Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Rafe stood on the dock at Dover, listening to the creak of the great masted ships as they rocked at anchor and the waves beating against the shore.
Somewhere out in the velvet darkness a ship was carrying Lamartine and Jervis back to France.
Rafe closed his eyes, feeling the cool breeze wash over his face and tug at his hair.
He was so tired, but he’d done what he needed to do to keep Alix safe.
He, Jervis, and Lamartine—tied upright in the saddle of his horse—had ridden all night in order to reach the port.
Rafe thought back to his discussion with the de La Brou’s former steward.
Sitting at a small table in the taproom of the King’s Arms, the titles to Valcour and the other de La Brou estates piled in the middle of the table, Jervis had untied Lamartine.
The little Frenchman sat stiffly at the table between them.
Rafe speculated the tension in Lamartine’s body had less to do with fear of what they might do to him than the strain of keeping himself from reaching out and grabbing up the titles.
His eyes were like those of a drowning man who sees a long boat drifting just out of reach.
“You’d like to have those, wouldn’t you, monsieur?” Rafe had said, his fingers tapping gently on the edge of the papers.
Lamartine nodded.
Rafe leaned back in his chair, the titles still trapped beneath his fingertips. “I don’t want them. I have no interest in property in France; it’s all going to hell there. And I don’t wish my wife to have any interest in France.”
Lamartine looked momentarily confused, then his watery eyes narrowed with understanding.
“That’s right. Alexandre de Rabec de La Brou is my wife.
So you understand the titles are now mine to do with as I please.
And what pleases me is to have my wife concentrate on providing me with an heir to the Moreham title, not mewling about some pile of stones in the middle of France. Do you understand, monsieur?”
Lamartine nodded, his expressionless face betrayed by the hunger that flared in his eyes. “Oh yes, my lord, women are so easily distracted.”
“If I give you these titles, you will never return to England, will you?”
“I give you my word,” Lamartine said eagerly.
“That is good.” Rafe leaned forward, he eyes flat and cold, and his hand spread on the papers.
“Because if I ever hear that you have returned to these shores, I will have you killed. And rest assured, I have the power and the connections to carry out such a threat.” He slid the papers across the table to the steward.
“Take these. I will tell Alix that you escaped with them.”
Grasping the papers, Lamartine stuffed them hastily into his waistcoat pocket, “Thank you, my lord, and if there is ever anything else I can do for you...”
“You can leave for France tonight,” Rafe said sharply, finishing the sentence in his mind: and die just the way you planned for Alix. “My manservant Jervis will accompany you, to ensure that you disembark in Calais.”
Lamartine stared. “A thousand pardons for questioning you, Lord Moreham, but how do I know that he will not kill me and take the papers?”
“Don’t be a fool.” Rafe spat disgustedly. “If I wanted you dead, why would I give you the papers? Why wouldn’t I slit your gullet now and dump your body in a ditch?”
Lamartine looked confused as he tried to work his way through this answer. Finally he nodded. “Forgive me, your lordship, for questioning you.”
Rafe gave him a disinterested look and then nodded at Jervis. “Take Monsieur Lamartine to the ship, and when you have completed your business in France, return immediately. I don’t want you spending my money drinking and whoring in Calais.”
He had watched from the shadows as Jervis had Lamartine bundled into a rowboat and taken aboard the packet Cerebrus.
Jervis, he knew, would alert their contacts in Calais and make sure Lamartine was arrested as soon as he stepped foot on French soil.
The letter from the comte, detailing how he was depending on his faithful steward to protect the family fortunes until the de La Brou’s could return to claim them, would be all that was necessary to condemn the little man as a traitor.
And in the uproar of Lamartine’s arrest, the titles to the de La Brou estates would somehow mysteriously disappear.
He smiled grimly. There were times when having a light-fingered American on one’s staff was an invaluable asset.
Rafe rubbed his temples. It was perhaps an unnecessarily elaborate plan, but he wanted Lamartine to taste the fear and suffering he’d inflicted on Alix.
Moreover, there was a certain poetic justice in the fact that it would be Lamartine’s own twisted machinations that would bring about his downfall.
Rafe wondered how Lamartine had forced the comte to write the letter, or indeed, whether the Comte de La Brou had written it at all. Not that it made any difference.
All that mattered now was that Alix was safe and the de La Brou legacy was safe.
An image of Alix’s face as she’d handed him the stays wavered in his mind.
She hadn’t said she loved him, but she’d entrusted him with the titles.
Rafe thought he understood the depth of that gesture, and he wouldn’t let her down.
The sound of a ship’s bells tolling the change of the watch reminded him of the time.
He wanted to get a few hours of sleep, before he took care of the other tasks he’d set for himself.
He yawned, wondering groggily how he would explain to his cousin, the bishop, that he needed a special license to remarry his wife.
Alix sat up in bed, the book on her knees sliding to the floor with a resounding thump.
She stared at the bright sunshine pouring through her open curtains.
She was bored—bored, and frustrated with keeping to her room, pretending to be sick.
She picked up a silver hand mirror lying on her bedside table.
Turning her head, she examined the bruise on her cheek from different angles, a bit green around the purple edges, but most of the swelling had gone down.
The cut on her neck had faded to a thin red scab.
“I’m tired of just sitting about,” she announced to the room.
“Alix, don’t be so impatient,” Madeleine tutted as she examined the stitches she’d finished in her needlepoint.
“It’s only been two days. One more and I think we can cover that nasty bruise with a bit of powder and paint.
” She glanced over at her daughter. “You don’t want people gossiping over your face, ma petite. ”
She didn’t care, she just wanted to get up and out of her room.
Alix frowned. It wasn’t just that she wanted to escape her bedchamber, she wanted to see Rafe, to hold him in her arms. Two days and she’d heard nothing.
Well, not exactly nothing, she amended, examining the ring on her left hand.
She wiggled her fingers, admiring the way the gemstones threw off sparks of light.
The ring had arrived by messenger yesterday, accompanied by a short note.
Sweetheart,
Thought this would keep the gossips quiet until I returned.
R.
Not a particularly loverlike note, she reflected, no words of courtship or love.
Still, he had said he loved her, she reminded herself fiercely.
She regretted that she hadn’t had the chance to tell him that she loved him, too.
Did he understand why she had given him the titles?
Did he understand it had been like surrendering the deepest part of herself?
She wanted him to know that she was committing to a future with him, in England.
Where was he? She’d interrogated Ginny on Jervis’s whereabouts, but the maid knew no more than she and had seen no sign of the men since they’d dragged Lamartine out of the duchess’s house.
At the thought of Lamartine and a cold chill swept across Alix’s skin.
What if Lamartine had escaped? What if he’d harmed Rafe?
“Alexandre Charlotte stop frowning,” Madeleine said reprovingly.
“It will give you wrinkles. Men like women with skin like fresh peaches, not like dried apples. Of course,” she added with a smile.
“I guess I don’t have to tell you how to go about catching a man.
You’ve done quite well for yourself, chèrie.
Lady Melbourne says the earl has several estates and that he’s managed them so well he’s brought the family back from the brink of ruination.
Indeed, he’s rumored to be quite plump in the pocket.
And quite handsome, too, I might add. If I hadn’t seen how he looked at you that first night we met, I might have pursued him myself. ”
“Of course,” Madeleine paused and then gave a sparkling laugh.
“I never would have guessed you two were married. It’s quite unfashionable for a husband and wife to be in love, you know.
Spoils all the fun of flirtation. Your admirers will be most disappointed.
” Madeleine looked over at her. “Lady Melbourne’s small salon has been besieged by messengers delivering flowers and cards wishing you better health.
Lord Rothwell paid rather a lengthy call yesterday inquiring after you. ”
“He’s a nice man and nice to look at, Lord Rothwell.
Lady Melbourne says he’s looking for a mother for his six children.
What do you think, Alix? Could you see me with a brood of little ones trailing after me?
” Her voice was suddenly wistful. “I think I might have been a good mother, if I’d been given the chance. ”
Alix looked over at her mother’s dark head, suddenly intent on her needlework. “I think if you set your mind to it, you could be a wonderful mother for Lord Rothwell’s little ones.” Her voice softened. “I think they’d be quite lucky.”
“Perhaps I shall think on it then.” Madeleine said smiling. “Lord Rothwell has offered to take me riding tomorrow.”