Miss Fortescue's Protector in Paris

by Amanda McCabe

  He half-turned away, but Hertford suddenly lunged at him, catching him on the jaw with an unexpected blow. Though Chris ducked, and the punch only clipped him, it sent him reeling back against the wall. The blow released all the burning, barely leashed fury, and he let it all fly free. He reached out and grabbed Hertford by his coat, slamming him back against the door. He held him pinned there with all the strength he possessed, all the strength his anger gave him. He didn’t feel the wound in his shoulder.

  ‘You frightened a lady, stalked her, and you declare it is because you love her?’ Chris said coldly, merely tightening his hold as Hertford tried to twist away. ‘That is nothing but being a damnable villain. You aren’t fit to touch her fingertips.’

  ‘And you are worthy of her? You’re nothing but a brawler, a rogue, Blakely, a nobody!’ Hertford kicked Chris, driving him back, but only for a moment. Chris remembered all his training, the moves he had tried to teach Emily in their country inn and came back with a right uppercut that sent Hertford crashing to the floor.

  All the fury came pouring out of him as the corridor rang with shouts, curses. All his longing for Emily, his need to be a good man, that raw anger when he learned she was being threatened, his yearning to protect her, came out in the primitive rush of a good fight.

  This man would never be allowed to hurt Emily again. Nothing would ever hurt her again. Not even Chris himself.

  ‘Christopher! Stop this,’ a woman suddenly shouted.

  Through the red, misty haze of anger, he heard the pounding of footsteps up the stairs, shouts and cries, the landlady sobbing about the blood on her floors. Two pairs of fists seized him and pulled him off Hertford, who collapsed to the floor with a rough sob.

  Chris spun around, ready to fight even more opponents—only to fall back when he saw it was Ellersmere and two of his men, obviously come to seize Hertford. Laura stood behind them, watching the scene with a gleeful smile, as if she was at the Comédie-Française.

  ‘Oh, I saw, Christopher, well done,’ she said. ‘You stopped him fleeing! I’m sure he would have been gone before we arrived. But I am afraid you are rather bleeding all over the floor.’

  Chris looked down and saw that his shoulder wound had indeed opened and was bleeding through his shirt and coat. The pain he hadn’t noticed at all in the heat of the moment rushed back on to him, and he laughed. There seemed nothing else to be done.

  * * *

  ‘Here, m’boy, hold this against it good and tight and you’ll feel back to new in no time,’ Lord Ellersmere said, handing Chris a block of ice wrapped in towelling, along with a large glass of brandy. ‘It always helped me in my younger days.’

  Chris nodded and pressed the towel to his bruised jaw. It was evening now, Ellersmere’s office bathed in the golden light of a Parisian sunset. Laura had left for an evening at the opera, after rebandaging his wound and lecturing him on not trying to recreate a Musketeers novel, and now Chris was alone with Ellersmere in the dimly lit velvet splendour of the office. He felt aching, sore—and triumphant. Em was safe.

  ‘Well done on preventing Hertford from taking a runner,’ Ellersmere said, sitting down behind his desk. ‘Now we can ask him more about the German mess. William has gone to fetch Friedland, as well, we shall soon know all, and the ambassador in Berlin is to call on Princess Victoria and warn her. Couldn’t have finished it all up so neatly without you.’

  ‘I don’t think that is true, Lord Ellersmere.’ His work had only put Emily in more danger. He didn’t think it was so ‘neatly’ done.

  ‘Of course it’s true. You have always done a fine job for us, Blakely, better all the time.’ Ellesmere poured out more brandy. ‘Have you thought any more about what we spoke of in London? Changing your career direction?’

  ‘St Petersburg, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. The embassy there needs a man like you. And a change could be good for you. Lots of quarrels in drawing rooms, of course, but few brawls.’

  Chris thought about it. A post, a real post, in an important embassy like St Petersburg would indeed make him look rather different in society’s eyes. Maybe make him seem worthy of a serious lady like Emily. And he had shown himself that the world without her was a bleak place. Did he dare hope at all? ‘I confess something more—overt might suit me now.’

  Ellersmere nodded. ‘We aren’t as young as we once were, eh? The place is yours, if you want it. Give it some thought.’ He took a thoughtful sip of his drink. ‘Laura tells me there is a young lady you have been seen about with lately.’

  ‘I admit I am fond of someone.’

  ‘Good, good. If she is the right sort of lady, that is. A man in a place like St Petersburg needs a wife. Someone like my own Lady E., with style and good sense. Someone to make contacts, entertain for you. Hear things, as only ladies in an embassy can do. Is she like that?’

  Chris thought of Emily, her poise, her elegance, her smile, her business sense. But would she ever give up what she had to be an embassy lady? ‘She is most certainly like that.’

  ‘Excellent! Now, have some more of this brandy, it’s good stuff, and then go home and get some rest. You are going to need it.’

  As Chris stepped out on to the street, he saw to his astonishment that the day was going on just as any normal day would. The sun shone, a rare, bright gold in a lapis sky that shimmered on the grey roofs of Paris. Windows were open to the fresh breeze that rippled through the window boxes of red, bright pink and yellow flowers that matched the passing ladies’ hats. Children dashed past with their hoops and skipping ropes, laughing, making him want to smile, too.

  He was sure he floated in the clouds above the whole city, the whole world. Everything had changed.

  Once, he had been sure that the only thing to do, the strong thing to do, would be to let Emily go. Once the danger to her had passed, that her stalker had been found, she would not need him any longer. And he would spend his life missing her. Their false courtship would be at an end.

  Everything was so different now. He would have a proper career, a place to offer her in the real world. And he would not have to face how empty and useless that career, that life, would be without her.

  He had to make her happy. He knew he could make her happy, if she would just give him a chance. If she would just let him try.

  Chris turned a corner and suddenly caught sight of himself reflected in a shop window. His hair stood on end, his clothes were disordered, his shoulder stained with blood. He laughed ruefully. One thing was for certain. He could never go truly courting if he looked like that.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘I’m not sure there is room for all of these, Miss Emily,’ Mary said, as she tried to stuff hats into their boxes.

  ‘I know, I bought far too many of them,’ Emily said with a sigh. ‘I’m sure we can find room in some of the trunks for them.’

  Mary studied the rows of travel trunks, layered with new Worth gowns in tissue paper, with a frown. ‘I hope so. It will be nice to be home, won’t it, miss?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Emily answered, but she wasn’t at all sure. Her usual energy seemed to have deserted her over the last few days. She’d finished her business for her father satisfactorily and profitably, but in the end it had not interested her as it usually did. She spent time with Alex at her villa in Versailles, rode in the park with Diana, laughed and smiled, went to the shops, but it all felt so—distant. So strange. Not like her own life at all.

  She had heard from Lady Smythe-Tomas that Chris was recovering well and that relieved her mind very much. Yet she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t received a letter from him, and missing him was an ache that never seemed to leave her.

  Chris had been part of her life for so long, part of her thoughts and emotions. Someone who always made her laugh. Who understood her as no one else ever had. Now he was just—not there. And it was too quiet and dull without him. The work
that had sustained her for so long was simply not enough to fill that void.

  When she was alone at night, she couldn’t sleep at all. She sat in the window, staring out at the lights of Paris, turning it all over and over in her mind. Dancing under the stars; walking the streets and parks with Chris; making love as the rain fell beyond their cosy sanctuary, and they were the only two people in the world. Those moments had been so beautiful, so perfect. And now it was all over.

  Now he had sent her away.

  Emily reached for a box on the table, then put it down without really seeing it. She could only see Chris’s face as he told her they couldn’t see each other again. The way his eyes looked...

  Something about it all was not right. Emily knew now what a good actor Chris really was, what had always lain behind his careless ways. He had even fooled her for so long, as well as his parents. Had he been fooling her in that moment, too? But why?

  There was only one thing for it, only one way she could move forward. She would just have to find him, make him talk to her. Tell her the truth. Surely he owed her that much? Surely she meant something to him, after everything that had happened?

  She wished she knew for sure. Nothing had ever made her feel so full of life as being with Chris had and nothing felt so empty now that he was gone. She hated that feeling.

  There was a knock at the suite door. ‘That’s probably the porters, finally,’ Mary said irritably. ‘And we aren’t even finished yet!’ She hurried out to the sitting room.

  Emily heard the low murmur of voices and after a moment Mary returned, a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘Will they come back later, then?’ Emily asked.

  ‘It’s not the porters, Miss Emily,’ Mary said. ‘It’s Mr Blakely. Mr Christopher Blakely. And he says it’s urgent.’

  Emily felt a surge of hope, of happiness, as if her longing had summoned Chris to her. ‘Thank you, Mary,’ she said, surprised she could keep her voice steady. ‘Tell him I will be there in a moment.’

  She glanced in the mirror and smoothed her hair. She wished she wore something more elaborate, more fashionable, than her lavender morning dress, but what would be the right attire for demanding answers? How should she look, behave? What could she say?

  She half-wanted to refuse to see him, to hide behind her trunks like a coward. But she knew she could never do that. Hadn’t she just determined she had to find him, talk to him, settle things between them before she could move forward? And now here he was. Yet she had no idea what to say.

  It wouldn’t get any easier, she knew that. So she smoothed her skirt, patted her hair into place and marched out into the sitting room.

  Chris wore an immaculate grey morning suit, his gloves and silk hat in hand, his golden hair brushed to a sunny shine, but a bruise still marred his cheek. His eyes were very blue, unreadable as they sky, as he looked at her and bowed.

  ‘You’re getting ready to leave?’ he said, gesturing to the boxes piled around.

  ‘Yes,’ Emily answered. ‘My business is finished here, so it’s time to go home. I’m sure that will be true for you, as well, now that your business has been concluded.’

  ‘Soon enough. Hertford is being sent back to London under guard. I’m sure you’ll be glad to know he won’t be stalking anyone else. The Foreign Office has many questions for him, especially about the Friedland business. It seems he was in the pay of the German on top of everything else.’

  Emily twisted her hands in her skirt, hesitating, but then she plunged ahead. ‘Chris, why didn’t you tell me the truth sooner, about your work? I thought we were friends.’

  ‘Oh, we are, Em. The best of friends.’ He put his hat down on the table, taking a step towards her. His hand raised as if he would reach for her. ‘I couldn’t tell you. It was my job and I never wanted to put you in danger. Of course, none of it ended up as I intended.’

  ‘Put me in danger?’ Something dawned inside of her, some glimmer of truth. ‘Oh, Chris. That is why you sent me away, isn’t it? That is just like you! Trying to protect everyone.’

  Chris gave her crooked little smile. ‘I only wanted to do what was best for you. Take care of you. But I’ve been so miserable. I haven’t the strength to stay away any longer.’

  ‘You—don’t?’ she whispered.

  ‘No.’ He reached out and took her hand, gently, warmly, almost as if he was afraid she would pull away. ‘Em, I can never say I am sorry enough for the way I behaved, telling you to go away. I thought it was for the best, but now I know it can’t be. I can’t stop thinking about you, can’t stop missing you.’

  ‘Oh, Chris,’ Emily sobbed. Relief and wonder washed over her, overwhelming her. ‘I have missed you, too, you ridiculously gallant man!’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Of course!’ To prove it, Emily threw her arms around him and went up on tiptoe to press her lips to his, in a sweet, wild, wonderful kiss she wished would never end. And, the best part of all, he kissed her back, as if he would never let her go.

  When at last they parted, laughing, holding hands, he drew her down to sit beside him on the chaise. ‘I’m being sent off to a diplomatic post in St Petersburg—an official one, this time. I’m told I should find a suitable wife to help me.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve come here, then? Because you need a presentable wife to make your way in the diplomatic world?’ Emily teased.

  He laughed, his whole face lit up like a summer’s day. It was a wonder to see it, after the last time she was with him and had been so fearful for his life. ‘Because I need you, Em. If you will have me. I know you have your own work, but surely St Petersburg would be full of useful contacts for your father’s business?’

  ‘And Russian ladies who want to hear about women’s rights? I am sure you are right. Embassy tea parties and all.’

  He stared deeply, earnestly into her eyes. ‘So—you will marry me?’

  ‘You haven’t asked me yet. Not for real, that is.’

  Chris laughed, and slid off the chaise to kneel at her feet, her hands held tightly between his. ‘Emily Fortescue. Will you do me the very, very great honour of forgetting my foolishness and agreeing to be my wife?’

  Emily laughed, yet she knew she was crying all at the same time. She had never dreamed such a moment could come and now it was there, real. Her own, real life. ‘Oh, yes! Yes, I will.’

  Chris took her in his arms again and the Parisian sun shone on them, promising a bright and fair future, no matter where the world took them.

  Epilogue

  A few months later

  ‘Oh, Em. You look absolutely beautiful.’ Alex finished adjusting Emily’s lace-edged tulle veil, anchored with a tiara of diamonds and pearls, smoothed the sleeve of her ecru satin and lace gown from Worth. She stepped back with a satisfied smile at her handiwork, as florists, hairdressers and caterers rushed around outside the dressing room, all intent on their urgent errands.

  Baby Florence Emily Diana Gordston slept in her little pink basket, oblivious to the grandeur of the day.

  ‘Surely the most beautiful bride ever,’ Alex added, twitching at the diagonal swathe of tulle across the fashionably narrow satin skirt.

  Emily laughed, feeling positively giddy at all the excitement of her wedding day. ‘I doubt that. You were like an angel at your wedding.’

  Alex shook her head. ‘No. I know I am right. You are glowing like the sun. Go and look in the glass.’

  Alex, the hairdresser and the dressmaker who made sure her hem was straight had forbidden Emily to examine herself before that moment. She spun towards the looking glass and peeked cautiously, hoping she did look worthy of the handsome groom who waited for her.

  ‘Oh, Alex,’ she whispered. ‘You have worked wonders.’ She had ordered many gowns from Worth before, of course, yet never quite like this one. The creamy satin gleamed like her mother’s triple stra
nd of pearls at her throat, and the tulle and lace trim made it look like a cloud. Her hair, done by the French hairdresser from Gordston’s own salon, was curled and piled high, covered with her lacy veil and the sparkle of the tiara that was her father’s wedding gift. The tulle-edged train swirled behind her. It was like a dream dress.

  ‘I found the bouquet!’ came a triumphant cry and Diana hurried in, bearing a fragrant creation of white roses and gardenias. With all the towering arrangements in silver vases to set up around the house, the smaller bridal bouquet had gone missing. The florist had been nearly in hysterics, but sensible, organised Di had saved the day.

  ‘Wherever was it?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Behind the crab cakes on the wedding breakfast buffet, if you can believe it.’ Diana paused to coo down at baby Florence, holding the flowers away from grasping little fingers. Di had confided her own happy secret only that morning—she was at last expecting a baby and the pregnancy seemed healthy. The precious bump was barely visible under her rose-pink silk gown.

  She handed the bouquet to Emily and gave her a hug, a careful one when Alex cried out a protest against crushing all the satin and tulle. ‘Oh, Em, I can’t believe it,’ Diana cried. ‘Now we will be truly Blakely sisters together. I shall have an ally at dinners with the in-laws!’

  ‘What about me?’ Alex protested with a laugh. ‘Am I not a sister just because I am a Gordston?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Diana declared stoutly. ‘You are just lucky to have no in-laws at all.’

  Emily had to giggle as she buried her nose in the summertime scent of her bouquet. Fortunately, there would be few Blakely family dinners in the near future. She and Chris were soon to leave for St Petersburg, where he would take up his new, official post—no more hiding his work. She would expand her father’s business in the new, eastern markets, and one day she and Chris would return to London to take over all the firm’s work. Her father would join them in Russia for a long visit, after his own sojourn in Switzerland. Everything seemed to be falling into place for her family.