Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
It was dusk when the coach stopped along a lonely stretch of road.
If it could be called a road, James reflected, glancing out the window.
It was really more of a rutted track, one that hadn’t been used recently, from the look of the grass growing up and around it.
He hadn’t been paying much attention to their surroundings; his mind was too filled with thoughts of Marcus.
Where was he now? Would his forged papers hold up to the scrutiny of the checkpoints, especially with the French on heightened alert?
Would he find Marguerite? And if so, how would he get her out?
He looked at Elizabeth, stirring out of a half sleep, as the coach stopped, her chestnut curls tickling his cheek.
He knew he’d had no other choice but to let Marcus go.
He knew, all too well, the agony of seeing a loved one in danger, and feeling helpless to save her.
The memory of Elizabeth surrounded by soldiers, amidst the gunfire and the fighting, swinging the fallen soldier’s musket, replayed in his head.
If he’d turned back, she’d have followed, and he couldn’t let that happen. Not again.
But still, the decision to let the man go alone didn’t sit right. Grenville had charged him with getting the team safely out of France—the whole team. And so, he’d agreed Andre and David could follow after him as soon as they’d seen Joley safely onboard the rescue cutter.
The door of the carriage swung open, and David stood by the folding stairs.
James took Elizabeth’s hand and helped her down.
A relentless wind swept forward to meet them, whistling up from the face of a cliff a short distance away.
It flattened the sparse sea grass and bent the few trees like wizened women in the wake of a king.
As they began walking toward the edge of the cliff, David hurrying ahead of them waving a lantern to signal the waiting ship, James felt as desolate as the landscape.
His fingers tightened around Elizabeth’s. To keep her from falling, he told himself. Then fought back a bitter laugh—as if he hadn’t caused her to fall already.
When Moreham had asked him that day in the library if it was redemption he sought in France, he’d brushed the question aside. It was what he always did—brush aside the expectations of others; if he refused to accept them, he couldn’t fail to meet them.
He caught a thorny branch, held it aside so Elizabeth could pass. She kept hold of his hand, pulling him after her.
Though he had denied it, Moreham and Marcus had been right. He had hoped that by saving the Frenchman, by doing something selfless and good, he might somehow save himself, too. Redeem himself.
And yet, here he was, still the same flawed man. He’d done all that Grenville asked, strengthened his spy networks, saved de Joley, but his team was turning back. As for Elizabeth…
She tugged at his hand, the long strands of chestnut hair flying loose about her face making her look like some wild sea creature.
As much as his heart yearned to be with her, he knew she was far better off without him.
With her free hand, Elizabeth gestured to where Amaury de Joley stood a short distance from David, looking out to the sea. “Look at the comte. He looks like he’s standing on the edge of the world.”
James studied the figure of the comte, a fragile silhouette against the moonlit sky. “In a sense, he is. He’s standing at the edge of the world as he’s known it.”
“I’m sorry, James.”
He turned to look at her, confused by her sudden change of subject. “Sorry for what?”
“For all the thoughtless things I’ve done.” She swept a hand back through her hair, but the wind only loosened more strands. “The trouble I’ve brought you.”
“The trouble…you’ve brought me?”
“When I made love with you in the library, it was as if I’d crossed an invisible line.
Not by breaking society’s rules, but how I felt when you touched me.
After…I tried to pretend that nothing had changed, that I could go on as before.
But I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried.
And then, for a time, a very brief, black time, I thought there was no use in trying.
That’s why you found me walking on the wall.
It seems ridiculous now, but I thought I was putting my life in fate’s hands.
And then you appeared, and I overheard you talking in the library.
It was fate.” She gave a sharp laugh. “And I was jealous.”
“Of me?” She was speaking rapidly, while his mind seemed to have slowed to a crawl; James struggled to make sense of what she was saying. Despair had driven him to her brother’s estate.
“You’d found a way to change everything about your life,” she continued. “You were leaving England, going somewhere new, embarking on a grand adventure…”
“A grand adventure?” he said with disbelief.
“At least, that’s what I thought it was. I imagined you, us, sweeping in and rescuing Monsieur de Joley.” She nodded at the cliff. “We’d save him, carry him back to England, where he could start over and we…” Her voice trailed off.
James tightened his grip on her hand.
“So could we. I didn’t think…”
“That men might die?” he said harshly. “I warned you this was dangerous work.” She nodded, swallowed hard. “I was na?ve. And…as my brother and my tutors have frequently pointed out, I seem to learn best by doing.”
“An unfortunate trait.”
“So I’ve been told, but I do learn. And James, you saved the Comte de Joley’s life. If his work in England helps bring an end to the Revolution and restore peace between our countries, then who knows how many more lives you’ll be responsible for saving?”
“You insist on seeing the best in me.”
“While you insist on seeing the worst.”
“Because there is so much more of it to see.”
“Piffle. That’s like saying you only see the clouds, because there’re so many more of them and only a single sun.”
“Piffle?” he repeated, incredulous. “Elizabeth, I am not the sun.”
“You are mine,” she said.
He caught her other hand, drew her round to face him. “And if Marcus, Andre, and David fail to bring Joley’s daughter back? If harm comes to any of them? All of them? Then I’ll be responsible for that, too. Just as I’m responsible for all the harm that’s befallen you.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Are you listening to me at all, James Dinsmore?”
“Are you listening to yourself? I ruined you.”
“You presented me with choices…”
“Choices?” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Is that what you call what I did? I tempted you, Elizabeth, like the serpent tempted Eve in Eden.”
“Have you forgotten, my lord? That apple brought Eve wisdom. I chose to enter the library, to fall for your seduction, to follow you…”
“You chose poorly.”
“Then I’d say we’re evenly matched.”
James released her hands. Ran one of them through his hair. “You’re mad, Elizabeth…”
“Making us an even more perfect match…”
“Your brother was right…”
“My brother should have knocked you on the head, instead of…” Elizabeth tugged one hand free of his, ran a finger down his scar. In the moonlight, he could see the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. “That.”
“Do you know why he did it? What he said when he left that mark?” James had no difficulty recalling Moreham’s words; all too often they echoed in his head.
Louder almost than the waves of the North Sea.
“So that wherever you go, people will know you for the dishonorable cur that you are!” He took a breath.
“I’m not good for you, Elizabeth. I’ll never be good enough for you. ”
“It might have knocked some sense into you,” she continued undeterred. “And who cares whether you’re good enough for Rafe? Who cares about being good? You know I’ll never be…which is precisely why we belong together.”
James struggled to exhale. “You’re young. Na?ve.”
“I may be young, but I’m not na?ve. Do you know what will happen when we reach England?”
“I will return you to your brother’s care, report to Grenville, and return to France if he’ll allow it.”
“And I will follow you.”
“You will not,” he said, aghast.
“Do you think you can stop me?”
James caught her by her shoulders, lifted her up, thinking perhaps he might shake some sense into that insane, beautiful head of hers. Knowing he could not.
She pressed her body against his, nipped his ear, and whispered, “Tell me, James Dinsmore, do you really want to stop me?”
A shiver ran through him. He looked past her at the figure of the Frenchman standing on the shore. David was standing beside Joley, lantern in one hand, the other pointing to a light nearly lost among the tossing waves of the sea. He lifted the lantern, flashed a signal, and the light flashed back.
It was the rescue ship. It was time for them to go.
Time for him to let her go. “I can never change, Elizabeth,” he said.
She looked up at him, strands of hair whipping against his cheek, confusion on her moonlit face.
“But I haven’t asked you to change. Why would I do that? You’d be a different man.”
He held her away; he needed to create some space between them. “Elizabeth, I ruined you…”
“Ruined me? Again, with that? Ruined me for what? Meaningless card parties and balls? Empty conversations with people who don’t care a whit about me?
A ‘suitable match’?” Her voice was as insistent as the wind.
“I went willingly into that library with you, just as I came willingly to France. Have you forgotten that I forced you to bring me with you?”
“I could have found a way to send you back,” he replied sharply.
If I’d wanted to. “Instead, I put your life at risk. Because of me, your hands are stained with blood.” The scene played in his mind—the soldier charging at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth swinging the musket. Dropping it, her face white. Her body trembling in his arms.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” She grabbed the lapels of his coat. “All this talk of you not being good enough for my brother, or for me. But the truth is I’m the one who isn’t good enough…”