by Louise Clark
The coachman cursed under his breath, knowing full well that his exhausted team could never achieve the burst of speed needed to escape. Stephanie kept her jaw clenched forcefully, but inside she was seething with excitement. She waved the barrel of the pistol, then pulled back the hammer ominously. The coachman made a disgusted sound in his throat, but he threw his own weapon to the ground. A little smile she could not quite control flickered at the edges of Stephanie's mouth as she nodded her appreciation of the driver's sensible action, then she calmly relieved the carriage's occupants of their money.
These people had none of the spirit of old Eugene, nor the hysterics of his wife. They were members of the rising middle class, a well-to-do family traveling with two servants. Grimly, the soberly dressed master passed over a bulging purse, which Stephanie weighed appreciatively in her hand.
Moving away from the coach, she bowed in her courtly way. "My thanks," she said as she gave the little salute which she had come to think of as her signature. There was no reason not to be polite once the deed was done.
With the coach on its way, she retreated once more to her woodland sanctuary to wait for the next burst of activity.
It came surprisingly quickly, which was unusual, a small, light carriage, pulled by four fine animals and moving at speed. From her hiding place, Stephanie watched unmoving. The carriage bore a crest which she could not discern at a distance. It was evidently the property of a wealthy man who spared no cost—either in horseflesh or in the number and quality of his servants, for a guard sat upon the box with the driver, and a footman crouched behind. This was a determined man who would not take kindly to being accosted. To try and stop this equipage would be next to madness. The carriage sped past, elegant in its sleek danger. Stephanie watched until it was out of sight, then went back to her semi-doze.
An hour later, she gave up for the evening. She had stopped three coaches and had a heavily weighted saddlebag as evidence of her prowess. The hour was past midnight and she did not like to return to Silverbrooke too late. She knew full well that if she was ever found out, Madeleine would be appalled and the Earl—well, Lord Wroxton would lock her in her room for a month, if he did nothing worse.
At the thought of Nicholas, a mischievous sparkle gleamed in Stephanie's almond-shaped eyes. She had an explanation ready for emergencies, of course—a tall tale of not being able to sleep and riding in order to tire herself out, but she thought that he would see through that bamboozle immediately. Nicholas was far too perceptive, and he knew her far too well to believe that an unorthodox midnight ride was innocent in intention. One way or another he would discover the truth.
Strangely, the thought did not disturb her as it would have two months ago. Then, she had resented his interference in her activities. Now she had come to trust the man's integrity. What he did, he did for her benefit, not simply to spite her, as a St. Luc would do.
She had no doubt, however, that if he learned of her midnight activities, he would demand that she stop. Whether she would or not would depend on the amount of gold she had amassed. The very thought of the battle that would rage over the issue made Stephanie laugh softly. Dealing with Nicholas could be infuriating, but it was always exciting, for he made her feel alive in ways she had never experienced before. She almost wished he were here, instead of in London.
A little wistful, she halted Midnight Raider a mile away from Silverbrooke Manor, in a small hollow where she had secreted a curry comb and brushes. She stashed the saddle under two fallen trees which had formed a kind of woodland cave, then quickly brushed down the mare. Replacing the bridle with a halter and rope, she led the horse back to the paddock. Freed, the mare tossed her head and trotted off. Stephanie smiled as she crept back into the manor through the French doors that she had carefully left unlocked.
Safe once more in her pretty blue and cream chamber, Stephanie stowed her loot at the bottom of a mahogany chest. Before she closed the lid, she noted with satisfaction that the pile of gold was becoming substantial. By the time Madeleine decided to return to London, Stephanie was certain that she would have enough to pay for her father's rescue. And then, with the Marquis safe in England, she would be free to look to the future. She tumbled into bed, an image of Nicholas, Lord Wroxton, floating in her mind's eye.
* * *
As had become her habit, Stephanie slept late the next morning. While Lord Wroxton was in London, there was no one to notice, for Madeleine habitually remained in her room until nearly noon. At ten the maid brought her a cup of chocolate and a slice of toast. Stretching lazily, Stephanie listened with idle interest to the woman's chatter as she fussed with the pretty blue and cream curtains around the canopied bed, then set the tray on her mistress's lap.
Stephanie had just brought the translucent Limoges cup to her lips when she heard the woman say cheerfully, "The Earl is already up and about. Gone out to see to Edwin Blane who's took sick, he has. Edwin's the tenant on the home farm and he's always run it well, even when the Earl was naught but plain Mr. Prescott. I'll say this, he's a good master, my lord is. He rewards what's done right, he does. Not like some you hear about."
The maid's volubility allowed Stephanie to hide the shock that was freezing her muscles and emptying her mind. The Earl was there? At Silverbrooke? She said weakly, "I had no idea Lord Wroxton had returned. When I came up last evening he was not at Silverbrooke Manor."
"No indeed, miss. He arrived late, he did. Most unexpected like. Why Mr. Jordan—"
Mr. Jordan? Jordan was the gaunt, silent butler. What had he to do with anything?
"—Mr. Jordan, he wasn't at his usual post, no indeed. He'd retired for the night." The girl began to giggle, plucking for emphasis at the apron she wore over her dark blue gown. She lowered her voice. "In fact, he was lying with—" She broke off as she noticed Stephanie's shocked expression. "Well, be that what it may, he weren't prepared for His Lordship's arrival, no indeed. But the Earl, he's a good master. He'd sent no word ahead and didn't complain like some would when his house was in darkness on his arrival."
When Stephanie continued to stare at her in disapproving silence, the plump-cheeked young countrywoman bobbed a hasty curtsy. "If that'll be all, miss, I'll come back when you ring for me to dress you." At Stephanie's nod, she scuttled out of the room.
In fact, Stephanie had stopped listening to the woman long before, about at the point where the butler got caught out in his illicit relationship. The shocked expression on her face had come from the sudden realization that the sleek, dangerous coach she had prudently decided not to rob had most likely belonged to Nicholas, Earl of Wroxton. She began to laugh softly, imagining how outraged he would have been if he had been stopped by a highwayman, and his amazement when he discovered that the thief was none other than Stephanie de la Riviére.
The irreverent images kept her spirits buoyant, even when she realized that the Earl's presence would make it impossible for her to take to the road for the next few days. Not only would he be likely to retire later than his aunt, but she had developed a healthy respect for his ability to see, hear and deduce more than the average person. She finished her chocolate thoughtfully, making plans to ensure that her secret activities were not discovered.
An hour later, dressed in a fetching gown of blue dimity that contrived to look country-fresh and fashionably elegant at the same time, she drifted down the great square staircase with its intricately carved banister, into the manor's Great Hall. She had assumed the air of a fashionable lady who had learned the art of spinning tiny tasks into long-term ones, but a few steps from the bottom she paused, her composure suddenly gone. Her dark eyes opened wide at the sight of the Earl, booted and spurred, standing beside a console table casually glancing through the post which had just been brought.
In London, dressed with sumptuous elegance, Nicholas was a fine-looking man, but seeing him now made Stephanie's breath catch in her throat. His clothes made no pretense to being fashionable. The frock coat he wore did not have th
e outrageously high stand-fall collar that was all the rage, and the waist and tails were moderately long. His buckskin breeches clearly defined the muscularity of his long legs, but did not mold to their shape, and the shiny boots that encased his feet and calves were clearly well-used, though beautifully cared for. All contrived to create the impression of a man at one with his surroundings. Stephanie found that casual image to be much more potent than the artificial formality of the city.
In the few short seconds that she observed him and he remained unaware of her, Stephanie drank in the quiet strength defined by his profile. The strong cheekbones, the clean, controlled jaw, and straight narrow nose made up a face that was superbly masculine, testifying to an inner power that was formidable. Here, on lands where he was unquestionably master, Nicholas's true character was revealed. Stephanie was drawn so intensely to the authority of the man she saw standing in the imposing hall, that when he glanced up and saw her, her breath caught in her throat and her heart began to pound with a rapid, sensual thud.
His reaction was spontaneous and very flattering, for a smile meant only for her burned the serious expression from his features and lit a smoldering gleam in his blue eyes. He tossed the letters onto a silver salver and strode toward her. As he approached, Stephanie took a deep breath to still the dangerous pounding of her heart, then glided down the last of the steps. A smile that matched the intensity of his curled her lips, though she had not consciously responded. She was giddy and lighthearted with the pleasure of seeing him.
Stopping at the foot of the staircase, he watched her descend to the last step. Their eyes were almost level, although with his extra height he was still taller than Stephanie. "I missed you this morning." His voice was pitched low, rough with emotion. His eyes scanned her face, drinking in the silent promise in her tilted eyes, the unmistakable pleasure in her smile. "I thought we could ride together."
"Oh!" Stephanie's disappointment was not feigned. "Que! dommage! Monsieur, I would have liked that. You should have had my maid wake me."
He reached up, as if he intended to stroke her soft cheek. Then he dropped his hand, the motion incomplete. "I did not want to disturb your rest, Mademoiselle."
Stephanie dimpled. "I must confess, Milord, that I have developed bad habits here in the country. I linger lazily in my chamber in the mornings, for I have no commitments on my time. So you see, Milord, you would not have been disturbing me in the least."
He smiled slowly. "I shall remember that, Mademoiselle."
"Shall we make an appointment to ride tomorrow, perhaps?" Stephanie had one hand on the railing and her fingers tightened round the mahogany with concern. She did not want to wait until the next morning to be with Nicholas. She was conscious of an intense need that had been lying dormant for the fortnight she had been at Silverbrooke. In London, she had seen him every day. Here in the country, she had discovered that not doing so left a great void inside her.
"That would be delightful, Mademoiselle, but..." A smile that sizzled along Stephanie's nerve endings blazed forth. "I had intended to tour the property this afternoon. I would be honored if you would accompany me."
Happiness lit her dark eyes. "Of course, Monsieur. I would enjoy that very much."
"Good." He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. "Until then, Mademoiselle."
"À bientôt," Stephanie said, swallowing hard.
* * *
The afternoon had lengthened and cooled by the time Nicholas and Stephanie turned their horses' heads toward the manor.
"You have a rich, well-managed property here," Stephanie said approvingly. "Your tenants are prosperous and happy. It is important, I think, to ensure that the farms are well kept. A man who values himself, values his property as well."
Nicholas glanced at her in surprise. "That sounds like the remark of a born countrywoman. I had not realized you were interested in estate management."
Stephanie shot him a teasing look from between her lashes. "En bien, you thought perhaps that I lived all of my life in a Paris convent or at court?"
Choosing his words carefully, Nicholas said, "I have no idea where you grew up, Mademoiselle. Beyond your immediate past, I know very little about you."
It was Stephanie's turn to be surprised. "But is it not absurd how we always assume others know what we know? Vraiment, Monsieur, my life is no secret. Until my chère Mama died when I was twelve, we lived for the most part at Mont Royale. My father has other estates, you understand, but Mont Royale... Mont Royale was home. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense," Nicholas said, his voice warm. "I feel the same way about Silverbrooke. Wroxton Hall is traditionally the family seat, but Silverbrooke is where I grew up. Silverbrooke is where my heart is."
Stephanie turned a glowing countenance to him. "Exactement! You express my feelings, Milord. Mont Royale is the land of my heart. My Papa was often at court and there were many times when my Mama would go with him, but she was not strong. She had had many disappointments. None of my brothers or sisters survived long beyond infancy, and many of her pregnancies did not come to term. She was, I think, always afraid I, too, would sicken and die." Stephanie stared between the ears of her mount for a silent moment. "They both were. So, perhaps because time was precious, they spent as much of it as they could with me."
"Your childhood sounds idyllic."
Immersed in her memories, Stephanie smiled at Nicholas. "It was a happy time. Papa and Mama loved each other, but they never deprived me of their love; they simply extended it so that I, too, was encompassed by it. Then too, Mont Royale was a wonderful place for a child. It is in the hills of eastern France and there are huge woods and wild, rushing streams."
Nicholas knew exactly where Mont Royale was located and all about the mineral wealth in the land that had made earlier Marquis de Mont Royales rich and helped pave their way to power in Versailles. "I would have thought," he said, probing, "that the place you describe would be lonely for a woman."
Stephanie laughed. "My Mama loved my papa and did not care where she lived. And whenever my papa was at Mont Royale he forgot he had no son and taught me what he would have taught his heir."
Remembering the night he had discovered her meeting with St. Luc, Nicholas better understood her ability to ride astride and the cool, capable way she had handled the pistol. "Is that why you escaped from France dressed as a young man?"
She nodded. "My Papa taught me how to ride, first astride, then only later to sit a lady's sidesaddle. He taught me how to hunt too, as well as to shoot and to fence." She looked straight at Nicholas and added fiercely, "He also taught me to love Mont Royale and, after my Mama died, the management of the property. He knew, you see, that I would be his only child. His heir."
Nicholas frowned. "Mademoiselle, it is my understanding that a woman cannot inherit in France."
"Her husband can, if the property is not entailed in the male line. Mont Royale is not."
"But surely—"
She turned on him passionately. "Mont Royale is mine! These canaille in Paris may legislate the end of noble titles, and deny a lord his tithes, but when the land is in the blood, nothing can gainsay that! France is as a mad person now, crazed by change, but one day sanity will return."
"And then?"
"Then I will return to France and life will once more be as it should."
A muscle twitched in Nicholas's cheek as he kept his jaw clenched over words that could only hurt. Let Stephanie keep her illusions. He doubted that life in France would return to its former shape and texture, and certainly not soon, but he had been wrong about things before. He would leave her hope.
"Until then, I have no home," Stephanie added mournfully.
Nicholas edged his horse closer; she reined to a stop. He reached over to draw his knuckles down her cheek in a caress that was strangely intimate for being so public. "Chérie," he said huskily, "you will always have a home here, with me."
"Monsieur—"
He put his forefinger
on her lips, silencing the inevitable 'but'. "Now is not the time to discuss this. Just promise me you will remember."
"I promise."
* * *
"I must return to London tomorrow."
"Must, Nicholas?" Madeleine's voice was sharp. They were sitting in the Charles Room, a small and comfortable salon used by the family when they were alone. The room was dominated by a huge, brooding portrait of King Charles II that hung over the brick fireplace. Madeleine had been noting with satisfaction the progress that had been made in the relationship between Stephanie and her nephew since his arrival three days previously. Having him leave so soon was not part of her plans.
"I fear I stupidly made an appointment for the day after tomorrow that I cannot break," Nicholas murmured. What he had actually done was arrange for Gideon to watch St. Luc for several days. His brother-in-law had thought it an excellent plan, for he did not want St. Luc to become suspicious, now that Stephanie was not about as a cover for Nicholas's activities.
"All appointments can be broken," Madeleine said sternly.
Nicholas ignored her. "I had thought that we might go on a picnic tomorrow, before I left, if the weather is as fine as it has been these past few days."
The desolate look that had crept into Stephanie's eyes at his announcement fled. "A picnic! But how splendid. Do you not think so, Tante Madeleine?"
Madeleine did not think she had even been invited on the outing, but she did not say so. Instead, her eyes twinkling, she took refuge in her status as an elder family member. "Delightful as the invitation sounds, I fear my bones are too old for me to enjoy sitting on the cold earth. Unless, of course, you had planned to have the servants set chairs on the terrace near the house. Then perhaps I could be convinced to dine al fresco, although it has never been one of my chief pleasures."