Authors: Elizabeth Squire
The moment was gone just as quickly and Liliane stood dazed and disorientated, almost unaware that the celebrant had just declared them to be man and wife. Dutifully she signed the register, her signature neat and proper beside Sin’s bold scrawl. Everyone began talking at once and as Sin was accepting the congratulations of the innkeeper and his wife, Liliane looked up to see Lieutenant De Bois studying her intently. The sense of unease that had pervaded since their initial meeting, the conviction that this was a test, returned with full force. But whether they had passed remained to be seen.
Beside her Sin was speaking. ‘Lieutenant De Bois, you have my gratitude. I must thank you for coming to our aid and arranging for Monsieur Moreau to wed us at such short notice.’ He smiled widely and slipped an arm around Liliane. ‘Now I’m free to enjoy wedded bliss without the fear of Liliane’s Papa sending me to the altar with a shotgun.’
De Bois switched his attention to Sin and laughed. ‘My friend, you may not be thanking me so profusely in a year’s time.’ He returned his gaze to Liliane. ‘Like most of us, you’ll likely be looking elsewhere for your pleasures soon enough.’
To Liliane’s horror Sin turned and clapped De Bois on the shoulder. ‘I hope you’re wrong, but if her temperament proves to be like her mama’s I may send her to you with my blessing.’
She gritted her teeth. It was a game he was playing, but if Sin continued to banter with De Bois like that he was likely to discover the true mettle of her temper.
Sin looked to her and winked. ‘And let that, fair wife, be your first instruction in wifely duties.’
She smiled sweetly at him. ‘And, dear husband, just you remember that I’m equally capable of obtaining satisfaction if you don’t please me.’
At that the inn-wife bellowed a braying laugh. ‘She’ll do alright, that one.’ As she dragged her reluctant husband from the room her chortling could be heard echoing down the hallway.
Sin moved towards Monsieur Moreau and shook his hand again. ‘On that note gentlemen, my wife and I shall retire to our suite to enjoy the splendid wedding breakfast the inn-wife promised us.’ He nodded towards De Bois and paused. ‘De Bois, what are your plans for tomorrow? Would you care to share a couple of ales with me in the tap room over luncheon? I’d be keen to hear your thoughts on how we’re going to keep those cowardly English swine to their own side of the Channel.’
De Bois shook his head. ‘Perhaps another time. I have orders to depart early tomorrow morning for Paris.’ With a calculating look at Liliane, he continued. ‘Perhaps I shall see you there.’
‘Not any time soon my friend, but safe travels.’
***
Sinclair pried the tattered wedding bouquet from Liliane’s hands and tossed it onto the dresser that stood beside the fireplace in their suite. He suspected the state of the blooms very much resembled the remnants of Liliane’s nerves. Her eyes were overly bright, but other than that she was a pale as the winter snow. And the woman was going to wear a hole in the floorboards the way she was pacing before the fire. He grabbed hold of her wrist; her skin was a cold as ice and she was trembling like a window pane being battered by a cold north wind.
‘Come, you need to sit down.’ Seeing the table set out by the window, he steered her over to it and lifted a cloche covering one of the serving platters. ‘The inn-wife has outdone herself. This looks delicious.’
She glanced down at the fragrant meal and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m not particularly hungry.’
Sinclair reached over her shoulder and dipped a finger in the sauce covering the braised lamb. ‘No? Well I’m famished and this tastes pretty good.’ He looked at her assessingly. ‘If you wish to outwit De Bois, I recommend you start by eating.’
‘What, do you think he’s bargaining on me starving myself to death in order to escape his dastardly clutches?’
Ah, there’s the Liliane he’d been looking for. That pale, lifeless imitation who’d been his companion for the past couple of hours was not the woman he’d become accustomed to. ‘No, but maybe you could slay him with your sarcasm.’
‘Oh, very funny, mister congeniality.’ Her eyes flashed sapphire sparks at him. ‘Mister, “
if her temperament proves to be like her mama’s I may send her to you with my blessing
”. What am I, your secret weapon?’
Ho, so that’s what was eating at her. She’d taken exception to his banter with De Bois. If he laughed out loud right now, she would surely box his ears. But, by all that’s holy, she looked magnificent. Her hands were planted on her hips in a way that thrust her breasts towards him in a most delicious manner, and the way she was chewing at her bottom lip begged him to take her into his arms to suckle and lave her abused mouth until her temper thawed and she melted against him. And then she’d likely never forgive him.
His wife. A tremor of excitement ebbed through him as he repeated the words to himself again, testing them. For all of his conviction that their vows would be easily annulled, he questioned how he was going to walk away from her.
‘Ah,
mon fleur
, welcome back. I was worried an interloper had taken your place.’ He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. ‘And before you start venting your wrath on me, remember that we’re playing a game of strategy.’
‘Yes, well just don’t over play your hand.’
Sinclair hid his smile and held out a chair for her. ‘Your dinner awaits, Madame St Clair.’
She shot him a snide look as she sat down. ‘I said
don’t
over play your hand.’
He sat down opposite her and poured them each a glass of rich Merlot. ‘So long as you endeavour not to be a shrewish wife. After all, I still have those gaming debts to repay. Bear baiting and cock fighting, as you’ll recall.’
‘Oh, by all means, don’t let me stop you from enjoying your debauched lifestyle. Just remember, I’d sooner not spend the remainder of my days in a debtor’s prison.’
He raised his glass. ‘I’ll toast to that.’
He watched as Liliane served herself a portion of the lamb, some buttered beans and an assortment of other vegetables. Until tonight, he’d admired her quick wit and courage. But here in this more formal setting he realised, with some surprise, she comported herself with grace and elegance. There was no sign of the hoyden who’d unrelentingly matched him stride for stride these past three days. No sign of the woman who’d refused to succumb to the challenges of near Arctic weather conditions and shoddy sleeping arrangements and the intimacy of being his constant companion. Instead, this Liliane was assured and refined, and her movements spoke of the type of poise that one usually only associated with women of his own class, those who’d had the proprietaries drilled into them from birth.
Curious
. How could one woman be such a conundrum?
Liliane dabbed her mouth with her napkin. ‘Is that better?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Well, the way you were looking at me, I thought I must have had gravy on my chin?’
Sinclair jerkily lifted his wineglass to his mouth and took a sip. He hadn’t realised he’d been staring at her like a drooling schoolboy. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ And now he was reduced to trite and inane comments.
She smiled her forgiveness. ‘It’s been an unusual day.’
‘And you seem to have perfected the art of understatement.’ Sinclair pushed the remnants of his meal away and leaned back in his chair, carefully swirling his wine.
Liliane shrugged. ‘I must admit, I was relieved when De Bois said he was departing for Paris in the morning.’
Yes, that had been a surprisingly convenient little bit of information. Sinclair stood and walked over to the window. Pulling the drapes aside he peered into the night. ‘If indeed that is his intention. It may also be a ruse, a part of an elaborate cat and mouse game he is playing with us.’ Looking back towards Liliane he continued. ‘That’s what I would do if I were in his shoes.’
As Liliane was about to respond, a knock on the door signalled the return of the maids to clear away the dinner setting. Sinclair waited for them to complete their tasks, and took the opportunity to study Liliane a bit further. The damn woman had that look in her eye again. The one that he was quickly beginning to interpret as a byword for trouble. Finally, the maids bid them good night and retreated from the room. Sinclair looked at Liliane and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Out with it.’
‘You think you know me so well already?’
‘
Mon fleur,
I know you well enough to be able to tell when you are plotting.’
‘That’s hardly fair,’ she responded dryly. ‘I was simply thinking that if De Bois is suspicious of us, the last thing he would expect us to do is to play the happy newlyweds. I think the best way for us to be inconspicuous is to be conspicuous.’
‘Go on.’
Stifling a yawn, she explained. ‘Tomorrow we should do what every newly married couple does—enjoy a honeymoon. We should go shopping, or sightseeing. Essentially, we would be hiding in plain sight.’
‘Your suggestion certainly has merit. I—’
Liliane interrupted with another yawn. ‘Excuse me. I can’t seem to stop yawning.’ Eying the bed sitting behind her she covered her mouth before commenting, ‘That bed is looking very inviting, don’t you think?’
Sinclair looked from Liliane to the bed, and back to Liliane. Every last coherent thought evaporated from his mind to pool at his balls in a cauldron of hot and unassailable need.
Christ.
As if their night spent in the shepherd’s hut hadn’t been temptation enough.
He’d spent the day trying to diffuse the memory of her pouty lips against his. Her sweet breath as she’d invited him to taste and explore the honeyed depths of her mouth. The delicious weight of her breasts as his hands had traced her luscious curves. And the trusting warmth of her body against his as she’d slept in his arms. He didn’t trust that he’d be able to exercise any degree of gentlemanly restraint for a second consecutive night.
Except now, she was his wife. He cleared his throat. ‘Was that an invitation?’
Liliane gasped and went bright pink, the flush drawing his eyes to the erratic pulse at the base of her throat. ‘N … no! No!’ She grabbed her glass of water and hastily gulped down half the contents. ‘I just meant, after the cot we slept on last night, it looked soft. And comfortable.’
Blast it. He grabbed his greatcoat from the hook behind the door. He was such an insensitive ass. They hadn’t discussed the formalities of their union, and he’d been in no doubt that Liliane, that both of them, meant for it to be a marriage in name only. A marriage of bloody inconvenience. But the memory of her, soft and responsive in his arms, was taunting him to the point of madness. If he didn’t get out of here right now, he would be looking for excuses as to why he shouldn’t be making her his wife in deed. He drew on his gloves and picked up his hat from the nearby dresser. ‘You should get some sleep.’ He gestured towards the bed. ‘I’ll make other arrangements later.’
Surprise shadowed Liliane’s eyes. ‘You’re going out?’
‘Just for a short while. Don’t wait up.’
***
A quick glance along the corridor confirmed Sinclair’s suspicion that De Bois had removed his guards, and that was telling; obviously De Bois was starting to doubt his instincts.
Satisfied, Sinclair turned away from the main entrance and proceeded down the servants’ staircase. The stairs ended in a narrow passageway that he assumed led to the kitchens and the taproom. Directly ahead a door opened onto the cottage gardens he’d observed from the window a little earlier. At this time of year, there would be little chance of encountering anyone admiring the flower beds.
He stepped into the garden and glanced around. Talk and laughter could be heard coming from the tap room but the grounds appeared deserted. Deeper into the garden a shed stood against the fence and beyond that a gate opened into the lane way. Looking about one more time, he assured himself that he was unobserved before moving quickly to the gate.
The overcast skies of the previous two days had finally given way and a pale quarter moon bestowed just enough light to guide Sinclair through the cobblestone streets of Boulogne’s old village centre. As he’d suspected, the inn was not particularly far from the town square. Pausing, he leant against the wall of a building bordering the square and took in the activity before him. Despite the late hour, the square was still bustling with the town’s inhabitants. Across the square several soldiers stood outside the theatre with a group of young ladies. The women were talking animatedly, competing to impress with their beauty and wit, although not one of them had the enticing sable locks or alabaster skin of Liliane.
A couple in deep discussion brushed by, alerting him to the two soldiers following closely behind. Sinclair quickly retreated further into the shadow of the building and quietly observed the pair.
Damn it.
De Bois’s buffoons, Hugot and Felix. Surely they hadn’t followed him? As he watched, one of the ladies across the square waved to Felix and beckoned them over. The sergeant waved a return greeting and wandered over to join the group. Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief. This was obviously a pre-arranged meeting.
Cautiously keeping to the shadows, Sinclair sought out the stationery shop where he hoped to find Henri Lyon. It was tucked away in a side alley leading away from the square, sandwiched between a haberdashery and a tobacconist. Sinclair peered through the window and noticed a candle burning at the back of the shop. That was promising. With a quick look over his shoulder he knocked briefly upon the door to alert the clerk to his presence.
The door opened almost immediately but was barred by a bespectacled man with ink stained fingers and a weary countenance. ‘May I help you?’
‘I would like to see Monsieur Lyon, if I may.’ Before the clerk could cut him off, Sinclair hastened to add, ‘He’s not expecting me, but a mutual acquaintance, Gaston Duval, requested I drop in and pass on his regards.’
The clerk sighed deeply and stood back from the door, gesturing for Sinclair to enter. As Sinclair followed the man to the rear of the store he was assailed by the curious scent of paper and inks. He breathed deeply. The smell was a comforting reminder of the many boyhood hours he’d spent with his grandmother, practicing his letters and eager to show her everything he’d learnt.