The Duke's Messenger (18 page)

Reeves gave himself over to grave thought. “I do not know. But it would be well to take no chances.”

“I wish —” she began wistfully, then broke off. “No matter.”

“That you had never left London?” he suggested.

He had the unsettling ability to read her mind. “Surely you cannot think I am enjoying this — this reckless jaunt?”

“Perhaps you may find some compensation for your trials.” She glared at him. With a bland expression, he continued, “When you arrive in Vienna. Miss.”

His impertinence struck her. He made her feel a fool, teasing her to make her remember his overtures and then pretending all the time that he had meant something entirely different. Suddenly his remark, along with the smile that hinted of conspiracies past and to come, recalled her to the impropriety of standing in the open with her coachman, gossiping with him as though he were an old friend.

She drew herself up to her full height. “Perhaps I neglected to fully express my gratitude for your intervention last evening. If so, I must apologize.”

A wicked gleam came into the coachman’s hazel eyes. “Nay, miss,” he said in his broadest country speech, “I’d say you did, all right and tight.”

She stamped her foot angrily. “I must say …” Her voice died away. He stood waiting for her instructions, but she made an impatient gesture and hurried across the stable yard, burningly aware of his gaze following her.

After the ill-cooked dinner, Phrynie acknowledged that she was exhausted and soon went up to bed. Nell lingered in the sitting room that had been put at their disposal until the fire died down and the room chilled. She was overwhelmed by a desolate feeling of loneliness. Restless, recalling only too well the latter part of the evening before, she could even fancy that her shoulders still burned where Reeves had — in the most outrageous fashion — placed his hands and pulled her close to his hard body. She rubbed her lips now with the back of her hand, as though to erase the memory of his insolent kiss.

Impertinence! Outrage! Despicable advances!,

The words came to her tongue, but she recognized them as completely without validity. It was not Reeves who was to be condemned, but Nell herself. Nell, who never deceived herself for long, knew that the weakness, the license, was in herself.

She was not sure how the impulse — nay, the
need
—
to
respond to him had arisen in her, where the urge that had driven her had been hidden all these years. She only knew that when he had touched her, he had called forth a part of herself that she did not know existed. She had wanted Reeves to press her more closely to him, to keep on kissing her…

Deliberately she wrenched her thoughts away from her disgraceful behavior and forcibly brought Rowland’s classic features to mind.

She consoled herself to a degree by remembering that dear Rowland had not touched her. He — the Paragon — had spoken of respect and trust and control — and if he had behaved as
Reeves
had, her response to him would have been the same as to the coachman. It was a comforting thought — or would have been if she believed it.

How handsome Rowland was; his nose was straight, his features classic though manly. His stature was above the
average
, his limbs in splendid proportion. Not in the least stocky.

She had lost her sense of humor, she realized. How idiotic she was to compare a coachman with peerless Rowland! A. world apart. But as she climbed the narrow stairs to the bedroom she was required to share with her aunt and Mullins, she managed a smile, picturing Rowland’s expression were she to ask him to help her break into the library of a nobleman of France!

She fell asleep at once. It was past midnight when she awakened. At first she did not know where she was. The darkness overhead bore no resemblance to her airy room at home, and it took a few moments for her to realize that she was in a room in an obscure inn. She sat up in bed, listening.

Some sound had awakened her, a sound now lost. She strained her ears, expecting it to come again. It did.

The sound was very close, nearly beside her. Someone was lifting the latch to the door leading from the hall, very slowly, very cautiously, obviously up to no good.

She had awakened in time, for the intruder was still outside the room. Her bed was nearest the door. It was clear that she alone was awake. Mullins was snoring vigorously, and Phrynie’s lips made delicate and regular popping sounds.

Stealthily Nell threw her covers back, and swung her bare feet to the floor. Very slowly, expecting the bed to squeak in protest at her movement, she stood up. If she could just reach the space behind the door before the intruder came fully inside, she would surprise him!

Arming herself with materials at hand, she picked up the boot she had been wearing in the carriage. It was made of velvet and fur, but fortunately the high heel had a satisfyingly sharp point. Not now weaponless, she slipped carefully across the bare floor.

The noise at the latch ceased. She realized she was no longer frightened. She wished the invader to succeed, to enter the room, giving her the chance to dispatch him. Then, she would scream the house down.

Her wish, to begin with, was granted. Her eyes were more accustomed now to the dark, and she could distinguish objects. Now she fancied she could see the iron of the latch outlined against the lighter wood of the door. The latch lifted and the door moved inward, the opening revealed by the appearance of a darker blackness outside. Nell raised her hand, boot heel at the ready. Just another step inside…

Mullins gurgled and her snores stopped. The intruder froze where he stood, waiting for the maid to fall asleep again. She didn’t. Instead, she opened her eyes and saw the door was slightly open. Without the slightest warning, she emitted a piercing scream.

The scream startled Nell, and she dropped her boot with a clatter on the floor. The intruder cursed in French and turned to flee. From beyond him came a faint but growing light.

Someone was coming up the stairs, carrying a lantern … A fellow thief? Nell picked up the boot. When the intruder hesitated on the stair landing, the light from below caught his features. Even though they were distorted by the angle of the light, she gasped in recognition.

“You!” she breathed, but she was sure he did not hear her. He was sensibly intent upon flight.

Phrynie struggled muzzily from deep slumber and cried out, “What is it, Mullins? For heaven’s sake stop that racket or I’ll send you home at once!”

Careless of danger, Nell hurried around the door to peer out into the hall, with some vague thought of capturing the intruder. She heard booted footsteps pounding down the stairs, and a confused melee of masculine outcries and thuds at the bottom, where the intruder must have impinged with some force upon the man with the lantern. The thief was out of sight, gone without trace, except for the sour unwashed smell he left behind him, but the lantern holder was racing up the steps to her.

“Oh, Reeves!” she cried out, recognizing him with relief.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Did you see anything? Did he get — whatever he came for?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I woke up and he was just opening the door. He —” She stopped short. Was the intruder after the jewels they carried? Surely anyone could have seen Phrynie and her carrying the small cases into the inn and guessed what they held.

But there was, after all, the attraction the parcel had had for the count. Suddenly she thought she must have imagined the squint-eyed face she thought she recognized. Surely the count’s servant could not have followed them solely for the purpose of stealing the mysterious parcel back.

And no one here at the inn knew of the parcel. She must be mistaken. The man’s features had been twisted by the flickering light from below, and she had the count’s
ménage
too recently on her mind. The intruder was — must have been — simply a common thief after their valuables.

“Of course there was an intruder, Aunt,” said Nell, nettled. “I should hardly have gotten out of bed and stood here in the dark ready to hit him with my boot heel, had there been no reason. Mullins saw him. At least, she saw something.”

“Mullins?”

“Aye, my lady, I seen him. A big hairy monster he was, with claws on his fingers!”

“Nonsense, Mullins. Pray be silent, before we have him breathing fire. Reeves, you have not answered me. How came you so swiftly?”

“I be too wakeful, my lady,” said Reeves in his broadest dialect. “So I cum over to get a bit of beer to settle me innards, like.”

Nell was exasperated. What humbug! It was much more likely that the coachman was watchful for their safety. Why could he not say so?

One reason struck her like a blow. He had eyes now only for her, eyes that held a devilish gleam as well as the baldest admiration. Confusion enveloped her. She had not troubled, feeling haste and silence were imperative, to find her robe. She stood revealed in the lantern light in her gauzy pink night-shift, her hair covered by a fetching cap with pink ribbons. Her aunt’s coachman was clearly riveted to the floor by the sight.

“Oh!” she gasped, and leaped for the shelter of her bed.

“I will deal with you, Reeves, in the morning!” said Phrynie icily. “You may leave us now.”

“Very good, my lady.” His tone was wooden but he cast a wicked glance toward Nell, cowering under her blankets, and closed the door softly behind him.

She listened carefully. She did not hear his steps retreating down the stairs. He was still near, she thought, and with a sigh of contentment closed her eyes and slept.

By the time they were ready to leave in the morning, the dangers of the night just past had faded from her mind. Reeves had come to her rescue once more. Deliberately putting him in his proper place, she told herself, I must remember to ask Rowland to give him some kind of reward.

But she knew she never would, for Reeves was not the sort of man to whom one tossed a few coins.

*

The small town where they had spent the night was soon behind them. She had essayed a small smile at the coachman, but he failed to return it. Lines appeared on his face that had not been there yesterday. She was positive now that he had stayed awake on the landing after their alarum for the rest of the night.

She had managed to speak to him for a few moments before their departure. “Did you manage to sleep at all, Reeves?”

“Enough, miss.”

“I trust there was no further disturbance? I did not hear any.”

“Quite right, miss. There was none.”

“I wonder, Reeves — did you recognize the man?”

He looked sharply at her. Instead of answering, he countered, “Did you?”

Her voice was level. “I thought I did. But I could not make sure. He was gone so quickly.”

Reeves rubbed his shoulder. “Aye. I was a bit in his way.”

“I must think he was not after our jewels.”

He stood, not moving. The parcel lay almost tangibly between them. “Not the jewels,” he agreed.

She glanced behind her to where her aunt was engaged with Mullins and her bandboxes. “We have only Potter and you for protection, Reeves. Perhaps I should have brought a pistol.”

“Good God!” breathed Reeves.

“I am a very good shot, you know. But I left it at home, at Aspinall Hall. But I really cannot be to blame, for who would have imagined that I would find a use for it?”

“Who, indeed?” agreed Reeves. Then, as usual much too late, he added, “Miss.”

Recognizing that she would get no more conversation from him at least at this time, she picked up her skirts and joined her aunt in the carriage.

Phrynie, her sleep broken for two nights in a row, was captious. “What was that man doing last night?”

“I suppose he was after our valuables, Aunt.”

“I do not refer to him. It was clear enough what he wanted. I mean that coachman you hired.”

“Reeves?” Nell asked innocently.

“Of course, if that is his real name. Which, I should like to point out, I doubt. The man is an enigma. He’s no coachman.”

“He handles the cattle excessively well.”

“And so do some of our notable whips,” Phrynie pointed out with acerbity. “He doesn’t act like a coachman.”

Nell, caught up in rosy recollection, agreed. He surely didn’t!

“I do not trust him,” pronounced Lady Sanford. “I cannot think what you were about in hiring him.”

The time Nell had dreaded had clearly arrived. She knew she could keep the events of the night at Château Pernoud secret no longer. With one exception, of course! “Aunt, I must tell you —”

Phrynie listened with all the attention Nell could wish for. She reminded her aunt of the tale she had told about the recovery of the parcel. Getting through the window, retrieving the parcel from the drawer, and hurrying back through the night and up the dark stairs…

“I’ve heard this, Nell. And I must say I find my credulity strained at the seams to think that you managed all this entirely by yourself.”

“You did not tell me you didn’t believe me.”

“Was I justified?”