Mademoiselle at Arms Read online

  Chapter Four

  Two days later, it was quite another Melusine who confronted a young lad on a sunny morning, at variance with her bleak mood.

  ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the black-garbed footman.

  Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. ‘Aye, miss, like a shadow. I done just what you asked.’

  Melusine was quite aware of the effect she had on the young lad. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. She had need of a devoted cavalier and Jack had proved eminently valuable.

  ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase.’

  Kimble’s eyes widened. ‘Was you following, too, miss?’

  ‘Certainly I was following. Only that I was prevented by one of those soldiers that caught me in the big house.’

  ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. ‘They weren’t no soldiers.’

  ‘They wear a uniform, do they not? They march and fight with swords and shoot with guns, no?’

  ‘Well, yes, miss.’

  ‘Then they are soldiers. And me, I know very much of soldiers. One must be on guard. Now do not make me any more arguments, but tell me at once where that pig is gone.’

  Jack blinked. ‘Pig, miss?’

  ‘The one who calls himself Valade, idiot,’ snapped Melusine impatiently.

  ‘Oh, the Frenchie. On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. In Hamilton Place that is, like I told you before, miss.’

  ‘Yes, that is Mr Brewis Charvill, as you have found out for me.’ She struck her hands together. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. ‘At least I couldn’t say for sure. He went in there, and he was in there for a good half hour. But I never seen Mr Charvill, and when the Frenchie come out, I followed him again, like you told me. But he only went home again to Paddington.’

  Melusine swung away and moved to stare dully out of the window of the little chapel vestry onto the mews outside. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. The nuns wore their habit, and said all their offices, and went about their tasks unobtrusively, relieving the poor and needy and tending the sick. They troubled no one, and as long as they did not noise themselves abroad and make a nuisance of themselves in this Protestant country, no one troubled them.

  The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. It was situated off a little hallway that led also to the kitchens and the back door to the outside. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited.

  There was little more here than a sideboard, a chest for the vestments, and a simple wooden chair. But it was generally unused, and so was a suitable spot for these secret meetings, when Melusine plotted and delivered her instructions to Jack Kimble. He was officially in the nun’s employ, but Melusine had commandeered his services immediately on the discovery that he had conceived a passion for her. Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it. It troubled her conscience a little, but Melusine had learned well of Leonardo and she trusted his word

  Besides, no one could expect that a jeune demoiselle, in a foreign land, might carry out quite alone the difficult task with which she was faced. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. Although she had refused to answer his impertinent questions. He was every bit as much a pig as this Emile.

  The image of Major Alderley came into her mind. She was obliged to concede that his features were pleasing, his strength and vitality attractive; and there was no denying how well this uniform of a militia suited his figure, which was lean and powerful both. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. No, this was not reasonable. A pig, yes, a little. But not so much a pig as that man.

  A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. Decidedly this was imbecile. But Melusine was a little inclined to like this side of the major. Although she did not understand why he persisted in this pursuit of her affairs. A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. He was a man tout à fait capable, this Gerald. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her.

  Melusine gave herself a little mental shake. But, no. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. Conquer the difficult situation in which she found herself. Through no fault of her own. But through the fault of that pig, who dared to call himself Valade and masquerade in society under her birthright. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. And if this soi-disant Valade had already gone to Monsieur Charvill—

  ‘Very well,’ she said to Jack without turning round, ‘but now is Wednesday. What does he do these three days?’

  She had come daily to the vestry, hoping to meet the lad and hear his report. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. And on Monday and Tuesday she had failed to find him here. What had been happening all this time?

  ‘Do you tell me he has not again left his apartment?’

  ‘Only to go to some party or other Monday night,’ Kimble said. ‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it.’

  Melusine heard a note of triumph in his voice and turned, a questioning look in her face. ‘You have something more to tell me?’

  Jack grinned. ‘Yes, miss.’ He reddened a little, and shuffled his feet. ‘I thought as how it couldn’t do no harm, and as it turns out, it done me a bit of good.’

  ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady.

  ‘Well, I thought as how someone in the house in Paddington might see me hanging about outside like. So Monday, when I see one of the maids come out with a basket, for to go fetch summat for that other Frenchie—the female as I told you about, miss, as is forever coming and going with the nobs.’

  ‘Madame la Comtesse,’ put in Melusine, for she had learned much by pumping le pére Saint-Simon, who was acquainted with all the French exiles. The Father did not know of course about her connection with the Valades. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives.

  ‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party. Anyways, we gets friendly and chats each day, and yesterday I mentions about that Mr Charvill, and the maid ups and says that Frenchie and his missus is going out of town to visit him.’

  ‘Comment? But already he has made this visit—in town.’

  ‘Just what I thought, miss. So I asks the maid a few questions like, and it seems it ain’t Mister Charvill they’re going to visit again, but General Charvill.’ He stopped suddenly, dismay creeping into his face. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’

  Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. ‘No, no, Jacques, you have done very right. But, when? When do they go?’

  ‘Today, miss. That’s why I come to tell you.’

  ‘Dieu du ciel! But this is catastrophe.’

  Kimble gaped at her and Melusine struggled to pull herself out of the shock.

  ‘What can I do, miss?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ cried Melusine. ‘I do not know if even I can do an
ything now. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. If he succeeds there, I do not know how I can prove myself.’

  ‘Melusine!’ came sharply from the doorway.

  She turned quickly. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Martha had the square look of solid English citizenry, which was not deceiving. She came originally of country stock, and had been virtually in sole charge of Melusine almost from the hour of her birth—a thankless task, as Melusine had heard her bemoan countless times, with the rider that she had carried it out with a conspicuous lack of success.

  Melusine sighed with frustration. Why must her old nurse discover her precisely at this moment?

  ‘What are you at now, may I ask?’ Martha glared at the footman. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. Not alone with her, that’s sure.’

  ‘No, sister, I know that, but—’

  ‘You needn’t tell me. Go away now, there’s a good lad. Must be plenty of work for you to do.’

  ‘But, sister, I—’

  ‘Get along!’

  Melusine gave Jack a smile as he cast a worried look at her, and nodded dismissal. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said.

  ‘Now then, my girl, why the long face?’

  Melusine had no hesitation in placing her trouble before her old nurse, for it was Martha who had made her aware of her true history. She owed the nun a great deal, including her command of English, for no one else thought to ensure she could speak her mother tongue.

  ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron.’

  ‘Mercy me,’ gasped the nun. ‘The general himself?’

  ‘How shall I get my inheritance if the general will believe that pig?’

  ‘Do wish you wouldn’t keep on calling him a pig,’ Martha begged. ‘Not at all ladylike.’

  ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’

  ‘None of that. You’re a lady all right and tight, and nothing anyone does can take that away from you.’

  ‘Yes, but if it is only we that know, it is of no use at all to me.’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again.

  ‘Well, if that’s what the good Lord wants, then you’ll just have to accept it.’

  ‘But me, I am not very good with accepting,’ Melusine said bitterly over her shoulder.

  ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. ‘All this gadding about. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think.’

  Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine.’

  ‘And she’d be right,’ Martha said severely. ‘A devil is just what you are. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question.’

  Melusine shrugged. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so.’

  ‘Aye, more’s the pity. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth.’

  ‘How can you say so?’ protested Melusine.

  ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. You won’t settle and I’m going mad.’ She shook her head. ‘I should never have told you.’

  ‘But, Marthe, you do not imagine that I would have taken the veil like you, even if you have not told me. And to wish not is useless, because you have told me from when I was a little girl.’

  ‘True enough,’ nodded Martha sadly. ‘Thought it was downright wicked to keep you ignorant of your proper background. How was I to know what would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the veil.’

  ‘He said!’ Melusine uttered scornfully. ‘What a fate he finds for me. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so.’

  ‘Melusine,’ shrieked the nun. ‘That’s wicked, that is. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will.’

  ‘Well, but Leonardo he was excessively useful to me, you know,’ Melusine said airily. ‘Many things he taught me. Things that you and the nuns would not think about for—’

  She stopped, biting back the words “for a young girl”. If Martha knew all, she would certainly die of shock.

  ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. And Mother trusted him. Italians. That’s Italians for you.’

  ‘Pah! One little kiss, voilá tout.’

  Martha got up with a swish of her black habit. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it.’

  Melusine did not forget. She had agonized over it for weeks. Moreoever, it had cost her a whipping and several days’ imprisonment in her cell on bread and water. But her tears had been for Leonardo’s expulsion, and the loss of his companionship. He had changed her life dramatically, and she had missed him dreadfully.

  ‘Let me tell you,’ went on the nun severely, ‘it would have been better for you if you had taken the veil.’

  ‘You think it would have been better for me to stay as a nun and be killed like the Valades?’ said Melusine, brutally frank. ‘Or perhaps to marry the soi-disant cousin that Emile portrays?’

  That silenced Martha, for the Mother Abbess had sent her off with Melusine to England not only for the sake of the girl herself, but to save at least one of her nuns from the growing wrath of the populace of France. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection.

  But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin. If Emile can see him, then so also can I.’

  ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively.

  ‘You know what I am about,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. ‘To go to these Charvill, it was not in my plot. I wish nothing at all from them. And by monsieur le baron, of a disposition entirely unforgiving, I do not desire to be recognised in the least. Now I require it, only that I may stop this pig from ruining all. Alors, one must steel oneself.’

  Gerald Alderley stepped out of a house he had been visiting in Hamilton Place and the door closed behind him. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption.

  He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London.

  Gerald watched its approach with vague interest, which quickened when he saw that it was drawing up outside the very house out of which he had just stepped. The door opened. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible.

  Of all the amazing coincidences. Though Gerald must suppose it was inevitable she should eventually come here. But to choose this of all moments. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.

  Melusine—the real Melusine—evidently did not see him immediately, for her attention was on her descent from the high vehicle. She accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into the road, glancing up at the house as she did so. Gerald saw her eyes change as she recognised him.

  ‘Oh, peste.’

  ‘How do you do?’ Gerald said pleasantly, st
epping from the pillared portico and coming down the shallow stairway.

  ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. ‘Again you seek to interfere in my affairs?’

  ‘I did warn you I had every intention of doing so,’ said Gerald. ‘And I am delighted to see that you are ready to admit that the Charvills—or rather the Valades—are indeed your affair.’

  A multitude of changes flitted across Melusine’s features as she stood there for a space, unusually silent. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now. That she was provoked by his interference was obvious.

  Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone.

  ‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know. Which are you—Valade or Charvill? Or, no, let me guess. Both, perhaps?’

  At that, her eyes darkened with fury. ‘I have told you that I am entirely English.’

  ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed.

  ‘This is altogether insupportable!’

  She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman.

  ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy.

  ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ Gerald said calmly. ‘She won’t.’

  He took a pace forward, seizing the gun with one hand, while the other locked her arm so that he could forcibly wrest the weapon from her. The struggle was brief, and Gerald stepped aside, the pistol in his possession, while the girl Melusine stood trembling and glaring. She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved.

  ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing.’

  ‘But he’s a major of militia, miss.’

  Gerald noted the mixture of respect and apprehension in the glance he received from the boy. ‘You see, unlike you, mademoiselle, your cavalier here would not wish to be arrested.’

  ‘You will not arrest him, because I will shoot you first,’ snapped Melusine.

  ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. He looked the boy over with interest. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’

  ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. He is Jacques. En tout cas, Leonardo is also a soldier.’

  ‘Oh, is he?’ Gerald said grimly.

  ‘Give me my pistol!’

  Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. ‘I can’t do that. Besides, you cannot visit people armed with a pistol in London, you know. It is not at all comme il faut.’ He bowed slightly, and indicated the house behind them with a wave of his hand. ‘But don’t let me stop you from going to see Charvill. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard.’

  ‘And now we know also who is the prétendant, Mademoiselle Charvill.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’

  ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom.’

  ‘And you will not,’ came triumphantly from the cherry lips. ‘So now you will please to go away and leave me to my business.’

  ‘But I am not stopping you from carrying on your business. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. I’ve just seen him.’

  ‘You have seen him? Exactement. And me, I wish to know why you have seen him. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. I do not care, but only that you will leave my affairs to me.’

  She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. Gerald sighed. ‘You’re right. It is perfectly intrusive of me, and I quite see that you must be sick to death of running into such an interfering busybody all the time.’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I’ll make you an offer.’

  ‘What offer?’ she asked, suspicion rife in her voice.

  ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square.’

  Shock spread across her lovely features. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears.

  ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. ‘Not in the open street.’ He turned to the goggling footman and thrust him towards the coach. ‘Open the door, fool!’

  Then he had Melusine by the shoulders and was hustling her into the hackney. With a curt command to her cavalier to get up on the box and give the direction to the interested coachman, he jumped in beside the girl and shut them both into privacy.

  Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him.

  ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. ‘Let go!’

  ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Gerald demanded. ‘Don’t concern yourself. It is a precaution merely. I have to see if you carry any more weapons.’

  ‘How can I have more? You have taken my pistol. You have taken my dagger. You have taken even my knife. Do you think a jeune demoiselle may possess more weapons than this?’

  ‘Most young ladies would not be in possession of any weapons,’ Gerald said tartly. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. I’m taking no chances.’

  She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at her.

  ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. ‘You do not dare look in my clothes.’

  ‘Oh, don’t I? What do you have under all those petticoats, a holster?’

  ‘But yes, and they are empty.’

  ‘They? How many are there?’

  ‘Oh, peste.’ She struggled. ‘You have said you do not wish to hurt me.’

  ‘I also said, if you remember, that I could not promise not to do so. Now keep still. You will only make me hurt you the more.’

  ‘But I have told you I have not another dagger, even a little one.’

  ‘A dagger, is it then?’

  The girl froze. ‘What do you mean?’

  Gerald grinned. ‘In fact you admitted only that you had no more weapons. But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again. ‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing.’

  ‘To you,’ she said angrily. ‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile.’

  ‘I am whatever you like,’ he agreed pleasantly, ‘but nothing is going to stop me from searching for this dagger. And meanwhile, we’ll just have these no doubt potentially lethal little claws of yours out of harm’s way.’

  So saying, he pulled her forward, slipping her arms about his back. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions.

  Melusine was unable to repulse him—even had she tried. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. She could not say a word, much less move. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.

  Then the incredible happened. The major’s hand stilled. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. His eyes swept down and Melusine felt the quiver at her lips where he gazed. His glance came up again and met hers. Melusine saw fire in his eyes and a streak of heat rus
hed through her to match it. And then she could see nothing at all for his lips founds hers.

  The kiss was powerfully moving. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. They pressed more insistently, forcing her lips open.

  A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her!

  She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers.

  It was a moment or two before Gerald, opening his eyes on the girl’s astounded expression, recollected himself sufficiently to pull out of the extraordinary impact she’d had on him. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. Until he felt a sharpness digging into his coat at the point of his heart.

  He glanced down between the still narrow distance that lay between Melusine and himself, and discovered her hand there, a very small dagger within it. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance.

  ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid.

  ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. ‘And n-never would you have f-found it. It has instead found you.’

  ‘So I see. It was not quite the search I intended,’ he said with a touch of self-mockery as he released her, ‘but success comes in all sorts of unexpected ways.’

  ‘Success?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You kissed me that you might make me find it for you instead?’

  ‘I had no such intention. I certainly didn’t mean to kiss you.’

  ‘Parbleu, you deserve I should stick this dagger in you this minute.’

  Gerald raised his brows. ‘For kissing you, or for not meaning to do so?’

  ‘Imbecile,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. ‘You should not kiss me at all, and undoubtedly I should kill you.’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ Gerald agreed. He held her eyes. ‘Why don’t you?’

  Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. ‘You wish to die?’

  ‘Not in the least. But I shan’t try to stop you. You have threatened to kill me for nothing, I know not how many times. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill.’

  He held his hands out of the way, surrendering his chest for her assault. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him.

  ‘But it is idiot. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so.’

  ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald.

  ‘Exactement.’

  Gerald held out his hand, and she meekly gave the dagger up to him. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully.

  ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. For my blood you made it very hot indeed.’

  ‘Did I so?’ Gerald said, amused. ‘I assure you it was mutual.’

  Which effectually silenced her. She blushed prettily, and in a moment regained command of her tongue.

  ‘Why did you kiss me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gerald admitted.

  ‘There you have soldiers. For nothing they kiss.’

  ‘Oh, do they?’ Gerald said, sudden wrath kindling. ‘I suppose I need not ask to which other soldier you refer.’

  ‘That is not your affair. En tout cas, we are not talking of that kiss, but of this one.’

  ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it.’

  Melusine glared. ‘I find you excessively rude. Why should you wish to forget it? Unless it is that you did not enjoy it.’

  ‘I didn’t say I did not enjoy it,’ Gerald protested.

  She smiled. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed.

  ‘Ah.’ Melusine sighed in a satisfied way. ‘So it is that you could not help it. That can be very useful, that.’

  ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully. ‘If you imagine you’re going to use one ungentlemanly act to manipulate me, you very much mistake the matter.’

  ‘Yes, but when I think about this, I do not think I can do so,’ she said candidly. ‘For that, I must conceal that I also have enjoyed the kiss.’

  ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. ‘But the fact remains that you should not have enjoyed it, you were quite right to threaten to kill me, and I—God help me!—should not have kissed you at all.’

  ‘Then why,’ demanded Melusine, ‘did you do it?’

  Gerald closed his eyes. ‘Here we go again.’

  She giggled suddenly. ‘Gérard, you are a great fool.’

  ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing.’

  ‘But it is stupide. Each time that we meet I try to kill you. Each time also we quarrel, and even if you are laughing very much, you become angry. And still you interest yourself in my affairs. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer.’

  ‘Now you come to mention it, it is stupid,’ Gerald said, struck. ‘Hilary was right. He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses.’

  ‘That is silly. Certainly you have a reason.’ She eyed him. ‘It does not seem to me that you can be an emissary for that pig.’

  ‘You mean Valade? Certainly not.’

  A little sigh escaped her. ‘I did not think so.’

  Gerald reached out and took her hand, enclosing it between both his own. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’

  His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. ‘I do not know. I am used, you understand, to guard my secret. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man.’

  ‘Leonardo again,’ Gerald muttered and, to her disappointment, dropped her hand. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’

  ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. ‘He wanted me also to run away with him, and I wish very much that I had done so.’

  ‘What, a common soldier?’

  ‘He was not a common soldier. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti.’

  ‘He doesn’t sound like a desirable parti. How did you meet him?’

  ‘He was wounded and came to the convent for sanctuary,’ Melusine told him, stung by his criticism into revealing more than she had intended.

  ‘If he needed sanctuary, it raises grave doubts about his activities.’

  ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see. That is very bad, certainly, and for this he was extremely sorry. It was a duel, you understand, and that is not permitted.’

  ‘A pretty tale. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune.’

  ‘Yes, that is what he said,’ agreed Melusine, pleased to find him of so ready an understanding.

  ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. ‘You don’t even know what it means, do you?’

  Melusine frowned. ‘Comment? What do you say?’

  Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had hero-worshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. But she had loved the man. Loved his memory still, for all he knew. The thought caused him an odd kind of pa
ng—of pity, naturally. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her.

  ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. ‘But tell me this instead. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out.’

  Melusine’s eyes flashed. ‘That is not your affair. En tout cas, no one has asked you to puzzle out anything at all. Least of all myself.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m hanged if I see what your game is.’

  ‘I have no game.’

  ‘Your plan, then. Why are you doing all this?’

  To his surprise, Melusine relaxed back, emitting a laugh that sounded perfectly genuine.

  ‘But that is easy. It is so that I may marry an Englishman. Why else?’

  Gerald stared at her blankly. ‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’

  Melusine shrugged. ‘That I do not yet know. I shall have to discover one suitable.’

  Taken aback, Gerald let out a short laugh. ‘Don’t be so absurd.’

  ‘It is you who is absurd,’ countered Melusine, the spark returning to her eye. ‘You will not believe any of my very clever lies. Now when I tell you exactly the truth, you will also not believe me.’

  ‘Because I have never heard anything so ridiculous,’ Gerald announced. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. You break into a gentleman’s residence—’

  ‘I did not break in.’

  ‘Don’t interrupt me! You break into a gentleman’s residence, I say, and hold up two members of His Majesty’s peacekeeping forces with a pistol. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. You skulk in shadows, following an émigré. You come to visit a completely different gentleman at his home. And you tell me that the reason you are doing all this is so that you can marry an Englishman!’

  Melusine giggled. ‘When you say it like this, certainly it appears absurd. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs. But it is the truth.’

  ‘Then who is this Englishman?’ demanded Gerald on a sceptical note. ‘Some ineligible that your parents would not tolerate, I suppose.’

  ‘Ah.’ There was satisfaction in Melusine’s voice. ‘That was one of my own clever stories.’

  Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit. ‘So it was.’

  ‘And it is very stupid of you to think of such a thing, because in this case, why should I seek out my family?’

  Triumph rose in Gerald’s breast, but he took care to conceal it. That was an admission all right.

  ‘You are not the only one to seek them out,’ he said.

  ‘Do you think I do not know? If this pig has not done so, there would be no need for me to do it. I do not wish to seek them out, en effet.’

  ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. ‘To see Charvill.’

  She sighed. ‘I must, for that the pig has already gone to monsieur le baron.’

  ‘You mean Valade? Don’t be downhearted. Charvill does not believe the general will accept them.’

  She seemed to recollect herself suddenly. ‘Parbleu, how you make me talk!’

  ‘Your secret is safe with me, I promise you,’ Gerald said reassuringly.

  The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. Then, seeing Melusine’s feathered beaver had fallen to the floor, picked that up for her.

  She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. ‘Allow me.’ He fitted the hat onto her head, and was aware as he did so of her eyes watching his face. He looked down and met them.

  ‘Merci,’ Melusine said, and smiled.

  Gerald’s breath caught. But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. Hastily, he reached for the door. As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Gerald said, jumping down from the coach and waiting for the fellow to let down the steps for Melusine, ‘I had forgotten about you.’ He held out his hand to help the girl descend. ‘I suppose this is the cavalier you had with you when you—er—attended the ball the other night?’

  ‘Jacques is very useful to me,’ Melusine confirmed, bestowing that same radiant smile on the young man, whose features were instantly suffused with scarlet. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. ‘And now, monsieur le major—’

  ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. He glanced up at the coachman. ‘Wait for me.’

  Melusine shrugged, and crossed to the plain door beside which hung a bell. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. It opened and a nun’s head popped out.

  ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. ‘Come inside at once, child. I’ve been on the watch for you.’

  ‘But why, Marthe,’ asked Melusine, as she walked into the house.

  Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder.

  ‘I want a word with you, my lad. Await me in the coach.’

  Without stopping for a response, Gerald pushed past him and entered the convent just in time to hear Melusine protesting.

  ‘I have told you I will take Jacques. There was no need to be afraid for me.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ the nun said urgently, ‘but I’ve remembered something important.’

  ‘Truly?’ Melusine said excitedly. ‘Speak, then.’

  But the nun’s eyes had caught Gerald behind and she took instant umbrage. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. Oh, what have you been about now?’

  ‘There is no need to be concerned. Mademoiselle has had no harm of me,’ Gerald said soothingly and bowed. ‘I am Major Gerald Alderley of the West Kent Militia.’

  ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled.

  ‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him. ‘This is not a place for a man. You will go out at once, if you please.’

  She fairly pushed at Gerald, who grinned and gave in, moving back to the still open door. He stepped out but, rather to his surprise, found Melusine following him. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up.

  Gerald looked at it, then at her face. ‘Is that a gesture of friendship?’

  She stamped her foot. ‘It is nothing at all of the kind. Give me my pistol and my dagger.’

  Gerald hissed in a doubtful breath. ‘I don’t know that I dare.’

  ‘But you must. How will I protect myself if you do not?’

  ‘If you will only confide in me, I will be happy to protect you,’ Gerald said cheerfully.

  ‘You cannot be always with me. How can you protect me? Moreover, it is stealing that you have done, and therefore—’

  ‘Don’t tell me you expect me to arrest myself again.’

  Melusine giggled. ‘Imbecile.’ Then she came closer and put her hand on his chest so that it rested on the braid that decorated his scarlet coat. ‘Gérard—’

  ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style.’

  Melusine hit lightly at his chest. ‘Do not be foolish. You see, it is that I begin to like you, even that you are of this disposition extremely interfering. But I do not know you at all, in truth, and I do not understand why you do this.’

  ‘Because I like you, of course,’ Gerald said promptly. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. What are you after?’

  ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back.

  ‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all. In fact, it would not surprise me to discover that they were both Leonardo’s.’

  ‘
But he gives them to me.’

  ‘Willingly?’

  ‘Parbleu, what a person you think me.’

  ‘I think you—’ He broke off abruptly, astonished at what he had been about to say. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. Her voice recalled him.

  ‘Quick, Gérard. Before Marthe will become impatient and come out. She will die if she knows I have a gun.’

  ‘Very well, Melusine, you win,’ Gerald said unguardedly, and dug his hand into his pocket.

  Her mouth at half-cock, Melusine stood there staring at him. She received into her slack grasp the pistol and dagger, only half aware of taking them.

  His expression altered. ‘What is the matter?’

  ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly.

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Why, what have I said?’

  ‘You said to me my name.’

  His features relaxed again and he grinned. ‘I told you I would find out all about you, Melusine.’ His finger came out and Melusine felt it stroke her cheek. A shiver slid down inside her. ‘It’s a pretty name. As pretty as its owner.’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back.

  Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience.

  ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’ She grasped the girl’s arm. ‘Anyhow, never mind that now. Melusine, I’ve remembered something that may help you. You’ll have to go back to Remenham House.’