A Lady’s Secret (12 page)

Coquette had also spotted her beloved master and was more desperate to be let free. Why on earth didn’t she have a leash? And where were the horses, or Fontaine? She saw both at the side of the road behind her, along with others who’d chosen only to watch far from the dust.

Petra joined him. “Does Coquette not have a leash?”

“She has a number,” the valet replied, with the usual suggestion of a sniff. “One to match each suit. Some are jeweled.”

Petra had known precious elegants who carried pets as accessories, but Cock Robin, who couldn’t be bothered with a neckcloth?

“Where’s the leash that matches his current attire?” she asked. “The stupid creature wants to be trampled.”

“Let her be. He would be relieved of a burden.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“No?” The valet smirked. “He acquired her only to impress a Versailles beauty. Once he had his way, the bitch was of no use to him.”

Which bitch?
Petra wondered, disgusted but fascinated.

“Yet the silly creature pesters him still,” he sighed.

“They so often do, much to his disgust.”

“Is that a warning for me, Fontaine?” When he merely smirked, she said, “Forget these clothes and remember my habit. And even if I were an ordinary lady I’d have no interest in a man like him.”

“Then you’d be unique among females.”

“Lady Sodworth wasn’t swooning. Nor were the Goulart women. Where is Coquette’s leash?”

“In his coat pocket, I assume.”

And his coat was heaven knew where.

Petra watched chaos, her mind sifting through details. “If he’s coming from court,” she asked, “where are his court garments?”

“He sends those by cart in order to travel faster. I warn him that one day they will be lost or stolen, but he pays no heed. As it is, we arrive in London ahead of them, and if a grand event occurs I am obliged to cobble together something from his older clothes.” The valet actually shuddered.

“Mr. Bonchurch enjoys fashion and court elegance?” she asked, watching the dust-caked man heave, joking with his fellow laborers.

“When the mood takes him.”

And that, thought Petra, was probably the truth of the man. He was a creature of whim and mood, and as reliable as a weathercock. Another cock!

Coquette was still wriggling to get to her adored one, so Petra picked her way along the rough verge until they were out of sight. As they went, she expressed her frustration.

“Jeweled collars and ribbon leashes to match each outfit. And you, you’re as bad. He used you. Don’t you mind? He used you, but now he’d give you to a passing stranger if anyone would take you. It’s shameful to worship someone like that.”

Coquette merely tilted her butterfly head as if considering a puzzling concept.

“You can’t stop, though, can you? A female in love has no sense of dignity. I know it all too well. There were so many signs of the truth with Ludo, but did I pay any attention? Of course not.”

She sighed, but then spotted raspberries. Long canes rambled through the fence, offering both a treat and escape from troubling memories. Petra tucked Coquette firmly under one arm and enjoyed them, suppressing any thought of taking some back to share. As she ate, she lectured the dog at length on dignity, prudence, and the wicked ways of devastatingly attractive men.

She knew it would do no good at all.

“M
aria!”

Petra started, and turned to see Robin staring at her, hands on hips.

She hurried back to the chaise, looking quickly down the queue. It was now up to six vehicles, but no sign of Varzi, which was as well since she’d let her hood slip.

“There’s no need to bellow,” she said.

He took the dog. “The name ‘Maria’ didn’t seem to penetrate. Get in. We can be off.”

The wrecks were off to the verge, and their chaise was on level ground again.

Once inside, Petra said, “I’m sorry. It’s not my familiar name.” She reached to take back the dog, but Robin climbed in and slammed the door.

“It didn’t seem wise to be shouting ‘Petra.’”

So he, too, had been thinking about pursuit.

As the coach moved slowly forward, Petra shook her head at how dusty Robin was. His skin was caked with it because of sweat, which might be why he hadn’t put his coat or waistcoat back on. A jagged tear in the sleeve of his grubby shirt would take genius to mend. He was certainly no angel now, but the sweat-flattened hair and dusty skin made clear his stronger side.

Another English nursery rhyme came to her.

That was to teach children that they had paths in life and that their choices would have consequences. It didn’t allow for a man being a dozen things in one.

Rich man or adventurer?

Courtier or laborer?

Fribble or hero?

Sane man or lunatic…

Coquette jumped down and shook herself.

“Too dirty for her taste,” he said with a grin. “Too dirty for you to kiss?”

“Dirt has nothing to do with it.”

“Still, I must bathe. We’ll be in Montreuil soon and will stop there.”

“There’s no need—”

“I must bathe. Forgive me for the indelicacy, but you should, too.”

A wave of embarrassment flowed through Petra, but she said, “I will wash, but I have no clean clothes to change into unless I revert to nun….”

“Ah yes, clothes. Those, too, Montreuil can provide. Petra, we would have halted there, anyway. It’s the last chance for decent food before Boulogne.”

“Can’t we get something to eat on the road?”

“Do you expect my men to eat on horseback? They deserve a rest.”

That was unanswerable, but how long would a bath and a fine meal take? How far behind were Lady Sodworth and Varzi? What use had speed been if they stopped for hours in this pretentious Inn of the Court of France?

“Behold Montreuil,” he said.

Through the front window, above the working rumps of the horses, Petra saw a hill crowned with gray fortifications. “We have to go up there? It will take forever!”

“Not all the way, and the coach will take its time while we walk the faster route. It’s a charming town offering magnificent views.”

“Mr. Bonchurch, we are not on a pleasure trip.”

“I was, or as near as made no difference, until I met you.” He smiled, however. “I’m not complaining, and yes, we have some urgency, but the boats in Boulogne leave on the tide, which will be in the late evening. Haste will only have us kicking our heels in a very inferior town.”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

He shrugged. “’Tis my nature. I think you’ve seen I can be serious when called upon.”

Petra couldn’t deny that, but every instinct longed to race onward.

Robin observed his dark conundrum ruefully. His tone had offended her, but it truly was his nature to take things as lightly as possible. She, on the other hand, seemed to seek the dark. Was she truly pursued by an evil Milanese lover, or did she imagine such things? She hadn’t imagined the danger last night, but he’d told her the truth. Haste would only mean more time in Boulogne, and she’d be safer here, in the luxurious Inn of the Court of France.

The horses labored up the incline toward the town until it met the steeper but faster footpath.

“Here’s where we walk,” he said, pulling a thin leather leash from his pocket and clipping it to Coquette’s collar.

“I needed that during the wreck,” she complained.

“I had to hold her the whole time.”

“You should have asked.”

“You were ripping a wheel off a coach at the time, enveloped in a cloud of dust.”

“How improvident of me.” He climbed down and turned to offer her a hand, trying to soothe her with a smile. She accepted his help, but released him as soon as possible, looking almost afraid. If she were fearful, it was because of the spark that had jolted between them when skin contacted skin. It almost terrified him, too.

He put down the dog and began the walk, allowing Coquette to dart here and there and sometimes stop to explore. His maybe-nun walked ahead steadily, dark cloak concealing her gaudy, provocative outfit. Clothing had nothing to do with it, however. She’d sent lightning through him when in her dull habit.

Eventually she stopped and turned a frown at him. “Do you mean to take all day for this stroll?”

“I’m enjoying it. Consider the view.”

“Magnificent,” she agreed flatly, “but we do not have time.”

Robin picked up Coquette and joined her. “To business, then. What sort of clothes will you want?”

“We don’t have time,” she said, setting off again.

“We’ve been over that, and after a bath, do you really want to put that lot back on?”

“I’m not taking a bath.”

“I am, and then I intend to wear clean garments from the skin out.”

“I have a clean habit in my box.”

“To dress as a nun again will provide a beacon for your pursuers. I’ll buy you something suitable.”

“I will not be even more in your debt….”

“We’re talking shillings.”

“…Because I know the return you’ll demand.”

Robin held on to his temper. “I never demand such favors.”

“No, you seduce them with gifts like ridiculous dogs.”

Robin looked down at Coquette. “You were just insulted. A pity you don’t bite.” He looked up and saw Petra’s tight, pale face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you’re so…you never
listen
to me. You must have everything your own way.”

“I want you in my bed, Petra, and all indications are that it will be magnificent, but I don’t expect to get my own way about that. If I do, it won’t be in payment, or even out of gratitude, but only driven by true, pure desire.”

Did she shiver? He hoped so, because she was driving him mad. He risked a touch on her elbow to turn her onward, to resume their climb, and felt the tingle again.

“You can’t return to wearing your habit, and you need respectable clothing before we arrive in England.”

“There you go again.”

“But I’m right.”

She halted for a moment, rigid, and then marched on.

“Assuredly,” Robin murmured to the dog, “I am a fool.”

He could be a fool for women, but only with his eyes open. He would allow them to use him or deceive him, but only to a point, and only as long as it amused. Where lay the reward in this tight-wound, secretive wench? If he had any sense, he’d get her to Dover, let her escape, and forget about her. But he couldn’t. Like Coquette, Petra was his now to take care of until he was assured of her safety.

They entered through the town gate and Robin indicated the direction. She took it, but said, “Perhaps I could dress as a young man. My hair is short, and that would be an even better disguise.”

“’Struth, woman, no one but a half-wit would believe you male. And if they did, you’d be in dire danger.”

“I can use pistol and sword. You saw that.”

She might actually try to do this insane thing.

“Some men lust after beautiful young men more than they do after beautiful young women.”

She flipped a glance at him. “You must live a dangerous life, then.”

He stared, then laughed, shaking his head. “Come inside. The sun has turned your wits.”

Petra went into the dauntingly grand inn, wishing that last comment unsaid. He was right. She must be losing her wits. If so it was entirely his fault. He was beautiful. Sparks flew when they touched. And he always wanted his own way.

The inn was busy, but clearly accustomed to it—though not, perhaps, to women dressed as Petra was. The servants were too well trained to act badly, however, and they were soon in a handsome suite of rooms. Fruit, wine, and small cakes awaited, and jugs of warm washing water arrived only moments after they did. Robin ordered a meal and two baths.

Petra wanted to protest on principle, but if he was going to bathe, why should she resist such a pleasure?

He was speaking to a maidservant. “You see that my sister has suffered on the journey. Her trunk was lost and the clothes she was wearing ruined. Would it be possible to acquire something more suitable for her? You see her size.”

The maid was blushing and fidgeting under his handsome charm. “I don’t know, monsieur. I wish to oblige, but I have my duties….”

“I will pay all the charges, including the innkeeper for the loss of your time.”

She bobbed a curtsy. “I’ll go and ask, monsieur. I’ll do my best!”

Petra ate a cake, and perhaps that sweetened her mood. “Thank you. I apologize for being tiresome.”

“Oh, dear, you must be in a bad way if you’re beaten down to submissiveness.”

“I am not—”

“Pax!” He poured golden wine into two glasses and brought one to her. “It is less than a day since we met, Petra. Given events, I’m all admiration that you’re still on your feet.”

She sipped the sweet wine and suddenly her knees felt weak with exhaustion. She sat on one of two chairs by the window. “Sometimes, so am I.”

The double casement window stood open, giving a small breeze and an extensive view. She could see the road they’d traveled, busy with vehicles traveling in both directions. She couldn’t help searching for signs of Varzi and his men, even though she knew she could tell nothing at this distance.

Robin came to lounge in the seat beside her, sun catching light in his dusty hair, his eyes a clearer blue in dirty skin. “Tell me about your pursuers.”

Petra sipped her wine. She should, but it was so wild a tale and would mean she’d have to tell him about her folly and sin with Ludo. “Someone didn’t want me to leave Milan.”

“A man, you said. You took a lover?”

She wanted to deny that, but the truth should crush any romantic notions he might have. She met his eyes and said, “Yes.”

No visible response. “And he is now what? Desperate? Vengeful? Angry?”

Petra thought about that and then said, “Possessive.”

“Ah.”

“I’m glad you understand it, for I can’t, especially now he’s married.”

“Irrelevant, I’m afraid. Though his wife can’t be happy if he’s chasing you across Europe. He doesn’t fear her wrath?”

“He fears no one.”

“His name?”

“Ludovico.”

“The rest of his name?” He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Enter,” he called, his thoughtful eyes never leaving Petra’s face.

A manservant announced that their baths were ready. Robin rose and thanked him with a small coin. He turned back to offer his hand, like a gentleman leading a lady into a dance. Petra didn’t need assistance, but she put her hand in his and allowed a slight upward pressure as she rose. Unwise. He stepped closer and raised her hand to his lips.

She dragged her hand free. “Because I had a lover,” she said harshly, “doesn’t make me easy prey.”

His eyes sparkled with mirth. “My dearest Petra, only a dolt would imagine you easy prey. You are well named—‘the rock.’”

“Petronilla. The ‘little rock.’”

“A pebble can be torture in a shoe.”

Torture.
“I don’t want to cause you hurt….”

He laughed. “Petra, Petra, I was teasing. You won’t hurt me.”

“Oh, you are so
infuriating
. A smug, comfortable Englishman with his silly dog and ridiculous leashes who knows
nothing
of the world. You cannot begin to imagine that danger might ever touch you!”

“Danger touched us both last night.”

“Peasant women,” she spat. “And we were properly armed whilst they had only a kitchen knife.”

“And poison,” he said soberly. “Never, ever forget poison. Kings and mighty warriors have been brought low by poison. And by beautiful women they trusted too well.”

Petra stared at him, wounded by that truth.

He opened the door to her bedroom, where the cloth-lined bath steamed and a mobcapped maid awaited. “At the moment, our only danger is expiring from pleasure. Come, sister dear, and drown in it.”

Petra marched through and closed the door in his face, leaning back on it for an exhausted, tearful moment. She shouldn’t have weakened to confess pursuit or danger. But she’d had to prevent delay, and she’d had to try to warn him. She was putting innocent, charming Robin Bonchurch in danger….

“Madame?” the puzzled maid prompted. Petra straightened, the bath calling to her like a siren. She walked forward, pulling off her mobcap and then unlacing her bodice.

“Louise has gone to find you better clothing, madame,” the maid said, eyes flickering curiously to Petra’s hair. “With Monsieur Belmartin’s permission, of course.”

“That’s very kind.” Petra dropped the bodice and untied her skirt. “And you are?”

The girl bobbed another curtsy. “Nanette, madame.”

Baths in the convent had been stingy things, taken while wearing a shift. Petra d’Averio had reveled in luxurious baths, and always naked. She was almost salivating at the thought of doing it again—but she wore a knife strapped to her thigh.

“Please,” she said, “take those clothes out of my sight.”

The maid gathered up skirt, bodice, and cap. “What shall I do with them, madame?”

“Anything you want.”

The maid left and Petra quickly unstrapped the knife, then took off her shift and bundled the knife into it. She hoped the maid would bring clean underwear, because she’d hardly be able to bear putting that shift on again.

She stepped into the bath. It was exactly the right temperature, and the steam carried a hint of soothing rosemary. She sat down and relaxed back with a blissful sigh. Drowning in pleasure. Oh yes, indeed.