Читать книгу The Rake to Redeem Her - Julia Justiss - Страница 9

Her heart beating hard, feeling as weak as if she’d run a mile through the twisting Vienna streets, Elodie hurried up the stairway to her rooms. Having placed her basket on a table, Clara was looking at the embroidery Elodie had just completed.

‘Ah, madame, this is the prettiest yet! The colour’s lovely, and the bird so vivid, one almost thinks it will fly off the gown.’ Looking up at Elodie, the maid nodded approvingly. ‘You’ve got some colour back in your face. A stroll in the fresh air agreed with you. You must do it more often.’

Elodie wasn’t about to reveal that it wasn’t the garden air that had brought a flush to her cheeks, but an infuriating, dictatorial, dangerous man.

His touch had almost scalded her. It had been many years since she’d sought or experienced such a physical response. The sensation carried her back to the early days of her love for her late husband, when a mere glance from him could set her body afire.

She shook the memory away before sadness could follow in its wake. Given her reaction to him, travelling in Will Ransleigh’s company might be more hazardous to her well-being than she’d first thought. But she could worry about that later; now, she had more immediate matters to address.

‘I’ve brought you a good dinner,’ the maid said as she bustled about, putting plates and silverware on the table and lighting candles. ‘Frau Luvens made meat pie and some of her apple strudel. You will do it justice now, won’t you?’

To her surprise, for the first time in a long time, Elodie found the idea of food appealing. The knowledge that at last, at last, she would be able to stop marking time and get back to Paris, was reviving her vanished appetite. ‘You won’t have to coax me tonight; it sounds delicious. You are joining me, aren’t you? You can tell me all the news.’

While Clara rambled on about her day and her work at the grand hotel where she’d taken employment after her mistress had recovered enough to be left on her own, Elodie edged to the window. Though from this angle, she couldn’t see all the way under the balcony, her surreptitious inspection of the garden indicated that Monsieur Ransleigh had indeed departed.

By now, Clara had the covers off the dishes and was waving her to the small table. ‘Come, eat before the meat pies get cold. Gruber gave me some extra bread from the hotel kitchen. I’m so glad to see your appetite returning! Just in time, as we’ll be able to afford meat more often. Madame Lebruge was so complimentary about your work on the last consignment of embroidery, I told her the next lot would be ten schillings more the piece. She didn’t even protest! I should have asked for twenty.’

Elodie seated herself and waited while the maid attacked her meat pie. ‘I won’t be doing another lot. I’m leaving Vienna.’

Clara’s hands stilled and she looked up, wiping savoury juice from her chin. ‘Leaving? How? I thought you said it would be months before you could save enough to travel.’

‘My plans have changed.’ Omitting any mention of threats or the edgy undercurrent between herself and the man, Elodie told Clara about Will Ransleigh’s visit and offer to escort her to Paris.

She should have known the maid would be suspicious. ‘But can you trust this man, madame? How do you know he truly is Monsieur Max Ransleigh’s cousin?’

‘When you see him, you’ll understand; the resemblance between the two men is striking.’

‘Why would he wish to do you the favour of taking you to Paris?’

‘Because I am to do him a favour in return. I promised I would go to England and testify about how I embroiled his cousin in St Arnaud’s plot.’

‘Gott im Himmel, madame! Is that wise? Is it safe?’

Though she was nearly certain Ransleigh was gone, a well-developed instinct for caution impelled her to lean close and drop her voice to a whisper. ‘I have no intention of actually going to London. Once we get to Paris, I shall elude him.’

Clara clapped her hands. ‘Ah, yes, and I am sure you shall, now that you’ve finally recovered your strength! But … should I not go with you as far as Paris? I do not like the idea of you travelling alone with this man about whom we know so little.’

‘Thank you, dear friend, but you should stay here. Vienna is your home. You’ve already done more for me than I ever expected, more than I can ever repay.’

The maid waved a hand dismissively. ‘How could I do less, when you were so kind to me? Taking on an untried girl as your dresser, you who had to appear with the cream of society before all Vienna! Nor could I have obtained my present position without all I learned serving you.’

‘You’ve returned many times over any favour I did you.’

‘In any case, my lady, you shouldn’t travel alone.’

‘That might be true … if I were travelling as a “lady”. But I shall not be, nor is the journey likely to be comfortable. Perhaps not even safe. I don’t know if the watchers will be pleased when they discover I’ve left Vienna and you’ve already faced enough danger for me. I must go alone.’

‘You are certain?’ the maid asked, studying her face.

‘Yes,’ she replied, clasping Clara’s hand. Even if she’d planned to travel as a lady of substance, she wouldn’t have allowed Clara to accompany her. Escaping swiftly, drawing out of Vienna whatever forces still kept surveillance over her, was the best way to ensure the safety of the woman who had taken her in and nursed her back to health after she’d been brutalised and abandoned.

‘So, no more embroidery,’ Elodie said. ‘But I’m not completely without resources yet.’ Rising, she went to the linen press and extracted two bundles neatly wrapped in muslin. Bringing them to Clara, she said, ‘The first is a ball gown I never had a chance to wear; it should fetch a good price. The other is the fanciest of my dinner gowns; I’ve already re-embroidered it and changed the trimming, so Madame Lebruge should be able easily to resell that as well.’

‘Shouldn’t you have the money, madame? Especially if you mean to travel. I could take these to her tomorrow. She’s been so pleased with all the other gowns you’ve done, I’m sure I could press her for a truly handsome sum.’

‘Press her as hard as you like, but keep the money for yourself. It’s little enough beside my debt to you. I’ve something else, too.’

Reaching down to flip up the bottom of her sewing apron, Elodie picked the seam open and extracted a pair of ear-rings. Small diamonds twinkled in the light of the candles. ‘Take these. Sell them if you like, or keep them … as a remembrance of our friendship.’

‘Madame, you mustn’t! They’re too fine! Besides, you might need to sell them yourself, once you get to Paris.’

‘I have a few other pieces left.’ Elodie smiled. ‘One can’t say much good of St Arnaud, but he never begrudged me the funds to dress the part of his hostess. I can’t imagine how I would have survived this year without the jewels and finery we were able to sell.’

The maid spat out a German curse on St Arnaud’s head. ‘If he’d not been in such a rush to leave Vienna and save his own neck, he would probably have taken them.’

Elodie shrugged. ‘Well, I am thankful to have had them, whatever the reason. Now, let me tell you how my departure has been arranged.’

Half an hour later, fully apprised of who she was to meet, when and where, Clara hugged her and walked out. An unnerving silence settled in the rooms after her footsteps faded.

Though she supposed there was no need to work on the gowns the maid had left, from force of habit, Elodie took the top one from the basket and fetched her embroidery silks.

Along with the sale of some gems, the gowns she’d worn as St Arnaud’s hostess, re-embroidered and sold back to the shop from which she’d originally purchased them, had supported her for six months. At that point Madame Lebruge, pleased with the elegance and inventiveness of her work, sent new gowns from her shop for Elodie to embellish.

Letting her fingers form the familiar stitches calmed her as she reviewed what had transpired in the last few hours. Clara was right to be suspicious; she had no way of knowing for sure that Will Ransleigh would actually take her to Paris, rather than murdering her in some alley.

But if he’d wanted to dispose of her, he could have already done so. Nor could one fail to note the fervour in his eyes when he talked of righting the wrong she’d done his cousin. She believed he meant to take her to London—and that she’d convinced him she’d not go there unless they went to Paris first.

She smiled; he’d immediately suspected she meant to escape him there. Just because he was Max Ransleigh’s cousin, and therefore nephew to an earl, it would not do to underestimate his resourcefulness, or think him hopelessly out of his element in the meaner streets of Paris. He’d tracked her down here, most certainly without assistance from any of the authorities. He’d not been shocked or appalled by her idea of escaping in disguise, only concerned that she couldn’t carry off the deception. He’d then proposed an even cleverer disguise, suggesting he was as familiar as she was with subterfuge.

Perhaps he worked for the Foreign Office, as Max had, only in a more clandestine role. Or maybe he was just a rogue, as the unpredictability and sense of danger that hung about him seemed to suggest.

He’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket, he’d said. Perhaps, instead of growing up in the ease of an earl’s establishment, he’d had to scrabble for a living, moving from place to place, much as she had. That would explain his housebreaker’s skill at scaling balconies and invading rooms.

The notion struck her that they might have much in common.

Swiftly she dismissed that ridiculous thought. She sincerely doubted that he had ever had his very life depend on the success of the disguise he employed. Nor should she forget that he’d sought her out for a single purpose, one that left no room for any concern about her well-being. Still, depending on what happened in Paris, she might consider going to London as she’d promised.

She would give much to right the wrong she’d been forced to do Max Ransleigh. After studying the background of all of the Duke of Wellington’s aides, St Arnaud had determined Max’s well-documented weakness for and courtesy towards women made him the best prospect among those with immediate access to Wellington to be of use in his plot. He’d ordered her to establish a relationship with Max, gain his sympathy and learn his movements, so he might be used as a decoy when the time was right.

She’d been instructed to offer him her body if necessary, but it hadn’t been. Not that she found Max unappealing as a lover, but having learned he’d already taken one of the most elegant courtesans in Vienna as his mistress, she judged him unlikely to be tempted by a tall, brown-haired woman of no outstanding beauty.

His attentions to her had been initially just the courtesies any diplomat would offer his occasional hostess. Until one day, when she’d been sporting a bruised face and shoulder, and he’d figured out that St Arnaud must have abused her.

She’d told him nothing, of course, but from that moment, his attitude had grown fiercely protective. Rather ironic, she thought, that it had been St Arnaud’s foul temper and vindictive spirit, rather than her charms, that had drawn Max closer to her.

In fact, she’d be willing to bet, had the moment not occurred for St Arnaud to spring his plot, Max would have tried to work out an honourable way for her to escape her cousin.

But the moment did occur. As little choice as she’d had in the matter, it still pained her to recall it.

The night of the attack had begun with an afternoon like any other at the Congress, until Max had casually mentioned that he might be late arriving to the Austrian ambassador’s ball that evening, since he was to confer briefly in private with the Duke before accompanying him to the festivities. It was the work of a moment for Elodie to inveigle from him in which anteroom that meeting was to take place, the work of another that night to intercept Max in the hallway before he went in.

She waylaid him with a plea that he assist her on some trumped-up matter that would call down on her the wrath of her cousin, should she fail to speedily accomplish it. Despite his concern for her welfare, so great was his impatience to meet his commander, who had a well-known intolerance for tardiness, that she was able to delay him only a few minutes.

It was long enough. St Arnaud’s assassin found his target alone, unguarded, and only Wellington’s own battle-won sixth sense in dodging away an instant before the stranger bursting into the room fired his weapon, had averted tragedy.

To the Duke, anyway. Captured almost immediately, the failed assassin withstood questioning only briefly before revealing St Arnaud’s, and therefore her own, connection to the plot. Assuming the worst, St Arnaud had dealt with her and fled. She’d been in no condition afterwards to discover what had happened to Max; she assumed that, disgraced and reprimanded, he’d been sent back to England.

Dear, courteous Max. Perhaps the kindest man she’d ever known, she thought, conjuring up with a sigh the image of his face. Odd, though, that while he was certainly handsome, she hadn’t felt for him the same immediate, powerful surge of desire inspired by his cousin Will.

An attraction so strong it had dazzled her into forgetting, for the first few moments, that he’d invaded her rooms. So strong that, though he’d coerced and threatened her, she felt it still.

It had also been evident, even in his ill-fitting breeches, that the lust he inspired in her was mutual. Elodie felt another flush of heat, just thinking of that sleek hardness, pressing against his trouser front.

Such a response, she suddenly realised, might be useful later, when she needed to escape him. A well-pleasured man would be languid, less than vigilant. And pleasuring Will Ransleigh would be no hardship.

Eluding him in Paris, however, would be another challenge entirely.