Regency Rogues: Rakes' Redemption: Return of the Runaway (The Infamous Arrandales) / The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales)

Raoul shrugged.

‘Why not?’ he said lightly. He scooped her shawl from the floor and laid it around her shoulders. She noted how carefully he avoided actually touching her. ‘Lead on, madame.’

The magical moment was broken, shattered like the ornate mirrors and tall windows. She felt the chill of disappointment and tried hard to be thankful that she had not weakened. A momentary lapse now would cost her dear.

The chateau had been stripped bare and they did not linger on the upper floors. Cassie pulled her shawl a little closer around her as the shadows lengthened and the chill of evening set in. She had been a child when the revolution in France had begun, only ten years old when King Louis had been murdered. It had been the talk of English drawing rooms and inevitably the news had reached the schoolroom, too. She had listened to the stories, but only now, standing in this sad shell of a house, did she have any conception of the hate and fear that must have been rife in France. She could only be thankful that such a bloody revolution had not occurred in England.

‘It grows dark,’ said Raoul. ‘We should go down and look out for our host.’

Cassie readily agreed. The stairs were in semi-darkness and when Raoul reached for her hand she did not pull away. She told herself it was merely a precaution, lest she trip in the dim light, but there was no mistaking the comfort she gained from his warm grasp. They heard the farmer’s deep voice bellowing from somewhere in the lower regions of the house and as they reached the hall he emerged from the basement stairs.

‘So there you are,’ he greeted them. ‘We’ve put your dinner in the kitchen and my boy is lighting a fire there now. You’ll find ’tis the most comfortable room, the windows are intact and there’s a table, too.’

They followed him down to the servants’ quarters and through a maze of dark corridors until they reached the kitchen. It was a large chamber, but a cheerful fire burned in the huge fireplace and numerous candles had been placed about the room to provide light. A plump woman with a spotless apron tied over her cambric gown was setting out their dinner on the scrubbed wooden table and the farmer introduced her as his wife. She looked up and fixed her sharp black eyes upon Raoul and Cassie. It was a blatantly curious stare and not a little scornful. Cassie’s head lifted and haughty words rose to her lips, but she fought them down. She had no wish to antagonise the woman, so she smiled and tried to speak pleasantly.

‘It is very good of you to let us stay here tonight.’

The woman relaxed slightly.

‘Eh bien, your money’s good and I suppose you will prefer this to sharing a bedchamber with the animals. The boy’ll be over with a couple of sacks of straw later and he’ll collect the dishes, too.’ She pointed to a small door in the corner of the room. ‘There’s a water pump in the scullery. It still works, if you need it.’

‘Thank you.’

The woman moved towards the door.

‘We will leave you, then.’ She gave a reluctant curtsy and followed her husband out into the dusk.

‘We should eat.’ Raoul indicated the bench.

They sat together and Cassie was relieved that there would be no awkward glances across the table. In fact, there was no need to look at him at all. They were facing the fireplace, where the fire crackled merrily and they could eat their meal in companionable silence. But it was not companionable, it pressed around her, pricking at her conscience and making her uneasy. At last she was unable to bear it any longer and had to speak, however inane her conversation.

‘This is where they would have cooked the food,’ she said at last, keeping her eyes on the dancing flames.

‘Yes.’ Raoul reached across to pick up the wine flask and poured more into their glasses. ‘The turning-spit mechanism and all the cooking irons have been plundered. No doubt they have found a home elsewhere, or been melted down and turned into farm tools.’

Cassie picked up her wine glass and turned it this way and that, so that the crystal glinted and sparkled in the candlelight.

‘These are very fine, perhaps the owners of this house used to drink from them.’

‘And now they are being used by their tenants,’ remarked Raoul coolly. ‘It is merely a redistribution of wealth.’

Her chin went up a little and she turned to regard him. ‘Something you heartily approve.’

Raoul met her eyes steadily. ‘I have never approved of violence, Lady Cassandra. It is my calling to save lives, not take them.’

She turned her gaze back to the fireplace, knowing she did not wish to fight him tonight.

‘So they cooked on an open fire. How old-fashioned,’ she murmured, thinking of the closed range in Grandmama’s house in Bath.

‘There might well have been a dozen or more servants in here,’ Raoul replied. ‘Slaving to provide meals for their masters.’

‘Not necessarily slaving,’ Cassie demurred. ‘In Bath my grandmother was at pains to provide the very best equipment for her cook. She said he is a positive tyrant.’

‘Yet she has the power to dismiss him on a whim.’

Cassie shook her head, smiling a little. ‘You are wrong, sir. The man is very aware of his own worth and paid well for his skills, I assure you. He also is the one with the power to hire or dismiss his staff as he wishes.’ Her smile grew. ‘And before you berate me again for the inequality of English society, I would tell you, monsieur, that the cook is a Frenchman.’

He grinned, acknowledging the hit.

‘Very well, I will admit that it is in most men’s nature to be a tyrant if they are not checked.’ He turned slightly and raised his glass to her. ‘A truce, Lady Cassandra?’

She returned his salute. ‘A truce, Monsieur Doulevant.’

They returned their attention to the food, but the atmosphere had changed. Cassie no longer felt at odds with her companion and she was a great deal happier.

A basket of logs had been placed near the fireplace, but the size of the hearth was such that it was soon emptied and by the time the farmer’s boy brought over their bedding and carried away the empty dishes the room was growing chilly.

‘We should get some sleep,’ said Raoul. ‘We will have another busy day tomorrow.’

There were two sacks of straw. Raoul placed one on either side of the kitchen table and handed Cassie one of the two blankets that had been provided.

‘Your bed awaits, my lady.’

She tried to make herself comfortable, but the sack was not well filled and the straw flattened quickly beneath her. She could not help a sigh that sounded very loud in the quiet, echoing kitchen.

‘Is it not luxurious enough for you, my lady?’

Tiredness made her irritable and she snapped back.

‘This is not what I expected when I left Verdun.’

‘I am surprised your husband agreed to your travelling alone.’

‘He did not agree. He’s—’

She bit off the words.

‘He what?’ Raoul asked suspiciously. ‘He does not know?’

‘That is true.’

It was not exactly a lie. Cassie knew it would sink her even further in his estimation, yet she was unwilling to admit she was a widow. She clung to the belief that there was some small protection in having a husband.

‘But of course. You told me yourself that you grew bored at Verdun. Tiens, I feel even more sympathy for your spouse, madame. You have quite literally abandoned him, have you not?’

The darkness was filled with his disapproval. It cut her and she responded by saying sharply, ‘That is not your concern.’

‘No indeed. Mon Dieu, but you are a heartless woman!’