Regency High Society Vol 3: Beloved Virago / Lord Trenchard's Choice / The Unruly Chaperon / Colonel Ancroft's Love. Elizabeth Rolls
that the events of the evening before had all been some fiendish bad dream had been wholly dashed.
The muttered exclamation carried, and Daniel paused in his shaving to stare through the mottled glass on the washstand at his companion’s pained expression. A few minutes before, whilst still soundly asleep, she had looked utterly adorable, with those auburn locks in enchanting disarray framing her lovely face. It was quite evident that her mood had not improved to any significant degree during the night hours, and he could not in truth say that he was in the least surprised. The winged-chair might be comfortable enough to sit in for an hour or two of an evening, but it hadn’t been fashioned to afford its occupant a good night’s repose.
He managed with precious little effort to suppress a smile, but was not nearly so successful in ignoring that imp of pure devilment which induced him to say, ‘Good morning, sweetheart. I trust you slept well?’
The darts of antipathy discharged from the depths of turquoise-coloured eyes very nearly sent him into whoops of laughter and in grave danger of taking a slice off his chin with the razor. Controlling himself with an effort, he glanced at her again through the mirror before concentrating on his own reflection. She was a termagant, right enough, stubborn and headstrong, and not every man’s idea of a comfortable companion. Yet, in truth, he could not be sorry that she did possess an abundance of spirit, for he very much feared that she would require every ounce of mettle she possessed if they were to come through this venture unscathed.
Deciding to keep these reflections to himself for the time being at least, he concentrated on preparing himself for the day ahead. When at last he had arranged his cravat neatly about his neck, he slipped on his jacket, and turned at last to face her.
‘There is sufficient hot water left in the pitcher to cater for your needs,’ he remarked, successfully bringing to an end what appeared to be her idle contemplation of the dead ashes in the hearth. ‘I’ll go downstairs and order breakfast. You’ll feel better for having some food inside you.’
His considerate gesture to leave her to undertake her toilette in private did little to alleviate Katherine’s disgruntled mood, and she darted yet another vitriolic glare in his direction. ‘My spirits are only ever likely to improve, Major Ross, when we part company … permanently.’
His lips twitched. ‘Believe me, m’dear, it would afford me the utmost pleasure to oblige you. Unfortunately I’m unable to do so, at least not for several days.’ He made to move across to the door, then checked and looked down at her again, a frown between his eyes. ‘Let me hear you say something in French. Say anything you like to me.’
How Katherine wished her command of the language was such that she could do precisely that by consigning him comprehensively to the devil! Unfortunately it was not and she had to be satisfied with telling him politely to withdraw immediately, to which his response was to utter a protracted groan and clap a hand over his eyes.
‘Dear God! Bath seminary French! Marie was right—you would never pass for a Frenchwoman in a million years!’ He removed his hand to bestow a faintly exasperated look upon her. ‘None the less, we must strive to maintain the pretence of a happily married French couple as best we can. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready. You cannot remain skulking in the bedchamber now that your husband is here to protect you. We’ll eat in the coffee-room. But kindly leave all the talking to me.’
‘Insufferable oaf!’ Katherine couldn’t resist muttering the instant he had departed.
‘I heard that,’ a deep voice informed her from the other side of the door.
Aches and pains instantly forgotten, Katherine flew out of the chair to lock the door. From what sounded suspiciously like a rumble of deep masculine laughter floating down the length of the passageway outside the room, she strongly suspected that his sharp ears had also detected the grating sound of the key turning in the lock. The confounded man had the acute senses of a cat! And could move as silently as a feline too! She would have sworn she had been awake throughout most of that wretchedly uncomfortable night, striving to combat the very natural desire to part company with the Major at the earliest opportunity, and yet in all honesty she could not say she had heard him return the key to the lock.
She turned her attention to her small trunk, which had sat in the corner of the room since her arrival at the inn. Nothing would have afforded her more satisfaction than to begin to re-pack it at this very moment with her belongings, and persuade Marie to accompany her at least as far as Calais. Her wretched conscience, however, simply wouldn’t permit her to attempt this course of action. She had pledged to do all she could to help Sir Giles in his endeavours to unmask that British traitor who had eluded him for several years. So she must strive, somehow, to overcome her quite understandable antipathy and collaborate with the Major. Their mission was the important thing, not her disinclination to work with someone whom she found an utter bane, and she must never lose sight of this fact, she reminded herself.
Consequently she swiftly made use of the pitcher’s remaining contents, and after dressing herself in one of her modest, high-necked day dresses and arranging her hair in a neat chignon, she made her way down the stairs to the coffee-room, where she discovered the Major seated at the table by the window, staring intently out at the street.
Not surprisingly he detected her light footfall almost at once, and rose from the chair to place his lips lightly on one cheek before Katherine could do anything to avoid the fleeting contact with that much too attractive masculine mouth. She would have derived a deal of pleasure from stamping on one of those large feet encased in boots that since the previous night had received a polish, but as there were several other patrons present she refrained and merely betrayed her resentment of the chaste salute by flashing a speaking glance, which he blithely ignored.
As this was the first time she had eaten downstairs since her arrival at the inn, Katherine gazed about her with interest, and although the Major maintained a flow of conversation to which she only needed to contribute the occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’, she did notice his attention straying as the meal wore on, his keen gaze alternating between a spot beyond the window, quite outside her own field of vision, and a certain area in the coffee-room beyond her left shoulder.
She realised at once that something was not quite to his liking, and was not unduly surprised, after they had both eaten their fill, that he seemed disinclined to linger. ‘I fear, my dear, that I must leave you to your own devices this morning,’ he remarked in a carrying voice, which the bearded man seated alone at the table nearest the door must surely have heard. ‘I have an appointment with my bankers, so I’m afraid we must delay our departure until tomorrow. Annoying, I know, but it cannot be helped.’
Had Katherine not known that the Major was acting the part of the loving, considerate husband, she might have supposed the smile of gentle warmth he bestowed upon her as they made their way towards the stairs was perfectly genuine. ‘Why not enjoy a last spending spree and treat yourself to a new bonnet?’ he suggested. ‘It might be some little time before we have a chance to visit Paris again, my love, so take advantage of a last browse round the shops.’
After accompanying her back up the stairs, he followed her into the bedchamber, where he remained only for the time it took to collect his outdoor garments. Then, without uttering anything further, not even a word of farewell, he left her, closing the door quietly behind him.
Katherine clearly detected a murmur of voices from the room adjoining her own, which Marie had occupied throughout their time at the inn. She could not hear precisely what was being said, and even if she could she doubted very much whether she would have understood half of what was being uttered, because the conversation quite naturally was being conducted in rapid French. Even so, there certainly seemed an urgency about the whispered exchanges.
Some few minutes elapsed before she heard a firm tread along the passageway, and several minutes more before she saw, from her bedchamber window, Major Ross leave the inn, and set off at a brisk pace towards the centre of the city. Almost at once a figure emerged from one of the doorways on the opposite side of the street and made off in the same direction. Mere coincidence, or something more sinister? She could not help wondering.
Her