Julia Justiss - The Rake To Redeem Her

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.

Loitering at the corner, hidden from view by the shadow of an overhanging balcony, and cap well down over the golden hair Madame Lefevre had found so distinctive, Will watched the guard posted at the opposite end of the alley. He’d grab some dinner and return to remain here through the night, noting how many kept watch and when they changed. Although he’d agreed with madame ’s suggestion that she leave in full daylight, it would be wise to know how many men had been employed to observe her—and might be sent in pursuit when they discovered she’d fled.

He shook his head again over her unexpected talent for intrigue.

Before seeking his dinner, he would question madame ’s friend Clara. He’d not bothered the girl before, having worked out where madame had gone to ground without having to accost the maid. Although the person who’d protected madame would likely be the most reluctant to give him any information, after an interview that had given rise to more questions than it answered, it was worth the attempt to extract from the girl anything that might shed more light on the mystery that was Madame Lefevre.

A woman who thus far hadn’t behaved as he would have expected of an aristocratic Frenchwoman who’d served as hostess to the most important leaders of European society.

Now that he’d confirmed that the woman he’d found was in fact Madame Lefevre, it was time to re-examine his initial assumptions about her.

The speed with which she’d come up with the suggestion that she escape in disguise—masculine disguise, at that—seemed to indicate she’d donned such a costume before. Recalling the grim expression on her face, Will thought it hadn’t been in some amateur theatrical performance for amusement of friends.

‘France has been at war longer than we’ve been alive …’ Had her family been caught up in the slaughter leading from monarchy to republic to empire and back? It seemed likely.

He wished now he’d paused in London to plumb for more detail about the St Arnaud family. Thierry St Arnaud’s employer, Prince Talleyrand, possessed an exceptional skill for survival, having served as Foreign Minister of France during the Republic, Consulate, Empire and now the Restoration. At the Congress of Vienna, the Prince had even managed the unlikely feat of persuading Britain and Austria that France, a country those two allies had fought for more than twenty years, should become their partner against Russia and Prussia.

What remarkable tricks of invention had the St Arnaud clan performed to retain lands and titles through the bloodbath of revolution and empire?

Perhaps, rather than spending her girlhood tucked away at some genteel country estate, madame ’s aristocratic family, like so many others, had been forced to escape the guillotine’s blade. They might even have fled to England; the British crown had supported a large émigré community. That would explain her excellent, almost accentless speech.

Or perhaps she was such a mistress of invention because she was one of Talleyrand’s agents. His gut churned at that unpleasant possibility.

But though Will wouldn’t totally discount the idea, Talleyrand was known to be an exacting master. It wouldn’t be like the prince to leave a loose end—like a former agent—flapping alone in the Viennese breeze for over a year; Madame Lefevre would likely have been eliminated or spirited away long since.

Still, it wouldn’t be amiss to behave around her as if she had a professional’s expertise.

He smiled. That would make the matching of wits all the sweeter. And if the opportunity arose to intertwine bodies as well, that would be the sweetest yet.

But enough of carnal thoughts. He couldn’t afford to let lust and curiosity make him forget his goal, or lure him into being less than vigilant. He was certain she intended to try to escape him during their journey, and he’d need to be on his best game to ensure she did not.

As he reached that conclusion, Clara exited madame ’s lodgings. Keeping into the shadow of the buildings, Will followed her.

To his good fortune, since the onset of evening and the thinning crowds would make it harder to trail her unobserved, the maid headed for the neighbouring market. He shadowed her as she snapped up the last of the day’s bread, cheese and apples at bargain prices from vendors eager to close up for the night.

The Viennese were a prosperous lot, he noted as he trailed a few stalls behind her, and remarkably careless with their purses. Had he a mind to, he could have snatched half a dozen as he strolled along.

Unable to resist the temptation to test his skill and thinking it might make a good introduction, Will nipped from behind the maid to snag her coin purse while she lingered by the last stall, bidding farewell to the vendor and rearranging the purchases in her market basket.

He followed her from the market until she reached a mostly deserted stretch of street, where the buildings’ overhanging second storeys created a shadowy recess. Picking up his pace, Will strode past her and then turned, herding her towards the wall. With a deep bow, he held out the coin purse.

‘Excuse me, miss, I believe you dropped this.’

With a gasp, she shrank back, then halted. ‘Why … it is my purse! I was sure I put it back into my reticule! How can I thank you, Herr …’ Belatedly looking up, she got a glimpse of his face. ‘You!’

Will bowed again. ‘Will Ransleigh, at your service, miss.’

Alarm battled anger in her face. ‘I should call the authorities and have you arrested for theft!’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘How could you do that, when I’ve just returned your purse? If officials in Vienna arrest every fellow who follows a pretty girl, the jails would be full to overflowing. I mean you no harm.’

She sniffed. ‘I note you don’t deny you took it! But seeing as how you could have just as easily knocked me over the head as given it back, I suppose I’ll not scream the houses down—for the moment. What do you want?’

‘I intend to help your mistress leave the city.’