Marrying Miss Monkton. Helen Dickson
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at the passing scenery. It was all familiar, but soon they would pass into fresh territory that was alien to her. In the grey light it looked dismal. ‘I hate France,’ she said in a small voice, her expression subdued.
‘I sense you were not happy at Chateau Feroc?’
‘I do not mean to sound ungrateful or uncharitable but, indeed, I could not wait to leave. It is a cold, joyless place with no laughter.’
‘And you like to laugh, do you?’
‘Yes, although I have been at the chateau so long I fear I might have forgotten how to.’ Inexplicably the laughter rekindled in her eyes and she laughed again, just for the sheer joy of laughing, and when she looked into her companion’s eyes, she experienced a sudden relief of tension.
Charles smiled a little crookedly, thinking her courageous and fresh and very lovely. Despite her youth and inexperience she was no vapourish miss who would swoon at the first hurdle. ‘You should laugh more often,’ he murmured softly. ‘It suits you.’
She sighed. ‘There is nothing to feel happy about in France just now. What will happen, do you think? You have been to Paris?’ He nodded. ‘Was it very bad?’
‘I saw much blood shed by the mob. I have had to ask myself, where has the dignity, the self-control, the resolution gone in the France of today? But the people have their grievances—it would seem with some justification. The rise in prices and rents, as well as the taxes they have to pay, are increasingly burdensome. It is only right and natural that they want change.
‘I agree absolutely and the demands of the people must be listened to and acted on. Privilege must be abolished, and all men should be taxed equally, according to their wealth.’
Maria looked at him with interest. ‘Anything else?’
‘These and a hundred others.’
‘You speak like a politician. Is that what you are?’
A cynical smile curved his lips. ‘No.’
‘Then what do you do?’
‘Do I have to do anything?’
‘I suspect you are not the sort of man who would be content to idle his days away doing nothing.’ She looked out of the window. ‘You have to do something.’
‘I dabble.’
‘In what?’
He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘This and that.’
She took her eyes off the passing scenery and regarded him intently. ‘You mean you’re a businessman?’
He grinned. ‘You might say that.’
‘And is your business respectable?’
Her question brought a humorous gleam to his eyes, and a tantalising smile played on his lips. ‘Perfectly respectable,’ he declared, ‘but if I were to tell you more of what I do, we will have nothing to talk about, and we have a long way to go.’
‘You may not consider the question important, but it is to me. My life is very important to me. Since I have entrusted it to someone I know nothing about, it is perfectly natural that I want to know everything there is to know about you.’
He stared at her, one black brow raised interrogatively. There was a direct challenge in his eyes, which she found most disturbing.
‘Everything?’ he enquired silkily, and Maria could sense the sleeping animal within him begin to stir.
Her thoughts were thrown into chaos, for she had not expected such an uncompromising response to her hasty remark. She glanced away, trying to regain her composure, and then looked up to meet his eyes.
‘I do not wish to offend you, but I do not know you, so how do I know I can trust you?’
‘What exactly do you fear?’ he asked. ‘That I am not equal to the task of escorting you to England?’
‘I am naturally apprehensive. If you were in my place, wouldn’t you want some indication of your good faith? Since when did businessmen risk their lives by coming to a country torn by strife?’
‘When they have family they are concerned about.’
She looked at him with interest, her green eyes wide and questioning, her lips parted slightly in surprise. ‘Your family live in France?’
‘In the south—the Côte d’Azure. My mother is French.’
‘I see. So that explains why you speak French like a native. I did wonder. Did you manage to see your family?’
‘Yes.’
‘And are they all right?’
‘When I left them they were in perfect health.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Whether they will remain so remains to be seen.’
‘Why? What are you afraid of?’
‘They are connected to the nobility. That connection could well bring about their death—and my own. Anyone found assisting suspected royalists will be ruthlessly condemned. The life of a noble is not worth a candle in France. I believe that every noble family and many of the richer bourgeois will suffer unless they flee the country.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She is safe in England, thank God.’
‘Do you have siblings living in France?’
He shook his head. ‘I have two sisters, both of them happily married in England.’
‘And—do you have a wife waiting for you in England?’
He laughed easily and dusted the knee of his breeches. ‘No. And were you always so inquisitive about others, or is it just me?’
She smiled and gave him a coy look. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose it must seem like that to you. It’s just that it’s so long since I talked to another English person, apart from my aunt and Constance, that I forget my manners.’
Charles thought that Maria Monkton had a truly breathtaking smile. It glowed in her eyes and lit up her entire face, transforming what was already a pretty face into one that was captivating. He was intrigued, but he did not let it show in his face, for as much as he would like to taste and relish at first hand what was before his eyes, to throw caution to the four winds and dally to his heart’s content, he had to consider at what cost he’d be doing so.
‘Please don’t apologise. I am not offended.’ His chuckle sounded low and deep. ‘Our journey to England will be long and arduous, but I can see that with you I will never be bored.’
She met his eyes. ‘Like you said, we have a long way to go. Things change. Must we speak French all the time?’
‘Yes. The less attention we attract to ourselves the safer it will be. When we are within earshot of the driver if we address each other as Charles and Maria he will be none the wiser.’
Maria felt comfortable with Pierre. There was a look about his square face that inspired trust while the steady gaze of his blue eyes compelled honesty. ‘I think he can be trusted. What do you think?’
He shrugged. ‘Who can one trust nowadays? One can never be sure. He seems trustworthy enough and was glad of the work. The coach belongs to him and I have paid him a handsome sum—with the promise of more if he gets us to Calais safely.’
‘I would like to thank you for helping me, Charles. Is there a reason for this—apart from our fathers being friends?’
‘I have reason to be beholden to Sir Edward.’
‘Oh?’
‘He saved my life—and my mother’s. It was during the monsoon season, when my mother and I were going to join my father in Bengal. We were crossing a fast-flowing river when our boat went out of control—several people perished. From the shore your father saw