Page 77 of Souvenir of Love

“Do you think that’s our man?” Elizabeth whispered as a tall man with wild gray hair, dressed in a ragged brown workman’s jacket, emerged from the foliage and began walking toward them.

The man’s steps slowed as he neared the blanket. He stopped, close enough for them to hear him speak, but still far away enough to give himself a head start if he needed to turn and run. His eyes kept shifting from their faces, to the carriage waiting on the road, to the food spread on the blanket, and then back again.

Elizabeth forced herself to smile encouragingly at him, noticing as she did so that the man was keeping one hand in his coat pocket. The pocket bulged, the fabric strained downward as something far heavier than his hand was concealed within. Was it a rock? Was he a mad beggar preparing to strike them and steal their food?

“May I help you, citizen?” James said.

The man cleared his throat, staring hard at them, almost as if he were trying to peer beneath their skin. Elizabeth saw the hand in his pocket move and the outline of his knuckles appeared against the fabric; she realized whatever was in there, he was gripping it tightly.

“Red and white.” When at last the man spoke, his voice rasped as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time. “Good colors for a blanket.”

“Red for the blood of the martyrs, white for the Bourbons,” James said.

The man’s features twisted, and for a long moment he seemed to be fighting to control them. “Thank God,” he breathed before drawing himself up and offering them a courtier’s bow. “Amaury de Joley, at your service.”

James rose, grasping Elizabeth’s hand as he did so and pulling her to her feet. “I am Lord Dinsmore and this”—his pause was briefer than a blink—“is my lady wife.” He inclined his head, and Elizabeth swept into a curtsey. “And it is we, monsieur, who are at your service.”

“I wonderedwhy the seats of this coach were so high,” Elizabeth remarked as James lifted out a panel. Behind the seat was a space, cramped but large enough to conceal a man. James motioned for Joley to climb inside. Clutching a hunk of bread and cheese, France’s former deputy minister of finance crawled under the seat.

“I apologize for the accommodation, monsieur,” James said, “but it is just until we get you back to the inn where we are staying. I promise, this is not how we intend to take you to England.”

“Even if it were,” Joley replied, “I would travel without complaint. I am well aware you are risking your lives to save mine.”

James, uncomfortable with the minister’s thanks, nodded. “I’m going to put the panel back now. Is there anything you need before I seal you in?”

“Have you any more of that chicken you brought with you the other day?”

“Alas, no, but I have some very nice pâté.”

When Joley was safely concealed and the carriage started off, Elizabeth leaned against James’s arm and whispered in his ear, “How long do you think he was watching us?”

“Based on the request for chicken, I’d say at least two days.”

An embarrassed flush prickled her cheeks. James chuckled, which only made things worse. “How can you laugh? Who knows what he might have seen?”

“He wouldn’t have seen anything improper or unnatural between a man and his wife.”

She was aware of the flush moving up her cheeks to her hairline; acting as if they were man and wife seemed to come so easily to him, and yet he’d made it clear they would never be. Finding Joley meant that their mission was almost over. They’d be returning home to England within days.What then?Wouldhe ship her back to her brother without a backward glance? It was too painful to even consider. Elizabeth changed the subject. “If we’re not smuggling him out of the country behind the panel, how are we going to get him out of France?”

There was a glint in James’s eye as he answered. “Papers by Marcus and valet service by Andre.”

They reachedthe inn as day was beginning to turn to dusk. James had the carriage put away and ordered a bath to be brought up in two hours. As soon as it was dark, David smuggled Amaury de Joley up to the room. He was nearly as delighted to see the bath warming by the fire as he had been to see the food. “I am ashamed, my Lord Dinsmore, to be seen in such disarray by your lady wife.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, monsieur,” Elizabeth interjected. “I see nothing but the face and figure of a man who has been unjustly persecuted.”

Joley smiled. “You are a lucky man, Dinsmore. Your wife’s character is as lovely as she.”

James’s eyes lingered on Elizabeth for a moment before he thanked the Frenchman.

“And brave,” Joley continued, “to venture into France at such a difficult time.”

Elizabeth noticed how his eyes slid longingly to the bath and realized her presence had become a complication. Joley doubtlessly was wondering how he might attend to his toilette with her in the room. And she found herself wondering where the Frenchman would sleep. His presence would be noticed and would surely have to be explained if he were sent to sleep with David, Marcus, and Andre downstairs.

She turned to James. “After spending the afternoon sitting in the sun, I find myself in desperate need of a walk. Otherwise, Ifear I might fall asleep before your very eyes.” She patted her lips as if smothering the delicate beginnings of a yawn. “Dinsmore, will you ask Marcus to accompany me?”

Once again, Joley’s eyes shifted toward the steaming bath. “It is cold and dark outside, Lady Dinsmore…”

“Just the refreshment I require.” She smiled, acknowledging his concern. “And I shall be as safe with Marcus as if I were with…” She hesitated. She’d been about to say,as if I were with my husband. Which was absurd. She was far safer with Marcus than with James; he’d never flirt with her, never kiss her, never trail his fingers seductively across her skin. Never lead her on, only to turn her away. Indeed, Marcus seemed to worship at the altar of misogyny. “As if I were with a troop of armed guards,” she finished.