Anne O'Brien (31 page)

She thought he might have said more. It seemed that he changed his mind, for without another word he turned from her abruptly, crossed to the door. He closed it quietly behind him, leaving Sarah to stand and stare at the polished inlay, unable to take in his chill dismissal when his kiss had the power to ignite flames in her blood, when she could still feel the force of his fingers, all heated possession, around her wrists.

Whilst Joshua walked up the stairs to his bedchamber, cursing his clumsy handling of the situation. Remembering the sight of Sarah, standing in the flickering light of the flambeaux, between the assassin’s knife and the intended target. Standing, face drained of all colour, with blood on her hands and on her gown when she flew to de Berri’s aid. Blood which could so easily have been hers if Louvel had struck blindly and without accuracy. Or if he himself had not been aware, to snatch her from the path of the deadly blade. Before he came to her again, before he read what he hoped to see in her eyes, there was one important visit he must make.

Then at the turn of the stair he halted, his hand suddenly clenched hard on the balustrade as the thought hit him full force. He had been employed by Wycliffe to safeguard the Bourbons. And had signally failed. But he had saved Sarah. The scene in the rue Rameau played again across his mind with vivid images. In the heat of the attack, his first instinct had been to protect his wife from danger, not the Duc de Berri. He bent his head as a wave of pure love for her washed through him. And was driven to acknowledge that he would do exactly the same again, given the same circumstances. Somewhere in the past weeks, creeping up on him without his awareness, it had
become impossible to contemplate sacrificing Sarah for the sake of a principle to an ideology. His love for Sarah, his care for her, far outweighed any impersonal duty to a foreign power. She meant more to him than the whole world.

With which thought, Joshua continued his steps slowly upward. He heard Nicholas come out of the breakfast parlour and begin to follow him. It was time for him to take action. And whereas, in the past, principle and political conviction had ruled his life, now he must consider the happiness of the woman he loved. For her to remain in Paris with him was too dangerous. And he had discovered that he did not wish to live here in his self-imposed exile without her. So he must make the changes.

And he owed her an explanation of the truth about the man she had married.

‘We have failed. What an appalling disaster.’

Wycliffe was at the edge of his control, pacing the floor. A quiet room in the home of the British Ambassador to Paris, Sir Charles Stuart. He pinned his expected guest, Lord Joshua Faringdon, with an accusatory eye. But the gentleman who sat at his ease was not to be intimidated.

‘How could we have succeeded? We could not possibly have known the man’s intent. The time or the place.’

‘That is not an answer which will go down well with our masters at home. We are expected to know. Expected to have our finger on the pulse.’ Wycliffe’s thin brows met in a formidable line. ‘The third in the line to the French crown assassinated within sight of one of our most effective agents—and we could do nothing to prevent it! A disaster of the first order. When Louis dies, what are we left with? His brother Charles, and with no hope of further male descendants. Everything resting on the shoulders of a female child.’

‘It may not be palatable, but it is the truthful answer.’ Joshua, unperturbed, watched Wycliffe over steepled fingers. ‘Louvel was an unknown. A solitary fanatic working alone. Not a lib
eral, not working in a conspiracy, not recognised or owned by any of the opposition groups. What chance did we have? I received the barest indication less than an hour before it was carried out. The fact that I was present at all was pure chance.’ His lips tightened as he remembered shielding Sarah from the assassin’s knife. ‘I could barely react and the deed was done.’ But the guilt remained. If only he had been able…

‘A bad day for European stability.’ Wycliffe shook his head. ‘And for our nation’s reputation as upholder of democratic monarchy.’

Lord Faringdon almost hid a smile that had about it the faintest suggestion of malice. ‘I am about to make the day worse, sir.’

‘I doubt that is possible. I have just had a terse note from the Prime Minister. You can imagine.’

Joshua shrugged and cast the keg of gunpowder into the flames. ‘If anyone knew of Louvel’s intentions, if he did have an accomplice, it was the Countess of Wexford.’

‘What?’ Usually soft-voiced, the sharp sound filled the room.

‘I have no proof, but I wager she was integral to the plotting—both time and place.’

‘Well—I knew she was a loose cannon, but…’ Wycliffe poured a glass of brandy and drank it off in one abrupt gesture. ‘You say you have no proof. So are you sure?’

‘Olivia was waiting in an enclosed carriage—so very conveniently—to remove Louvel from the scene.’

‘Was she, by God!’

‘Hmm. Louvel stepped out of the Café Hardy as she approached. It has given me some pause for thought. On her possible implication in my meeting a sorry end last year. Courtesy of a stone balustrade, as you remember. She would have had knowledge of my meeting.’

‘It could be.’ Wycliffe pondered the possibility with no degree of pleasure. ‘The Countess of Wexford passing information…to whom? To whoever suited her personal inclinations
most at the time! The glitter of gold coins cannot be overestimated.’ He bared his teeth in a grimace. ‘Then if that is so, I suggest that what we need to do, my lord, is—’

‘No!’

Wycliffe raised his brows. ‘No, what?’

‘
We
will do nothing. My services to you, sir, are at an end.’

‘What?’ Wycliffe sank to the discomfort of a straight-backed chair.

‘I have, as you might say, suffered a change of priorities.’

‘Joshua! This is not what I expected. You are invaluable to us for your efforts. I had no idea. I can only advise you to think again.’ Wycliffe leaned forward as if he could physically force his agent into compliance.

‘Believe me, I have thought long and hard.’

‘But why? What in God’s name has pushed you into this decision?’

‘Any number of reasons. Shall I detail them for you?’ It was Lord Joshua’s turn to push himself to his feet and stride toward the window, although he turned to face Wycliffe as he spoke. His voice was low and calm, yet there was no doubting the underlying frustrations. Or his absolute conviction. ‘Where do I start? You foisted Olivia on me, ostensibly as my mistress, on my return to London. She fooled us all, didn’t she? You thoroughly destroyed my good name to deflect any suspicions of my political interest or activity on your behalf—so effectively that my present wife finds it well-nigh impossible to trust me and my family despairs of me. And you arranged—against my better judgement, as you will remember—that particular diplomatic charade of a sudden death to disguise a hasty divorce—to end my marriage to Marianne.’

He held up a hand as Wycliffe would have interrupted. ‘To hide the fact that she was a French spy—another terrible miscalculation on our part! It was done to save your face, to hide that you allowed a French subject to infiltrate our tight-knit organisation through marriage to me. I accept that the marriage
had to end, but your only concern was to prevent any idle speculation if a grubby divorce came to court and the true facts were leaked. Speculation and gossip that would damage both you and the integrity of your espionage system. Perhaps even jeopardise the security of your other agents. You were simply intent on preserving your spotless reputation, with no thought for my own situation. You cannot imagine the complications it has led to in my private affairs.’

He came to a halt, brooding on this catalogue of events of which he was not proud. And finally admitted simply, ‘I am not arguing my shining innocence in all this. I went along with it, did I not? But now I find a need to wipe some slates clean and be able to face my wife with honesty. To look into her eyes without deceit.’

Wycliffe frowned. ‘Surely you can mould the truth, just to tell her enough to keep her quiet. It cannot be so difficult—females rarely show interest in politics, in my experience.’ It was clear to Joshua that the Head of Espionage did not understand at all.

‘No, I will not. That is no longer enough. I have demands on me that I cannot shirk, even in the name of my country. I have the responsibilities of a landowner, which my cousin Nicholas assures me I have neglected to a sad degree. I have a daughter whom I barely know. A son by marriage who desperately wants to be taught to ride a horse. And a wife who…who does not trust me!’

Wycliffe’s face expressed his sardonic disbelief. ‘But will that be enough for you? Domestic bliss in rural England?’

‘It will be.’ Lord Joshua came to stand before the desk once more, his face unreadable, unless it was relief at facing the past in which he had been implicated. But his voice was all conviction. ‘And I shall take up my seat in Parliament. I can further my ideals there equally as well as I can in your employ. And on present performance, with more success.’

‘I see.’ Wycliffe thought that he had never heard his noble
employee so impassioned. ‘Then I have to respect your choice. But can I not tempt you to reconsider? I am reluctant to lose your expertise and contacts.’

‘That is the second such offer in as many days.’ Joshua’s memory resurrected Olivia Wexford’s flirtatious suggestion, but Wycliffe did not understand the dry smile. ‘And this is the more attractive of the two. But, no.’

‘I hope your wife appreciates what you are doing for her.’ Wycliffe came round the desk to shake his lordship’s hand for perhaps the last time.

‘As do I. But there are no guarantees in this life. She has met Marianne.’

Wycliffe tensed. ‘So the lady is back in circulation.’

‘Exactly. Now under the guise of the Marquise de Villeroi. She informed Sarah in an oblique manner that she is no longer involved in spying. But I would not wager a fortune on it.’

‘Nor I. Subterfuge was her element. As a duck to water. Or perhaps I should say a swan—a most…attractive lady.’

‘As you say.’

A discreet knock sounded at the door. A servant entered. A note was passed that Wycliffe read and a genuine smile warmed his eyes for the first time that day.

‘Perhaps not as dire a situation as we thought, my lord. Olivia Wexford and Louvel, whether in cahoots or not, did not have the success they might have envisioned.’

‘How is that?’

‘The Duchesse de Berri. She carries a child. An heir—if God wills it, a son. There is hope for the Bourbons yet. Please God!’

Joshua nodded, a little mollified.

‘Amen to that.’

U
nder strict orders from his cousin, Lord Nicholas Faringdon escorted his charges to Calais. It had been interesting to see Sher in masterful, dominant and thoroughly organisational mode. The visit to Paris in his company had been something of an education, Nick decided. Far from the dissolute and dishonourable man whom the family had been forced to accept with painful reluctance, Sher had a persona that demanded some thoughtful reconsideration. One that included personal invitations to royal receptions, free and unlimited entrée to the home of the British Ambassador, not to mention a positive obsession with keeping his wife safe from all dangers. Nick smiled at the recollection of his cousin handing out instructions and documents with terrible efficiency whilst he changed his coat and neckcloth. There was remarkable similarity, he decided, between Sher and his own brother Henry when decisions were to be made. Neither expected their decision to be questioned. So Nick did what was required and saw the ladies transported and installed comfortably in the Coq d’Or as ordered, a hostelry where Lord Joshua Faringdon was well known and respected with first call on a comfortable suite of rooms. Joshua’s yacht awaited them in the harbour, the master prepared to sail at any eventuality. Now it was a matter of waiting for an ap
propriate tide and wind, and, despite the winter weather, all seemed set fair for an imminent voyage, leaving Sher to follow as and when business allowed.

Which, Sarah advised herself as she removed her long travelling coat in the private parlour put aside for her use, she should welcome. She longed to see the children again. It would be no hardship to leave Paris with its plots and threats of violence, its frenzied activity and its tragic bloodshed. And Joshua’s involvement in heaven knew what.

For example. Where was he now?

Sarah had not the least idea, but dreaded the departure to England without him. Would have remained in Paris, uncooperative and mutinous to the last, if Nicholas had not finally threatened to remove her bodily into the carriage. Joshua had insisted that she go home to London—so go home she would. Nick refused to face his cousin to answer for his failure if Joshua returned to his house to find Sarah still in residence. So Sarah’s complaints and protestations fell on deaf ears. And since Joshua was nowhere to be found to give consideration to her demands, only an implacable Nicholas and an unsympathetic sister, Sarah had felt obliged to go. But that did not imply that she accepted the situation. Her mind and her heart were torn by inner doubts and outward fractiousness. Unusual as it might be, or perhaps not when it concerned her husband—she flushed at the memory—Sarah came close, incredibly close, to losing her temper.

Theodora, still cast in the role of unfeeling sister, bore the brunt of her strained emotions with fortitude.

‘How can I sit and rest as you suggest?’ Sarah glared at Thea as that lady sat and poured tea with smooth competence and unruffled calm in the Coq d’Or’s dining room, as if they had not just fled for their lives from a city in turmoil.

‘I do not see that you have an alternative.’ Thea placed a teacup before an empty chair. ‘Until Joshua joins you, in any event. Do sit, Sarah. You will give me the headache.’

‘And when, do you suppose, will my lord see fit to return?’ Sarah persisted with her restless ramblings round the room, lips thinned, fists clenched.

‘I have no idea.’

‘And neither do I!’ She rearranged one of the curtains at the window into position with a sharp tug. ‘How can I live with this? The uncertainty. The secrecy. Joshua has told me some of the secrets of his past—but by no means all. Not that I cannot guess… How could I have married a man with so many hidden facets to his character, so many cobwebbed corners? Can I truly build a marriage on this?’

Thea sighed, but hid her compassion and a smile. It was a novel experience to see her sister in so unsettled and challenging a state. Cobwebbed corners indeed!

‘It all depends on how much you love him. If you love him to the exclusion of all else, then you must be willing to accept how he chooses to live his life.’

‘As long as it does not include the Countess of Wexford—or others like her!’

‘That, my dear Sarah, goes without saying.’

‘But perhaps it depends even more on how much he might care for me!’ Sarah was clearly not prepared to be soothed. The window curtain suffered once more. ‘He left me with hardly a word. You saw it for yourself! Nothing but
go home
! Whilst he could not wait to be gone from the house again. With not a hint of where or how long he would be occupied. Perhaps he intends never to return to London—it may be so for all I know. He certainly did not see fit to tell me!’

Which was true. But Thea could guess at the reasons, even if Sarah could not, blinded by her fears. ‘He does love you, you know.’

‘Does he?’ Sarah frowned at her sister across the width of the room. ‘There is grave room for doubt. And exactly what are his priorities? An underworld of deceit and danger of which I knew nothing when I agreed to accompany him here. A world
in which I am followed through the streets as if I were a common criminal!’ She took a deep breath. ‘He could have been killed at the opera. Am I expected to accept this for the rest of my life?’ Looking down at her hands, soft and slender, she could still see the blood from the Duc de Berri’s fatal wound. It could have been Joshua’s blood. She pushed the horror away and concentrated on the anger.

It was either that, or weep.

Thea put down her cup, her attention caught. ‘You were followed? I did not know that. You did not tell me. How exciting!’

‘Theodora! I thought that I could rely on you to take this whole matter more seriously!’

Although Theodora decided that there was no reasoning with Sarah in this mood, she folded her hands on the table and gave the advice that she thought her sister needed. ‘I cannot help you to make your decision, dear Sarah. But listen to your heart. Give Joshua a chance to put things right.’

‘It is easy for you to say!’ Sarah’s glance over her shoulder was not friendly. ‘Nicholas loves you with his heart and soul. You can afford to be complacent, can you not?’ Then she stopped, aghast at her words, pressing her forehead against the cold glass of the window before coming swiftly to sit beside Thea and grasp her hands, to the imminent danger of the teacups. ‘That was a terrible thing to say, Thea. I am sorry I did not mean it. I am just out of sorts—and so anxious—but you should not suffer.’

‘I know. There are extenuating circumstances!’ Thea allowed herself the smile, which Sarah returned, a trifle rueful. ‘It seems to me, my love, that this is a case of Faringdon history repeating itself.’

Sarah looked her surprise.

‘Think about this. In this family there have been three women who have had to take their future into their own hands to achieve their heart’s desire. Eleanor—as you know better then I—left her home, her consequence and her security here, gave
it up to risk all in America to be with Henry because she could not live without him. As for me—well, if I had not travelled to Aymestry with you to make my peace with Nicholas, when we had quarrelled so dreadfully, we would have remained estranged for all time. And now it seems to me that it is your turn.’

‘I had not seen it like that.’

‘Well, do so. The Faringdon men are difficult, opinionated, resourceful and all with that touch of arrogance. They are also, in my opinion, impossibly attractive, impossible not to love. All you have to do is to decide if the one you love—Joshua—is worth fighting for. Even if you have to reveal your heart to him—to show your vulnerability.’

Sarah looked down at her hands to hide the stain of colour in her cheeks. ‘It is true. I know it.’ Her voice was low and a little husky. ‘But I do not have the courage of either you or Eleanor to speak my thoughts and feelings. What if he rejects me? I do not think that I could live with that. To reveal my longing for him so there is no hiding—’

‘I have never heard such nonsense!’ In typically flamboyant manner, Thea swept her sister into her arms and hugged her. Then ticked off the instances on her fingers. ‘You escaped from the evil machinations of our esteemed brother. You travelled to New York. You then returned to England alone with your son and no one to protect you. You took up a position of housekeeper because you desired independence above all things. You refused to take an easy life either at Aymestry with us or with Judith in London. You had the courage to marry a man of dubious reputation because you loved him—although whether that is brave or foolhardy I am unsure.’ Thea chuckled. ‘Sarah, throughout your life you have shown bravery of the highest order. It is simply, you foolish girl, that you refuse to recognise your own merits. Or believe that those who love you find you in any way worthy of that affection. You are well loved and respected, Sarah.’

Sarah flushed brighter at the words. ‘How ridiculous you make me sound.’

‘Yes. You are.’ But Thea’s smile was kind. ‘I had the advantage of an upbringing at the hands of Lady Drusilla. She would never let me be unaware of my talents or my worth. I think our unfortunate mother did not have the same interest in her children.’

‘No, she did not.’ Sarah paused and then said, with a quick glance at her sister, ‘I did not tell you—but Joshua bought me a house in London—in my own name—before we left for France.’

‘Did he now?’

‘I think he was aware of the danger to himself. So the house was for my future, for myself and John.’

‘Well, then.’ Thea touched Sarah’s hand, the lightest of reassurances. ‘And you think that Joshua does not love you?’

Sarah looked at her sister, younger, far more beautiful, far more worldly wise. ‘What do I do, Thea?’

‘It is so easy. Tell him what you feel. Don’t use disguise or pretence. Do not allow him to think that you do not care. Tell him the truth. That you love him. That is the best advice I can give.’

And if Joshua Faringdon does not love you in return, I am no judge of Faringdon men!

Which was exactly the sentiment that she repeated to Nicholas some time later in the day when he returned from the yacht to the seclusion and privacy of their own bedchamber and Thea explained the apparent problem between Lord Joshua and his lady.

‘And since you are an expert, my loved one, in affairs of the heart…’ Nick grinned at the prospect of his cousin being caught in the painful toils of unrequited love.

‘Exactly.’

Lord Nicholas took his lovely wife into his arms and kissed her, long and thoroughly. ‘When we are back in England, let us return to Aymestry. Let us give the lovers some time and space to sort out their own problems. And decide that perhaps they do love each other after all.’

Theodora pressed close, returned the embrace, her mouth warm and inviting.

‘So I think!’

The door into Sarah’s parlour in the inn opened a little before ten o’ clock. Although she had intended to retire to bed, she was glad of the interruption to her morbid thoughts.

‘Oh, Thea…’ She turned her head.

It was not Thea who stood on the threshold in dusty boots and mud-splashed greatcoat, hat and gloves in his hand.

Sarah rose to her feet.

‘Joshua.’

He closed the door, but did not approach. He looked travel-weary, but his eyes were watchful and never left her face.

In that moment all her anger drained away.

‘I have missed you.’ It was the simplest thing in the world for her to say.

‘It has only been two days.’ The faintest of smiles. He had been unsure of her welcome when he walked through the door, was still unsure.

‘It has been a lifetime. I did not know where you were or when I would see you again.’ Her eyes were captured in the depths of his. She could not look away.

‘I know.’ Still he remained with his back to the door. ‘When we parted I was not free to explain or say what was in my heart. Now I am. Will you sit with me and listen? Once before when I asked you, you would not.’

‘Once before when you asked me, as I remember, I struck you!’

‘Then I hope that you will warn me if you are tempted again.’ He walked slowly across the distance.

‘I promise you that I will not.’ As uncertain as he, she sat. Her muscles rippled with nerves, but relief loosened the tight bands of anxiety, simply because of his presence. ‘Tell me then.’

Joshua cast his greatcoat over the back of a chair and came to sit on the low sofa beside her. Sarah promptly forgot her own
anxieties as she searched his face closely for the first time. In the soft light from the candles she could see the marks of strain that bracketed his mouth. She longed to smooth them away with her fingers, to touch her lips to them. But knew that she must wait. He leaned forward, arms supported by his thighs, dropping his head to run his fingers through his tousled hair. Then looked up at her.

‘I have a number of confessions that I must make. I have been employed to—to collect information of a sensitive nature. That is to say…what I mean is—’

‘That you are a spy.’ She finished the sentence as he hesitated to tell her the depth of his involvement, the facts that he had kept from her since their marriage.

‘Ah…’

‘A spy for the British government, I presume.’ Her fair brows rose. ‘Did you think that I would not guess?’

‘Wycliffe would never believe it!’ Joshua rubbed his hands over his face and sat up, shaking his head when she would have enquired who Wycliffe might be. ‘Yes, I have been a spy.’

‘If Marianne was a French spy, as you told me, and
certain circles
wished to cover up your unfortunate marriage, it seemed logical to me that you too were involved. For the other side, I presume.’

‘Yes.’

‘And it probably explains why I was followed.’

‘Ha! My wife, it seems, is very clever.’ His eyes held a wealth of amused respect. ‘What else do you know?’

Sarah flushed in denial. ‘Nothing more.’

‘Our aim was to protect Louis from those who would depose him, in the name of republicanism or Bonaparte. We hoped to diffuse any such attempt before it materialised.’

‘And so you were told about the assassination at the opera.’