A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) (2 page)

A grin spread across Denby’s coarse features.

“Although my brother’s had me hidden in a convent for the last years, I am not as innocent as you believe,” she said, jutting her chin proudly. “Before Napoleon’s interest in me, I enjoyed all the pleasures of Paris life.”

“And I hope you’ll be able to enjoy good society again in London. You need to rest. I’ll take care of his lordship. You’ll see that Lord Kendal will treat you with all the respect and decorum you deserve. He does know how to behave like the gentleman that he is.”

Gabby didn’t try to hide her skepticism. Hopefully it would not be long before she was reunited with her brother and free of Lord Kendal. The tiniest twinge of regret tweaked her heart, but she ignored it. She would never admit to missing the way his dimples crinkled or the way his green eyes playfully schemed, or the pleasurable sensation of his hard body pressed against her.
Never.

Chapter Three

Safely back in England and now facing a long carriage ride from Dover to London, Michael bit down on his lip, squeezed his hands into fists, and crossed and uncrossed his legs, trying to hide from Mademoiselle Gabby the agonizing ache in his arse. No small feat since they sat face-to-face and his tender arse took the impact from every bump.

After his boorish behavior, Gabby offered none of her tender, solicitous care. He gazed at her lush, pink lips, recalling her sweet, lilting voice and the French songs she had sung. He gazed down at her tiny hands, now gloved, recalling how she had soothed and comforted him during the burning fever. He had overheard her tell Denby that any man who behaved like he had was well enough to take care of himself.

“May I say again, mademoiselle, how truly sorry I am for my shocking behavior. We still have a long journey. Could you please try to find warmth in your heart to forgive me?” He flashed his full-dimple smile, which his sister, Henrietta, had declared capable of charming any woman over the age of twelve. Obviously not the French Gabby. “In my invalid state I was confused and mistook you for someone else.”

Gabby stared out the window, behaving as if she hadn’t heard him. He was usually quite adept with women, but for some reason he couldn’t make this right.

Gabby never took her gaze away from the window. “You thought I was Yvette or possibly Mimi. You couldn’t remember.”

Michael felt the tops of his ears burning. The chit, for someone he had believed to be a child, sure had a woman’s way of making him suffer.

“With your permission, shall we change the subject?” Michael asked.

“Of course.” She turned back to look at him.

“When did you and Mother Therese plan to inform me that I was not bringing a child out of France, but a young woman? I didn’t think nuns could be devious.”

“Mother Therese is not devious.”

Oh, he liked the way her pert breasts puffed up in indignation. “And I thought the nuns had no sense of humor. The joke is on me.”

“Joke on you? Never. Mother Therese wasn’t playing any jokes. She didn’t laugh when you fell on your backside and spilled brandy in your shoes. She was desperate to ensure my escape from the long reach of Napoleon. She was more concerned that you might not be the man for job.”

He wanted to defend himself, but he didn’t deserve the credit. She had been the one to rescue him from the deadly infection. “I’m most grateful for your care and hope I can repay you when we’re in London.”

She shook her head, causing one errant curl to fall across her puckered forehead. “It is of no consequence. In England, I’ll be living with my brother, and he will take care of me.”

“Tell me why Napoleon is after you. I can’t believe the First Consul has time for chasing down young women.”

“Oh, you’re mistaken, monsieur. Napoleon always needs to replenish his coffers and fortify his position of power. My father was a marquis before…the Terror.” Her voice quivered.

No wonder Mother Therese was protective of Gabby. She was an orphan.

He reached across the carriage and took her small hands between his own. “I’m very sorry. Both your parents?” He wouldn’t make her recount the horrific circumstances of their death.

Her body shuddered and she nodded her head, obviously fighting to bring herself under control. He squeezed her hands. He missed his own parents very much, but they hadn’t been murdered by an out-of-control, angry mob.

“All I have left is my brother. He has protected me and will now keep me out of the clutches of Napoleon.”

This young woman wasn’t much older than the English debutantes whose biggest concerns were their coiffures, gowns, and gossip. But, unlike the flighty debutantes, Mademoiselle Gabby had survived her parents’ deaths, the Reign of Terror, and now Napoleon. She bore her suffering with an understated grace he would have expected of a much older woman.

“What plans does Napoleon have for you?” he asked.

Color rushed into her perfect porcelain skin. “He plans to wed me to his younger brother, Jerome.”

“Of all the damn, bloody…” The idea of this young, gentle woman who had tended to his care forced into marriage outraged him.

Gabby’ eyes widened in surprise by his use of blasphemy.

“Excuse my choice of language.”

Michael couldn’t understand his extreme reaction since arranged marriages for advantage were the norm in their aristocratic world. Marriages were contracts between dynasties. His parents had been an exception. They had married for love, and their example influenced his own beliefs. He’d never force his sister to wed for economic reasons. His estate was more than adequate without forcing Henrietta into a loveless marriage, but he knew this was not so for others.

“He’d like to fuse my family bloodlines, and my wealth, with his family.”

“How far-reaching and far-sighted of Napoleon. And what is his brother like?”

“Jerome is immature, three years younger than I.” Her perky chest puffed up again in the most distracting way. “Still a boy. Not even a man.”

“And what do you know of men, living in a convent?” Michael teased, glad for her willingness to speak with him.

“I spent time in Paris, before my brother became aware of Napoleon’s interest in me. It was only when my brother heard the rumors that he hid me in a convent. Lucien then escaped to England and had planned to return to rescue me. His letters had stopped by the time Monsieur Denby stumbled into Notre Dame. Mother Therese believed it was a miracle to discover Monsieur Denby, and that we must seize the blessed opportunity to make my escape out of France.”

“But why wouldn’t Mother Therese explain the situation to me? Why disguise you as a boy?”

“She planned for me to remain a boy to throw the men off the scent until I was safely in the care of my brother. And she said the English have rules about women travelling with men, and if the truth came out I might be forced to marry you to protect my good name. But when you fell ill, I had to reveal myself to my
mémé’s
family to ensure your care.”

“Yes, and I am very grateful for their willingness to assist me. But your brother may not like the idea that we have travelled together unchaperoned. It is not done in England.”

She pushed a curl away from her face. “My brother will not worry about such trivial matters, recognizing the danger we have faced. I think the English are very uptight about ‘proper’ behavior. And I can’t imagine why anyone would think marrying you would salvage my good name. You being a…”

“My being a what?” He didn’t like how the conversation had swerved back to the uncomfortable topic. Blast it. He had been delirious with a fever when he groped her.

Gabby raised perfectly arched brows that framed her large eyes, more aquamarine today in the bright sunlight.

“The English aren’t uptight,” he said stiffly. “There are standards of behavior to protect young woman against the advances of spurious fellows.”

“Like being accosted and mistaken for ‘Yvette’ or ‘Mimi’?” Gabby’s eyes sparkled, and she compressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.

“Now, Gabby—I mean, Mademoiselle Gabby—I was delirious. I’ve tried to apologize.” And how did he start calling her Gabby?

“Oh, I understand. But, I think it’s best if we don’t share your mistake with my brother. French men are quite possessive of their sisters, and my brother is more protective than most since he has had responsibility for me since our parents’ deaths.”

Michael’s stomach started to roll, and it wasn’t because of the bumpy road. He might have to marry this young woman. If anyone had manhandled Henrietta like he had done to Gabby, he’d demand amends. But he would never make Henrietta marry the man.

“I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary to appease your brother. I meant you no dishonor, and I understand he might demand that we wed. Marriage to you would be an honor.” He watched Gabby, trying to gauge her reaction.

“My lord, I do believe your color has gone pale. Rest easy. I’ve no desire to force you into a marriage that neither of us desires. Why would I escape one man’s clutches to be thrown to another misalliance?”

He shifted his weight on the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “I hope that you can appreciate the difference between a marriage to me and Napoleon’s brother.”

Her eyes narrowed and her plucky chin thrust forward. “Both would mean I had no choice, and then my escape would be worth nothing. To be forced to marry another…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but whatever she’d intended to say wasn’t complimentary.

Gabby shook her head again. He had the strongest desire to release the pale ringlets that were twisted into a knot on the crown of her head.

“Rest assured, I will not tell my brother about your conduct, since my brother is a hothead and an amazing duelist. You wouldn’t survive.”

Michael sighed a breath of relief. Not that he would shirk his responsibility. “I’m a fair shot myself. But I would not add to your worries and stress.”

Gabby leaned back against the carriage seat. “Thank you, my lord.” Her dainty hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

“I’m very glad that you will be reunited with your brother. Do you have his location in London?”

“No, but he is now the Marquis De Valmont. I’m sure it will be simple to locate him.”

Michael winced and was ready to swear when the carriage wheel hit the latest rut.

Gabby pursed her lips and asked quietly, “The journey is still difficult for you?”

“A bit uncomfortable, but nothing I can’t tolerate. But as you know, this injury is in a most inconvenient location.”

And the chit giggled, just as she had done when he had fallen from the settee in Paris. Her lilting laugh did something to his insides. She was a delightful surprise of innocent sensuality and gentle compassion. How had he missed that she was a woman, an enchanting woman with enchanting curves? Had she worn some sort of bandage to hide her rounded, sweet breasts?

Her eyes narrowed, causing a pucker to form between her arched brows. Had he given away his lustful imaginings?

He cleared his throat. “Back to your arrival in London. It can never be known to anyone that we travelled without a maid. Once we get to a big enough town, I will hire one.”

“The English are so bourgeois.”

“Remember that if it were found out, your brother might be forced to fight me in a duel or force you to marry me.”

Gabby turned her face and looked out the window. “How long before we get to the next town?”

Chapter Four

Gabby rested her head against the carriage window, trying to find a comfortable position for the long journey.

Lord Kendal had slept most of the trip. He was still weak and in pain, but healing from the infection. The young maid they had hired from the last inn also slept. Gabby had time to closely inspect Lord Kendal’s face—his blond hair the color of winter wheat, his dimples present even while his face was in repose. His round cheeks and dimples gave him a boyish, mischievous look. When awake, his bright-green eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he were privy to a secret joke.

He was unlike any man of her acquaintance in France. French men postured and made their importance known. The earl seemed not to have need to put on an airs of acquired insouciance or ennui.

The earl stirred briefly when they struck a large hole in the road. A flaxen curl hung over one eye which he’d carelessly brush away when he regaled her with stories of his childhood. Lord Kendal was a careless man who could easily trample over a woman’s heart. Not hers. She was French and fully immune to silly, quirky smiles and dramatic bursts of hilarity.

He opened his eyes; Gabby immediately dropped hers. She didn’t want to be caught staring at the attractive man she had soothed with French lullabies just days before, and spinning a silly girl’s romantic stories of love and devotion.

“Are we close?” He stretched his arms over his head, pulling the fabric across his broad shoulders.

She shrugged. “Since I’ve never visited London, I do not know.”

“It feels so long since I left. I’ve missed home.” Then, catching himself like a guilty child caught in an act of mischief, he gave her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me.”

She clenched her interlocked fingers together. “I understand.” She understood that she’d never be able to return home. The estate had been destroyed, their belongings taken. If not for Lucien, she might be a pauper with no prospects.