“How do you suggest we do that?” Rafe asked.
“Well, we could tell the guard that the lady is sick, then you could hide behind the door and conk him a good one when he comes in to check.”
“An original plan,” Rafe said dryly, “but after I’ve conked the guard, how do we get past the rest of the armed men out there? Do we steal the horses before or after we’ve overcome the guards? And as Captain Doret is holding our papers, how do you propose we make our way to Calais without them?”
“Details, you’ve always got to be so caught up in the details, Captain,” Jervis grumbled.
“Might I remind you that this is the French countryside, not the wilds of the colonies? It’s not as if we can just slip away amongst the trees and live off berries and deer meat.”
Alix cut in. “Well, what do you suggest Monsieur Harcrest?”
“Rafe,” he corrected. “I suggest we get a good night’s sleep. In the morning I will show these gentleman the bills of lading in my luggage that prove you, Jervis, and I are exactly what we say.”
And if that doesn’t work, he thought grimly, he would insist word be sent to the English ambassador in Paris. Relations between France and England were deteriorating, but, he speculated, they had not eroded to a point where the fledgling French government was ready to risk the political and economic repercussions of harming a British peer. His business operations would be exposed, and there would be a scandal, but at least Alix would be safe. It struck him that Lady Anne would be most displeased to discover the source of the fortune she was seeking to marry.
Jervis sneezed again and the room fell silent. Alix lay back against the wall, listening as Jones’s congested breathing gradually slipped into a snore. Her fingers worried at the bits of dry straw covering the floor and she wished that sleep would come as easily to her. Rafe’s argument made sense and he seemed so sure that the papers would get them through, but she wished wildly that they’d followed Jervis’s plan. Fighting their way out seemed better than patiently waiting to die.
Rafe listened to Alix’s restless stirrings, wondering that after all she’d been through she hadn’t swooned or broken down in tears. Such a tough exterior for the gently bred daughter of a French aristocrat, and yet he knew she was afraid. She’d be a fool not to be, and that Alix de Rabec de La Brou was not. He wished he knew how to comfort her,to reassure her in some manner that would not ring false. He thought of the nights he’d spent before battle with his men, breaking the tension by swapping insults and bald-faced lies.
Alix heard Rafe draw closer, felt his shoulder bump against hers, then his breath warm against her neck.
“Are you really merchants?” she asked.
“Are you disappointed we’re not English spies?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted.
“So tell me, little Alix, are you a snob? Are you disappointed you’ve married beneath yourself, married a man who earns his living rather than living on what he can inherit or gamble off others?”
She inhaled sharply. “You do have an amazingly low opinion of me, Monsieur Harcrest.”
“Rafe,” he corrected once again.
“I’ve lived among enough titles to know they’re no guarantee of a man’s quality.”
“So,” he teased, “you’re beginning to think I’m a man with qualities.”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“Are you avoiding answering, Alix?”
“You are persistent.”
“Is that a quality?”
“Yes,” she whispered, laughter mingling with the annoyance in her voice.
“See,” he said, “I knew I’d begin to grow on you.”
He pulled her close, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder. “I also make a fine pillow.”
Rafe seemed so certain that everything would be all right. Alix wanted to believe him, wanted to absorb a little of his strength and confidence, she told herself as she leaned back into the cradle of his arms. “I only asked because I wanted to know if you really thought it would convince them to let us go. What you do for a living makes nodifference to me,” she murmured, “I still want my annulment.”
He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Goodnight wife.”
Was she a snob? she wondered.Wasshe disappointed that he wasn’t a man from her class? No, she mused, there was something inherently noble about Rafe. Not just in the way he was risking his life for her, but in the way he carried himself, the proud line of his shoulders, the arrogant turn of his jaw, his ease of command. The way he swept in and tried to take charge of her, she reminded herself sternly. She shook her head, her cheek brushing against the solid wall of his chest. She was done with letting men decide the direction of her life.
His long elegant fingers curved around her hand, one finger caressing her palm. A languorous warmth purled up her arm. She felt his lips wandering across the side of her face, then capture her ear, his tongue tracing the sworls and she shivered.
