Читать книгу The Caged Countess - Joanna Fulford - Страница 10

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.