The Rake to Redeem Her Read online

  They had no need for a cart now—and no reason to linger any longer in Paris. With some additional blunt, he could exchange the vehicle and its wares for horses, and they could head for the coast at once.

  An instinctive itch between his shoulder blades kept telling him to put as much distance as possible between them and the danger posed by Paris. Philippe, intelligent child that he was, would doubtless have told his nursemaid about the ‘orange lady’s’ return. It wouldn’t take any great leap of imagination for that woman and the footman who’d guarded the child in the park to connect the sudden arrival of a tinker and his wife to the man and woman who’d accosted Philippe in the Place Royale. After viewing the sumptuous, well-tended Hôtel, he didn’t need Elodie’s warning to realise the comtesse had powerful connections who wouldn’t hesitate to set the authorities after anyone who threatened her child, an annoyance Will would rather not deal with.

  But Elodie looked so limp and exhausted, her face and body drained of the fire and energy that normally animated them, Will wasn’t sure she could stand a gallop to the coast now. Perhaps he should settle for obtaining horses and getting them to an inn north of Paris, and start the journey in earnest tomorrow.

  Remaining within easy return distance of the city would probably be prudent in any event. Though at the moment Elodie seemed to have lost all the purpose and determination that had driven her to survive St Arnaud’s brutality, evade pursuers on the road—and elude him—in order to find her son, that might change, once she’d had a chance to rest her exhausted body and spirits. No point getting her halfway to England aboard some smuggling vessel and having her decide she must return to Paris and try again.

  He knew only too well the agony of thinking you’d lost the one person you loved most in the world. But unlike a mother claimed by death, Elodie’s son was very much alive. Though he understood that love made her put her son’s best interests over her own desires, everything within him protested the unfairness of forcing her to make such a sacrifice.

  He ached to ease her pain by urging that they return to reclaim her son, but at the moment, he had no reasonable answers to the objections she’d raised to simply stealing him away. By dint of skilful gaming and even more skilful investing, he was no longer the penniless orphan who, at Eton, had taunted the boys into gaming with him to earn a few pence to buy meat pies. But the property and modest wealth he’d thus far accumulated was no match for the resources of a comtesse, even if he could persuade Elodie to accept some.

  As for influence, his only elevated connection was his uncle. Not only was the earl highly unlikely to embrace any cause supported by his black-sheep illegitimate nephew, he might well forfeit even the loyalty of his Ransleigh Rogue cousins if, after pledging to restore Max’s reputation, he appeared instead to champion the woman who’d ruined it.

  He wouldn’t suggest they do anything, raise her hopes to no purpose, until he could consider the matter more carefully and come up with a better plan.

  An inn north of Paris it must be, Will decided.

  After a quick exchange of cart and contents for horses, Will had got a listless Elodie mounted. For the rest of the day, they had ridden north at a pace he thought easy enough for her to tolerate. Just before dark, they stopped at a village along the coaching road, where Will located a suitable establishment and engaged a room.

  For the whole of their journey there, Elodie had neither looked directly at him nor spoken, seemingly lost in an abyss of despair and fatigue too profound for anything to penetrate.

  Gently he led her to the room and helped her to the bed. ‘Sleep. I’m going to arrange our horses for tomorrow and get some food. I’ll be back with your dinner very soon. Men’s clothing, too, perhaps, for this last leg of our journey?’

  But even that mild jest produced no response. Sighing, Will stripped her down to her chemise and guided her back against the pillows. She was still staring blankly into space when he closed the door.

  Darkness had fallen by the time he returned. As he quietly lit a candle, he noted Elodie dozing in the same position in which he’d left her, head thrown back against the pillows like a broken doll, her face pale and her hands limp beside her.

  Will considered setting out food and wine and leaving her in solitude with her grief. The last thing he wanted was to witness her pain and be dragged into remembering the anguish of his own youth. Yet, aching for her, he realised he couldn’t leave her so alone and vulnerable, even if it meant fending off memories he had no wish to revisit.

  Dragging a chair beside the bed, Will settled himself to watch over her.

  Suddenly, she shuddered and cried out. ‘Hush, sweeting,’ he soothed, gathering her in his arms.

  Her every muscle tensing, she jerked away before her eyes opened and her hazy gaze fixed on his face. ‘Will,’ she murmured. Going limp again in his arms, she slumped back.

  He plumped up the pillows and eased her up to a sitting position. ‘I’ve brought food and drink,’ he said, going over to fetch the supplies from his saddlebag. ‘You must eat. It’s after dark and you’ve had nothing but a little wine since before dawn.’

  She didn’t reply, but when he put the cup to her lips she sipped. After asking how she felt and what she wanted—and receiving no answers—he lapsed into silently feeding her bits of cheese and bread, which she ate mechanically, without seeming aware of him or the nourishment she was consuming.

  When she would take no more, Will finished the wine and bread. As he was returning the remaining meat and cheese to the saddlebags, Elodie wrapped her arms around her torso and began rocking back and forth.

  Tears welled up in her eyes and, a few moments later, she was weeping in earnest. Tossing down the saddlebags, Will climbed into the bed, gathered her into his arms and held her as deep, racking sobs shuddered through her body.

  He cradled her against his chest as she wept out her grief, wishing there was some way he could ease that terrible burden. Finally the sobs grew shallower, slowed, stopped, then she fell asleep in his arms.

  He must have dozed, too, for when he woke some time later, the candle had burned out. Too weary himself to light another, he slid far enough away from Elodie to divest himself of his clothing, then rolled back into the bed’s inviting warmth.

  Gathering her against him, he found her lips in the darkness and kissed her tenderly. ‘Sleep, my darling. We’ve a long journey tomorrow.’

  To his surprise, she reached up, pulled his head down and kissed him back.

  This was no gentle caress, but a demanding capture of lips, followed by a sweep of her tongue into his mouth that banished grogginess and instantly turned simmering desire into boiling need.

  While her tongue probed and demanded, her hands moved up and down his hardness. Still caressing him with one hand, she urged him on to his back and, breaking the kiss, in one swift motion raised her chemise and straddled him, guiding his swollen member to her soft inviting heat.

  ‘Love me, Will,’ her urgent voice pleaded in the darkness.

  This was anguish seeking the oblivion of pleasure, he knew. But if pleasuring her would keep the pain at bay, he was happy to assist. Grasping her bottom, he thrust hard, sheathing himself in tight, seductive heat.

  He would have stilled then, slowed, made it last, but Elodie was having none of it.

  Pulling his thumbs to her nipples, she angled her hips and moved to take him deeper still. With him buried within her, she thrust again and again, riding him faster, harder, deeper, her nails scoring his shoulders, her teeth nipping his skin, until she cried out as her pleasure crested.

  An instant later, he reached his own release. Wrapping her in his arms, still joined, Will rolled with her to his side and snuggled her there as together, sated, they fell into the boneless sleep of exhaustion.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Will woke just after dawn the following morning. At the feel of Elodie beside him, her head nestled on his shoulder, a glow of joy and well-being suffused him. The warmth li
ngered even after his groggy brain, lagging behind his senses, grew alert enough to remember how despondent and grief-stricken she’d been the previous night.

  She’d also come alive in his arms, allowing him to sweep her away for a time from the anguish and sorrow. That had to count for something.

  As long as her son was alive and well, there was hope. If whoever had been watching Elodie wanted to harm the boy, they could have done so long since, so there was every reason to expect he would continue to be healthy and content, living with the comtesse. Eventually, Will would figure out a way to reclaim him that would place no hardship on the boy. For now, he must get Elodie, who might still be in danger, safely back to England.

  She stirred and he kissed her lips, his joy multiplying when she murmured and wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him back. Desire surged as she fit herself against him and, for a time, the problems awaiting them outside their bedchamber receded as he made love to her, long and sweet and slow.

  Eventually, they could avoid them no longer. ‘You wanted to leave early for the coast?’ Elodie said, sitting up. ‘It’s long past dawn now. I’d better dress.’

  ‘You’re sure you don’t want to return to Paris and try again to take your son?’

  Her jaw clenched and she closed her eyes briefly, as if reeling from a blow. ‘He doesn’t even recognise me, Will,’ she said softly when she reopened them. ‘Even if he did—what was I thinking? I have a few paltry jewels I could sell, enough, perhaps, to buy a small cottage somewhere in the country. But beyond that, I have no money, no family, no resources. Nothing to fall back on, nothing put away to pay for schooling or to assure his future. If Maurice were still alive … but he’s not, and there’s no one else. Besides, who’s to say what will happen after we get to England? How could I drag him into that? No, we should just leave today, as you wished.’

  Much as it pained him to see the bleak look back in her eyes, empty platitudes wouldn’t comfort her. Until he formulated some intelligent plan that offered real hope, it was better to say nothing.

  Apparently taking silence for agreement, she slipped from the bed and picked up her scattered garments. ‘So I travel as a woman this time? Or have you yet another disguise in that bag?’

  Trying not to be distracted by the arousing vista of Elodie, naked but for the bundle of clothing she held, he forced himself to concentrate on the imperative of getting them quickly to the Channel and on to England, before Talleyrand or whoever else had been following them discovered their current location. Realising now what her objective in Paris had been, any French agent worth his pay must know her story and would have kept the comtesse’s house under surveillance. So their pursuers must know they’d made it back to Paris.

  ‘I’m afraid the bag of tricks is rather empty and the funds are running low. We’ll travel as we are for now and, as you suggest, go at once.’

  Giving him a wan smile—so pale an imitation of the brilliant ones that had warmed his heart during their journey that his chest ached—she dressed quickly. He did the same, then assembled their bags and walked down to pay the landlord. After retrieving their newly hired horses from the stables, with Elodie waiting listlessly beside him, Will fastened their bags on to the saddles.

  At first, he paid little attention to the private coach that was progressing slowly down the street, the roadway already filling with the usual early-morning assortment of farmers, maids, vendors, clerks and townspeople going about their business. Until, its driver apparently distracted by an altercation between two tradesmen whose carts had collided, the vehicle began heading almost directly at them.

  Will had been about to shout a warning to the driver, when the coach inexplicably began to pick up speed. Preoccupied with controlling their now shying, stamping mounts, he was trying to shift both sets of reins into one hand and pull Elodie back out of harm’s way with the other as the coach swayed by them, dangerously close.

  Suddenly, the door opened, a man leaned out and grabbed Elodie by the arms. Before Will could finish transferring the reins, the assailant dragged Elodie into the vehicle. Will caught one last glimpse of her struggling figure before the door slammed shut and the driver sprang the horses, scattering people, poultry and produce in its wake.

  An hour later, the bruiser who’d muscled Elodie into the closed carriage and bound and gagged her, dragged her from the coach and up the back stairs of an inn. After shoving her into a room, he closed the door behind her. Her anxious ears were relieved to hear no key turn in the lock before his footsteps retreated.

  Since the henchman who’d grabbed her had said nothing the entire journey, she still had no idea who had abducted her or why.

  Furiously she worked at the bonds, desperate to escape before anyone else arrived to manhandle her. After a few moments, she succeeded in freeing her hands. She’d just ripped off the gag when, her eyes finally adjusting to the dimness of the shuttered room, she realised she was not alone.

  Her skin prickled and the sour taste of fear filled her mouth as she recognised the shadowed figure seated at the table of what appeared to be a private parlour. ‘St Arnaud!’ she gasped.

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, giving her a nod. ‘You appear to be as delighted to see me as I was to discover you’d apparently come back from the dead. I must admit, I was quite distressed when Prince Talleyrand informed me you’d been sighted in Paris. He advised me to take better care of you this time.’

  Fury and loathing coursed through her, swamping the fear. ‘You took care of me before. You took my son!’

  He shook his head. ‘Very maladroit of you to be manoeuvred into it. A bit of money, some promises of advancement dangled before you, and it was done. So distastefully predictable. Ah, well, your foolishness has made my dear sister very happy.’

  Never in her life had Elodie truly wished to harm someone, but at that moment, she would have bartered her soul for a weapon. She wanted to pummel St Arnaud, carve the sardonic smile off his face, make him scream with pain. Not for the beatings he’d inflicted on her in Vienna, but for the blow to the heart from which she’d never recover.

  ‘Bastard,’ she spat out, her eyes scanning the room for anything she might use against him.

  ‘Not me, my dear! That epithet belongs to the hovel-born Englishman who’s been attempting to assist you. And don’t bother to agitate yourself searching; I’m not foolish enough to leave lying about anything you might use to defend yourself. Now, how shall we dispose of you this time? Something quick and merciful?’

  ‘You mean to do it yourself? You haven’t the stomach.’

  His gaze hardened. ‘You think not?’

  ‘You let others do the difficult work before. What happened to the poor wretch who pulled the trigger on Lord Wellington?’

  St Arnaud lifted an elegant brow. ‘He was hanged, I suppose. Only what he deserved for being sloppy and inaccurate. Anyway, he was just a means to an end.’

  ‘Like me.’

  ‘Like you. Although unlike Franz, whom the Austrian authorities took care of long ago, you’re much more trouble, turning up again after all this time.’

  ‘Then let me relieve you of her,’ said a voice from the doorway.

  ‘Will!’ Elodie cried, her fear and anger swamped in a surge of surprise, relief and gladness.

  St Arnaud’s eyes widened with alarm for an instant before he smoothed his features back to a sardonic calm. ‘Ah, the bastard appears.’

  ‘Surely you were expecting me. A horse can easily keep pace with a carriage and, with the driver on the box and only one flunky within, there was no one to prevent my following. It’s about time you had to deal with someone more up to your weight. And after I do, we’ll go.’

  ‘You think I’ll just let her leave with you?’ St Arnaud laughed. ‘How quaint, that you survived soldiering and a childhood in Seven Dials with such naïve notions intact. I would have thought you’d expect me to go for the kill.’

  ‘She’s no threat to you.’

  ‘
Is she not? What about the testimony you want her to give in London? Dredging up that old scandal could cause a great deal of unpleasantness, just as I’m re-establishing my career.’

  ‘Re-establishing?’ Will echoed. ‘There’s a king on France’s throne now. What of your love for Napoleon?’

  St Arnaud shrugged. ‘He’ll never escape from that speck of rock in the Atlantic. I don’t deny I regret that France has been saddled with fat old King Louis, but one must adapt to changing circumstances, as Prince Talleyrand always says. I’m a St Arnaud; I belong at the centre of France’s political affairs. Now, monsieur, I don’t know how you convinced Raoul to let you in, but I’ve no quarrel with you. Leave now and I’ll not call the gendarmes and have you thrown in jail.’

  ‘Magnanimous of you,’ Will said, showing his teeth.

  ‘Quite. I doubt your uncle would bestir himself on behalf of the bastard branch of family and French prisons are so unpleasant.’

  ‘At least I earned that title by birth. Being a bastard, though, don’t you think I would have taken care of such small details as a few retainers? As you said, I was breeched in Seven Dials. It’s not wise to leave loose knives lying about that might get thrown at your back.’

  Had he really eliminated St Arnaud’s henchmen, or was he bluffing? Elodie wondered, shooting him a glance. He gave her a wink.

  After weeks on the road from Vienna, witnessing all his skill and ingenuity, she’d bet on Will against odds much higher than these.

  St Arnaud wasn’t sure, either. His arrogant confidence wavering a bit, he stepped towards the door.

  Will stationed himself in front of it, his gaze challenging. ‘Let her leave with me now and I might consider letting you live.’ He moved his hand so quickly even Elodie didn’t follow it and extracted a knife from his pocket.