The Paris Affair (36 page)

He looked down at her. “You knew I had doubts. You knew how frustrated I’ve been these past months.”

“I did because I can read you. You haven’t talked about it.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps I haven’t articulated it, even to myself.” His gaze moved over the street ahead. A young man had dropped a sheaf of papers. His two friends were scrambling to help him gather them up before the wind made off with them. “O’Roarke has a way of drawing one out. He always did, even when I was a boy. I’ve never spoken about my feelings easily, but I’d find myself confiding things to him I’d scarcely even realized I was feeling.”

It was a knack Raoul had, though she’d always thought of him as more tactical than emotional. And she hadn’t thought of him using that knack on Malcolm.

Malcolm watched one of the young men dart across the narrow street after an errant paper. “I still can’t credit that he knew about Tania. Though he and my mother were friends.”

“I imagine your mother must have been desperately in need of confidants.” Suzanne could sympathize with a young wife burdened with secrets. And Lady Arabella hadn’t had a husband she loved.

They moved past the three students, who had managed to gather up all the papers. “Would you mind?” Malcolm asked.

“Mind what?”

“If I wasn’t a diplomat anymore.”

“It’s your life, dearest.”

“Which you’ve made yours. You’re a quite brilliant diplomatic hostess. Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it.”

“I suppose I do in a way.” To her own surprise, she realized she spoke the truth. “At first it was simply a challenge, one I wasn’t at all sure I could meet.”

“You’ve never faced a challenge you couldn’t meet.”

“Oh, darling. How well I’ve fooled you.”

He grinned. “False modesty doesn’t become you, Suzette.” He glanced up and down the street. “You can’t deny you’d miss it.”

“I suppose I would, in a way.” It might be a role, but for all its artificiality she’d come to enjoy playing it. “But that’s what women do. Build their lives round their husbands.”

Malcolm grimaced. “Don’t let Juliette hear you talk.”

“I didn’t say I approved the practice. But I could hardly be happy insisting you live a life you don’t want simply so I could go on playing a role. And it’s not as though I don’t share your frustrations.”

“So if I did leave the service—”

“You aren’t just a diplomat, darling.”

“No. But the same qualms apply doubly when it comes to being a spy.”

Suzanne tilted her head back so she could look up at him without the brim of her bonnet getting in the way. “I was wondering if you’d miss it.”

“The challenge?”

“The adventure.”

“That’s hardly something one builds one’s life round.”

“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t miss it.” For she knew she would.

“For Colin’s sake it might be better if we were more settled.”

She swallowed. “I don’t know that we’re settled sorts of people, Malcolm.” She looked down at her threadnet glove against the blue superfine of his sleeve. He still had his coats tailored in London. “I suppose we’d live in England.”

He stared at a bookseller’s sign, swinging on its iron mounting. “I’m not sure—”

“That you want to go back.”

She saw the flinch in his eyes, the instinctive recoil from whatever had driven him from his family and the land of his birth.

“Perhaps it’s time I faced it,” he said. “But I’m not sure I want to put you and Colin through that.”

“Part of being married means one doesn’t have to go through things alone. Unless of course you’d prefer it.”

He shot a look at her.

“Sometimes sharing one’s life can be a burden. And I’m not just talking about sharing the dressing table and chest of drawers in cramped lodgings.”

His mouth twisted. “I know I don’t share myself easily. You put up with a lot.”

“Actually, you’re a ridiculously undemanding husband, Malcolm.” Though it was the last thing she’d have thought when she married him, sometimes she wished his emotional demands were greater.

“And you’re a remarkable wife. But you deserve better than the man I fear I’d be in Britain.”

It was on their one visit to Britain, a year ago, that she’d realized she loved Malcolm for better or worse. Seeing him in London and in his beloved Scotland, she’d glimpsed sides of him she hadn’t seen before. The vulnerable schoolboy. The conflicted son and brother. The loyal, teasing friend. But she’d also realized just how much of himself he kept locked away and how unlikely it was she’d ever discover the key.

“We needn’t go to Britain if you’d rather not,” she said. “There’s the Continent to choose from. And beyond. Though I saw enough last summer to think a part of you would like to go home. And give Colin the chance to grow up where you did.” For the world his mother had grown up in was gone.

“Perhaps. Though thank God there’s no way he’ll have the childhood I had.” He put his hand over her own where it curled round his arm. “I won’t do anything without consulting with you. I promise.”

“I’m good at rebuilding my life, dearest.” She drew a breath. “For now we have more immediate concerns. Like how we’re going to convince Juliette to confide in Rupert and Gabrielle.”

CHAPTER 32

Malcolm turned to Juliette as they stood in the courtyard of Rupert and Gabrielle’s house. A gust of wind ruffled the clouds over the moon, illuminating her wide, still eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

“Not in the least.” Juliette’s voice was level, but she was very pale above the dark blue folds of her cloak. “But we need their help. There’s no time to question further.”

Suzanne touched Juliette’s arm. “Malcolm was imprisoned last autumn. I knew I needed help. I had to decide whom to trust. Whom I could risk trusting. Because the alternative was unthinkable.”

Juliette nodded. “So let’s just move forwards. No sense postponing the risk once we’ve decided to run it.”

Malcolm nodded and rang the bell.

Juliette cast a glance round the marble-tiled entrance hall. Her gaze moved from the gilt chandelier to the satinwood pier table to the silver filigree basket for calling cards. “Not the sort of place I ever expected to be connected to.”

“Even aristocrats can be quite decent,” Malcolm said. “Speaking from hearsay of course.”

Juliette flashed a smile at him, surprise mixed with gratitude.

Suzanne followed Juliette up the stairs, remembering a time— not so very long ago—when she had felt as out of place in this sumptuous, alien world. This world she was now a part of. That her own son had been born into.

Gabrielle and Rupert were not alone in the salon. Gui Laclos walked forwards at the opening of the door. “I expect you have matters to discuss,” he said after Malcolm had introduced Juliette. “I was just going.”

“No.” Malcolm exchanged a look with Suzanne. “I’d prefer it if you could stay. This is a family matter.”

Gui gave a dry laugh, but at a look from Gabrielle he dropped back into his chair.

“Mademoiselle Dubretton has something to say you should all hear,” Malcolm said.

Juliette drew a breath. Suzanne recognized the hesitation before the moment when one voiced a truth that could change one’s life as one knew it. The moment she herself couldn’t contemplate. Then Juliette told her story with the economy of a master wordsmith.

Gabrielle stared from Juliette to Malcolm and Suzanne, then looked back at Juliette. “You’re saying your son is Étienne’s son?”

Juliette swallowed but did not look away from Gabrielle’s gaze. “I’m saying he might be. Even Princess Tatiana didn’t know for sure. My husband and I have no wish for Pierre to be other than what he is.”

“I understand that,” Gabrielle said. “I have a little boy myself.” She leaned towards Juliette. “I think I speak for my husband and brother as well when I say that none of us has any wish to change your relationship to the boy. But we can’t help but feel an obligation to him.”

Juliette drew a breath. “But—”

“Madame St.—Mademoiselle Dubretton.” Rupert got to his feet. “We can discuss this with you and your husband and I’m sure arrive upon an amicable solution. After we get your husband out of prison.” He looked from her to Malcolm. “That’s why you told us, isn’t it? You’re going to get him out and you need our help.”

“I hope that’s why they told us,” Gui said.

Malcolm outlined their plan.

“You think it will work?” Rupert asked.

“I think it can work. If we all play our parts.”

Rupert nodded. “You have no idea what a relief uncomplicated action is.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Gui said.

 

Malcolm glanced round the group assembled in their salon in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Wilhelmine and Dorothée seated on the sofa. Cordelia in the damask wingback chair with Harry perched on the arm. David and Simon on a pair of straight-backed gilt chairs. He was used to thinking of himself as living an isolated life, but these six people were friends. More than that. In their own way, they were all family. They listened in admirable silence as he explained the situation. None of them was given to asking unnecessary questions, and by now they’d all been through enough to temper any shocked exclamations or gasps of surprise.

“You want our help,” David said when Malcolm finished.

“We’re hoping for it.”

“Of course. That is, I can only speak for myself—”

“As can I,” Simon said.

“I’d be distinctly cross if you left me out,” Cordelia said.

“A mission where one can be confident of being on the right side,” Harry said. “I didn’t think those existed anymore.”

Malcolm met his friend’s gaze. “If Wellington or Castlereagh finds out—”

“Don’t be an idiot, Malcolm. I know what I’m risking. And I know you’d do precisely the same in my situation.”

“You’re a man after my own heart, Colonel Davenport,” Wilhelmine said. She looked from Malcolm to Suzanne. “I don’t pretend to your expertise in these matters, but I know the easiest way to get Juliette Dubretton and her children out of Paris. No guards dare to ask questions about the carriage of a Princess of Courland.”

“Two Princesses of Courland,” Dorothée said.

Wilhelmine smiled at her sister. “And I’m known to often travel with my maids’ children.”

“I confess I was hoping for as much,” Suzanne said.

Malcolm quickly outlined the rest of the plan. Harry nodded matter-of-factly. Even David, who was a stranger to such adventures, merely looked a bit disappointed that his own role didn’t require more.

It was already late, so the company broke up soon after. Wilhelmine moved to Malcolm’s side amid the rustle of fabric and murmurs of “good night.”

“Malcolm.”

Malcolm looked down at his sister’s sister. Her direct gaze held unaccustomed trouble. “Stewart?” he asked.

“He knows I’m working with you. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “He’s not the first lover I’ve quarreled with. Or the last. Were it merely that, I wouldn’t have burdened you with our tiresome quarrel. But he actually went as far as to order me to stop assisting you.”

“I don’t imagine you took that well.”

“How well you know me. He was . . . afraid.” Wilhelmine plucked at an embroidered fold of her skirt. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so afraid.”

“Of?”

“Something he fears you might still discover.” She drew a breath. “I think it’s to do with Bertrand Laclos. Stewart knows something about him. Something beyond the fact that he subsequently proved to be innocent. Something he’s deathly afraid will come to light.”

Malcolm scanned her face. “Do you have any idea what?”

She shook her head, brows drawn. “I can’t believe he knew Laclos was innocent at the time he ordered his death. But—He refused to confide in me.”

“Do you think—”

“That I can draw him out in the future? I fear I won’t be in a position to do so. Stewart gave me an ultimatum. I don’t take kindly to ultimatums.”

Malcolm studied her proud face and steady eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I should have realized it would end sooner or later.”

“He meant a great deal to you.”

“More than he should have. I don’t know how I could have been mad enough to imagine tying myself to him. For weeks I’d put up with knowing all about him and the fair Ninette at the opera, not to mention God knows how many others.”

Malcolm touched her arm. “The man clearly has no taste if he couldn’t see—What did you say her name was?”

“Ninette. Do you know her?”

“Rivère also had a mistress who was an opera dancer named Ninette. An odd coincidence. Which I suspect is something more.”

Wilhelmine gripped his fingers where they lay on her arm. “Stewart is foolish and pigheaded. But he’s also dangerous. Perhaps never more so than when he’s cornered. And if he finds out what we’re doing he’ll go straight to his brother and do incalculable damage for you and Colonel Davenport.”

Malcolm nodded. “We can but be careful.”

“I don’t know how I could have come so close to being seduced by a safe existence. Adventure is so much more satisfying.”

“That sounds like something Tania would have said.”

Wilhelmine smiled. “Well, she was my sister.”

 

Blanca stared at Suzanne across Suzanne and Malcolm’s bedchamber. “You’re going disguised as a maid.”

“Don’t say that with such disdain. I’ve played a maid before.”

Blanca snorted. She’d served as Suzanne’s ladies’ maid since Suzanne’s masquerade as Mrs. Malcolm Rannoch had begun, but in truth was more of a companion. “It will probably do you good to be reminded of how most of the world lives.”

“Yes, that’s just what I was thinking.”

Blanca pulled a face at her, then laughed and set down the chemise she’d been folding. “And Mr. Rannoch will be there as well?”

“Not with me, but on the same mission. Yes.” Suzanne took a nightdress from the laundry basket beside Blanca and began to fold it.

Blanca reached for another chemise. “And Mr. O’Roarke.”

Suzanne smoothed the muslin frill at the neck of the nightdress. “Yes, he’ll be part of it as well.”

Blanca folded the chemise, her gaze not leaving Suzanne’s face. “You’re playing with fire.”

Suzanne pressed a stubborn crease from the frill. “When have I done anything else?”