Regency Rogues: Rakes' Redemption. Sarah Mallory

the sharpened instruments.

      ‘Thank you.’ Bonnaire took the honed tools and handed them to Raoul. ‘Perhaps, mon père, you could send someone to attend to the lights and the fire while we work.’

      ‘But of course. I will ask Madame Duval to step in.’

      ‘No.’ Raoul frowned. ‘She is not used to such work.’

      The priest stopped and looked at him in surprise.

      ‘Really, monsieur? If you say so. Madame Deschamps, of course, is a woman most resourceful, but she is very busy at the auberge.’

      ‘Well, there must be someone else who can come in,’ said Raoul irritably.

      The priest spread his hands.

      ‘These are simple people, monsieur, uneducated. They are easily frightened and I fear they would be sorely distressed by the sight of their neighbours in such a situation as this.’

      ‘But my wife...’

      Raoul’s words trailed off. What could he say, that his wife was a lady? That she was too cossetted and spoiled to be of any use here?

      ‘Madame Duval has shown herself to be most resourceful in this tragedy,’ the priest continued. ‘The villagers turned to her in their grief and she did not fail them. While they could only weep and wail she arranged who should go to the fields to fetch the mothers and wives of those who were working in the barn. She helped to feed the children and put them to bed and it was madame who organised the women to prepare this house for you, to boil the water and tear up the clean sheets for bandages. Even now she is helping to cook supper at the auberge for those who are grieving too much to feed themselves or their families.’

      ‘Practical as well as beautiful,’ remarked Bonnaire. ‘You are to be congratulated on having such a partner, Monsieur Duval.’

      Raoul’s jaw clenched hard as he tried to ignore the doctor’s remark. He did not want to be congratulated, did not want to think how fortunate a man would be to have a wife like Lady Cassandra.

      He shrugged and capitulated.

      ‘Very well, let her come in.’

      They had tarried long enough and he had work to do.

      They lifted the first man on to the table. He and his fellow patient had been given enough brandy to make them drowsy and Raoul worked quickly. He was aware of Cassandra moving silently around the room, building up the fire to keep the water hot, trimming the wicks on the lights and even helping Bonnaire to hold down the patient when necessary. He glanced up at one critical point, fearing she might faint at the gruesome nature of the business, but although she was pale she appeared perfectly composed and obeyed his commands as steadily as the young doctor.

      Midnight was long past before the operations were complete and the patients could be left to recover. Raoul felt utterly drained and when Bonnaire offered to sit with them through the night he did not argue. He shrugged on his coat and escorted Cassie to the auberge, where the landlady was waiting up to serve them supper.

      Cassie was bone-weary and after all she had seen that evening she had no appetite, but she had eaten very little all day and she sat down opposite Raoul at the table while Madame Deschamps set two full plates before them.

      The hot food warmed her and she began to feel better. She reached for her wine glass and looked up to see Raoul watching her.

      ‘I am sorry we have had to delay our journey, milady.’

      ‘I am not.’ She continued, a note of wonder in her voice, ‘Truly, I do not regret being here. It has been a difficult day and a sad one, too, but I am pleased I could be of help.’

      She took a sip of wine while she considered all that had happened. Raoul had thrown himself into assisting the villagers and she had done the same. The people had been shocked and frightened, unable to think for themselves. They had needed someone to take charge and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world for her to step in, deciding what needed to be done and setting villagers to work. They had not questioned her, instead as the day wore on they had looked to her even more for guidance. She glanced shyly at Raoul.

      ‘For the first time in my life I think I have done something truly useful.’

      Silently he raised his glass to her and, smiling, she gave her attention to her food. They finished their meal in silence and she sat back, watching as Raoul wiped a piece of bread around his plate. He was looking a little less grey and drawn than when they had come in, but she knew how tirelessly he had worked all day.

      She said suddenly, ‘You must be exhausted.’

      He pushed away his empty plate.

      ‘It has been a long day, certainly, and I cannot wait to get to my bed.’ He drained his wine. ‘Well, madame, shall we retire?’

      Cassie had given little thought to the sleeping arrangements until the landlady showed them upstairs to what was clearly the best bedroom. A large canopied bed filled the centre of the room, its curtains pulled back to display the plump, inviting mattress. It was then that Cassie’s tiredness fled, replaced by a strong sense of unease. She stopped just inside the door and did not move, even when the landlady left them.

      ‘Ah. There is no truckle bed,’ she muttered. ‘I forgot to mention it.’

      ‘Then we must share this one.’ Raoul unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat and threw them over a chair.

      ‘No!’ Cassie was scandalised. To sleep in the open was one thing—even to curl up together on the floor before the fire had not felt this dangerous, after all the old woman had been sleeping in the same room and providing some sort of chaperonage. But to share a bed, to have that strong, lithe body only inches away— ‘Out of the question,’ she said firmly.

      Raoul yawned. ‘You need not fear for your virtue, milady, but if you think I will sleep on the floor tonight you are much mistaken.’

      She eyed him suspiciously. If her own fatigue could vanish so quickly, she was sure his would, too. She remembered waking on the cottage floor to find his hand cradling her breast. The thought made her grow hot, but not with embarrassment. She began to recognise her own yearning for a man’s touch. She watched in growing alarm as he sat down to pull off his boots.

      She said quickly, ‘I know how men use soft words and pretty gestures to seduce a woman, but I am not so easily caught, monsieur.’

      ‘Confound it, woman, I am not using any soft words,’ he snapped, but Cassie was so on edge she paid no heed.

      ‘I know ’tis all a sham,’ she continued, in an attempt to quell the flicker of desire that was uncurling inside her. ‘A man must have his way and the result for the woman is always disappointing.’

      ‘Disappointing, milady?’

      With a growl he rose from the chair and came purposefully towards her. It took all Cassie’s willpower not to back away from him. She tensed as he put out his hand and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

      ‘Mayhap you have only had English lovers so far.’

      She pulled her chin from his grasp. Her heart was hammering and panic was not far away, because she knew she was ready to fall into his arms at any moment. She started to gabble, trying to convince herself that such an action would be foolish in the extreme.

      ‘Lovers? The word is too easily used, monsieur. Love rarely comes into it, in my experience. The coupling that ensues is for the man to enjoy and the woman to endure.’