The Earl scanned the room for a moment or two, apparently oblivious to the heads turned in his direction and the excited whispered conjecture that rippled outwards from behind myriad fans.

Then he saw her. His blue gaze meshed with hers, steely and quietly intent. Its expression sent a frisson down her spine. In that look she read many things, none of them in the least bit reassuring. He had found her and there would be a reckoning. There was no way of knowing what form it might take, but suddenly it was much harder to breathe and a rabble of butterflies took wing in her stomach.

For a moment she stood transfixed as he made his way unhurriedly but inexorably through the throng towards her. It was effortless too: a word here, a touch there and the company parted to allow his advance. Claudia swallowed hard. Then, recovering some of her wits, she excused herself from the group and moved a few paces away, waiting.

And then he was in front of her, his gaze coolly appraising, taking in every last detail of her costume. In heart-thumping silence she watched him bow, then possess himself of her hand and lift it to his lips. The touch seemed to scorch.

‘I believe the next dance is mine, my lady.’

AUTHOR NOTE

When I was writing HIS COUNTERFEIT CONDESA Anthony Brudenell was a minor character who played a small but significant role in events. An unwilling participant in an arranged marriage, estranged from his wife, he raised some interesting questions, and it struck me then that his personal situation had the potential to become a novel in its own right. My editor agreed.

This book picks up the story three years later, but it appears Anthony has become a different man. After sustaining horrific injuries at Vittoria he is forced to resign his commission in the army. Cast out from everything he knows and values, he continues to serve his country by taking up a posting in the intelligence service.

This was a shadowy world which featured some fascinating characters—like the English spymaster William Wickham and Napoleon’s Minister of Police, Joseph Fouché. The latter seems to have wielded enormous power, to the point where even Napoleon feared him. Although Fouché was out of office for a short time during the Emperor’s exile on Elba, I have bent the facts slightly and brought him back a couple of months early to suit the events in my story.

As it turns out, Fouché’s agents are only the beginning of Anthony’s problems—because fate is about to reunite him with the beautiful and angry wife he abandoned eight years earlier.

Trapped in a marriage of convenience, Claudia has found fulfilment elsewhere and made a new life for herself—a life she conceals from fashionable London society. She has learned to enjoy freedom and independence, and has no intention of giving them up just because her absent husband has inconveniently returned. Claudia is determined to outwit him, but she has reckoned without the dangerously charismatic and powerful man who is equally determined to make her his wife in fact as well as name.

About the Author

JOANNA FULFORD is a compulsive scribbler with a passion for literature and history, both of which she has studied to postgraduate level. Other countries and cultures have always exerted a fascination, and she has travelled widely, living and working abroad for many years. However, her roots are in England, and are now firmly established in the Peak District, where she lives with her husband, Brian. When not pressing a hot keyboard she likes to be out on the hills, either walking or on horseback. However, these days equestrian activity is confined to sedate hacking rather than riding at high speed towards solid obstacles. Visit Joanna’s website at www.joannafulford.co.uk

Recent titles by the same author:

 THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE

 (part of the Mills & Boon Presents … anthology, featuring talented new authors)

 THE WAYWARD GOVERNESS

 THE LAIRD’S CAPTIVE WIFE

 THE COUNTERFEIT CONDESA

 THE VIKING’S TOUCH

THE CAGED COUNTESS
features characters you will have already met in
THE COUNTERFEIT CONDESA
Look for
REDEMPTION OF A FALLEN WOMAN
part of Castonbury Park Regency mini-series available February 2013

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Caged
Countess

Joanna Fulford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Barbara Smock and the Tally-Ho Arabians

Chapter One

Claudine settled back against the worn leather upholstery, letting her body relax into the swaying rhythm of the vehicle. Once or twice she glanced out of the window. Although it was still only early evening, the February rain had discouraged people from venturing abroad so the streets were quieter than usual. In truth she had no great desire to be out of doors either, but, on this occasion, it was unavoidable. Besides, it had been her choice to come to Paris and her choice to take up this post. One took the rough with the smooth. The risk had been part of the attraction. At the start of her career, this had been minimal. Since then it had increased significantly; not foolish dare-devilry but calculated risk taken for a good cause. What better cause than the service of one’s country?

If her London acquaintance could see her now … She smiled wryly. It wasn’t hard to envisage their shocked reactions. Her relatives would probably disown her. Most of them already viewed her actions with disapproval. The knowledge ought to have been disturbing but, instead, all she felt was a curious sense of detachment. She had been a pawn in their game for long enough. Independence had been hard won and she intended to keep it. For better or for worse it was she now who made the choices that affected the course of her life.

The fiacre turned off the main thoroughfare and into a quiet side street, eventually pulling up outside a house on the left-hand side. A lamp illuminated the number on the pillar by the door. With its stone frontage and shuttered windows there was little to distinguish this building from the others round it but, for the clientele who visited the establishment, its discreet appearance was part of its attraction. Discretion was the watchword of its proprietress too, and that made the premises useful for very different reasons. Even so, it wasn’t a venue Claudine would have chosen. Her smile grew mocking. In her old life it would have been unthinkable to have gone there at all. ‘But that was in another country,’ she murmured, ‘and, besides, the wench is dead.’ She was someone else now.

Her hand moved involuntarily to the reticule in her lap, feeling the familiar shape of the pistol hidden there. It was a precaution only. Thus far she had never needed it but its presence was always reassuring. Drawing up the hood of her cloak she stepped out of the fiacre and paid the driver. He grunted an acknowledgement and then urged the horse on. As the vehicle rumbled away, Claudine hurried up the steps to the front door and reached for the bell pull.

The door was opened by a manservant whose appearance suggested that he had been hired on the grounds of size and strength rather than physical beauty. The broken and flattened nose was indicative of its owner having once been a prize fighter. He scrutinised the visitor closely for a moment and then, recognising her, greeted her with a nod and permitted her to enter. Claudine stepped into the lighted hallway and heard the door shut behind her.

‘Who is it, Raoul?’ The voice came from the staircase opposite. It was followed by a soft laugh. ‘Well, well. Who’d have thought it?’

The speaker was a woman who stood on the upper landing surveying the scene below. Gown and coiffeur were elegant and the face carefully made up. In the subtle lighting that softened the hard lines about her mouth Madame Renaud passed for less than her forty-two years. However, despite the dulcet tone of voice, there was nothing soft about the eyes surveying her visitor. Even more disconcerting was the glint of private amusement visible there.

Claudine ignored it. ‘I am here on business, Madame.’

‘Aren’t we all, my dear?’ Madame Renaud jerked her head towards the landing. ‘You’d better come up.’

Claudine joined her a few moments later. Appraising eyes took in every detail of her attire from the fine cloak to the gown just visible beneath it, estimating their value to the last centime. The total was quietly impressive, a fact which only served to increase Madame Renaud’s curiosity.

‘I thought maybe you’d reconsidered my offer,’ she said.

‘I told you, I’m here on other business.’

‘Pity. With your looks you’d earn a fortune.’ Madame glanced through the doorway into the room behind them where half a dozen girls in gauzy and semi-transparent gowns were laughing and talking among themselves. However, it was early yet: the clock on the mantel showed ten minutes to eight.

‘You mean I’d earn you a fortune,’ replied Claudine. The words were spoken without rancour and merely stated as a matter of fact.

Madame nodded. ‘You’d get a fair share of the profits, I swear it.’

‘If ever I decide to go down that road you’ll be the first to know. In the meantime I suggest we stick to the present arrangement.’ Claudine handed over the purse concealed in the pocket of her gown. ‘Is he here yet?’

Madame palmed the purse, mentally weighing the contents, and then smiled faintly. ‘This way.’

They passed along the landing and down a passageway with doors on either side. From behind some of them Claudine could hear muffled voices, male and female, and other more disturbing sounds too, sounds that sent an unwonted shiver along her skin. She had often wondered what it must be like to lie with a man but, hitherto, her imagination had always explored that thought in the context of marriage. Her governess had left her in no doubt of a woman’s duty in that regard, and, being a widow, Mrs Failsworth was qualified to speak.

‘Intimacy is an unavoidable aspect of matrimony, my dear, and while no woman of good breeding could possibly find pleasure in it, she must be obedient to her husband’s will in all things.’ She proceeded to explain, with as much delicacy as she could, what that obedience involved. ‘The procreation of children is the entire point of matrimony, and it is the duty of a wife to give her husband heirs to continue his line. Of course, childbirth is a painful and hazardous business. Many women die in travail or else suffer a fatal haemorrhage. Others die of childbed fever afterwards …’

Claudine listened wide-eyed and with increasing disquiet. She had sometimes wondered what happened after marriage but her imagination had never gone further than holding hands and kissing and then, after an interval, the birth of a child. Never in a million years could she have envisaged the awful possibilities that Mrs Failsworth had described, yet it seemed to be an inescapable fate.

Society regarded marriage as the only career open to women, or women of good birth at any rate. It was essentially a business arrangement, as Claudine knew very well, and one that took no heed of personal inclination or feelings.

Certainly she’d been given no say in the matter. In her father’s house his will was absolute. She’d only been informed of her forthcoming marriage when everything had been signed and sealed. Of course it was a long time ago and she had been a mere child then. In any case the marriage was dead—in all but name. In the years since, she had seen married women who seemed content enough with their lot, some even happy. Were they happy or were they pretending to be and putting a brave face on things?

That a woman might actually choose to yield herself nightly to the will of different men was something Claudine had never considered until circumstances had confronted her with the reality. Did Madame Renaud’s girls find pleasure in what they did or were they driven by economic necessity? Claudine knew about the unsuspecting country girls who came to the city to seek their fortunes and whose innocence made them easy prey for the unscrupulous. Yet that didn’t quite seem to fit here. Mrs Failsworth said that only women of a certain kind enjoyed intimacy with men. Was it possible to enjoy carnal union at all, never mind outside of marriage? Could any woman enjoy it, knowing she might conceive a child? Surely no woman wanted to endure childbirth, especially not an unmarried woman for whom the consequences were shame and disgrace. All the social conventions said not. It was confusing.

Madame Renaud’s sphere of operations was a world completely removed from anything Claudine had ever experienced before. She hadn’t known what manner of premises she was visiting that first time; all she had been given was the address and the name of the person she was to meet. It wasn’t until she was inside that she realised the truth. While she hadn’t baulked at being sent to seedy inns and gaming houses or masked balls held in distinctly disreputable surroundings, this was beyond all bounds. She had expressed her indignation to her employer when next they met.

Paul Genet had surveyed her with amused surprise. ‘I did not think you squeamish, Claudine.’

‘I’m not squeamish. I merely thought you might have told me beforehand what to expect.’

‘Perhaps I should have. At all events you’ll be prepared next time.’

‘Next time!’

‘Yes.’ Seeing her expression he hurried on. ‘You need not let it concern you, my dear. You will be there for a few minutes only; just long enough to meet your contact and retrieve the information we need.’

‘Why there when there must be a dozen other places?’

‘Because Madame Renaud can be relied upon to keep her mouth shut.’

‘Even so, I cannot like it.’

‘You are not required to like it.’

‘Just as well, isn’t it?’

He sighed. ‘All right, I admit it’s not the most reputable establishment in Paris, but it’s safe and the information that we obtain is vital to the British war effort. Besides, you’re an experienced and trusted operative.’

She shook her head. ‘Save your flattery for someone who will appreciate it.’

‘It wasn’t flattery. I employ you because you’re good at what you do.’

Claudine eyed her companion steadily. She guessed him to be in his mid-forties. Soberly clad, he was a short man with a form tending towards corpulence and a head that was almost bald. What hair remained was light brown and close-cropped. The round, clean-shaven face was unremarkable save for those small and piercing grey eyes. In a crowd of people he would have gone unnoticed. Yet she knew he had originally been recruited and trained by William Wickham, and the old spymaster had only ever chosen the best. The fact that Genet held her in regard was flattering whether she cared to admit it or not.

‘All right, I’ll go.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

‘I have never let you down.’

‘That’s why I employ you,’ he replied.

A series of ecstatic male cries recalled her attention abruptly. Claudine darted a glance towards the closed room that was the source of the sounds and then looked quickly away. Madame Renaud smiled.

‘Estelle always knows how to please a man,’ she observed. Then, seeing the look of embarrassment on her companion’s face, the older woman raised an eyebrow. ‘You can hardly be shocked. You’re a married woman after all.’ She nodded towards the wedding ring on Claudine’s hand. ‘The only difference is that we get paid for what we do.’

Claudine made no reply. She might be a married woman but she had no notion of what it meant to please a man in that way. What subtle arts could elicit the kind of pleasure she had heard from behind that door? Likely she would never know. With an effort she dragged her mind back to the task at hand, annoyed that she had allowed herself to be side-tracked in that way. Respectable women did not think about such things, much less discuss them. But then respectable women weren’t found in bordellos either. The knowledge did nothing for her peace of mind.

They reached the end of the passageway and Madame Renaud gestured to the door on the right. ‘In there.’

The room smelled of stale perfume and sweat. It was simply furnished with a large curtained bed, a wash stand with a mirror hung above, and a chair. Two wall lamps provided soft light but its range was limited and the edges of the room were in shadow. The window opposite was closed and shuttered. The silence felt charged. Claudine frowned.

‘Alain?’

The shadows stirred and a man moved into her line of vision. Claudine’s heart leapt towards her throat. It was certainly not Alain. For a start he was a head taller than the person she had come to meet and the lithe, powerful figure bore not the least resemblance to the stocky frame she had been expecting to see. As he turned she drew in a sharp breath. The face with its almost sculptural lines must once have been handsome. However, two jagged scars marred the left side of his brow. Below it the eye and the cheek were concealed by a patch of dark leather. He seemed to emanate a dangerous virile power whose effect was both striking and unnerving.

With an effort she gathered her wits. ‘Forgive me, monsieur. I must have mistaken the room.’

Her expression and the indrawn breath had come as no surprise to the man opposite. He was accustomed now to the way others regarded him; in fairness his appearance was hardly calculated to reassure.

‘I think not, madame.’

He moved further into the room so that he could see her properly. The result gave him a visceral jolt. In the first place she was much younger than he had expected; twenty or a little more perhaps. In the second she was stunning. The soft light fell on glossy brown curls whose colour reminded him of newly hulled chestnuts. They framed a lovely face dominated by huge dark eyes and the most seductive mouth he had ever seen. She was just above the average height for a woman and her figure slender. The details were hidden beneath her cloak. For a second or two he indulged the fantasy of removing it. Any man would want to do the same, he thought. Genet was clearly growing more subtle in his recruitment. In keeping with French tradition he employed women as well as men for intelligence work, but the women in question didn’t usually look like this one. Nor was her manner that of a courtesan. No doubt he utilised her beauty and apparent innocence in higher spheres. After all, government ministers and foreign ambassadors were no more immune to female charm than any other man. Several of them patronised Madame Renaud’s establishment. The connection was all too evident. He took another pace towards her.

‘You came here to meet Alain Poiret.’

Claudine’s heart thumped. She used to think she was tall but this man towered over her. In the confined space he was altogether an intimidating presence. However, she couldn’t afford to let him see that. Lifting her chin she met his gaze squarely. ‘What do you know of Alain? Who are you?’

‘My name is Antoine Duval.’

She guessed it was assumed: real names tended to get people killed.

‘You must be Claudine,’ he continued.

‘Perhaps. Where is Alain?’

‘Fouché’s men arrested him last night.’

Claudine paled. The name of Napoleon’s Chief of Police was well known and with good reason. The ramifications filled her with silent horror. ‘Arrested?’

‘Alain suspected that he was being watched,’ her companion continued, ‘but he managed to get a message to me before they took him.’

‘Why you?’

‘Because I work for the same organisation as you do, and with the same aim in mind; to gather information for the British government.’

‘Alain never mentioned you.’

‘He never mentioned you either, until he feared that your safety had been compromised. I am come in his stead to warn you.’

Unnerved by the news as much as by the man before her, Claudine had to make herself think. The story seemed genuine. It was very much in keeping with Alain’s character that he would seek to warn her somehow. If he had chosen Duval to do so it was because he trusted him. It went against the grain to be beholden to anyone, but she had perforce to acknowledge herself obligated.

‘I am grateful, monsieur. You took a risk.’ Then the rest of what he had said filtered through the chaos of her thoughts. If Alain was being watched did Fouché’s agents know who his other contacts were? Did they know about her? Were they just waiting for the right moment to spring the trap?

As if he had read her thoughts Duval went on, ‘It is a matter of conjecture as to how much Fouché’s men have already discovered. What is certain is that Alain will eventually be made to talk. It is too dangerous for you to remain here.’

‘I can’t just leave him to his fate.’

‘There’s nothing you can do to help him now, except to make his effort count. You must heed the warning and get away while you still can.’

That went against the grain too, but she knew he was right. ‘I must return to my apartment. There are things I …’

‘You can’t go back there. It’s the first place they’ll look. We must leave at once—tonight.’

Claudine’s chin lifted. ‘We?’

‘I gave Alain my word I’d get you to safety. There’s a carriage waiting at the end of the street.’

Having no intention of putting herself in the power of this stranger, she shook her head. ‘I can take care of myself.’

‘A woman alone? I think not.’

‘How do you think I got here in the first place?’

‘It’s easy enough to fall into a trap,’ he replied, ‘but a lot harder to get out.’

‘I have my own contingency plans for leaving France. The matter need not concern you.’

‘It does concern me, in every way.’

‘I can manage. You have done your part, monsieur.’

‘My part is just beginning.’ His hand closed on her arm and drew her towards the door. Feeling her resist he frowned. ‘We don’t have time to argue.’

‘I said I wasn’t going.’

‘Don’t be a fool.’

The cutting tone and accompanying look raised her hackles at once. She stopped, swinging round to face him. ‘How do I know that this isn’t a trap?’

‘If it were you’d be under arrest already.’

In spite of her protests, Duval threw open the door and drew her with him along the passage towards the staircase. Madame Renaud was waiting on the landing. She started to speak but the words were drowned out by heavy fists pounding on the door below. Then a man’s voice called out.

‘Police! Open up!’

Before anyone could say more they heard the unmistakeable order echoed from the rear of the premises. Claudine’s stomach lurched. Duval swore softly. Then he looked at Madame Renaud.

‘Is there another way out of here?’

Madame shook her head. The banging on the door intensified. She leaned over the balustrade and called softly to the flunky below.

‘Wait another minute and then open it, Raoul.’ Then she turned back to her companions. ‘Come with me. Quickly.’

They needed no urging and moments later found themselves back in the room they had so recently vacated. Claudine looked round in bewilderment. The only way out was the window but they were on the first floor. Even if they weren’t seen by those outside, such a leap meant a broken leg at the very least. It was crazy. She saw Madame look at Duval and knew that some silent message had been passed and understood.

‘What?’ she demanded.

‘Take your clothes off and get into bed,’ he replied.

Madame nodded. ‘I’ll delay them as long as I can.’

With that she was gone.

Chapter Two

Claudine stared after her in stunned disbelief. Then she turned to speak to her companion but the words died on her lips for he had already thrown aside his cloak and was shrugging himself out of his coat.

She regarded him coldly. ‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Come on. We haven’t much time.’

‘If you imagine I’m going to …’

He paused, fixing her with a fierce glare. ‘You have a better plan?’

‘Well no, but …’

‘Then do it or, by heaven, I will! This tardiness is like to get us killed.’

She knew he was right but that didn’t make things any easier. She had never undressed in front of a man in her life. Reluctantly she unfastened her cloak and let it fall.

Seeing her comply, Duval continued undressing; coat and cravat joined his cloak and he sat down on the bed and began to tug off his boots. From below came the sound of raised voices. The police were in the hallway. Claudine fumbled with the fastenings of her gown. Her companion tossed his boots aside and dragged off his shirt. She had a swift impression of a hard-muscled torso and savage scars down the left arm and shoulder, and then looked hurriedly away resuming her struggle with the buttons.

Duval sighed. In two strides he was across the room. Strong hands turned her round and lifted her hair aside. In seconds the buttons were undone. Warm fingers brushed her skin as he slid the gown off her shoulders and, while she struggled out of the sleeves, unfastened the petticoat and stays beneath. It was accomplished with the smooth ease of one completely familiar with women’s clothing. Moments later she was standing in chemise and stockings and his fingers were unfastening the pins that held her hair. Glossy curls tumbled in disarray about her shoulders.

Booted feet sounded on the stairs and she could hear Madame Renaud’s angry protests. Then a man’s voice barked orders.

‘Search every room! The woman’s here somewhere.’

Claudine’s heart thumped painfully hard. It was her they meant. Alain must have talked. The poor man would have had no choice. She could only imagine what methods had been employed to break him. If they caught her she could expect the same. For a moment cold terror replaced rational thought. Her companion crossed to the bed and pulled back the coverlets.

‘Get in.’

Dumbly she obeyed, sliding across the chilly sheets to the far side. As she pulled the covers over herself Duval saw the soft gleam of metal on her hand and, for the first time, noticed her wedding band. He frowned.

‘Take off the ring.’

She struggled for a moment or two and then shook her head. ‘It’s too tight.’

‘Then keep your hand out of sight.’

Swiftly he drew the bed curtains closed and then came to join her. Outside, the booted feet came closer, punctuated at intervals by feminine screams and male oaths. Claudine shivered. He felt it.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he murmured. ‘Just play your part and say as little as possible.’

Inwardly he wondered how long her nerve would hold. Alain had said she was a skilled operative but, just then, Duval was far from convinced.

The darkness inside the curtained bed made it impossible for him to see her face, a circumstance for which Claudine was devoutly thankful. His words, though kindly meant, demonstrated clearly what he thought her to be. It was all of a piece with his casual assumption that she would have no objection to their physical intimacy. Then all reflection was driven from her mind by the hands gathering up the fabric of her shift. Instinctively she reached to stop him.

‘No.’

He gritted his teeth. ‘If this is to be credible you must take it off.’

Another door crashed open, nearer this time, to be followed by more angry voices.

Claudine took a deep breath. ‘All right, damn it.’

Hurriedly she struggled out of the chemise. He grabbed it and flung it aside. The immediacy of the cool linen sheet against her skin raised goose bumps along her arms and intensified the feeling of vulnerability. Never in her life had she been so glad of the darkness which hid her face. Then the mattress shifted under his weight and a lean hard body pressed the length of hers. Strong arms drew her closer, sharing his warmth. The musky scent of his skin sent a tremor through her that was nothing to do with their present peril. She could feel his breath against her neck and then the soft pressure of his lips. The skin seemed to burn where they touched.

‘Kiss me.’

Claudine tensed. ‘What!’

‘Kiss me.’ This time the tone was a quiet command.

‘But I …’

His mouth slanted over hers cutting off protest, gentle at first, then gradually becoming more insistent, ignoring resistance. Slowly, gently, his hands began their own exploration, their touch sending a wave of flaring warmth down the length of her. Gradually, of its own volition, her body relaxed a little and her mouth opened beneath his. His tongue teased hers. She knew it was wrong to be doing this and it should have been repellent; instead it shocked and excited.

As he felt her yield to the kiss Duval felt a familiar tightening sensation in his gut. Her body was exquisite, made for a man’s touch and his own responded to it with a swiftness that astonished him. He didn’t have to pretend. He’d wanted her from the moment he saw her. She filled his senses. The din from the next room faded to background noise. Suddenly, in the dark cocoon of the bed anything was possible. His lips travelled down her neck and throat to her breast, gently sucking and teasing until the nipple grew erect. He heard her gasp, felt her body quiver again. An answering heat flared in his groin. Then his mouth was over hers again, hot, ardent, seeking her response while his hands continued what they had begun.

The touch sent another flush of treacherous warmth the length of her body and triggered sensations she had never dreamed existed. An equally treacherous inner voice whispered thoughts of surrender, of submitting completely to his will, of pursuing this to its conclusion. And if she did she might become pregnant. It only needed one occasion. Horrified by her lustful response, she tried to protest but the sound was trapped in her throat. What emerged was a groan. Immediately the kiss grew deeper and more demanding. A hand caressed the length of her waist to her hip and moved thence to the secret place between her thighs, stroking gently. The touch sent liquid fire to her loins. Claudine gasped. The stroking continued. Her body quivered in response. She felt him unfasten his breeches and, moments later, his arousal hard against her leg … And then the door was flung open and booted feet tramped across the room. Ruthless hands dragged the curtains apart to reveal three uniformed officers. Duval turned and swore. That too had the merit of being genuine. Beside him, Claudine stifled a scream, dragging the sheet over her bosom, her eyes wide with shock.

Duval mentally prayed as his hand closed over her wrist in silent warning. If she lost her nerve now it was all over. Could she be relied on to play her part? Then Madame Renaud pushed past the intruders to address him.

‘I’m so sorry, monsieur. It’s all a misunderstanding.’

‘It had damned well better be,’ he replied. ‘What the devil’s going on?’

‘We’re looking for a woman,’ replied the officer in charge.

‘You’ve come to the right establishment then,’ said Duval, ‘only this one’s spoken for.’

The officer ignored him and looked at Claudine. ‘Who is this?’

With pounding heart she forced herself to return his stare, assuming what she hoped was a sufficiently brazen manner. Then she opened her mouth to speak, but Madame Renaud was before her and bristling with indignation.

‘This is Fifi. She’s one of my girls.’

‘How long has she been in your employ?’

‘About six months now.’

‘Indeed.’ The officer’s gaze appraised Claudine silently, his gaze stripping the sheet away. ‘Pretty girl.’

She wanted to slap the leering expression off his face. Instead she returned a provocative smile and fluttered her eyelashes.

‘There are many pretty girls here,’ replied Madame Renaud. ‘And they can cater for all tastes.’

Sickened to the depths of her soul by the speculative looks directed her way, Claudine forced herself to sustain the role. Duval glared at the intruders.

‘The only taste she has to cater for right now is mine.’ He looked meaningfully at Madame Renaud. ‘I paid you in good faith for the whole night with Fifi, and I mean to have my money’s worth.’

The men standing behind their officer raised their eyebrows and exchanged knowing grins. Madame nodded.

‘Of course you do, monsieur,’ she soothed. ‘I can only apologise for the interruption. I hope she pleases you.’

‘Fifi pleases me very much.’ The inflection was impossible to miss.

‘Monsieur Fouché says the same,’ replied Madame.

The officer’s head jerked round and his face paled a little. ‘Monsieur Fouché? He is a patron here?’

‘That’s right. He values discretion, you see, and I run a discreet establishment. I don’t suppose he’ll be too happy when he learns about all this uproar. Nevertheless, learn of it he will because I shall certainly lodge a complaint.’

The man seemed much taken aback. ‘I was merely doing my duty by acting on information received. However, it seems our information may have been wrong after all.’

Madame gave him a pitying look. ‘I think someone’s having a joke at your expense.’

That possibility was dawning on him too. Spots of angry colour appeared in his cheeks. ‘We will withdraw.’ He inclined his head towards the two in the bed. ‘I beg your pardon, monsieur, mademoiselle.’

Duval eyed him coldly. ‘Close the door when you leave.’ Then, apparently considering the matter at an end, he turned his back on them and laid a hand over Claudine’s breast. ‘Now, chérie, where were we?’

For a moment the officer seemed rooted to the spot, not knowing quite how to respond. His men grinned broadly. Then Madame stepped in and chivvied them out into the corridor. Seeing the door finally close behind them Claudine let out the breath she had been holding and collapsed on to the pillows, trembling with relief. Duval smiled.

‘Well done.’

‘It is Madame who deserves our thanks,’ she replied.

‘She was wonderful. The police will have to look elsewhere for their spy.’ He paused. ‘Your performance too was … most creditable.’

‘I can act a part when I have to.’

‘A part you play to perfection if I may say so.’

Indignation flared. ‘Yes, a part I play, and not at all what you think.’

Seeing the expression of amused scepticism that greeted these words, she squirmed inwardly. She was naked and in bed with a stranger in a brothel. Not what he thought? Dear heaven! He was only too justified in thinking it. Mortified now, she hurried on.

‘This was a necessary ruse. If there had been any other way I would have taken it.’

‘Of course.’ The tone was gently mocking like his smile.

Claudine gathered together the last shreds of her dignity. ‘I came here to meet Alain and to obtain the information he carried. The choice of venue was not mine. I would never have come here willingly any more than I would willingly have climbed into bed with you.’

She was unable to conceal the self-disgust she felt. However, Duval put a very different interpretation on her expression just then, and amusement ebbed. Despite his doubts she had indeed played her part well, but then the darkness hid all defects and she had been acting to save her life. The truth was that she found the thought of sexual congress with him to be abhorrent. The knowledge caused a sensation that was very like pain. He had thought himself past all this and it disturbed him to discover how far he was wrong. This woman had awoken something in him that he had believed dead. For a little while, in the forgiving darkness, he had thought she wanted him too. Now he felt angry with himself. His was no longer a face to attract the fair sex. That he had imagined such a woman might desire him was so pathetic it was laughable.

‘You need have no fear that I would force myself on you, chérie,’ he replied. ‘I prefer my women willing.’

The tone was perfectly even but she sensed the anger beneath. It served only to increase her shame. Mingled with it was an emotion that was disturbingly like regret.

Duval turned away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. When he had fastened his breeches he glanced over his shoulder.

‘Get dressed. We’re leaving as soon as the coast is clear.’

Claudine located her chemise and drew it on hurriedly. ‘I told you, I can take care of myself.’

She slid out of bed and reached for the pile of discarded clothing, supremely aware of the virile figure just feet away.

‘I gave my word to Alain and I mean to keep it,’ he replied.

‘You have already kept your word.’ She found her stays. ‘I am grateful, truly. But this is where we part company.’

‘We part company when I have delivered you safe on English soil. Now turn around.’

‘Why?’

‘So I can lace you up, why else?’ he growled. ‘Must you argue about everything?’

Claudine glared at him but, realising it would be impossible to manage alone, obeyed. ‘I do not argue about everything.’

His hands moved deftly to the task. ‘No?’

‘No. I was just telling you …’ She broke off with a startled gasp as the lacing was drawn tight.

‘I know full well what you were telling me and you can save your breath.’

‘I won’t have any breath at this rate.’

The laces slackened a little. ‘Better?’ Seeing her nod he fastened the stays and then stepped away to resume dressing. ‘I don’t intend to lose another English operative to Fouché’s men.’

She donned her petticoat and reached for her gown. ‘Why burden yourself with me since I cannot please you in any way?’

‘You pleasing me or not is irrelevant.’

She sighed. ‘Look, I know you mean well …’

‘I mean to get you back to England.’

‘You can’t; not without my co-operation.’

‘Your co-operation would be useful, but it isn’t essential.’

Claudine stared at him. ‘I’m not sure I care for the implications of that.’

‘You’re right; you wouldn’t care for them at all.’

The words were casually spoken but something in his expression gave her pause. She had no idea what he was capable of and somehow didn’t care to test the matter. He saw her uncertainty and nodded.

‘You’ll come with me, Claudine.’

Unsettled by that steady gaze she looked away and glanced round for her hairpins. They were strewn across the floor, scattered in the haste of undressing. She knelt and began to retrieve the nearest ones. Although fully dressed now he made no attempt to help. Claudine, quietly fuming, continued the search, only too aware of the booted feet in her line of vision and the powerful figure above whose gaze seemed to burn into her back. The symbolism of their current positions didn’t escape her. She was equally sure it hadn’t escaped him either. Gritting her teeth she concentrated on her task. Eventually, when she had located enough pins, she got to her feet and moved away to the small mirror above the washstand.

For a moment or two she was startled by the face reflected there; by the rosy flush along her skin and the new sparkle in her eyes. Her lips were redder too and slightly swollen now. She could still feel Duval’s mouth on hers, the touch of his hands on her naked flesh. Those five minutes in his arms had left her with an aching need, with feelings she could not afford and dared not pursue.

Confused now, and annoyed with herself as well, she turned her attention to the task in hand. However, without a brush or a comb the options were limited. Moreover, she could still feel the weight of Duval’s gaze, intimate and unsettling. Hurriedly she drew her hair back and twisting it into a knot on the crown of her head, secured it there. The mirror revealed errant wisps curling around her neck and face. It was far from perfect but it would have to do.

Duval held out her cloak. He settled it over her shoulders and fastened it with unhurried deliberation. The gesture was both practical and quietly assertive. It was also unnerving, like his closeness now and the warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin.

He surveyed his handiwork and stepped back, meeting her gaze. ‘Come.’

Chapter Three

Having ascertained that the coast was clear Duval led her downstairs and through the house to the back door. Madame Renaud was waiting here. Duval dropped a kiss on her cheek.

‘Thank you. You were magnificent.’

‘From what I could see, you weren’t so bad yourself.’ She raised an eyebrow.

He grinned. ‘I take that as a compliment.’

‘So you should.’ She glanced at Claudine and her eyes gleamed. ‘I knew I was right all along.’

‘Right about what?’ asked Duval.

‘She can tell you later. You must get out of here while you can.’

Claudine paused on the threshold. ‘Thank you for what you did today.’

‘All part of the service.’ Madame Renaud jerked her head towards the deserted street. ‘Now go.’

The night air felt like an icy slap and Claudine shivered, clutching the edges of the cloak tighter. As soon as she and her companion had crossed the threshold, the door closed leaving them alone. Hearing it, she let out a long breath, never more thankful to leave a place in her life. Now all that remained was to get rid of Duval and put her own plans into execution. She turned to face him.

‘I’m truly grateful for what you did in there, but this is where we part.’

For answer he resumed his grip on her arm. ‘You’ll do as you’re told, my girl. We’re not out of this yet, not by a long way.’

There was no way of knowing how far away the police were, and, without making the kind of scene that might attract unwelcome attention, Claudine had no choice now but to go along with Duval. They set off down the street, she almost running to keep pace with his longer strides. Neither one spoke. Once she tested his hold but it was like a vice. The physical contact was also a tangible reminder of what had passed. Every part of her being resonated to it and filled her with conflicting emotions. She pushed them away ruthlessly. What was past could not be altered. Just now she needed to focus all her attention on removing herself from the sphere of his unwelcome presence as soon as possible.

As they neared the end of the street she saw the waiting carriage. There was no way she was going any further.

‘Please, you must listen to me …’

He might have been stone deaf. She was bundled unceremoniously into the waiting vehicle and pushed on to a seat. She heard him speak to the driver before climbing in and taking the place opposite hers. The carriage moved away. Claudine glared at her companion.

‘How dare you do this?’

‘You appear incapable of rational thought,’ he replied, ‘so I’m doing the thinking for both of us.’

‘I don’t need you or anyone else to think for me. I told you I had my own plans.’

‘Well, now you’re going to follow mine instead.’

The cool arrogance of this assertion was breathtaking. It was on the tip of her tongue to deliver a blistering reply but she bit it back. The words would roll off him like water from a duck’s feathers. Instead she met his gaze.

‘Where are we going?’

‘St Malo,’ he replied.

‘St Malo! But that’s days away.’

As if he hadn’t heard the interjection he continued, ‘From there I will arrange a passage to Jersey and thence to England.’

She knew that the Channel Islands were a favoured route into France for the British intelligence services. Even so, the thought of being shut up for the best part of a week with this man was beyond bearing.

‘I’ll be safe enough once we are out of Paris. I can …’

‘You’re coming with me. Get used to the idea.’

The tone was implacable, forbidding. Further argument would be fruitless since he was clearly impervious to reason, so Claudine lapsed into fuming silence, directing her attention to the window instead, watching the blur of streets and buildings as they sped past.

‘Don’t try giving me slip either,’ he continued. ‘I would find you very quickly and you wouldn’t enjoy the consequences.’

She lifted her chin. ‘No, but I’m sure you would. However, I have to tell you that you’re doomed to disappointment there.’

‘It’s reassuring to know you have that much sense anyway.’

‘I’m glad to have set your mind at rest.’

He surveyed her curiously. ‘By the way, what did Madame Renaud mean when she said she was right?’

A wave of warmth flushed her neck and cheeks. ‘I … it was nothing. A private joke.’

‘Yet she said you would tell me.’

‘Well, I’m not going to.’

Her gaze returned to the window and she missed the smile that flickered across his face.

A short time later the carriage began to slow. Glancing out of the window again Claudine’s horrified gaze took in the flaring links and armed uniformed figures by the barrier at the city gate. Her stomach lurched. In the excitement of recent events she had temporarily forgotten about the routine security inspections governing travellers. Appalled, she looked at Duval.

‘I have no documents. They are back in my apartment.’

‘I have the necessary paperwork,’ he replied. ‘All you have to do is stay calm and keep your mouth shut. No doubt it will be a novelty for you.’

Claudine stared at him in impotent and dumbfounded silence. The carriage stopped and she saw him lower the window and hand the requisite documentation to the waiting official. The latter perused the sheet and glanced up. Claudine’s heart thumped. Then he turned back to Duval.

‘Your wife?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘This is all in order, monsieur. You may pass.’

He handed the papers back and Duval returned them to the inner pocket of his coat. The officer touched his hat to Claudine and then called to his colleague. A moment later the barrier was raised and the carriage moved forward again. As it did so she let out the breath she had unconsciously been holding.

‘I don’t understand. How did you …’

Duval leaned back surveying her steadily. ‘I called in a favour. Do you think I’d have attempted to conduct a rescue without some kind of forward planning?’

‘No, I don’t suppose you would.’ She hesitated. ‘Those papers describe me as your wife?’

‘It was the most credible scenario I could think of, and the least likely to be challenged.’

‘Yes, I can see that.’ It was a detail that had other implications too, implications that caused a strange sensation in her stomach. She tried to see his expression but the dimly-lit interior made that difficult.

‘I’m glad.’ He paused. ‘By the way, what were those contingency plans you mentioned earlier?’

Her face burned. As if her stupid oversight wasn’t bad enough, it had just vindicated all his actions. How much he must be enjoying that.

‘It hardly matters now, does it?’

‘I’m just curious.’

‘You’re just gloating.’

She sensed rather saw him grin, and looked quickly away. The man was insufferable which made it doubly hard to be beholden to him. It would be pointless now to say that she’d never slipped up before today. One mistake was all it took and they both knew it. Her papers were in another reticule; she’d forgotten to transfer them before she left that evening and, after what had occurred, there would have been no possibility of going back for them. It was an elementary error but a potentially fatal one, and she could have kicked herself. No doubt it only served to reinforce his opinion that a woman alone couldn’t cope.

Realising she wasn’t going to be drawn further, he let it go. ‘It will be a while before we stop so you should try and get some sleep, my dear. I mean to do the same.’

Claudine watched him settle back in his seat and then summoned her self-possession. ‘Duval?’

‘Well?’

‘Thank you.’

Just for a second his expression registered surprise. ‘You’re welcome.’ With that he drew his hat down over the upper part of his face and settled back again, bringing the conversation to a close.

Claudine shifted back into her own corner, closing her eyes, letting her body relax a little. The events of the day seemed unreal, as though she were held fast in a strange and disturbing dream from which she could not awake. Had it not been for her companion the dream might easily have become nightmare. I can take care of myself. She had to admit that the words sounded hollow. Her companion might be one of the most arrogant and overbearing men she had ever met, but he had done her a great service all the same.

At some point amid these thoughts she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew the carriage had stopped and the night was full of voices. She came to with a start.

Glancing out of the window she could see an inn yard and the shadowy figures of the ostlers leading the team away. Then cold air hit her face as the door opened and Duval returned.

‘Where are we?’

‘Just outside St Germain,’ he replied.

‘Are we stopping here tonight?’

‘Only long enough to change the horses. I want to put a lot more distance between us and Paris before we rest.’

For once she had no wish to argue. Minutes later a fresh team was between the shafts and then they were on their way again. Since her companion seemed not disposed for conversation Claudine was left to her thoughts. Between that and drowsing occasionally the next few hours passed in a blur. It was just before midnight when they stopped again at another inn.

Duval bespoke accommodation and conducted Claudine to hers, pausing a moment on the threshold. ‘Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day and we will be leaving early.’ He paused. ‘If you need me I’ll be in the next room.’

With that he left her, closing the door behind him. Claudine let out a long breath. It had occurred to her that he might try to take advantage of the situation in the light of what had already happened, but it seemed she was wide of the mark. He had made no further allusion to it. Perhaps like her he thought it was a complication they do without.

Since she had no belongings with her she was forced to make do with washing her hands and face. Then, having removed her gown she sat down on the bed and emptied her reticule. Apart from the pistol it contained a handkerchief and a handful of coins. At some point in the near future she was going to have to purchase a few necessities. There was nothing to be done about her clothes since the rest were in Paris. She smiled wryly. A few dresses were a small price to pay for her freedom, perhaps even her life. Having replaced the contents of the bag she climbed into bed and extinguished the candle.

The sheets were chilly and she shivered, drawing the covers higher. It was a pointed contrast with the last time, and her treacherous thoughts conjured the memory of a man’s warmth and a lean hard body pressed against hers. Unbidden she lifted a hand to her lips. She could still feel Duval’s kisses there. The recollection caused a pulse of heat in the region of her pelvis, and with it forbidden thoughts. She couldn’t go there, must not go there again. To do so would be disastrous and she mustn’t forget it.

They left early next morning. Thus far there had been no sign of pursuit, a circumstance for which Claudine was devoutly thankful. Now that the immediate sense of urgency was gone and since her companion was still disinclined for unnecessary conversation, she began to look about her with more interest. The carriage they were travelling in was surprisingly comfortable and the driver, Matthieu, highly experienced. At first she had assumed the man had merely been hired for this journey, but now she wasn’t so sure. Although he was courteous and deferential, his attitude towards Duval wasn’t that of a stranger. The relationship was more like master and trusted servant. He also seemed to know the route well; where they could change horses and where the decent inns were to be found. And then there was Duval himself. He was no common adventurer. She never heard him raise his voice, but when he spoke servants leapt into action. His whole manner was that of a man used to command and to being obeyed. He had the upright bearing of a military man but his movements were almost graceful and characterised by a touch of arrogance. Yet in spite of his intimidating manner he spoke like a gentleman.

The light of day had revealed all the details of his appearance to her curious gaze. She could see now that his skin was lightly tanned and the hair that in candlelight looked to be between brown and blonde was the colour of ripe wheat. Moreover, the contrast between the injured and uninjured sides of his face was stark. It reinforced the notion that he must once have been classically good-looking, the kind of man that women noticed. His injuries had changed that significantly: he was not just attractive; the damaged face lent him a sombre and dangerous edge that was both enigmatic and exciting. He roused her curiosity as no other man had ever done.

Becoming aware of that intense scrutiny he turned from the window and his gaze locked with hers. His good eye was a clear and vivid blue, the blue of a summer sky. Just for an instant it seemed disturbingly familiar. The familiarity wasn’t concerned with him since they’d only met for the first time yesterday; rather he reminded her of someone. An old memory stirred and struggled to surface, but the more she tried to retrieve it the more it eluded her. Then he spoke and the thought disappeared as quickly as it had come.

‘You look worried. Are you?’

‘No … at least not so much as I was. Do you think we are being pursued?’

‘I think we’d have seen some evidence of it by now. All the same we can’t afford to be complacent.’

He was certainly right about that. There were many other things she wanted to ask him too. His manner just then didn’t seem quite so forbidding so she put a toe in the water.

‘How did Fouché’s men find out about Alain?’

‘Someone betrayed him and, along with him, potentially an entire section of the British intelligence network in Paris.’

‘A double agent?’

‘It looks that way,’ he said.

‘Do you have any idea who it might be?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I never knew who Alain’s other contacts were. Do you think he managed to warn them in time?’

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘Yes.’ She felt suddenly cold as the full implications became apparent. More than ever she was aware of the narrowness of her escape and, like it or not, of how much she owed Duval. ‘It still begs the question though: why were they betrayed?’

‘For knowing too much. Alain was on to something of great importance but he wouldn’t say what it was until his sources had verified the facts. Unfortunately, they must have aroused suspicion somehow, because the police closed in before anything more could be passed on.’

‘I see.’

‘How on earth did you get involved in this débâcle?’ he asked.

Claudine hesitated. She had never been able to talk to anyone about her clandestine activities. Indeed to have breathed a word of it would have brought ruin and disgrace. At first she had hugged the secret with quiet glee, but as time went on it became something of a liability. The chance to be able to speak freely to someone who understood was almost irresistible.

Duval heard her hesitation. ‘You need not be afraid. Whatever is said here stays here.’

Something in his tone made her want to believe it. She knew so little about him but, in spite of everything, her instinct was to trust him.

‘My brother was with the army in Spain. He was killed at Talavera.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She smiled sadly. ‘Henry had given his life for his country while I was living in luxury and ease far from the dangers he had faced daily. His death made me question the life I was living, and suddenly it seemed shallow and worthless. I wanted to do something for the war effort on my own account but, short of joining the army myself, I could not imagine how.’ She paused. ‘Then I remembered that Peter, one of my cousins, worked at the Foreign Office. I wrote and asked him to call upon me.’

‘I imagine he was surprised by the nature of the conversation.’

‘He was at first, but he had also been very fond of Henry and perhaps that inclined him to listen sympathetically. Anyway, some days later he returned with a colleague, a man called Gabriel Viaud.’

Duval’s brows drew together. ‘Viaud?’

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘We’ve met.’ He paused. ‘But I’m interrupting. Please, go on.’

‘I have a property on the south coast of England, an ideal location for getting informants into and out of the country unseen. Viaud asked if I would sanction the use of the coastal access for that purpose. Of course I agreed.’

Duval had been listening intently, his curiosity thoroughly roused. Was she English then? Her spoken French was impeccable. Her use of the first person hadn’t escaped him either and yet she wore a wedding band. The reminder was oddly unwelcome although he had no right to find it so.

‘Did your husband not have something to say about the matter?’

‘I live alone, apart from the servants of course.’

‘You are a widow?’ Unaccountably he found himself hanging on the answer.

‘Not exactly.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s just that I haven’t seen my husband for … some time. He has been serving abroad with the army.’

‘I see.’ It was not unusual. He should have expected it. The knowledge brought him back to earth; she was forbidden fare in every way.

Claudine said nothing. He did not see at all, but she wasn’t about to go into a lengthy explanation of her personal circumstances.

He sensed her reticence and knew he had no right to probe. ‘Forgive me. I digress. You were saying that you allowed your property to be used …’

‘Yes. Then, a few months later, while I was in London, I was approached again by the same gentleman to find out whether I was willing to become more closely involved. The work involved minimal risk—it was merely to act as a courier taking coded messages between London and the coast.’

‘And you agreed.’

‘It was easy and it was something worthwhile, far removed from the giddy social round.’

‘And then?’

‘Then, about six months ago, I was introduced to Paul Genet. His department was looking to recruit suitable candidates for overseas intelligence. He knew of the work I had done for his associates; I could speak French and was then entirely unknown to the authorities in Paris. I was ideal for what he had in mind.’

‘I can well believe it. He must have rubbed his hands in glee.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘He recognised a tool he could use for his purpose.’

Her eyes sparkled angrily. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘No?’

The sarcasm was overt, as Duval had intended. Could she really be so naïve as to think Genet hadn’t used her? Part of the émigré population who had fled their homeland during the revolution, he had lost no time in establishing a new spy network, this time providing valuable information for the British. However, he was also working with those who sought to overthrow Napoleon and restore the French monarchy. Genet and his confederates were prepared to use any means to achieve that end.

‘No,’ she retorted. ‘It was my choice. I could have refused.’

‘The adventure could have got you killed.’

‘I was aware of that.’

‘And it didn’t deter you?’

‘No, why should it? The risks were explained and I chose to accept them. Genet is not to blame.’

‘Women should not be placed in dangerous situations.’

Claudine lifted one finely arched brow. ‘And yet men do that to them all the time.’

‘How so?’

‘Men expect their wives to bear children, do they not? Yet there is no more dangerous activity for a woman.’

He frowned. ‘It’s not the same thing at all.’

‘No, on balance, this is much safer,’ she replied. ‘In any case, it’s my life and I’d rather spend it doing something to benefit my country than living some kind of butterfly existence in London.’

‘It’s a laudable aim, but it’s over now,’ he replied. ‘This part of the network is finished.’

‘This part perhaps, but I’ll find another posting eventually.’

He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Was this not a close enough brush with disaster?’

‘It was unfortunate, but it’s the nature of the business.’

‘A business you would do well to stay out of in future.’

‘Will you stay out of it in future?’

The tone was quietly challenging, something that rarely happened in the sphere of Intelligence work, and it provoked in him an upsurge of annoyance. ‘This is my occupation, not an amusement that I took up to help me overcome boredom.’

Claudine’s hands clenched in her lap. ‘I do not deny boredom, but I do deny that this is mere amusement.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

‘Genet employs me because I am good at what I do.’

‘You still required rescuing.’

‘And of course no-one else ever does.’ The sarcastic tone was an exact imitation of his. ‘In the entire history of espionage I’m the first.’

‘I don’t know about the first, but I’d wager that you’re the most argumentative.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. A woman mustn’t do that, must she?’

The lowered eyes and dulcet tone didn’t fool him for a minute. Her manner was impudent and provocative in equal measure, the kind of quiet insubordination that would have been easy to deal with in a man. In this case the options were severely limited.

‘I cannot imagine what is troubling you,’ he replied.

‘It doesn’t.’ She eyed him speculatively. ‘May I ask how you came to be involved in all of this?’

He was tempted to refuse; the past was an area he preferred to leave alone. However, she had been open with him to a surprising degree.

‘Originally I was with Wellington in Spain,’ he said, ‘but then I was injured and rendered unfit for active service.’

For a brief instant he was back in the field hospital after Vittoria, lying on the makeshift operating table in the surgeon’s tent where the air was heavy with the stench of blood and sweat and fear. Through the red haze of pain he could hear the screams of the poor wretches under the knife and the saw. He’d lost an eye that day along with half his face and a large quantity of blood from the sabre slashes to his shoulder and arm. They’d stanched the bleeding and sewn him up as best they could. Initially, he had lost much of the function in his left arm, although time and careful exercise had mended it eventually. Nevertheless it was the end of his army career in the Peninsula.

‘Do you miss it?’ she asked. ‘Active service, I mean?’

‘At the time it was a blow, but there is no point in lamenting what cannot be changed.’

He had understated the case. Separated from his erstwhile comrades and the life he had loved it had been like a form of exile. Having to deal with men like Genet did nothing to enhance the experience. Even so, what was the alternative; to go back to England? To go home? He hardly thought he’d be welcome there, given the circumstances. In any case it was too late to mend fences now.

Although she could not follow his thoughts, Claudine sensed the tension in him and sought to change the subject.

‘Have you relatives in England?’

‘Yes, though I have not seen them for some years.’

‘That must be hard.’

‘There was little affection in our family, especially not between me and my father. Besides, he is dead now and I am quite sure that my absence has occasioned little heartache for the rest of my relations.’

The words were spoken in a matter-of-fact tone but, again, she had the sensation of having moved into dangerous territory.

‘Families ought to be united, although I know it is not always the case.’

‘Have you any other brothers, or sisters perhaps?’ he asked.

‘None who survived into adulthood.’

‘Then you must have been all the more precious to your parents.’

‘My mother died when I was eight. My father hired a governess and considered his paternal duty done. It wasn’t until I grew older that he took any interest in me, and then only as a commodity in the marriage market.’

‘He arranged a match for you?’

‘Yes. I had no say in the matter.’

The words sounded quite dispassionate but he sensed anger beneath them. His curiosity increased. There were so many things he wanted to ask, all of them intrusive. It was none of his business. Arranged matches were commonplace, and, if love followed, the couple might consider themselves fortunate. If not they made shift as best they could, as he knew all too well.

‘And your husband?’

‘He was likewise compelled to the match by his family.’

The story was so similar to his own that it struck a chord. Yet, in spite of her outspokenness and misguided thirst for adventure, there could be few men who would complain about gaining such a wife; unless of course their affections were engaged elsewhere. However, Duval wasn’t about to delve there. To do so would be to awaken sleeping dogs. At the same time he could empathise with her situation; it seemed they had a surprising amount in common.

‘Even so, he could not willingly have left you.’

The tone brought warm colour to her face. ‘He went without a backward glance. I think he could scarcely wait to go. Oh, we exchange dutiful letters from time to time, but he has never given any indication of the desire or intention to return.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. He has his life and I have mine.’

Again Duval felt the words chime, but then it was familiar territory. ‘Did you never feel lonely?’

‘Sometimes,’ she admitted, ‘in the early days, but not now. Besides, I have grown accustomed to having my own independence and would not willingly relinquish it.’

‘I can see why you might not wish to, but the war in Spain is over.’

The implication brought with it a twinge of unease. She had meant it when she said that she valued her independence. The advent of a husband after all this time was distinctly unwelcome. Had there ever been the least affection or esteem in the case, anything on which they might have founded a hope for the future, she might have been willing to try and build bridges. However, there was no shared experience to build on, no affection, nothing to bind them but a piece of paper. She found it hard now even to recall what Anthony looked like. Besides, time had a way of changing people. What he had looked like then might not be what he looked like now. He was a stranger to her in every way.

Although he could not follow her thoughts Duval could see the inner disquiet that they created. Had she disliked the thought so much? If so, her husband had much to answer for. Not that it was any of his business. Nor did he have any right to criticise.

‘We have lived separate lives up to now,’ she replied. ‘I see no reason why we cannot continue to do so.’

‘The situation is not unknown.’

‘No.’

He saw the fleeting expression of bleakness in her face and with it her vulnerability.

Both touched him more deeply than he had expected. The future she described was bleak indeed; an ocean of emptiness in which love and fulfilment had no place. The years would claim her youth and her good looks but they would not offer the consolations of a loving relationship and children. It was, he thought, a criminal waste.

‘You might take a lover,’ he said.

Claudine reddened. Ordinarily the very suggestion would have been an insult to a lady, but a second’s reflection showed he hadn’t intended it that way. The words had been spoken with casual ease and they served to underline what he thought her to be. Under the circumstances she could hardly blame him though. To express indignation now would sound like total hypocrisy.

‘And leap from the frying pan into the fire?’ She shook her head. ‘The thought does not appeal.’

Her reply surprised him, not least because it had sounded genuine. He searched her face but could see no trace of duplicity there, only a very attractive blush. That surprised him too. All the same, it was hard to believe that she had never taken advantage of the relative freedom that her situation afforded. After all, had he not briefly experienced the heady sensuality beneath her outwardly cool demeanour?

‘What will you do then?’ he asked.

‘I will go back to Sussex.’

‘To your house by the sea?’

‘Yes.’

‘In what part of Sussex does it lie?’

‘About ten miles from Hove.’

He stared at her intently for a moment, an expression that did not go unnoticed.

‘Are you familiar with the area at all?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I know it, but I have not been there for many years.’

‘Of course, how should you?’ She paused. ‘You have family there perhaps?’

‘No, my relatives reside in London for the most part.’ It was true as far as it went, he thought, and he was reluctant to embark on a more detailed explanation. Family was a complex and difficult topic. As for the rest it was merely coincidence. Thousands of people lived in Sussex.

‘I also have a house in London,’ she went on, ‘although I spend only part of the year there.’

Again he experienced the sensation of buried memories stirring. ‘You stay for the Season?’

‘Yes.’

Duval mentally rebuked himself again. All of fashionable society went to London for that purpose and many of them owned a house there. Her being among their number should come as no surprise. Such a woman would blend effortlessly into the social scene. His work had accustomed him to making connections between seemingly unrelated pieces of information, but now he was seeing coincidence where there wasn’t any. He had to admit that she aroused his curiosity; indeed she had aroused a lot more than that. He had never met anyone quite like her. Being wed to his career, his experience of women was limited, but those he had met were decorative creatures with quiet and biddable natures. Claudine was undoubtedly decorative, but she was also argumentative and difficult, in short the most troublesome female of his acquaintance. It was just as well that his connection with the little baggage was to be of short duration.

‘I should have thought that the Season would have offered plenty in the way of entertainment,’ he said.

‘Up to a point, but after a while it becomes dull and repetitive.’

‘I can see how it might. All the same, it seems a fitter setting for a young woman of means and beauty.’

‘Fit in whose eyes?’

The words were quietly spoken but, once again, he heard the challenge beneath. It prompted him to play devil’s advocate.

‘Your husband’s perhaps?’

‘His opinion is of no interest. He forfeited all right to express any views on the subject long since.’

‘The law would say otherwise.’

‘The law can say what it likes,’ she replied. ‘I will never let any man treat me as a chattel again.’

Duval was intrigued. The passion he had just glimpsed was not only genuine, it ran deep.

‘He hurt you badly, didn’t he?’

‘It hurt at first, but, as time went on, less and less. Now I scarcely think of him at all.’ Claudine summoned a smile and changed the subject. ‘Will you stay in London awhile when we reach England?’

‘For a while I imagine.’

‘Will you visit your family?’

‘I would not be welcome.’

She glanced up at him. ‘Time can change things.’

‘It can also widen the gulf.’ He sighed. ‘I will not pretend that my conduct has been blameless; far from it. Perhaps if I had gone back before it might have been possible to heal the breach. Now … I doubt it.’

‘May I ask how long you have been absent?’

‘Eight years.’

‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘That is a long time.’ If anyone should know about that it was she.

‘Too long.’

‘Still, it’s said that blood is thicker than water.’

‘You think so?’

She smiled wryly. ‘Well, the prodigal son was welcomed back, wasn’t he?’

‘The prodigal son perhaps; not the prodigal husband.’

Claudine froze, rendered temporarily speechless as her mind struggled to assimilate what he had just said. What followed was a flood of conflicting emotions.

‘I see.’ She was surprised to discover how steady her voice sounded.

He had not missed her initial response. ‘The situation is not as it may first appear. My wife and I have long been estranged.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

‘Our marriage was arranged by our respective families and neither of us had any say in the matter. It was a disaster from the outset. As a result we live quite separate lives.’

She drew in a deep breath, trying to gather her scattered wits. She had made assumptions about this man that had no foundation in anything, except perhaps wishful thinking. It shouldn’t have hurt but it did.

‘And so you are free to amuse yourself elsewhere,’ she replied. ‘That must be convenient.’

His brows drew together. ‘My career has taken the place of marriage and has been a most demanding mistress. Even if I’d felt so inclined, I have had little time to amuse myself elsewhere, and certainly would not do so with you.’

‘Just how gullible do you think I am, Duval?’

‘What happened in Paris was unavoidable, in the circumstances.’

‘What happened was indefensible, in the circumstances.’

His gaze locked with hers. ‘I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want you, Claudine. What red-blooded man would not?’ He made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘Nevertheless, I never intended things to go so far. It’s just that I got somewhat carried away by your charms. If you were offended then I apologise.’

There were so many things she could have said in reply, but none of them would have sounded in the least convincing. It horrified her now to think how close she had come to disaster with this man; a man who clearly regarded her as a whore. Gathering every last shred of self-control she faced him.

‘The situation that occurred in Paris was unfortunate. I wish it had never happened, but the past cannot be changed. All I want is to forget it.’

He winced inwardly. ‘In that case I will do nothing that might cause you to remember.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

He made no reply but turned away towards the window instead. It was an unstudied gesture but it unwittingly presented the unmarred side of his face. Claudine caught her breath. His profile was as strong and clear as a piece of marble statuary. The thought of Apollo returned unbidden. As she stared the buried memory stirred again. This had nothing to do with Paris. It was much older; a memory of another face in another place and time. Her heart beat a little faster in response. Who? Where? When? She frowned, trying to grasp the information, but, as before, it slid away from her leaving in its wake a sense of vague disquiet.

Chapter Four

The conversation had given Duval a great deal to think about over the next few days, not least the matter of his private life. It was a confounded mess but, much as he dreaded the thought, fate was dragging him back to England and he was going to have to address it. Could he return after so long an absence and expect to assume the mantle of husband? The law said he could. Legally his wife belonged to him still. He could compel her to live with him if he chose; could compel her to share his bed, bear his children and obey his every command. Legally his power was absolute.

In reality, he had no idea what he was going to do about the situation, only that he did have a responsibility. At the very least he must ascertain that his wife was still well and ensure that his financial obligations were being met. More than that, they needed to have a serious discussion. He had no more wish to live with her than she with him. It was entirely possible that she had found consolation elsewhere; that she might ask for an annulment. Then they would both be free to move on with their lives. And if he were free, what then? Involuntarily he glanced at his companion and sighed inwardly. Before he could put his life in order he had first to fulfil his present obligation to Claudine. After that they would go their separate ways and he would be able to concentrate unhindered on the problem of his future. He might have resumed his career in the army had not Napoleon been sent to Elba. As it was, thousands of British soldiers had been demobilised so that door was closed. Although it was far from ideal, espionage looked to be the only other option at present. There were loose ends to tie up as well, and he couldn’t do that now until he’d dealt with personal matters.

It was therefore with considerable relief that he caught his first glimpse of the sea. The distant expanse of grey-green water represented safety. Once on English soil, Claudine would be beyond the reach of Fouché and his agents. That much was sincerely pleasing. The thought of her, or indeed any woman, in such hands was repellent. However, the sea also brought parting much closer. Duval guessed she would not be sorry. Her manner of late, though correct and courteous, was also distant. He understood why. For both of them the imminent separation would be welcome. Once he had resolved the issues surrounding his personal life, he would ask for another posting. Work would provide the means to keep his mind occupied. He suspected that Claudine would be hard to forget, but he meant to try all the same. For all sorts of reasons he too would be glad to reach England.

The passage to St Helier was arranged without undue difficulty. The owner of the boat was quite willing to undertake the journey for the fee that was offered. Claudine eyed him dubiously. The man, who gave his name as Pierre, was a rough-looking individual whose swarthy face and dark beard wouldn’t have seemed out of place on a pirate sloop. She said as much to Duval when they were out of earshot.

‘Pierre is trustworthy,’ he said. ‘He and I have worked together before.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ she replied.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You both have a piratical air about you.’

Duval’s good eye glinted. ‘Be thankful I’m not a pirate, my sweet.’

‘You would make me walk the plank, I have no doubt.’

‘Tempting, I admit, but pirates don’t throw money away like that; not when you would fetch such a handsome profit in any slave market in the Mediterranean. You would be an ornament in any man’s harem.’

She glared at him. ‘That is a vile thing to say.’

‘It’s the truth.’ He paused. ‘Of course, I might decide to keep you instead.’

‘What, and lose a handsome profit?’

‘There would be other compensations.’

The implications of that outrageous remark rendered her temporarily speechless. No doubt it had been made with the intention of provoking her into an unguarded reply that he could exploit to his advantage. However, she had no intention of obliging him. The conversation was already in dangerous waters and he was probably enjoying the fact. She darted another look his way, but his expression remained inscrutable.

The passage to St Helier was chilly but uneventful. Claudine was so eager to reach their destination that the discomforts of a small fishing boat were rendered negligible in comparison. She spoke little to her companion on the journey, partly because it wasn’t practical to move around in the limited space, and partly because she was too preoccupied to wish for speech. Duval too seemed preoccupied, when he wasn’t engaged in private conversation with Matthieu or Pierre. He barely even glanced her way. Their earlier conversation might never have happened. No doubt such teasing came easily to him, but it had resurrected memories that she would have preferred not to revisit. Moreover, it seemed that he had not forgotten either. His words were a further demonstration of how he regarded her. If she were to give him the least bit of encouragement …

For a moment her treacherous thoughts returned to the intimacy they had shared and the touch of his hands on her body, and in spite of the chill she felt hot inside. You could take a lover. Was it himself he had meant? Probably not, in the light of what had occurred between them. I prefer my women willing. No doubt there were many such, but she wasn’t one of them. She had got carried away for a while, that was all. When she got home she could put all this behind her. She glanced in Duval’s direction but his attention was apparently focused on the horizon. No question but he was looking forward to the end of their journey as much as she was.

On arrival at their destination they bade farewell to Pierre and then repaired to a quayside inn. Hot food and a cheerful fire acted as restoratives against the chill and counteracted the effects of the voyage. It was replaced by a feeling of well-being in which relief played no small part. She was safe; the chances of anything untoward happening now were minimal. It occurred to her again how much she owed to her companion. He might be a rogue, but, having stood between her and disaster, he had risked much on her account. That realisation did much to dampen the anger she had felt earlier. It had come as a shock to discover that he was married but it shouldn’t have. He had always been forbidden fruit. When they reached England and said their goodbyes she would never have to see him again.

Sensing himself observed Duval looked up and then found his gaze lingering. The view across the table was very agreeable indeed. Warmth had brought a delightful flush of colour to her cheeks and lips and enhanced the beauty of those huge dark eyes. Tendrils of hair had escaped from the confining ribbon. They curled about her face and neck in a manner that was both artless and damnably alluring.

Under that intense scrutiny Claudine was more than ever aware of her dishevelled appearance. Apart from wearing the same clothes for days she had been able to make only the most basic toilette at each of the inns where they had stopped. She returned a wry smile.

‘I know. I look like a gypsy.’

‘Not the word I was thinking of,’ he replied with perfect truth.

‘I won’t ask what that is.’ She glanced with distaste at her gown. ‘The first thing I shall do when I get back to Oakley Court is to take a leisurely bath.’

Duval was suddenly very still. ‘Oakley Court?’

‘My house … in Sussex.’ She looked up and saw his expression. ‘Do you know it?’

‘I know of a house of that name.’

Claudine nodded. ‘Of course, I remember you saying that you were familiar with the area.’

‘The house I speak of belonged to the Earls of Ulverdale.’

‘That’s right. It still does.’

He strove to keep his voice level. ‘Then … I think that Claudine may be an assumed name.’

When she saw his expression some of her cheerfulness faded. ‘I would have said something earlier only … well, you never asked so I assumed you didn’t want to know.’

Duval mentally cursed himself. ‘I’m asking now.’

‘My real name is Claudia … Claudia Brudenell, Countess of Ulverdale.’

His heart seemed to miss several beats and suddenly all the apparently unconnected pieces fell into place with appalling clarity. As the memory of their previous conversations returned, all the small coincidences rose up to taunt him: the houses in Sussex and London, the estate in the north and, of course, the estranged soldier husband. Only a prize idiot could have failed to make the connections.

Mistaking his silence entirely Claudia experienced a twinge of guilt. ‘Forgive me, I should have told you …’

‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied.

‘Surely it doesn’t make any difference now.’

The blue gaze locked with hers. ‘I rather think it does.’ He rose from the table. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and see about our passage to England.’

Claudia rose too. ‘Of course.’

He headed for the door, his face unwontedly grim.

‘Duval, please don’t be angry with me.’

He paused on the threshold and turned, surveying her in silence for a moment. Then the blue gaze lost a little of its hard glint. ‘I’m not angry with you.’

With that he was gone leaving her staring at the closed door. Claudia frowned. In spite of that parting reassurance she knew that he was angry, and it sat ill with her to have incurred his displeasure in that way. It had never occurred to her that he might wish to know her real name; in their line of work it was something people didn’t ask. His reaction to the truth had been totally unexpected. Perhaps he had been genuinely shocked to discover a lady of rank so far embroiled in such a shady business.

The more she thought about it the likelier that seemed. Everything he knew about her now must only serve to confirm his first opinion of her. It was an oddly lowering thought.

It took less than an hour for Duval to arrange the next passage to England, but the boat wouldn’t leave for a while yet and he was in no mood to go back to the inn just then. Needing time to put his thoughts in order he went for a walk instead. For a long time he stood by the sea wall staring out at the white-capped water, but in truth he saw nothing. As he had told Claudia, the revelation of her identity made a great deal of difference. It was just that he had no idea what he was going to do about it. Each possible course of action seemed more unsatisfactory than the last. Perhaps he should have spoken up when she told him who she was. A part of him had wanted to, but another part of his mind recalled what she had said before: The past cannot be changed. All I want is to forget it. And he had given his assurance that he would not do anything to remind her of it. He sighed. Could he now go back on that? In the light of the morning’s revelation how could he not go back on it? Whatever he did next was going to cause hurt.

The remainder of their journey was memorably uncomfortable: the crossing was rougher this time and most of the other passengers on the little packet boat succumbed to sea-sickness. Conversation was reduced to what was absolutely necessary. In spite of the poor weather conditions, Duval remained above deck with Matthieu for much of the time, returning only occasionally, so Claudia wrapped herself in her cloak and tried to sleep. However, her troubled mind refused to allow it. Ever since he had returned to the inn Duval’s manner had been different. She couldn’t identify exactly what had changed but knew instinctively that there had been a fundamental shift which could never be reversed.

She wasn’t in the least bit sorry when they reached dry land again. Moreover, it was English soil this time. The knowledge gladdened her immeasurably.

Duval accurately surmised the source of her smile. ‘I think you will be glad to see your home again.’

‘Yes, although there were times when I thought I might not.’ She looked up at him. ‘But for you that would have been a self-fulfilling prophecy. I owe you much.’

He guessed that it hadn’t been easy for her to say, and yet the tone was sincere. It took him by surprise.

‘I am glad to have been of service, truly.’ He paused. ‘All that remains now is for me to organise a post chaise for your onward journey.’

He was as good as his word. Within the hour the vehicle was ready at the inn door. It reinforced her earlier surmise that he wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible. In the light of events it was hardly surprising. She felt much the same.

Pausing by the waiting chaise, she turned to face him. ‘Will you go on to London now?’

‘Yes, for a while. I have urgent business there.’

‘I can imagine.’

He seriously doubted that, but forbore to say so. ‘It will take a few days to sort out.’

‘Well, don’t let me delay you.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Duval.’

Warm strong fingers closed round hers and retained their hold. ‘When my business there is concluded I shall do myself the honour of calling on you at Oakley Court.’ Seeing her startled expression, he added, ‘There will be important matters to discuss.’

‘Don’t put yourself to any further trouble on my account. I’m sure Genet will write to me himself.’

‘The matters I spoke of do not merely concern Genet.’

‘What then?’

While she was grateful to him for getting her out of France, she had no wish to meet him again. Time and distance would help to put him out of her mind and let her forget about what had happened.

‘I am not at liberty to say at present.’

It reinforced the notion that he was seeking an excuse to continue their relationship. If so, he could have only one possible reason for doing so. That she should have been instrumental in putting such an idea in his head was mortifying. It was also extremely awkward. Moreover, he still had hold of her hand and she couldn’t break free without causing a scene.

‘I think you had better,’ she replied.

‘I ask your patience for four days more. Then we will talk.’

‘No, we will not. Our association is at an end, Duval. You must know that.’

‘I’m afraid it isn’t over yet, my sweet.’

The soft tone was deeply disquieting. Given what had occurred, he had the power to ruin her if he chose; he could demand money or other favours, or both, in exchange for his silence. She was reluctant to think him so underhand, but what other reason could there be for his wishing to pursue a connection so clearly unwelcome to her?

‘There is nothing for you here, Duval. I really think it would be better if you did not call.’

‘And I really think I must.’

It was quite evident that he wasn’t going to be deterred. Claudia shrugged.

‘Very well, though I fear you will have a wasted journey.’

‘We’ll see about that when the time comes, won’t we?’ He led her to the chaise and handed her in. ‘Until then, my lady.’

Chapter Five

Claudia saw nothing of the passing countryside on the last leg of her journey. Instead she was entirely preoccupied with the spectre of the man she had just left. The cool and civil parting she had once envisaged could scarcely have been further from reality. Now, instead of putting the whole business behind her, it hung overhead like the sword of Damocles. Nor could she see any way out of the situation.

The sight of Oakley Court had never been so welcome. It seemed like a sanctuary after the adventures of the past week. Her first act was to order a hot bath and, having done so, to scrub from head to toe before luxuriating in the suds for another hour. It was a delight to don a fresh gown and, with her maid’s help, to arrange her hair properly. When at length she looked in the mirror the dishevelled hoyden was gone and in her place was an elegant woman of fashion. Only the memories remained. Memories that she was going to have to deal with, somehow.

The maid’s eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘It’s good to have you home, my lady.’

Claudia summoned a smile. ‘It’s good to be home, Lucy.’

The girl glanced in disgust at the pile of dirty clothing on the floor. ‘It’s plain that some maids don’t know how to care for a lady. Next time, take me with you, ma’am.’

‘I am not planning on going anywhere for a while, but when I do I’ll certainly take you with me. It just wasn’t possible last time.’

Lucy beamed. ‘You won’t regret it, my lady. I swear it.’

Gathering up the discarded clothing the maid retired. Claudia watched her leave. While it would have been wonderfully convenient to have taken her along, she could never have justified putting Lucy’s life at risk; nor could she tell the maid why her presence wasn’t required. The girl’s feelings had been hurt, but better that than the possible alternative.

Try as she might, Claudia could not rid her mind of Alain Poiret and the others, or of what had happened after their arrest. Although they were beyond help, it went against the grain to leave the matter there; to let a traitor escape justice. What other evil deeds might he perpetrate as a result? She wondered if Genet had any information, any clue at all that might point to the betrayer’s identity. It occurred to her that a talk with Genet might be both useful and productive.

In the meantime, there were more immediate tasks awaiting her attention. Having spoken to the cook and the housekeeper, she took herself off to the salon to deal with a pile of correspondence. With its south-facing aspect and the view over the garden it was a pleasant place to work, particularly now that the spring flowers were in evidence. Snowdrops were giving place to daffodil foliage. Soon the tight buds would burst into soul-warming gold and banish winter dullness with glad colour. Save for hazel catkins and pussy willow, the trees were still bare but each branch and twig was covered with new buds. Later perhaps she would go for a walk. The day, though cold, would stay fine. The clouds were high, like fleecy islands in a sea of blue. The blue of a man’s eyes …

The sky faded and without warning she was looking into Duval’s face. With it came the memory of a bed chamber in Paris; a lean hard body pressed close to her nakedness; the pressure of his mouth on hers, searing, persuasive, his arousal, hard and shocking, awakening a throbbing pulse of warmth between her thighs. She drew in a sharp breath, forcing the image away. It was shameful to think of it let alone to have enjoyed it. She was no different from any of the other women in Madame Renaud’s establishment. I knew I was right. The mocking voice returned with force. Duval suspected the same. How could he not? Claudia felt her cheeks and neck grow hot. Her brief liaison with him was immoral, wrong in every way, and yet she knew now that he had awakened something in her that would never sleep until he was out of her life for good.

The thought of his forthcoming visit filled her with unease. She had no idea how she was going to handle it, only that it must be faced and decisively too. He was not entirely without a sense of honour. Perhaps she could appeal to it; make him understand that she meant what she said. He could have no hopes of her. She could not suppose he would be easily persuaded, but she must succeed in this. He represented danger in too many ways.

With a determined effort she returned her attention to the pile of correspondence, forcing herself to concentrate. It took her some time to read through all the letters and then to prioritise the replies in order of importance. A missive from Lady Harrington lightened her mood a little. It contained news of their mutual acquaintance, including a witty and entertaining account of a hunt ball, and expressed the hope that she and Claudia would meet in London: ‘… for the winter has been tedious, and I long for your lively company again. It seems an age since I had any word from you. Do let me know soon how you go on.

Your affectionate friend,

Anne.’

Claudia smiled to herself and set about writing a reply. She could not tell her friend where she had spent the last few weeks, but did provide as much local news as she felt would be of interest. In truth she would be glad to have some female company again, and Anne’s was particularly agreeable.

By the time she had written the letter, her sense of shame had faded a little. She wrote a few more, shorter, replies and seeing the pile diminish a little did something to ease her conscience. She spent the majority of the morning on the task and then, needing some fresh air, rose and retrieved her shawl from the back of the chair.

As she turned she glanced towards the fireplace and the portrait hanging above it. A tall, slender figure in scarlet regimentals returned her gaze. His expression was cool, aloof, giving no clue as to the thoughts behind those vivid blue eyes. Deep gold hair complimented the face with its chiselled lines and almost sculptural good looks. Claudia surveyed it steadily. How old had Anthony been when it was painted? Twenty, perhaps? It was probably an accurate likeness, but somehow it gave no real sense of the young man she had known so briefly. No doubt he looked different now anyway. Eight years of military campaigning must have left their mark. The picture was all that remained. But for that, she might have forgotten what he looked like. She sighed and turned away.

A discreet knock at the door announced the arrival of the butler. ‘The newspapers have arrived from London, my lady.’

‘Thank you, Walker. Leave them over there on the table.’

‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but I thought you’d like to see them at once.’

‘Why? What has happened?’

‘Napoleon has escaped from Elba.’

‘What!’

‘It’s true, my lady. Apparently he landed at Cannes on the first of March, and is now trying to rally support.’

‘Good gracious.’

Claudia seized The Times, scanning the front page. It was apparent that Walker had spoken the truth. She frowned. The paper was already several days old and the news older than that, so Napoleon had been at large at least a week. If he managed to rally enough men and raise an army it would mean war again. They’d had less than a year of peace, and now this. In addition there was a French spy on the loose who already knew too much about the British network. It had all manner of far-reaching ramifications that she didn’t like in the least.

She was afforded little time to dwell on the matter because, having been away for some weeks, there were matters of estate business requiring her attention. A meeting with the land agent turned her mind towards spring planting, lambing, and the purchase of a new seed drill. After that she sat down to study the account books. She was in the study with a pile of ledgers when Walker entered to say that a letter had arrived.

Somewhat reluctantly she took it from the salver, assuming it was from Duval to confirm his arrival the following day. However, one glance at the direction on the front revealed that it could not be from him. Her mouth dried. Although she had seen it on relatively few occasions, the elegant masculine hand was unmistakeable. With thumping heart she stared at it a few seconds longer. Then, taking a deep breath, she broke the wafer. The letter was a single sheet and contained only a short message:

‘My Dear Claudia,

I trust that you will forgive the brevity of this letter but, since I am now returned to England, it seems superfluous to write at length here. Rather I shall look forward to speaking to you in person when I arrive at Oakley Court tomorrow. You may expect me by three in the afternoon.

Your obedient servant,

Brudenell.’

Claudia’s stomach lurched. Anthony returning; coming here! Never! It had to be a mistake. Hurriedly she scanned the words again, but their import was unchanged. The realisation brought a surge of emotion so powerful that it almost undid her. Shaking, she sank onto the couch as her mind struggled to assimilate the news.

It took a minute or two and, as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by cold fury. It was bad enough to discover that he was coming at all, but to announce his arrival thus, as though it were the most natural thing in the world; as though he had merely been away a week or two and not eight years, almost beggared belief. You may expect me by three … How dared he? The arrogance of it, the sheer brass-necked gall of the man was breathtaking.

‘Damn you, Anthony Brudenell.’

She crumpled the letter into a ball and hurled it on the fire. Then she began to pace the floor, her mind in a whirl. Did he seriously imagine she would welcome him back? That the last eight years could somehow be expunged and she would fall into his arms? It was this thought which brought reality home and she realised with a sudden chill that no matter how many years had passed, he was still her husband in the eyes of the law. The implications caused a knot of dread in the pit of her stomach. Then her late father-in-law’s voice spoke in her head:

‘When your husband returns, you will have no time to think of frivolity. You will fulfil your wifely duty and bear his children. I have no doubt he will wish to make up for lost time.’

Claudia swallowed hard. Although she had seen no outward sign of it in their brief association, would Anthony take after his father? Had the intervening years brought out the same brutal traits in the son? Her late father-in-law had no compunctions about the use of force to compel obedience:

‘Men are stronger than women and are therefore entitled to dominate them in whatever manner they see fit.’

Her fists clenched at her sides and she forced the image away, trying to put her thoughts in some sort of order. As more rational thinking returned so did the recollection of Duval’s intended visit. Claudia checked in mid-stride. Of all possible timings, it had to be the most disastrous. She had to put him off. It was at that moment she realised that she had no idea how to contact him. Foolishly, she hadn’t thought to inquire where he would be staying while he was in London. He might be anywhere. She had no idea when he meant to arrive either. The very thought of him walking in just before, or just after, Anthony didn’t bear thinking about. Things were difficult enough already.

Unable to bear the confines of the house any longer, Claudia picked up her shawl and let herself out into the garden. The breeze was cool but she barely noticed as her mind grappled with the implications of the morrow. It soon became clear that both of the forthcoming interviews must be faced. Duval’s visit would have to be brief, and whatever he had to communicate said in the fewest possible words. What she had to say certainly wouldn’t take long. Then she could send him on his way and turn her attention to the larger problem of Anthony.

It was counterproductive to let imagination run away with her. All the evidence suggested he had no interest in her at all. She supposed that he would expect to stay for a day or two; given their history it was not likely to be longer. Now that she was a little calmer, the thought occurred that it might be no bad thing if he did stay a while, since it would allow them to talk about the future. It was pointless to put it off any longer; the problem must be addressed for both their sakes. She was quite sure that he had no wish to continue with this farce any more than she did. Divorce was out of the question of course: it was both difficult and expensive to arrange. Moreover, it would create a scandal that would hurt others as well as themselves. An annulment, however, might be managed more discreetly. Then they would both have their freedom. It was the ideal solution; the only solution as far as she could see. Anthony could have no reason to refuse. That knowledge made her feel marginally more optimistic.

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