The Rake to Redeem Her Read online

  She would just have to appreciate each moment of the very few she had left with him.

  And if he was kind enough to try to cheer her, she could rouse herself to reply. ‘It seems a very handsome property.’

  ‘Yes, the fields and fences are in excellent condition. And look, there on the hill!’ He pointed off to the left, where a herd of several dozen horses roamed. ‘Mares with their foals. Beauties all!’ he pronounced after studying them for a moment. ‘It seems Max’s wife is maintaining her father’s high standards.’

  After riding steadily for thirty minutes past pastures and occasional lanes leading to thatched cottages in the distance without encountering barns or paddocks, Elodie said, ‘The farm seems very large.’

  ‘Larger than I expected,’ Will agreed. ‘I’m glad I asked directions of the gatekeeper, else I would fear we’d taken a wrong turn. Ah, finally—I see a barn over that rise.’

  After passing an impressive series of barns surrounded by paddocks used for training the colts, Will told her, at last the lane entered a wood and turned to the right. As the trees thinned, they saw a fine stone manor house crowning the top of a small hill, flanked by oaks and shrubbery.

  Trepidation dried her mouth, while the fluttering in her stomach intensified. Would Max Ransleigh receive her—or order her off his property?

  Then they were at the entry, a servant trotting out to take their horses, a butler ushering them into the front parlour. Trying to be unobtrusive, Elodie stationed herself behind a wing chair set by the hearth, while Will stood by the mantel, toasting his hands at the welcome warmth of a fire.

  With Will poised on the threshold of accomplishing all he’d set out to do, she’d expected he would be excited, impatient to see his cousin again, triumphant to be bringing home the means to redress all Max Ransleigh’s wrongs. Oddly enough, he seemed as tense as she was, almost … uncomfortable, Elodie thought.

  Before she had time to wonder further about it, the door opened and Max Ransleigh walked in, as handsome and commanding as she remembered. ‘Will, you rascal!’ he said, striding to the hearth and clasping his cousin in a quick, rough embrace. ‘Though I ought to spot you a good round of fisticuffs for returning to England and then leaving again without even the courtesy of coming to meet my bride.’

  Just as Elodie thought she’d escaped his notice, Max turned to her. ‘And Madame Lefevre,’ he said, bowing. ‘My cousin Alastair told me Will intended to bring you back to England and I see he has succeeded. Welcome to my home.’

  Elodie sank into a deep curtsy, studying Max warily beneath her lashes as she rose. If he was angry, he hid it well; his smile seemed genuine and his greeting sincere. A diplomat, indeed—or far more forgiving then she deserved.

  ‘It is of everything most kind of you to receive me, Monsieur Ransleigh. When you would have every right to spit on me and toss me out of your house.’

  He surveyed her with that quick, perceptive gaze she remembered so well. ‘To be frank, a year ago, I might have. But everything has changed since then.’

  ‘I deeply regret the disservice I did you. Let me assure you, I’m fully prepared to do whatever it takes to make amends.’

  ‘We’ll talk of that later,’ Will interposed.

  ‘Yes, later,’ Max agreed. ‘For now, I’m happy to see you without bruises, madame. Will must have been taking good care of you.’

  For an instant, she recalled the whole amazing, wonderful journey and how well in truth Will had cared for her. Suppressing a sudden urge to weep that their time together was over, she said, ‘Ah, yes. Most exceptional care.’

  ‘Good.’ Suddenly Max’s eyes lit and a smile of joy warmed his face. ‘Caro, I didn’t know you’d come down! Come, my dear, and meet our guests.’

  Elodie turned to see a slender woman enter the parlour, her simple green day dress setting off the auburn tints in the dark hair that crowned her head in a coronet of braids. Eyes the bright green of spring moss glowed when she looked at her husband, who walked over to meet her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you feeling strong enough to be up?’

  ‘I’m fine. When Dulcie told me there were riders approaching, I had to come down. Isolated as we are, Denby Lodge doesn’t often receive unexpected guests.’ Turning towards the hearth, she said, ‘But this gentleman needs no introduction. You must be Will! Alastair told me you and Max favour each other strongly.’

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ Will said, giving her a smile and a bow. ‘Alastair said you were lovely and talented. An understatement on both accounts; we’ve just had a most enjoyable ride past your fields and some of the handsomest mares and foals I’ve seen in a long time.’

  ‘Flatterer! You could find no faster way to my heart than to praise my horses.’

  ‘I warned you he was a rogue, my dear,’ Max murmured to his wife.

  Will moved to Elodie’s side, putting a protective hand on her arm. ‘Mrs Ransleigh, may I present Madame Elodie Lefevre.’

  ‘You, too, are very welcome,’ Caro said, holding out her hand to Elodie, who, after a moment’s hesitation, shook it.

  ‘Caro, why don’t you show Madame Lefevre up to a room, while Will and I get reacquainted?’

  When Will gave his cousin a look and tightened his grip on her hand, Elodie murmured, her voice pitched for his ears alone, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll not try to run away again.’

  ‘It’s not that. I feel … better when you’re close.’

  Watching their interplay with an appreciative smile, Max said, ‘You needn’t worry to let her go. Caro will take even better care of her than you do. Madame, you look exhausted—why don’t you rest before dinner? And if you don’t mind my saying so, Will, after a quick chat, you could use a bath.’

  ‘Won’t you come with me, madame?’ Caro said. ‘After a hard day’s riding, there’s nothing so soothing as a long soak in a hot tub. I’ll have some tea and biscuits sent up, too, to tide you over until dinner. We’ll see you later, gentlemen.’

  And so Elodie allowed herself to be shepherded out of the room, down the hall and up the stairs to an airy bedchamber that looked out over the expanse of front lawn to the barns in the far distance.

  She found herself instinctively liking Caroline Ransleigh, who offered her hand to shake like a man, dressed simply and whose unassuming, straightforward manner spoke of a self-confidence that had no need to impress.

  Upon first seeing Max’s wife, she’d been surprised, even though Will had told her his cousin said Caroline Ransleigh was not in Max’s ‘usual style’. She was certainly different from the beautiful, seductive Juliana Von Stenhoff, who’d been Max’s mistress at the Congress of Vienna. That lady would never have deigned to greet guests in so simple a gown—nor would she have passed up an opportunity to try to entice a man as handsome as Will.

  With that observation, Elodie liked Caroline Ransleigh even better. Though she doubted her hostess would return the favour, once her husband informed her just who she was harbouring under her roof.

  Waving her to a seat on the wing chair near the hearth, Caroline Ransleigh turned to direct the footmen who were bringing in a copper tub, while a kitchen maid started a fire. A moment later, a butler appeared to leave a tea tray on the side table and a freckle-faced maid, carrying Elodie’s saddlebags, bowed herself in. ‘I’ll be happy to wash up your things, ma’am,’ she said.

  ‘Excellent idea, Dulcie,’ Mrs Ransleigh said. ‘Having been travelling so long, you probably don’t have any clean garments.’ She gave Elodie a quick inspection from head to toe. ‘You’re a bit slighter than I, but we’re of a height. You are very welcome to borrow something of mine while your own things are drying.’

  A clean gown, one no doubt newer and in better repair than the well-worn few she still possessed! The idea was almost as welcome as a soak in a tub. ‘That is most kind of you, Madame Ransleigh, and you, Dulcie.’

  The offer confirmed her suspicion that Max’s wife, who appeared to be a straightforward woman with no diplo
mat’s artifices, could not know what role she’d played in Max’s life, else she’d be much less accommodating. Feeling guiltily that she ought to acquaint her with the facts before the woman did her any more kindnesses, she was wondering just where to begin as her hostess seated herself and poured them each a steaming cup of tea.

  ‘Here, this will help warm you. Such a raw day for midsummer! After riding in the damp, you must be chilled through.’

  Murmuring her thanks, Elodie had just taken a reviving sip when a knock sounded and an older woman came in, carrying a wrapped bundle. ‘Dulcie said you was in here, Miss Caro, and that you’d want to tend the young master as soon as he woke.’

  ‘Andrew, my love!’ Her face lighting, Mrs. Ransleigh reached out to take the bundle—a closely wrapped, newborn child.

  Elodie gasped, her teacup sliding from her nerveless fingers to clatter against the saucer, her gaze transfixed on the baby’s face.

  In a sweeping vortex of memory, she saw in rapid succession bright dark eyes, a pink bow mouth and waving arms as the newborn Philippe surveyed his world. His drunken-sailor, wobbling steps as he determined, at nine months, to walk upright. The restless toddler fixing his intent, curious gaze on every object that caught his attention, asking ‘What is it? What it do? Why?’

  And then the boy she’d left, that intense gaze focused on the soldiers he meticulously arranged in battle formation.

  As if lying in wait to ambush her after she had thought she was safely over the worst, the pain of his loss attacked her with the blunt impact of a footpad’s club. She couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t move, could do nothing but stare at Mrs Ransleigh’s beautiful child, the very image of all she had lost.

  ‘What is it, madame?’ Over the roaring in her ears, Elodie dimly heard Mrs Ransleigh’s voice, saw her turn to look at her with concern. ‘Are you ill?’

  Elodie struggled to pull herself together. ‘No, no, I am fine, really.’ Her fingers shook as she picked up her cup again and took a determined sip.

  ‘You have children, madame?’

  Elodie nodded. ‘I have a son. Had … a son,’ she corrected, biting her lip against the urge to weep.

  Mrs Ransleigh’s face creased in concern and she hugged her infant tighter. ‘He died? How horrible!’

  ‘No, he is alive. But … living in Paris. Another lady looked after him for some years, while I was away. She is wealthy, from an important family. He is happy with her and she can give him many advantages, so I … left him with her.’

  ‘But you miss him,’ Mrs Ransleigh said softly.

  ‘With every breath.’ A few traitorous tears forced their way to the corners of her eyes. Determinedly, Elodie wiped them away. ‘Your Andrew is a handsome child. How old is he?’

  ‘Three weeks today. A lusty lad. His proud papa is already planning his first pony.’

  With a pang, Elodie thought of the traitorous toy horse with the glass eyes. ‘He may need to wait a few more weeks for that.’

  The magnetic power of the newborn still held her. ‘May I?’ she asked, extending a hand. At the mother’s nod, Elodie reached over to stroke the infant’s soft cheek. Immediately he turned his mouth towards her, rooting. She gave him her fingertip to suckle.

  ‘Always hungry, too, just like his papa,’ her hostess said.

  After vigorously sucking for a moment, the baby spat out her fingertip, giving her a mildly indignant look.

  Mrs Ransleigh laughed. ‘I know that look. I’d better go feed him, before he demonstrates just what a fine pair of lungs he has. Ah, here’s your hot water,’ she said, as the kitchen maid and two house boys brought in steaming urns of water to pour into the tub, followed by the lady’s maid with clean clothing and a towel.

  ‘Ring for me when you’re ready, ma’am, and I’ll help you into the gown,’ Dulcie said, depositing the garments within reach of the tub.

  ‘We’ll leave you to your bath.’ Mrs Ransleigh rose, cradling her son.

  Elodie put a hand on her hostess’s arm. ‘Treasure every moment with him.’

  ‘I intend to.’ About to walk away, Mrs Ransleigh hesitated. ‘He’s my miracle child. Nearly all the women of my family died in childbed and I almost did, too. So I take nothing for granted. Not Andrew. Not Max. Not the farm and the horses that are my life’s blood. They are all precious gifts.’

  Elodie smiled. ‘You are very wise.’

  ‘Actually, I’m very grateful to you.’ At Elodie’s startled look, she said, ‘Yes, I know who you are and what happened in Vienna. But you see, if Max hadn’t been in disgrace after the assassination attempt, I would never have met him. I wouldn’t have now the sweetest love a woman could ever desire and the joy of bearing his child. And Max truly is content here.’

  With a wife who obviously adored him and a healthy newborn son, Elodie wasn’t about to suggest otherwise, but her hostess continued, ‘I did try to resist him, you know. I urged him to return to Vienna, to look for you and do everything he could to clear his name and resume his government career. But as he began to work with me, training horses, he discovered he had a real gift for it. He says he’s happy with his life here and, of course, I want to believe him.’

  It eased her guilt to think that perhaps she hadn’t ruined Max’s future after all. That their interaction in Vienna had merely sent him down a different path, perhaps an even more rewarding one.

  She still intended to do what she could to restore his reputation. For now, he was content training horses, but some day he might long to rejoin the circles of power for which he’d been born and bred. If that happened, she wanted to make sure nothing from their association in Vienna prevented him.

  ‘With a lovely wife and a handsome son, how could he not be content? But I thank you for telling me.’

  As if trying to remind his mama of his presence, the newborn squirmed in her arms and gave a preliminary wail.

  ‘My master calls,’ Mrs Ransleigh said with a grin. ‘Enjoy your bath. We’re very informal here, so we dine early. Dulcie will get you anything you need, and then we’ll let you rest until dinner.’

  With that, shushing the baby with a kiss on the nose, she put him to her shoulder and walked from the room.

  Swiftly divesting herself of her grimy clothes, Elodie climbed into the tub and sank with an ecstatic sigh into the hot scented water. Even in the grimmest of times, one should not fail to savour the wonder of a warm bath.

  Tired as she was, the water both soothed and made her drowsy. Perhaps, as his wife suggested, Max was no longer angry at being reduced from a rising star of government to a breeder and trainer of horses. What was it he’d said—’everything has changed’?

  For the better, she hoped. But she was too weary and the water too deliciously relaxing to contemplate the matter any more. Doubtless Will and Max were discussing it at this very moment. All she need do was be ready, at last, to fulfil the bargain she’d made with Will.

  And then see him walk out of her life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Will watched Caroline Ransleigh usher Elodie out the parlour door with a panicky feeling in his gut. There’d been no time to reassure her that he didn’t suspect she would try to run away. It was just that, after two attacks against her, he didn’t feel comfortable about her safety when she was out of his sight.

  He turned from the door to see Max studying him and another layer of dread overlay the first. He’d give anything not to have to say to Max what he was about to say. Anything but Elodie’s life.

  That thought put matters in perspective, so he swallowed hard and looked for a way to begin. The very idea of cutting himself off from his cousins and losing Max’s esteem was so painful he’d not been able to bear thinking about or planning what he meant to say, as he normally would have done before broaching a matter of such gravity.

  While he stood there, staring at Max and dithering, his cousin shook his head and laughed. ‘I should have known if anyone in the world could have turned up Elodie Lefevre—and I gave
it more than a go myself—it would be you. A tremendous, and I fear costly, crusade that Alastair said you insisted on funding and carrying out alone. How can I ever convey the depths of my gratitude and appreciation?’

  Wonderful—in his very first speech, Max had made him feel even worse. ‘I appreciate your kind reception of Elodie; under the same circumstances, I’m not sure I would have been so forbearing.’

  ‘You always were a hothead, faster with your fists than your tongue,’ Max observed with a smile.

  ‘You were responsible for teaching me to use my wits instead.’

  ‘I did my poor best.’

  ‘Whatever improvement there is, I owe to your persistence. As for Madame Lefevre, you know the facts of what she did, but you don’t know the “why”. I think it’s important that you do.’ Maybe then you will understand a little better why I’m about to betray you, he thought.

  ‘Very well, I’m listening. But something tells me the story would be better heard over a glass of port.’

  Will didn’t object. He’d need all the reinforcement he could get to force himself through the next half-hour. At the end of which, he would likely be saying goodbye to the best friend he’d ever had.

  After a gulp of the fortified wine that warmed him to his toes, Will launched into a halting recitation of how he’d found Madame Lefevre and how she’d become involved in her cousin’s plot. But as he began to describe Elodie and her life, the words flowed faster and faster, the stories tumbling out one after another: her childhood trials as an exile, her struggles as a young soldier’s wife and then widow, her courageous tenacity in Vienna, when, abandoned by all but her maid after the attack, she found a way to survive, and finally, the return to Paris and the wrenching second loss of her son.

  He finished, his glass untouched since his first sip, to see Max watching him again, that inscrutable, assessing gaze on his face.

  ‘A remarkable woman,’ Max said.

  Will nodded. ‘Yes, she is.’ Now for the difficult, agonising part. ‘Max, you know better than I how much I owe you. I promised Alastair I would find Elodie, bring her back to England and make her tell the Foreign Office how she’d involved you in the plot, corroborating your account of the affair. So your reputation might be restored at last, along with the possibility of resuming the government career to which you’ve aspired as long as I’ve known you. But … but if she goes to London and the authorities open an official investigation, she could well be imprisoned as an accomplice to an attempt on Lord Wellington’s life. Maybe even hung. I can’t let her do that.’