* * *
It was twilight by the time I left, with the first stars coming out in faint speckles over the chimneypots. In my pocket was a letter written by Mary, properly witnessed, containing her statement of the events of the night before. Once this was delivered to the proper authorities, we should at least have no further trouble from the law. Just as well; there was plenty of trouble pending from other quarters.
Mindful, this time, of danger, I made no objection to Mrs. Hawkins’s unwilling offer to have me and Fergus transported home in the family carriage.
I tossed my hat on the card table in the vestibule, observing the large number of notes and small nosegays that overflowed the salver there. Apparently we weren’t yet pariahs, though the news of the scandal must long since have spread through the social strata of Paris.
I waved away the anxious inquiries of the servants, and drifted upward toward the bedchamber, shedding my outer garments carelessly along the way. I felt too drained to care about anything.
But when I pushed open the bedchamber door and saw Jamie, lying back in a chair by the fire, my apathy was at once supplanted by a surge of tenderness. His eyes were closed and his hair sticking up in all directions, sure sign of mental turmoil at some point. But he opened his eyes at the slight noise of my entrance and smiled at me, eyes clear and blue in the warm light of the candelabrum.
“It’s all right” was all he whispered to me as he gathered me into his arms. “You’re home.” Then we were silent, as we undressed each other and went finally to earth, each finding delayed and wordless sanctuary in the other’s embrace.
21
UNTIMELY RESURRECTION
My mind was still on bankers when our coach pulled up to the Duke’s rented residence on the Rue St. Anne. It was a large, handsome house, with a long, curving drive lined with poplar trees, and extensive grounds. A wealthy man, the Duke.
“Do you suppose it was the loan Charles got from Manzetti that he’s investing with St. Germain?” I asked.
“It must be,” Jamie replied. He pulled on the pigskin gloves suitable for a formal call, grimacing slightly as he smoothed the tight leather over the stiff fourth finger of his right hand. “The money his father thinks he’s spending to maintain himself in Paris.”
“So Charles really is trying to raise money for an army,” I said, feeling a reluctant admiration for Charles Stuart. The coach came to a halt, and the footman hopped down to open the door.
“Well, he’s trying to raise money, at least,” Jamie corrected, handing me out of the coach. “For all I ken, he wants it to elope with Louise de La Tour and his bastard.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Not from what Master Raymond told me yesterday. Besides, Louise says she hasn’t seen him since she and Jules…well…”
Jamie snorted briefly. “At least she’s got some sense of honor, then.”
“I don’t know whether that’s it,” I observed, taking his arm as we climbed the steps to the door. “She said Charles was so furious at her for sleeping with her husband that he stormed off, and she hasn’t seen him since. He writes her passionate letters from time to time, swearing to come and take her and the child away with him as soon as he comes into his rightful place in the world, but she won’t let him come to see her; she’s too afraid of Jules finding out the truth.”
Jamie made a disapproving Scottish noise.
“God, is there any man safe from cuckoldry?”
I touched his arm lightly. “Likely some more than others.”
“Ye think so?” he said, but smiled down at me.
The door swung open to reveal a short, tubby butler, with a bald head, a spotless uniform, and immense dignity.
“Milord,” he said, bowing to Jamie, “and milady. You are expected. Please come in.”