Chapter 21 #2
“Nanny Bell. I haven’t thought about her in years. She did have a way of making you feel that so long as she was around, everything would be all right.”
They lay together, lost for a moment in their separate memories of the old woman, who’d passed away when Elizabeth was twelve. Rafe had replaced her with a string of tutors and stiff-faced governesses.
“So, are you a left-sider?” she asked, cursing herself almost as soon as the question left her lips.
She really didn’t want to know. Right, left, however he responded, her brain would forever be branded with the image of him lying on that side of the bed, a faceless, naked woman curled against him on the other.
He was accustomed to sharing his bed. Why else would he have asked her which side she preferred?
She’d always known he was a libertine. Still, knowing was different from picturing…
His response was not what she’d expected.
“We didn’t have anyone like Nanny Bell to run to when we were frightened.
After my mother died, if I was home and it started to storm, I’d scrunch against the wall to leave room for Anne.
I knew if the thunder got very loud, she’d come running.
To make sure I was all right, she’d always say…
” His voice trailed off. “The wall was on the left side of the bed, so I suppose that makes me a left-sider.”
The image of the two of them, young Anne and James, huddling together while the lightning flashed outside the windows and rain pelted the glass was strangely reassuring.
Her tensed limbs began to relax, and she allowed her shoulders and spine to appreciate the plush comfort of the mattress.
He hadn’t lied about that, she mused as her eyelids began to take on weight.
That was the problem—James Dinsmore didn’t lie.
Oh no, Elizabeth Harcrest. We are not getting married.
The words seemed to follow her as she rolled over on to her right side, away from them, away from James, and into a fitful sleep.
The men were up at dawn, making sure that the luggage they’d stowed on the coach hadn’t been stolen during the night and that the horses were fresh and ready to go.
Elizabeth had asked for a few moments to freshen up and James had sent a maid up to the chamber to help her.
He wanted time to talk to the men about her.
“She’s even prettier than the locals described.” Andre nodded appreciatively over a chunk of bread and some cheese.
“Clever, too,” David added. “Might even turn out useful to have her on this little excursion.”
“She’s a nuisance,” Marcus said firmly. He reached for the loaf of bread that was set between the men on a table and tore off a hunk.
“The question, gentlemen, is not what she is, but what we do with her.” James glanced around the table. “I don’t think we should tell her everything about our mission in France.”
“I don’t think we should tell her anything,” Marcus said. “She knows far too much already.”
James motioned for the bread, and Marcus passed it to him.
He took out a knife and carefully cut a slice, then beckoned for the cheese.
“There’s the rub. She knows far too much already, and if I know Elizabeth, which, after all these years, I sometimes begin to believe I do, a little information will make her curious for more… ”
“Too much information would put her in danger.” Andre waved his chunk of bread warningly. “If she were captured and the French set their minds to finding out everything she knows…we’d all be in trouble.”
“Women aren’t designed to stand up to torture.” David nodded, chewing.
“Only to inflict it,” Marcus murmured so softly that the other men almost didn’t catch what he’d said.
“What we need to do is tell her enough to make her believe we’ve taken her into our confidence, to prevent her from prying any further into our business…”
“So how much would that be?” Andre asked.
“She has a rough idea about our route, so we could take out the map and discuss that with her.” James chewed, considering. “But I don’t want her to know about the trunk, or the panels in the coach, or Marcus’s writing box.”
The men nodded.
“And the fugitive?” Marcus asked. “She seems to know about him.”
“We’ll give her a rough outline of what we plan to do, find some role for her to play that keeps her out of our way and out of danger.”
Marcus raised a brow. “I suspect that’ll be a challenge nearly as great as getting Joley out of France.”
“We could lock her in the carriage,” David suggested.
“I’d be willing to distract her,” Andre volunteered.
“Neither of those options will be necessary; Elizabeth is supposed to be my fiancée, which makes her my responsibility. A responsibility, I doubtless have no need to add, that I take as seriously as our mission in France. At this point, she doesn’t appear to know the identity of our fugitive, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. ”
“If she’s so curious, how do you suggest we keep it from her?” Andre asked.
“From here on in, none of you know who he is. If she asks, or tries to pry in any way, you tell her it’s as much of a mystery to you as it is to her.”
“And if she doesn’t believe us?”
“Make her.”
Andre and the other men around the table nodded.
“I may not be able to wrap Elizabeth Harcrest around my finger”—James smiled without a trace of humor—“but I intend to do my best to keep her under my thumb.”