Vidal's Honor

by Sherry Gloag

  Chapter Fifteen

  “What do you suppose that is all about?” Juan came to stand beside Vidal at the museum window. “It seems whatever they are discussing is seriously absorbing.”

  Shaking with anger Vidal swung round only to find his way obstructed by the Spaniard.

  “Stay awhile and let us discover how this plays out. I would hate to think, just when I have finally begun to trust the woman she lets us down.”

  Reluctantly Vidal acknowledged the sense in Juan’s words and retraced his steps to watch Dumas, his head close to Honor’s, talking urgently. Even from this distance he discovered he could read her emotions, and they were mixed. One moment they were laughing, the next earnest, and if he hadn’t known better there was a beat of time when the conversation turned emotional.

  “What is he doing now?” Juan’s protest almost burst his ear drums.

  Their host removed a chain from round his neck and draped it over Honor’s bowed head. He caught a flash of green and gold in the sunlight. The wrong shape for a pendent, he decided, and concentrated on the item before it disappeared beneath the neckline of Honor’s dress. Gold on a chain had to be something round. A ring? And the green? That could be anything from green glass to an emerald. Whatever the stone, Vidal acknowledged it had to be sizeable for him to see it from his vantage point. Why, he asked himself, would Dumas give Honor a ring? And knowing only the best would do for the man, he assumed the green represented an emerald.

  “Devil-a-bit, I won’t have him adorning the woman’s neck with jewellery in public. Get out of my way.” Vidal pushed Juan back, but still the Spaniard managed to block his exit from the museum.

  “He does not touch her. If they were lovers he would at least take her hand after giving her a treasure.”

  “How do you know it is a treasure? We are too far away to see the detail. But believe me, I will get to the bottom of this.”

  “You are not thinking. We were all but ordered to stay away for more than an hour. We have been here but twenty minutes. You cannot go storming onto the square and create a scene, especially when we are not even supposed to be in France. Where have your brains gone?” He stepped back and glanced out of the window again. “They are making for Consuela. If Dumas has done anything to your lady, I’d say he’s made her sad. Look how her shoulders droop, and she drags behind him.”

  She did indeed. Why would a woman be unhappy when given what looked like an expensive piece of jewellery? He’d seen the glint of sunlight on the thick gold chain, and the pendant? No, he hadn’t had a clear look at that. And now he studied her more closely there was no evidence of the chain round her neck. When he’d presented his light-o-loves with a trinket they’d exhibited it with pride.

  Below them Honor joined a vivacious Consuela talking with Gervaise. While he displayed his usual charm, Vidal was pleased to see Honor stood to one side of them without joining in the discussion. When she looked round and up at the museum windows her gaze locked on him, drawing him closer to the glass. Something in her stance—

  Vidal never turned when Juan laid a hand on his shoulder. “This may sound daft, but she’s calling for me. She needs me.”

  This time Juan didn’t stand in his way when Vidal headed for the exit. Instead the Spaniard drew closer to the window, and after a few minutes, saw the English lord cross the square to join Honor. He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Vidal tucking Honor’s hand into the crook of his arm before following Consuela and le duc into the building.

  * * * *

  “Ah, my lord.”

  If he didn’t know better, Vidal would have sworn Dumas was laughing at him.

  “So dependable, for which I can only be grateful. Although this is not the place, I hope you will find time to offer some advice to Lady Beaumont that I am unable to bestow.”

  Le duc’s penetrating stare, more than anything, prevented the cynical retort hovering on Vidal’s lips. “But of course,” he said, gave a low bow, and made his way to Honor’s side. “Have you been to Bordeaux before?” he asked, unable to work out how to bring the conversation round to le duc’s comment about offering advice.

  His blood thrummed through his body when Honor shook her head and leaned into his arm. “Are you tired? It’s not that long since your tumble down the mountainside.”

  “While you may be forgiven for thinking me an accident-jack, or should I say ‘Jill’, I assure you I am not normally so clumsy. I have it on very good authority I am a surprisingly level headed woman.’” Her gurgle of laughter arrowed straight to his heart.

  “And whose good authority would that be?”

  “Why, the Earl of Wellington, of course.” The merriment died from her eyes and her chin wobbled.

  “What is it, Honor? Have I said something to distress you?” He wanted to take her in his arms, wanted to caress the sadness off her face. No, he wanted to kiss her until she melted against him and forgot what had caused the sparkle to fade from her eyes.

  “It is nought. Only something the earl said the night before…”

  “Oh, my dear, I—“

  “Honor, come quickly, pray hurry and look at what monsieur has bought for me.” Consuela held up an exquisite shawl edged with lace. “Do you not think it beautiful?”

  “Indeed I do. And the colours match your eyes.”

  With a silent curse at the interruption, Vidal looked across at the Spanish woman and accepted the truth of Honor’s compliment. The russet and gold in the shawl blended with Consuela’s rich coffee-coloured eyes.

  “What is this?” Juan joined the group and fingered the wrap. “And where did you come across such a fine wrap?”

  “Le duc.” Consuela danced in a circle, brandishing the shawl over her head. “It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had.”

  “And I do hope your compatriot does not intend to call me out over it,” Gervaise Dumas said, throwing a wry grin in Juan’s direction. “I had no notion you would be so delighted over a small trifle.”

  “Do not say such things, it is beautiful. I will keep it always.”

  While she didn’t say, "and remember you", everyone in the group heard the words.

  Gervaise held up a hand and waited until he had everyone’s attention. “While I know it will go against — what do you say in England — the grain — is that it? I think before we go much further it would be prudent, if we are not to call attention to ourselves, for you all to have a new wardrobe.”

  Vidal soon understood the truth in their host’s words. While no one openly gaped at them, several people cast surreptitious glances in their direction.

  “Indeed you cannot travel through France looking like a bunch of cut-throats, nor can you arrive in England dressed as you are.”

  Vidal was reminded of an excited schoolboy when Dumas clapped his hands together. “It will be my pleasure to outfit you all.”

  “Why would you do this for us?” Honor stepped away from his side and laid her hand on Gervaise’s arm.

  “You need to ask me this?”

  Unable to detect either banter or scorn in the Frenchman’s tone Vidal restrained himself from interfering.

  “Yes.” Honor nodded, all the while maintaining eye contact with Dumas. “Yes, and so do the others.” With an arcing sweep of her arm she indicated her companions.

  He looked towards them and offered a twist of a smile. “I could say it would amuse me, but Lady Beaumont here would not allow me to pass it off as so.” He removed her hand from his arm and wrapped his fingers round them.

  “I have just informed Lady Beaumont that it has come to my attention that my work in England has been uncovered.”

  When silence greeted his statement, he sighed and went on. “I too have been betrayed, and much as I love my life in England, if I returned, Tyburn would be my next stop. I have already told Lady Beaumont, I will not be there to wave you on your way across the channel, and it is possible I may not be in a position to escort you the whole way across France.”


  “I find this sudden turn-around difficult to accept.” Juan’s disbelief and suspicion equalled Vidal’s own. Consuela clutched her new shawl closer to her, and Honor — before Vidal could determine her emotions Dumas spoke again.

  “I have done what I can to ensure your safety, including my desire to replace your wardrobe. It will allow you to blend in with those you will encounter on your journey to the English Channel. And I have furnished Lady Beaumont with an item of identification in the likely-hood I will not be with you when you reach the coast.”

  Was that what he and Juan had witnessed from the museum window? When Vidal caught Honor’s attention, his raised eyebrow evoked a solitary nod. He stepped forward to stand beside her.

  “Are you endangering you own position by escorting us?”

  Le duc’s single shoulder lift said it all.

  “Then we will accept your generous offer to refurbish our wardrobes.”

  An hour later, no amount of protests from any of them had stopped their host from lavishly implementing his latest objective. When the women hesitated over a choice of fashion, he stepped up and offered his opinion, and, Vidal decided, the man had good taste.

  When Consuela picked out a salmon pink satin gown, one frown from Gervaise guaranteed she rejected it without protest. Nor did he know how the Frenchman fully equipped both women, himself, and Juan in so short a space of time. The approaching dusk found two of le duc’s lackeys loaded with their purchases and conveying them to the coach.

  “This has been fun,” Gervaise declared at last, “but we must resume our journey if we are to reach our lodgings tonight.”

  A brief request from the ladies for a lemonade held them up for fifteen more minutes before they set off in the gathering darkness.

  And Vidal hadn’t managed a minute alone with Honor to discover what other information the Frenchman had shared with her.

  * * * *

  “Look.”

  Honor’s grin stole Vidal’s breath and for a moment all he wanted to do was look at her.

  “Concentrate, Vidal.” Impatience flicked through her eyes and disappeared.

  “What? What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “Do pay attention to the people in the inn.”

  “What about them? They have no interest in us. Pray, tell me what am I looking at?”

  “There, I knew you would see what I mean.”

  Becoming more confused by Honor’s unexplained excitement, Vidal studied the occupants of the bar while they waited for the landlord to escort them to the private parlour set aside for them, before enlightenment hit him. “They are not noticing us. We are just another set of travellers.”

  “It seems monsieur Dumas was correct.”

  “So it does, and I wonder,” he added as they stepped into the private parlour to see Dumas talking to a stranger, “what else he is arranging on our behalf.”

  Offering a nod upon their arrival, the Frenchman resumed his conversation with his companion.

  “Do you know the man with Dumas?” asked Vidal.

  “I am sure I have seen him recently, but do not know who he is.” Honor studied the stranger through narrowed eyes, and the way she tilted her head on one side reminded Vidal of his hounds waiting for the command to "run" before the hunt. “I have it.” With a sharp glance at the newcomer Honor moved to the window furthest away from the others. “I do believe he was in the square this afternoon.”

  “I don’t remember seeing him.”

  “You would not, for it was while you were in the museum. Monsieur Dumas wished to talk with me, and—“ She huffed when he grabbed her arm. “Do not let your wits go a-begging, Vidal, he particularly asked me to talk with you when we had a moment. And if you remember I did try this afternoon, until we were disturbed.”

  When he looked across the room it was to see both men watching them intently. “Has Lady Beaumont had a chance to call upon your advice yet Vidal?” Dumas crossed the room to join them.

  “She has not.”

  “Then, it befalls me to expand on the little I told you earlier.” Dumas guided Honor to a chair near the fire. “I do hope your room is to your satisfaction, my lady.”

  She offered the Frenchman a smile of approval. “Thank you, you are most kind and we have received every attention.”

  “Good, good. Now my lord…” Le duc reached for a straight-backed chair and pulled it up beside Honor’s, his attention still on Vidal. “I will be brief for I prefer to keep this between these four walls before we are interrupted again. The late and unlamented Lord Beaumont — I refer to Lady Beaumont’s brother-in-law, you understand?”

  With a nod, Vidal waited for Dumas to resume.

  “As I told my lady this afternoon, he betrayed me too, which means my plans to escort you to the Channel coast must be forfeited if I wish to remain alive. Therefore, I have commended Jacques here to take my place as your escort. And I can assure you, you can trust him, for his life too is on the line if you do not reach your destination safely.”

  As Honor stepped closer to le duc, Vidal wasn’t the only one to register the resentment in the newcomer’s eyes, he noted. “Then I must thank you for seeing to our safety and introducing us to your replacement. Does this mean you go no farther with us?”

  “Sadly, I’m afraid it does, for I find myself faced with a quandary. You must understand I cannot go south. It is impossible for me to go west. And I will end up at Tyburn if I go north. Therefore I must go east.

  “Forgive Jacques his nervousness. He is concerned I insist on staying long enough to join in a last meal with you. He wants me to leave immediately.”

  “I share your concern.” Vidal bowed to the newcomer with a polite smile. “I have known monsieur many years, and while circumstances divide our loyalties, I can respect your employer’s aspirations.”

  Vidal identified every emotion that flitted across Jacques’ face and waited for him to come to a conclusion.

  Brief as Jacque’s comment was, when it came, all three men understood the implications behind it and the tension in the room decreased. “I will do as you say.”

  “Some wine, my lady?” Dumas crossed to the side board, poured some golden liquid into a glass, and brought it to her.

  “Thank you.”

  A shout beyond the window and a clatter of horses' hooves brought Dumas to his feet, his startled glance honing in on Jacques.

  “It seems I am to be denied my wish to stay and dine with you. Come Jacques, you cannot be seen with my friends.”

  He bowed over Honor’s hand and was gone, and his satellite with him.

  “Well that was a short term of office, to be sure.” Honor set her glass on the table in the middle of the room. “And I take it, this means our journey to the coast has come to an end. I hope Juan and Consuela do not come downstairs.”

  The colour had drained from Honor’s face and he heard the fear in her voice.

  “Do you trust me, Honor?”

  It seemed an age before she nodded, her gaze fixed on his all the while. “Yes, I trust you.”

  “Good.” He reached for her and pulled her up against his chest and brought his lips down hard on hers. When she stiffened in his arms, he lifted his head. “You must trust me if we are to come about,” he whispered. “Relax.”

  The feel of her arms linking behind his neck, and her lips opening beneath his, almost distracted him from their purpose. He failed to prevent the moan from escaping when she pressed the softness of her breasts against his chest. Only the door bursting open prevented him from revealing his unrequited love for the woman in his arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Still held in his tight embrace, Honor listened in astonishment as Vidal castigated the intruders in fluent French for their untimely interruption.

  “We beg a thousand pardons,” the leader offered, “but we are searching for a traitor and were told he was here.”

  “Well unless he is hidden in a cupboard—“ Vidal let his glance roam
round the intricately carved wooden panelled walls of the room — he is not here.”

  “When did you arrive?”

  Honor hid a smile in Vidal’s chest as doubt riddled the interrogator’s voice.

  “My bride and I arrived —.” He made a display of digging out his watch, “— about two hours ago.”

  One of the men standing behind the speaker and just beyond the door leaned forward and whispered in his leader’s ear.

  The speaker’s eyes sharpened and he stepped forward. “What if I told you, you were seen in Bordeaux this afternoon?”

  “I suppose it’s possible.” Vidal put his arm round Honor’s shoulder and pulled her even closer to him. Her insides trembled, and she knew the heat spiralling within her had reached her face. Embarrassment added fuel to her sudden longing, and guilt added to her discomfort. How could Vidal’s kisses create such a storm of need? And at a critical moment when they were in danger of being exposed as English travelling through an enemy country?

  “My dear.” Vidal’s finger beneath her chin brought her head up until her eyes met his. A look, strong, demanding and yet full of an understanding that added to her confusion unsettled her further. “The chief of gendarme is asking you if you have seen the man they are looking for?”

  “Man?” She dimpled at the official, who she suspected was more likely a soldier than a gendarme. “I have eyes only for my husband.”

  “Perhaps I can jog your memory?” Their interrogator prompted with a predatory smile.

  Her fear set her heart thumping against her chest. What had she missed while daydreaming about her reaction to Vidal’s kisses?

  “I think he means the man who stopped us in Bordeaux and asked for directions.”

  “Oh, I see.” She let herself give in to her longing to touch Vidal’s face, and trailed her finger down his cheek, hiding a smile when his eyes darkened with desire. “He was not as tall as my husband, more slender I think, and his hair was darker.