Jane Feather - Velvet

"The same applies to you," she pointed out. "Oh, come on, Nathaniel, remember the last time, that journey from Tilsit. Wouldn't it be wonderful to do it again?"

Nathaniel pushed himself away from the door, and his face was black, his eyes as hard as stone. "Now, you listen to me," he said with soft but deadly menace. "If you so much as think of following me, Gabrielle, I will make your life a living hell. I swear it on my mother's grave."

Gabrielle took an involuntary step back from the ferocious figure. "All right," she said, lifting her hands palm up in a gesture of acceptance. "It was a bad idea… all right." It was, of course. Reality reasserted itself. Racketing around the Continent in the early months of pregnancy was asking for trouble.

Nathaniel's eyes bored into her during a brief, tense silence, as if he were reading her mind, then he exhaled through his mouth, apparently satisfied.

"I'm going to Burley Manor in the morning," he said in more level tones. "I've some estate matters to deal with before I leave. I expect to sail for France toward the end of the week."

"Shall I come to Burley Manor?" she asked very tentatively.

"No. There would be no point. I'll be far too busy."

"Oh… right." She shrugged with an assumption of carelessness. "I don't suppose you know how long you'll be away."

"A few months, as I said."

"Two… three… four?"

"I've no idea. You know how hard it is to be precise." He sounded impatient.

It's a question ofhow pregnant I'll be when you get home."Yes, I know," she said with another shrug. Damn the man! How could she possibly tell him, when he was being so hostile and distant?

"I'll miss you, though." She tried to inject some warmth into the conversation.

Nathaniel's eyes softened. "I'll miss you too, Gabrielle." He meant it. Even when she was twisting him into knots, he couldn't bear to be away from her. "But it's something that I have to do."

"I understand."

Maybe it was time for a separation, she thought. Maybe when he was away from her, whatever suspicions lay behind this estrangement would be put to rest.

He left early the next morning, driving his curricle. Gabrielle stood at the window, watching as he disappeared down the street. Her body felt bereft, as if she'd been abandoned in the middle of making love. And perhaps that wasn't an inaccurate analogy.

Two days later another letter arrived from Talleyrand. It was short and terrifying. Fouche had arrested an English agent in Calais. The man had been broken and the Minister of Police believed he was now in possession of vital facts that would endanger the entire English intelligence network in Europe.

Most particularly, he knew the names and types of the boats used to transport agents across the Channel, and he knew most of the safe landing spots they used along the Brittany and Normandy coasts.

Gabrielle read the letter twice. Black spots danced before her eyes and she couldn't think. It was as if her brain were paralyzed. Her hand was numb, she was clutching the letter so tightly, and she forced herself to breathe deeply, to relax her fingers. The letter fluttered to the carpet.

I give you this information, ma fille,to do with as you think best. It is in the way of returning a favor. You will understand what I mean. As always, it is imperative that I am not involved. I trust in your ingenuity to ensure this.

She stared down at the lines at her feet. Ingenuity! Did he know what he was asking… demanding.But she knew that he didn't. Talleyrand had no understanding of the complexities of emotional relationships. He had no time for them. Oh, he loved, he was fond, he was capable of affection. Why else had he sent her this intelligence? But individuals and the whole labyrinthine maze of feelings could never be allowed to come between the man and his purpose.

Gabrielle bent to pick up the letter. The movement made her head spin and her gorge rise into her throat. She straightened rapidly, one hand stroking her throat, praying that the wave of nausea would recede. The sensation never left her except when she was nibbling on some plain and undemanding food, but she dreaded the times when it would sweep over her in an invincible wave and she'd have to run for the commode.

Mercifully, it faded from an acute presence to normal queasiness, and she read the letter for the third time. But now her head was clear and alternative courses of action tumbled and sorted themselves in her brain.

There was only one possible course of action. She had to warn Nathaniel before the Curlewsailed from Lymington. He'd said they would sail at the end of the week. Today was Friday. Did he mean today or Saturday?

No point speculating, or worrying. She had to leave immediately. If she rode, she could be in Hampshire by early evening. It would be hard riding. She touched her belly. Dear God, she couldn't deal with the nausea on horseback, at least not in its acute version. But she'd noticed that fresh air seemed to help, and she had a feeling that panic might well keep a lesser problem at bay.

She couldn't leave the house without a word. She needed to take someone into her confidence-Primmy. She'd listen to what she was told, would ask no questions, and would ensure that no one was alarmed. And a fuller explanation to Simon, just in case something went wrong.

Don't think like that. Guillaume had taught her never to anticipate the worst until she needed to. She didn't need to yet.

She wrote at length to Simon, telling him everything except the source of her information. He could make what guesses he wished. If anything did happen, if she and Nathaniel didn't return, then at least the intelligence would be in the hands of someone who would know what to do with it.

Primmy, as Gabrielle had expected, accepted that Lady Praed was going into the country for a few days. She didn't question the directive that she was to consult Lord and Lady Vanbrugh in the event of any difficulties.

Jake grumbled a bit that he wasn't to go with her, but was easily reconciled when reminded that it would mean forgoing a promised excursion to the lions at the Exchange.

By mid-morning Gabrielle was on the road to Kingston. She had a groom with her who, when she changed horses halfway, would take her own tired mount back to London by easy stages.

They rode into the yard of the Green Man in Basingstoke in the early afternoon. Gabrielle's back was aching, as it did after a long day's hunting, but she ignored it. She was ravenous but stayed only to select a fresh mount. The inn provided a picnic of bread and cheese wrapped in a checkered napkin, and she rode out of the yard ten minutes after entering it, leaving the groom thankfully resting his weary bones before the fire in the taproom and addressing a substantial mutton chop.

Gabrielle now rode harder than she'd ever ridden in her life, pressing the fresh horse to its limit, and delving deep into her own physical resources to find the last vestiges of endurance.

It was six o'clock when she rode up the driveway of Burley Manor. The front of the house was in darkness and her heart sank. If Nathaniel was in residence, there would be some light, in the library at least. The weary horse stumbled on the gravel and came to a halt as she reined him in at the front door. He stood hanging his head, sweat glistening on his neck.

Gabrielle pounded the door knocker, trying to keep the rising panic at bay. Perhaps he was on the estate somewhere and hadn't yet returned. But she knew that was wishful thinking.

A bolt scraped back. "Why, my lady, we wasn't expectin' you." A startled elderly retainer, one of the skeleton staff left to take care of the house, stared at her in the light of the lantern he held high. The hall behind him was in darkness, just a glow of lamplight coming from the open door into the kitchen regions.