"You're married, then?"
"No, but-"
He nodded shortly, as if attempting to gloss over some terrible secret he had accidentally learned about her. "I see. Believe me, it was not my intent to call attention to your rather... sensitive circumstances." He had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning at her outraged expression. "You appear to have adapted very well, and are doubtless grateful to have such understanding relatives offer you shelter."
Lisette, torn between horror and a mad urge to giggle, interceded. "Natalya's situation is not what you think, Mr. St. James. She is unmarried by choice, and supports herself independently. Her first novel will be published in England next month."
Natalya glared at him, nostrils flaring. "Not that it is any of your business, sir."
"I'm certain I can speak for my sex," he replied, with a straight face, "in mourning the fact that you have chosen to deprive some fortunate man of sharing a lifetime with a woman as warm and charming as you, my dear Miss Beauvisage."
Desperate for something, anything, to say before his niece lunged across the table and assaulted their guest, Nicholai heard himself remark, "Talya is longing to return to Philadelphia, but I don't know how we'll ever get her there as long as this war, and the war between England and America, continues."
"I wish I were in Philadelphia right now," Natalya declared.
"To tell you the truth, so do I," Grey said, with heavy irony.
"Well, I wouldn't want to be there if you were there!"
"For heaven's sake, stop it," scolded Lisette. "Natalya, I don't know what went on between you two before Nicholai came home, but whatever it was, you must put it aside while we are all at the dinner table. Mr. St. James is our guest. If you cannot be friendly, at least be civil."
As their plates were cleared, a dish of cheese and fruit and a bottle of calvados appeared on the table. Natalya pressed her lovely lips together and folded her hands in her lap.
"Grey, perhaps now might be a good time to tell us what has brought you to Chateau du Soleil, and how I may help you," Nicholai said.
St. James sat back in his chair and sipped the fiery brandy made from Norman apples. "My story is a long one, but I will try to confine it to the pertinent facts. I was the commander of one of Britain's finest warships until it was captured, and I was taken prisoner. I was considered a prize, because I am a cousin to Wellington..."
"And quite a favorite of the regent's, as I recall," Nicholai said.
Grey nodded. "Yes, he and my cousin have both tried to have me freed, which has only whetted Napoleon's interest in me. He sees me as a bargaining chip—and came to see me in my prison at Mont St. Michel this past autumn. He took an immediate dislike to me, no doubt in part because I am at least a foot taller than he is. At any rate, he gave orders that I was to be guarded more carefully than any other prisoner, and that if the Allies should win the war, I must be shot."
Natalya took a sip of her calvados, trying not to listen, determined that nothing would soften her heart toward this man.
"I won't go into the details of how I managed to escape. Suffice it to say that, as rumors continued to reach the prison regarding the imminent end of the war, many of the regular routines were forgotten. Meanwhile, the warden, a brutish man named Jules Auteuil, taunted me with promises of my death. When I escaped he followed me, he and his henchman. No doubt he thinks I'll lead him to Wellington! They were the men who came to your door today. I couldn't risk even the slightest chance that they'd discover me, so I... well, I threatened Miss Beauvisage and your maid with death if they betrayed me." He smiled tentatively at Natalya, who refused to meet his eyes. "I fear that she'll never forgive me for frightening her so cruelly."
"You're quite right," she murmured.
"That's an amazing story," Nicholai said slowly. "Now that you have found a safe haven, what do you want to do next?"
St. James looked at him with keen gray eyes. "Like your niece, I am determined to get out of France. Perhaps I might be able to deliver both of us safely to England. From there I could arrange passage to America for Miss Beauvisage, but it would mean spending several days in my company. She would doubtless consider that a fate worse than death." He looked across the table at Natalya, whose heart had begun to pound, and arched an eyebrow. "It's madness for me even to hope that you might agree, isn't it?"
She took a deep breath. "Tell me your plan."
Chapter 3
March 27, 1814
Nicholai and Lisette stared in astonishment. Natalya pretended not to notice. Only the two spots of color on her cheeks betrayed her awareness of the humbling leap she'd just taken. Meanwhile, James alone seemed oblivious of the dinner table conversation. He was more interested in the wedge of caramelized apple tart that had just been put before him.
"What are you looking at?" Natalya finally demanded of her aunt and uncle. "There's no need for shock. I've only agreed to hear the man out, not become his mistress."
St. James lifted his brows mildly. "What a relief."
"Pray, sir, tell me your plan without further insults!"
After a well-timed pause, he began to explain. "The difficulty of my situation is that Auteuil and Poujouly—the prison warden and his assistant—know my horse, and they'll be looking for me alone. The perfect solution, as I see it, would be not only a disguise and a different horse, but also a wife to travel with me. Knowing my past—the year in prison, and before that, the war—they'd never think to look for me with a wife."
"Well, they would be right, wouldn't they. It's ludicrous!" Natalya's turquoise eyes registered stunned surprise. "I guessed that you were mad, sir, but thought perhaps I'd judged you in haste. Now there is no doubt that I was right all along."
"Right about the fact that you judge too hastily?" he replied innocently. "I fear I must agree; but it's heartening that you are examining your character defects—"
"If you play with me, Mr. St. James, I shall leave the table without listening to one more word of your so-called plan," she ground out between clenched teeth.
"Then spare me your sharp-tongued interruptions," Grey said coolly. "I can assure you, Miss Beauvisage, that my reference to needing a wife was in no way a declaration of love and proposal of marriage for you. I only need someone to pose as my wife, for a mere week, perhaps, and although it would be pleasant if that person were also someone whose company I enjoyed, it would seem that I am not in a position to set such conditions." He paused, fine nostrils flaring slightly, and took a sip of calvados. "You and I can help each other. We both need to get out of France, and the odds are against either of us doing so alone. Together, we can be successful. I'm not asking you to do me a favor. We would each benefit equally." He shrugged. "I suppose it depends on how much you want to leave this country at the moment."
Natalya took a deep breath. "I do. I do want to go, so badly that my heart aches with the yearning for America and my home. I apologize for my rudeness. Please, tell me more."
Nicholai, hearing the throb in his niece's voice, leaned forward to give St. James his complete attention. "I should warn you—you'll have to convince us all," he murmured.
Grey smiled. "My plan is fairly simple. Since both of us speak French well, we can travel as a married peasant couple, which would draw little or no suspicion. I'm certain Auteuil and Poujouly expect me to travel to Paris and thence to England by way of Calais. Or else they hope I will go to join Wellington." His long fingers caressed the stem of his glass. "It wouldn't occur to them that I might go right back over the ground we've just covered, which is why I've chosen St. Malo as our destination. As you know, it's very near Mont St. Michel, where I was imprisoned."
Natalya, caught off guard by the sudden flash of his grin, smiled back. "Could we sail from St. Malo, then?"
"Absolutely. I couldn't do so when I first escaped from prison because Auteuil was right behind me. Also, it may take a bit of scheming to get to a British ship, but I'll have no problem once that damned warden and his henchman a
re disposed of. It may even turn out that my own ship will be lurking somewhere off the coast. If so, we'll bribe a fisherman or a smuggler to transport us. Once on board a British vessel, we will be guaranteed safe passage to England. The war may very likely be finished by then."
"What's Natalya going to do once she arrives in England?" Nicholai asked soberly. "Did you forget while in prison that your country is at war with America as well? I hardly think that she can book a pleasure voyage from London to Philadelphia."
"You're right, of course," he agreed, nodding. "I can assure you that I shall not desert your niece once her usefulness to me is past." He stretched his legs and rubbed a sore muscle in his right thigh. "I will personally arrange her crossing to America. I am an officer in the British Navy, and I also own a trading ship of my own, so I'm critically connected for Miss Beauvisage's purposes—"
"You may as well call me Natalya," she said lightly.
"All right. And I'm Grey," he replied, the barest smile touching his mouth when she nodded in response. "... As I was saying, I shan't leave Natalya at the dock once we arrive in London. She will stay at my father's house until I have settled on safe passage for the rest of her journey. At least she will be out of France—"
"I don't know," Nicholai said, his tone dark with doubt. "I love Talya with all my heart, and I am responsible for her. She may not want to be here anymore, but sometimes we cannot have what we want exactly when we want it. An important lesson, my darling niece." He pointed at her, his rebuke warmed by an undercurrent of affection. "Here, at least, I know that you are safe."
"Uncle Nicky! For heaven's sake, I am not a child. I'm twenty-six years old."
Grey managed to hide his surprise at this revelation when she glanced at him and reddened at having given herself away. He covered the awkward moment by returning his attention to Nicholai. "If it will put your mind at ease, sir, I'll promise to deliver your niece personally to America if I am unable to find suitable means for her journey."
"Excuse me, but this decision is up to me." Natalya threw her uncle a stubborn look that reminded him of her childhood. He half expected her to stick out her lower lip.
"She is twenty-six, darling," Lisette reminded him gently. "And don't forget that your own daughter lives in London, and Adrienne is barely seventeen."
Beauvisage drained his glass of calvados. "Fine. I can see that I have no influence whatsoever."
"You might as well become accustomed to feeling ignored, Papa," James remarked between bites of apple tart. "Your own children will undoubtedly stop listening to your advice long before we turn twenty-six."
"You stay out of this," Nicholai barked. "And, incidentally, Lisette, it's no use bringing Adrienne into this. She's safely cloistered in London's finest private school for girls, where she is chaperoned twenty-four hours a day. You cannot compare the two situations."
Natalya held up her hands in protest. "Everyone is getting all worked up before I've even decided what I'll do." When her dinner companions all stared at her expectantly, she laughed. "Let me think about it overnight, lest I be accused of behaving rashly or childishly."
"How very mature you are, my dear," Lisette proclaimed. "Did you hear, Nicky? She's going to think this matter over carefully, weighing all the factors, positive and negative, before coming to a decision. Now you'll be able to relax and enjoy your apple tart." She nudged his arm. "Take a bite, darling. I made the crust myself, with my favorite old recipe from the coffeehouse."
Nicholai sighed and ran a hand through his crisp chestnut hair, now liberally salted with white. "All right!" Staring defiantly at his wife, he speared a large bite of tart and stuck it into his mouth. In muffled tones, he added, "Now I know how Napoleon feels. Powerless!"
* * *
"You have a very illustrious history in this chateau, m'sieur," Grey remarked as he and Nicholai wandered through the great hall with its gilded, coffered ceiling and mammoth fireplace. Two silken-eared spaniels slept before the cheery blaze. "These paintings are Beauvisage ancestors?"
Nicholai was torn. He wanted to play the kind host to his guest, but now he was afraid that any displays of friendship might further encourage St. James's mad scheme. If only Natalya hadn't become involved... Then, reminding himself of the debt owed by the Beauvisages to the St. Jameses, Nicholai decided to adopt a manner that was polite but not... familiar. Smiling, he led Grey to the painting nearest the doorway.
"These are all my ancestors, but not all of them are named Beauvisage. A hundred and twenty years ago, the only son of Paul Mardouet, seigneur of St. Briac, died in a hunting accident. Paul's eldest daughter, Marie, then married a nobleman named Beauvisage, and Chateau du Soleil passed to them. Our family tree gained a new branch."
Grey gestured toward the painting. "By the look of this fellow's jeweled doublet, I gather that he must be a Mardouet."
"Correct. This was Thomas Mardouet, one of St. Briac's earliest seigneurs. He was a great friend of King Francois, and it was he who razed the chateau's north wing when the enlightened age of the renaissance did away with the need to fortify one's home against attack."
"He looks... fulfilled," Grey observed. The painting revealed a handsome man with curling chestnut hair, a trim beard, and turquoise eyes that seemed to dance with pleasure. "And I can see a family resemblance."
Nicholai smiled. "Thomas's eyes and hair have turned up on descendants all through the years. And I think you're right about the look of him. Although he lost his first son in childhood, that was his only real tragedy. Thomas had two daughters and another son, and according to all reports he was passionately in love with his wife. They shared a long life together, and they made some fine wine here."
Grey's eyes wandered to the next portrait, of an enchanting, raven-haired woman with clear spring green eyes. Garbed in a gown of rich emerald velvet embroidered in gold, with long sleeves and a low, square neckline, she appeared alluringly alive. "Don't tell me that this was his wife...?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm afraid so. That's Aimee. Exquisite, wasn't she?"
"She certainly accounts for his contented look."
Nicholai laughed suddenly, the furrow disappearing from his brow. "We Beauvisages have ever been a romantic lot. My father, who grew up here and was the rightful heir to this chateau, had no taste for playing lord of the manor. He chose to be a pirate, during the days when such practices were tolerated. He did a great deal of illegal trading with the colonies—America—when trade with England was so expensive and troublesome. By all accounts, Father was the consummate rake. My mother, who is Russian, met him when he captured the passenger ship on which she was sailing to America. Theirs was just one in a long line of passionate romances in our family."
Grey inclined his head. "Your own included, it is clear to see. My own family, on the other hand, is littered with acrimonious arranged marriages and cold-blooded infidelities. I myself—" He broke off with a bitter smile that was not lost on his host. "Growing up, I never saw anyone genuinely in love—most especially not my own parents," he went on after a slight pause. "As a consequence, I've never put much stock in notions of romantic love. If there is such a thing, I'm convinced that it's magical—and transitory."
"Well, Natalya has had good examples to observe since birth, and she's more cynical about love than most men I know... at least when it comes to her own life. She hasn't let me read the manuscript for her novel, but my wife has confided that the heroine of My Lady's Heart is incorrigibly romantic."
"Miss Beauvisage wouldn't be the first person to discover that affairs of the heart are safer conducted at a distance," Grey remarked ironically.
Chuckling, Nicholai stifled a yawn. "It's been a long day—longer than I realized. You must be exhausted as well. Shall we go up?"
"Would you mind if I remained behind for a bit? I think that I need a little solitude after the chaotic events of the past few days. It will all begin again tomorrow morning...."
"You needn't leave so soon."
; "My friend, I couldn't bear the suspense, waiting to discover how this adventure will turn out." Grey's tone was ruefully amused. "I think you must know what I mean."
"I do." Beauvisage nodded. "It's just that danger is likely in the offing, and it would behoove you to be rested and well fed before you confront it."
"Which is your way of implying that you don't want your niece to accompany me," Grey slanted a sidelong glance at his host. "I have already assured you that I will lay down my own life, if need be, to insure her safety."
"There's really no point in discussing this with me, St. James." Nicholai held up his hands in surrender. "Didn't you hear Natalya tonight, reminding me that she is far past the brink of independent adulthood? If she decides to embark upon this wild escapade with you, there's not a damned thing I can do about it short of locking her in one of the towers." He ran a hand through his hair. "On the other hand, if she doesn't want any part of you or your scheme, no amount of urging from me could persuade her to go. In short, my friend, my beautiful niece would seem to hold all the cards!"
* * *
"I'm not going."
"Indeed?"
Natalya, wearing a plain nightgown and wrapper of gossamer-thin white batiste, sat on the edge of her aunt and uncle's grand testered bed while Lisette braided her hair.
"Who would pamper me and love me and brush my hair at bedtime if I left here?" Her delicate nostrils flared as she considered one possible answer. "Heaven knows I wouldn't let that oaf touch me, not under any circumstances. Aside from the fact that it would be an utter nightmare to be forced to share that person's company for days on end, I've just begun to recollect that it's a harsh world outside our lovingly civilized chateau." Her tone was light, but she was only half jesting. "I've grown appallingly spoiled, I know it, but it's a fact, and ought to be accepted. Don't you agree?"
Lisette wrinkled her nose as she wove her niece's rich, honey-hued hair into a thick plait that nearly reached her waist. "I can speak for myself, thank you. Aren't you being rather melodramatic? First of all, I don't find Grey St. James hideous in the least. I personally think that he is immensely attractive."
Natalya Page 3