The Caged Countess. Joanna Fulford
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wife?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘This is all in order, monsieur. You may pass.’
He handed the papers back and Duval returned them to the inner pocket of his coat. The officer touched his hat to Claudine and then called to his colleague. A moment later the barrier was raised and the carriage moved forward again. As it did so she let out the breath she had unconsciously been holding.
‘I don’t understand. How did you …’
Duval leaned back surveying her steadily. ‘I called in a favour. Do you think I’d have attempted to conduct a rescue without some kind of forward planning?’
‘No, I don’t suppose you would.’ She hesitated. ‘Those papers describe me as your wife?’
‘It was the most credible scenario I could think of, and the least likely to be challenged.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’ It was a detail that had other implications too, implications that caused a strange sensation in her stomach. She tried to see his expression but the dimly-lit interior made that difficult.
‘I’m glad.’ He paused. ‘By the way, what were those contingency plans you mentioned earlier?’
Her face burned. As if her stupid oversight wasn’t bad enough, it had just vindicated all his actions. How much he must be enjoying that.
‘It hardly matters now, does it?’
‘I’m just curious.’
‘You’re just gloating.’
She sensed rather saw him grin, and looked quickly away. The man was insufferable which made it doubly hard to be beholden to him. It would be pointless now to say that she’d never slipped up before today. One mistake was all it took and they both knew it. Her papers were in another reticule; she’d forgotten to transfer them before she left that evening and, after what had occurred, there would have been no possibility of going back for them. It was an elementary error but a potentially fatal one, and she could have kicked herself. No doubt it only served to reinforce his opinion that a woman alone couldn’t cope.
Realising she wasn’t going to be drawn further, he let it go. ‘It will be a while before we stop so you should try and get some sleep, my dear. I mean to do the same.’
Claudine watched him settle back in his seat and then summoned her self-possession. ‘Duval?’
‘Well?’
‘Thank you.’
Just for a second his expression registered surprise. ‘You’re welcome.’ With that he drew his hat down over the upper part of his face and settled back again, bringing the conversation to a close.
Claudine shifted back into her own corner, closing her eyes, letting her body relax a little. The events of the day seemed unreal, as though she were held fast in a strange and disturbing dream from which she could not awake. Had it not been for her companion the dream might easily have become nightmare. I can take care of myself. She had to admit that the words sounded hollow. Her companion might be one of the most arrogant and overbearing men she had ever met, but he had done her a great service all the same.
At some point amid these thoughts she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew the carriage had stopped and the night was full of voices. She came to with a start.
Glancing out of the window she could see an inn yard and the shadowy figures of the ostlers leading the team away. Then cold air hit her face as the door opened and Duval returned.
‘Where are we?’
‘Just outside St Germain,’ he replied.
‘Are we stopping here tonight?’
‘Only long enough to change the horses. I want to put a lot more distance between us and Paris before we rest.’
For once she had no wish to argue. Minutes later a fresh team was between the shafts and then they were on their way again. Since her companion seemed not disposed for conversation Claudine was left to her thoughts. Between that and drowsing occasionally the next few hours passed in a blur. It was just before midnight when they stopped again at another inn.
Duval bespoke accommodation and conducted Claudine to hers, pausing a moment on the threshold. ‘Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day and we will be leaving early.’ He paused. ‘If you need me I’ll be in the next room.’
With that he left her, closing the door behind him. Claudine let out a long breath. It had occurred to her that he might try to take advantage of the situation in the light of what had already happened, but it seemed she was wide of the mark. He had made no further allusion to it. Perhaps like her he thought it was a complication they do without.
Since she had no belongings with her she was forced to make do with washing her hands and face. Then, having removed her gown she sat down on the bed and emptied her reticule. Apart from the pistol it contained a handkerchief and a handful of coins. At some point in the near future she was going to have to purchase a few necessities. There was nothing to be done about her clothes since the rest were in Paris. She smiled wryly. A few dresses were a small price to pay for her freedom, perhaps even her life. Having replaced the contents of the bag she climbed into bed and extinguished the candle.
The sheets were chilly and she shivered, drawing the covers higher. It was a pointed contrast with the last time, and her treacherous thoughts conjured the memory of a man’s warmth and a lean hard body pressed against hers. Unbidden she lifted a hand to her lips. She could still feel Duval’s kisses there. The recollection caused a pulse of heat in the region of her pelvis, and with it forbidden thoughts. She couldn’t go there, must not go there again. To do so would be disastrous and she mustn’t forget it.
They left early next morning. Thus far there had been no sign of pursuit, a circumstance for which Claudine was devoutly thankful. Now that the immediate sense of urgency was gone and since her companion was still disinclined for unnecessary conversation, she began to look about her with more interest. The carriage they were travelling in was surprisingly comfortable and the driver, Matthieu, highly experienced. At first she had assumed the man had merely been hired for this journey, but now she wasn’t so sure. Although he was courteous and deferential, his attitude towards Duval wasn’t that of a stranger. The relationship was more like master and trusted servant. He also seemed to know the route well; where they could change horses and where the decent inns were to be found. And then there was Duval himself. He was no common adventurer. She never heard him raise his voice, but when he spoke servants leapt into action. His whole manner was that of a man used to command and to being obeyed. He had the upright bearing of a military man but his movements were almost graceful and characterised by a touch of arrogance. Yet in spite of his intimidating manner he spoke like a gentleman.
The light of day had revealed all the details of his appearance to her curious gaze. She could see now that his skin was lightly tanned and the hair that in candlelight looked to be between brown and blonde was the colour of ripe wheat. Moreover, the contrast between the injured and uninjured sides of his face was stark. It reinforced the notion that he must once have been classically good-looking, the kind of man that women noticed. His injuries had changed that significantly: he was not just attractive; the damaged face lent him a sombre and dangerous edge that was both enigmatic and exciting. He roused her curiosity as no other man had ever done.
Becoming aware of that intense scrutiny he turned from the window and his gaze locked with hers. His good eye was a clear and vivid blue, the blue of a summer sky. Just for an instant it seemed disturbingly familiar. The familiarity wasn’t concerned with him since they’d only met for the first time yesterday; rather he reminded her of someone. An old memory stirred and struggled to surface, but the more she tried to retrieve it the more it eluded her. Then he spoke and the thought disappeared as quickly as it had come.
‘You look worried. Are you?’
‘No … at least not so much as I was. Do you think we are being pursued?’