Trapped by Scandal Read online

  And not just gentlemen, he thought with an inner smile, listening to Hero tell her story. She was a lively narrator, her hands moving rapidly in illustration of her experiences. She didn’t dwell on the fear she must have felt so often, the threat of danger that must have accompanied her every step, but her audience had no difficulty imagining it. Occasionally, she brushed strands of falling hair from her cheeks and once or twice muttered a curse as she tried to refasten the pins in what was rapidly becoming an unruly tumble of rich color. It aroused in William an urge to run his fingers through it, tangling them deep amidst the thick, loosely curling locks.

  “And so here I am,” Hero finished, spreading her hands wide. “And thank God I’ve found you safe, brother.”

  “Aye,” Alec said, frowning grimly. “How could you have risked your life on such a quest, Hero? We have to get you out of here with the next group.” He glanced interrogatively at William.

  “Why?” Hero demanded before William could say anything. “No one knows I’m here.”

  “Well, where does Aunt Emily think you are?” Alec demanded. Their father’s distant elderly dowager cousin had lived with them as nominal chaperone for the unmarried Hero since the death of their parents.

  “As far as Aunt Emily is concerned, I’m in the wilds of Inverness staying with relatives of the Camerons. No one knows I’m here,” Hero repeated with emphasis.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” William said thoughtfully. “You came over on a clandestine fishing boat, most likely in the company of the Lizard. He’s going to be wondering who you are and what brought you to France. Even if you exchanged no words with him, he’s still going to be curious. That’s his business, and,” he added, “it’s one he’s very good at.”

  Hero frowned. “But he couldn’t possibly know where I am now. It took me over a week to get from Calais to Paris, but I saw him get into a hired coach at the quay. He didn’t give me a second glance, I’m sure of it.”

  “I doubt you would have known what to look for,” William stated. “However, you’re here now, and we might have a use for you.”

  “I don’t want Hero involved in anything,” Alec declared. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Nonsense,” Hero stated. “It’s no more dangerous for me than it is for you, and if William thinks I can be useful, then of course, I’m staying. I’ll leave when we’ve found Marie Claire and her family. And I daresay,” she added, “Marie Claire will want you to accompany her, Alec, so we’ll go home together.”

  Alec didn’t attempt an argument that he knew he would lose anyway. Hero had always been her own person, with her own very strong opinions, and since the death of her fiancé, she had become even more so. The natural reckless streak in her personality had become stronger and she seemed sometimes deliberately heedless of consequences. It troubled her brother deeply, but he didn’t know how to intervene. He knew she was still struggling with her grief at Tom’s loss, at the loss of a future she had been so certain of, and Alec didn’t know how to help her through it, except to support her need to find a renewed purpose in her life. He accepted her statement with a mental shrug, saying instead, “We have to find them first.”

  His mouth twisted as he thought of his delicate fiancée somewhere in the bloody madhouse of the city, probably rotting in some filthy prison. Marie Claire had none of Hero’s strength. How should she have, sheltered and cosseted as she had been all her life? His eyes seemed to glaze, and he shook his head like a drunken man, before hauling himself up and falling in a sprawl of limbs into a rocking chair by the range. “I’ll just shut my eyes for a few minutes.”

  “Me, too,” Stephen announced abruptly, yawning deeply as he swung himself off the bench. There was a chorus of agreement, and the men around the table rose wearily to their feet, moving to the door that opened into the interior of the house.

  Hero glanced at her brother. He was sleeping like the dead. “Is there a quilt, anything I can cover him with?”

  “In the top drawer of the dresser over there. You should find something.” William gestured to the dresser.

  Hero found a rather grubby blanket. She draped it over her sleeping brother and then swallowed a yawn of her own. The wine and the food were taking their toll after the exigencies of the day.

  “It’s time we were all in bed,” William observed, taking up a candle. “Come.”

  “I can sleep on the bench,” Hero said as he moved to the door. “It’s warm enough with the fire.”

  “But hard and narrow,” he pointed out, turning back to her, beckoning imperatively. “Come.”

  Hero had little strength to resist, as the idea of lying full-length somewhere and allowing herself to sleep properly for the first time in days offered a siren’s call. She followed him out of the kitchen and up the narrow flight of stairs that led to the dark hallway beyond. Several doors opened off the square landing, and faint snuffles and snores came from behind them.

  William led the way up a second, even narrower stairway, shielding the candle flame with one hand, and opened a door at the top. It led into a small eaved chamber with a low, unshuttered window. The air was chill, although the early September day had been quite warm, but the bed, which took up most of the floor space, appeared to be well supplied with covers, and Hero looked longingly at it.

  William set the candle on the shelf above the empty grate, then bent and pulled out a truckle bed from beneath the bigger bed. “You should find this comfortable enough. It’s too short for me.” He threw several quilts from the bed onto the smaller one and sat down to pull off his wooden sabots.

  Hero perched on the low windowsill to kick off her own rough clogs. Her companion snuffed the candle and climbed into the bed, pulling a cover over him. The room was dimly lit by the moon shining in the unglazed window, and Hero could make out enough to get herself onto the truckle bed without stubbing a toe. She hesitated a moment, then resolutely untied the strip of cloth at her waist that kept up her grimy britches and shook them off her feet with a sigh of relief. She’d been sleeping in her clothes for days. She tugged her coarse linen shirt down her hips, deciding it made a decent enough covering while she was in bed, and gingerly settled onto the straw mattress of the truckle bed. A coarse sheet covered the mattress, and there was a flat pillow of sorts. The quilts were thick, and her limbs slowly relaxed into the growing warmth. She could hear her companion’s deep, rhythmic breathing above her, and a feeling of security washed over her. Her eyes closed.

  She awoke bewildered in full daylight and lay for a moment with her eyes still closed, trying to remember where she was. She was snug and warm in her nest, her limbs feeling deliciously leaden, and she could hear sounds like water splashing, the scuffle of bare feet on wooden floorboards. Memory returned in full flood, and she opened her eyes slowly. A naked man stood shaving with his back to her in front of a washstand against the wall. He dipped the cutthroat razor into a basin and tilted his head back, drawing the sharp blade up under his chin.

  Hero gazed sleepily at the long, muscled back, the tight buttocks, the length of his thighs and powerfully muscled calves. His short chestnut hair was wet as if he’d just washed it, and drops of water glistened on his shoulders.

  “I thought you still asleep.” William spoke into the silence. “Forgive me if I’ve shocked your maidenly modesty, my lady.”

  Hero propped herself on an elbow and heard herself say, “I haven’t had any to shock for two years.” Why on earth was she confiding such an intimate detail to this naked man?

  “Ah,” he responded, wiping his face with a towel. He wrapped a second towel around his loins as he turned to face her. “You have a paramour?”

  “I had a fiancé,” she returned. It didn’t seem either possible or pointful to stop sharing her intimate past at this point. “He was killed last year at sea.” She tried to keep her eyes from following the line of dark hair that curled down hi
s belly, disappearing into the skimpy towel.

  “I’m sorry.” He leaned back against the washstand, rubbing his wet head with the hand towel. “You anticipated the marital bed?”

  Hero smiled in reminiscence. “Many times.”

  William chuckled. “I can’t say it surprises me. I gather you found it pleasurable.”

  “Oh, yes,” she responded with a grin. “Very.” Then her smile dimmed as the old sorrow flooded her again. She had almost mastered her grief after all these months, but at times, the thought of Tom’s life cut so short, of the life they had planned together now merely a dream, threatened to overwhelm her anew.

  “How was he killed?” William asked. He could almost see the black shadow of her sadness hovering around her and was prepared for her to rebuff his questions if she felt them intrusive.

  “He was a lieutenant in the navy. His ship had a skirmish with pirates off the coast of Spain, or at least that was what I was told. He was wounded, and the wound festered.” She blinked back tears. “It was such a waste. Tom was so young, so vital. We were to be married when that tour ended. He would have made captain on his next voyage, and I would have gone with him.” It was almost a relief to speak of it to this man, who to all intents and purposes was a complete stranger . . . except that they had shared a prison cell and he was standing there naked but for a skimpy towel as casually as if they were in full dress in a London salon. He didn’t feel in the least like a stranger.

  William made no further comment. He went to a chest and began to rummage through its contents, pulling out various garments. “Turn your back,” he instructed.

  Obediently, Hero rolled onto her other side.

  After a few minutes, he said, “If you want clean clothes, you can see what’s in there. You’ll have to roll the britches up, and the shirt will swamp you, but at least they’re clean.”

  She sat up. He was fully dressed now, fastening the buckle of his belt. “Is there any fresh water?”

  “I’ll send your brother up with a jug.” He picked up the basin he’d been using and tipped its contents out of the window with an alerting shout of “Gardez l’eau,” in case any unwary pedestrian was passing below. “There’ll be coffee in the kitchen.”

  The door closed behind him, and Hero got out of bed, stretching. She felt amazingly refreshed, although she could smell her own sweat and feel the dirt ingrained in her skin. Soap and hot water and clean garments would be wonderful. She was examining the contents of the chest when Alec came in on a brisk alerting knock. He carried a steaming jug.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Remarkably well. I dare swear better than you in that chair,” she replied, straightening from the chest. She saw that her brother was surveying the small chamber with a questioning eye.

  “You slept on the truckle?”

  “Yes, my dear. And William slept like a monk in the bed. You didn’t really imagine he would ravish me, did you?”

  Alec shook his head with a rueful grin. “No, he’s too honorable . . . not so sure about you, though, sister dear.” He set the jug on the washstand. “I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

  Hero stripped to her skin, wondering whether William was so honorable that he would refuse a little love play if it were offered him. It was a shocking reflection, she thought, surprising even herself with its lack of modesty. But then, nothing about her present circumstances could be anything but shocking. She probed the idea as delicately as if it were a nagging tooth. Perhaps just telling him about Tom had released in her some kind of pent-up need, because she certainly found the idea exciting. The thought of such love play sent little prickles of arousal across her skin and caused a familiar sinking jolt in the base of her belly. And why not? she thought defiantly, although whom she was defying she didn’t know. The one thing she did know was that Tom would not mind. He had had far too generous a soul to condemn her to a life of chastity.

  The hot water and harsh lye soap felt wonderful as she scrubbed her body vigorously with a scrap of toweling until her skin glowed red. She rubbed herself dry as best she could with the only dry corner of a towel she could find and then returned to the chest. She found a clean shirt of coarse linen. It swamped her as expected, but it smelled fresh. The trousers were more of a problem; the waist was too big, and they slid to her hips while the legs flapped off her feet.

  The door opened on a brisk knock while she was contemplating her swamped lower limbs somewhat plaintively. William burst into laughter as he came in. “Even worse than I thought,” he said, setting down the mug of coffee he held. “Let’s see what we can do to improve matters.”

  “I was using a strip of cloth before.” Hero indicated the strip she’d discarded with her old clothes. She couldn’t move to get it herself without tripping over her feet or letting go of the waist of the britches.

  “I think we can do better than that.” William looked through the chest. “Here.” He took out a narrow belt and wrapped it around Hero’s waist, pulling it tight. “I’ll put a new hole in it . . . about here, I think.” Marking the place with his finger, he drew his knife from the sheath at his waist and punctured the leather. “Now try it.” He buckled the belt and stood back.

  Hero sighed with relief. “Thank you. But what do I do about this?” She flapped a leg in illustration.

  “Sit on the bed, and I’ll roll them up. I don’t want to cut them, because you’re not going to be wearing them for very long.”

  Hero assumed he meant that she would have her own washed soon enough. She sat on the bed while he knelt and rolled the britches up to her mid-calves. This easy intimacy was making her feel rather strange. When his fingers brushed over her bare legs as he worked, she had to control a little jump of wholly pleasurable sensation. She recognized the feeling and knew it for what it was: a pure, simple jolt of lust. With a surge of embarrassment, she hoped that William couldn’t sense it. But he looked up at her suddenly, and his tawny gold eyes held a look of startled recognition.

  Then he smiled slowly, sitting back on his heels, looking at her with a quizzical gleam, his hands encircling her bare ankles. “I suspect that my lady is something of an adventuress,” he said, running his hands up her calves.

  “Perhaps,” Hero replied, holding herself very still, fighting the urge to brush that errant lock of hair from his forehead. “We live in adventurous times.”

  “Hazardous, certainly,” he agreed, releasing his hold and standing up in one easy movement. He leaned over her and tilted her chin with his finger, bringing his mouth to hers. It was a light touch, a promise of a kiss, but it sent her blood thrilling through her body like a bolt of lightning. He straightened. “We’ll continue this later.”

  Hero remained sitting on the bed after the door had closed softly behind him, wondering what exactly had just happened. It was one thing to harbor a secret impulsive attraction for the Viscount St. Aubery, quite another so shamelessly to reveal that powerful attraction to its object. But it seemed that it was not unreciprocated.

  After a while, she slid off the bed and thrust her feet into her wooden clogs. The coffee he had brought her was cold. She poured it out of the window with the dirty water in the basin, shouting the customary warning cry, then slowly made her way down to the kitchen.

  SIX

  William and Marcus were the only men in the kitchen when Hero entered. They were sitting at the table deep in conversation but broke off as she came in. “Good morning, Marcus.” She greeted him with a smile.

  “Good morning, Hero. Coffee?”

  “Thank you.” A copper jug of coffee stood on the table beside the remnants of a loaf and a jar of apricot jam with a knife stuck in it. She filled her coffee mug and broke off a piece of bread, spreading it with jam before sitting down. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “It concerned you,” William said. “We were trying to decide what exactly we’re going to do about
the situation.”

  Hero bristled. “I don’t think I’m a situation, and I don’t particularly care for being discussed like some external problem. I will decide for myself what I shall do next.”

  “We are accustomed to making decisions as a group,” William told her sharply. “We’re all dependent for our safety on one another. There’s no room for unilateral decisions or actions.”

  “Should I just leave?” she inquired sweetly, reflecting rather less sweetly that the moment in the upstairs chamber was clearly not at the forefront of his mind.

  “I’m afraid that’s not an option,” William stated. “You know too much, my dear girl. We value this house, and while I’m sure you would have no intention of giving it away . . .” He shrugged. “The agents of the Committee of Public Safety are everywhere, and intolerable pressure can be brought to bear, however resolute one might be.” His eyes were flinty as he held her gaze. “I trust you take my meaning.”

  Hero did. And she had no illusions that she would be any stronger than anyone else when it came to resisting such pressure. Those cold eyes, gold as a cat’s, were also making it very clear to her that Viscount St. Aubery would make a formidable opponent should such an unpleasant confrontation arise. She inclined her head in rueful acknowledgment, saying simply, “I came to Paris to find Alec and to help him, if possible, to find Marie Claire and her family. I still intend to do that.”

  “We are all agreed that finding the St. Julien family will be our next priority,” William said, his tone no longer sharp. “We work on priorities. Those families at immediate risk of arrest are always our first focus. We had nothing to go on with the St. Juliens, and the Latour family were in the most urgent danger. Alec understood that. But we’ll concentrate on them now.”