Return of the Runaway (16 page)

‘I agree,' said Wolfgang. ‘Very well, get you to the inn. I shall be in contact once I have secured for you a safe passage to England.'

‘You are not coming with us?' she asked him.

‘No. I have friends here who will give me a bed and help me find you a ship.'

Cassie was tempted to ask him about his friends, but decided it would be wiser not to know. From her conversations with her cousin during their journey she guessed that he lived a precarious existence in France, so now she merely wished him good luck and followed Raoul to the inn.

* * *

For Cassie it had become a familiar charade. She hung, exhausted, on Raoul's arm while he gave a false name and told the landlord they required accommodation with a separate bedchamber for their maid, who was following with the luggage. The recent storm accounted for their dishevelled appearance and they were shown upstairs to a comfortable suite overlooking the street. Their accommodation comprised a small anteroom which opened on to the main bedchamber and a truckle bed was prepared in the dressing room beyond. Cassie made no demur when Raoul ordered dinner to be served in their rooms. She was too tired to eat in public, knowing she would have to be on her guard against any slip of the tongue. Now all she had to resist was the growing attraction she felt for Raoul Doulevant.

‘I am going out again,' he said as soon as they were alone. ‘There is an hour or so before dinner and I must see if the
Prométhée
is in the harbour. I may be too late; she may already have sailed elsewhere.'

‘Of course,' she replied. ‘I wish you luck, Raoul.'

With a nod he went out and she moved restlessly about the apartment, making herself familiar with the rooms. She could not forget the last time Raoul had left her alone at an inn and she took time to look for possible routes of escape. But it was not fear of Valerin finding them that disturbed her most, it was Raoul's cool manner. It had become very marked since they had met her cousin and if Cassie didn't know better she would have thought he was jealous. But that was ridiculous, of course, and it was also quite ridiculous that she should
care
.

Cassie sighed and clasped her hands together. If only there was no war, no social divisions. If only they could meet and talk as equals. If only...

She found she was obliged to blink back a tear. Angrily she stalked back into the anteroom. There was no point in wishing for the impossible. She could not deny her birth; she was the daughter of a marquess and her ancestors could be traced back to the Conqueror. She was going back to England, to the world she knew and understood. She thrust aside the shadow of loneliness that clouded her vision of the future. It was quite possible that Grandmama would find her a husband, a kind, generous man who would care for her and whom she would grow to love. It would be a safe, comfortable existence in a world she knew. It was where she belonged. Raoul could never be happy there, even if he had wanted to join her. And that was the point, wasn't it? He did not want her in his life. This new coolness was most likely a sign of relief that their time together was almost over.

‘Which just goes to show that he is far more sensible than you,' she lectured herself. ‘You have already made one
mésalliance
, but Gerald was at least English and a gentleman. To marry outside your sphere would be an even greater folly and not to be countenanced.'

Cassie made herself comfortable in a chair by the table and settled down to wait. She must concentrate now on the future. She would return to Grandmama's care, Raoul would go to Brussels and take up his life again as a surgeon. Perhaps, one day when this wretched war was over they might meet again, as friends. For the present she could only hope that he would find his captain and obtain the papers he needed to prove he was no deserter.

* * *

Raoul returned just as the serving maid brought in their dinner, and Cassie was obliged to hold her questions until they were alone.

‘The
Prométhée
was not there,' he informed her at last. ‘She was due here two weeks since, but the English were attacking the town and she narrowly escaped capture. She is expected to be back in port here tomorrow. I am hopeful I shall be able to see Captain Belfort then.'

‘I am glad you have not missed him.' She pushed a piece of chicken about her plate. ‘Once you have your papers you will be free to go where you will, Raoul. I think you should do so, Dieppe is not safe for you. You do not need to stay here for my sake.'

‘We are agreed, I shall not leave until you are safe on board a ship for England.'

Safe? Cassie's spirit quailed, but she could not let Raoul see how much she had come to rely upon his protection.

She said brightly. ‘How long do you think it will take my cousin to secure a passage for me?'

‘A day, two perhaps.
If
it is true that he is familiar with the town and the people, then he stands a better chance of striking a deal than I.'

‘But you do not trust him?'

‘I know nothing of the man, save that he is a fugitive, like myself.'

‘I believe he is innocent,' said Cassie quietly. ‘Like yourself.'

* * *

Raoul poured the rest of the wine into their glasses and sat back, staring moodily into the fire. There was no doubting Arrandale had proved himself useful, but he could not like the man. He wished Cassie disliked him, too, and immediately berated himself for such ignoble thoughts. By heaven, anyone would think he was jealous! A ridiculous idea. He shifted on his chair. Why, then, was it like a pinprick in his flesh every time she directed a smile towards her cousin, why the sudden burning anger whenever they conversed together?

His gaze moved to Cassandra. She was concentrating on cutting an apple into small pieces. The candlelight glinted on her dark curls and gave her skin a golden glow. He watched her take a piece of apple, holding it daintily between her fingers as she nibbled at it with her even, white teeth. She was a lady, from the tips of her toes to the top of those glossy curls. She was made for a life of ease and luxury, with servants at her beck and call. It was not her fault if she was bred to be no more than a selfish, arrogant ornament.

He had a sudden, vivid memory of her felling the postilion when he came to attack her. Another of her working beside him when he was operating on those unfortunate men in Flagey. He had known grown men to faint at the sights she had witnessed that night. Dr Bonnaire had been impressed. She had displayed no signs of arrogance then. True, she had taken charge of the village, organising the food, settling the children, comforting the grieving, but no one had complained. They had not called her arrogant. They had described her as a saint...

He pushed his chair back, saying roughly, ‘I am going downstairs, I may be able to glean some news of how the war is going.'

‘Oh, may I come with you?'

‘No. I am going to the taproom. It is not a place for ladies.' He hesitated, then pulled the purse from his pocket. ‘Perhaps it is time we divided up our remaining funds.'

‘I need only enough to get me to England,' she said as he counted out the coins.

‘We agreed we would share any surplus, did we not?' He held out the purse. ‘There. It should be sufficient to pay for your passage to England, unless the captain is a rogue.'

‘Thank you. And I still have my locket, I can sell that, if I am desperate.' She managed a smile. ‘Let us hope Wolfgang can strike a good bargain.'

Raoul felt the now-familiar pain like a knife in his gut when she mentioned her cousin. He could only reply with a curt little nod before he left the room.

* * *

Cassie sat very still and watched the door close behind him. Only when she was alone did her shoulders slump. She could not ignore the fact now. They were no longer friends.

The serving maid came in to clear the table and Cassie moved away into the bedchamber, pretending to tidy her hair in the looking glass and avoiding the servant's scrutiny. It was very dispiriting to know that Raoul did not want her with him. They had gone together to make the arrangements to leave Rouen, she had remained cloaked and silent while he had negotiated with dubious characters in dimly lit taverns and shadowed alleys, but she had been there, at his side. Now, it seemed, he did not want her company and she must keep to her room. It went very much against her nature to remain idle, but she had little choice. For the moment she must allow Raoul and her cousin to make the necessary preparations for her repatriation.

When the maid had carried away all the empty dishes Cassie wandered back into the room. The long journey was beginning to take its toll, she felt very weary, but it was more than that. She pulled one of the dining chairs towards the fire and sat down, hoping the flames would dispel the chill of unhappiness that had crept into her soul. She should be happy. In another day or two she would be back in England, amongst her own people and she would be able to forget all about her disastrous marriage. She could forget about France. About Raoul.

* * *

The taproom was crowded and noisy, and most of the talk was on whether the English warships would return. The last bombardment had set fire to the town in three places and while the damage had been minimal the townsfolk were nervous that more attacks might follow. Raoul fell into conversation with a group of merchants who were in Dieppe to await the arrival of their ships, if they ever came. They bemoaned the English blockade of the ports, but none of them doubted for one moment that France would be victorious. After all, was not Bonaparte even now planning to invade England? Then the country would be annexed and brought under French rule, as had happened to the Southern Netherlands and so many other territories.

Raoul bit his tongue when they talked about his homeland. Growing up in the shadow of the revolution, he had been as keen as any that the people should be victorious, that the old tyranny should be ended and replaced with a just and fair system of government by the people, but that had not happened. He wondered what it would be like returning to Brussels, living under French rule. Not so bad, he told himself. As long as he was allowed to get on with his work he did not care. But to practise his trade he needed his papers and that meant finding Captain Belfort. He continued to talk to the merchants, asking them about the harbour and what ships were coming in, but they knew very little. He would have to make the trip to the quayside in the morning, not only to see if the
Prométhée
had docked, but also to try and ascertain if anyone would be willing to take Cassandra to England. She had pinned her faith on her cousin finding her a berth, but it would do no harm to have a second plan, should Arrandale fail.

Raoul spent a couple of hours in the taproom. Even after he had learned all he could he tarried there, fighting the urge to go back to Cassandra. Knowing they must soon part for ever, he wanted to spend every moment with her, to memorise her face, her smile, the sound of her laughter. He called for more wine. As if all those things were not already burned into his heart.

* * *

Eventually he made his way back upstairs. A good night's rest and an early start were needed now. With luck Cassie was already asleep with the curtains drawn tightly around the bed. He entered almost silently. Candles still burned on the mantelshelf and at first he thought she had left them to light his way. Then he saw her hunched on her chair, her hands over her face and her shoulders shaking as she cried quietly.

‘
Tiens
, what is this!'

He crossed the room in a couple of strides, but Cassie had already jumped up and turned her back on him. She wiped her fingers across her cheeks.

‘I did not hear you come in.'

He reached out, but his hand stopped just inches from her.

He said gently, ‘What is it,
chérie
, why are you weeping?'

‘I am
not
weeping. I abhor such weakness.'

She would have walked away, but he put his hands on her shoulders.

‘Of course you do.' He turned her towards him and pulled her closer. ‘You are far too sensible for such a thing.'

Her resistance was half-hearted. When he would not let go she leaned against him, burying her face in his coat.

‘I am t-tired, that is all.'

Her voice caught on a sob and his arms slid around, binding her to him. He rested his cheek on her hair and closed his eyes. They had been travelling for days and yet still there clung about her a faint summer fragrance. The subtle, elusive quality of it undermined his resolve to keep her at a distance. He raised his head and put two fingers beneath her chin.

‘Cassandra,
chérie
—'

* * *

She called up every ounce of willpower to push herself out of his arms, reminding herself that the pain would be even worse if she allowed herself to succumb to this man's attraction, even for a moment.

‘I do not want you to k-kiss me,' she lied, taking a few steps away from him and averting her face. ‘I have told you I have no time for that, or your soft words. They bring nothing but pain.' Yes, that was better. She must remember that all men were deceivers. Had she not had proof enough of that in Verdun? She added, ‘I know now that there is no joy to be found in any man's arms.'

‘Ah, my dear, if we had time I would show you that is not true. But soon you will be back in England.'

‘Yes.' She wrapped her arms around herself. Scant comfort after being held in Raoul's embrace, but the greater the joy now, the greater the pain to follow, so it would have to suffice. Now and for ever. ‘And you, I hope, will have your captain's testimonial and be free to return to your home.'

There was silence, as if they were both considering the future. It was as much as Raoul could do not to let out the howl of anguish that filled his soul. He watched Cassandra put her hands by her sides and straighten her shoulders, as though she was mustering all her strength. She picked up one of the branched candlesticks from the mantelpiece and held it out to him. ‘You will need this to light you to bed. Goodnight,
monsieur
.'