Charmed and Dangerous (22 page)

Soon after this, Laura was shown to a tiny cramped cabin below deck that contained two bunks and a minuscule cupboard. Roberto indicated these amenities with a flashing smile and then vanished. A few moments later, Gavin joined her. “The others will sleep on deck,” he said, sitting on the bunk opposite.

Laura watched his expression gradually shift from concentrated animation to fatigue. This fitting himself to circumstance must be difficult, she thought. It must require every faculty and unwavering attention.

Without looking at her, he lay down with his back to her and pulled up a blanket. She did the same, though it was a long time before she actually slept.

* * *

They docked in Venice late the following day. Gavin made their farewells, which entailed a great deal of gesturing and compliments, and then led her along walkways beside narrow canals to an inn. After a moment, Laura realized it was the same one where she had seen Gavin and Sophie together.

There was only one room available, and he took it with a sidelong glance at her. Laura was too delighted at the prospect of a real bath to think of anything else. And when she had bathed, she found that she was so tired she nearly fell into bed. Her last coherent thought was that it had been eons since she had been this comfortable.

She woke sometime later with the sense that there was someone in the room with her. Blinking, she saw that Gavin stood beside the bed, illuminated by a single shaded candle. His back was to her. He was taking off his shirt.

Laura watched the light flicker across his shoulders and the muscles of his arms. It gleamed in his hair like ancient gilding. He bent to pull off his boots and then set them outside the door to be shined, quietly slipping the bolt as he shut it again. When he turned, Laura shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She didn't know what to say.

There was a silence, and she
felt
that he was gazing at her. Her body recognized his presence and his attention. Time seemed to stretch into some other dimension. The air seemed to thicken, and Laura's skin tingled with the memory of his touch.

Then he moved. She heard the floorboards creak and a rustle of cloth—and then nothing.

A few muted sounds drifted up from the taproom below. Outside the window the jingle of harness passed. Cloth rustled again. Laura risked a look through her lashes.

Gavin was wrapped in a blanket and sitting in the armchair that was the only other piece of furniture in the room. His head was resting on its back at an uncomfortable angle. He looked tired and resigned.

“What are you doing?” said Laura.

He started and sat up straight. “I didn't mean to wake you,” he said.

“You don't intend to sleep there?”

“Yes.”

“You have as much right to the bed as I do.”

“It is not a question of rights.”

“Well, there is no reason I should have the bed, and you that chair.”

“There is every reason.”

“Nonsense. Just get in the bed.”

An odd expression crossed his face. Not quite a smile, and not quite a grimace. “Now that we are back in civilization—” he began.

“You already told them I am your wife.”

“I was obliged to do so,” he agreed. “But I don't intend to take advantage—”

“We can both use the bed without…anything more.”

“Can we?”

The change in his tone reached deep inside Laura and set something trembling.

“
I
can't,” he added.

She sat up and looked at him, one strap of her shift falling off her shoulder.

“Go back to sleep, Laura,” he said almost harshly.

She kept looking, wondering if he felt her gaze as she did his. The memory of his touch was so vivid that she shivered a little.

“You're cold. Lie down.” It seemed as if tenderness had brushed his voice.

“Gavin.” His name slipped out, and her longing and uncertainty vibrated in the word without her conscious volition.

The sound drew him out of the chair. As the blanket slid out of his hands, he was revealed wearing only his breeches, golden hair glinting on his chest. He looked magnificent. “You try me beyond bearing,” he said.

Laura couldn't seem to recall any words. Her hand came to her throat and rested there. She could feel her pulse beating under her fingers.

“How am I to resist when you sit there looking…?” His chest rose and fell. His eyes burned as she would not have thought possible with their cool color.

He wanted her, Laura thought. That, at least, was undeniable. His desire was proclaimed by every line of his body. The knowledge excited and gratified her. And every part of her responded to the message he sent. Her hand dropped to the coverlet. “Must you resist?”

And then she was in his arms.

* * *

Gavin sat in the inn's front parlor, a tankard on the table before him. Through the small window at his side, he could see that the sky was overcast on this mid-February day, threatening rain. He toyed with the bread and cheese that were the innkeeper's idea of breakfast. At least the man had given him no trouble. For a few coins he had happily revealed that the “delectable redhead,” as he called Sophie, had hired a coach and set out for Vienna. Why she had done so was another question, one that would have to wait until Gavin saw her again.

The countess was a damned nuisance, he thought. He was tired of pretending that he found her irresistible. And she had obviously ceased to believe it in any case. The thought of her reaction when they showed up in Vienna once again made him smile slightly.

It faded when he realized that he pictured Laura with him. She had no reason to undertake a wet and chilly journey to Vienna. Perhaps she would refuse to come. The idea made his jaw clench.

He couldn't leave her alone in a strange town far from home, he told himself. He was responsible for her safety. And what more? he wondered, taking a deep draught of ale. After what had passed between them, shouldn't he be responsible for far more? Yet she didn't want that from him. She intended to go back to England and be a governess. Gavin turned the tankard between his hands, bewildered by this unprecedented situation. Women always wanted a man to stay, he thought, feeling resentful at Laura's perversity in this matter. She never acted predictably.

Something made him look up. Laura was standing in the doorway, dressed in her green gown once again, its wrinkles and stains removed by an inn servant. She looked beautiful—her ivory skin and raven hair enlivened by a dark green gaze full of emotion and intelligence. A tremor went through Gavin. The tankard wobbled slightly under his hand, and he closed his fist on the handle.

“Good morning,” she said, coming into the room and taking the chair opposite him. “I don't suppose they have any tea?”

“No.” His voice sounded odd in his ears.

“Coffee?”

He nodded, wondering if he was coming down with a chill.

“Good.” She hesitated, as if about to say something else, then picked up a piece of the brown bread and broke it into fragments.

Gavin tore his attention from her slender white fingers, which had reduced the bread to crumbs. “Sophie went back to Vienna,” he told her.

Laura went still. Gavin couldn't interpret her expression. “Did she?”

“I've hired a chaise to return there as well.”

“Ah.”

He could tell nothing from her face or her tone about what she meant to do.

“Should we not find a British consul, or some sort of official and tell them what we have discovered?”

“He would delay us sending messages to get instructions and permissions and exceptions. By the time he was satisfied, Michael would have accomplished whatever he is plotting.”

Laura raised her eyebrows. “I take it you do not consult the local officials when you are on one of your missions?”

“I work alone,” he replied forcefully. It was a salutary reminder.

Laura drew back a little from the table. She had destroyed another slice of bread, he saw. So did she apparently; she put her hands in her lap.

In the clear light of morning, last night seemed like a dream, Gavin thought, or something that had happened long ago. “I will notify the appropriate people in Vienna,” he said.

Something about this statement made her brighten, though he couldn't imagine what it was.

“I…I have some acquaintances in Vienna,” she replied. “I should…I should like to go back there before I return to England.”

The news that she would not be leaving him was so welcome that Gavin didn't even think to question this rather odd itinerary.

* * *

They set off just before noon in the hired chaise. The rain held off, though the cold, heavy dampness of the air promised that this couldn't last. They went quickly; with little talk, and perhaps too much time to think, Laura decided. She would catch herself watching Gavin, remembering the feel of his lips and hands, the words he murmured when he held her. She found herself memorizing his features as if this were the last time she would ever see them.

And perhaps it was, she thought. Wouldn't he abandon her in Vienna and go about his work? He would take her at her word and have her sent home, going off gladly on his pursuit of Napoleon's agents.

Not “abandon,” Laura scolded herself, and she would not be “sent” anywhere. She had her own plans. She simply had to see that she was able to carry them out.

The rain started around four, darkening the February day nearly to twilight. By the time they stopped for the night at a farmstead, Laura was almost too exhausted to eat the bowl of stew she was offered. She fell into the bed and knew nothing until Gavin woke her early to set out again.

Three more days passed in this way. The rain disappeared on the second, making things easier, and on the fourth Laura found that she was actually becoming inured to travel. She was less fatigued by the end of a day and able to converse a little in the evening with the families who sheltered them. She had some attention to spare for the future.

“When we reach Vienna,” she said to Gavin one afternoon.

He turned to look at her.

“I believe…I think it would be best if we took our news to George Tompkins.”

He blinked in surprise. “Where did you hear that name?”

“I am a little acquainted with Mr. Tompkins, and he seems the best—”

“How?”

Laura shrugged. “He will know just what to—”

“Very few people even know that he exists,” he interrupted.

“Well, I am one of those few,” she responded tartly. “And I think that he will know precisely what to do about our news.” There was no need to mention that she very much wanted to speak to him about other matters as well, Laura thought.

“No doubt,” was the curt reply.

Laura rather enjoyed the irritated look on his face. He really hated relying on others in his work, she thought. He wanted to do everything himself. “And just who should take care of the matter,” she ventured.

“You have to exercise some caution in these things,” he snapped, “not simply push blindly in.”

“I'm sure—”

“You have to have some subtlety, to allow things to come to just the proper point, and then to move.”

“I imagine Mr. Tompkins is well aware of that.”

This silenced him.

“So we are agreed that we will go to him as soon as we reach Vienna?” Laura pressed.

He growled.

“Unless you would rather go to the embassy or the congress delegation?”

As she had expected, these alternatives pleased him even less, and he eventually gave in. Really, he wasn't all that hard to manage, Laura thought, as they entered the final leg of their journey. One didn't even have to be that subtle.

When they drove up to George Tompkins's house in Vienna the following day, there were no protests about an unexpected visit. They were ushered inside at once and directed up the stairs to the drawing room.

“I will make the report,” said Gavin as he climbed.

Laura looked up to answer him and saw another figure at the top of the steps.

“There you are,” said George Tompkins cordially. “I have been expecting you for three days now.”

Mr. Tompkins, looking like some immaculate phantom from another age, came slowly down the stairs. His full-skirted coat was purple satin. Silver buckles gleamed on his shoes, matching the silver of his hair. He made Laura feel like a half-dead bird the cat had dragged in.

“I have a report to make,” said Gavin.

The old man nodded, not seeming at all surprised. “I am eager to hear it. Are you both well? Not hurt?”

“We're all right,” said Laura.

“Good.” He looked at her kindly.

“Aren't you going to ask why we have come to you, where we have been?” demanded Gavin, sounding goaded.

Tompkins smiled. “I thought you were going to tell me.”

“You,” confirmed Gavin. “And not the embassy or the delegation.”

His suspicions seemed to amuse their host. “My dear Graham, I know you better than to suggest you go to either of those places.” Seeing Gavin about to speak, he held up a hand. “And no, I do not claim to be
utterly
omniscient.” His eyes twinkled. “I did have some warning from a friend of yours.”

“Hasan,” said Gavin at once.

“He is here. As is your luggage, and Miss Devane's.”

Gavin gaped at him. “Miss Devane's? Hasan retrieved her things as well?”

Tompkins nodded. Gavin looked positively stunned. It was rather surprising that Hasan would bother with her belongings, Laura thought.

“I must say I was very impressed with Hasan's actions during the, er, uproar that followed Miss Devane's disappearance,” Tompkins added.

“The Pryors?” cried Laura. She had not even thought of them and what they must have endured, she realized guiltily.

“They were extremely worried. After Hasan contacted me, I did my best to reassure them.”

“They went on home then?”

He nodded.

Laura relaxed a little.

“Does anyone care to hear my report?” wondered Gavin sarcastically.

“Yes indeed. If both of you will come along…”

“I can tell you everything,” he interrupted. “Miss Devane is tired.”

George Tompkins looked from one of them to the other. One of his eyebrows twitched. “Is she?” he said. “Well, we will try not to keep her too long.”

Laura felt her spirits lift as she followed the old man up the stairs. He wasn't going to shunt her aside as if she had had nothing to do with the adventure, as Gavin apparently intended. Perhaps there was some hope.

When they had told Tompkins all they had learned, he sat frowning for only a moment before summoning messengers and sending them out on a variety of errands. Very soon thereafter, officials began to arrive, and the house began to hum like an overturned beehive.

Laura was taken to an opulent chamber on the third floor. There she found her trunk already unpacked and a bath ordered. The maid assigned to her took her wrinkled gown away to be laundered. Laura enjoyed the luxury, but she began to feel oppressed by the silence and space of her rooms. It was as if she had been walled off from the flow of events, wrapped in a cocoon of cotton wool and placed on a shelf for safekeeping.

When she had dressed in one of her Vienna gowns, she went out into the corridor and along it to the stairs. In the front hall, messengers were still coming and going, and a dignitary speaking German was admitted and hustled away.

“Do you know where I can find Mr. Tompkins?” she asked a passing servant.

“I believe he is with the ambassador.”

“Oh. And Mr. Graham?”

“I don't know, miss.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

She wandered a little while longer, then returned to her room. She felt cut off and forgotten. Crossing her arms over her chest, she fervently hoped this wasn't an omen of the future.

* * *

Sometime later, the maid came to summon her to dinner. There were a number of guests, though no one bothered with introductions. The talk was all of Bonaparte and what could be done to stop him. It would be days before the couriers could reach his place of exile and the garrison there.

After a welcoming smile from Mr. Tompkins, Laura was ignored. She might have been a governess again, summoned to fill an empty chair at her employer's table. The conventions of society had fallen back into place around her, she thought, like a net over an unwary bird. She understood the system quite well; she had used it as a place of concealment for years. But she didn't wish to any longer.

She would never look for a new post in a schoolroom, Laura realized. She wouldn't be able to tolerate that sort of cage again.

They were rising from the table when the clatter of hooves sounded outside. A lone messenger was brought in, swaying on his feet. “Bonaparte has landed in France,” he announced. “He is rallying the country behind him and moving toward Paris.” The messenger staggered with fatigue.

The room erupted in exclamations and fevered conversation.

“Quiet,” shouted Gavin. “What else, man?”

“He took the brig
Inconstant
and sailed on February 26th,” the messenger added. “He landed near Cannes two days ago.”

“The country rallies behind him?” asked Gavin sharply.

“So they say, sir.”

“We must leave at once,” said a young military man near Laura. “It will be war. We have to rejoin the regiment before Wellington beats him.”

His companion agreed. “Will they give us permission, do you think?”

“They'll need every fighting man they can find.” The young man's grin was fierce. “I'm going to pack my gear right now.”

The two hurried out.

Laura made her way over to where Gavin was standing. “I suppose it will be war,” she said.

Gavin turned and looked down at her. “Undoubtedly.”

“I wonder if Michael is with him.”

His mouth hardened. “I'll find out if he is.”

“You?”

“They'll be wanting good intelligence. I'll go north tonight.”

Laura waited, feeling as if they were isolated together, cut off from the shouting, gesturing men in the room. But he said nothing further. Nothing about what had passed between them, or what he might feel at this final parting. Laura couldn't believe it. Now that the moment had really come, she knew that she had hoped for more. Despite her brave words, she had thought he might discover love for her. She couldn't speak. Her throat was full of tears, and they threatened to spill into her eyes. She bit her lip. She would not humiliate herself by weeping over him in public. Turning on her heel, she left the noisy room, unaware that Gavin watched her with regret in his gaze.

Laura didn't go far. In the entryway outside, she struggled to master her feelings, keeping her back to the people rushing back and forth. Finally, when she judged that almost everyone must have left the room, she ventured in. As she had hoped, George Tompkins was alone, sitting in an armchair in the corner.

He looked up when she joined him. “I am too old for another war,” he said. “I thought we had settled this one.”

* * *

Gavin returned to his bedchamber to order Hasan to pack. He needed to leave first thing in the morning, he thought, which no doubt he would be commanded to do. This was what he had been waiting for. He would be on his own, traveling into enemy territory. His life had returned to the perilous adventure that he saw as normal.

Laura might have at least said good-bye, he thought. When he had told her he was going, she'd turned away as if it were a matter of little interest to her. Not that he wanted a hysterical scene, of course. Far from it. It was much better this way.

Gavin went to the window to look out over the street below. She might have shown some sort of sentiment, he thought. They had shared more than a casual acquaintance.

Desire for her burned through his veins. She felt it, too; he knew she did. The certainty had been in every touch of her hand, in the arch of her body and the rhythm of her breath.

Yet she couldn't even say good-bye.

Gavin realized his jaw was clenched and he was breathing rapidly. How did she do this to him? She was maddening, incomprehensible.

This made him remember another mystery, and he turned away from the window. “Hasan?”

The small, silent man looked up from his packing and faced him.

“Why did you fetch Miss Devane's luggage from Venice?” Hasan had never done such a thing before. He had shown no consideration for any of the people Gavin encountered—female or male, friend or enemy.

Hasan gave a one-shouldered shrug. “She is
tandek
,” he said and returned to his work.

Gavin gazed at him in astonishment. This word from Hasan's native language had a complex meaning. It referred to a person who was trustworthy and important to the tribe. It also implied unusual ability or skills of some kind. It conferred respect.

Noting that his mouth was open, Gavin closed it. Somehow or other, Laura had impressed Hasan more than any other European he had met in the course of their association. And Gavin had reason to trust Hasan's judgment of character. It had saved his skin more than once.

What was it about her? What sort of creature was Laura? Intelligent, obviously. More devious than seemed possible. She had apparently spent years evading the attentions of the English aristocracy. Involuntarily, he grimaced. She had come to him untouched, and wholeheartedly. Now she seemed to be treating the experience as something to be passed off and forgotten. It made no sense.

Movement outside his window caught Gavin's eye. Another messenger was arriving, mud-spattered, on an exhausted mount. There would be further news. He took a deep breath. He had been longing for this—the old excitement, the urgency of great affairs. He had what he wanted. But as he left the room, he found himself wondering why so much of the savor seemed to have gone out of it.

* * *

Silence had fallen in the front parlor. George Tompkins's voice had held such weariness and regret that Laura had been reluctant to intrude. Yet this might be her only chance to speak to him. She had to take advantage of it.

“I don't suppose Mr. Graham told you,” she blurted out, “but it was my idea that allowed us to escape from the island.”

The old man looked up. “Actually, he did.”

Astonishment silenced her for a moment. “Oh. He did?” She was so touched by this that it took her a bit longer to recover her momentum. “Well. You see, then, that I have certain abilities.”

“It was a very clever scheme,” he acknowledged.

“I am quite knowledgeable about history and politics as well. I have always done a great deal of reading.”

Tompkins waited.

“And I…I am in need of employment.” Laura let out her breath in a rush. She wasn't sure whether what she felt was relief at having said what she had planned to say, or mere nerves.

“Employment?” repeated Tompkins.

“I am fluent in several languages,” she said. “And I'm sure I could learn others. I have always had a facility for—”

“My dear young woman,” he began.

“No, wait.”

Her tone stopped him. He looked at her with interest and reservation.

“I have thought a good deal about this,” Laura went on, marshaling her reasons carefully. “You gather information. That is the true center of all your work, isn't it?”

Tompkins nodded.

“I know you have many sources, but I believe there may be some you are neglecting.”

“Indeed?”

Laura couldn't tell if she had really caught his interest, or if he was merely humoring her. “There are women who see and hear a great many things because people forget they are present. Companions, governesses, poor relations. No one bothers to hide things from them, any more than they would from a piece of furniture. They are not thought to have any interests or opinions, you see.”

Tompkins was examining her with care.

“Such women would never talk to…Mr. Graham, for example, or an embassy aide, or…anyone like that. But they would talk to me.”

“To you?”

“Yes! I could discover all sorts of things. Who is caring for Bonaparte's young son? Perhaps they would like him to learn languages.”

Tompkins appeared to be thinking this through. “You would take a post in the household and observe what goes on there?” said Tompkins slowly.

Laura nodded. “And I would make friends with other women in similar positions. It would be a kind of…network.”

He looked thoughtful.

Laura held her breath as he considered.

“I could not place you in the Princess Marie's entourage,” he said regretfully.

She leaned forward. “But somewhere else?”

“Perhaps. I will need to think about this. We have informants who are servants of course.” He held up a hand as she started to protest. “But this would be of a different order altogether.”

“I would understand things that a servant would not,” she said a bit stiffly.

“Naturally. But whether I could expose you to such danger…”

“I am not afraid of danger.”

“So you have shown.” He held her gaze. “You don't want to go home?”

“I would only have to find a post there.”

“I received the impression that you could stay with the Pryors for as long as you like.”

“As a sort of poor relation,” she agreed. “Though we are not actually related.”

“Catherine Pryor—”

“She would be very kind to me and never make me feel my position,” Laura interrupted. “But nevertheless, I would.”

“You might marry,” he pointed out. “Living in the Pryor household, you would have the opportunity to meet eligible young men.”

“I shall never marry.”

Something in her tone appeared to startle Tompkins. He frowned slightly. His eyes bored into hers again, until Laura had to look away.

Silence fell over the room. Footsteps could be heard passing in the entryway outside. A voice was raised. Another responded. Laura wanted to speak, to ask for his decision, but she was afraid to hear it.