Authors: Cynthia Wright
Natalya took a deep breath. "I do. I do want to go, so badly that my heart aches with the yearning for America and my home. I apologize for my rudeness. Please, tell me more."
Nicholai, hearing the throb in his niece's voice, leaned forward to give St. James his complete attention. "I should warn you—you'll have to convince us all," he murmured.
Grey smiled. "My plan is fairly simple. Since both of us speak French well, we can travel as a married peasant couple, which would draw little or no suspicion. I'm certain Auteuil and Poujouly expect me to travel to Paris and thence to England by way of Calais. Or else they hope I will go to join Wellington." His long fingers caressed the stem of his glass. "It wouldn't occur to them that I might go right back over the ground we've just covered, which is why I've chosen St. Malo as our destination. As you know, it's very near Mont St. Michel, where I was imprisoned."
Natalya, caught off guard by the sudden flash of his grin, smiled back. "Could we sail from St. Malo, then?"
"Absolutely. I couldn't do so when I first escaped from prison because Auteuil was right behind me. Also, it may take a bit of scheming to get to a British ship, but I'll have no problem once that damned warden and his henchman are disposed of. It may even turn out that my own ship will be lurking somewhere off the coast. If so, we'll bribe a fisherman or a smuggler to transport us. Once on board a British vessel, we will be guaranteed safe passage to England. The war may very likely be finished by then."
"What's Natalya going to do once she arrives in England?" Nicholai asked soberly. "Did you forget while in prison that your country is at war with America as well? I hardly think that she can book a pleasure voyage from London to Philadelphia."
"You're right, of course," he agreed, nodding. "I can assure you that I shall not desert your niece once her usefulness to me is past." He stretched his legs and rubbed a sore muscle in his right thigh. "I will personally arrange her crossing to America. I am an officer in the British Navy, and I also own a trading ship of my own, so I'm critically connected for Miss Beauvisage's purposes—"
"You may as well call me Natalya," she said lightly.
"All right. And I'm Grey," he replied, the barest smile touching his mouth when she nodded in response. "... As I was saying, I shan't leave Natalya at the dock once we arrive in London. She will stay at my father's house until I have settled on safe passage for the rest of her journey. At least she will be out of France—"
"I don't know," Nicholai said, his tone dark with doubt. "I love Talya with all my heart, and I am responsible for her. She may not want to be here anymore, but sometimes we cannot have what we want exactly when we want it. An important lesson, my darling niece." He pointed at her, his rebuke warmed by an undercurrent of affection. "Here, at least, I know that you are safe."
"Uncle Nicky! For heaven's sake, I am not a child. I'm twenty-six years old."
Grey managed to hide his surprise at this revelation when she glanced at him and reddened at having given herself away. He covered the awkward moment by returning his attention to Nicholai. "If it will put your mind at ease, sir, I'll promise to deliver your niece personally to America if I am unable to find suitable means for her journey."
"Excuse me, but this decision is up to me." Natalya threw her uncle a stubborn look that reminded him of her childhood. He half expected her to stick out her lower lip.
"She
is
twenty-six, darling," Lisette reminded him gently. "And don't forget that your own daughter lives in London, and Adrienne is barely seventeen."
Beauvisage drained his glass of calvados. "Fine. I can see that I have no influence whatsoever."
"You might as well become accustomed to feeling ignored, Papa," James remarked between bites of apple tart. "Your own children will undoubtedly stop listening to your advice long before we turn twenty-six."
"You stay out of this," Nicholai barked. "And, incidentally, Lisette, it's no use bringing Adrienne into this. She's safely cloistered in London's finest private school for girls, where she is chaperoned twenty-four hours a day. You cannot compare the two situations."
Natalya held up her hands in protest. "Everyone is getting all worked up before I've even decided what I'll do." When her dinner companions all stared at her expectantly, she laughed. "Let me think about it overnight, lest I be accused of behaving rashly or childishly."
"How very mature you are, my dear," Lisette proclaimed. "Did you hear, Nicky? She's going to think this matter over carefully, weighing all the factors, positive and negative, before coming to a decision. Now you'll be able to relax and enjoy your apple tart." She nudged his arm. "Take a bite, darling. I made the crust myself, with my favorite old recipe from the coffeehouse."
Nicholai sighed and ran a hand through his crisp chestnut hair, now liberally salted with white. "All right!" Staring defiantly at his wife, he speared a large bite of tart and stuck it into his mouth. In muffled tones, he added, "Now I know how Napoleon feels. Powerless!"
* * *
"You have a very illustrious history in this chateau, m'sieur," Grey remarked as he and Nicholai wandered through the great hall with its gilded, coffered ceiling and mammoth fireplace. Two silken-eared spaniels slept before the cheery blaze. "These paintings are Beauvisage ancestors?"
Nicholai was torn. He wanted to play the kind host to his guest, but now he was afraid that any displays of friendship might further encourage St. James's mad scheme. If only Natalya hadn't become involved... Then, reminding himself of the debt owed by the Beauvisages to the St. Jameses, Nicholai decided to adopt a manner that was polite but not... familiar. Smiling, he led Grey to the painting nearest the doorway.
"These are all my ancestors, but not all of them are named Beauvisage. A hundred and twenty years ago, the only son of Paul Mardouet, seigneur of St. Briac, died in a hunting accident. Paul's eldest daughter, Marie, then married a nobleman named Beauvisage, and Chateau du Soleil passed to them. Our family tree gained a new branch."
Grey gestured toward the painting. "By the look of this fellow's jeweled doublet, I gather that he must be a Mardouet."
"Correct. This was Thomas Mardouet, one of St. Briac's earliest seigneurs. He was a great friend of King Francois, and it was he who razed the chateau's north wing when the enlightened age of the renaissance did away with the need to fortify one's home against attack."
"He looks... fulfilled," Grey observed. The painting revealed a handsome man with curling chestnut hair, a trim beard, and turquoise eyes that seemed to dance with pleasure. "And I can see a family resemblance."
Nicholai smiled. "Thomas's eyes and hair have turned up on descendants all through the years. And I think you're right about the look of him. Although he lost his first son in childhood, that was his only real tragedy. Thomas had two daughters and another son, and according to all reports he was passionately in love with his wife. They shared a long life together, and they made some fine wine here."
Grey's eyes wandered to the next portrait, of an enchanting, raven-haired woman with clear spring green eyes. Garbed in a gown of rich emerald velvet embroidered in gold, with long sleeves and a low, square neckline, she appeared alluringly alive. "Don't tell me that this was his wife...?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm afraid so. That's Aimee. Exquisite, wasn't she?"
"She certainly accounts for his contented look."
Nicholai laughed suddenly, the furrow disappearing from his brow. "We Beauvisages have ever been a romantic lot. My father, who grew up here and was the rightful heir to this chateau, had no taste for playing lord of the manor. He chose to be a pirate, during the days when such practices were tolerated. He did a great deal of illegal trading with the colonies—America—when trade with England was so expensive and troublesome. By all accounts, Father was the consummate rake. My mother, who is Russian, met him when he captured the passenger ship on which she was sailing to America. Theirs was just one in a long line of passionate romances in our family."
Grey inclined his head. "Your own included, it is clear to see. My own family, on the other hand, is littered with acrimonious arranged marriages and cold-blooded infidelities. I myself—" He broke off with a bitter smile that was not lost on his host. "Growing up, I never saw anyone genuinely in love—most especially not my own parents," he went on after a slight pause. "As a consequence, I've never put much stock in notions of romantic love. If there is such a thing, I'm convinced that it's magical—and transitory."
"Well, Natalya has had good examples to observe since birth, and she's more cynical about love than most men I know... at least when it comes to her own life. She hasn't let me read the manuscript for her novel, but my wife has confided that the heroine of
My Lady's Heart
is incorrigibly romantic."
"Miss Beauvisage wouldn't be the first person to discover that affairs of the heart are safer conducted at a distance," Grey remarked ironically.
Chuckling, Nicholai stifled a yawn. "It's been a long day—longer than I realized. You must be exhausted as well. Shall we go up?"
"Would you mind if I remained behind for a bit? I think that I need a little solitude after the chaotic events of the past few days. It will all begin again tomorrow morning...."
"You needn't leave so soon."
"My friend, I couldn't bear the suspense, waiting to discover how this adventure will turn out." Grey's tone was ruefully amused. "I think you must know what I mean."
"I do." Beauvisage nodded. "It's just that danger is likely in the offing, and it would behoove you to be rested and well fed before you confront it."
"Which is your way of implying that you don't want your niece to accompany me," Grey slanted a sidelong glance at his host. "I have already assured you that I will lay down my own life, if need be, to insure her safety."
"There's really no point in discussing this with me, St. James." Nicholai held up his hands in surrender. "Didn't you hear Natalya tonight, reminding me that she is far past the brink of independent adulthood? If she decides to embark upon this wild escapade with you, there's not a damned thing I can do about it short of locking her in one of the towers." He ran a hand through his hair. "On the other hand, if she doesn't want any part of you or your scheme, no amount of urging from me could persuade her to go. In short, my friend, my beautiful niece would seem to hold all the cards!"
* * *
"I'm not going."
"Indeed?"
Natalya, wearing a plain nightgown and wrapper of gossamer-thin white batiste, sat on the edge of her aunt and uncle's grand testered bed while Lisette braided her hair.
"Who would pamper me and love me and brush my hair at bedtime if I left here?" Her delicate nostrils flared as she considered one possible answer. "Heaven knows I wouldn't let that
oaf
touch me, not under any circumstances. Aside from the fact that it would be an utter nightmare to be forced to share that
person's
company for days on end, I've just begun to recollect that it's a harsh world outside our lovingly civilized chateau." Her tone was light, but she was only half jesting. "I've grown appallingly spoiled, I know it, but it's a fact, and ought to be accepted. Don't you agree?"
Lisette wrinkled her nose as she wove her niece's rich, honey-hued hair into a thick plait that nearly reached her waist. "I can speak for myself, thank you. Aren't you being rather melodramatic? First of all, I don't find Grey St. James hideous in the least. I personally think that he is immensely attractive."
"Auntie!" Natalya gasped, looking back over her shoulder with an expression of mock horror. "If you torture me with one more appalling word of praise for that savage, I'll repeat it all to Uncle Nicky."
"Oh, no, please, not that!" Laughing, she pulled on her niece's braid. "Silly girl, do you imagine that Nicholai would fly into a rage if he heard that I admired another man's beauty? On the contrary—he's completely secure in the knowledge that I am his alone."
Natalya sniffed dismissingly. "In my opinion, the two of you spend far too much time dwelling on the pleasures of the flesh."
"Just wait." Impulsively Lisette hugged her niece from behind. "One day you'll discover those pleasures for yourself, and-"
"I'd really rather not," she broke in, stiffening.
They were silent for a long minute as Lisette finished the braid and fastened it with a ribbon of sea blue silk. Natalya's eyes were downcast, seemingly fixed on the edge of her wrapper, which she was twisting this way and that. Lisette never ceased to be struck by her niece's ripe and radiant beauty. She almost seemed lit from within.
"Do you know what I think?" Lisette murmured.
"Dare I ask?"
The older woman bit her lip then plunged ahead. "I think that you are frightened to death of flesh-and-blood men who you cannot control the way you do the heroes you create on paper. Thus you have decided to do the
safe
thing and stay here rather than travel to England with Grey." She shrugged slightly. "To tell you the truth, I'm a bit disappointed. You've always put on such a show of bravado that it comes as a bit of a surprise to discover it was false all along. The only risks you're willing to take are in your imagination, with the characters in your books."
Natalya turned slowly to stare at her aunt, her eyes huge with outrage. "That's simply ludicrous! Are you implying that I am a
coward?"
A trifle too emphatically, Lisette shook her head. "Of course not. Quite frankly, I don't even think that you are aware of what you're doing...."
"Perhaps I'm more aware than you know. Auntie, that St. James person threatened me to keep me quiet when those men from the prison came today. He pressed some sort of terrifying dagger between my ribs, and I was frightened for my life. And, I was furious! To make matters worse, when the men had gone and I confronted him, he merely brushed the matter off with a jest. What do you think about
that?"