The Duke's Messenger

by Vanessa Gray

  Phrynie wore an arrested look. “That’s it. I remember now what I heard about him. He joined the Emperor. That’s it!”

  “But his father was executed, along with the King!”

  “Ah, but he hated his father! Now I recall. It was quite a bit of scandal at the time. The only way he could keep his estate from being confiscated was to turn his coat and join the rebels.”

  “And you didn’t remember that?” marveled Nell.

  “That was years ago, you know. Besides, I pay no heed to politics — they’re so dreary.” She paused, summoning up memory. “He joined the émigrés in London for a bit, but he did not seem to be one of them, if you understand me.”

  “We should not have stopped here,” said Nell, more to herself than to her aunt.

  “I know. But it did seem rude to pass on by without making a call. Nell, I cannot apologize sufficiently for my indiscretion. Can you forgive me?”

  Nell rose to enfold her aunt in a warm hug and kiss her soft cheek. “Of course, Aunt. I should not ever mind what you do. At least — I have never burgled a house before. Perhaps the experience will be useful one day.”

  Surprisingly Phrynie giggled. “If that is the worst activity you find to do, I shall be content.”

  At length, Nell was alone. There was time now to take out the matter of the coachman and consider it thoughtfully. How little she knew of him! He was an excellent coachman, and an experienced housebreaker. She was required only to contemplate the competence and speed with which he opened a locked window to admire his proficiency in illegal pursuits. He was properly deferential, even wooden, in his attitude. “Yes, miss” and “Yes, my lady.” She felt her cheeks blazing. Deferential indeed, and far from wooden! Indeed Lord Foxhall with every right in the world would not be so impudent!

  How could she travel on in Reeves’s company, knowing that delicious moment in the darkness lay between them, more like an abyss than a bridge? While Nell was not entirely unsophisticated, the question of how to deal with an impertinent servant had never come her way before. She could give a Tulip a set-down or airily dismiss a dandy so that he did not trouble her again — or even deal kindly but firmly with Nigel Whitley’s offer so that he went away without encouragement but with a sense of gratitude for her kindness. But Reeves was a hard nut to crack. He slid away from any attempts to place him in the proper slot like a salmon escaping from the net.

  She was thankful now that she had not explained Reeves’s share in the events of the evening just past. She was positive that Lady Sanford, in an excess of zeal fueled by her own guilt, would take a disapproving view of both the coachman’s intervention and Nell’s easy acceptance of it. Her aunt would peremptorily dismiss him from her service at the first opportunity. Nell must not allow such an event to transpire.

  She could take the reins herself, thought Nell, if it came to that. Her father’s coachman had taught her well. She could manage four horses for a short time, but it would be impossible for many reasons to drive the chariot into Vienna, herself on the box with whip in hand.

  He should not have taken such liberties, she thought, climbing wearily into bed. But while her ingrained decorum shouted aloud at the infamous arrogance of the man, she was honest enough to recall that she had not found his kiss repellent. In fact, and she would have died rather than reveal this to anything more animate than her pillow, she had wished he had not drawn away.

  She would be very very cold to him on the morrow. He would not dare to approach her again in such a fashion. And, she told herself, that was no reason to feel so unaccountably low in spirits.

  A curious thing came into her mind. He had not seemed in the least curious about the odd parcel, or why it had been stolen by the count. From what he said, he expected the stolen article to be an earring or perhaps another piece of jewelry. When he caught sight of the plainly wrapped parcel in the table drawer, he was not, as far as she could discern, surprised. But equally astonishing, he asked no question about it. Could it be that he already knew what it was?

  Nonsense! There was no possible way he could know about Mr. Haveney’s parcel. Reeves had been in Calais for days before the duke’s man had called in Mount Street, hadn’t he? No, she decided, he had something else on his mind. And that something else she would never think of again!

  She lay in bed a long time before she felt sleep approaching. Her last thought was, better the rogue she knew than a rogue she did not.

  *

  Morning arrived all too soon for Nell, in one way, for she had too little sleep. But in another way, she was more than anxious to put the Château Pernoud behind her forever. Her aunt had recalled that the count was a turncoat, a traitor to his family, and therefore capable of any depravity. Nell could regret that her aunt’s memory had been tardy, for had they spent the night in the auberge in Hautvillers she would not now be suffering from a throbbing head and a throat made sore by her chilly vigil in the night.

  Phrynie swept into Nell’s room, already dressed. “Come, Nell, wake up! I do not wish to stay in this dismal spot a moment longer than necessary.” Her voice dropped. “Do you think the count will — do anything to us?”

  Nell opened her eyes. Her aunt was leaning over her, and she could see a spark of apprehension leap in the sapphire-blue eyes. “Do anything?” She threw back the covers. “Has something else happened?”

  “Not that I know of. I sent Mullins to rouse Reeves and Potter at once. I should not like to stay even for a cup of coffee.”

  But her wishes were not fulfilled. Even though the count himself was barely out of his bed and sleep still blurred his perceptions, he insisted upon providing at least coffee. Before they had finished the light repast, he told them, “I have arranged for a picnic luncheon to be placed in your coach, Lady Sanford.” Over her protests, he added, “Here comes Emile now to tell us that it is done.”

  Emile proved to be the servant with the repellent squint. He mumbled a word or two to his master and then retreated a short distance.

  “I am sure,” said the count, “that you will find no inn along your road suitable for a nuncheon. That is, if you continue on the road to Saarbrücken?”

  Phrynie cast a glance of inquiry at Nell. Receiving no answer, she said, airily, “I must confess that I do not pay much heed to the way we are to go. I have every confidence in my coachman.”

  To Nell’s suspicious eye, the count appeared nettled, as though he had not received the information he wished. But Reeves was suddenly beside them, and Lady Sanford was quickly installed in the coach.

  As he handed Nell into the carriage after her aunt he murmured, in a conspiratorial fashion, “We must hurry before all is discovered.” She refused to meet his eyes, contenting herself with a short nod of agreement.

  It was clear that Reeves followed his own advice, for although the chariot left the drive before the entrance in a leisurely fashion, the horses at a decorous walk, by the time they rounded a curve and were hidden from the chateau by the forest, the team had been put into a fast trot.

  The rhythmic rocking of the vehicle combined with her unaccustomed exertions the night before to put Nell into a drowsy mood, and before long she was entirely asleep. As she half awakened when the carriage slowed she realized that she was wrapped in a feeling of certainty that she was safe while Reeves was at hand. With a start she understood that she did not confine that feeling only to the occasions when he held the reins in his hands.

  Even their own coachman, now at home on the Aspinall estate, had not instilled in her such a feeling.

  The question, triggered by the thought of the old family servant, followed at once: where in the world was Tom?

  *

  Reeves did not pull the team up until they were far along the road, and the weak sun was nearly at its zenith. He sent Potter to inquire of Lady Sanford whether he should look for a posting house for the ladies’ nuncheon.

  “A nuncheon? No need, Potter, for the count has provided us a picnic, you know. I am sure t
here is plenty for us all.”

  Nell broke in. “Aunt, I should much rather,” she said with a significant glance, “stop at an inn. It is hardly the weather for an outing, you know.”

  Phrynie understood her. After giving instructions, and after the coach was under way for the town that lay in sight on the horizon, she murmured, “Quite right. He may have dropped some toxiferous substance in the wine.”

  “I should detest thinking so, as an ordinary thing, you know,” said Nell, “but only a hen-witted idiot would not see that it would be quite to his advantage if we were unable to inform anyone of his crime.”

  Phrynie managed a laugh. “I wonder what he will do when he finds the parcel gone?”

  “Let us hope that he does not send after it.”

  By this time, Nell had in hand sufficient questions to hold Reeves in conversation for a fortnight. She had little hope of receiving satisfactory answers, but certainly she must make the effort.

  At the posting house, she ate little, scheming to find Reeves alone. The opportunity did not present itself until they had stopped for the night. Reeves had sent the coach on to the stables, promising to follow at once to see to the cattle. He watched the huge vehicle trundle away and turned to find Nell standing beside him.

  “Sorry, miss,” he said. “Were you wishing to have your luggage brought into the inn?”

  “Will it be safer?”

  Reeves permitted a wintry smile to cross his features. “All depends on where your — your valuables, I should say — are located.” His lips tightened. “Miss,”

  “I am keeping an eye on them myself,” she retorted. “I did not tell you that Mullins was instructed to guard our jewels last night, and the count’s cook apparently lured her away.”

  He nodded. “I suspected something of the sort.”

  She was reluctant to leave him. “Do you think, Reeves,” she said slowly, “that we have done with the count? By now he must have found out that the — the parcel — is not in his table drawer. Will he know we have it back?”

  Reeves gave himself over to grave thought. “I do not know. But it would be well to take no chances.”

  “I wish —” she began wistfully, then broke off. “No matter.”

  “That you had never left London?” he suggested.

  He had the unsettling ability to read her mind. “Surely you cannot think I am enjoying this — this reckless jaunt?”

  “Perhaps you may find some compensation for your trials.” She glared at him. With a bland expression, he continued, “When you arrive in Vienna. Miss.”

  His impertinence struck her. He made her feel a fool, teasing her to make her remember his overtures and then pretending all the time that he had meant something entirely different. Suddenly his remark, along with the smile that hinted of conspiracies past and to come, recalled her to the impropriety of standing in the open with her coachman, gossiping with him as though he were an old friend.

  She drew herself up to her full height. “Perhaps I neglected to fully express my gratitude for your intervention last evening. If so, I must apologize.”

  A wicked gleam came into the coachman’s hazel eyes. “Nay, miss,” he said in his broadest country speech, “I’d say you did, all right and tight.”

  She stamped her foot angrily. “I must say …” Her voice died away. He stood waiting for her instructions, but she made an impatient gesture and hurried across the stable yard, burningly aware of his gaze following her.

  After the ill-cooked dinner, Phrynie acknowledged that she was exhausted and soon went up to bed. Nell lingered in the sitting room that had been put at their disposal until the fire died down and the room chilled. She was overwhelmed by a desolate feeling of loneliness. Restless, recalling only too well the latter part of the evening before, she could even fancy that her shoulders still burned where Reeves had — in the most outrageous fashion — placed his hands and pulled her close to his hard body. She rubbed her lips now with the back of her hand, as though to erase the memory of his insolent kiss.

  Impertinence! Outrage! Despicable advances!,

  The words came to her tongue, but she recognized them as completely without validity. It was not Reeves who was to be condemned, but Nell herself. Nell, who never deceived herself for long, knew that the weakness, the license, was in herself.

  She was not sure how the impulse — nay, the need — to respond to him had arisen in her, where the urge that had driven her had been hidden all these years. She only knew that when he had touched her, he had called forth a part of herself that she did not know existed. She had wanted Reeves to press her more closely to him, to keep on kissing her…

  Deliberately she wrenched her thoughts away from her disgraceful behavior and forcibly brought Rowland’s classic features to mind.

  She consoled herself to a degree by remembering that dear Rowland had not touched her. He — the Paragon — had spoken of respect and trust and control — and if he had behaved as Reeves had, her response to him would have been the same as to the coachman. It was a comforting thought — or would have been if she believed it.

  How handsome Rowland was; his nose was straight, his features classic though manly. His stature was above the average, his limbs in splendid proportion. Not in the least stocky.

  She had lost her sense of humor, she realized. How idiotic she was to compare a coachman with peerless Rowland! A. world apart. But as she climbed the narrow stairs to the bedroom she was required to share with her aunt and Mullins, she managed a smile, picturing Rowland’s expression were she to ask him to help her break into the library of a nobleman of France!

  She fell asleep at once. It was past midnight when she awakened. At first she did not know where she was. The darkness overhead bore no resemblance to her airy room at home, and it took a few moments for her to realize that she was in a room in an obscure inn. She sat up in bed, listening.

  Some sound had awakened her, a sound now lost. She strained her ears, expecting it to come again. It did.

  The sound was very close, nearly beside her. Someone was lifting the latch to the door leading from the hall, very slowly, very cautiously, obviously up to no good.

  She had awakened in time, for the intruder was still outside the room. Her bed was nearest the door. It was clear that she alone was awake. Mullins was snoring vigorously, and Phrynie’s lips made delicate and regular popping sounds.

  Stealthily Nell threw her covers back, and swung her bare feet to the floor. Very slowly, expecting the bed to squeak in protest at her movement, she stood up. If she could just reach the space behind the door before the intruder came fully inside, she would surprise him!

  Arming herself with materials at hand, she picked up the boot she had been wearing in the carriage. It was made of velvet and fur, but fortunately the high heel had a satisfyingly sharp point. Not now weaponless, she slipped carefully across the bare floor.

  The noise at the latch ceased. She realized she was no longer frightened. She wished the invader to succeed, to enter the room, giving her the chance to dispatch him. Then, she would scream the house down.

  Her wish, to begin with, was granted. Her eyes were more accustomed now to the dark, and she could distinguish objects. Now she fancied she could see the iron of the latch outlined against the lighter wood of the door. The latch lifted and the door moved inward, the opening revealed by the appearance of a darker blackness outside. Nell raised her hand, boot heel at the ready. Just another step inside…

  Mullins gurgled and her snores stopped. The intruder froze where he stood, waiting for the maid to fall asleep again. She didn’t. Instead, she opened her eyes and saw the door was slightly open. Without the slightest warning, she emitted a piercing scream.

  The scream startled Nell, and she dropped her boot with a clatter on the floor. The intruder cursed in French and turned to flee. From beyond him came a faint but growing light.

  Someone was coming up the stairs, carrying a lantern … A fellow thief? Nell picked u
p the boot. When the intruder hesitated on the stair landing, the light from below caught his features. Even though they were distorted by the angle of the light, she gasped in recognition.

  “You!” she breathed, but she was sure he did not hear her. He was sensibly intent upon flight.

  Phrynie struggled muzzily from deep slumber and cried out, “What is it, Mullins? For heaven’s sake stop that racket or I’ll send you home at once!”

  Careless of danger, Nell hurried around the door to peer out into the hall, with some vague thought of capturing the intruder. She heard booted footsteps pounding down the stairs, and a confused melee of masculine outcries and thuds at the bottom, where the intruder must have impinged with some force upon the man with the lantern. The thief was out of sight, gone without trace, except for the sour unwashed smell he left behind him, but the lantern holder was racing up the steps to her.

  “Oh, Reeves!” she cried out, recognizing him with relief.

  “What happened?” he demanded. “Did you see anything? Did he get — whatever he came for?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I woke up and he was just opening the door. He —” She stopped short. Was the intruder after the jewels they carried? Surely anyone could have seen Phrynie and her carrying the small cases into the inn and guessed what they held.

  But there was, after all, the attraction the parcel had had for the count. Suddenly she thought she must have imagined the squint-eyed face she thought she recognized. Surely the count’s servant could not have followed them solely for the purpose of stealing the mysterious parcel back.

  And no one here at the inn knew of the parcel. She must be mistaken. The man’s features had been twisted by the flickering light from below, and she had the count’s ménage too recently on her mind. The intruder was — must have been — simply a common thief after their valuables.

  “Of course there was an intruder, Aunt,” said Nell, nettled. “I should hardly have gotten out of bed and stood here in the dark ready to hit him with my boot heel, had there been no reason. Mullins saw him. At least, she saw something.”