The Dangerous Mr. Ryder

The promised rain came not as a shower but as a torrential downpour that made her think of the night before the battle. Then she had had only an open-sided hovel and straw to keep her dry and warm. And Jack’s long body curled around her. But now she was in a snug parlour, surrounded by the carved woodwork and brightly painted earthenware the Maubourg peasants excelled at producing.

On the wide wooden mantel there was even the commemorative tankard that had been produced to celebrate her wedding to Louis. A good thing the image of her was so unlike. It was good of Louis though, she had always thought so. The handsome aloof profile stared blankly at the insipid representation of the new bride. So young, so innocent and so easily moulded to the dutiful wife her husband had demanded. Eva got up and turned the vessel around so the portraits faced the wall and the Maubourg crest was towards the room. That was better. She was another woman now.

There was a fire in the hearth to send red light chasing across the whitewashed walls and the curtains were drawn cosily across the casements. Distantly from the taproom she could hear the men talking. Here she was alone, but not lonely, thankful for the peace and the privacy to think about Jack. She had to get it right this time. Then upstairs was the bed they had shared, the memories of their first night together to relive when she finally felt sleepy. That first night—with a bolster down the middle of the bed!

Eva smiled. What would Jack think if he could see her now, nostalgically retracing their steps across France? Would he think her foolish, or would he understand?

The rain lashed down harder; it almost felt as though the sturdy little inn was a ship in rough seas, the waves battering at its sides. If it was like this tomorrow, she would not move on. It was madness to risk men and horses on roads that could become mountain torrents. Strangely it did not disturb her, the prospect of delay. She had made up her mind—she was travelling back to Jack almost fatalistically. He would be there when she arrived, she knew it.

There was a bustle outside, doors banged and the innkeeper shouted for the ostler. Some chance traveller caught in the storm, perhaps. Eva put down the book she had not been attempting to read and went to twitch aside the curtain. In the erratic light of the wind-tossed lanterns she saw that the ostler, huddled under the inadequate shelter of a sack, was leading a big horse towards the stable. Its coat was black, streaming with water, the saddle already soaked. She caught a glimpse of the skirts of a many-caped greatcoat as the rider vanished into the shelter of the porch.

A lone man, then. It seemed, unless he was content with the common taproom, that she must lose her privacy. Eva shrugged. She did not mind. One of the footmen could come in, too, to cover the proprieties.

‘Such a surprise, monsieur.’ The innkeeper was jovially greeting the newcomer. ‘Come in, sir, come in! What a night to be sure, but you at least are certain of a warm welcome and your usual room. This way, sir, this way.’

A regular and favoured customer by the sound of it. But Eva was surprised that the innkeeper appeared about to usher him into the parlour, without a word to her.

‘Here we are, sir.’ The door swung open, making the candles gutter wildly. A tall figure, its bulk increased by the soaked greatcoat, filled the door. Water poured off the coat, pooled around the booted feet. The man’s hat was in his gloved hands, but it could not have done much good, for his hair was plastered to his head.

The candles steadied as he took a step inside and Eva came to her feet. He looked weary, this traveller, there were shadows under the grey eyes and lines at the corners of his mouth that were new, she would swear, but as he saw her he went white, and under the blanched skin the bruised shape of four fingers stood out starkly.

‘Jack. Oh, my God. Jack.’ And then she was across the room, into his arms, her own around his neck, his soaking clothing leaching freezing wet into hers. And the heat of her love swept through her as he bent his head and his ice-cold lips met hers.

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘Madame! Madame? Here, you, you can’t go in there and…Guv’nor!’ Grimstone came pounding down the passageway from the taproom, big fists clenched, then skidded to a halt, his expression one of almost comical astonishment as Jack turned, Eva in the crook of his arm.

‘Thank you, Grimstone. Madame is quite safe with me.’

The bodyguard backed off, grinning. ‘We’re in the taproom, guv’nor, if there’s anything you need.’

‘Divine intervention, probably,’ Eva thought she heard Jack mutter. ‘You can get my boots off,’ he added more loudly, standing on one foot while the man tugged from the back. The boot slid off with an unpleasant squelch and they switched to the other.

‘Landlord! A hot bath as soon as possible, if you please,’ Eva ordered, her hands already dragging off the heavy greatcoat. ‘You are soaked, right through. You’ll catch your death, Jack.’

He shrugged off the greatcoat and coat together, bundled them into Grimstone’s arms and turned back to her. ‘Don’t fuss, sweet, I am tough enough to stand some rain.’

‘You look like a half-drowned rat. Come to the fire.’ She tugged, but he stood his ground, then stooping, swept her up in his arms and made for the stairs. ‘Jack!’ Eva registered the staring faces around them break into broad smiles and buried her face in Jack’s shoulder. ‘Jack,’ she whispered, half in sheer embarrassment, half with the joy of being able to say his name.

‘Forget the hot water,’ he threw back over his shoulder as he climbed. ‘I’ll ring later.’

‘Jack!’ she was still protesting as he shouldered open the door and set her on her feet inside the bedchamber.

‘Eva.’ The door closed with a thud and the key clicked. ‘Eva, what in Heaven’s name are you doing here? Has there been an accident? Where’s Freddie? You should have been in Maubourg by now.’

‘He is, we were. I mean, we arrived yesterday. Freddie is with his uncle.’

‘So why are you here?’ Jack stood dripping, the water still trickling down from his hair and regarded her steadily. Oh, Lord, she had made such a mess of his face.

‘I was coming back. To England.’

‘But why are you here? If you left this morning, you should be well on your way by now.’ He did not ask why she was returning, she noticed with sinking heart.

Jack would think her a foolish and romantic woman, but there was nothing for it but to explain. ‘I wanted to stay in the inns we had used. And I could hardly turn up at ten in the morning at this one, could I? I have been here just two hours.’

He smiled then, his mouth curving into a tender line that made the tears start in her eyes. ‘Why were you coming back? Had you forgotten your bonnet?’

‘No.’ She could not joke about it. And she had to say it now. ‘I was coming to see you and say I was sorry. I handled it so badly.’ She could not stand to be the focus of those intelligent grey eyes—they seemed to see right through her, into the muddle and fear inside. ‘I thought about status and what I ought to do as Grand Duchess, not what I wanted to do as a woman. I hurt your pride, I made demands without thinking what you would need or want. I did not tell you the important thing.’ The words stuck in her thro