Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches. Helen Dickson

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      With tears running down her cheeks, Constance had clung fiercely to Maria for a moment longer, and then, tearing herself free, she fled into the house.

      Maria had turned away, too afraid to think of her cousin’s fate.

      As the driver urged the horses into a faster pace, Maria braced herself against the sway of the carriage. Glancing across at her companion, she was suddenly reminded that she was going to be completely alone with a man for the first time in her life, a man who was as handsome of face as he was of physique—and with a boldness that gave her a sense of unease.

      She knew nothing about him, and what, she asked herself, was he doing in France at this present time? She could not exactly understand what she was doing with him and why this stranger should have interested himself in her affairs to the extent of coming halfway across France to find her. Had he some ulterior motive? He might even be a spy—British or French, she had no way of knowing, since she knew nothing about spying.

      During the journey perhaps she could turn the conversation to draw him out, to get him to talk about himself. In some strange way he both attracted and intrigued her. She looked into his light blue eyes and the expression there made her heart trip and beat a little faster. His long compassionate mouth curled in a slight smile.

      ‘We have a long way to go,’ he said, when they were settled, ‘so don’t make this harder on yourself than it need be. You’re stuck with me for a few days so you may as well accept it. Shall we declare a truce for the duration of the journey?’

      ‘Yes, I think we must,’ she concurred.

      ‘We shall also forgo formality and use our given names. It is for the best, you understand.’

      ‘Of course,’ she replied, removing her bonnet and dropping it on the seat beside her.

      ‘I’m sorry the Countess and her daughter would not come with us.’

      Maria felt a small tremor of misgiving. ‘You fear the chateau will be attacked?’

      He nodded gravely. ‘It is only a matter of time. Your aunt is a stubborn woman.’

      ‘Yes, yes, she is. I sincerely hope they come to no harm.’ Maria stared out of the window at the passing scenery. It was all familiar, but soon they would pass into fresh territory that was alien to her. In the grey light it looked dismal. ‘I hate France,’ she said in a small voice, her expression subdued.

      ‘I sense you were not happy at Chateau Feroc?’

      ‘I do not mean to sound ungrateful or uncharitable but, indeed, I could not wait to leave. It is a cold, joyless place with no laughter.’

      ‘And you like to laugh, do you?’

      ‘Yes, although I have been at the chateau so long I fear I might have forgotten how to.’ Inexplicably the laughter rekindled in her eyes and she laughed again, just for the sheer joy of laughing, and when she looked into her companion’s eyes, she experienced a sudden relief of tension.

      Charles smiled a little crookedly, thinking her courageous and fresh and very lovely. Despite her youth and inexperience she was no vapourish miss who would swoon at the first hurdle. ‘You should laugh more often,’ he murmured softly. ‘It suits you.’

      She sighed. ‘There is nothing to feel happy about in France just now. What will happen, do you think? You have been to Paris?’ He nodded. ‘Was it very bad?’

      ‘I saw much blood shed by the mob. I have had to ask myself, where has the dignity, the self-control, the resolution gone in the France of today? But the people have their grievances—it would seem with some justification. The rise in prices and rents, as well as the taxes they have to pay, are increasingly burdensome. It is only right and natural that they want change.

      ‘I agree absolutely and the demands of the people must be listened to and acted on. Privilege must be abolished, and all men should be taxed equally, according to their wealth.’

      Maria looked at him with interest. ‘Anything else?’

      ‘These and a hundred others.’

      ‘You speak like a politician. Is that what you are?’

      A cynical smile curved his lips. ‘No.’

      ‘Then what do you do?’

      ‘Do I have to do anything?’

      ‘I suspect you are not the sort of man who would be content to idle his days away doing nothing.’ She looked out of the window. ‘You have to do something.’

      ‘I dabble.’

      ‘In what?’

      He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘This and that.’

      She took her eyes off the passing scenery and regarded him intently. ‘You mean you’re a businessman?’

      He grinned. ‘You might say that.’

      ‘And is your business respectable?’

      Her question brought a humorous gleam to his eyes, and a tantalising smile played on his lips. ‘Perfectly respectable,’ he declared, ‘but if I were to tell you more of what I do, we will have nothing to talk about, and we have a long way to go.’

      ‘You may not consider the question important, but it is to me. My life is very important to me. Since I have entrusted it to someone I know nothing about, it is perfectly natural that I want to know everything there is to know about you.’

      He stared at her, one black brow raised interrogatively. There was a direct challenge in his eyes, which she found most disturbing.

      ‘Everything?’ he enquired silkily, and Maria could sense the sleeping animal within him begin to stir.

      Her thoughts were thrown into chaos, for she had not expected such an uncompromising response to her hasty remark. She glanced away, trying to regain her composure, and then looked up to meet his eyes.

      ‘I do not wish to offend you, but I do not know you, so how do I know I can trust you?’

      ‘What exactly do you fear?’ he asked. ‘That I am not equal to the task of escorting you to England?’

      ‘I am naturally apprehensive. If you were in my place, wouldn’t you want some indication of your good faith? Since when did businessmen risk their lives by coming to a country torn by strife?’

      ‘When they have family they are concerned about.’

      She looked at him with interest, her green eyes wide and questioning, her lips parted slightly in surprise. ‘Your family live in France?’

      ‘In the south—the Côte d’Azure. My mother is French.’

      ‘I see. So that explains why you speak French like a native. I did wonder. Did you manage to see your family?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And are they all right?’

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