Joanna Maitland - His Forbidden Liaison

‘I’ll have another large measure of your best brandy, landlord.’ Cupping the glass in his freezing fingers, Jack threw himself into the rough wooden chair nearest the fire. It had been well fed with logs and was roaring nicely, throwing out a huge amount of heat. Once his fingers were warmer, Jack leaned back in his chair, took a large swallow of his drink and stretched out his booted feet. He could allow himself just a few minutes by the fire before he went upstairs to check on Ben.

Poor Ben. At least he had remained safely inside, in the warm, but he had had the rough end of this mission, so far. Not only had he been shot, but he had lost all his possessions. They were no great loss, of course. Both Jack and Ben had brought only very ordinary clothes on this mission, since they could not afford to draw attention to themselves. But now Jack would have to face the delectable Miss Grolier, who would see at a glance that he had failed to buy any new linen. If questioned, he would have to admit that Rognac did not boast a haberdasher’s. What would she imagine he had been doing all this time? Would she be furious that he had taken advantage of her generosity by leaving her to nurse Ben for so long? He realised with a jolt that he needed to concoct a plausible story. Such a needle-witted woman would not be easily gulled.

Jack gulped down the last of his brandy and stood up, turning for a moment to warm his back at the flames. Let her smell the alcohol on his breath and assume he had simply made a feeble excuse to spend the time in the local bars, well away from the labours of the sick-room. Let her assume he was a selfish wastrel. That would merely serve to confirm the low opinion she had formed of him earlier. That did not matter, surely?

It did matter. For some reason, part of him wanted her good opinion. He spent several fruitless minutes cudgelling his brain for a story that would show him in a better light. He failed. Ben would have been able to dream up some unlikely tale in a trice, but Jack could think of nothing.

The mission must come first, he told himself sternly. He was the leader. He had left Ben upstairs for over two hours, alone with Marguerite Grolier. That had been foolhardy. What if he started raving as a result of his pain? What would she do? She had saved Ben’s life in Marseilles.Would she now betray him? Jack’s instincts told him she would not, but he did not trust his instincts where she was concerned. She was a beautiful and extraordinary woman, admirable in every way—except that she might be a Bonapartist.

He told himself that she had not joined in with the surgeon’s ‘Vive l’Empereur’. Then again, she had not objected to it, either. For Ben’s safety, and his own, and for the success of their mission, Jack had to find out the truth about Marguerite Grolier. Whatever the cost. His childish instincts could go hang.

Jack ran up the stairs, pausing to listen for a moment outside Ben’s door. He could hear no sound at all. Good. With luck, Ben had not regained his senses, or spoken. As soon as Jack was presentable again, he could go in to ask after Herr Benn’s health and to probe, as subtly as he could, for where the silk weaver’s true sympathies lay.

The fire in his chamber had not been lit and, without a change of clothes, all Jack could do was to towel his hair and rub his exposed skin until it glowed. The shirt was thin. It would soon dry from the heat of his body.

His quiet knock on Ben’s door was followed by what sounded like a gasp. As if she were shocked to be disturbed? As if she were hiding something?

Jack had no way of knowing, and he could not enter the bedchamber without her permission. She was a lady, and he must continue to treat her as a lady, unless she gave him cause to do otherwise. Somehow, he did not think that would happen. She was not a lady in the usual sense of the word, of course, for she was a mere artisan, a silk weaver, but her speech and manners were impeccable. Many women in London called themselves ladies, but could not hold a candle to Marguerite Grolier. She was altogether remarkable. If only she were not also a Bonapartist…

‘Mr Jacques! My goodness, how wet you look. Come in and warm yourself. There is a good fire here.’ Marguerite stood back to allow him to enter. Since he had abandoned her for hours without so much as a by-your-leave, she had every right to be furious with him, but how could she rage at such a woebegone figure? He must have been totally drenched by the storm. His boots were dripping muddy water as he crossed the floor. His hairy wet, too, and tousled like a boy’s. He had stripped off everything but shirt, breeches and boots, and his shirt was so damp that she could see his skin through it. He might as well have been wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet again! Marguerite tried to put that thought out of her mind. She told herself sternly not to look at his torso. It was just one more male body, like Herr Benn’s. A lady should be able to ignore it.

Mr Jacques bent to the fire, spreading his fingers to the warmth. ‘I am very much in your debt, ma’am, for tending to Herr Benn in my absence. I…I feel I have taken advantage of your good nature.’

A little gratitude at last. Marguerite automatically responded in kind. ‘After what you did for me, sir, it was the least I could do.’

He straightened and turned to face her. It was only then that she smelled the alcohol on his breath. She tensed. Clearly, he had not been searching very hard for replacement cravats. He had been making the rounds of Rognac’s bars. That was disgusting behaviour from a so-called gentleman. If she were not a lady, she would tell him so. Instead, she lifted her chin and drew back her skirts so they were no longer touching his contaminated boots.

He did not appear to notice. ‘How is he now? Has he come to himself at all during my absence?’ There was a hint of anxiety in his voice. Or was it shame over his own appalling behaviour?

Marguerite resolved to keep her anger under control. It was beneath her to lose her temper with such a man. ‘He was hot and restless an hour or so ago, but he is improving now. He is still insensible, but he may come round soon.’

He crossed to the bed and stood gazing down at the invalid, who looked very peaceful now, his breathing slow, but not in any way laboured. ‘He looks as if he is healing well, ma’am. And when he wakes, he will thank you for your care, I am sure. Unless, perhaps, you plan to continue towards Lyons today?’

He must know she did not. He must have heard when Guillaume made the arrangements for them to stay. She frowned at him, but said only, ‘Travelling in such weather would be madness.’ She nodded towards the window. The storm was still raging.

He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair and attempted a roguish smile.Yet again, he looked absurdly young.

‘Carriage accidents happen all too easily, especially in conditions like these, when—’ She stopped herself just in time. She was gabbling uncontrollably. She had been about to refer to her mother’s accident, and its terrible consequences. It must be the fault of that clinging shirt. It had melted her common sense.

Shocked at her own weakness, she took refuge in attack. ‘I take it you managed to acquire the linen you were seeking? Did the haberdasher keep you waiting while some of it was stitched for you?’

He had the grace to blush a little. ‘I…er…I spent far too much time enquiring for a haberdasher’s. Some of the locals sent me off on a wild goose chase, I fear, for there is no such establishment in Rognac. No doubt it amused them to roast a stranger so. I was gullible and got thoroughly soaked as a result. If you choose to call me a fool, ma’am, I will readily accept it.’

What a ridiculous story! She hurried across to the fire, holding out her hands to it as if she were cold. ‘It would be the height of impoliteness for me to say any such thing, sir,’ she said, addressing the blackened fire surround. ‘I have no basis for making any judgement about you.’ Oh, that was a lie. For all his faults, she knew he was a gentleman, and brave, with a body fit to grace a statue. Just as she knew that she must not trust him with Herr Benn’s secret.