Regency: Innocents & Intrigues. Helen Dickson

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      Charles stayed to drink a much-needed tankard of good, cool ale with Pierre in the common room.

      Relieved to have some time to herself, Maria followed. In a moment he had thrown open a door and ushered her into a cramped chamber with bare whitewashed walls. Dimly illuminated by a single oil lamp, it was furnished with a long narrow bed covered with a flowered counterpane, a wash stand with a jug and basin, and a pair of upright chairs near the window set in the eaves. The innkeeper went out, promising to have dinner sent up.

      The long day of undiluted tension and anxiety had taken its toll. The fire and the horrific images of what the people must have suffered in the flames had affected Maria profoundly. A ragged sob escaped her, and she flung herself away from the door in a desperate attempt to keep her mind from thinking of the many things that did not bear thinking of—of what might have happened to her aunt and Constance. Had the chateau been burned like the villa she had seen? Were they dead, or were they hiding and hunted, with no refuge?

      Pressing trembling fingers against her temples, she sat on the bed. Tears flowed easily and the sleek lines of her body shuddered with each racking sob. She could not believe what had happened. The nightmare had come true at last, just like Charles said it would—noble houses were burning all over France, and this was far worse than any of the dreams had been, because she knew that she would awake from it to find herself trembling with fear.

      Much later, Charles came to her room. Knocking softly on the door, he waited until he was told to enter before turning the handle, surprised, after what had occurred the night before, to find it wasn’t locked. He found her sitting by the tiny window, her fine-boned profile tilted to one side. The forlorn droop of her head went to his heart. He could not help but wonder at the courage of this young woman. He had known no other quite like her, and the disturbing fact was that she seemed capable of disrupting his whole life.

      ‘Maria,’ he said softly.

      She looked at him directly with her clear green eyes, without smiling.

      Crossing the room, he went down on one knee in front of her and took her hand. He longed to take her in his arms and soothe her as he would a frightened child, but her rejection of him would only make matters worse between them. It would be a step too far, too fast, and he didn’t want her to withdraw into the protective shell she seemed to have built around herself and shut him out in the cold.

      He could read nothing on her closed face. Her eyes were downcast, the thick lashes making half-moons on her cheeks. He could not tell if she was welcoming the touch of his hand or grimly enduring it.

      ‘Maria—I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. That you, of all people, should have had to go through that. What I said to you was harsh. I apologise for my tone. As you know, I was not in the best of moods when we came upon the rabble. My temper had been well tested earlier, and I stood very near the edge of losing it entirely.’ A slight, crooked smile curved his lips. ‘Am I forgiven?’

      Maria nodded her acceptance of his apology, but the expression on her face remained impassive.

      ‘If you’re thinking of what happened earlier, forget it. It is behind us now.’

      ‘Perhaps my memory is clearer than yours. Perhaps I cannot forget as easily as you. I can still see that fire, imagine those poor people who must have been—’

      ‘Don’t, Maria. Don’t torture yourself this way. Violence is only one aspect of life.’

      ‘I don’t agree.’

      ‘Yes, you do. Violence has always been hidden from you. It has been done by people far from sight. Now you have been made aware of it, and it will not go away.’

      ‘Do you really think the Seigneur, and perhaps his family, perished in the fire?’

      ‘It looks bad, I’ll admit. But in the absence of any conclusive evidence to the contrary, why not believe that at worst the Seigneur and his family may have been hurt, and afterwards managed to escape?’

      ‘That,’ Maria said, ‘is what I want to believe.’ But there was no hope in her voice. ‘I also want to believe things have not changed at Chateau Feroc. I pray my aunt and Constance are all right. When I remember how I laughed on leaving, of the joy I felt because I was going home—to Gravely.’ She looked at Charles, unable to hide the guilt she felt and the self-disgust.

      ‘Why do you look like that?’

      ‘Because I am ashamed of myself. I ran away and left them to face a terrible fate. How could I?’

      ‘You don’t know that anything has happened to them. Besides, it was their choice to stay.’

      ‘I should not have left them. My aunt took me in when my father died. There was no one else, you see. I was under an obligation to stay and help.’

      ‘The way I see it, you had no alternative but to leave. Colonel Winston was most insistent that you left France while it was still possible. And besides, I had travelled a long way to fetch you. I would have been none too pleased to find my journey had been in vain.’

      Realising that he still retained her hand in his, self-consciously Maria withdrew it, and immediately mourned its loss, its strength. Suddenly she was aware of his proximity and what it was doing to her. When she gazed into the pair of penetrating pale blue eyes levelled on her, her heart turned over.

      Charles stood up and looked at the food she had left untouched. ‘I see you have not eaten. You should eat something.’

      ‘I haven’t much of an appetite at the moment.’

      ‘Then a glass of wine.’

      ‘No—I …’

      ‘I insist.’ Charles poured some of the wine from the decanter into two goblets and handed one to Maria. She took it reluctantly and sipped it slowly. He sat opposite, watching her, and he sensed rather than saw her relaxation of tension.

      ‘Feeling better?’

      She nodded. ‘When do you hope to reach Calais?’

      ‘Tomorrow—hopefully before dark, which means an early start. I can only hope we get there without incident. Before I went to Chateau Feroc, I wrote to Colonel Winston informing him of when we hope to reach Dover—providing everything goes to plan. He will make provision for you after that—unless things change.’ She gave him an enquiring look, but he did not enlarge on this, for it was his dearest hope that after taking one look at Winston, she would send him packing. ‘I have made my own arrangements. We shall part company at Dover, but I will not be at ease until I am assured you are taken care of.’

      Charles looked at her now. ‘I suppose you are looking forward to meeting your betrothed again after all these years, Maria.’

      The unexpectedness of his words took her by surprise. ‘I—I am apprehensive—not knowing what to expect. It has been a long time.’

      ‘Are you afraid?’

      Maria met his steady gaze. ‘I suppose I am—in a way. My dread of meeting Henry again actually intensified rather than abated as time went on,’ she confessed quietly. ‘You know as well as I that my father was СКАЧАТЬ