The Caged Countess. Joanna Fulford

reality, he had no idea what he was going to do about the situation, only that he did have a responsibility. At the very least he must ascertain that his wife was still well and ensure that his financial obligations were being met. More than that, they needed to have a serious discussion. He had no more wish to live with her than she with him. It was entirely possible that she had found consolation elsewhere; that she might ask for an annulment. Then they would both be free to move on with their lives. And if he were free, what then? Involuntarily he glanced at his companion and sighed inwardly. Before he could put his life in order he had first to fulfil his present obligation to Claudine. After that they would go their separate ways and he would be able to concentrate unhindered on the problem of his future. He might have resumed his career in the army had not Napoleon been sent to Elba. As it was, thousands of British soldiers had been demobilised so that door was closed. Although it was far from ideal, espionage looked to be the only other option at present. There were loose ends to tie up as well, and he couldn’t do that now until he’d dealt with personal matters.

      It was therefore with considerable relief that he caught his first glimpse of the sea. The distant expanse of grey-green water represented safety. Once on English soil, Claudine would be beyond the reach of Fouché and his agents. That much was sincerely pleasing. The thought of her, or indeed any woman, in such hands was repellent. However, the sea also brought parting much closer. Duval guessed she would not be sorry. Her manner of late, though correct and courteous, was also distant. He understood why. For both of them the imminent separation would be welcome. Once he had resolved the issues surrounding his personal life, he would ask for another posting. Work would provide the means to keep his mind occupied. He suspected that Claudine would be hard to forget, but he meant to try all the same. For all sorts of reasons he too would be glad to reach England.

      The passage to St Helier was arranged without undue difficulty. The owner of the boat was quite willing to undertake the journey for the fee that was offered. Claudine eyed him dubiously. The man, who gave his name as Pierre, was a rough-looking individual whose swarthy face and dark beard wouldn’t have seemed out of place on a pirate sloop. She said as much to Duval when they were out of earshot.

      ‘Pierre is trustworthy,’ he said. ‘He and I have worked together before.’

      ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ she replied.

      ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

      ‘You both have a piratical air about you.’

      Duval’s good eye glinted. ‘Be thankful I’m not a pirate, my sweet.’

      ‘You would make me walk the plank, I have no doubt.’

      ‘Tempting, I admit, but pirates don’t throw money away like that; not when you would fetch such a handsome profit in any slave market in the Mediterranean. You would be an ornament in any man’s harem.’

      She glared at him. ‘That is a vile thing to say.’

      ‘It’s the truth.’ He paused. ‘Of course, I might decide to keep you instead.’

      ‘What, and lose a handsome profit?’

      ‘There would be other compensations.’

      The implications of that outrageous remark rendered her temporarily speechless. No doubt it had been made with the intention of provoking her into an unguarded reply that he could exploit to his advantage. However, she had no intention of obliging him. The conversation was already in dangerous waters and he was probably enjoying the fact. She darted another look his way, but his expression remained inscrutable.

      The passage to St Helier was chilly but uneventful. Claudine was so eager to reach their destination that the discomforts of a small fishing boat were rendered negligible in comparison. She spoke little to her companion on the journey, partly because it wasn’t practical to move around in the limited space, and partly because she was too preoccupied to wish for speech. Duval too seemed preoccupied, when he wasn’t engaged in private conversation with Matthieu or Pierre. He barely even glanced her way. Their earlier conversation might never have happened. No doubt such teasing came easily to him, but it had resurrected memories that she would have preferred not to revisit. Moreover, it seemed that he had not forgotten either. His words were a further demonstration of how he regarded her. If she were to give him the least bit of encouragement …

      For a moment her treacherous thoughts returned to the intimacy they had shared and the touch of his hands on her body, and in spite of the chill she felt hot inside. You could take a lover. Was it himself he had meant? Probably not, in the light of what had occurred between them. I prefer my women willing. No doubt there were many such, but she wasn’t one of them. She had got carried away for a while, that was all. When she got home she could put all this behind her. She glanced in Duval’s direction but his attention was apparently focused on the horizon. No question but he was looking forward to the end of their journey as much as she was.

      On arrival at their destination they bade farewell to Pierre and then repaired to a quayside inn. Hot food and a cheerful fire acted as restoratives against the chill and counteracted the effects of the voyage. It was replaced by a feeling of well-being in which relief played no small part. She was safe; the chances of anything untoward happening now were minimal. It occurred to her again how much she owed to her companion. He might be a rogue, but, having stood between her and disaster, he had risked much on her account. That realisation did much to dampen the anger she had felt earlier. It had come as a shock to discover that he was married but it shouldn’t have. He had always been forbidden fruit. When they reached England and said their goodbyes she would never have to see him again.

      Sensing himself observed Duval looked up and then found his gaze lingering. The view across the table was very agreeable indeed. Warmth had brought a delightful flush of colour to her cheeks and lips and enhanced the beauty of those huge dark eyes. Tendrils of hair had escaped from the confining ribbon. They curled about her face and neck in a manner that was both artless and damnably alluring.

      Under that intense scrutiny Claudine was more than ever aware of her dishevelled appearance. Apart from wearing the same clothes for days she had been able to make only the most basic toilette at each of the inns where they had stopped. She returned a wry smile.

      ‘I know. I look like a gypsy.’

      ‘Not the word I was thinking of,’ he replied with perfect truth.

      ‘I won’t ask what that is.’ She glanced with distaste at her gown. ‘The first thing I shall do when I get back to Oakley Court is to take a leisurely bath.’

      Duval was suddenly very still. ‘Oakley Court?’

      ‘My house … in Sussex.’ She looked up and saw his expression. ‘Do you know it?’

      ‘I know of a house of that name.’

      Claudine nodded. ‘Of course, I remember you saying that you were familiar with the area.’

      ‘The house I speak of belonged to the Earls of Ulverdale.’

      ‘That’s right. It still does.’

      He strove to keep his voice level. ‘Then … I think that Claudine may be an assumed name.’

      When she saw his expression some of her cheerfulness faded. ‘I would have said something earlier only … well, you never asked so I assumed you didn’t want to know.’

      Duval 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 …’