Sitting back on the hard, stone floor, she delved into her canvas bag and brought out the water bottle and the napkin in which she had wrapped her cold meal from Braithwaite Castle. She unfolded it, pushed it across the floor to the wounded man, and set the water bottle beside it.
Throughout it all, he watched her in silence. He hadn’t even spoken to her. But, isolated in the warm glow of the fire, the scene was strangely intimate. The firelight flickered across his face, lending it a hard, almost dangerous look. That, she had expected. And yet she wasn’t afraid.
He was, after all, weaker than a kitten.
He stirred, and spoke for the first time, his voice quiet and slightly hoarse. “Do you know who I am?” His English was perfect, although his accent was unmistakably French. Which was as well. She’d have hated to have gone to all this trouble if he wasn’t the escaped prisoner. Indeed, she could not be sure the man who’d escaped the fort was the same man she’d come to Cumberland for, but it seemed likely.
“Of course not,” she said wryly. “We have not been introduced.”
His lips quirked with a hint of tired amusement. “Then you really are English.”
“Did you imagine I travelled from France on the faint chance that I could save you?”
His eyes remained steady, giving nothing away. “There are many reasons to travel from France.”
“And back again. They’re looking for you all along the coast.”
The news did not appear to surprise him.
Anna smiled. “That was your plan, was it not? To hide here, close to the fort while they scour the ports until they’re forced to give up and admit you eluded them?”
“Something like that.”
“I imagine you even led them in that direction before you doubled back.”
He smiled faintly. “You have a good imagination. Aren’t you afraid to be alone with such a devious enemy?”
“Not until you’ve regained some strength by eating, drinking, and sleeping.”
He leaned forward without obvious effort and snagged the water bottle. He took a long drink, then replaced the stopper and reached for the crumbling but still dainty pie. “Why are you helping me?”
She shrugged. “You appear to need it.”
“You know I’m French. You know I escaped from the fort.”
“The war is nearly over. Besides, I have family and friends in our own army and navy. I hope some French man or woman would be kind to them in similar circumstances.”
He swallowed his pie and picked up all the cold meat together in his fingers. “But the circumstances are odd,” he pointed out. “You are riding in the woods alone, in the dark. With bandages, blankets, and an al fresco supper.”
“Tea, actually,” she corrected. “I brought it with me and got lost. I haven’t been in the area very long. In fact, I only arrived today.”
“Why?” he asked and bit a huge chunk out of the meat. He might have been trying to look savage. Or he might just have been ravenous. She doubted he had eaten in two days.
“Visiting my brother.”
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Anna.”
He regarded her as he raised the water bottle to his lips once more. “Just Anna?”
“I think so. My family would not approve.”
He nodded and drank.
But she would not let him away with silence. “And your name?” she prompted.
“Don’t you know?”
She shrugged. “No. No one told me. The excitement is all in your being French and escaping. No one cares about your name.”
His lips curved before he pushed a whole handful of nuts and dried fruit into his mouth.
“Louis,” he said, when they were gone.
So, he was not admitting to being Captain Armand L’Étrange. Had he plucked the name Louis from the air? No one appeared to know the Christian name of Colonel Delon.
“Just Louis?” she mocked.
“I think so. Will you tell them?”
She blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Who?”
“Your family. The soldiers, guards, magistrates, whoever is looking for me.”
She looked away from him into the flames. “The war is ending. I don’t want anyone to suffer more.”
“What a noble sentiment,” he mocked, though he seemed to be deriding himself rather than her. Which was interesting.
“I won’t tell,” she said. “If you promise to stay hidden and not to hurt any of my countrymen.”
“I can’t stay hidden forever,” he pointed out. “Neither can I promise not to defend myself. However…” He waved a deprecating hand over his person. “I’m not exactly capable of a great deal of violence right now. An average puppy could bring me down without a scratch on him.”
She thought that wasn’t so far from the truth. But at least he had stopped shaking, and the food had nearly all vanished.
“I’ll bring you more tomorrow,” she promised. “Can you put more wood on the fire when it burns down?”
“Of course. You brought plenty inside. You are something of a puzzle, Miss Anna.”
“I am?”
“You speak like an English lady of quality, but you sew up wounds like a surgeon and build fires like a servant.”
So, he had been aware of everything. She smiled wryly. “I had an odd upbringing. Perhaps I shall tell you about it tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
She allowed a trace of regret into her voice. “Because I have to go home. And because you have to sleep and heal.”
She began to rise, but he moved suddenly, leaning forward and catching her hand. There was no time to steel herself. His bare skin touched hers and she could not prevent her flinch. There was an instant of confusion when the physical revulsion did not strike, when the intense, ugly memories kept their distance. Instead, it was his presence which rolled over her, vital and compelling, rooting her to the spot.
And then he dropped her hand. “Forgive me, mademoiselle. I meant only to say thank you.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said hastily. But it was too late. She’d seen the flash of curiosity in his face “I merely want you to take care not to reopen your wounds. Please do not even try to get up.” She stood, swinging her cloak back around her and reaching for the lantern. She set a spare candle on the hearth. “Take care. I promise I shall return tomorrow.”
He inclined his head, with tired humor. He was no longer hiding the pain that tightened his mouth and tugged down his brow. Perhaps he couldn’t. “Goodbye, Miss Anna.”
“Au revoir, Monsieur Louis.”
As she flitted out of the hut, she was now the one who trembled, and she had no idea why.
*
There were many reasons Louis Delon did not want her to go. Not least of them was that he could not remember ever having seen anyone or anything more beautiful.
Perhaps it was the moonlight or the firelight, but the soft glow of her creamy skin and the gleam of her raven black hair seemed to accentuate the refined beauty of her face. And even the old-fashioned, loose-fitting riding habit could not hide her delicious figure. Almost delirious with pain, blood loss and hunger, it was no wonder he thought she resembled an angel.
Only he doubted she was. Her appearance had been far too opportune, too unlikely. She had known he was the escaped prisoner from the fort, yet she hadn’t been remotely frightened as she had helped him. Or at least, not until he’d touched her.
That was the moment her veil had dropped, revealing, if only for an instant, darkness, horror, and terror. He might have imagined it, only he had seen that look before, in young soldiers after battle, in women and children who had got in the way of a rampaging army. It was more unexpected in a supposedly genteel English lady, which served to increase his curiosity.
He wanted her to stay and tell him the story of her life. He wanted to admire the grace and efficiency of her movements, keep her close for weak reasons of simple human comfort.
He wanted to learn who she was and make her spill her secrets. He wanted to watch the expressions flit across her face, to make her laugh while they sharpened their wits on each other. He had no idea who she was, or what danger she presented. But he did recognize a fellow spirit.
And so, he let her go.
And when he heard the soft thud of her horse’s hooves as she rode away, he was sorry. She had been kind and whatever she had put on his wounds seemed to have taken the edge off his pain. She gave him something to think about other than vengeance.
Inevitably, the cold fury began to rise, bringing with it, the visions of those men and women, his people, whom Gosselin had sent to their deaths simply to gain favor and power. His power. Louis had been unforgivably slow. He had not suspected such massive betrayal from his lieutenant. For when it mattered, it was Colonel Louis Delon who kept France safe, who plugged the leaks created by the Emperor Napoleon’s policies and actions.
He had known his power was considered dangerous to others, to the disgraced Fouché and Talleyrand and even the emperor himself. He had known his days were numbered. But he had never expected Gosselin to go after his people. That was unforgivably stupid, short-sighted, and dangerous. To say nothing of cruel and inhuman.
For a moment, the agony swamped him again. The faces of Marguerite and her son, and all those others arrested, executed, or betrayed deliberately to the enemy, swam through his mind, accusing, shaming. Brave men and women of various ages and places in life, who had risked far more than Gosselin ever would, to save France from its ever-growing number of enemies. Marguerite and Jean most of all. They had trusted him, and he had failed to save them from his own over-ambitious underling, Gosselin.
Gosselin, you will die, he promised as he had every night for ten months. His visions of the betrayed slid away into the back of his mind, until he was left only with the dark beauty of the English girl who had undoubtedly saved his life. Anna.
Warm at last, fed and almost comfortable, he knew he would drift quickly into sleep.
And he knew that he would see her again.
*
“I’m glad Anna is here,” Serena said to her husband the next morning as he brushed out her hair. It was a duty he had taken over from her maid, although he was not so good at dressing or styling it. He seemed, mostly, to enjoy winding it through his fingers. “Only I don’t think she likes me.”
Tamar shrugged. “Anna doesn’t like anyone very much. Except Christianne.”
“Then why did she come here?”
“Curiosity, probably. And perhaps Christianne’s husband made it difficult for her to stay there. It’s probably quite unsettling to have someone in his house who looks so much like his wife and yet is so unlike her in character. Besides, he’s probably jealous. The twins have always been close.” He laid down the brush and gave her hair a gentle tug until she turned up her face and he could kiss her. “She’ll grow less prickly in time. Just leave her be and you’ll find she’s actually quite fun company when she chooses. Come on, let’s go to breakfast and see if she’s up yet.”
Lady Anna proved to be not only up but eating breakfast while being entertained by Serena’s young sisters. Serena had expected her to be bored or even irritated in such company. But in fact, she was laughing at something Alice had said, and didn’t seem to mind when Helen commanded her attention by simply calling her name.
“Why didn’t you tell us you had such a good sister?” Alice demanded when Tamar and Serena entered the breakfast room.
“I never said she was a bad sister,” Tamar objected. “In fact, I have no objections at all to my sisters. It’s my brothers who are awful.”
“Thank you for such fulsome praise,” Anna said wryly.
Serena, finding a letter from her mother by her place at the table, sighed and sat down to break the seal.
“What is Mama saying?” Maria asked. “Is she still outraged by Miss Grey having the temerity to marry Mr. Benedict?”
“Oh, no, she isn’t outraged, exactly,” Serena said. “Merely inconvenienced. It must be infuriating to have one’s forgiveness proved un-necessary. My mother dismissed the girls’ governess,” she explained briefly to Anna, “over something that was quite unfair and untrue. And by the time she’d come to realize this and wrote our Miss Grey a very handsome letter of apology, appealing to her to come back to us, Miss Grey had married our neighbor!”
“Most galling for her,” Anna said, faintly amused.
“Well, I think it was. Plus, she does not like people stepping out of their station. The girls now go up to Haven Hall three days a week to be taught by the new Mrs. Benedict…” She broke off, frowning. “Actually, they probably shouldn’t go until this prisoner is recaptured.”
“I doubt they’d be in any danger,” Tamar said, heaping his plate with ham and eggs. “Haven Hall is inland, and I can’t imagine this fellow would draw attention to himself by attacking a carriage full of schoolroom misses. But, if you’re worried, I’ll go with them. Better still, send Jem or one of the footmen, armed to the teeth.”
“We could,” Serena said doubtfully, spreading open her letter. “Perhaps he was even recaptured last night. Do we know who he is? What kind of a man he is?”
“Infantry captain,” Tamar said, taking his place opposite the girls. “L’Étrange. Armand L’Étrange. A gentleman, apparently, who had accepted his captivity with grace. So why he didn’t just stick it out for another few weeks until the war finally ends…”
“Perhaps he had bad news from home,” Serena speculated. “Or he’d just had enough and snapped. After all, does anyone really accept captivity?”
Anna cast her a curious glance, as though reassessing her, though Serena doubted it would be in her favor. Hastily, she turned her attention to the letter and read her mother’s latest instructions. “Oh, for the love of—Just when we were comfortable again!”
“What?” Maria demanded.
“Mama has engaged a new governess for you and she is arriving tomorrow. Mrs. Elphinstone.”
“But we like Miss Grey!” Maria objected. “I mean, Mrs. Benedict.”
“I know,” Serena said ruefully. “But you must admit it isn’t convenient when she is at Haven Hall. And you may like Mrs. Elphinstone excessively.”
“We won’t,” Helen said flatly.
“It’s also possible that Mrs. Benedict no longer wishes to teach, now she is mistress of Haven Hall. I suspect she is merely being kind to us. Anyhow, Mama has spoken and we must make the best of it.” Turning to Anna with something close to relief, she asked, “What would you like to do today? We have some charming countryside and Blackhaven is a pleasant town, although quiet at this season…”
“Please don’t feel the need to look after me,” Anna replied at once. “I arrived uninvited and am quite happy to look after myself. In fact, I prefer not to disturb you.”
“Well, if you enjoy parties, there is a musical evening at the vicarage tonight and on Friday, there is a masquerade at the town assembly rooms.”
“A masquerade?” Anna repeated, apparently amused. “How very decadent!”
“Well, it won’t be, since it is sponsored by the vicar’s wife and Mrs. Winslow,” Serena said frankly. “But it did seem a harmless form of fun leading up to Christmas. We can easily find you a mask and domino cloak. Also, if you can sing or play at all, please come to the musical evening or it is likely to be torture.”
“That isn’t encouraging,” Anna pointed out.
“It raises funds for the vicar’s charities,” Serena said apologetically. “His wife holds them every so often and besides, it lets the young ladies practice their accomplishments somewhere unthreatening.”
“I could threaten them if it would help,” Anna offered.
*
Anna was open about her expedition that morning. She even asked for a luncheon to be packed so that she could go further.
“You don’t want to go far with that Frenchie about,” the cook said darkly.
Her heart was beating fast with excitement as she drew nearer the wood and the hut where she’d left “Louis”. Captain Armand L’Étrange was the escapee, and that was the name Henry had given her, while convinced it was an alias. If he was right, then this prisoner, Louis, was in reality, Colonel Delon, Bonaparte’s spymaster.
And Anna, had come to learn his secrets.
He was certainly a more interesting man than most, which had to be the source of her excitement. She wanted him to be well and she needed to convince him to change sides. She didn’t underestimate the difficulties, nor the advantages if she could succeed. And she would succeed. There had been something between them last night, even in his poor state, even in the short time she’d been with him. And today, she intended to build on it, win his trust, his liking, and the beginnings of his loyalty.
She all but flung herself off the mare, tying her loosely to the same tree branch as last night. From her continued, keen observation, she knew there was no one else around. They would be isolated here, undisturbed, and she had several hours.
Her heart drumming, she walked up to the door and pushed it open.
The hut was empty. There was nothing to show he had ever been there. Even the mattress was back on the tilting bed.
Slowly, she crossed the room to the hearth. He’d even taken the ashes away. Only the warmth still in the stone betrayed last night’s fire.
“Damn,” she whispered.
He was good. Far more perceptive than she’d given him credit for, he hadn’t trusted her at all.
Chapter Three
Had he been fit, Louis would undoubtedly have stayed and met her on her own terms—while taking sensible precautions, of course. As it was, isolated and wounded, his only safe choice was to leave, which he did at first light.
Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8) Page 45