The Rake to Redeem Her

‘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.