Gail Whitiker - Courting Miss Vallois

Sophie was halfway to the door when a hand closed gently but firmly over her arm.

‘The gentleman asked that you stay where you are,’ a voice said close to her ear. ‘I advise you to heed his request. You will only serve as a distraction if you venture outside now.’

The man’s voice was as inflexible as his grip, but his high-handed assumption that Sophie would just be in the way rankled. ‘You don’t understand! Someone may have been injured.’

‘I’m sure someone has, but your going out there now isn’t going to help. If you promise to stay here, I shall endeavour to find out what has taken place.’

The man did not let go of her arm, and when Sophie finally raised her eyes to look at him she realised he probably wasn’t going to. He stood with legs firmly planted, radiating power and authority in a manner that suggested he was used to being in control. Dark brown hair fell across a broad forehead, over eyes bright with intelligence, and while his features were too rugged to be called handsome he was still a very good-looking man. All of which meant nothing, given that he was still holding her captive against her will.

‘Kindly release my arm, sir.’

GAIL WHITIKERwas born on the west coast of Wales and moved to Canada at an early age. Though she grew up reading everything from John Wyndham to Victoria Holt, frequent trips back to Wales inspired a fascination with castles and history, so it wasn’t surprising that her first published book would be set in Regency England. Now an award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels, Gail lives on Vancouver Island, where she continues to indulge her fascination with the past, as well as enjoying travel, music, and spectacular scenery. Visit Gail at www.gailwhitiker.com

COURTING

MISS VALLOIS

Gail Whitiker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Klas, always.

Thank you for introducing me

to all things Swedish.

To my agent, Sally Harding,

for opening doors, and for being there

with a keen eye, a wealth of patience,

and an excellent sense of humour.

And to Kimberley Young,

who made me dig deeper,

but in the nicest possible way.

Thank you for guiding me safely through

the perils of the London Underground!

‘We’ve found them, my lord,’ Inspector Rawlings said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. ‘And by all accounts, in good health and fine spirits.’

For a moment, no one spoke. Not the portly detective whose long-awaited words brought to an end a search that had begun nearly eighteen months ago. Not the beautiful, dark-haired lady whose briefly closed eyes spoke more eloquently of her feelings than words ever could. And not the tall, slender gentleman whose clandestine missions in France had been the reason for the investigation in the first place. Nothing disturbed the silence of the April afternoon but the steady ticking of the mantel clock and the rattle of carriage wheels on the cobblestones below.

‘And there is no doubt in your mind that it is Sophie Vallois and her brother, Antoine?’ Nicholas Grey, Viscount Longworth, asked at length.

Rawlings shook his head. ‘None whatsoever. I’ve had my best man on it for months. There can be no mistake.’

‘Thank heavens!’ Lavinia Grey said with relief. ‘To know they have finally been located. I cannot imagine what their life has been like.’

‘Neither can I,’ the inspector admitted. ‘But I suspect they did what was necessary in order to protect themselves from those who would have murdered them in their beds.’

Lavinia’s slender fingers tightened on the arm of the loveseat. ‘Surely it was not as dire as that.’

‘I wish I could say otherwise, but to those loyal to Bonaparte, what Miss Vallois and her brother did would have been viewed as an act of treason. The two would have had no choice but to lose themselves in the back streets of Paris.’

‘Which they did most effectively for the best part of three years,’ Nicholas murmured. ‘Are they aware of having been followed?’

‘No, my lord. Budge is my best man. He could follow the Prince Regent into the privy and not arouse suspicion. Begging your pardon, my lady.’

Lavinia inclined her head, though the dimple in her cheek suggested amusement rather than annoyance. ‘And my husband’s letter. Was it delivered?’

‘According to my information, it was put into Miss Vallois’s hands at half past four on the afternoon of the tenth,’ the inspector said, checking his notepad. ‘That being the case, you should be receiving an answer very soon.’

‘If the young lady has any intention of replying.’ Nicholas moved towards the fireplace, seeing in the flames the sweetly innocent face of the child he remembered. ‘She might not even remember who I am. And if she does remember, she may wish to have nothing more to do with a man who was so instrumental in ruining her life.’

‘You did not ruin her life, Nicholas,’ Lavinia said with a touch of exasperation. ‘Miss Vallois and her brother helped you of their own accord. It isn’t fair that you should shoulder all the blame for what happened as a result.’

Nicholas smiled, touched as always by his wife’s unconditional support of his actions. She was a remarkable woman, able to comprehend the rationale behind what he did without convoluted explanations or lengthy justifications. Her quick, intuitive mind would have made her an excellent intelligence agent had she chosen to turn her hand to it. And as he walked across the room towards the brocade loveseat where she sat, he thanked God—and his commanding officer—that she had not. ‘You are, as always, the voice of reason and logic. Even if the logic is somewhat prejudiced in my favour.’

‘Of course it’s prejudiced, darling. I am your wife. How could it be otherwise?’

‘Not all wives agree with their husbands.’

‘Not all husbands are worth agreeing with.’ She smiled up at him. ‘You have always been a most delightful exception.’

Nicholas bent to press a kiss against her dark, shining hair. ‘And you the reason for it.’

Across the room, Inspector Rawlings cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, my lord, but shall I inform my man that his continued surveillance is no longer required?’

Nicholas glanced at his wife. ‘Well?’

Lavinia raised her shoulders in a gesture as eloquent as it was elegant. ‘I suppose there is nothing to be gained by leaving the poor man in France now. Miss Vallois and her brother have been found and your letter delivered. There is nothing we can do but sit back and wait for her reply.’

Nicholas glanced at the inspector to see if he had anything to add, but assumed from the expression on his face that he agreed with Lavinia. They had all waited a long time for news that Sophie and Antoine Vallois had been found. Now that they had, and an initial contact had been made, there was nothing any of them could do but sit back and wait for her answer. It was frustrating, to be sure, but it seemed that once again, fate had placed his well-being squarely into someone else’s hands. All he could do now was hope it would smile as favourably upon him today as it had all those years ago, when, but for a chance meeting with a young French girl and her brother in the darkened countryside of war-torn France, he wouldn’t have been here at all.

The lumbering coach drew to a halt in the bustling yard of the Black Swan Inn; within minutes, a stable boy ran forwards to grab the reins of the lead horse. Carriage doors were thrown open, stairs were let down and a stream of weary passengers began to make their way into the inn.