Like a man and a maid in love for the first time, they helped each other dress, with Will touching, kissing, laughing with Elodie as she donned her simple maid’s gown. He knew once they reached Paris she would try to slip away from him, but he felt too light and euphoric to worry about it. Happiness was fizzing in his chest like a freshly opened bottle of champagne.

He’d had many an adventure … but never one like this. Never with a woman who was a companion as uncomplaining as a man, as resourceful as any of the riding officers with whom he’d crept through the Spanish and Portuguese wilderness, working with partisans and disrupting the French.

Their liaison was too fragile to last, but for now he’d be like his Elodie and suck every iota of joy from an already glorious day that promised, once he’d taken care of provisions for the morrow and found her a room with a bed, to become even more wonderful.

He twined his fingers in hers as they went back to their horses. ‘How glad I am to be out of those monk’s robes! I’ve been dying to touch you as we travel.’

‘Good thing,’ she agreed. ‘Since you’re grinning like a farmer who’s just out-bargained a travelling tinker. I doubt anyone could look at us now and not know we are lovers.’

He stopped to give her a kiss. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No. I’m grateful for each moment we have together, Will. One never knows how many that may be.’

About the Author

JULIA JUSTISS wrote her first plot ideas for a Nancy Drew novel in the back of her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After such journalistic adventures as publishing poetry and editing an American Embassy newsletter she returned to her first love: writing fiction. Her Regency historical novels have been winners or finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart™, RT Book Reviews Best First Historical, Golden Quill, National Readers’ Choice and Daphne du Maurier contests. She lives with her husband, three children and two dogs in rural east Texas, where she also teaches high school French. For current news and contests, please visit her website at www.juliajustiss.com

Novels by the same author:

THE WEDDING GAMBLE

THE PROPER WIFE

MY LADY’S TRUST

MY LADY’S PLEASURE

MY LADY’S HONOUR

A SCANDALOUS PROPOSAL

SEDUCTIVE STRANGER

THE COURTESAN

THE THREE GIFTS

(part of A Regency Lords & Ladies Christmas anthology)

THE UNTAMED HEIRESS

ROGUE’S LADY

CHRISTMAS WEDDING WISH

(part of Regency Candlelit Christmas anthology)

THE SMUGGLER AND THE SOCIETY BRIDE* A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH WICKED WAGER FROM WAIF TO GENTLEMAN’S WIFE SOCIETY’S MOST DISREPUTABLE GENTLEMAN THE RAKE TO RUIN HER†

*Silk & Scandal Regency mini-series †Ransleigh Rogues

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Rake to
Redeem Her
Julia Justiss

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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AUTHOR NOTE

Sometimes a minor character grabs your imagination and won’t let go, intriguing you so much that you know you will have to uncover the rest of her story. Such was the case with the mysterious Madame Lefevre, the woman who lured Max Ransleigh into friendship at the Congress of Vienna in order to set up an assassination attempt on Lord Wellington in the first book of The Ransleigh Rogues mini-series, THE RAKE TO RUIN HER.

Where had she come from? What drove her to participate in the plot? What happened to her afterwards? As I explored the answers to those questions I discovered a unique and intriguing woman—a French emigrée whose family was destroyed by the Revolution, a survivor dragged along by the turbulent historical forces that catapulted France in one generation from monarchy to republic to empire and back. Taught by remorseless circumstance to depend only on herself, Elodie trusts no one and expects nothing.

Who could I pair with such a resourceful and determined heroine? Though I’d originally intended a different story for him, only one man could match her: Will Ransleigh, Max’s illegitimate cousin. Cast into the London slums on the death of his mother, a clergyman’s daughter seduced and abandoned by Max’s uncle, Will survived by his wits on the streets for six years before Max’s father plucked him from Seven Dials and sent him to his country estate, instructing Max and his cousins to make a proper Ransleigh out of this gutter rat.

I hope you will enjoy Will and Elodie’s story.

I love to hear from readers! Find me at my website,

www.juliajustiss.com, for excerpts, updates

and background bits about my books,

on Facebook at www.facebook.com/juliajustiss

and on Twitter @juliajustiss

Chapter One

Barton Abbey—late spring, 1816

‘I wager I could find her.’ Smouldering with anger against the woman who had destroyed his cousin Max’s diplomatic career, Will Ransleigh accepted a glass of brandy from his host.

‘Welcome back to England,’ Alastair Ransleigh said, saluting Will with his own glass before motioning him to an armchair. ‘Far be it from me to bet against “Wagering Will”, who never met a game of chance he couldn’t win. But why do you think you could find her, when Max, with all his official contacts, could not?’

‘I never had much use for officials,’ Will observed with a grimace. ‘Would have transported me for stealing a loaf of bread to feed myself and my starving mates.’

‘You’ve cleaned up so well, I sometimes forget you were once gallows-bait,’ Alastair said with a grin. ‘But to be fair, where would one expect to look? Madame Lefevre was cousin and hostess to Thierry St Arnaud, one of Prince Talleyrand’s top aides in the French delegation at the Congress of Vienna. The family’s quite old and well known, even if they did turn out to be Bonapartists.’

‘That may be. But it’s those in the serving class who really know what goes on: maids, valets, cooks, grooms, hotel employees, servants at the Hoffburg, keepers of public houses. I’ll use them to track Madame Lefevre.’

‘When I visited Max at his wife’s farm, he insisted he was content there.’ Alastair laughed. ‘He even claimed training horses is rather like diplomacy: one must coax rather than coerce. Except that horses don’t lie and their memories are short, so they don’t hold your mistakes against you.’

‘Just like Max to make light of it. But all of us—you, me, Dom—knew from our youth that Max was destined to be one of England’s foremost politicians—Prime Minister, even! Would he choose training horses over a brilliant government career, if he truly had a choice? I don’t believe it.’

‘I was suspicious, too, at first,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Max, who never showed any interest in a woman who wasn’t both beautiful and accomplished, happily wedding a little nobody who prefers rusticating in Kent to London society? But I ended up liking Caro. She rides better than I do—an admission I make most unwillingly—and breeds top-notch horseflesh on that farm in Kent. She’s quite impressive—which is saying something, given my generally low opinion of womankind.’ He paused, a bleakness passing over his face.

He’s still not over her, Will thought, once again consigning to eternal hellfire the woman who’d broken her engagement and Alastair’s heart.

His fury reviving against the latest female to harm one of his Ransleigh Rogue cousins, he continued, ‘The very idea is ridiculous—Max, involved in a plot to assassinate Wellington? I’d have thought his valour at Waterloo put a stop to that nonsense.’

Alastair sighed. ‘The hard truth is that the attempt in Vienna embarrassed both the French, who were negotiating as allies at the time, and our own forces, who didn’t winkle out the conspiracy. Now that Bonaparte’s put away at St Helena for good, neither side wanted to rake up old scandals.’

‘Couldn’t his father do anything? He’s practically run the Lords for years.’

‘The Earl of Swynford preferred not to champion his son and risk further damaging his political standing, already weakened by Max’s “lapse in judgement”,’ Alastair said drily.

‘So he abandoned him. Bastard!’ Will added a colourful curse from his days on the London streets. ‘Just like my dear uncle never to let his family’s needs get in the way of his political aspirations. Makes me glad I was born on the wrong side of the blanket.’

Alastair shook his head, his expression bitter. ‘Whoever set up the Vienna scheme was clever, I’ll give them that. There’d be no approach more likely to elicit Max’s response than to dangle before him some helpless woman in need of assistance.’

‘He always had a soft spot for the poor and downtrodden,’ Will agreed. ‘His treatment of me being a prime example. We need to get Madame Lefevre back to England! Let her explain how she invented some sad tale to delay Max’s rendezvous with Wellington, leaving the commander waiting alone, vulnerable to attack. Surely that would clear Max of blame, since no man who calls himself a gentleman would have refused a lady begging for his help. He found no trace of St Arnaud, either, while in Vienna?’

‘It appears he emigrated to the Americas. It’s uncertain whether Madame Lefevre accompanied him. If you do mean to search, it won’t be easy. It’s been more than a year since the attempt.’

Will shrugged. ‘An attack on the man who led all of Europe against Napoleon? People will remember that.’

Alastair opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated.

‘What?’ Will asked.

‘Don’t jump all over me for asking, but can you afford such a mission? The blunt you’ll get from selling out will last a while, but rather than haring off to the Continent, don’t you need to look for some occupation? Unless … did the earl come through and—?’

Will waved Alastair to silence. ‘No, the earl did not. You didn’t really expect our uncle to settle an allowance on me, did you?’

‘Well, he did promise, after you managed to scrape together the funds to buy your own commission, that if you made good in the army, he’d see you were settled afterward in a style befitting a Ransleigh.’

Will laughed. ‘I imagine he expected me to either be killed or cashiered out. And, no, I’ve no intention of going to him, cap in hand, to remind him of his pledge, so save your breath.’

‘Then what will you do?’

‘There are some possibilities. Before I pursue them, though, I’ll see Max reinstated to his former position. I’ve got sufficient blunt for the journey with enough extra to gild the right hands, if necessary.’

‘I’ll come with you. “Ransleigh Rogues for ever”, after all.’

‘No, you won’t. Wait, hear me out,’ he said, forestalling Alastair’s protest. ‘If I needed a sabre-wielding Hussar to ride beside me into a fight, there’s no man I’d rather have. But for this journey …’

Looking his cousin up and down, he grinned. ‘In your voice, your manner, even your walk, there’s no hiding that you’re Alastair Ransleigh of Barton Abbey, nephew of an earl, wealthy owner of vast property. I’ll need to travel as a man nobody notices and the alley rats would sniff you out in an instant.’

‘You’re the nephew of an earl yourself,’ Alastair pointed out.

‘Perhaps, but thanks to my dear father abandoning my mother, unwed and increasing, in the back streets of London, I had the benefit of six years’ education in survival. I know how thieves, Captain Sharps and cutthroats operate.’

‘But these will be Austrian thieves, Captain Sharps and cutthroats. And you don’t speak German.’

Will shrugged. ‘Thievery is thievery and you’d be surprised at my many talents. The army had more uses for me after Waterloo than simply letting me hang about the hospital, watching over Dom’s recovery.’

‘He’s healed now, hasn’t he?’ Alastair asked, diverted by Will’s mention of the fourth cousin in their Ransleigh Rogues’ gallery. ‘Has he … recovered?’

Will recalled the desolate look in Dom’s one remaining eye. ‘Dandy Dominick’, he’d been called, the handsomest man in the regiment. Besting them all at riding, hunting, shooting—and charming the ladies.

His face scarred, one arm gone, his physical prowess diminished, Dom would have to come to terms with much more than his injuries, Will knew. ‘Not yet. Once I got him safely back to England, he told me I’d wet-nursed him long enough and kicked me out. So I might as well go to Vienna.’

Alastair frowned. ‘I still don’t like you going there alone. Max said the authorities in Vienna strongly discouraged him from investigating the matter. You’ll get no help from them. It could even be dangerous.’

‘Dangerous?’ Will rose and made a circuit of the room. ‘Do you remember the first summer we were all together at Swynford Court?’ he asked abruptly, looking back at Alastair. ‘The lawyer who found me in Seven Dials had just turned me over to the earl, who, assured I was truly his brother’s child, dumped me in the country. Telling you, Max and Dom to make something of me, or else. I was … rather unlikeable.’

Alastair laughed. ‘An understatement! Surly, filthy, cursing everyone you encountered in barely comprehensible cant!’

‘After two weeks, you and Dom were ready to drown me in the lake. But Max wouldn’t give up. One night he caught me alone in the stables. I tried every dirty trick I knew, but he still beat the stuffing out of me. Then, cool as you please, he told me my behaviour had to change. That I was his cousin and a Ransleigh, and he was counting on me to learn to act like one. I didn’t make it easy, but he kept goading, coaxing, working on me, like water dripping on stone, until he finally convinced me there could be advantages to becoming more than the leader of thieves in a rookery. Max knew that if I didn’t change, when the earl returned at the end of the summer, blood kin or not, he would toss me back into the streets.’

Will stared past Alastair out the library window, seeing not the verdant pastures of Barton Abbey, but the narrow, noisome alleys of Seven Dials. ‘If he had, I’d probably be dead now. So I owe Max. For my life. For giving me the closest, most loyal friends and cousins any man could wish for. I swear on whatever honour I possess that I won’t take up my own life again until I see his name cleared. Until he has the choice, if he truly wishes, to become the great political leader we all know he should be.’

After studying him for a moment, Alastair nodded. ‘Very well. If there’s anything I can do, you’ll let me know, won’t you? If Max hadn’t led you and Dom after me into the army, I might not have survived, either. For months after Di—’ he halted, having almost said the forbidden name. ‘Well, I didn’t much care whether I lived or died.’

Will wondered if sometimes, Alastair still didn’t much care.

‘I might need some help on the official front when it comes time to get the wench into England.’

‘She may balk at returning. After all, if she proves herself a spy, the gallows await.’

‘I can be … persuasive.’

Alastair chuckled. ‘I don’t want to know. When do you propose to leave?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘But you have just got back! Mama expects you to stay at least a week and Max will want to see you.’

Will shook his head. ‘Your mama’s being kind and Max would only try to dissuade me. Better I don’t see him until … after. If he asks, tell him the army still has business for me on the Continent. Besides, you were right; it’s been more than a year. No sense waiting for memories to fade any more than they already have.’

‘Do keep me posted. It might take some time to ride to your rescue.’

‘Tonight, all I’ll need rescue from is too much brandy. Unlikely, as you’re being entirely too stingy with it.’

Laughing, Alastair retrieved the bottle and refilled their glasses. ‘Ransleigh Rogues for ever!’

‘Ransleigh Rogues,’ Will replied, clinking his glass with Alastair’s.

Chapter Two

Vienna, Austria—six weeks later

Elodie Lefevre shifted her chair into the beam of afternoon sunlight spilling through the window. Taking up her needlework again, she breathed in the soft scent of the late-blooming daffodils she’d planted last autumn in the tiny courtyard garden below. Nodding violas added their sweet fragrance as well.

She paused a moment, letting the calm and beauty seep into her soul, soothing the restless anxiety that lurked always just below the surface. By this evening, she would have this consignment of embroidery finished. Clara would come by with dinner, bringing a new load of embroidery and payment for completing the last.

Against all the odds, she had survived. Despite the constant imperative gnawing within her to get back to Paris, she must remain patient and continue working, hoarding her slowly increasing store of coins. Perhaps late this year, she would finally have enough saved to return … and search for Philippe.

A wave of longing gripped her as her mind caressed his beloved image—the black curls falling over his brow, the dark, ever-curious, intelligent eyes, the driving energy that propelled him. Was he still in Paris? How had he changed in the nearly eighteen months since she’d left?

Would he recognise her? She glanced at herself in the mirror opposite. She was thinner, of course, after her long recovery, but except for her crooked fingers, most of the injuries didn’t show. Her blue eyes were shadowed, perhaps, and long hours indoors had dulled the gold highlights the sun had once burnished in her soft brown hair, but otherwise, she thought she looked much the same.

Suddenly, something—a faint stir of the air, a flicker of light—seized her attention. Instantly alert, moving only her eyes, she discovered the source: a barely perceptible movement in the uppermost corner of the mirror, which reflected both her image and the adjacent window that also overlooked the courtyard.

Scarcely breathing, she shifted her head a tiny bit to the right. Yes, someone was there—a man, perched soundlessly on the narrow balcony beside the window, watching her, all but the top of his tawny head and his eyes hidden behind the wall and the vines crawling up it. Had she not chanced to look into the mirror at that precise instant, she would never have seen him move into position.

From the elevation of his head, he must be tall, and agile, to have scaled the wall so soundlessly. The minuscule amount of him she could see gave her no hint whether he was thin or powerfully built. Whether he was armed, and if so, with what.

Not that the knowledge would do her much good. All she had to defend herself was her sewing scissors; her small pistol was hidden in her reticule in the wardrobe and her knife, in the drawer of the bedside table.

But as seconds passed and he remained motionless, she let out the breath she’d been holding. The afternoon light was bright; he could clearly see she was alone. If he’d meant to attack her, surely he would have made a move by now.

Who was he, then? Not one of the men who’d been watching the apartment from the corner ever since Clara brought her here. No one had bothered her since the foiled attack; so small and damaged a fish as herself, she thought, was of little interest, especially after Napoleon’s exile at St Helena put an end once and for all to dreams of a French empire.

Elodie kept her gaze riveted on the mirror as several more seconds dragged on. Despite her near-certainty the stranger did not mean her any immediate harm, her nerves—and a rising anger—finally prompted her to speak.

‘Monsieur, if you are not going to shoot me, why not come inside and tell me what you want?’

The watching eyes widened with surprise, then in one fluid motion the stranger swung himself through the window to land lightly before her. With a flourish, he swept her a bow. ‘Madame Lefevre, I presume?’

Elodie caught her breath, overwhelmed by the sheer masculine power of the man now straightening to his full height. If he meant to harm her, she was in very bad trouble indeed.

He must be English. No other men moved with such arrogance, as if they owned the earth by right. He loomed over her, tall and whipcord-lean. There was no mistaking the hard strength of the arms and shoulders that had levered him so effortlessly up to the balcony and swung him practically into her lap.

His clothes were unremarkable: loose-fitting coat, trousers and scuffed boots that might have been worn by any tradesman or clerk toiling away in the vast city.

But his face—angular jaw, chiselled cheekbones, slightly crooked nose, sensual mouth and the arresting turquoise blue of his eyes—would capture the attention of any woman who chanced to look at him. Certainly it captured hers, so completely that she momentarily forgot the potential danger he posed.

He smiled at her scrutiny, which might have embarrassed her, had she not been suddenly jolted by a sense of déjà vu. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked, struggling to work out why he seemed so familiar. ‘Have we met?’

The smile faded and his eyes went cold. ‘No, madame. You don’t know me, but I believe you knew my kinsman all too well. Max Ransleigh.’

Max. His image flashed into her mind: same height and build, thick, wavy golden hair, crystal-blue eyes. An air of command tempered by a kindness and courtesy that had warmed her heart then—and made it twist again now with regret as she recalled him.

The afternoon sun touched this man’s tawny hair with tints of auburn; rather than clear blue, his eyes were the hue of the Mediterranean off St Tropez. But beyond that, the two men were remarkably similar. ‘You are Max’s brother?’

‘His cousin. Will Ransleigh.’

‘He is well, I trust? I was sorry to have done him … a disservice. I hoped, with Napoleon escaping from Elba so soon after the event in Vienna, that his position had not been too adversely affected.’

He raised one eyebrow, his expression sardonic. Her momentary bedazzlement abruptly vanished as her senses returned to full alert. This man did not mean her well.

‘I regret to inform you that your tender hopes were not realised. As you, the cousin of a diplomat, surely know, the “event” that embroiled him in the near-assassination of his commander ruined his career. He was recalled in disgrace and only the outbreak of war allowed him a chance to redeem himself on the field of battle.’

‘I understand the carnage was terrible at Waterloo.’

‘It was. But even his valour there was not enough to restore his career, which was destroyed by his association with you.’

‘I am sorry for it.’ And she was. But given the stakes, if she had it all to do over again, she would do nothing differently.

‘You are sorry? How charming!’ he replied, his tone as sardonic as his expression.

Her anger flared again. At men, who used women as pawns to their own purposes. At a woman’s always-powerless position in their games. What matter if this man did not believe her? She would not give him the satisfaction of protesting.

As she remained silent, he said, ‘Then you will be delighted to know I intend to offer you a chance to make amends. Since you don’t appear to be prospering here …’ he swept a hand around to indicate the small room, with its worn carpet and shabby furnishing ‘… I see no reason why you shouldn’t agree to leave for England immediately.’

‘England?’ she echoed, surprised. ‘Why should I do that?’

‘I’m going to escort you back to London, where we will call on the Foreign Office. There you will explain exactly how you entrapped my cousin in this scheme, manoeuvring him into doing no more than any other gentleman would have done. Demonstrating that he was blameless in not anticipating the assassination attempt, and any fault should be assigned to the intelligence services whose job it was to sniff out such things.’

Her mind racing, Elodie weighed the options. Her hopes rose crazily as she recognised that travelling to London, as this man apparently had the means to do, would get her a deal closer to France, and immediately—not next autumn or in another year, which was as soon as she’d dared hope her slowly accumulating resources would allow.

But even with King Louis on France’s throne and the two nations officially at peace, as a French citizen she was still vulnerable. If she testified to involvement in an attempt on the life of the great English hero Lord Wellington, saviour of Europe and victor of Waterloo, she could well be imprisoned. Maybe even executed.

Unless she escaped on the way. Ransleigh would likely want to journey by sea, which would make the chances of eluding him before arrival in England very difficult. Unless …

‘I will go with you, but only if we stop first in Paris.’ Paris, a city she knew like the lines on her palm. Paris, where only a moment’s inattention would allow her to slip away into a warren of medieval alleyways so dense and winding, he would never be able to trail her.

Where, after waiting a safe interval, she could hunt for Philippe.

He made a show of looking about the room, which lacked the presence of a footman or even a maid to lend her assistance. ‘I don’t think you’re in much of a position to dictate terms. And I have no interest in visiting Paris.’

‘A mistake, Monsieur Ransleigh. It is a beautiful city.’

‘So it is, but unimportant to me at present.’

She shrugged. ‘To you, perhaps, but not to me. Unless we go first to Paris, I will not go with you.’

His eyes darkened, unmistakable menace in their depths. ‘I can compel you.’

She nodded. ‘You could drug me, I suppose. Gag, bind and smuggle me aboard a ship in Trieste. But nothing can compel me to deliver to the London authorities the sort of testimony you wish, unless I myself choose to do so.’

Fury flashed in those blue eyes and his jaw clenched. If his cousin’s career had truly been ruined by her actions, he had cause to be angry.

Just as she’d had no choice about involving Max in the plot.

‘I could simply kill you now,’ he murmured, stepping closer. ‘Your life for the life you ruined.’ He placed his hands around her neck.

She froze, her heartbeat stampeding. Had she survived so much, only for it all to end now? His hands, warm against the chill of her neck, were large and undoubtedly strong. One quick twist and it would be over.

But despite the hostility of his action, as the seconds ticked away with his fingers encircling her neck, some instinct told her that he didn’t truly mean to hurt her.

As her fear subsided to a manageable level, she grasped his hands with a calm she was far from feeling. To her great relief, he let her pull them away from her neck, confirming her assessment.

‘Paris first, then London. I will wait in the garden for your decision.’

Though her heart pounded so hard that she was dizzy, Elodie made herself rise and walk with unhurried steps from the room. Not for her life would she let him see how vulnerable she felt. Never again would any man make her afraid.

Why should they? She had nothing left to lose.

Out of his sight, she clutched the stair rail to keep from falling as she descended, then stumbled out the back door to the bench at the centre of the garden. She grabbed the edge with trembling fingers and sat down hard, gulping in a shuddering breath of jonquil-scented air.

Eyes narrowed, Will watched Elodie Lefevre cross the room with quiet elegance and disappear down the stairwell.

Devil’s teeth! She was nothing like what he’d expected.

He’d come to Vienna prepared to find a seductive siren, who traded upon her beauty to entice while at the same time playing the frightened innocent. Luring in Max, for whom protecting a woman was a duty engraved upon his very soul.

Elodie Lefevre was attractive, certainly, but hers was a quiet beauty. Sombrely dressed and keeping herself in the background, as he’d learned she always did, she’d have attracted little notice among the crowd of fashionable, aristocratic lovelies who’d fluttered like exotic butterflies through the balls and salons of the Congress of Vienna.

She had courage, too. After her first indrawn breath of alarm, she’d not flinched when he clamped his fingers around her throat.

Not that he’d had any intention of actually harming her, of course. But he’d hoped that his display of anger and a threat of violence might make her panic and capitulate before reinforcements could arrive.

If she had any.

He frowned. It had taken a month of thorough, patient tracking to find her, but the closer he got, the more puzzled and curious he became about the woman who’d just coolly descended to the garden. As if strange men vaulted into her rooms and threatened her life every day.

Maybe they did. For, until she’d confirmed her identity, he’d been nearly convinced the woman he’d located couldn’t be the Elodie Lefevre he sought.

Why was the cousin of a wealthy diplomat living in shabby rooms in a decaying, unfashionable section of Vienna?

Why did she inhabit those rooms alone—lacking, from the information he’d charmed out of the landlady, even a maid?

Why did it appear she eked out a living doing embroidery work for a fashionable dressmaker whom Madame Lefevre, as hostess to one of the Congress of Vienna’s most well-placed diplomats, would have visited as a customer?

But neither could he deny the facts that had led him, piecing together each small bit of testimony gathered from maids, porters, hotel managers, street vendors, seamstresses, merchants and dry-good dealers, from the elegant hotel suite she’d presided over for St Arnaud to these modest rooms off a Vienna back alley.

St Arnaud himself had disappeared the night of the failed assassination. Will didn’t understand why someone clever enough to have concocted such a scheme would have been so careless about ensuring his cousin’s safety.

And how had she sensed Will’s presence on the balcony? He knew for certain he’d made no sound as he carefully scaled the wall from the courtyard to the ledge outside her window. Either she was incredibly prescient, or he’d badly lost his touch, and he didn’t think it was the latter.

Her awareness impressed him even more than her courage, sparking an admiration he had no wish to feel.

Any more than he’d wanted the reaction triggered when he’d placed his hands around her neck. The softness of her skin, the faint scent of lavender teasing his nostrils, sent a fierce desire surging through him, as abrupt and immediate as the leap of her pulse under his thumbs.

Finding himself attracted to Elodie Lefevre was a complication he didn’t need. What he did need were answers to all the questions he had about her.

Such as why it was so important for her to get to Paris.

A quick examination of her room told him nothing; the hired furniture, sewing supplies and few basic necessities could have been anyone’s. She seemed to possess nothing that gave any clue to the character of the woman who’d lived here, as he’d learned, for more than a year, alone but for the daily visits of her former maid.

He’d just have to go question the woman herself. He suspected she would be as vigilant at keeping her secrets as she was at catching out uninvited visitors to her rooms.

To achieve his aims, he needed to master both those secrets—and her. Turning on his heel, he headed for the garden.

Chapter Three

Will found Madame Lefevre picking spent blooms from the border of lavender surrounding a central planting of tall yellow flowers.

Hearing him approach, she looked back over her shoulder. ‘Well?’

He waited, but she added nothing to that single word—neither pleading nor explanation nor entreaty. Once again, he was struck by her calm, an odd quality of stillness overlaid with a touch of melancholy.

Men awaiting battle would envy that sangfroid. Or did she not truly realise how vulnerable she was?

‘For a woman who’s just had her life threatened, you seem remarkably tranquil.’

She shrugged. ‘Nothing I say or do will change what you have decided. If it is to kill me, I am not strong or skilled enough to prevent you. Struggling and pleading are so … undignified. And if I am to die, I would rather spend my last moments enjoying the beauty of my garden.’

So she did understand the gravity of her position. Yet the calm remained.

As a man who’d earned much of his blunt by his wits, Will had played cards with masters of the game, men who didn’t show by the twitch of an eyelid whether they held a winning or losing hand. Madame Lefevre could hold her own with the best of them. He’d never met a woman so difficult to read.

She was like a puzzle spread out in a jumble of pieces. The more he learned about her, the stronger his desire to fit them all together.

Delaying answering her question so he might examine that puzzle further, he said, ‘The garden is lovely. So serene, and those yellow flowers are so fragrant. Did you plant it?’

She lifted a brow, as if wondering why he’d abruptly veered from threatening her to talking about plants. ‘The daffodils, you mean.’ Her lips barely curved in amusement, she looked at him quizzically. ‘You grew up in the city, Monsieur Ransleigh, no?’

‘Commonplace, are they?’ A reluctant, answering smile tugged at his lips. ‘Yes, I’m a city lad. But you, obviously, were country bred.’

‘Lovely flowers can be found in either place,’ she countered.

‘Your English is very good, with only a trace of an accent. Where did you learn it?’

She waved a careless hand. ‘These last few years, English has been spoken everywhere.’

She’d grown up in the country, then, he surmised from her evasions, probably at an estate with a knowledgeable gardener—and an English governess.

‘How did you come to be your cousin’s hostess in Vienna?’

‘He never married. A diplomat at his level has many social duties.’

Surprised at getting a direct answer this time, he pressed, ‘He did not need you to perform those “duties” after Vienna?’

‘Men’s needs change. So, monsieur, do you accept my bargain or not?’

Aha, he thought, gratified. Though she gave no outward sign of anxiety—trembling fingers, fidgeting hands, restless movement—the abrupt return to the topic at hand showed she wasn’t as calm as she was trying to appear.

‘Yes,’ he replied, deciding upon the moment. At least seeming to agree to her demand was essential. It would be a good deal easier to spirit her out of Vienna if she went willingly.

He was still somewhat surprised she would consent to accompany him upon any terms. Unless …

‘Don’t think you can escape me in Paris,’ he warned. ‘I’ll be with you every moment, like crust on bread.’

‘Ah, warm French bread! I cannot wait to taste some.’

She licked her lips. The gesture sent a bolt of lust straight to his loins. Something of his reaction must have showed in his face, for her eyes widened and she smiled knowingly.

He might not be able to prevent his body’s response, but he could certainly control his actions, he thought, disgruntled. If anyone was going to play the seduction card in this little game, it would be him—if and when he wished to.

‘How did you, cousin to Thierry St Arnaud, come to be here alone?’ he asked, steering the discussion back where he wanted it. ‘Why did he not take you with him when he fled Vienna?’

‘Nothing—and no one—mattered to my cousin but restoring Napoleon to the throne of France. When the attempt failed, his only thought was to escape before the Austrian authorities discovered his connection to the plot, so he might plot anew. Since I was no longer of any use to him, he was done with me.’

It seemed St Arnaud had about as much family loyalty as Will’s uncle. But still, self-absorbed as the earl might be, Will knew if anyone bearing Ransleigh blood were in difficulties, the earl would send assistance.

What sort of man would not do that for his own cousin?

Putting aside that question for the moment, Will said, ‘Were you equally fervent to see Napoleon restored as emperor?’

‘To wash France free of the stain of aristocracy, Napoleon spilled the blood of his own people … and then created an aristocracy of his own. All I know of politics is the guillotine’s blade was followed by the emperor’s wars. I doubt the fields of Europe will dry in our lifetime.’

‘So why did you help St Arnaud?’

‘You think he gave me a choice?’

Surprised, he stared at her, assessing. She met his gaze squarely, faint colour stirring in her cheeks at his scrutiny.

A man who would abandon his own cousin probably hadn’t been too dainty in coercing her co-operation. Had he hurt her?

Even as the question formed, as if guessing his thoughts, she lowered her gaze and tucked her left hand under her skirt.

An unpleasant suspicion coalescing in his head, Will stepped closer and seized her hand. She resisted, then gasped as he jerked it into the waning sunlight.

Two of the fingers were slightly bent, the knuckles still swollen, as if the bones had been broken and healed badly. ‘An example of your cousin’s persuasion?’ he asked roughly, shocked and disgusted. A man who would attack a woman was beneath contempt.

She pulled her hand back, rubbing the wrist. ‘An accident, monsieur.’

Will didn’t understand why she would protect St Arnaud, if he truly had coerced her participation, then abandoned her. He didn’t want to feel the niggle of sympathy stirring within him, had that really been her predicament.

Whatever her reasons, she was still the woman who’d ruined Max’s career.

‘You’d have me believe you were an innocent pawn, forced by St Arnaud to do his bidding, then discarded when you were no longer of use?’

She smiled sweetly. ‘Used, just as you plan to use me, you mean?’

Stung, his anger flared hotter. Plague take her, he wasn’t her bloody relation, responsible for her safety and well-being. If he used her, it was only what she deserved for entrapping Max.

‘Why is it so important for you to go to Paris?’ he asked instead.

‘It’s a family matter. You, who have come all this way and worked so diligently on your cousin’s behalf, should appreciate that. Take me to Paris and I will go with you to England. I’ll not go otherwise—no matter what … persuasion you employ.’

He stared into her eyes, assessing the strength of her conviction. She’d rightly said he couldn’t force or threaten her into testifying. Indeed, even the appearance of coercion would discredit what she said.

He hoped upon the journey to somehow charm or trick her out of going to Paris. But unless he came up with a way to do so, he might end up having to stop there first.

Although one should always have a long-term strategy, all that mattered at the moment was playing the next card. First, he must get her out of Vienna.

‘It doesn’t appear you have much to pack. I should like to leave in two days’ time.’

‘How do you mean to spirit me away? Though the watchers have not yet interfered with my movements, I’ve not attempted to leave the city.’

Having drunk a tankard with the keeper of the public house on the corner, Will had already discovered the house was being watched, but he hadn’t expected a woman, diplomat’s cousin or no, to have noticed. Once again, surprise and reluctant admiration rippled through him. ‘You’re aware of the guard, then?’

She gave him an exasperated look, as if he were treating her like an idiot. ‘Bien sûr I’m aware! Although as I said, rightfully judging that I pose no threat, they’ve done nothing but observe. But since I have recovered enough to—’ She halted a moment, then continued, ‘There have always been watchers.’

Recovered enough. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know from what. Shaking off the thought, he said, ‘Do you know who they are?’

‘Austrians, I expect. Clara has flirted with some of them, and from their speech they appear to be local lads. Not English. Nor French. Talleyrand has enough agents in keeping, he can learn, I expect, whatever he wishes from the Austrians.’

Will nodded. That judgement confirmed what the publican had told him. Local men, hired out of the army by government officials, would be easier for him to evade than Foreign Office professionals. During the two days he was allotting madame to settle her things, he’d observe the guard’s routine, then choose the best time and manner in which to make off with her—in case the authorities should object to her departure.

‘Are you thinking to have me pay off the landlady and simply stroll out the front door, valise in hand?’ madame asked, interrupting his thoughts.

‘You’d prefer to escape out a window at midnight?’ he asked, amused.

‘The balcony worked well enough for you,’ she retorted. ‘It might be wise to anticipate opposition. I should probably go in disguise, so that neither the landlady nor the guards at the corner immediately realise I’ve departed.’

Though by now he shouldn’t be surprised by anything she said, Will found himself raising an eyebrow. ‘Leave in disguise? Interesting education the French give their diplomatic hostesses.’

‘France has been at war for longer than we both have been alive, monsieur,’ she shot back. ‘People from every level of society have learned tricks to survive.’

It appeared she had, at any rate. If being abandoned by her cousin in a foreign capital were any indication, she had needed to.

‘What do you suggest?’

‘That we leave in mid-afternoon, when streets busy with vehicles, vendors and pedestrians will distract the guards and make them less vigilant. You could meet my friend, Clara, at a posting inn not far from these rooms. Bring men’s clothing that she can conceal beneath the embroidery in her basket. She will escort you up, telling the landlady, if you encounter her, that you are her brother. You will then exit by the balcony while I, wearing the clothing you provide, will walk out with Clara.’

Her suggestion was so outrageous, Will was hard put not to laugh. ‘I’ve no problem exiting by way of the balcony, but do you really think you could pass as a man?’

‘I’m tall for a woman. As long as I don’t encounter Frau Gruener, who knows me well, it should work. She almost always takes her rest of an afternoon between two and four, by the way. Those watching at the corner, if they notice us at all, will merely see Clara leaving the building, as she went in, with a man. Once we are away from the watchers, I leave it to you—who did so good a job locating me—to manage the rest.’

Intrigued by madame’s unexpected talent for subterfuge, he had to admit that the plan had merit. ‘It might work. As long as you can walk in men’s clothing without it being immediately obvious that you’re a woman.’

She smiled grimly. ‘You might be surprised at my talents. I’m more concerned about you remaining for more than a few hours in this vicinity without attracting attention. You are … rather distinctive.’

‘You don’t think I can pass unnoticed, if I choose?’

‘Your clothing is unremarkable, but you, monsieur, are not.’ She looked him up and down, her gaze coming to rest on his face. ‘Both that golden hair—and your features—are far too striking.’

He couldn’t help feeling a purely male satisfaction that she found him so notable. As he held her gaze, smiling faintly, a surge of sensual energy pulsed between them, as powerful as if she’d actually touched him. From the gasp she uttered and her widened eyes, Will knew she’d felt it, too.

Hell and damn. Bad enough that he’d been immediately attracted to her. If he excited her lust as well …

It would complicate things, certainly. On the other hand, as long as he kept his head, if not his body, focused on his objective, he might be able to use that attraction later. Seducing her to achieve his aims would be much more pleasant for them both than outright coercion.

Filing that possibility away, he forced himself to look away, breaking the connection.

‘I’m a dab hand at disguises myself. I’ll not accompany your friend as her brother, but as her old uncle, who wears spectacles and has something of a limp. The gout, you know.’

Tilting her head, she studied him. ‘Truly, you are Max Ransleigh’s cousin?’

He couldn’t fault her scepticism; no more than she could Will imagine Max sneaking on to a balcony, breaking into a woman’s rooms, threatening her, or disguising himself as an old man.

‘I’m from the wrong side of the blanket, so I come by my disreputable ways honestly.’

‘Ah, I see. Very well, Clara will meet you at three of the afternoon, two days from now at the Lark and Plough, on Dusseldorfer Strasse. She’ll look for a bent old man with spectacles and a cane.’ She offered her hand.

‘Honour among thieves?’ Amused anew, he took her hand to shake it … and a zing of connection flowed immediately through her fingers to his.

Her face colouring, she snatched her hand back. No longer annoyed by the hardening of his loins, Will was beginning to find the possibility of seduction more enticing than regrettable.

‘Three o’clock, then.’ As she nodded and turned to go back into the house, he said, ‘By the way, madame, I will be watching. If any tall young man with a feminine air exits your lodgings in the interim, I will notice.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Why should I try to elude you? I want to return to Paris and you will help me do so. Until then, monsieur.’

Before she could walk away, a woman’s voice emanating from the second floor called out, ‘Madame, where are you?’

‘Get back!’ she whispered, pushing him into the shadows beneath the balcony.

‘That’s Clara, isn’t it? The maid who helped you?’ Will asked in an undertone as footsteps sounded on the balcony overhead.

‘Ah, there you are, in the garden,’ came the voice. ‘Shall I bring your dinner down there?’

‘No, I’ll be right up,’ madame called back.

She pivoted to face Will. ‘As soon as you hear me above, go back over the wall the way you came. I will do as you ask; there’s no need for you to harass Clara.’

‘What makes you think I haven’t already … harassed her?’

Her eyes widened with alarm before she steadied herself, no doubt realising that if he had accosted the maid, she would have probably arrived frightened and frantic, rather than calmly calling her mistress to supper. Still, even now it might be worth following the maid home and seeing if he could dredge out of her any additional information about her mistress.

As if she could read his thoughts, madame said fiercely, ‘If any harm comes to Clara, I will kill you.’

Amused at her audacity in daring to threaten him—this slender woman who must weigh barely more than a child and possessed neither strength nor any weapon—Will grinned. ‘You could try.’

Her gaze hardened. ‘You have no idea what I am capable of, monsieur.’ Showing him her back, she paced into her lodgings, a wisp of lavender scent lingering in her wake.

Chapter Four

Her heart beating hard, feeling as weak as if she’d run a mile through the twisting Vienna streets, Elodie hurried up the stairway to her rooms. Having placed her basket on a table, Clara was looking at the embroidery Elodie had just completed.

‘Ah, madame, this is the prettiest yet! The colour’s lovely, and the bird so vivid, one almost thinks it will fly off the gown.’ Looking up at Elodie, the maid nodded approvingly. ‘You’ve got some colour back in your face. A stroll in the fresh air agreed with you. You must do it more often.’

Elodie wasn’t about to reveal that it wasn’t the garden air that had brought a flush to her cheeks, but an infuriating, dictatorial, dangerous man.

His touch had almost scalded her. It had been many years since she’d sought or experienced such a physical response. The sensation carried her back to the early days of her love for her late husband, when a mere glance from him could set her body afire.

She shook the memory away before sadness could follow in its wake. Given her reaction to him, travelling in Will Ransleigh’s company might be more hazardous to her well-being than she’d first thought. But she could worry about that later; now, she had more immediate matters to address.

‘I’ve brought you a good dinner,’ the maid said as she bustled about, putting plates and silverware on the table and lighting candles. ‘Frau Luvens made meat pie and some of her apple strudel. You will do it justice now, won’t you?’

To her surprise, for the first time in a long time, Elodie found the idea of food appealing. The knowledge that at last, at last, she would be able to stop marking time and get back to Paris, was reviving her vanished appetite. ‘You won’t have to coax me tonight; it sounds delicious. You are joining me, aren’t you? You can tell me all the news.’

While Clara rambled on about her day and her work at the grand hotel where she’d taken employment after her mistress had recovered enough to be left on her own, Elodie edged to the window. Though from this angle, she couldn’t see all the way under the balcony, her surreptitious inspection of the garden indicated that Monsieur Ransleigh had indeed departed.

By now, Clara had the covers off the dishes and was waving her to the small table. ‘Come, eat before the meat pies get cold. Gruber gave me some extra bread from the hotel kitchen. I’m so glad to see your appetite returning! Just in time, as we’ll be able to afford meat more often. Madame Lebruge was so complimentary about your work on the last consignment of embroidery, I told her the next lot would be ten schillings more the piece. She didn’t even protest! I should have asked for twenty.’

Elodie seated herself and waited while the maid attacked her meat pie. ‘I won’t be doing another lot. I’m leaving Vienna.’

Clara’s hands stilled and she looked up, wiping savoury juice from her chin. ‘Leaving? How? I thought you said it would be months before you could save enough to travel.’

‘My plans have changed.’ Omitting any mention of threats or the edgy undercurrent between herself and the man, Elodie told Clara about Will Ransleigh’s visit and offer to escort her to Paris.

She should have known the maid would be suspicious. ‘But can you trust this man, madame? How do you know he truly is Monsieur Max Ransleigh’s cousin?’

‘When you see him, you’ll understand; the resemblance between the two men is striking.’

‘Why would he wish to do you the favour of taking you to Paris?’

‘Because I am to do him a favour in return. I promised I would go to England and testify about how I embroiled his cousin in St Arnaud’s plot.’

‘Gott im Himmel, madame! Is that wise? Is it safe?’

Though she was nearly certain Ransleigh was gone, a well-developed instinct for caution impelled her to lean close and drop her voice to a whisper. ‘I have no intention of actually going to London. Once we get to Paris, I shall elude him.’

Clara clapped her hands. ‘Ah, yes, and I am sure you shall, now that you’ve finally recovered your strength! But … should I not go with you as far as Paris? I do not like the idea of you travelling alone with this man about whom we know so little.’

‘Thank you, dear friend, but you should stay here. Vienna is your home. You’ve already done more for me than I ever expected, more than I can ever repay.’

The maid waved a hand dismissively. ‘How could I do less, when you were so kind to me? Taking on an untried girl as your dresser, you who had to appear with the cream of society before all Vienna! Nor could I have obtained my present position without all I learned serving you.’

‘You’ve returned many times over any favour I did you.’

‘In any case, my lady, you shouldn’t travel alone.’

‘That might be true … if I were travelling as a “lady”. But I shall not be, nor is the journey likely to be comfortable. Perhaps not even safe. I don’t know if the watchers will be pleased when they discover I’ve left Vienna and you’ve already faced enough danger for me. I must go alone.’

‘You are certain?’ the maid asked, studying her face.

‘Yes,’ she replied, clasping Clara’s hand. Even if she’d planned to travel as a lady of substance, she wouldn’t have allowed Clara to accompany her. Escaping swiftly, drawing out of Vienna whatever forces still kept surveillance over her, was the best way to ensure the safety of the woman who had taken her in and nursed her back to health after she’d been brutalised and abandoned.

‘So, no more embroidery,’ Elodie said. ‘But I’m not completely without resources yet.’ Rising, she went to the linen press and extracted two bundles neatly wrapped in muslin. Bringing them to Clara, she said, ‘The first is a ball gown I never had a chance to wear; it should fetch a good price. The other is the fanciest of my dinner gowns; I’ve already re-embroidered it and changed the trimming, so Madame Lebruge should be able easily to resell that as well.’

‘Shouldn’t you have the money, madame? Especially if you mean to travel. I could take these to her tomorrow. She’s been so pleased with all the other gowns you’ve done, I’m sure I could press her for a truly handsome sum.’

‘Press her as hard as you like, but keep the money for yourself. It’s little enough beside my debt to you. I’ve something else, too.’

Reaching down to flip up the bottom of her sewing apron, Elodie picked the seam open and extracted a pair of ear-rings. Small diamonds twinkled in the light of the candles. ‘Take these. Sell them if you like, or keep them … as a remembrance of our friendship.’

‘Madame, you mustn’t! They’re too fine! Besides, you might need to sell them yourself, once you get to Paris.’

‘I have a few other pieces left.’ Elodie smiled. ‘One can’t say much good of St Arnaud, but he never begrudged me the funds to dress the part of his hostess. I can’t imagine how I would have survived this year without the jewels and finery we were able to sell.’

The maid spat out a German curse on St Arnaud’s head. ‘If he’d not been in such a rush to leave Vienna and save his own neck, he would probably have taken them.’

Elodie shrugged. ‘Well, I am thankful to have had them, whatever the reason. Now, let me tell you how my departure has been arranged.’

Half an hour later, fully apprised of who she was to meet, when and where, Clara hugged her and walked out. An unnerving silence settled in the rooms after her footsteps faded.

Though she supposed there was no need to work on the gowns the maid had left, from force of habit, Elodie took the top one from the basket and fetched her embroidery silks.

Along with the sale of some gems, the gowns she’d worn as St Arnaud’s hostess, re-embroidered and sold back to the shop from which she’d originally purchased them, had supported her for six months. At that point Madame Lebruge, pleased with the elegance and inventiveness of her work, sent new gowns from her shop for Elodie to embellish.

Letting her fingers form the familiar stitches calmed her as she reviewed what had transpired in the last few hours. Clara was right to be suspicious; she had no way of knowing for sure that Will Ransleigh would actually take her to Paris, rather than murdering her in some alley.

But if he’d wanted to dispose of her, he could have already done so. Nor could one fail to note the fervour in his eyes when he talked of righting the wrong she’d done his cousin. She believed he meant to take her to London—and that she’d convinced him she’d not go there unless they went to Paris first.

She smiled; he’d immediately suspected she meant to escape him there. Just because he was Max Ransleigh’s cousin, and therefore nephew to an earl, it would not do to underestimate his resourcefulness, or think him hopelessly out of his element in the meaner streets of Paris. He’d tracked her down here, most certainly without assistance from any of the authorities. He’d not been shocked or appalled by her idea of escaping in disguise, only concerned that she couldn’t carry off the deception. He’d then proposed an even cleverer disguise, suggesting he was as familiar as she was with subterfuge.

Perhaps he worked for the Foreign Office, as Max had, only in a more clandestine role. Or maybe he was just a rogue, as the unpredictability and sense of danger that hung about him seemed to suggest.

He’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket, he’d said. Perhaps, instead of growing up in the ease of an earl’s establishment, he’d had to scrabble for a living, moving from place to place, much as she had. That would explain his housebreaker’s skill at scaling balconies and invading rooms.

The notion struck her that they might have much in common.

Swiftly she dismissed that ridiculous thought. She sincerely doubted that he had ever had his very life depend on the success of the disguise he employed. Nor should she forget that he’d sought her out for a single purpose, one that left no room for any concern about her well-being. Still, depending on what happened in Paris, she might consider going to London as she’d promised.

She would give much to right the wrong she’d been forced to do Max Ransleigh. After studying the background of all of the Duke of Wellington’s aides, St Arnaud had determined Max’s well-documented weakness for and courtesy towards women made him the best prospect among those with immediate access to Wellington to be of use in his plot. He’d ordered her to establish a relationship with Max, gain his sympathy and learn his movements, so he might be used as a decoy when the time was right.

She’d been instructed to offer him her body if necessary, but it hadn’t been. Not that she found Max unappealing as a lover, but having learned he’d already taken one of the most elegant courtesans in Vienna as his mistress, she judged him unlikely to be tempted by a tall, brown-haired woman of no outstanding beauty.

His attentions to her had been initially just the courtesies any diplomat would offer his occasional hostess. Until one day, when she’d been sporting a bruised face and shoulder, and he’d figured out that St Arnaud must have abused her.

She’d told him nothing, of course, but from that moment, his attitude had grown fiercely protective. Rather ironic, she thought, that it had been St Arnaud’s foul temper and vindictive spirit, rather than her charms, that had drawn Max closer to her.

In fact, she’d be willing to bet, had the moment not occurred for St Arnaud to spring his plot, Max would have tried to work out an honourable way for her to escape her cousin.

But the moment did occur. As little choice as she’d had in the matter, it still pained her to recall it.

The night of the attack had begun with an afternoon like any other at the Congress, until Max had casually mentioned that he might be late arriving to the Austrian ambassador’s ball that evening, since he was to confer briefly in private with the Duke before accompanying him to the festivities. It was the work of a moment for Elodie to inveigle from him in which anteroom that meeting was to take place, the work of another that night to intercept Max in the hallway before he went in.

She waylaid him with a plea that he assist her on some trumped-up matter that would call down on her the wrath of her cousin, should she fail to speedily accomplish it. Despite his concern for her welfare, so great was his impatience to meet his commander, who had a well-known intolerance for tardiness, that she was able to delay him only a few minutes.

It was long enough. St Arnaud’s assassin found his target alone, unguarded, and only Wellington’s own battle-won sixth sense in dodging away an instant before the stranger bursting into the room fired his weapon, had averted tragedy.

To the Duke, anyway. Captured almost immediately, the failed assassin withstood questioning only briefly before revealing St Arnaud’s, and therefore her own, connection to the plot. Assuming the worst, St Arnaud had dealt with her and fled. She’d been in no condition afterwards to discover what had happened to Max; she assumed that, disgraced and reprimanded, he’d been sent back to England.

Dear, courteous Max. Perhaps the kindest man she’d ever known, she thought, conjuring up with a sigh the image of his face. Odd, though, that while he was certainly handsome, she hadn’t felt for him the same immediate, powerful surge of desire inspired by his cousin Will.

An attraction so strong it had dazzled her into forgetting, for the first few moments, that he’d invaded her rooms. So strong that, though he’d coerced and threatened her, she felt it still.

It had also been evident, even in his ill-fitting breeches, that the lust he inspired in her was mutual. Elodie felt another flush of heat, just thinking of that sleek hardness, pressing against his trouser front.

Such a response, she suddenly realised, might be useful later, when she needed to escape him. A well-pleasured man would be languid, less than vigilant. And pleasuring Will Ransleigh would be no hardship.

Eluding him in Paris, however, would be another challenge entirely.

Chapter Five

Loitering at the corner, hidden from view by the shadow of an overhanging balcony, and cap well down over the golden hair Madame Lefevre had found so distinctive, Will watched the guard posted at the opposite end of the alley. He’d grab some dinner and return to remain here through the night, noting how many kept watch and when they changed. Although he’d agreed with madame’s suggestion that she leave in full daylight, it would be wise to know how many men had been employed to observe her—and might be sent in pursuit when they discovered she’d fled.

He shook his head again over her unexpected talent for intrigue.

Before seeking his dinner, he would question madame’s friend Clara. He’d not bothered the girl before, having worked out where madame had gone to ground without having to accost the maid. Although the person who’d protected madame would likely be the most reluctant to give him any information, after an interview that had given rise to more questions than it answered, it was worth the attempt to extract from the girl anything that might shed more light on the mystery that was Madame Lefevre.

A woman who thus far hadn’t behaved as he would have expected of an aristocratic Frenchwoman who’d served as hostess to the most important leaders of European society.

Now that he’d confirmed that the woman he’d found was in fact Madame Lefevre, it was time to re-examine his initial assumptions about her.

The speed with which she’d come up with the suggestion that she escape in disguise—masculine disguise, at that—seemed to indicate she’d donned such a costume before. Recalling the grim expression on her face, Will thought it hadn’t been in some amateur theatrical performance for amusement of friends.

‘France has been at war longer than we’ve been alive …’ Had her family been caught up in the slaughter leading from monarchy to republic to empire and back? It seemed likely.

He wished now he’d paused in London to plumb for more detail about the St Arnaud family. Thierry St Arnaud’s employer, Prince Talleyrand, possessed an exceptional skill for survival, having served as Foreign Minister of France during the Republic, Consulate, Empire and now the Restoration. At the Congress of Vienna, the Prince had even managed the unlikely feat of persuading Britain and Austria that France, a country those two allies had fought for more than twenty years, should become their partner against Russia and Prussia.

What remarkable tricks of invention had the St Arnaud clan performed to retain lands and titles through the bloodbath of revolution and empire?

Perhaps, rather than spending her girlhood tucked away at some genteel country estate, madame’s aristocratic family, like so many others, had been forced to escape the guillotine’s blade. They might even have fled to England; the British crown had supported a large émigré community. That would explain her excellent, almost accentless speech.

Or perhaps she was such a mistress of invention because she was one of Talleyrand’s agents. His gut churned at that unpleasant possibility.

But though Will wouldn’t totally discount the idea, Talleyrand was known to be an exacting master. It wouldn’t be like the prince to leave a loose end—like a former agent—flapping alone in the Viennese breeze for over a year; Madame Lefevre would likely have been eliminated or spirited away long since.

Still, it wouldn’t be amiss to behave around her as if she had a professional’s expertise.

He smiled. That would make the matching of wits all the sweeter. And if the opportunity arose to intertwine bodies as well, that would be the sweetest yet.

But enough of carnal thoughts. He couldn’t afford to let lust and curiosity make him forget his goal, or lure him into being less than vigilant. He was certain she intended to try to escape him during their journey, and he’d need to be on his best game to ensure she did not.

As he reached that conclusion, Clara exited madame’s lodgings. Keeping into the shadow of the buildings, Will followed her.

To his good fortune, since the onset of evening and the thinning crowds would make it harder to trail her unobserved, the maid headed for the neighbouring market. He shadowed her as she snapped up the last of the day’s bread, cheese and apples at bargain prices from vendors eager to close up for the night.

The Viennese were a prosperous lot, he noted as he trailed a few stalls behind her, and remarkably careless with their purses. Had he a mind to, he could have snatched half a dozen as he strolled along.

Unable to resist the temptation to test his skill and thinking it might make a good introduction, Will nipped from behind the maid to snag her coin purse while she lingered by the last stall, bidding farewell to the vendor and rearranging the purchases in her market basket.

He followed her from the market until she reached a mostly deserted stretch of street, where the buildings’ overhanging second storeys created a shadowy recess. Picking up his pace, Will strode past her and then turned, herding her towards the wall. With a deep bow, he held out the coin purse.

‘Excuse me, miss, I believe you dropped this.’

With a gasp, she shrank back, then halted. ‘Why … it is my purse! I was sure I put it back into my reticule! How can I thank you, Herr …’ Belatedly looking up, she got a glimpse of his face. ‘You!’

Will bowed again. ‘Will Ransleigh, at your service, miss.’

Alarm battled anger in her face. ‘I should call the authorities and have you arrested for theft!’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘How could you do that, when I’ve just returned your purse? If officials in Vienna arrest every fellow who follows a pretty girl, the jails would be full to overflowing. I mean you no harm.’

She sniffed. ‘I note you don’t deny you took it! But seeing as how you could have just as easily knocked me over the head as given it back, I suppose I’ll not scream the houses down—for the moment. What do you want?’

‘I intend to help your mistress leave the city.’

She looked him up and down, her expression wary. ‘I warned her not to trust you. Oh, I don’t doubt you’ll help her, all right—to do what you want her to. Just like that worthless cousin of hers.’

Remembering madame’s bent and swollen fingers, Will felt a surge of dislike. If he ever encountered Thierry St Arnaud, he’d force the man to test his strength against a more fitting adversary. ‘He intimidated her, didn’t he?’

‘Bastard.’ The maid spat on cobblestones. ‘I only saw him strike her twice, but she almost always had bruises. I’ll not hurt her more by telling you anything.’

‘I appreciate your loyalty. But whatever you can tell me—about her relationship with St Arnaud or my cousin—will help me protect her on the journey. I can do a better job if I’m aware of potential threats before they happen. If I know who’s been watching her, and why.’

Her expression clouded, telling Will she worried about her mistress, too. ‘Herr Ransleigh, your cousin, was an honourable man,’ she said after a moment. ‘You promise to keep her safe?’

‘I promise.’ To his surprise, Will found he meant it.

Clara studied him, obviously still reluctant.

‘You want her to stay safe, too, don’t you?’ he coaxed. ‘How about I tell you what I know and you just confirm it?’

After considering another moment, the maid nodded.

‘You’ve been with your mistress more than a year. She engaged you when she first arrived in Vienna—September 1814, wasn’t it?’

Clara nodded.

‘That last night, before her cousin fled the city, he … hurt her.’

Tears came to the girl’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Badly?’ Will pressed, keeping a tight rein over his rising temper, almost certain now he knew what she would tell him.

‘She was unconscious when I found her. Her ribs broken for sure, and her arm and hand bent and twisted. Didn’t come back to herself for more than a day, and for the first month, I wasn’t sure she would survive. Bastard!’ the maid burst out again. ‘Blaming her for the failure of his foolish plan! Or maybe just taking it out on her that it failed. He was that kind.’

‘You took her from the hotel to rooms at a boarding house and nursed her. Then, once she’d recovered sufficiently, you moved her to the lodgings here,’ Will summed up the trail his search had taken him on.

‘By then, she said she was recovered enough to work. I’d sold jewels for her those first few months, until her bad hand healed enough for her to use the fingers. She started doing embroidery then.’

‘And there were watchers, each place you stayed with her?’

‘I guess there were, though I didn’t notice them until she pointed them out after she got better. I was frightened, but what could they want with her? After a few months, I got used to them hanging about.’

‘Viennese lads, they were.’

‘Yes. I spoke to some of them, trying to see if I could find out anything, but they seemed to know only that a local man hired them. I’m certain someone more important was behind it, but I don’t know who.’

Will filed that observation away. ‘Why is she so insistent on returning to Paris?’

‘Her family’s there, I expect. She never spoke about herself, nor was she the sort who thought only of her own comfort. Waiting for her at the dressmakers or at those grand balls, I heard other maids talking about their ladies. Madame wasn’t like most of them, always difficult and demanding. She was kind. She noticed people and their troubles.’

Her eyes far away, Clara smiled. ‘One night, Klaus the footman had a terrible head cold, hardly able to breathe, poor man. Madame only passed by him in the hall on her way to a reception, but first thing the next morning, she had me fetch herbs and made him a tisane. Not that she made a great fuss about doing so, playing Lady Bountiful. No, she just turned it over to the butler and told him to make sure Klaus drank it.’

‘Did you ever wonder why she’d not brought her own maid to Vienna?’

Clara shrugged. ‘Maybe the woman didn’t want to travel so far. Maybe she couldn’t afford to bring her. I don’t think she had any coin of her own. St Arnaud paid my wages, all the bills for jewels, gowns and the household expenses, but he gave her no pin money at all. She didn’t have even a few schillings to buy ices when we were out.’

So, as she’d claimed, Will noted, madame had been entirely dependent on St Arnaud. ‘She never spoke of any other relations?’

‘No. But if they were all like St Arnaud, I understand why she wouldn’t.’ The maid stopped abruptly, wrinkling her brow. ‘There was one person she mentioned. Several times, when I’d given her laudanum for the pain after St Arnaud had struck her, she murmured a name as she dozed. Philippe.’

Surprise and something barbed and sharp stung him in the gut. Impatiently he dismissed it. ‘Husband … brother … lover?’

‘Not her husband—St Arnaud said he’d died in the wars. I did once ask her who “Philippe” was, but she just smiled and made no answer, and I didn’t want to press. She sounded … longing. Maybe he’s someone she wanted to marry, that her cousin had refused; I can see him sending away anyone he didn’t think grand enough for the St Arnauds. Maybe St Arnaud promised if she helped him in Vienna, he would let her marry the man. I know he had some sort of power to force her to do his will.’

For some reason he’d rather not examine, Will didn’t like the idea of Madame Lefevre pining for a Parisian lover. Shaking his head to rid himself of the image, he said, ‘Madame’s dependence on St Arnaud for food, clothing, housing and position would have been enough to coerce her co-operation.’

‘No, it was more than that,’ Clara insisted. ‘Not that she didn’t appreciate fine silks and pretty gems—who would not? But when she had to, she sold them without any sign of regret. She seemed quite content to live simply, not missing in the least the grand society for whom she used to play hostess. All she spoke about was earning enough coin to return to Paris.’

Not wishing to hear any more speculation about the mysterious “Philippe”, Will changed direction. ‘She’s had no contact with St Arnaud since the night of the attack, then?’

The maid shuddered. ‘Better that he believe she died of her injuries. She came close enough.’

‘St Arnaud emigrated to the Caribbean afterwards.’

‘That, I can’t say. I only know he left Vienna that night. If there’s any justice in the world, someone somewhere caught him and he’s rotting in prison.’

Clara looked up, meeting his gaze squarely. ‘If God has any mercy, once she’s done what you want, you’ll let her go back to Paris. To this Philippe, whoever he is. After all she’s suffered, losing her husband, enduring St Arnaud’s abuse, she deserves some happiness.’

Will wasn’t about to assure the maid he’d send madame back—to Paris or her ‘Philippe’—until he’d finished with her. And resolved what had already flared between them.

Instead, he pulled out a coin. ‘Thank you, Clara. I appreciate—’

‘No need for that,’ the maid interrupted, waving the money away. ‘Use it to keep her safe. You will watch out for her, won’t you? I know if someone wished her ill, they could have moved against her any time this last year. But still … I worry. She’s such a gentle soul, too innocent for this world, perhaps.’

Will remembered the woman in the garden, quietly picking spent blooms from her flowers while a stranger decided whether or not to wring her neck. She was more resigned than gentle or innocent, he thought. As if life had treated her so harshly, she simply accepted evil and injustice, feeling there was little she could do to protect herself from it.

Since his earliest days on the streets, Will had faced down bullies and fought to right wrongs when he found them. Picturing that calm face bent over the blooms and the brutal hand St Arnaud had raised against it, Will felt a surge of protectiveness he didn’t want to feel.

No point getting all worked up over her little tragedy; if she’d ended up abused, she’d played her role with full knowledge of the possible consequences, he reminded himself. Unlike Max, who’d been lured in unawares and betrayed by his own nobility.

And of course the maid thought her a heroine. If she could take in Max, who was nobody’s fool, it would have been child’s play for her to win over a simple, barely educated girl who depended on her for employment.

Suppressing the last of his sympathy towards Madame Lefevre, he nodded a dismissal to her maid. ‘I’ll meet you at the inn in two days.’

Clara nodded. ‘The old man’s disguise—you’re sure you can carry it off?’

‘Can she carry off hers?’

‘She can do whatever she must. She already has. Good-night, sir.’ With an answering nod, the girl walked into the gathering night.

Will turned back towards the inn where he planned to procure dinner, mulling over what he’d learned from Clara.

According to the maid, madame had been brought, without other money or resources, to Vienna and forced to do St Arnaud’s bidding. She cared little about wealth or high position. Her sole ambition was to return to Paris … and ‘Philippe’.

She can do whatever she must, the maid had said. Apparently, betraying Max Ransleigh had been one of those things. Eluding Will and cheating Max of the vindication due him might be another.

She was surely counting on trying to escape him, if not on the road, then once they arrived in Paris. He’d need to remain vigilant to make sure she did not.

From the maid’s reactions, it seemed even she feared the watchers might not be pleased to have her mistress leave Vienna. Madame Lefevre might well have other enemies in addition to the angry cousin of the man she’d ruined.

Her masculine disguise, which he’d first accepted almost as a jest, now looked like a prudent precaution.

For a moment, he envisioned madame’s slender body encased in breeches that outlined her legs, curved over thigh and calf, displayed the turn of an ankle. His mouth watered and his body hardened.

But he couldn’t allow lustful thoughts to distract him—yet. His sole focus now must be on getting her safely to Paris. Because until they reached London, he meant to ensure no one else harmed her.

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