Regency Rogues: Rakes' Redemption. Sarah Mallory

she stop her smile of relief when Raoul strode into the room, a couple of large packages beneath one arm and a rather battered bandbox dangling from his hand. His brows rose when he saw her.

      ‘I hardly expected such a warm welcome, milady.’

      ‘I thought you had gone,’ she confessed.

      ‘And break our bargain? I am not such a rogue.’ He handed her the parcels. ‘I had a little money left from yesterday, plus the reimbursement from the landlord, and I decided to see if I could find something suitable to augment your wardrobe. There is also a trunk following; to travel without baggage is to invite curiosity, is it not?’

      She barely acknowledged his last words, for she was busy opening the first of the packages. It contained a selection of items for Cassie’s comfort including a brush and comb and a new chemise. The second was a round gown of yellow muslin with a matching shawl.

      ‘Oh,’ she said, holding up the gown. ‘Th-thank you.’

      ‘I had to guess your size, but it is fastened by tapes and should fit you. And there is this.’ He put the bandbox on the table and lifted out a straw bonnet. ‘The fine weather looks set to continue and I thought this might be suitable.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘I—thank you. I am very grateful.’

      ‘I cannot have my wife dressed in rags. My wife in name only,’ he added quickly. ‘Although after last night we must make sure we demand a truckle bed for the maid.’

      ‘But we do not have a maid.’

      ‘We shall say she is following on and then complain that she has not turned up. At least then I shall have a cot to sleep in.’

      ‘You seem to have thought of everything, monsieur.’

      ‘I spent a damned uncomfortable night considering the matter,’ he retorted. ‘Now, madame, shall we go downstairs and break our fast?’

       Chapter Four

      The lure of a fresh gown was too tempting to resist. Cassandra begged Raoul to wait for her downstairs and twenty minutes later she joined him in the dining room dressed in her new yellow muslin. She saw his eyes widen with appreciation and was woman enough to feel pleased about it. They were alone in the room at that moment and as Raoul held the chair for her Cassie murmured her thanks again.

      ‘The gown fits very well, monsieur, and the maid has promised to have my riding habit brushed and packed by the time we are ready to leave.’

      ‘Good.’ He took his seat opposite and cast an appraising eye over her. ‘The woman in the shop was correct, that colour is perfect for you.’

      Cassie looked up, intrigued. ‘How then did you describe me to her?’

      ‘A petite brunette with the most unusual violet eyes.’

      ‘Oh.’ Cassie blushed. ‘Th-thank you, monsieur.’

      Raoul berated himself silently. She thought he was complimenting her, but it had not been his intention. It was true he thought her beautiful, but he did not wish her to know that. Confound it, he did not want to admit the fact to himself. He gave his attention to his breakfast. He had told the truth, nothing more.

      While she was busy pouring herself a cup of coffee he took another quick glance. There was no denying it, she was beautiful. The lemon gown enhanced her creamy skin and set off the dusky curls that she had brushed until they shone. She had pinned up her hair, accentuating the slender column of her throat and her bare shoulders that rose from the low-cut corsage. His pulse leapt and he quickly returned his gaze to his plate. Strange how the sight should affect him. After all, he had seen her shoulders before, and more, when she had been bathing in the lake. But something was different. He looked up again. Yes, there was a thin gold chain around her neck from which was suspended an oval locket set with a single ruby. But it was not the jewel that held his attention, it was the fact that the ornament rested low on her neck, directing the eye to the shadowed valley of her breasts.

      ‘You are staring at me, monsieur. Is something wrong?’

      Raoul cleared his throat.

      ‘I have not seen that trinket before.’

      ‘The locket?’ She put one hand up to her breast. ‘Until today I have worn it beneath my riding shirt. It is the last of my jewellery. I sold the rest to pay for my journey.’

      ‘It holds special memories for you, perhaps.’

      Her hand closed over it.

      ‘A portrait of my husband.’

      ‘Ah. I understand.’

      Cassie did not reply, but gave her attention to finishing her breakfast. It was better that he thought she loved her husband. She was now sure enough of his character to know he would not wish to seduce another man’s wife.

      They left Reims looking every inch a respectable couple. The trunk was packed and strapped on to the hired chaise, Cassie made herself comfortable inside, and Raoul rode as escort on the long-tailed bay. Their journey continued without incident. Cassie had given Raoul sufficient funds to pay for their board and lodgings, they were civil to one another when they stopped to dine on the road, and Raoul made no demur about sleeping in a dressing room at the wayside inn that provided their lodgings for the night. Their fear of discovery receded, too, for whereas the soldiers at the bridges and gendarmes at the town gates might question a pair of ragged travellers, a wealthy gentleman and his wife roused no suspicions and they were waved through without question. However, she agreed with Raoul that they should take a more circuitous route and avoid the main highway, which was constantly busy with soldiers. Their journey was going well. Raoul was very different from Merimon, her first, rascally escort, and she knew she was fortunate that he was such an honourable man.

      Cassie wondered why, then, she should feel so discontented. Her eyes moved to the window and to the figure of Raoul, mounted upon the long tailed bay. She wanted him. She wanted him to hold her, to make love to her.

      Shocking. Reprehensible. Frightening. She had already admitted to herself that eloping had been a mistake. How much more of a mistake to allow herself to develop a tendre for a man like Raoul Doulevant? A man whom she would not see again once she returned to England. Besides, it was nothing more than lust, she knew that. They were constantly at odds with one another and had he not told her himself he had no cause to like the English? Reluctantly she shifted her gaze away from him. No, much better to keep her distance, it would be madness to allow the undoubted attraction between them to take hold. If only she could forget what had happened in the lake, forget his kiss, the way it felt to have her naked body pressed close to his, the heat that had flowed between them despite the cool water.

      She gave herself a little shake. The strong yearning she felt was because she was lonely. The last few months with Gerald had been very unhappy. She had no close friends in Verdun and loyalty had kept her from confiding her problems to anyone. Once she was back in England, living with Grandmama, taking up her old life again, she would be able to put from her mind her time in France. She smoothed out the skirts of her yellow muslin and tried to smother the quiet voice that told her Raoul Doulevant would not be easy to forget.

      It was some time past noon and they were passing over a particularly uneven section of road when there was a sudden splintering crash and