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“Is mine,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Perfect health will not be of much assistance if my husband is imprisoned in France.”
Martin scowled, and his wife gave him a sympathetic look, covering his hand with hers. His shoulders relaxed, and he gave her a rueful smile. “Marguerite reminds that I wish to make everyone better all the time, but sometimes this is not possible. I often forget such things.”
“Where will you go?” Mrs. Martin asked in halting English.
“I was given the name of someone near Saint-Malo who should be able to find us safe passage.” Indeed, the original plan had been that Mr. Dreyfus would help Darcy escape France once he completed his mission. Richard had given him the names of other English agents if Dreyfus was not available. Surely one could help.
Martin’s eyebrows rose. “English agents?”
Darcy fiddled with his fork, not meeting the doctor’s eyes. “I cannot say.” It was best for Martin if he knew few details. “If all else fails, we will travel to Calais and hire a boat.”
“Often for the sake for Mrs. Darcy’s health you must rest,” Martin said. “She cannot travel like she is healthy person.” Darcy nodded his understanding. “If her cough becomes worse or her breathing is very bad, you must find doctor at once.”
“Yes, of course,” Darcy murmured, saying a silent prayer. What if it was too early to leave? How would they obtain help if Elizabeth fell ill on the journey? But remaining in Saint-Malo risked discovery. He tried to push the doubts from his mind. “We will need a conveyance. Do you know of someone who would sell us a carriage?”
The doctor exchanged a look with his wife. “Even better. I will give you mine!”
After an hour of haggling, Darcy managed to get the doctor to accept a few coins in exchange for his curricle. Martin assured him that he rarely used the vehicle and was happy to be rid of it. Darcy would have been more pleased with a larger, enclosed vehicle, but a curricle at least would be fast. The doctor also promised to find a horse for hire, and Darcy went to bed tolerably pleased with the plan.
***
The next morning, the plan went smoothly—hopefully a good omen for their future success. He paid Martin for the curricle and for Elizabeth’s medical care, although the other man steadfastly refused any remuneration for food or shelter.
In the pre-dawn light, the streets were empty of all but a few men and women hurrying to work, so their departure was likely to go unnoticed. Elizabeth gave the Martins—and their housekeeper—each a hug and bade them a fond farewell in halting French.
Darcy noted Elizabeth’s stiff movements with some misgivings. Was he rushing her recovery? What if she fell ill along the journey? The strain of travel might add to the confusion and stress caused by her amnesia. He bit his lip against the desire to tell Martin that they would remain another few days after all.
The process was rendered more difficult by a chastising voice at the back of his mind reminding him that he should not be traveling with Elizabeth at all—at least not without a chaperone. Unfortunately, he could not voice those misgivings with anyone; he could only push them from his mind.
He took her hand to help her alight to the high curricle seat. Thank goodness he was not compelled to wear long skirts when performing such maneuvers. Clutching Darcy’s hand, Elizabeth put a foot on the curricle’s wheel, preparing to climb up. But her foot slipped, causing her to stumble forward. Darcy hastily grabbed her waist, pulling her back down to safety.
For a moment they stood frozen, clutched together with their faces only inches apart. His hands did not seem to want to relax their grip on her. Under his palms, he could feel her breath quicken. Was their nearness affecting her as well?
Her head was tilted back. Cool green eyes met his, as deep and inscrutable as a forest. Her lips, plump with a dark rose color. He could not help remembering how they tasted—or prevent himself from wanting another taste.
“William.” Her voice was a low, throaty murmur as she moved toward him, her head tilted back provocatively. He had no doubt about what was on her mind, and he wanted it. Badly.
Darcy closed his eyes, as if blocking the sight of Elizabeth could somehow prevent temptation. Instead his nose was filled with her faint rosewater scent. Concentrate on the facts, he told himself. She is not my wife. I have no right to kiss her. If I kiss her, it would be under false pretenses.
He repeated these phrases over and over in his mind until he had steeled himself against the onslaught of her beauty and had the strength to open his eyes. Forcing his hands to release his grip on her waist, he stepped away so they were no longer in such intimate proximity. Elizabeth regarded him with perplexity.
Only then did Darcy recall their audience; a glance at Martin showed the doctor was smirking. Elizabeth might not have recognized Darcy’s desire for what it was, but Martin did.
Darcy took a deep breath and returned his attention to Elizabeth. “Shall we try that again?”
This time he handed her into the seat with no mishap. As Elizabeth settled herself, Mrs. Martin handed up a blanket. Elizabeth good-naturedly wrapped it about her shoulders, although the day was already quite warm.
Darcy settled his knapsack under the seat and then took a second bag from the doctor to stow beside it. The Martins had filled it with clothing for Elizabeth—and had refused to accept any payment. After shaking Martin’s hand and again giving Mrs. Martin his thanks, Darcy swung himself up into the seat, the springs bouncing slightly under his weight.
With a flick of the reins they were off. Darcy kept his eyes fixed on the road while Elizabeth turned to wave until the Martins’ house was out of sight. Carefully, Darcy navigated the rig down the narrow streets of Saint-Malo and through the old city gate. Past the gate, the roads were considerably wider, and Darcy was able to increase the pace.
As the sun rose in the sky, the heat began to affect Elizabeth, and Darcy kept a worried eye on her. She had stowed Mrs. Martin’s blanket under the seat, but the sun still beat down on her shoulders and shone in her eyes if she did not hold her bonnet at the proper angle. Sweat stained the neck of her gown and dripped down the side of her face. Aware of his scrutiny, she scowled. “I will be fine.” Unfortunately, her body chose that moment for a coughing fit.
Darcy watched, helpless, until it subsided. She clenched her hands together in her lap. “There is no need to be anxious on my account. A little water will set me to rights.” But Darcy could not prevent the return of his misgivings.
Fortunately, at that moment he recognized the dirt path to Dreyfus’s house and pulled on the reins, directing the horse. “Perhaps you should join me in the house to enjoy some of the cooler air.”
“Very well.” She frowned at him. “How will you make yourself known to Mr. Dreyfus? Surely you cannot simply alight from the carriage and declare, ‘I understand you are an agent of the English government.’”
