‘Yes, thank you.’
When she did not move he turned. She was holding out her purse to him.
‘You will need money tomorrow, if you find a suitable ship for us. For me. I do not know how much it will be, so it is best that you take this. I have kept back a few livres in case I need it, but you are attending to all the travel arrangements.’ She looked up fleetingly. ‘I am not so arrogant that I do not trust you, Monsieur Doulevant.’
Raoul took the purse, feeling its weight in his hand. She was giving him all her money? When he did not speak she gave a tiny curtsy and hurried away.
‘Cassandra, wait—’
But it was too late; the door was already firmly closed between them.
Cassie undressed quickly and slipped into bed. She had done it. She had handed over her purse to Raoul, put herself wholly in his power. Perhaps that would show him she was not the proud, disdainful woman he thought her. It should not matter, but it did. She was a little frightened at how important it was that he did not think badly of her. She turned over, nestling her cheek against one hand. She had known Raoul Doulevant for little more than a week and yet she... Cassie shied away from admitting even to herself what she thought of the man. It had taken her months to fall in love with Gerald Witney and look how quickly she had recovered from that grand passion. Clearly her feelings were not to be trusted.
In the morning Cassandra’s sunny spirits were restored. They had reached the Seine. From her window she could look over the roofs and see the masts of the ships on the quayside. With luck they would find a vessel to carry them to the coast. The inn was very quiet, so she guessed it was still early, but she scrambled out of bed and into her riding habit ready for the day ahead. She emerged from her bedroom to find Raoul already dressed. She responded to his cheerful greeting with a smile.
‘Are you going out immediately, sir?’
‘I have not yet broken my fast, so we may do so together, if you wish.’ He picked up the bedding piled neatly on a chair. ‘We had best put this out of sight before I ask the maid to bring up the tray.’
It was only a matter of minutes before they were sitting at the table with a plate of ham and fresh bread rolls before them. Cassie poured coffee and they fell into conversation like old friends. On this sunny morning it was easy to forget the harsh words of yesterday. And the fact that they were both fugitives, fleeing the country.
‘How do you think you will go on today?’ she asked when they had finished their meal.
‘I have every hope of finding a ship, but it may take some time,’ Raoul warned her. ‘I shall have to be careful when I make my enquiries. Rouen is a busy port, there will be plenty of ships going to the coast, but not all of them will be prepared to take passengers without papers.’
He picked up his hat and she accompanied him to the door.
‘Raoul, you will take care?’ Impulsively Cassie put her hand on his arm. ‘I would not have you put yourself at risk for me.’
He paused and gazed down at her, but she could not read the look in his dark eyes.
‘I shall take care, milady.’ He lifted her hand from his sleeve and pressed a kiss into the palm. ‘Bolt the door and wait here for me. I shall be back as soon as I can.’
He went out, closing the door behind him and Cassie listened to his firm step as he went quickly down the stairs. She cradled the hand that he had kissed, rubbing her thumb over the palm for a moment before she turned and ran to the window. Their room overlooked the street and she saw him emerge from the inn. There was a pleasurable flutter of excitement in her chest as she watched his tall figure striding away. Excitement, but not fear; she had given Raoul nearly all her money, but she knew enough of the man now to know he would not cheat her. She trusted him. Smiling, Cassie turned from the window and looked about the room, wondering how best to amuse herself until Raoul returned.
The day dragged on and with no clock or pocket watch Cassandra had no idea of the time except from the length of the shadows in the street below. She reminded herself that it might take Raoul all day to find a suitable ship, but the shadows were lengthening before at last she heard a heavy footstep on the landing and she flew across the room to unbolt the door.
‘Raoul, I was beginning to—’
Her smiling words ended abruptly. It was not Raoul at the door but a tall, pallid stranger in a black coat. At his shoulder was the weasel-faced Merimon, her rascally courier.
Merimon put up his hand and pointed an accusing finger at Cassie.
‘That’s her,’ he declared. ‘That’s the woman who ran off with your deserter.’
Cassandra stared at the men in horrified silence. Two uniformed gendarmes stood behind Merimon and the man in the black coat. Another look at the stranger showed her that his sallow face was badly marred by the crookedness of his nose. A memory stirred. Something Raoul had said, but for the moment it eluded her.
Gesturing to her to stand aside, they all marched into the room and the officers began to search it.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ she demanded angrily.
The black-coated stranger bowed. ‘I am Auguste Valerin and I am here to arrest the deserter Raoul Doulevant.’
Cassie remembered now; Raoul had broken the man’s nose. If that disfigurement was the result it was no wonder Valerin wanted revenge. She must go carefully.
‘I have never heard of him,’ she said with a dismissive shrug. ‘I am staying here with my husband, Monsieur Duval.’
‘But I heard you call him Raoul.’
‘What of it?’
Cassie spoke calmly, but Valerin’s sneering smile filled her with unease.
‘A coincidence, perhaps, that your husband and the deserter should share the same name. It is also a coincidence that travellers coming into Rouen yesterday brought with them tales of a doctor helping to save the lives of peasants in a village not a day’s ride from here. It is said he could set broken bones and even remove a crushed leg. Such skill is a rarity and news of it was bound to spread.’
The gendarmes emerged from the bedchamber.
‘There is no one here, sir,’ declared one of them.
‘Stand guard on the landing,’ ordered Valerin. ‘Keep out of sight, ready to apprehend the deserter when he returns. I will question Madame Duval.’
‘She is no more Madame Duval than I am,’ put in Merimon.
‘No,’ Cassie admitted. ‘You would know that, since you stole my papers.’ She turned to Valerin. ‘My name is Lady Cassandra Witney and I hired this man as a courier to escort me from Verdun to the coast. He and his accomplice stole my passport and would have murdered me if I had not escaped.’
Merimon threw an aggrieved glance at Valerin, his hands spread wide.
‘What cause would I have to do that, monsieur? I am an honest man, why else would I have come to you with information about Doulevant?’
‘For the reward,’ Valerin snapped. ‘Tell me your story again and we will see what Madame Witney has to say.’
Cassie