His Forbidden Liaison: A brotherhood of spies in Napoleonic France (The Aikenhead Honours Book 3)

by Joanna Maitland

  Chapter Five

  "Mr Jacques." The hammering on the door grew louder. "Mr Jacques!" It sounded like the landlord's voice. It must be something important, for it was only beginning to get light.

  Jack threw himself out of bed and dragged on his shirt. It had hung all night by the dying fire and was dry at last. He did not dare to risk appearing naked, in case Miss Grolier were outside in the corridor. He flung open the door. "What on earth is the matter?"

  "Great news, sir. It is true. The Emperor landed three days since and is already on his way north."

  "By Jove, that is wonderful news." The lie came out without a moment's pause. "But are you sure, landlord? Might it not be another rumour?"

  "No, sir. Not this time. I had it from the telegraph man himself. It's certain, sir." The landlord's grin was so wide that it was almost splitting his face.

  Jack beamed back. "Every able man will flock to his standard, I am sure. But do we know where he is? Is he taking the coast road from Toulon?"

  The landlord tapped the side of his nose and winked. "Not he. Far too wily to be caught in that trap. He landed well away from Toulon. And he's taken his men inland, across the mountains, where fat Louis's army would never think to look for him. He's outfoxed them all."

  Jack could readily believe that. "So he's already moving north?"

  "Aye. And fast. Paris will send troops against him, but by the time he reaches Grenoble, he'll have thousands more besides the Imperial Guard. Fat Louis won't stop him now." The landlord nodded in satisfaction. Then he narrowed his eyes and said, "You'll be wanting to join him yourself, sir?"

  "Yes, of course," Jack replied at once, his mind whirling, "but I must see my friend safely bestowed first." He paused and scratched his head, trying to look as if he were wrestling with a knotty problem. "Grenoble, you say? With a sick companion, I don't think I can— No, Lyons. That's the answer. The Emperor is bound to make for Lyons after Grenoble. I'll join him there."

  "Well said, sir. I've a mind to travel with you and do the same."

  Jack gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "You are a brave soldier, landlord, but I suggest you leave it to the younger men. You are needed here."

  The landlord frowned. There was a look of yearning in his eyes, but it soon faded. "Aye, you're right, sir. I'm too old to be chasing after glory now."

  Jack hoped he did not appear too relieved. "Send up some hot water, would you? If my friend is well enough, we'll be able to make a start within the hour."

  "But you'll make much better time without an invalid to slow you down," the landlord protested. He was now investing all his enthusiasm in ensuring that Jack joined the colours as quickly as possible.

  "I cannot do that," Jack said flatly. "I must deliver Herr Benn to Lyons. But fear not, landlord. We shall travel with all speed. Every second counts now. My shaving water, if you please, and be so good as to order breakfast at once."

  The landlord hesitated for a moment, but then the good sense of Jack's words seemed to get through to him.

  Jack stood in his doorway until the man had disappeared down the staircase. Then he took a deep breath, closed the bedroom door and leant against it, trying to force his riotous thoughts into order. Bonaparte was on his way to Paris. He might even be near Grenoble already, though that was unlikely, given the difficult terrain he had chosen to cross. He would get there soon enough, though. And then, from Grenoble, it was an open road to Lyons and Paris. But King Louis would send his army, surely? Even if Bonaparte managed to reach Lyons, he was bound to be stopped there. In spite of all the landlord's fervent hopes, Bonaparte's troops would be poorly equipped and would certainly be outnumbered by the royalists. No, he would be stopped, though perhaps not before Lyons.

  That made it all the more important for Jack and Ben to travel there by the quickest possible route. Luckily, the road north from Rognac, through Avignon and Valence, was a good one. With reasonable horses, a coach could cover it in three days, or even less. He and Ben had intended to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and to travel to Paris by diligence, but that would be too slow now. A chaise would not do, either, for it would not provide enough space for Ben to lie flat. Jack would have to hire a carriage and a team. That would raise eyebrows. The landlord would be surprised to learn that a man who was planning to enlist as an common soldier was wealthy enough to travel in such luxury.

  Jack pondered a little more. This time, he needed to have his story prepared down to the last detail. The landlord must have no grounds for suspecting that Jack was anything other than an ardent Bonapartist. Yes. He would say that Herr Benn had a wealthy patron, in Lyons, who had sent money for their journey. They had travelled in the Grolier carriage as a result of a chance meeting with a lady who was skilled in tending wounds. But now they would travel on alone, funded by Benn's patron. Without the lady. Jack refused to let himself think about Marguerite Grolier. She was the enemy. It was much too dangerous to allow her any part in this from now on. He must put her out of his mind.

  Would his plan work? Perhaps he should say that he was looking forward to travelling in such luxury, that he had never been able to afford it before? That should do the trick. Had he forgotten anything? He was beginning to realise that planning a mission was like setting out a field at cricket. The captain had to work out precisely where his opponent was likely to hit the ball, so that he could have a defender in place to stop the runs. Jack could find no more undefended points on his cricket pitch. It was a good plan. Time to put it into action.

  Marguerite managed to keep control of her features until the door closed behind Guillaume. Then she slumped down on to the chaise longue and dropped her head into her hands. It was true. That monster was back in France and would soon be at the head of another army of hotheads, all ready to die for him. And die they would, of that she had no doubt.

  What on earth was she to do? She raised her head and glanced across at the bed. Herr Benn was still sleeping peacefully. He had passed the crisis in the night. There was no longer any sign of fever, and his wound seemed to be healing well. She could leave him here and hurry back to Lyons to protect her family. Without Guillaume, Suzanne and their mother were undefended. Although the Groliers had never talked about their royalist allegiance, even after Bonaparte's defeat, there were those in Lyons who might suspect them. A silk-weaving business, even a struggling one, was worth taking over, and the turmoil surrounding Bonaparte's return could provide exactly the opportunity their rivals needed.

  Marguerite groaned. She could not stay in Rognac. She must return to her family. But what about Herr Benn? If she abandoned him, would it not be a sentence of death? She rose and began to pace.

  "Where am I?" The words were in English, and the voice barely a thread.

  Oh, no. Marguerite rushed to the bedside. "Herr Benn, you are at an inn on the road to Avignon," she said, in slow, careful French. She put her hands flat on his cheeks and gently turned his head so that he was looking directly into her face. His eyes were unfocused and barely half-open. "Herr Benn, listen. Bonaparte is back in France. You are in great danger. You must speak only French. No English. Not a word of English. Do you understand me, Herr Benn?"

  "No English," he repeated, in English. "No English." His eyelids drifted closed. He had fallen asleep again.

  Marguerite exclaimed in frustration. But there was nothing she could do. She could not abandon him to the mercies of Bonaparte's executioners. She must travel home to Lyons, and quickly, but she must find a way to take Herr Benn with her. If she promised to nurse him on the way, and take him to the Hôtel Dieu in Lyons to be cared for, surely Mr Jacques could not object?

  He almost certainly would, she decided. Indeed, he would probably insist on accompanying them. In truth, the only sure way of getting rid of Mr Jacques would be to leave Herr Benn behind, and she knew she could not do that. So there was every likelihood that she would be travelling all the way to Lyons with Mr Jacques's perceptive eyes on her, and on the invalid. She fe
lt her stomach turn over at the thought. He saw far too much, that one. Besides, the effects he had on her were uncomfortable. And dangerous. He could be so kind and so charming. It would be all too easy to let down her guard and then—boum—she could find herself arrested, and handed over to that monster's guards, to be shot as a traitor.

  No, she would not allow that to happen. She would not succumb to Mr Jacques's undoubted charm. She would treat him with perfect propriety, as a chance-met acquaintance, even if they were travelling together all the way to Lyons in the confined space of her carriage. She was a strong woman. She could do it.

  Her inner voice reminded her that, when they first met, he had admired her for her strength and courage. His words then had beguiled her. Was she so very sure that she could be proof against his wiles?

  Jack fastened his valise and straightened his back. He had paid his shot, and Ben's. It only remained now to acquire a hired carriage for the invalid. He crossed to the window. The only vehicle in the yard belonged to Marguerite Grolier.

  Marguerite Grolier. She kept intruding when he least expected it. And when he had been telling himself he had banished all thoughts of her. It was lust, obviously. What else could it be? Even when he was surrounded by real danger, his confounded body refused to see beyond one beautiful, and very desirable, woman. He was becoming as bad as brother Leo.

  No, he was worse. Leo might be a womaniser, but in the grim business of spying, Leo was always able to concentrate on his role in the Honours. He had spent months in Vienna without thought of a mistress. So why couldn't Jack do the same? Jack's vice had always been gambling, not women.

  It had to be something about Marguerite Grolier. But why should he lust after her, when he had been able to ignore so many other women?

  He began to pace his empty room, pondering. She was quick-witted and courageous. She was a skilled weaver, and a practical businesswoman, which was quite a combination. She was resourceful, too, and she was certainly compassionate. Poor Ben probably owed his life to those qualities.

  Jack stopped by the window and rested his elbows on the sill to look out. Marguerite Grolier was an extraordinary woman. He had never met her like. But he knew he was not lusting after her because she was admirable—though she was. She was also beautiful and unconsciously alluring. Lately, when she touched his hand or her breath caressed his skin, his body had responded instantly.

  He told himself it could only be because she was innocent. And forbidden. They had been thrown together by unavoidable circumstance. As in the Garden of Eden, temptation was all the stronger because the fruit was forbidden. And the serpent of lust was twining itself around him, hissing its message of betrayal. He would not heed it. He would not betray Marguerite to satisfy a moment's craving.

  In a few minutes, once he had his body under control again, he would bid her farewell and thank her sincerely for what she had done. Then he would leave her without a single backward glance. He was the leader of this mission. Like a true leader, he would not allow himself to be diverted from his task.

  They seemed to have reached an impasse. The charming boy she had glimpsed so often had been replaced by a grim, implacable man.

  "I shall hire a carriage for myself and Herr Benn, ma'am," he said again. "It would be the height of bad manners to inflict ourselves on you when we must travel so fast. Such a journey will be too uncomfortable for a lady."

  Marguerite refused to be beaten. She tried another tack. "I do understand your desire to join the Emperor as soon as possible," she said, smiling admiringly up at him. "I, too, long to see him. But there are grave risks along the way, especially for Herr Benn. If royalist troops should come upon your carriage and find a wounded man, what then? Would you be able to convince them that you were not the enemy?"

  "I would tell them the truth, ma'am. That he was shot by footpads."

  She opened her eyes wide in disbelief. "And you are both racing north to Lyons, ventre à terre? I think not, sir. A wounded man does not travel so. The only plausible reason for such haste is that you are going to join the Emperor. They will know it. And so do you."

  He drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at her. "I suppose you have a better plan?"

  Marguerite almost wanted to laugh. He was such an unpredictable mixture of frustrated schoolboy and decisive man. "Yes, I do," she said flatly. "I have barely had a chance to say a word since you entered the room, but I do have a much better plan. Better for all of us."

  He quirked an eyebrow and stared down at her in a way that was all adult male, and all dangerous.

  "My mother and sister are in Lyons. Guillaume is needed there to protect them while my father is away. The Emperor will be victorious, but there may well be fighting first. We must get home with all speed."

  "I do not see that—"

  "If we travel together, there will be much less danger. We can give out that Herr Benn is …er… my brother and that he has a fever. We are taking him home to be nursed. Royalist soldiers will not enquire too closely if we tell them that his fever is highly infectious."

  Mr Jacques looked thoughtful for a moment. "That is all very well, ma'am, but Herr Benn will need to agree to pretend to be your brother. Even if he comes to himself soon, which looks unlikely, we cannot be sure that he will be lucid enough to understand the part he is to play." He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that your clever plan will not do. Benn and I will travel alone. You may do as you wish."

  Marguerite felt a real urge to slap him. She was glad she had been brought up without brothers. Men were always so sure they were right. "Herr Benn will not be lucid enough to carry off your plan either, sir," she said sweetly. "What if he should start rambling as the royalist soldiers open your carriage door?"

  He paled noticeably.

  She forced herself not to smile. "There is a solution. My plan can be made to work. Unfortunately, yours cannot."

  He raised that infernal eyebrow and waited.

  "Whether in my carriage or yours, Herr Benn will have a very uncomfortable journey. And if he begins to thrash around in pain, there is a danger that his wound may reopen. I have a remedy for both these problems. I shall dose him with laudanum. Then he will say nothing, and feel none of the discomfort. Indeed, it may even help him to heal. Well, sir? What do you say?"

  He frowned and looked back towards the bed. For several moments, he was silent and pensive. At length, he said, "You can keep him insensible without doing him any lasting harm?"

  She warmed to him then. He was thinking, not of himself, but of Herr Benn. "I have considerable experience of the drug, sir. My mother— Suffice it to say that I shall give him enough to keep him from waking, but not enough to do him harm. Trust me. I promise that, once we have him safe in Lyons, he will wake again without any memory of his sufferings. Or any ill effects."

  "Very well," he said gravely. "I will trust to your skill, ma'am. I accept."

  "Excellent." She wanted to shout in triumph. She would be able to administer the doses, in all innocence, while her Bonapartist companion watched complacently. And when they finally reached Lyons, she would find some way of taking Herr Benn into the Grolier household where he would could mend in safety, though she was not sure quite how she would persuade Mr Jacques to allow it. Perhaps he would be so keen to be off to join his idol that he would not argue?

  No, that was unfair. Mr Jacques might be a hated Bonapartist, but he was a man of honour, and of compassion. He would insist on ensuring that Herr Benn came to no harm.

  "I have one more question."

  That brought her back to earth. "A question, sir?"

  "Yes. If Herr Benn is to be your brother, what, pray, is to be my role?"

  She had not thought of that. She looked Jacques up and down assessingly. "Herr Benn may be able to pass for my brother, but not both of you at once. You are too unlike. It would raise questions."

  "It would not be proper for an unmarried woman to be travelling all the way to Lyons with a man who was
not a relative."

  "Nonsense," she retorted. "I will be travelling with my brother."

  "A brother who will be totally incapable of opening an eye, far less defending his sister's honour. No, ma'am, we must have a plausible tale to tell. You have two choices: would you prefer to travel as my betrothed, or as my wife?"

  "As your w—?" How dare he suggest such a thing? Marguerite instinctively stepped back from him. She bumped into the bed and sat down very suddenly, trying to overcome her shock. When she had recovered enough to look up at him once more, she saw that he had not moved an inch. His features were totally composed, but underneath, she was certain he was laughing at her.

  "Perhaps you should apply your skills now, ma'am?" he said innocently.

  "I beg your pardon?" She leapt to her feet in indignation.

  "Herr Benn will need to be carried downstairs and laid in the carriage. It will be a painful process, for the stairs are narrow and twisting. It would be best if he were insensible while we do it."

  She refused to give him the satisfaction of besting her. "That is very thoughtful of you, sir," she said calmly. "And you are right, of course. I will do it now. In the meantime, perhaps you would be so good as to check that Guillaume has made room in the carriage for our invalid? I instructed him to place as much as possible of the silk in the boot or on the roof. The packages will come to no harm for they are well wrapped in oiled paper. And the rain stopped hours ago."

  Now he was looking at her in disbelief. He still had not moved.

  "Is something wrong, sir?" she asked mischievously.

  "You had already told him—?" He broke off and frowned, looking down at her through narrowed eyes. "I see that I have underestimated you, ma'am. I shall not do so again." Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

  Marguerite held her breath for fully twenty seconds. And then her triumphant laughter burst forth.