Guillaume totally ignored him. The old man rushed across to Suzanne, grabbed her by the arm and began to pull her towards the door. "Mistress, you must come at once," he said again.
Suzanne resisted. "What on earth is the matter with you, Guillaume? I thought I sent you out to find a horse."
"I have found something much better," Guillaume announced proudly. "Father Bertrand is here."
In the end, it was safer to bring Father Bertrand up to Ben's bedchamber than for Ben to go downstairs to meet him.
From Suzanne's description of the overburdened donkey, Ben had expected to meet a large man, but the curé who came panting up the stairs was very short, though very round. When the priest removed his wide-brimmed hat, Ben saw that the little man was also almost completely bald. But his round face was beaming, even as he gasped for breath.
"Suzanne!" he exclaimed from the doorway, making the sign of the cross in her direction. "My dear child, how wonderful to see you again after all these years."
"Father Bertrand. It is you. But Marguerite wrote that you were in Rouen. I don't understand. How do you come to be here in Lyons? Especially now."
"It is a long story, my dear, and I… Might I sit down? I have been travelling since first light and my old bones are weary." He took a few unsteady steps into the room.
Ben pushed a chair forward and bowed to the little man.
Guillaume was still hovering in the doorway. "Shall I bring up some wine, mistress? And some food for monsieur le curé?"
"Yes, if you—" she began.
"That would be kind, but see to my poor beast first, if you would, Guillaume. His needs are much greater than mine." The curé dropped his hat on to the floor and sank gratefully into the chair. He let out a long gusty sigh. "Thank you, my son."
Ben bowed again and waited to see what would happen next. From what Suzanne had said, Ben supposed that this must be the curé who had married Jack and Marguerite, and who had helped them to escape to England. So this priest could be trusted. Couldn't he?
"Marguerite told me about madame, your mother. About the accident. I would have come before, Suzanne, if only I had known. Your poor papa, too. He was a good man." The little man crossed himself again and shook his head sadly. "Such a tragedy to lose him when you have already borne so much."
Ben swallowed a gasp. Suzanne's father was dead? She had lied to him.
"May I see madame? Do you think she will remember me?" the curé asked gently.
Suzanne was paying no attention to Ben. She sank to her knees by the priest's chair and gazed up at him. "I do not know, Father. She has good days and bad days. But…but she is gradually getting worse. It is dangerous for Berthe to leave her alone. She has more and more bad days." She swallowed a sob. "Her mind is going. We are losing her."
Ben was beginning to feel truly guilty now, at the sight of Suzanne's distress. Both her parents were lost to her. The whole family was vulnerable. The Grolier sisters had probably lied to the whole world, in an effort to protect those they loved. It was brave. It was admirable.
The priest laid a gentle hand on Suzanne's head. "Do not weep, my child. I have come to give you what help I may. Now, will you have the goodness to introduce your…er…friend?"
Chapter Seventeen
Suzanne blushed and rose to her feet, reaching for Ben's hand to draw him forward. "I beg your pardon, Father. This is Ben. He was calling himself Herr Christian Benn when he first arrived, but now it is just…just Ben."
The curé smiled up at Ben. "Forgive me if I do not rise, sir, but I am honoured to meet you at last. Lord Jack told me what had happened to you in Marseilles. How goes it with your wound? Are you fully recovered?"
Although it was clear that the little priest knew a great deal about Jack and about the Grolier family, Ben was still wary. "Forgive me, Father, but exactly what did Jack tell you about us?"
"Well," the curé began, "not very much at first. But once the pair of them had agreed to marry, Lord Jack had to tell me the whole. I had taken him for a Frenchman, I must admit, and I was very surprised to learn that he was English. And the brother of a duke, too. I would have expected such a great family to be higher in the instep. But perhaps English aristocrats do not hold themselves aloof in the way that…er…" He coloured and faltered to a halt.
"In the way that French aristocrats do, you mean, Father?" Suzanne said, a little frostily. "Or perhaps we should say 'as they did', for most of them ended up in the arms of Madame Guillotine. And very few of them were mourned."
There was a great deal of bitterness in her words, Ben thought. What could have caused such a reaction? Had the Grolier family suffered in the past at the hands of some domineering French aristocrat? If that were the case, might Suzanne refuse to marry Ben once she discovered who he was?
It was quite likely that the little curé knew that Ben was a viscount's heir. The man must not be allowed to tell Suzanne. That was something for Ben to do himself. Once he had found the right moment.
"Suzanne has been trying to arrange for me to leave for Spain, Father," Ben said quickly, determined to change the subject. Since Jack had trusted the little priest, Ben would do so, too. "Unfortunately, transport is a problem. All the horses in Lyons seem to have been requisitioned."
"That is so everywhere, my son," the curé said. "Why, even in Paris—"
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Guillaume, bringing the wine, and food, though this time the old servant waited outside until Ben bade him enter.
"Thank you, Guillaume," Suzanne said. "Put it on the table, please. Then, if you have seen to the good father's donkey, please lock up the shop and the front of the house. We want no more visitors today."
Guillaume glanced suspiciously at Ben, but then he nodded to Suzanne and left without a word. It was clear that the man distrusted Ben, but it seemed he was prepared to rely on the priest to protect his mistress. Ben tried to tell himself that such loyalty was to be valued in a servant. Perhaps Guillaume would conquer his dislike of Ben once he and Suzanne were safely married?
Suzanne poured the wine and handed a glass to the little priest.
He swallowed a huge mouthful and sighed with pleasure. "Ah, that's better. The dust of the road does get in a man's throat." Suzanne immediately topped up his glass again. He smiled his thanks and turned to Ben. "So you are to go to Spain, sir? How do you plan to do that?"
"To be honest," Ben admitted, "I don't know yet. If we can get hold of a horse, I might have a chance. If we could hire two horses, I could take Suzanne with me."
"But I—" Suzanne began.
The curé held up a hand and gave a little shake of his head. Suzanne sank back to the floor beside his chair, bowed her head and said nothing more. The priest sipped slowly at his wine and frowned up at Ben. "I can see that it would be safer for you, sir, to be riding with a Frenchwoman. Travelling alone, you would be assumed to be a man avoiding enlistment. You would certainly be questioned. And as soon as the authorities heard your foreign accent, you would be arrested. Whereas with Suzanne…" He let his words tail off, but his accusation was clear. Ben was hoping to use Suzanne to save his skin.
"You mistake, sir," Ben objected hotly. "That was not my intention at all. I…I…" Oh dear. This was all going wrong. He ran a hand through his hair and knelt down beside Suzanne. "Forgive me, my love. I have not had a chance to ask you this." He took her cold hand in both of his. "You said we could not be married here in Lyons because it is too dangerous. And you were right. But I dare not leave for England until I have given you the protection of my name. If you would come with me to Spain, we could be safely married as soon as we crossed the border. And I could hire Spanish guards to escort you back here. You would not be gone for long, and Berthe and Guillaume would be able look after your mama. What do you say, love? Will you come with me?"
Suzanne raised her head to look into his face. Her glorious eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "We have not secured even one horse yet, far less two
," she said throatily. "And leaving Mama for so long…" She shook her head sadly. "Even to keep you safe, Ben, I don't think I could do what you ask."
"But that's not why I—"
Father Bertrand stopped Ben's outraged protest with a kindly hand on his shoulder. "Peace, my son. No one is accusing you of cowardice. You are guilty of something totally different, I think. Very poor planning. Did you really imagine Suzanne could return to Lyons with a Spanish escort and then be safe here? Spain is the enemy of France, remember."
Oh. The priest was right, of course. Ben had allowed his hopes to get the better of his reason. His so-called plan was useless. On their earlier missions, the Aikenhead Honours had always had a meticulous plan, drawn up by Dominic, or by Leo. Jack and Ben had usually contributed little, apart from leg-work. On their first solo mission, here in France, Jack had managed to escape to England, but only because he'd been helped by Marguerite and the little curé.
Ben sighed and bent his head. On his own, in enemy country, he seemed to be a liability. And a danger to anyone who helped him.
Father Bertrand chuckled. "But I have a better plan." He plucked his hat from the floor and dropped it on to Ben's head. "There. It's a perfect fit. I take that as a sign from le bon dieu."
Ben frowned up at the curé. What on earth was he talking about?
Suzanne glanced sideways and began to giggle. "It suits you," she said.
Father Bertrand reached for their joined hands. "You will ride to Spain disguised as a priest. You may take my donkey. He is small, but he is strong and he will not let you down. You will not be challenged. No one would dream of accusing a priest of avoiding army service. As for the accent… Hmm, yes, that might still present something of a problem. We do need a plausible story to explain the accent."
Ben's mind had begun to work again. At last. "I am a German priest. Father Benn. I am on my way to Spain to help a group of wounded German soldiers who were left behind by Wellington's army last year. They have all lost limbs so they are no threat to France. Besides, who could object to a man of God on a mission of mercy? I shall be…er…exceedingly saintly." He made the sign of the cross in the air.
The curé retrieved his hat and beamed at Ben. "As a priest, you will be trying the patience of the good Lord, I can see."
"It is a splendid plan, Father," Suzanne said, rising and pulling Ben to his feet as she did so. "But what about clothes? Ben is much, er, much taller than you are."
"I can let him have a clerical shirt and my cape. Plus my hat, naturally. But he will need a cassock. Do you think you could make one, Suzanne? You will have mine to serve as a pattern. Mine may be slightly larger round the middle," he added, with another chuckle, "but the collar and the buttoning are standard."
Suzanne nodded determinedly. "Of course I can. I think there is some black cloth in the shop store. I should be able to use that, provided there is enough. I don't want to be seen buying black cloth, not unless I absolutely have to. The shopkeepers would assume we'd had a bereavement and start asking questions."
The curé nodded. "Very wise, my dear, very wise. And while you are busy cutting and stitching, I will give this young man some much-needed lessons in how to behave as a priest."
Ben grinned down at the little curé. He was beginning to like the man very much indeed. And he fully understood, now, why Jack had come to trust him.
Suzanne made for the door. "I had best get started." She sounded very businesslike. "I shall be back to take your measurements as soon as I find the cloth."
"Wait, love." Ben caught her by the hand. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the little curé was nodding and smiling at him. Encouraged, Ben took a deep breath and said, "Father Bertrand married Jack and Marguerite. I know that he does not have a parish here in Lyons but… Father, before I leave, is it possible for you to marry us? Here? In secret?"
The priest rose from his chair and clasped his hands over his ample middle. He beamed at them both and said, simply, "But certainly, my son. I have been wondering when you would ask."
Ben continued stroking the tender skin at the side of his wife's breast. In spite of everything, he seemed intent on rousing her passion. He had his reasons, she supposed. It was, after all, their wedding night and he was the most generous of husbands. Tomorrow he would don his priest's cassock and be gone.
The new Lady Dexter was not about to succumb without a fight. She tiptoed her fingers lazily across the tops of Ben's thighs, venturing occasionally on to the sensitive skin of his belly. Never any lower. That would come in a moment, but a little more wifely torture—in the shape of the things she would not do—was a delicious preliminary. He was beginning to writhe against the sheets. It was most gratifying.
"You deceived me." His voice began normally, but ended in a gasp when Suzanne ran the edge of her fingernail down his hard length.
"I did not, sir. You assumed I was a merchant's daughter. If you had asked me outright, I would have told you my mama is the widow of the Marquis de Jerbeaux." She paused, reflecting on that. "Well, I probably would have. Besides, my deception was no worse than yours. I am an aristocrat's daughter. You are a viscount's heir. We love each other to distraction. So I think we are equal, do not you?"
"You are more than equal when it comes to inflicting torture on your poor husband, my lady. It is time, I fancy, for a little retribution." He flicked her onto her back and began to kiss his way slowly down her body, inch by tantalising inch. He lingered lovingly over her breasts until she was moaning and gasping out his name. Then down, down, to her navel and the tender skin of her belly and her inner thighs. And finally to the core of her.
Suzanne felt herself soaring as his rhythm caught her and carried her aloft. She heard the sound of her own cry and the world shattered around her.
Ben pulled her into the crook of his arm and dropped a kiss on to her hair.
She frowned up at him. "But you…?"
He stroked the damp curls back from her forehead. "I can wait, wife. We are agreed, are we not, that I must not get you with child?" He had gloried in her pleasure. He told himself that that was more than enough compensation for his own lack of fulfilment.
She snuggled into his side and put her arm around his middle. Soon she would fall asleep, he hoped. It was a kind of torture to have her here in his bed and to be unable to love her fully, as a husband should. But it was what he had to do. To keep her safe.
"Mmm," she breathed against his skin. "I feel so…so cherished. I love you, Lord Dexter."
"And I love you, too, my lady. But you should sleep now. You have all those buttons to sew onto my cassock tomorrow, remember?" He grinned wickedly at her.
"I am not sleepy. I want to— That is, I am a wife now, and I want to satisfy my husband, as he has satisfied me."
"Suzanne, you know that it is not safe for me to—"
She silenced him by putting a finger across his lips. "Hush, love. I know that. But surely there are other ways?" She was starting to blush delightfully, but she seemed very determined. Her fingers were beginning to stray down over his belly.
Ben groaned. This was another kind of torture altogether.
She went very slowly. Her every touch, every squeeze, every stroke sent the blood rioting round his body and roused him even more. He closed his eyes and clutched at the sheets. Higher and higher. Nearer and nearer. He was clawing towards the light. It was too far.
Then her mouth was on his. And the moment came. His groan was swallowed in her long, passionate kiss.
Afterwards, he lay speechless for a long time, staring up into the darkness and marvelling at the wonder that was the wife he held in his arms. She was beautiful, and she loved him.
But tomorrow he was going to leave her.
He had done everything he could to keep her safe. She had the proof of their marriage carefully hidden, along with a letter from Ben to his grandfather, explaining everything. If Ben should die on the journey back to England, Suzanne would be able to claim her r
ightful place. Father Bertrand would stand by her. And so would Jack, Ben was sure.
This time, he had a good plan. Father Benn, the German priest, would make his way to Spain, riding his stout little donkey. Then Father Benn would disappear, to be replaced by Baron Dexter, the rich English aristocrat. Once he made it to the coast, his gold would buy him a swift passage to England.
No, Ben had absolutely no intention of dying. Not now, when he had so much to live for.
Chapter Eighteen
"It is over, mistress," Guillaume announced as soon as he returned from the market. "All Lyons is buzzing with the news." He was hot and sweaty. And he seemed very upset, too.
Suzanne took one look at the lines of strain on his face and her mouth dried. Her heart began to race. This news must be very bad. "What has happened? For God's sake, tell me."
"There was a great battle. In the middle of June. Near Brussels. Some little place called Waterloo." His voice cracked and he looked round the kitchen for something to drink. There was a carafe of watered wine on the table. He poured some into a tumbler and drank greedily.
Suzanne did not understand what he was talking about. "But that was weeks ago. Why have we not heard before?"
"It is not the kind of news that Bonaparte wanted to spread. Especially as the armies died in their thousands. On both sides." Guillaume shook his head, his eyes troubled. "All those brave young men, cut down." He wiped his forehead and took another large gulp of wine.
Why was he not telling her the one thing that really mattered? "Yes, but who won?" she asked impatiently.
"I told you, mistress. It is over. The Allies won. Wellington and Blücher. Bonaparte fled back to Paris. Apparently he tried to abdicate in favour of his son, but the Allies were having none of it. In the market, they are saying that King Louis has already returned to Paris and Bonaparte is to be exiled."
His Silken Seduction: A brotherhood of spies in Napoleonic France (The Aikenhead Honours Book 4) Page 11