Then with one objective in mind, he sought out Wiggins to resurrect the elderly butler’s memory over a bottle of brandy. To discuss with him the events of a
distant night when the
Lion d’or
, a French vessel out of Dieppe, foundered on the rocks of the bay.
It was in the full light of morning that Harriette woke. The sun had moved round and she was dazzled by it, unable to collect her thoughts as she struggled to the surface. She recalled falling into sleep as if into a black sea on a stormy night. As she moved, stretched, her ribs drew a groan from her lips and she recalled all the events of the night. Luke had promised he would stay with her, but he had not. She was alone in the room. Well, perhaps it was all for the best. A successful enterprise was one thing, a future together quite another. She touched her fingers to her lips, the memory of his mouth against hers. That had been no dream. But he had left her.
Harriette struggled to sit up, all hope quenched as neatly and completely as a candle with a snuffer, but her determination was strong.
There was a new day to be faced. To solve the riddle of Marie-Claude. To end her association with Luke Hallaston. She would dress her hair, put on a fashionable London gown, and then proceed to draw a line beneath this part of her life.
From his conversation with Wiggins, with no opportunity to put his appearance to rights, Luke’s attention was demanded by the immediate problem waiting for him in the library.
‘I know I have no proof. Perhaps you think I am an adventurer, a French whore, grasping at any chance of a future for my bastard child and myself.’
The lady standing in the centre of the library flung out her hand dramatically to indicate the sleeping child, wrapped in a blanket in Meggie’s arms. Here was plain
speaking. Luke had not expected that, all his own doubts put brutally and unequivocally into words by this pretty Frenchwoman. Small, neat, fair-haired, blue-eyed, her air of fragility was offset by a determination to argue her case in English far better than he had expected. Gone were the tears of the previous night when under strain. Gone was the frenzied panic when he had snatched her from the authority of Jean-Jacques Noir, unless that had been all a charade, too…
‘You think I am in league with Monsieur Noir,’ she continued, uneasily echoing his thoughts. ‘I am not! He is a monster! Marcus said we should go home, to England, when he had leave. That I would be welcomed by his family. That was his plan, before he…before he was killed. But now he is not here and I am not welcome at all! It is clear you do not want me here.’
‘But Marcus married you? In the middle of a bloody war?’ Adam, leaning against the edge of the dek, arms folded, voiced the scepticism in Luke’s mind.
‘We met, we fell in love.’ She raised her chin, her blue eyes challenging Luke’s. ‘Marcus would not leave me unprotected when my family was
assassinated
in a guerrilla attack on our lodgings.’ She spat the word. ‘He insisted on wedding me. A drumhead wedding, before a priest.’
Once Luke would have cast that aside—would Marcus do something so ridiculously impractical, so ill judged? Now he was not so sure. Love could hit hard and drive men to any sort of intemperate action. The door behind him opened quietly and he knew immediately that it was Harriette. Her hair fell in soft ringlets. A simple gown of cream-and-lemon striped muslin, lace trimmed, gave her an air of quiet fashion. But Luke thought she looked as if a breath of wind would destroy her.
‘Harriette.’ He discovered he was frowning at her. ‘You should be resting…’
‘I have rested.’
Her gaze was as cool as her gown, her tone brooking no argument, as if she had not clung to him, accepting and returning his kisses. Harriette walked over to touch the widow’s hand.
‘Marie-Claude. Have my people looked after you?’
‘Yes. I can have no complaints on
that
score. But my integrity is cast into doubt!’
‘Forgive me,
madame
…’ Shelving his own problems, Luke concentrated on the immediate and sought for some path to follow. ‘Do you have
nothing
of your…your alliance with my brother?’
‘Nothing beyond my word of honour. And this. Marcus gave me this when we were wed. But I could have stolen it, couldn’t I? Perhaps even from his dead body?’ Lifting the chain from around her neck, shimmering with outrage, she displayed a ring from the bosom of her gown.
‘Have you no documents?’ Adam asked.
‘No, Monsieur Adam. I have not.
That man
took my marriage documents, and now my dear Marcus is dead.’ Marie-Claude’s eyes were suddenly damp. ‘I have no proof at all.’ But she did not weep.
Impressed by her courage, Luke drew the document Noir had sent him from his inner pocket, held it out. ‘Madame—is this the document stolen from you?’
With a gasp, Marie-Claude pounced to snatch the sheet. Opened it, tracing her fingers over the words written there. ‘Yes. Oh, yes.’ Now tears tracked down her cheeks as she pressed it to her heart.
Moved beyond belief Luke touched her arm in compas
sion. ‘
Madame
—would you tell me how you came to fall into Noir’s hands?’ he asked gently.
‘Bien sûr.’
The lady tilted her chin and dashed away the tears. ‘When Marcus died I decided to come to England as he had wanted. I accepted help from the wife of an English officer who was returning home. So much mud—our horses foundering, our carriage broken and useless. I gave birth to my son—
Marcus’s
son—in a hut with a mud floor.’ Her fingers clenched white-knuckled at the memory. ‘We sailed from Lisbon, but storms forced us to put into Bordeaux. There I made a mistake. I should have waited, but I was impatient. Our ship was damaged and I had no resources of my own. I had no patience to wait longer…’ Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she remembered. ‘It was there I met that villain Noir. My own countryman who was generous enough to take pity on me.’ She laughed, the harsh sound at odds with her slight prettiness.
‘And he offered to see you safe in England.’ Luke saw the inevitability in the lady’s careful account that described none of her obvious suffering.
‘Yes. Kind he seemed, compassionate. He asked if he could help me because I reminded him of his daughter who had just died.
Mon Dieu
! I was stupid enough to tell him of my plight. He took me under his protection and promised to bring me to one of the Channel ports and see me safe to London. I trusted him. He treated me well, saw to my comfort when we travelled, with a private room for me at the inns. It was only when we reached the coast that I realised. Noir had no intention of letting me go. He would use me as a weapon to make his own fortune. He did not hide his plans from me. He boasted of them! And I could not escape. I had no money—my baby to protect. And he watched me. Every hour of every day. He set a serving
woman to keep account of my every move, to sleep in my room.’
Marie-Claude took a deep breath, fixing her accusing stare on Luke. ‘And now I am here and it seems to me my plight is no better. You do not even believe that I was Marcus’s wife!’ She wiped at stray tears. ‘Perhaps I understand your reluctance. But I have been through so much and I don’t know what to do or where to go if you will not help me.’
‘Forgive my apparent harshness,
madame
. Whatever happens, I will not leave you destitute.’
‘But you don’t believe me.’
Perhaps he did. She was just the sort of girl that Marcus would have fallen in love with. Pretty as a picture, but with a decided sparkle in her eye, at this moment directed at him with patent hostility. Yet what proof was there that, as she herself said, she did not have an eye to wealth and status, alone with a child out of wedlock, put up to it by Noir?
Meanwhile the lady drew herself up to her small height. ‘I offer you my thanks for setting me free from
that man
and bringing me to England. You, Madame Harriette, were kinder than I could believe, despite your strange clothing. We fooled the brave Captain, did we not? But now I will impose on you no longer. I will not inflict myself or my child on you when I am neither believed nor wanted here.’ She walked purposefully towards Meggie and the baby, clasping one of his flailing fists. ‘If I could beg transport to a town nearby…I will find lodgings and work. I will be a burden on no one. Nor my child.’
‘No! Not that!’ Luke did not know if it was the right decision, but he acted on what his instincts told him. The lady did not deserve to be vilified or abandoned or manipulated for a second time. Whatever the truth of her story, he would not turn her out on to the streets. ‘No,
madame
! I believe you
were used despicably by Noir and I will not allow you to make your own way. You are clearly of gentle birth—’
‘My birth is of the best!’ The decided little chin rose higher. ‘I am a de la Roche!’
‘And I will ensure that you and your child lack for nothing,
madame
.’
The lady was not soothed. ‘I won’t accept charity.’
‘It won’t be charity,
madame.
I will not turn my back on a lady in distress who has clearly shown such bravery.’
Harriette added her persuasion. ‘You must not go, Marie-Claude.’
The baby in Meggie’s arms began to fuss and whimper. Now uncertain, Marie-Claude lifted him and held him close. The blanket fell away as the infant leaned and snatched towards Adam, grasping handfuls of empty air in his tiny hands. Automatically Adam held out his own hand to the little fingers. Then he laughed, startled, astonished.
‘Luke…just look at this!’
Luke approached the child held high in his mother’s arms, turned astonished eyes to his brother, then back to the child.
‘Forgive me,
madame
.’ His voice was suddenly full of emotion. ‘For I see there is suddenly no doubt at all.’
Luke and Adam regarded the baby, beyond words.
The similarity in so small an infant was remarkable. Dark hair with the same curl at the ends. The eye colour was wrong, the child inheriting the vivid blue of his mother. But the long nose, the indentation of the mouth. When on being the object of such scrutiny the baby grinned, displaying a shallow indentation in one cheek, Luke felt delight and grief rise in him, almost enough to unman him.
‘What’s wrong? Marie-Claude demanded, enfolding her son protectively.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Adam chuckled as the child attempted to gnaw with toothless gums on his thumb.
‘No. Nothing wrong at all. Oh, God, Marcus. If only you had lived to see him…’ Luke murmured, touching his knuckle to the child’s soft cheek.
‘His name is Raoul,’ Marie-Claude stated with tears in her voice.
‘Welcome to the Hallaston family, Raoul.’ Luke spoke softly as he smoothed the dark hair. Then Luke bowed gravely to Marie-Claude de la Roche. ‘Forgive me,
madame
. I should never have doubted you. This is the best proof of all. You are a formidable lady—I can see why Marcus chose to wed you.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ Marie Claude smiled at last. ‘You are most gracious. Forgive me if my temper was not as sweet as—’
The library door opened. George Gadie hovered irresolutely on the threshold, cap twisted in his gnarled hands.
‘George?’ Harriette saw trouble in his face.
‘The bastards! I’m right sorry, Cap’n Harry…’
‘What is it?’
‘The
Ghost
. The damned dragoons’ve fired
Lydyard’s Ghost.’
‘The
Ghost
?’ Harriette’s face became as pale as death as blood drained. ‘No! Oh, no!’ Ruthlessly tearless, rigidly unmoving, yet beneath the control Luke saw the loss that wounded her far more painfully than the bullet. Rage, dark and relentless, surged within him. Even without proof he knew whose hand had fired the pistol. He knew who had alerted the Preventives. And Harriette had paid the price twice over. Luke’s blood heated, demanding vengeance for her.
Without a word he strode to the door.
‘Wait! Where are you going?’ Harriette’s cry stopped
him, and he read knowledge in her face as she stretched out a hand. And Luke leaned close to feather his fingers, whisper-soft, over her cheek. Their bargain might be complete, but not quite. There was one more demand on him. He would strip bare the nasty little plot that had almost brought them all to ruin.
‘You know where I’m going, Harriette,’ he said, managing to keep the harsh temper from his voice. ‘There’s a debt to be paid here, and we both know who must pay it.’
‘No, you mustn’t. I’ll come with you.’
His voice softened. ‘No, my dear girl.’ The gentle statement of intent was frightening. ‘This is for me to finish.’
S
till in the ruined coat and breeches of the previous night, Luke borrowed a horse from the stable and spurred towards Ellerdine Manor, mind set furiously on what he suspected. The rescue had been in jeopardy. Harriette had been shot. Harriette had lost her precious
Ghost
—and the blame lay at the feet of one man. Alexander Ellerdine, for some malicious reasoning of his own, had betrayed Harriett’s trust and threatened her life. If it was the last thing he did for her, he would bring Ellerdine to retribution. Alexander Ellerdine would not walk away untouched from his treacherous night’s work.
Habitual courtesy thrown to the winds, Luke leapt the steps of the Manor, flung back the door.
‘Where is he?’ he demanded of the startled manservant. Without waiting for a reply he made for the library where the door was ajar. He thrust it wide, strode in.
There sat Alexander Ellerdine at ease, boots propped on the edge of his desk, a tankard of ale in his hand. For a second Luke saw a dark uncertainty swim in his eyes, then it was gone and Alexander’s mouth curled in a sharp smile.
‘Venmore. I didn’t expect to see you here. Thought you’d be on your way to London by now with the widow.’
Luke covered the distance between them. ‘I want some answers.’
‘And what would they be?’ The smile widened. ‘I can’t imagine why you should think I can be of help.’