The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3)

by Stella Riley

  * * *

  Ashley walked as far as the Place des Vosges and sat on a bench in the gardens. He wished there was somewhere he needed to be, somewhere that would provide a distraction – but there wasn’t. He drew the letter Hyde had given him from his pocket and stared at it. Literally, just that. He’d looked at it so many times already, he knew it off by heart and had already assimilated the few clues it offered – the only useful ones being that it was written in an educated hand and in English. Now, however, he wasn’t even really seeing it, let alone applying his brain. Now the only thought in his head was Athenais.

  The moment he’d walked in and seen d’Auxerre man-handling her, he’d felt a gust of rage stronger than anything he’d ever known. In truth, it had been sheer bloodlust – and how he’d kept his hands off the bastard, he really didn’t know. Everything inside him had screamed at him to rip the man limb from limb and then stamp upon the pieces. And when she’d told him about the dress, he’d wished he had.

  This was bad. What he felt for her wasn’t just a typical male reaction to an exceptionally beautiful woman. It wasn’t simple or mild or transient … and it certainly wasn’t safe. He knew all the reasons that there couldn’t be anything between them. God knew, he’d made all the arguments himself and could recite them to music. But he’d just proved, beyond all doubt, that neither his will-power nor his self-control were to be relied upon when he came within ten feet of her.

  He’d been incredibly stupid. And feeble-minded. And self-indulgent. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He’d known that perfectly well before he did it – and had done it anyway. He’d seen the path their conversation was taking and known what the pitfalls might be. He ought to have made his escape at the point when she asked why he hadn’t kissed her that day in the hall. All he need have done was complete his exit line.

  I feared what Madame Fleury might do to me. As I do again now. Goodbye.

  Hindsight was a marvellous thing. It was a shame one didn’t get it in advance.

  But …

  Yes - exactly. But.

  She’d melted against him and responded to his mouth as if she had waited all her life for him. She’d sighed his name and tangled her fingers in his hair and –

  He hurriedly shut down that train of thought just as his body started to enjoy it. Instead, he attempted to focus on the worst aspect of the whole debacle. He was almost certain that what he felt for her, she – in part, at least – also felt for him. And even if, as yet, her feelings were confused and not quite recognised, she was still going to be hurt when he kept her at arms’ length. As he clearly must.

  So if she’s not to become as besotted with you as you are with her, he told himself, it would be a good idea if you stopped saving her from awkward situations and cuddling her afterwards. Unless you want her to know what real pain feels like.

  * * *

  Since Francis had indeed left his one precious copy of Ménage with Froissart, Athenais was bereft of any distraction other than changing out of her damaged gown. Then she returned to the parlour and sat by the window, waiting for Ashley to come home. To her immense disappointment, he had still not re-appeared by the time she was due to leave for the theatre and so it was Major Langley who escorted both herself and Pauline through the streets.

  If her mind hadn’t been awash with other, more interesting images, she might have been entertained by the dialogue between her two companions.

  ‘Having me play this part is a ridiculous idea,’ grumbled Pauline.

  ‘So you’ve said,’ sighed Francis. ‘Several times.’

  ‘I don’t know why I agreed to it.’

  ‘But you did agree – as has Froissart.’

  ‘And that’s another thing. Was he drunk?’

  ‘No. He just wants the play.’

  ‘Of course he wants the play,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘But he can have it without me.’

  Francis sent her a smug, glancing smile but said nothing.

  Pauline stopped dead and hauled him round to face her.

  ‘You devious sod! You made it a condition, didn’t you? Just as you did with me. Didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. And before you start ranting at me, allow me to inform you that it’s a condition Froissart is extremely happy with.’

  She eyed him explosively for a moment and then looked past his shoulder at Athenais.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing. This is a prime example of what I’ve always told you. Never trust a man. Cunning, conniving devils – every last one of them.’

  ‘But not stupid,’ grinned Athenais. And to Francis, ‘Congratulations. Getting the great Fleury back on stage is quite an achievement.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He bowed slightly and started walking again.

  ‘I’m off for most of the third act. If Froissart allows, can I read this play of yours?’

  ‘Willingly.’

  ‘Tell her she’s not playing the wife,’ said Pauline flatly.

  ‘You’re not playing the wife,’ he informed Athenais obligingly. Then, to Pauline, ‘Aside from the fact that Mademoiselle here is always in demand for meatier roles and my little oeuvre lasts about twenty minutes, why can’t she play the wife?’

  ‘Because it’s perfect for Hortense Roget.’

  Francis looked blank but Athenais said quickly, ‘Hortense? But she’s only any good at … oh. The wife’s a bitch?’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Pauline slanted a glance up at Francis. ‘Do you really know a woman like that?’

  ‘Intimately.’ The sapphire gaze hardened. ‘As it happens, I have the misfortune to be related to two of them.’

  Athenais opened her mouth, then closed it again.

  Pauline had no such scruples. She said, ‘Your sister? Lady Verney?’

  ‘Also my mother, the Dowager Viscountess Wroxton.’ He paused and then added, ‘You heard what d’Auxerre said, Athenais – and it was true. My lady mother awards her favours frequently and entirely without discrimination. As for Celia … she isn’t married to Verney. She’s married to a man who was once my closest friend – and who is still very much alive.’ This time the pause was accompanied by a small, crooked smile. ‘Every family has its skeletons, you see. And mine, you will understand, cause me to view marriage with a very jaundiced eye.’

  * * *

  At around the time Francis was escorting Athenais and Pauline to the theatre, Colonel Peverell paid a visit to the tavern from which Jem was watching Lucy Walter’s house.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Ashley.

  ‘Nothing new. The flash cove from Brussels was there till an hour ago – and the beau-trap with the yellow hair and the earring paid a call around noon.’ Jem yawned. ‘It’d help if we knew what we was looking for.’

  ‘That is indisputably true. In the meantime, there was some trouble at our lodging earlier.’

  Jem listened to a succinct version of the Marquis d’Auxerre’s intrusion, then said, ‘And you didn’t slit his gizzard?’

  ‘Not this time.’

  Recognising what lay behind both eyes and voice, Jem nodded without any particular surprise. He knew – as he suspected Major Langley still did not – that behind the façade of Colonel Ashley Peverell lay The Falcon. And The Falcon was a different person altogether; a man extremely familiar with shadowy places and ruthless deeds. He said, ‘Ah. Well, if he ends up as pie-meat, it’ll be his own choice then.’

  ‘My view exactly.’ Ashley stood up. ‘Do you want me to take over for the evening?’

  ‘Nah. It’s restful enough sitting here. And the serving wench has promised me supper. I reckon I’ll bide a few more hours yet. And you needn’t fret, Cap – Colonel. I ain’t cupshot – nor likely to be. Not while I’m on watch.’

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it.’

  Jem grunted and then said, ‘Don’t look now – but the lady’s at the open window on the left. Could be wrong, of course – but I reckon she’s got her eye on you.’

  ‘One would hope not �
�� but let’s see if you’re right.’ Replacing his hat, Ashley turned to leave, murmuring, ‘If she turns to watch, give me a nod when I reach the corner.’ And he strolled away.

  At the end of the street, he paused as if deciding on his direction and glanced briefly over his shoulder. Jem nodded. He was also grinning, damn him.

  Ashley turned left, out of sight of Lucy Walter’s window. If she was indeed watching him watching her, either he’d been unforgivably careless or she was brighter than Charles had suggested. Whichever it was, he had no alternative but to leave all future surveillance to Jem.

  The sky was growing darker now and he wasn’t in any particular hurry as he zig-zagged his way through the narrow streets that led back to the Marais district. Having dragged his thoughts away from Athenais, he focussed his mind on Lucy Walter and the problem of how he was going to proceed if the next couple of days continued to produce as little useful information as the last few had done. He had no idea who he was looking for – an individual, a conspiracy or simply a thwarted lover. He also suspected that neither Charles nor Hyde had told him everything. The result was a time-consuming mess that he could well do without but which he couldn’t just wash his hands of.

  He was somewhere near the head of the Rue Simon when he realised that he was being followed. In one sense, this was mildly annoying. In another, it offered the possibility of working off some of his frustrations. He swung round a corner into the dim recesses of a gateway and retrieved the slim blade he kept in his boot. He was wearing his sword, of course … but, if it came to a fight, that wasn’t the kind he wanted.

  He stepped out again into the road and the light of someone’s window. He walked on, silently now – and the footsteps followed him. They were very light and belonged to only one person. Ashley relaxed. It was almost certainly a thief – but a very foolish one who thought to rob an armed man. D’Auxerre couldn’t know where to find him now and, so far as he was aware, no one else had any reason to dog his footsteps. He mentally rifled through the various lanes and alleyways between the Rue Simon and the Rue des Rosiers and, having chosen the one that would suit both himself and a potential footpad best, he strolled on.

  The point he’d selected came and went while his shadow remained just that – far enough back to keep him in sight but never close enough to be recognised.

  At the foot of the steps of number sixteen, Ashley paused and waited.

  At the nearest corner, the shadow also paused and watched.

  So. Not a thief, he thought. Taking his time about it, he replaced the knife in his boot – sending a clear message to the shadow at the corner and causing it to melt away like smoke. Nor an assassin, either. Something else, then. But what?

  Inside the house, he found Archie sitting just inside the kitchen from a place where he could see the hall. A hefty billet lay on the table beside him. As soon as Ashley appeared, he stood to attention and said, ‘All’s quiet, Colonel. And the Major’s on escort duty.’

  Ashley suppressed an involuntary grin. Archie was plainly taking his new status very seriously. All it needed was a salute. He said, ‘Thank you, Sergeant. The ladies aren’t back yet, then?’

  ‘No, sir. Another hour it’ll be.’ He paused and then, a shade uncertainly, said, ‘Got some mutton stew on the hob – if you should happen to fancy a bite.’

  Tossing his hat and gloves down on the table, Ashley said he’d be delighted and was about to take a seat when his glance strayed to the hall and he noticed something that hadn’t been there before. A folded piece of paper which had apparently been slipped under the door.

  He walked over, picked it up and opened it out.

  Monsieur,

  I believe we may have met. If you would care to renew our acquaintance, you may call tomorrow at two in the afternoon.

  Yrs.

  Lucy Walter

  Ashley was suddenly gripped with sardonic laughter. He’d been followed home because the woman wanted to send him an invitation. The only question was … an invitation to explain why he was watching her house or, given her reputation, to something very different indeed.

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  EIGHT

  Any hopes Athenais had entertained about her future relationship with Colonel Peverell were soon dashed. In the days leading to the final week of rehearsal for Mariamne, he retreated behind a wall of impenetrable courtesy. He was perfectly pleasant and appeared utterly relaxed. He didn’t openly avoid her but he made sure they were never alone. And when she tried to thank him for setting her father on the trail of long-lost sobriety, he merely replied that Archie was the one most deserving of congratulation. Within forty-eight hours, Athenais wanted to hit him.

  Occasionally catching a certain gleam in her eyes, Ashley was perfectly well-aware that his love was both confused and irritated – and equally well-aware that there was nothing he could do about it. As for his billet-doux from Lucy Walter, he decided that it would be stupid to visit her at a time of her choosing when he didn’t know what she wanted or who might be lying in wait. Consequently, he let the matter lie for three days until Jem – who was finding the potential situation a lot funnier than Ashley thought necessary – assured him that the lady was free of other callers.

  ‘She’s after your body, you lucky bugger,’ grinned Jem. ‘But if you ain’t up for it, I’ll be ready and willing to help you out.’

  ‘Shut up,’ muttered Ashley. ‘I’m only doing this in case it becomes necessary to do a little house-breaking. So keep your witticisms to yourself and your eyes peeled for other visitors.’

  Luckily, the maidservant who admitted him wasn’t the one he’d bribed to tell him which rooms belonged to Mistress Walter. And then the lady herself was rising from her chair to greet him with a mixture of flirtation and reproof.

  ‘Well, Monsieur. I had quite given you up,’ she said in passable but not very fluent French. ‘Did I not invite you some days ago?’

  ‘A thousand pardons, Madame.’ Deciding to find out whether or not she knew his nationality, Ashley answered her in the same language. ‘I was desolate to disappoint you but, sadly, I was unavoidably detained on that day.’ With an elegant bow, he offered the small posy he’d bought from a street-seller. ‘I can only hope you’ll forgive me.’

  Lucy accepted the flowers with a slight inclination of her head and a coquettish smile. ‘Perhaps I may do so, sir. But first you must give me your name. I am convinced that we have met before – but I am at a loss to recall when and where.’

  Concluding that she wouldn’t be struggling on in French if she knew he was English, Ashley switched languages and said, ‘Colonel Ashley Peverell, Madame – and entirely at your service. As for a previous meeting … I believe it was some time ago at the Louvre. And to my everlasting sorrow, we were never formally introduced.’

  ‘Oh.’ For an instant, she looked completely nonplussed. ‘You’re English. I – I hadn’t realised. A member of the court-in-exile, I suppose?’

  He shrugged. ‘A mere hanger-on to the fringes, I’m afraid. Impoverished ex-soldiers are in plentiful supply and of no great use at present.’

  Relief crossed her face.

  ‘So you aren’t closely-acquainted with the King?’

  ‘Barely at all,’ he lied. And, summoning the kind of smile that usually softened even the stiffest female backbone, added, ‘Of course, I am aware that you have the inestimable distinction of being the mother of His Majesty’s son. I hope young James is well?’

  ‘Perfectly well – and being cared for in Rotterdam.’ She took a chair by the hearth and indicated that Ashley should take the one facing it. ‘You must think me very forward, Colonel. But I truly thought --’

  ‘Please!’ he said earnestly. ‘I am immeasurably honoured to be here and to be meeting you in person at last. It isn’t an opportunity for which I’d ever dared hope.’

  Her answering smile was a masterpiece of discreet invitation.

  ‘Then I shall ask my girl to bring wine so that we may becom
e better acquainted.’

  Rising, she opened the door and called to her maid. Ashley used the time to conduct a swift appraisal of the room. It might have been elegant had it not been for the plethora of assorted knick-knacks that littered every available surface – presumably gifts from besotted admirers. However, the only item of furniture that interested him was a small table-top writing desk with the usual lockable cavity for correspondence. One look at the key-hole was enough to tell him that opening it would be the work of less than two minutes.

  Then Lucy was back and sinking gracefully into her chair. Ashley reflected that you couldn’t really blame Charles. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman. It was little wonder she had fellows tripping over themselves for a taste of her favours. Long-lashed eyes of vivid blue, clouds of glossy raven hair and a mouth that would tempt a saint. If his own heart hadn’t lain elsewhere, it might even have tempted him. As it was, he sincerely hoped she wasn’t expecting him to do more than kiss her hand.

  They drank wine and she asked him about himself – though he suspected she wasn’t especially interested which made it easy to keep his replies both vague and brief. A little later, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief, she revealed that she did not dare have her darling boy to live with her in Paris as she was convinced that the King would kidnap him.

  ‘Since our ways have parted,’ she finished sorrowfully, ‘Charles has not been kind, you know. I truly believe that he would take our son from me if he could.’

  Ashley thought that might well be true. Lucy’s lovers and her habit of enacting embarrassing scenes didn’t exactly make her the ideal mother. And though young James might have been born on the wrong side of the blanket, it was a royal blanket.

  Ashley sympathised and flattered and gave every appearance of being wholly dazzled. And when he rose to leave, found himself being offered her hands, her cheek and a further invitation to take supper with her one evening. He did his duty by the first two and side-stepped the last by pleading business that would once again take him from Paris for an indeterminate length of time.