The Caged Countess. Joanna Fulford

mentally cursed himself. ‘I’m asking now.’

      ‘My real name is Claudia … Claudia Brudenell, Countess of Ulverdale.’

      His heart seemed to miss several beats and suddenly all the apparently unconnected pieces fell into place with appalling clarity. As the memory of their previous conversations returned, all the small coincidences rose up to taunt him: the houses in Sussex and London, the estate in the north and, of course, the estranged soldier husband. Only a prize idiot could have failed to make the connections.

      Mistaking his silence entirely Claudia experienced a twinge of guilt. ‘Forgive me, I should have told you …’

      ‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied.

      ‘Surely it doesn’t make any difference now.’

      The blue gaze locked with hers. ‘I rather think it does.’ He rose from the table. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and see about our passage to England.’

      Claudia rose too. ‘Of course.’

      He headed for the door, his face unwontedly grim.

      ‘Duval, please don’t be angry with me.’

      He paused on the threshold and turned, surveying her in silence for a moment. Then the blue gaze lost a little of its hard glint. ‘I’m not angry with you.’

      With that he was gone leaving her staring at the closed door. Claudia frowned. In spite of that parting reassurance she knew that he was angry, and it sat ill with her to have incurred his displeasure in that way. It had never occurred to her that he might wish to know her real name; in their line of work it was something people didn’t ask. His reaction to the truth had been totally unexpected. Perhaps he had been genuinely shocked to discover a lady of rank so far embroiled in such a shady business.

      The more she thought about it the likelier that seemed. Everything he knew about her now must only serve to confirm his first opinion of her. It was an oddly lowering thought.

      It took less than an hour for Duval to arrange the next passage to England, but the boat wouldn’t leave for a while yet and he was in no mood to go back to the inn just then. Needing time to put his thoughts in order he went for a walk instead. For a long time he stood by the sea wall staring out at the white-capped water, but in truth he saw nothing. As he had told Claudia, the revelation of her identity made a great deal of difference. It was just that he had no idea what he was going to do about it. Each possible course of action seemed more unsatisfactory than the last. Perhaps he should have spoken up when she told him who she was. A part of him had wanted to, but another part of his mind recalled what she had said before: The past cannot be changed. All I want is to forget it. And he had given his assurance that he would not do anything to remind her of it. He sighed. Could he now go back on that? In the light of the morning’s revelation how could he not go back on it? Whatever he did next was going to cause hurt.

      The remainder of their journey was memorably uncomfortable: the crossing was rougher this time and most of the other passengers on the little packet boat succumbed to sea-sickness. Conversation was reduced to what was absolutely necessary. In spite of the poor weather conditions, Duval remained above deck with Matthieu for much of the time, returning only occasionally, so Claudia wrapped herself in her cloak and tried to sleep. However, her troubled mind refused to allow it. Ever since he had returned to the inn Duval’s manner had been different. She couldn’t identify exactly what had changed but knew instinctively that there had been a fundamental shift which could never be reversed.

      She wasn’t in the least bit sorry when they reached dry land again. Moreover, it was English soil this time. The knowledge gladdened her immeasurably.

      Duval accurately surmised the source of her smile. ‘I think you will be glad to see your home again.’

      ‘Yes, although there were times when I thought I might not.’ She looked up at him. ‘But for you that would have been a self-fulfilling prophecy. I owe you much.’

      He guessed that it hadn’t been easy for her to say, and yet the tone was sincere. It took him by surprise.

      ‘I am glad to have been of service, truly.’ He paused. ‘All that remains now is for me to organise a post chaise for your onward journey.’

      He was as good as his word. Within the hour the vehicle was ready at the inn door. It reinforced her earlier surmise that he wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible. In the light of events it was hardly surprising. She felt much the same.

      Pausing by the waiting chaise, she turned to face him. ‘Will you go on to London now?’

      ‘Yes, for a while. I have urgent business there.’

      ‘I can imagine.’

      He seriously doubted that, but forbore to say so. ‘It will take a few days to sort out.’

      ‘Well, don’t let me delay you.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Duval.’

      Warm strong fingers closed round hers and retained their hold. ‘When my business there is concluded I shall do myself the honour of calling on you at Oakley Court.’ Seeing her startled expression, he added, ‘There will be important matters to discuss.’

      ‘Don’t put yourself to any further trouble on my account. I’m sure Genet will write to me himself.’

      ‘The matters I spoke of do not merely concern Genet.’

      ‘What then?’

      While she was grateful to him for getting her out of France, she had no wish to meet him again. Time and distance would help to put him out of her mind and let her forget about what had happened.

      ‘I am not at liberty to say at present.’

      It reinforced the notion that he was seeking an excuse to continue their relationship. If so, he could have only one possible reason for doing so. That she should have been instrumental in putting such an idea in his head was mortifying. It was also extremely awkward. Moreover, he still had hold of her hand and she couldn’t break free without causing a scene.

      ‘I think you had better,’ she replied.

      ‘I ask your patience for four days more. Then we will talk.’

      ‘No, we will not. Our association is at an end, Duval. You must know that.’

      ‘I’m afraid it isn’t over yet, my sweet.’

      The soft tone was deeply disquieting. Given what had occurred, he had the power to ruin her if he chose; he could demand money or other favours, or both, in exchange for his silence. She was reluctant to think him so underhand, but what other reason could there be for his wishing to pursue a connection so clearly unwelcome to her?

      ‘There is nothing for you here, Duval. I really think it would be better if you did not call.’

      ‘And I really think I must.’

      It was quite evident that he wasn’t going to be deterred. Claudia shrugged.

      ‘Very well, though I fear you will have a wasted journey.’

      ‘We’ll see about that when the time comes, won’t we?’ He led her to the chaise and handed her in. ‘Until then, my lady.’