Ben made to speak, but Suzanne had not finished. "As for this door, it will remain locked. From my side."
Ben was so relieved he almost laughed. But that would certainly have offended his prickly love, so he forced himself to give her a submissive smile instead. "I am at your service, ma'am." He walked slowly across the floor and through the door she was holding. As he crossed the threshold into the dark delights of the silk store, he could not resist adding wickedly, "In all things."
She slammed the door at his back. And turned the key in the lock before he could say another word.
Chapter Fifteen
Suzanne was trying to keep her mind on her weaving. The shuttle moved steadily to and fro, to and fro, to and fro. She tried to focus on the flow of the silk thread through the warp, and the regular movement of her feet on the pedals, but it was monotonous work. Her body could do it by itself, leaving her mind free to wander. And to misbehave.
More than two weeks of waiting, and worrying, had not helped her peace of mind. Nor had her stubborn determination to stay out of Ben's bed. She had visited him, very occasionally, in his bedchamber but she had always made sure that she was accompanied by one of the servants. Such visits, she told herself, were necessary to ensure that their hidden spy was truly mending and was posing no threat to their vulnerable little household. On one such visit, she had even lectured Ben sternly about the need to keep well away from the window. She reminded him that there were always Bonapartist sympathisers in the street below and that, if Ben were spotted, disaster for the Groliers could follow.
Ben had responded meekly, promising to do everything she asked, but avoiding her eye. Old Berthe might have been taken in, but Suzanne knew he was nothing like as calm as he appeared. She didn't even have to look at him; she could sense the emotions hidden behind his bland mask. He was at least as worried as she was. In fact, it was worse for him in some ways, since he was effectively imprisoned in one single room. No wonder he was feeling impotent.
Impotence led to frustration. What if Ben decided to do something drastic?
Not for the first time, Suzanne tried to persuade herself that she was fretting over nothing. Ben could not leave the house without help. Not unless he decided to walk to Spain. If he sent the kitchen boy to fetch a horse, Suzanne would learn of it. The kitchen boy was simple, but she had made very sure he understood that he would lose his place if he obeyed instructions from anyone but Suzanne without warning her first. No amount of silver from Ben would make up for the risk of being thrown out into the street to starve. Even a simpleton could understand that.
There was no risk that Guillaume or Berthe would help Ben, either. Guillaume wanted Ben out of the house, certainly, for he had serious misgivings about Ben's intentions towards Suzanne. Protestations of love and future marriage were not to be trusted, he said, not from an Englishman. Guillaume would not even accept a marriage before a priest, unless he witnessed it with his own eyes. Guillaume was a royalist, and totally loyal to the Grolier family, but England was "Perfidious Albion", as he had reminded Suzanne more than once. Treachery was England's traditional response, whenever it suited her purposes. And English men were no different.
Ben would never betray me. He loves me. He does. Why else would he be risking his life to remain here, waiting, until I know whether… No, if he did not love me, he would have left us, long ago.
The thread caught and broke.
Suzanne swore aloud, then clapped her hand over her mouth and glanced round to check if she had been overheard. What on earth was happening to her? She had been brought up to behave better than that. Luckily, she was still alone in the weaving room. No one had heard her outburst.
Mechanically, she set about repairing the break and ensuring there would be no flaw in the finished silk. It was not a difficult task for someone as skilled as Suzanne. But she knew that, if she had been paying proper attention to her work instead of daydreaming, the break would not have happened in the first place.
There. It's done. And for the rest of the day, I will take more care.
The shuttle began its monotonous journey again. To and fro, to and fro, to and—
"Argh!" The pain was so sharp that Suzanne dropped the shuttle and doubled up over the loom. She put both hands to her belly and pressed hard, groaning all the while. Stomach cramps were often a problem at the start of her courses, but they were not usually as bad as this. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out again.
Was this the start of her courses? Or something else?
Whichever it is, I am not carrying Ben's child.
Her mind was numb. All her feelings seemed to have been frozen into nothingness by that single, terrible spasm of pain. It was utterly final. There would be no child.
No child.
She rose from her seat and put her hands to the small of her back, trying to force herself to stand straight in spite of the pain. The daughter of the Marquise de Jerbeaux did not stoop, no matter what the circumstances. She had been taught that from the cradle.
She raised her chin and made for the door. There were practical things to be done. She would go to her chamber for the cloths to deal with her courses. Then she would go to the kitchen to make a tisane to ease the cramps. That usually worked within an hour or so; she should be able to come back to her weaving quite quickly. This silk needed to be finished soon and she was behind with her work. She was in charge of the Grolier silk business, after all, and—
I have to tell him.
But how do I tell him? What do I say?
Would he be sorry? Or would he be glad? It was impossible to predict his reaction. Even if he had wanted the child, he would never admit it to her. He would be bound to concentrate on the fact that Suzanne was much, much safer here in France if she was not increasing.
He had said he would stay until they knew. Once she told him, he could leave for Spain, and England.
She did not want him to leave.
The longer he stayed, the greater the danger to him, and to the whole household. The safest solution, for all of them, was for Ben to leave.
The spasm of pain hit again and this time Suzanne crumpled to the floor and lay there, curled like a babe, weeping silently for the loss she could not understand.
Suzanne did not visit Ben's room for two whole days. She blamed it on her stomach cramps, which were much worse than usual and made her weak and weepy. She promised herself she would visit him—and tell him—as soon as she was stronger.
On the third day, she still could not face him. She spent her time in the weaving room, instead.
"Mistress, may I speak to you? In private?" Guillaume was looking stern, but also a little furtive.
Suzanne looked round the room. The doors and windows were closed. No one could hear them. She rose from her loom and went to him. "Certainly," she said calmly, though her pulse was rioting. What was the matter? Had Ben—?
Guillaume lowered his voice even further. "Mistress, our visitor is perfectly recovered now. I caught him doing exercises in his chamber and there's clearly nothing wrong with him at all. I suspect he has an ulterior motive for wishing to remain. I think he has designs on you. I do not trust him and you should not do so, either. 'Perfidious Albion', remember? You need to tell him to leave. As soon as may be."
"But how can he possibly leave? He will need a horse and Bonaparte has requisitioned all the available animals, has he not?" Men, horses and equipment had been leaving Lyons on a daily basis, heading for the northern army or for the defensive positions on the eastern frontier.
Guillaume ignored her question and shook his head sorrowfully. "You are not surprised to learn that he is well enough to leave, are you? How long have you known? It is not my place to judge you, mistress, but I have loved you since the cradle and… Mistress, I beg you, do not allow yourself to be deceived by this man. He will ruin you. And then he will abandon you."
Suzanne drew herself up very straight. "He will not," she spat. "He will return once Bonapar
te is defeated and then we will be married. His friend Jack married Marguerite. You know he did. Why should not Ben do the same for me?"
"Mr Jacques swore a sacred oath on the bible. In front of your mama. He had no choice if he was not to lose all honour. Your Herr Benn has sworn no oath. Private promises to a green girl are easily broken."
The words were barely out of his mouth when his "green girl" slapped him so hard that his head was knocked sideways. "Mistress," he gasped, shocked.
Suzanne felt the colour flooding into her face. She must be quite as red as the hand print on Guillaume's cheek. But she would not apologise. He was wrong, wrong, wrong. He must be. Ben was an honourable man. And he loved Suzanne.
She turned for the door. Without looking back at Guillaume, she threw angry words over her shoulder, "I am going upstairs to speak to Herr Benn. Alone. I shall decide for myself whether he is well enough to leave for Spain. And, in the meantime, you had better start making discreet enquiries about transport. However much you want rid of him, you will never succeed if you don't find him a horse."
Chapter Sixteen
Suzanne raced up the stairs to the door of Ben's bedchamber. There, she stopped dead, her fury overtaken by uncertainty. She had no idea what to say to him. She only knew that she had to find a way of telling him there would be no child. And she had to encourage him to leave, for all their sakes. Her stomach pains gripped even more fiercely at the prospect of the encounter ahead of her.
Since when have I been such a coward? I have to face him. Now. And if he really loves me, he will help me through this.
Before she could lose what little courage remained to her, she rapped loudly on Ben's door.
She expected him to bid her enter, but he did not. Instead she heard quick, booted steps on the floorboards and then the door was thrown wide.
"I told you that—" His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "Suzanne. Forgive me, I was expecting Guillaume and I—" He peered past her into the dark landing. "You are alone? No chaperon today? I am honoured." He stood back and made a sweeping gesture. "Pray enter, ma'am. I am at your service, as ever."
He was treating her like a queen, so she would behave like one. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and sailed into his chamber.
Behind her, he closed the door very quietly. He neither moved nor spoke. He was waiting for her to begin.
Suzanne took a long, deep breath and turned. The man she loved was leaning casually against the closed door, one booted foot crossed over the other. As she watched, he raised his left hand and stroked his jaw like an absent-minded academic, but Suzanne could see that his pose was nothing but a fraud, for there was clear tension in the corded muscles of his neck and in his narrowed gaze, fixed on her face.
He was worried, and anxious. Because he loved her.
She felt the beginnings of a flush of heat in her face but she forced herself to keep looking straight at him. She loved him. And he loved her. Between true lovers, there should be no secrets, and no embarrassment, surely?
Her words began tumbling out in a rush. "I have come to tell you that I— That I have begun my—" Oh, it was all coming out wrong. She put both hands to her flaming cheeks and made herself continue. "Ben, I have to tell you that there will not be a…a child. What we did together— That is, I am not—"
Before she could finish, he had crossed the floor and pulled her into his arms. It was an embrace of comfort, not of passion. He did not even attempt to kiss her. He simply held her close against his warmth and strength, stroking her hair and making gentling noises, as if he were soothing a frightened child.
"Oh, Ben, I…" Her words ended on a sob, though she did not know why. She was so confused. She buried her face in his shirt so that he would not see her tears. She could not bear that he would think her weak.
"Hush, love, hush." He dropped a kiss on her hair and continued his hypnotic stroking. "I am sure you are feeling unwell but, please, try to dry your tears. It is for the best, however much we might both regret that you are not with child. What matters is that you will be safe now. We must hold to that and be glad. Once we are married, and living together in England, we will have all the time in the world for the gift of children." He dropped another gentle kiss on her hair. "And believe me, sweetheart, there will be much joy in the getting of them."
The hint of mischief in his final words made her swallow her tears and chuckle, half in embarrassment, half in wonder. She snuggled further into his warmth and slid her arms round his back. "You are a wicked man," she murmured softly against the fine lawn of his shirt.
"But you love me, in spite of my wickedness, do you not?"
She raised her head to look into his eyes. They were indeed sparkling with mischief but, behind the twinkle, there was something much deeper. Suzanne was not sure that Ben would ever be able to put his emotions into words, but for her it did not matter. She knew what he felt for her. His love was deep, and true, and for ever.
As was hers.
"I love you, for everything you are, and I always will," she said, meaning every word.
"Mmm." His gaze softened and he bent to drop a tiny kiss on her lips. But he pulled away almost instantly, before she could begin to kiss him back. "No more, love, for you know where kisses lead." He smiled ruefully. "What matters is to keep you safe." He put her from him and then raised her right hand to his lips. "Chaste kisses on the fingertips. Nothing more. Not until we are wed, and I can get you safe to England."
The touch of his lips shivered up her fingers. England. Where there was safety for Ben. And the fulfilment of duty.
"You will leave for England," she said flatly, trying to ensure there was no hint of doubt in her tone. "The militias are gathering to defend France. There will be blood on the streets, even if Wellington wins the great battle. Scores will be settled. I have seen it before. You must leave for Spain now, while there is still time."
"But you will be in danger…"
She shook her head. "We will be safe enough. We have weathered this before. We are weavers, plying our trade and selling our wares to anyone who can pay. As far as the outside world is concerned, House Grolier has no politics. Our walls are strong. If there is unrest in the streets, we will bar the doors and windows and wait until it is over. We have done that before, too," she finished with a decisive nod. She did not add that, on previous occasions, she had had her older sister by her side to take the lead.
Ben frowned for a moment. Then he sighed out a long breath and Suzanne saw that she had won. It is for the best, she told herself. It is the only way to keep him safe. He has to go.
"You know your own business best. I have to accept that, though I—" He sighed again and drove a hand through his hair. It made him look very young. And vulnerable. "But I would need transport. Are there coaches still running to Marseilles? It would take much too long to walk all the way to Spain."
Suzanne shook her head. "Everything is in turmoil. Bonaparte has requisitioned the horses from all the livery stables and posting inns for the army. And, in any case, all the men are so busy in the defence forces that no one is going anywhere by coach or chaise. I have asked Guillaume to try to find you a horse from somewhere else. It will probably cost some of that gold of yours, though."
Ben made a face. "That will have to do. But it will be plaguey slow going if I cannot change horses on the road."
That was true. And the slower Ben travelled, the greater the risk of his being captured by the Bonapartists and shot as a spy.
"Perhaps we could find you two riding horses?" Suzanne ventured hopefully. "That way, you would have a fresh mount of your own. Would that not help?"
"Well… Yes, I suppose it might." Ben's mind was racing, but on another tack altogether. If he had two horses, he could take Suzanne with him to Spain and marry her there. She would insist on returning to Lyons, to take care of her mama, but at least she would have the protection of his name.
And who would protect her on the trip back to Lyons?
Suzanne cocked an ear towards the window. "That's odd. I'm sure I heard a horse then. In the street outside the house. If Guillaume has found you a horse already, I shall kiss him." She motioned to Ben to stay where he was, while she went to the window. She pushed herself up on tiptoe so that she could see as much of the street below as possible. She strained forward, leaning both hands on the sill. Then she gasped and began to giggle. "Oh, dear. Oh, Ben, I am sorry to have given you false hopes. I did hear hooves on the cobbles, but it is not a horse." She giggled again and held up a warning hand. "No, don't come to look. You really must not be seen. They do look funny, though. Our hooved friend down below is a tiny little donkey, with a very fat priest on his back. It's astonishing that the poor animal can move at all with such a burden."
"Donkeys are pretty strong. Or perhaps it is a mule?"
Suzanne seemed not to hear Ben's question, but she did turn to look at him. "I wonder what that priest is doing here in our street," she mused. "I don't think I have ever seen him before." She shook her head sadly. "All strangers are dangerous nowadays. Even priests can be spies."
That was no doubt why she would not trust any of the local priests to marry them. And why there was no way out of Ben's dilemma. He had promised himself not to leave her until they were safely married, but there could be no safe marriage here in France.
The sound of rushing feet on the stairs was followed by a hurried knock on the bedchamber door. Half a second later, Guillaume charged in. "Mistress, you must come downstairs at once," he gasped.
How dare he make such a demand? They were doing nothing improper, for Suzanne was still by the window while Ben was standing in the shadows, several feet from her. Ben was not about to put up with impertinence from a servant, however venerable. "I did not give you leave to enter my room," he snarled.
His Silken Seduction: A brotherhood of spies in Napoleonic France (The Aikenhead Honours Book 4) Page 10