, his deep brown eyes searching. ‘I am a refugee.’

‘From?’

‘From?’ his nos
trils flared. ‘Who do you think?
That beast… that… that inhumane savage!’

‘Bonaparte?’ Caprice inquired, wondering who this man could possibly be. Unless he was dissembling, and frankly he didn’t look smart enough to do anything of the kind, then he appeared to be escaping Bonaparte, not spying for him.

‘But of course!’ he spat the words out. ‘I am lucky to be alive.’

‘I see
. And you’re hiding in an attic because?’ she inquired delicately. ‘The English have been giving refuge to the French aristocracy for some time now, in case you didn’t know.’

Again the hesitation.
‘I… I must not talk to the English. My beloved said so.’

‘Your beloved?’ Caprice repeated, bewildered. She didn’t know if she
was
being rather slow but she couldn’t for the life of her work out where this man fitted in.

His face softened, taking
on an almost dreamy look. ‘My Marie.’

Marie? As in… ‘The Grand
Duchess
?’

‘
Oui
. My sweetest Marie.’

Caprice stared at him doubtfully. ‘Marie brought you here?’

‘So we could be together,’ he told her earnestly. ‘Being apart has broken our hearts.’

‘You are…’ she hesitated, trying to work out what the pair could mean to each other.
Only one thing, surely for t
he man
obviously
was besotted with the woman.

‘I am the Comte
de Fronsac,’ he informed her proudly. ‘My family have estates in Bourbon
and Marseille
. Or rather, they had estates
there
,’ he added bitterly, ‘until that madman came along.’

‘I see.’ Caprice stared at him. He was undoubtedly a French nobleman who had, like so many others, had their fortunes turned aroun
d by Bonaparte. So
why wasn’t he supposed to talk to the English? ‘And you’re here to marry the… to marry Marie?’

‘She is the love of my life,’ he explained. ‘She sa
id we would be together,
that
I
must
only
be patient. And I have been, I have waited for many weeks
. But then, three nights ago a messenger arrived and told me all was arranged and that
I was to come to England. But all
had to be a secret,’ he stared at her nervously. ‘You will not tell?’

‘I’ll tell Marie,’ she said, deciding that this carousel of a conversation had to end
somewhere. She could wonder all she liked but i
t would be easier to go to the source and find out exactly what was going on
rather than pursue the matter with a man who clear
ly did not know the full picture. Apart from anything else, she still did not see
how Had
ley Ravener featured in this scenario
.
Best to talk to the Grand Duchess. Caprice
might be doing the Comte a disservice but he didn’t seem particularly bright whereas Marie was as sharp as a knife.

‘She said I should be discreet and wait until nightfall.’

‘When she is going to help you leave?
’

‘We leave together.’

‘Very well.
And the secrecy?’

The Comte looked vague at this. ‘Oh… questions.
There would be many questions.
She said we would be in trouble.’

Did she now. It all sounded very odd to Caprice. She wondered if she should go and see if his lordship had returned. He should know that he had an unexpected guest in his attic.

‘When did you arrive,
M. la Comte?’ she asked, after a moment.

‘Why, during the night.
A man brought me to this shore and there was my Marie, waiting for me.’

‘I don’t suppose
you killed a gentleman along the way, did you?
A man, perhaps fifty years of age.
Pale blue eyes?’ That stared at one horribly in death.

He stared at her, bewildered. ‘Why would I kill anyone?’

Why indeed. He seemed a particularly inoffensive specimen. ‘Never mind. I’ll go and fetch Marie. And some water.’

‘You are most kind. And your name is? I am sorry, my young master, I
did not inquire as to who you are
.’

‘Me? My name is Jem.’

‘Jem,’ the young French nobleman repeated tentatively. ‘I thank you for your help.’

Caprice nodded and smiled, wondering if she really was helping him. Or if there was more to this story than she could possibly know.

‘So,’ Cass said pleasantly, turning to Hughenden. They had walked down to the narrow strip of sandy beach. It was more rocks than sand along this point. The sea rolled in lazily today, blue-grey water topped with silvered crests but he knew it could become very wild in foul weather. ‘Here we are.’

‘Indeed.’ Darryl Hughenden stood hesitating and Cass watched him narrowly, wondering if he were going to have to fight, determined to move if the man so much as twitched an arm towards any kind of weapon concealed by the greatcoat that he wore. ‘You’re probably wondering what this is about.’

‘I am wondering that, yes. A lot of curious things have been happening during m
y time at Abbey Cross. Some of which
you are, perhaps, familiar with?’

Sir Darryl grimaced and nodded. ‘As it happens, I am.’

‘How familiar?’

‘Very. My presence down in Dorset is not a coincidence.’

‘I didn’t think it was. When I saw you last night, I admit I was disappointed.’

‘Disappointed?’ Hughenden repeated, surprised.

‘I had a conversation with Anthony Fenshaw before I came down.’

‘Ah,’ the man’s expression cleared. ‘He believes I am a traitor. I wondered if he would contact you.’

This turn in
the conversation disconcerted
Cass somewhat. He didn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t this casual admission. ‘
Are
you a traitor?’

‘No, but it doesn’t hurt to have certain people believe so.’

‘I see,’ Cass eyed the man with loathing. ‘This is going to be one of those drearily complex things where nobody knows what anybody else is doing, isn’t it?’

Sir Darryl laughed. ‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘I have become involved with some delicate negotiations with a key figure in Bonaparte’s intelligenc
e. He informed me that spies were being
brought into the country via the smuggler’s route that leads directly to you
r
uncle. Who went and died on
us, which rather upset our plans. It meant that the place
would revert back to the family’s possession.
Your possession.
I foresaw problems.
’

‘
Did you, by God. Am I to assume U
ncle was bringing in French spies?’

‘Your uncle was bringing in everybody who paid him a large amount of money,’ Hughenden sai
d frankly. ‘Not often. In the usual course of events
he
only
dealt with illicit contraband but once in a while somebody would a
rrange to shelter at Abbey Cross
for a time
, a circumstance that profited him greatly
. When my contact informed me somebody of particular interest was to arrive, I was naturally interested.’

‘Don’t you get tired of talking in such vague terms?’ Cass demanded plaintively. ‘Somebody this, particular interest that.
Plain speaking, Hughenden.
It seems to be a thing of the past
for fellows like you and Fenshaw
.’

‘Poor Merridew,’ Sir Darryl said with a twist of the lips. ‘I had considered recruiting you for my new venture in cover
t affairs but then I remembered that you detest anything underhanded.’

‘I detest
anything
needlessly convolut
ed,’ Cass retorted. ‘Which is what
you
r business seems to consist of
. Why does Fenshaw
think you a wrong ‘
un
, incidentally?’

‘I have been trying to
work my way into the network surrounding Jean Rapp.’

Cass thought for a moment. ‘Bonaparte’s general?’

‘The same.
He’s an excellent strategist – some would say better than
Bonaparte himself – but he has his weaknesses. We have been hoping to exploit those weaknesses and discover something of Bonaparte’s plans for
the push into
Russia. I am hopeful that I will be considered a – how shall I put it? –
a
useful all
y?
’

‘You seem to be having some success
if Fenshaw thinks you’re up to no good,’ Cass observed dryly
. ‘Perhaps you could give me some information
… I have a certain Maria von Kassel staying with me at the moment. Apparently she is engaged to my cousin.’

‘You believe that?’

‘No.’

‘I know
the Grand Duchess.
We’ve met on more than one occasion.
She makes her living by collecting secrets and selling them
on both sides of the channel
. She isn’t particularly fussy about whose secrets they are.’

‘You astonish me. I am almost certain that she was expecting somebody to arrive last night.’

‘I agree. I have been hoping that was the case.’

Cass sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about the death of my uncle’s valet?’

Hughenden hesitated. ‘I might, actually.’

‘You know who killed him?’

‘It might have been me.’

Cass paused, staring at his old friend. ‘
You
killed Priss?’

‘I was on the shore yesterday evening, looking for any deliveries
much as I have for the past week
. I came across a man une
xpectedly while I was heading along the tunnel that con
nects to your uncle’s underground
passageway and which has proved so useful to the freetraders. Somebody shot at me. I felt the ball whistle past my cheek so I
fired back. I was almost sure I hit him but I couldn’t find the body.
I searched around for half an hour or so and then gave it up.
’

‘Ah,’ his lordship considered this for a moment. ‘It was a head wound but not immediately fatal
, apparently
as he
appeared to have
made it back to the cellars.
I thought… well, I’m not at all sure what I thought. Somebody heaved a piece of stone down on me several days ago and I was beginning to believe we had a madman on the loose.’

‘It was probably Priss taking the opportunity to rid himself of the inconvenience of your presence.’

‘Charming.
What do you suppose he was up to?’

‘Continuing on Abel Merridew’s work, I daresay
.
It was profitable enough, by all accounts
.’

Cass had to admit that in
the lig
ht of what had been happening, such an explanation
made sense.
He found himself suddenly wishing to talk it over with Jem but realized with a pang that Jem could no longer be used in the role of confidant. Not that his peculiar relationship with the girl could not continue if he wished it to for she did not know that her secret had been discovered. He thought about doing so for a moment but found that the biggest impediment to that plan was that he would be unable to escape the fact that she
was
a female. An image of her, standing in that lake, came back to him and he winced. He suspected that image would return on a regular basis until he managed to put her out of his head. But banish her he would for it was intolerable to have some unknown sprite haunting his dreams or rousing him in a way that he found decidedly disturbing. Where had this intense, sudden attraction come from?
He had no idea but he was reluctant to explore any further.