Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy Read online

  Marian turned to Emmaline and Gabriel. “Come tomorrow for dinner. We will know something then and can decide what to do next.”

  The ladies retired to the drawing room and Allan, Gabe and Vernon remained in the dining room, drinking brandy.

  Gabe absently ran his finger along the rim of his glass, while Vernon and Allan continued to discuss the impending visit to Tranville.

  Ever since Emmaline had walked into his life again, Gabe’s emotions had been in a muddle. It was best he stay out of Tranville’s sights; the man had the power to ruin his chances for a new commission, after all. At the same time, he was having difficulty sharing the task of helping Emmaline, even with his friends.

  Vernon pointed a finger at Allan. “Take care you don’t even hint why you ask about Edwin.”

  “We will be careful.” Allan smiled. “I’m afraid both Marian and I are well practised in keeping secrets.” He turned to Gabe. “What is between you and Madame Mableau?”

  Gabe felt his face burn. “There is nothing between us.”

  Allan persisted. “But she sought you out.”

  “Who else? She does not know anyone in England.” He tried to sound matter of fact.

  “I cannot forget those days in Badajoz,” Vernon said in a low voice. “It is difficult to blame her son for remembering it with such hatred.”

  Gabe stared into his drink. “A lot of bad things happened during the war. We must leave it behind us.” At least that was what he aspired to do.

  Vernon slid cautious glances at them both. “Did any of it ever come back to you?” His tone was hushed. “I had moments when I actually thought I was back there.”

  “I have had nightmares about it,” Allan admitted.

  Gabe dreamt of Badajoz as well, but the dreams always were about Emmaline.

  How odd it was that one event in Badajoz bound him with Allan and Vernon and that none of them could escape being affected by it still. Even more ironic, they were all connected to Edwin Tranville. At least Gabe did not have to count Edwin among his family. Theoretically, he could walk away from all this and never think of it again.

  Theoretically.

  He could have refused to help Emmaline. He had no reason to be involved. None of them did, except that they had witnessed Edwin’s despicable behaviour and Gabe had learned precisely how acutely it had affected Emmaline and her son.

  She had looked more beautiful than ever this night, a worthy rival even for Jack Vernon’s wife. The lace on her dress reminded him of the lace shop, of her busy fingers smoothing the delicate creations, folding them or presenting them for display. He imagined her selecting the lace for her collar and cuffs from the strips of lace hanging over rods in the shop. He could see her pleating it and sewing it to her dress, her eyes concentrating on her work, her lips pressed into a line, her fingers as graceful as a ballet dancer as she pulled the needle through. Those same fingers had stroked his naked skin, those lips had showered him with kisses, and her eyes, until that morning when he had proposed marriage, had looked upon him with desire.

  “Are you thinking of that night, Gabe?” Allan asked.

  He glanced up and realised he’d missed some of the conversation.

  “The night in Badajoz?” Not the nights he’d made love to Emmaline in her bed.

  Allan’s brow creased. “Yes—what were you thinking of?”

  Gabe stared into his drink. “I was thinking that we should have killed Edwin that night.”

  “Gabe!” Allan looked shocked.

  Gabe went on. “No one would have known. We would have done the world and ourselves a good turn.”

  Vernon lifted his glass to his lips. “I’m inclined to agree.”

  Allan shook his head. “You are speaking nonsense. I know you, Gabe. You would not take a man’s life without cause.”

  “It seems to me we had good cause,” Gabe retorted. “This revenge of Claude’s, this quest of his mother’s, none of it would be necessary had we rid the world of him that night.”

  How different might it have been if they had put a period to Edwin’s existence. Perhaps even Brussels would have been different.

  Chapter Ten

  The next night they again gathered in Marian and Allan’s drawing room, connected by one event, one person, the person Gabe was now duty-bound to find. He glanced at Emmaline as Allan poured glasses of claret and passed them around. She had chosen a chair, not wanting Gabe to sit next to her, he supposed. He envied Jack and Ariana, so comfortable together on the small sofa. But Emmaline did not appear to take heed of them or of Gabe. Her gaze darted from Allan to Marian. Gabe could feel her impatience for them to speak.

  Allan’s grave expression showed that there would not be a celebratory toast. Gabe sipped his wine and waited.

  Allan finally took a seat next to his wife on the other sofa. “I won’t tease you any longer. We do have news of Edwin…”

  “He is no longer in London,” Marian finished for him. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We do know where he is, however,” Allan continued. “He’s gone to Bath.”

  “My uncle sent him there,” Marian explained in their seamless joint narrative. “You see, my uncle made a quick trip to town about the same time as the soldiers’ march, and he was furious to learn how abysmally Edwin failed in his duties to Lord Sidmouth, so he banished Edwin to Bath, to the house that was my aunt’s.” She turned to Jack. “You remember the house, do you not?”

  Jack nodded. “About a mile off the Wells Road.”

  “That is it.” She turned back to Gabe and Emmaline. “Uncle Tranville told Edwin to stay there and not show his face in town until his shameful behaviour was forgotten.” She made a wry smile. “That is nearly an exact quote. Minus the malediction.”

  Allan turned back to Emmaline with a reassuring look. “Bath is not far. A day’s journey by coach on good roads.”

  “Then I will travel there tomorrow.” Emmaline darted a glance at Gabriel as if unsure that he would accompany her.

  “Will you escort her there, Gabe?” Allan asked. It was more like an order than a question.

  Did he think Gabe would leave this task to her alone? She was wrong to have asked it of him and insulting to offer herself in marriage as payment, but Gabe was not without honour and compassion. He’d seen how frightened she was at the prospect of coming face to face with Edwin.

  Gabe met Allan’s gaze. “I will take her.”

  “Tomorrow, Gabriel?” Emmaline still looked tense.

  He stood. “Tomorrow. But I need time to make arrangements, so I’ll not stay to dinner.”

  Emmaline rose.

  He barely looked at her. “You may remain, Emmaline. Jack and Ariana can see you back to your hotel.” He glanced at Jack.

  “Our pleasure.” Jack stood and shook his hand.

  Emmaline took a step towards him. “I want to come with you.”

  He shook his head. “Your company will make it more difficult.” Her mere presence made everything more difficult, arousing sensations and emotions that were best buried in the past.

  Their gazes caught for a moment, but Gabe quickly turned away.

  “The coaches leave very early. Be ready at four in the morning. I will come to pick you up.” He bowed to the others. “Good night.”

  Allan walked him to the door. “Is there any way we can help?”

  “You’ve already helped.” Gabe collected his hat and gloves.

  Reilly appeared in the hall and opened the door for him.

  Allan walked him to it. “Maybe some day we can all put Badajoz to rest. After this, perhaps.”

  Gabe shook his hand. “Perhaps.”

  Gabe stepped out into the night and headed towards Oxford Street in search of a hackney coach to carry him to the Strand and the Angel Inn where passage on a fast coach to Bath could be procured.

  At four the next morning, Emmaline waited in the hall of her hotel, her portmanteau, packed w
ith all her possessions, at her feet. As she watched out of the window, she twisted the drawstring of her reticule, fighting an attack of nerves.

  She feared encountering Edwin Tranville almost as much as she feared they would find him too late. As if it were yesterday she could feel his hands on her, forcing her to the cobbles, lifting her skirts. She could smell the stink of spirits on his breath, the smell of her husband’s blood spilled nearby.

  Emmaline shuddered with the memory, enraged tears stinging her eyes. She remembered the knife in her hand, remembered its point piercing Edwin’s face, slicing his cheek like a piece of raw meat. If only Gabe had not stopped her. She would have pushed that knife into Edwin’s body, stabbed him like the others had stabbed Remy, killed Edwin like the others had killed Remy.

  If only Gabriel had not stopped her.

  Non. She must not regret Gabriel. He’d hidden her and Claude. He’d protected them, given them money.

  And when he’d returned to her in Brussels, he’d shown her a happiness unlike any she’d ever hoped to experience. She let her thoughts turn to the pleasure of being held by Gabriel, of his kisses and caresses, of the intense joy of joining her body to his.

  The sound of horses’ hooves broke into her reverie. A hackney coach appeared out of the darkness and approached the front of the hotel.

  She turned to the hall servant, a young man dozing in a nearby chair. “My coach is here.”

  He roused himself to unlock the door and open it for her.

  As she stepped out into the pre-dawn air, Emmaline saw Gabriel approaching, like an apparition formed from out of the departing night.

  She gripped the handle of her portmanteau and met him halfway.

  With only a nod for a greeting he took her bag, brushing her hand with his, rousing her body’s yearnings, the memories of which had soothed her from more painful ones.

  She followed him to the coach. He touched her again to help her inside and she fought the impulse to bury herself in his arms, to press her face against his chest and the strong rhythm of his heartbeat.

  Instead she was greeted by Jack and Ariana Vernon.

  “We decided to accompany you,” Ariana said in her musical voice. “Jack contacted Gabe after we left you last night. It seemed the logical thing to do.”

  “I grew up in Bath,” her husband explained. “And I know Edwin. I am in a good position to help.”

  Ariana smiled. “And I would not allow him to leave me behind.”

  Emmaline could not have been more surprised that these mere acquaintances were willing to help a Frenchwoman, someone they could just as easily perceive as their enemy.

  Gabriel climbed in and sat next to her, of necessity brushing her shoulder with his own.

  “We managed to get seats for all of us in the same coach,” Jack went on. “That was a stroke of good luck.”

  “Do we ride to Bath in this coach?” Emmaline asked, fearful at how much it cost to hire such a vehicle. Her funds were limited.

  Gabriel replied, “This takes us to the inn where the Bath stage departs.”

  The hackney began to roll. Emmaline lost track of where they were headed, but the coach soon pulled up to a busy coaching inn, its sign displaying a picture of an angel. Even at this early hour, the place was a bustle of activity.

  They climbed out of the coach. Gabriel took Emmaline’s arm and escorted her to a place out of the way of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels and men carrying huge bundles on their shoulders.

  She managed to ask him, “How much money do I give you for the fare?”

  He set down her portmanteau and his travelling bag. “Do not speak to me of money. I can easily afford the cost of this trip for us both.”

  His tone puzzled her. Why was he so generous to her when he so obviously resented making the trip?

  Jack and Ariana joined her; Ariana put a comforting hand on Emmaline’s arm. “By tonight we shall be in Bath, and tomorrow Jack and Gabe will find Edwin and all will be set to rights.”

  Except that Emmaline must still find Claude and convince him to abandon this dangerous vengeance. “Do you know Edwin Tranville?” she asked.

  Ariana shrugged. “I have met him, but I can claim no real acquaintance with him. I remember him as a disagreeable man who drinks too much wine.” She gave Emmaline a sympathetic look. “Jack told me something of your encounter with Edwin. It was terrible, but I doubt Edwin poses a threat to anyone now.”

  “Except to my son,” Emmaline murmured.

  Gabriel returned, and he and Jack picked up their baggage.

  “This way,” Gabriel said.

  Soon they were seated inside a large coach with two other passengers. Gabriel again sat next to her, giving her the window seat, and the Vernons sat across from them. A woman next to Jack carried a large basket smelling of sausage. A man dressed in a shabby brown coat and knee breeches sat opposite her.

  With the bleat of a horn and much shouting, the coach lurched forwards, and soon they were on a road headed out of the city.

  The sky lightened with each mile of the journey, although a steady drizzle of rain hid the sun. Ariana soon snuggled against her husband and fell asleep. Emmaline wished she could lean against Gabriel in a like manner, to feel him hold her like Jack held Ariana. With the two strangers in the carriage, there was little any of them could say to the purpose of their travel to Bath, so Gabriel and Jack conversed about army matters and other mundane topics. Gabriel said nothing to Emmaline.

  At the first stop to change horses, he finally spoke to her. “Stretch your legs while you can.”

  She did not need to be urged.

  She and Ariana used the necessary while Gabe and Jack purchased some food ready-packed for travellers; within ten minutes they were back in the carriage and on the road.

  By mid-day, the clouds had cleared and the carriage passed rolling green fields dotted with white sheep and picturesque villages. England was a tidy place, Emmaline thought, watching these pretty scenes pass by. How fortunate these villages were to have escaped the very untidy Revolution.

  Ariana, awake now, read a book and Jack busied himself sketching in a small notebook he’d taken from his coat pocket. Emmaline remembered him drawing horses for Claude in Badajoz.

  “What do you sketch, Monsieur Vernon?” Emmaline asked.

  He smiled at her. “Call me Jack.” He handed her his notebook.

  On the page was an image of a posting inn complete with carriages and post boys and travellers.

  “It is where we last stopped,” Emmaline exclaimed. “It looks just like it.”

  Ariana gave a proud glance over the top of her book.

  Emmaline showed it to Gabriel. “Does it not look like the last inn?”

  “Very like.” His voice was curt, as if he disliked her forcing him to speak to her.

  She handed the notebook back to Jack and wondered if she and Gabriel would ever talk easily again, as they had in Brussels.

  “May I draw you, madame?” Jack asked.

  “Moi?” She shrugged. “I suppose. If you desire it.”

  “Remain still,” he said.

  It was a curious feeling to have a man look at her so intently. She supposed Gabriel had done so in Brussels, but Jack merely concerned himself with her image. Gabriel’s gaze had reached directly into her soul.

  Ariana peeked at the sketch and grinned in appreciation. “You’ve got her!”

  Jack continued moving his pencil here and there before he handed the notebook to Emmaline.

  She gazed at it in surprise.

  Surely he’d made her prettier than she really was. The woman in the drawing gazed with large, expressive eyes fringed with thick lashes. Dark tendrils peeked out of her bonnet and her lips looked full and moist.

  “Do I look like that?” she murmured.

  Gabriel touched her hand, tilting the book so he could see. “He almost does you justice.”

  Emmaline’s
breath caught at his words.

  Jack laughed. “That’s praise, indeed!”

  Her hand trembled as she handed the notebook back to Jack.

  He tore the page out and handed it back to her. “For you.”

  “Merci,” she whispered. She held the drawing, trying to think of a place she could put it without wrinkling it.