His Cavalry Lady. Joanna Maitland

team now. They no longer needed Dominic to direct them. So, with a sigh of relief, he made for the inn door and the staircase to his bedchamber. His room was deserted. His valet, Cooper, must still be down below, helping to fight the remnants of the fire, and unrecognisable under the dirt and sweat. No matter. Dominic had no need of him.

      The reflection in the pier glass pulled him up short. It wasn’t only his face that was filthy. His whole body was grimed with smoke. He grinned at himself. No wonder the girl had fled from him. He looked like a black demon. Even his own mother would not recognise him like this. He would have to bathe, but that would be impossible until the fire was out and the inn kitchen was working normally once more. Hot water would be the last thing on their minds at present. He would have to wait.

      Sighing with exhaustion, Dominic sank on to the bed and pulled off one ruined boot. Even Cooper would be unable to save this pair. He grinned again, imagining the valet’s consternation when he saw the state of them, and of his master. With luck, Cooper would have a pot of skin salve somewhere in his baggage. But, for the moment, Dominic did not care. What he wanted was to close his eyes, just for a few minutes.

      He dropped the second ruined boot and lay back on the bed, allowing his head to sink into the feather pillows. Bliss. A few moments rest. Only a few.

      He was just beginning to drift into sleep when her blurry image came back to him. That girl. What courage she had. Who was she? He must speak to her again and thank her. But only later, once he was clean again, and presentable. And once he was fully in control of his body’s responses, too. He needed to show her that he was a gentleman, not a ravening demon. He found he could not quite remember her face, or the colour of her hair. It had all been too indistinct in the smoke. And later her head had been covered by a wet cloth, just as his own had been. But her hair had definitely been cropped, like a boy’s. Very strange. Perhaps she had recently recovered from a fever or some such? Yes, that must be it. Still, it should be easy enough to discover her. There would not be many girls with cropped hair at the foremost inn of Boulogne. He would find her, and thank her. He’d give her a purse of guineas, too, if she would take them. She had certainly earned them.

      So much courage. He must find her again. He must.

      ‘Hold still, your Grace, if you please.’

      Dominic cursed. Cooper was being particularly thorough with his confounded salve.

      ‘Exactly so, your Grace. But if I don’t catch all of these burns, they’ll turn bad and then where will we be? Begging your Grace’s pardon, o’ course.’ There was nothing in the least subservient about Cooper’s tone, in spite of his words. He had been with Dominic for too many years and was particularly officious when he knew he was in the right. As now.

      Dominic sighed and held himself still until his man had finished. Cooper eased a fine lawn shirt over Dominic’s injured torso. It felt blessedly cool against his tormented skin.

      ‘There. Works wonders, your Grace. You’ll soon be right as ninepence. You’ll see.’

      ‘No doubt, Cooper,’ Dominic croaked. His throat was still raw from the smoke. He reached for the tumbler of water and drained it. For a moment, it helped.

      ‘I’ll fetch up some honey in a moment,’ Cooper said. He had been out in the yard, helping to pass the water buckets, but he had not inhaled nearly as much smoke as his master. He still sounded more or less normal. ‘Once your Grace is fit to meet company again.’

      Dominic groaned and reached for his cravat. He had wasted too much time already. He had not intended to fall asleep but, exhausted as he was, there had been no fighting it. He must find that girl. She would be injured too, her throat burned and her tender body scarred by flying sparks. He would offer her Cooper’s salve. He would—

      ‘Right, your Grace. You’ll do now, I think.’ Cooper nodded knowingly at his master’s reflection in the glass.

      Dominic assessed the image for a second. His mother would certainly recognise him now. It was as well that Cooper had cut out the scorch marks in his hair, though. The Dowager would certainly have had something caustic to say about those, if she had seen them.

      He strode to the door and clattered down the stairs to find the landlord. He must find that girl.

      ‘Monseigneur.’ The landlord had instantly appeared, bowing so low that his nose seemed to be about to touch his knees. His thanks were effusive. And apparently interminable.

      ‘Yes, yes,’ Dominic said, with a dismissive wave. ‘Anyone else would have done the same. Say no more about it.’

      The landlord bowed again, even lower. It seemed he was about to start all over again, but this time Dominic cut him short. ‘Landlord, there is a girl in the inn, with cropped hair. I wish to speak to her. Be so good as to bring her to me.’

      ‘A girl, monseigneur?’ He was looking thoroughly puzzled. He began to shake his head. Then, ‘Oh, the girl with cropped hair. You mean that one.’

      Dominic resisted the temptation to swear at the man. The landlord had just had a major fire at his inn, after all. No wonder his mind was at sixes and sevens. ‘Yes, that one. I wish to see her. Where is she? And who is she?’

      ‘You must mean the corn merchant’s daughter, monseigneur. We have no other girl with cropped hair here. Poor thing, her father said they’d had fever in the family. Such a shame to cut off a girl’s hair like that.’

      ‘Yes, yes, but where is she? I require to see her.’

      The landlord swallowed and stared at the floor. ‘Désolé, monseigneur. She has gone, I fear. Her family left several hours ago. While monseigneur was resting.’

      Dominic swallowed a curse at his own weakness. He should have followed her at once. All his instincts had told him to do so. He frowned down at the landlord, but the man had not raised his eyes. ‘But she has a name?’ Dominic rasped.

      The landlord hesitated for a moment. ‘I…I do not have the girl’s name, no. She was with the family Durand, of Paris. I assumed she was the daughter. Monsieur Durand gave me no precise address. It was not necessary, you understand. He—’

      ‘So you have no way of contacting them?’

      ‘I regret, monseigneur, that—’

      ‘Oh, very well.’ Dominic knew he was sounding bad-tempered. And he had no just cause. It was not the landlord’s fault, but it was so frustrating that the girl had gone. Why did she have to have such a common surname? And no exact address? It was as if the whole of Boulogne was conspiring against him. With a shake of his head and a curt word of thanks, he left the landlord and strode out to assess the state of the yard.

      Behind him, the landlord shook his head slowly. They were strange people, these English, even ones who spoke perfect French like the Duke of Calder. What on earth could he have wanted with a ten-year-old girl? Nothing good, that was certain. It was rumoured that the English had strange and perverted tastes. As an honest and patriotic Frenchman, the landlord could not take the risk of betraying the identity of the child, even to the English Duke who had been responsible for saving his livelihood. The English were the enemy of the Empire, after all. They had been responsible for exiling the Emperor.

      The landlord sniffed in disgust. Then he smiled to himself. Giving the Duke a false name and address for the child had definitely been the right thing to do. And clever. By now, she was well on her way home. And not to Paris.

      Dominic strode across to where the horses were tethered in the yard, as far as possible from the ruined stables. The grooms were milling around, trying to settle them. The pervasive smell of smoke was making the animals decidedly skittish.

      Perhaps, with a fast horse, he could catch her? The family must be on the road to Paris, after all, and they could not be all that far ahead of him, unless they were travelling post. That was surely unlikely for a merchant’s family?

      He was on the point of calling out for a horse to be saddled. But then he remembered where