Those Scandalous Ravenhursts: The Dangerous Mr Ryder

‘But how did you know my size?’ She blushed adorably, he mused, wondering how else he could provoke that reaction without overstepping the bounds of friendship he had set himself.

‘I can measure your height against myself, likewise your feet.’ He let his booted foot nudge against hers under the shelter of the tablecloth and lowered his voice. ‘As for the rest, well, I have held you in my arms.’

‘Oh.’ The rose-pink colour reached her temples this time. Jack tried not to imagine how soft the skin would be there, how it would feel to nuzzle along to the delicate curve of her ear and explore the crisp moulding before nibbling his way down…‘You have a good memory.’

Confessing that he had been recalling those few minutes in vivid detail ever since they had occurred was out of the question. ‘I doubt the breeches will be a good fit.’ Eva looked a question. ‘Any youth quite your, er…shape would be an unusual young man. They are certain to be too large in the waist.’

‘Never mind. Better than too tight.’ Eva put one elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm while she nibbled at a macaroon biscuit. ‘Thank you for today.’

‘What, the clothes and fripperies? His Majesty’s Government coffers are paying for those.’ The range of items she had enjoyed browsing through had been a revelation to a man used to buying jewellery as a present for his mistress of the moment, or handing over cash for them to make their own purchases.

‘No. For the holiday. For letting me take my time and relax and for pretending you enjoyed it, too.’

‘I did enjoy it.’ She finished her biscuit and cupped her chin in both hands, regarding him sceptically. ‘It was a new experience for me. Shopping.’

‘Don’t men shop? Surely you do?’

‘Yes, but we don’t flit so much.’ He ignored her moue of indignation at his choice of verb. ‘I go to my tailor, my shirtmaker, my bootmaker, a perfumier for toiletries and so forth. But I know what I want before I set out, they are all within a very small compass of London streets, and I do it only when I need to.’

‘Then what did you enjoy about today?’

Jack poured them both more hot chocolate and tried to explain. ‘I enjoyed your company, I enjoyed your good taste. It was an interesting glimpse into a feminine world—and I enjoyed seeing you enjoy yourself.’ And he had enjoyed just watching her, fantasising about making love to her, setting himself up for a night of disturbed sleep and physical discomfort thinking about her.

‘Thank you.’ The sceptical look was gone. ‘I am so glad we are friends.’ She put out her hand impulsively and lay it on his for a fleeting moment, then jerked it back, obviously embarrassed at doing such a thing in public. ‘Jack, are we in danger here?’

‘Here and now? I doubt it, unless whoever is chasing us has decided they need light refreshment. I somehow do not think this is what your brother-in-law would be expecting us to do just now. But if you mean in Grenoble, yes, certainly.’ There was no point in lying to her; besides anything else, neither of them could afford to be complacent.

‘It will be most dangerous from here to Dijon because there are so few alternative routes if we wish to avoid high mountains or areas that have come out strongly for Napoleon. After that, there are several possible routes.’

‘And Antoine may have found out about the factory by now, and know we know about the rockets.’ Jack nodded, watching her thinking. Now her guard was down with him, he found Eva’s brown eyes extraordinarily expressive. ‘Should we have stopped for so long? Shouldn’t we travel all night? But you will tell me you know best and not to worry, I expect.’ She bit her lip. ‘I am not holding you up, am I? I could have managed without more clothes. Or was that an excuse to give me a rest?’

‘You call that a rest? No, it was part of my plan. We could not have got more than one bag out safely, but it would draw attention to us if you are shabbily dressed.’ He gestured to the waiter for their bill. ‘I plan to leave early tomorrow, before sunrise. Always providing we can pack all this stuff away.’

‘We can put it under the seats if there is too much for the luggage racks,’ Eva suggested, gathering up the myriad of smaller packages. He was well aware that her demure expression was to hide her amusement at seeing him burdened by two hatboxes—well stuffed with lighter objects around the hats—three parcels and the unwieldy package containing the riding boots.

‘No, we can’t. One is full of equipment, and we may need the other one again.’

‘For me.’ She said it flatly and he could have kicked himself for reminding her. ‘It is all right Jack. I know you will let me out.’ Then she threaded her free hand through his elbow and nudged him lightly in the ribs. ‘And if you are found, apparently all alone with a carriage full of female apparel, what exactly is going to be your explanation?’

‘A demanding wife who expects a lot of presents,’ Jack retorted promptly and was rewarded by her rich chuckle. ‘Oh, and by the way, I have explained to our host that my fussy spouse finds the bed too narrow and has thrown me out, so I expect to find a truckle bed in our room when we return.’

‘Did you receive much masculine sympathy?’ Eva asked.

‘Of course. He now regards me as intolerably henpecked, but apparently he surmised that from first seeing us.’

‘Whatever made him think such a thing?’ Eva demanded indignantly.

‘I have no idea.’ Jack sighed. ‘I had thought I was bearing up so well.’ This time it was not so much a nudge as a jab.

‘Beast.’

‘Have you any family?’ Eva curled up in the corner of the carriage, her shoes reprehensibly kicked off and her feet tucked up under the skirts of her new forest-green walking dress. Jack lounged in the corner diagonally opposite, his hands thrust deep into his coat pockets, his eyes moving between her face and the road as it unwound behind them. She thought she had never seen a man who seemed more at home in his own body. He was totally relaxed now, and yet she would wager a large sum that, if there was a crisis, he would be alert, balanced, ready for instant action. It was, she acknowledged ruefully to herself, very appealing.

‘A half-brother, older than I am, and a full sister who is younger. My mother is widowed and lives out of town.’

‘Not very many relatives, then?’ she commiserated. It would be wonderful to have brothers and sisters and it was a deep regret that she had not been able to give Freddie any siblings.

‘You asked about family.’ Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Relatives I have by the dozen.’

‘Truly? Do you get on well with all of them? You are lucky, I wish I had lots. Any, in fact.’ She sighed, smiling in case he thought she was being self-pitying.

‘One aunt, three uncles and nine cousins. Plus the Scandalous Aunt we do not talk about—she may have any number of offspring, for all we know.’

‘What did she do that was so shocking?’ Eva asked, agog. It was so refreshing to be able to indulge in some vulgar gossip—Jack would tell her if she overstepped the mark, but his expression when he mentioned his aunt did not seem at all forbidding.

‘No one will tell us children. Even my mama, who is considered scandalously freethinking by the others, plies her fan vigorously and blushes when questioned. All she will say is that Poor Dear Margery was wild to a fault and fell into sin. The only clue is that whatever sin she succumbed to was highly lucrative, for Mama also confided that no amount of money can wash a soul clean from moral turpitude.’

‘Have you never been tempted to find out? If anyone can, I should think it is you.’

‘I might at that.’ Jack smiled lazily. ‘I have to admit, the last time Aunt Margery was mentioned by my Wicked Cousin Theophilus, I felt a certain stirring of irritation at being designated a child at the age of twenty-eight.’

‘Theophilus? I don’t believe anyone called Theophilus could possibly be wicked.’

‘He was more or less destined for either extreme virtue or vice, poor Theo. His father is a bishop and his mother the most sanctimonious creature imaginable.’

Theo sounded rather amusing. Eva wondered if there was any chance of meeting Jack’s numerous relatives. ‘So, you are twenty-eight?’ Younger than he looked, Eva decided. She had guessed at thirty and tried to work out why. The steady, serious, watchful eyes possibly. Or the air of total competence and responsibility.

‘Twenty-nine, I have just had a birthday.’

‘Congratulations! And did your brother and sister and all your cousins come to your party?’

‘I spent it on the road on my way south to Maubourg.’ He must have seen her frown of regret, for he added, ‘Birthday parties are not my sort of thing. I suppose I am not used to them. My father considered such things too frivolous for children.’

‘Then you do not know what you are missing,’ Eva said robustly, thinking, Poor little boy. Not so little now, but everyone should have the memory of a happy childhood to grow up with. Hers was always there at the back of her mind, a candle flame to warm her soul by in hard times. A man who forbade a child a birthday party was unlikely to have been a loving father in other ways.

‘I give wonderful parties for all ages and you must come to Freddie’s in December.’ She tried to imagine Jack playing the silly party games she invented and failed. There was nothing wrong with his sense of humour, and he certainly did not stand on his dignity, but there was something lonely and distant about him in repose. She wondered if there was something else, other than a father who, she recalled, Henry had referred to as top-lofty, and felt an ache inside for him. Not that he would thank her for pitying him, for there was an armour of pride and quiet self-confidence behind his easy competence.

‘I am not used to children’s parties, but I would be honoured by an invitation.’ Jack managed a bow that was positively courtly, despite his casual posture.

‘No nieces or nephews, then?’ Children would like him, she decided. He wouldn’t condescend to them. Freddie must have liked him, otherwise he would never have trusted him with the secret nicknames for his uncles.

‘My sister, Bel, was widowed before they had any children.’

‘Your brother?’ Eva prompted, curious that his eyes, which had been open and amused as they spoke, flicked back to the view from the window. His profile was unreadable. There was some secret here.

‘I think it highly unlikely that Charles will ever have children,’ he said, his voice so neutral that her suspicions were confirmed. In the face of that blankness, she could hardly continue to probe.

A silence fell, not cool exactly, but not comfortable, either. Perhaps the poor man was an invalid and it pained Jack to speak of it. Eva shifted to stare out of the window on her side and brooded on what else Jack had told her.