His Cavalry Lady

‘Exactly so, your Grace. But if I don’t catch all of these burns, they’ll turn bad and then where will we be? Begging your Grace’s pardon, o’ course.’ There was nothing in the least subservient about Cooper’s tone, in spite of his words. He had been with Dominic for too many years and was particularly officious when he knew he was in the right. As now.

Dominic sighed and held himself still until his man had finished. Cooper eased a fine lawn shirt over Dominic’s injured torso. It felt blessedly cool against his tormented skin.

‘There. Works wonders, your Grace. You’ll soon be right as ninepence. You’ll see.’

‘No doubt, Cooper,’ Dominic croaked. His throat was still raw from the smoke. He reached for the tumbler of water and drained it. For a moment, it helped.

‘I’ll fetch up some honey in a moment,’ Cooper said. He had been out in the yard, helping to pass the water buckets, but he had not inhaled nearly as much smoke as his master. He still sounded more or less normal. ‘Once your Grace is fit to meet company again.’

Dominic groaned and reached for his cravat. He had wasted too much time already. He had not intended to fall asleep but, exhausted as he was, there had been no fighting it. He must find that girl. She would be injured too, her throat burned and her tender body scarred by flying sparks. He would offer her Cooper’s salve. He would—

‘Right, your Grace. You’ll do now, I think.’ Cooper nodded knowingly at his master’s reflection in the glass.

Dominic assessed the image for a second. His mother would certainly recognise him now. It was as well that Cooper had cut out the scorch marks in his hair, though. The Dowager would certainly have had something caustic to say about those, if she had seen them.

He strode to the door and clattered down the stairs to find the landlord. He must find that girl.

‘Monseigneur.’ The landlord had instantly appeared, bowing so low that his nose seemed to be about to touch his knees. His thanks were effusive. And apparently interminable.

‘Yes, yes,’ Dominic said, with a dismissive wave. ‘Anyone else would have done the same. Say no more about it.’

The landlord bowed again, even lower. It seemed he was about to start all over again, but this time Dominic cut him short. ‘Landlord, there is a girl in the inn, with cropped hair. I wish to speak to her. Be so good as to bring her to me.’

‘A girl, monseigneur?’ He was looking thoroughly puzzled. He began to shake his head. Then, ‘Oh, the girl with cropped hair. You mean that one.’

Dominic resisted the temptation to swear at the man. The landlord had just had a major fire at his inn, after all. No wonder his mind was at sixes and sevens. ‘Yes, that one. I wish to see her. Where is she? And who is she?’

‘You must mean the corn merchant’s daughter, monseigneur. We have no other girl with cropped hair here. Poor thing, her father said they’d had fever in the family. Such a shame to cut off a girl’s hair like that.’

‘Yes, yes, but where is she? I require to see her.’

The landlord swallowed and stared at the floor. ‘Désolé, monseigneur. She has gone, I fear. Her family left several hours ago. While monseigneur was resting.’

Dominic swallowed a curse at his own weakness. He should have followed her at once. All his instincts had told him to do so. He frowned down at the landlord, but the man had not raised his eyes. ‘But she has a name?’ Dominic rasped.

The landlord hesitated for a moment. ‘I…I do not have the girl’s name, no. She was with the family Durand, of Paris. I assumed she was the daughter. Monsieur Durand gave me no precise address. It was not necessary, you understand. He—’

‘So you have no way of contacting them?’

‘I regret, monseigneur, that—’

‘Oh, very well.’ Dominic knew he was sounding bad-tempered. And he had no just cause. It was not the landlord’s fault, but it was so frustrating that the girl had gone. Why did she have to have such a common surname? And no exact address? It was as if the whole of Boulogne was conspiring against him. With a shake of his head and a curt word of thanks, he left the landlord and strode out to assess the state of the yard.

Behind him, the landlord shook his head slowly. They were strange people, these English, even ones who spoke perfect French like the Duke of Calder. What on earth could he have wanted with a ten-year-old girl? Nothing good, that was certain. It was rumoured that the English had strange and perverted tastes. As an honest and patriotic Frenchman, the landlord could not take the risk of betraying the identity of the child, even to the English Duke who had been responsible for saving his livelihood. The English were the enemy of the Empire, after all. They had been responsible for exiling the Emperor.

The landlord sniffed in disgust. Then he smiled to himself. Giving the Duke a false name and address for the child had definitely been the right thing to do. And clever. By now, she was well on her way home. And not to Paris.

Dominic strode across to where the horses were tethered in the yard, as far as possible from the ruined stables. The grooms were milling around, trying to settle them. The pervasive smell of smoke was making the animals decidedly skittish.

Perhaps, with a fast horse, he could catch her? The family must be on the road to Paris, after all, and they could not be all that far ahead of him, unless they were travelling post. That was surely unlikely for a merchant’s family?

He was on the point of calling out for a horse to be saddled. But then he remembered where he was. And the tasks that he was here to perform.

He could not leave Boulogne. Not even for an hour. He had to fulfil his orders from the Foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereagh. His lordship had treated Dominic with the utmost courtesy, but there had been not the least doubt that his soft-voiced instructions were to be carried out, and to the letter.

‘On the face of it,’ Lord Castlereagh had said, ‘your task is simple. You will be attached to the staff of Emperor Alexander for the duration of his projected visit to London. The Russian court language is French but, of course, you speak it like a native, so you will have no difficulty there. You are to do everything in your power to smooth the Emperor’s path during his stay. And you will ensure that none of his personal staff gets into any trouble while they are here.’

‘On the face of it, sir? There is something more, I take it?’

Lord Castlereagh’s smile was thin, and rather acid. ‘You have just demonstrated why I was right to choose you, Calder. There is indeed something more. The government is somewhat concerned about the Russian Emperor. He is an able man, but he is not above doing deals with England’s enemies. We know, for example, that he is unhappy about Princess Charlotte’s proposed marriage to the Prince of Orange. It is possible he may seek to undermine it, for he knows how valuable a naval alliance with Holland would be to us. He would prefer the heir to the throne of England to marry a penniless princeling, I suspect. The Regent plans to offer him hospitality so that we may keep a close eye on who visits him. Your role will be to watch also, but on the inside.’

‘If the Emperor is as astute as we are led to believe, sir, surely he will decline the services of a British liaison officer?’

‘He might try. But I can assure you he will not succeed, Duke.’

And he had not. Or Dominic would not now be in Boulogne, preparing to attend on the Emperor. Still, at least Dominic had had a little time to go home to Aikenhead Park. After spending so many months alone in France, spying for the British government, Dominic had needed a chance to relax.

It had proved to be a brief but enjoyable respite, especially as his youngest brother, Jack, had been there to welcome him home. And to roast him as usual. Although Jack was only twenty-four years old to Dominic’s thirty-six, the bond between them was strong. They had become even closer over recent years, once Jack had become the third of Dominic’s little team of spies, the Aikenhead Honours. Dominic, the eldest of the three Aikenhead brothers, was Ace, the leader. Leo, less than two years his junior, was King. Jack—Dominic always found himself smiling at the appropriateness of the name—was the Knave, and Jack’s bosom friend Ben Dexter was Ten. The Aikenhead Honours lacked only the Queen, the Lady. Dominic had never found any woman who could be trusted with their secrets. Besides, it was often very dangerous work. No woman could be asked to do it. And none would have sufficient courage, either. Except, perhaps, that girl? Now she…

Dominic shook his head, shattering his wandering thoughts. He had no need of the Aikenhead Honours here in Boulogne, on such a straightforward assignment. And he must stop thinking about that girl. She was trying to haunt him and he would not allow it. He had work to do. He still had preparations to make before his first meeting with the Russian Emperor on the morrow. Everything must be exactly right.

He walked smartly back into the Lion d’Or, mounting the stairs two at a time. He must not let his frustrations rule him. She was only a merchant’s daughter after all, no matter how courageous she was. Too high to be a mistress; too low to be a wife. He would soon forget her. Besides, he could barely remember what she looked like. And she had refused to speak to him. She had a low, melodious voice, he was sure, for he had heard her use it to reassure the terrified horses. But, for him, nothing beyond that scream of ‘Non!’ even after he had rescued her from the burning stable.

Not even a word of thanks. Just wide-eyed fear. And flight.

As from the devil himself.

Chapter Two

Alex stood on the dockside in Boulogne and gazed at the sea for the first time in her life. She had tried so hard to imagine what it would be like. She had thought about bigger versions of the many lakes she had seen. She had even tried picturing the steppes covered with water instead of earth. But she had not foreseen the movement. Yes, that seawater was definitely moving. The ships in the harbour were going up and down.

Her stomach lurched in sympathy and she felt a sudden foreboding. She had been overjoyed when she was bidden to join Tsar Alexander on his trip to England. But she sensed she was not going to enjoy this part of the journey one little bit.

In order to divert her mind from the horrors of the heaving sea, Alex at last allowed herself to remember that extraordinary encounter in the blazing stable. Until now she had not dared to think about the man. He had saved her life and she should be grateful to him. She was grateful to him. But when he had addressed her as mademoiselle, she had had no choice but to flee. Without even a word of thanks. He knew her secret and, all unwittingly, he would have betrayed it. She had had no choice.

She could still remember the feel of his half-naked body, lying on top of hers, and rolling them both around to stop the flames from taking hold. He had felt immensely strong. She was small, but she was no lightweight. Yet he had flung her across his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all. If only she had dared to ask the landlord for his name. She could perhaps have sent him a note—an anonymous note—of thanks. Perhaps even now, she could—

No! She could not! To risk everything just to thank a smoke-blackened French servant? She did not even have the first idea what he really looked like. To seek him out, she would have to betray herself. It would be utter madness. She must force herself to forget the man, the stable and everything that had happened there.

She tried to focus on her mission instead, sternly reminding herself she must speak only French. She was under instructions from the Emperor himself not to disclose that her Scottish mother and her Scottish nurse had given her a perfect command of English. Her task was to listen, and report what she heard, no matter how unimportant it might seem. In other words, she was to spy for the Emperor. To serve Mother Russia.

A Royal Navy barge was coming in to dock. At first, it seemed tiny, and flimsy, against the vastness of the water, but eventually it moored alongside the jetty. Even tied up with ropes, it was still moving up and down. Alex felt ill just looking at it. In a desperate attempt to master her mutinous body and prevent the image of her rescuer from returning to haunt her again, she turned her back on the harbour and began talking to a group of French fishermen about their trade and their catch.

With luck, by the time she had to go on board, she would be back in control.

* * *

Dominic was leaning idly on the rail as the barge made its way into Boulogne harbour and prepared to tie up. He had satisfied himself that everything was in readiness for the Emperor on board the Impregnable. Once he set foot on French soil again, his duty would begin in earnest. He would not have a moment to himself. There would be weeks of banquets, and balls, and speeches and all the endless ceremonial deemed essential for visiting royalty.