The Caged Countess

‘You would make me walk the plank, I have no doubt.’

‘Tempting, I admit, but pirates don’t throw money away like that; not when you would fetch such a handsome profit in any slave market in the Mediterranean. You would be an ornament in any man’s harem.’

She glared at him. ‘That is a vile thing to say.’

‘It’s the truth.’ He paused. ‘Of course, I might decide to keep you instead.’

‘What, and lose a handsome profit?’

‘There would be other compensations.’

The implications of that outrageous remark rendered her temporarily speechless. No doubt it had been made with the intention of provoking her into an unguarded reply that he could exploit to his advantage. However, she had no intention of obliging him. The conversation was already in dangerous waters and he was probably enjoying the fact. She darted another look his way, but his expression remained inscrutable.

The passage to St Helier was chilly but uneventful. Claudine was so eager to reach their destination that the discomforts of a small fishing boat were rendered negligible in comparison. She spoke little to her companion on the journey, partly because it wasn’t practical to move around in the limited space, and partly because she was too preoccupied to wish for speech. Duval too seemed preoccupied, when he wasn’t engaged in private conversation with Matthieu or Pierre. He barely even glanced her way. Their earlier conversation might never have happened. No doubt such teasing came easily to him, but it had resurrected memories that she would have preferred not to revisit. Moreover, it seemed that he had not forgotten either. His words were a further demonstration of how he regarded her. If she were to give him the least bit of encouragement …

For a moment her treacherous thoughts returned to the intimacy they had shared and the touch of his hands on her body, and in spite of the chill she felt hot inside. You could take a lover. Was it himself he had meant? Probably not, in the light of what had occurred between them. I prefer my women willing. No doubt there were many such, but she wasn’t one of them. She had got carried away for a while, that was all. When she got home she could put all this behind her. She glanced in Duval’s direction but his attention was apparently focused on the horizon. No question but he was looking forward to the end of their journey as much as she was.

On arrival at their destination they bade farewell to Pierre and then repaired to a quayside inn. Hot food and a cheerful fire acted as restoratives against the chill and counteracted the effects of the voyage. It was replaced by a feeling of well-being in which relief played no small part. She was safe; the chances of anything untoward happening now were minimal. It occurred to her again how much she owed to her companion. He might be a rogue, but, having stood between her and disaster, he had risked much on her account. That realisation did much to dampen the anger she had felt earlier. It had come as a shock to discover that he was married but it shouldn’t have. He had always been forbidden fruit. When they reached England and said their goodbyes she would never have to see him again.

Sensing himself observed Duval looked up and then found his gaze lingering. The view across the table was very agreeable indeed. Warmth had brought a delightful flush of colour to her cheeks and lips and enhanced the beauty of those huge dark eyes. Tendrils of hair had escaped from the confining ribbon. They curled about her face and neck in a manner that was both artless and damnably alluring.

Under that intense scrutiny Claudine was more than ever aware of her dishevelled appearance. Apart from wearing the same clothes for days she had been able to make only the most basic toilette at each of the inns where they had stopped. She returned a wry smile.

‘I know. I look like a gypsy.’

‘Not the word I was thinking of,’ he replied with perfect truth.

‘I won’t ask what that is.’ She glanced with distaste at her gown. ‘The first thing I shall do when I get back to Oakley Court is to take a leisurely bath.’

Duval was suddenly very still. ‘Oakley Court?’

‘My house … in Sussex.’ She looked up and saw his expression. ‘Do you know it?’

‘I know of a house of that name.’

Claudine nodded. ‘Of course, I remember you saying that you were familiar with the area.’

‘The house I speak of belonged to the Earls of Ulverdale.’

‘That’s right. It still does.’

He strove to keep his voice level. ‘Then … I think that Claudine may be an assumed name.’

When she saw his expression some of her cheerfulness faded. ‘I would have said something earlier only … well, you never asked so I assumed you didn’t want to know.’

Duval mentally cursed himself. ‘I’m asking now.’

‘My real name is Claudia … Claudia Brudenell, Countess of Ulverdale.’

His heart seemed to miss several beats and suddenly all the apparently unconnected pieces fell into place with appalling clarity. As the memory of their previous conversations returned, all the small coincidences rose up to taunt him: the houses in Sussex and London, the estate in the north and, of course, the estranged soldier husband. Only a prize idiot could have failed to make the connections.

Mistaking his silence entirely Claudia experienced a twinge of guilt. ‘Forgive me, I should have told you …’

‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied.

‘Surely it doesn’t make any difference now.’

The blue gaze locked with hers. ‘I rather think it does.’ He rose from the table. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and see about our passage to England.’

Claudia rose too. ‘Of course.’

He headed for the door, his face unwontedly grim.

‘Duval, please don’t be angry with me.’

He paused on the threshold and turned, surveying her in silence for a moment. Then the blue gaze lost a little of its hard glint. ‘I’m not angry with you.’

With that he was gone leaving her staring at the closed door. Claudia frowned. In spite of that parting reassurance she knew that he was angry, and it sat ill with her to have incurred his displeasure in that way. It had never occurred to her that he might wish to know her real name; in their line of work it was something people didn’t ask. His reaction to the truth had been totally unexpected. Perhaps he had been genuinely shocked to discover a lady of rank so far embroiled in such a shady business.

The more she thought about it the likelier that seemed. Everything he knew about her now must only serve to confirm his first opinion of her. It was an oddly lowering thought.

It took less than an hour for Duval to arrange the next passage to England, but the boat wouldn’t leave for a while yet and he was in no mood to go back to the inn just then. Needing time to put his thoughts in order he went for a walk instead. For a long time he stood by the sea wall staring out at the white-capped water, but in truth he saw nothing. As he had told Claudia, the revelation of her identity made a great deal of difference. It was just that he had no idea what he was going to do about it. Each possible course of action seemed more unsatisfactory than the last. Perhaps he should have spoken up when she told him who she was. A part of him had wanted to, but another part of his mind recalled what she had said before: The past cannot be changed. All I want is to forget it. And he had given his assurance that he would not do anything to remind her of it. He sighed. Could he now go back on that? In the light of the morning’s revelation how could he not go back on it? Whatever he did next was going to cause hurt.

The remainder of their journey was memorably uncomfortable: the crossing was rougher this time and most of the other passengers on the little packet boat succumbed to sea-sickness. Conversation was reduced to what was absolutely necessary. In spite of the poor weather conditions, Duval remained above deck with Matthieu for much of the time, returning only occasionally, so Claudia wrapped herself in her cloak and tried to sleep. However, her troubled mind refused to allow it. Ever since he had returned to the inn Duval’s manner had been different. She couldn’t identify exactly what had changed but knew instinctively that there had been a fundamental shift which could never be reversed.

She wasn’t in the least bit sorry when they reached dry land again. Moreover, it was English soil this time. The knowledge gladdened her immeasurably.

Duval accurately surmised the source of her smile. ‘I think you will be glad to see your home again.’

‘Yes, although there were times when I thought I might not.’ She looked up at him. ‘But for you that would have been a self-fulfilling prophecy. I owe you much.’

He guessed that it hadn’t been easy for her to say, and yet the tone was sincere. It took him by surprise.

‘I am glad to have been of service, truly.’ He paused. ‘All that remains now is for me to organise a post chaise for your onward journey.’

He was as good as his word. Within the hour the vehicle was ready at the inn door. It reinforced her earlier surmise that he wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible. In the light of events it was hardly surprising. She felt much the same.

Pausing by the waiting chaise, she turned to face him. ‘Will you go on to London now?’

‘Yes, for a while. I have urgent business there.’

‘I can imagine.’

He seriously doubted that, but forbore to say so. ‘It will take a few days to sort out.’

‘Well, don’t let me delay you.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Duval.’

Warm strong fingers closed round hers and retained their hold. ‘When my business there is concluded I shall do myself the honour of calling on you at Oakley Court.’ Seeing her startled expression, he added, ‘There will be important matters to discuss.’