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‘Aside from that,’ Sam said, suddenly serious, ‘when we get to Paris, you will not be able to keep her presence a secret without locking her up and I doubt she’d stand for it.’
Jay admitted the truth of that. ‘So?’
‘Diplomats usually have wives. If you do not want to claim her as a mistress, then she could be Mrs Drymore.’
‘Impossible. I have no intention of marrying again.’
‘I was not suggesting you go through a marriage ceremony, but in Paris, who’s to know you have not? And it will be easier to protect her—no one would dare molest the wife of a British envoy.’
Jay was thoughtful; Sam did have a point and he wondered why he had not thought of it himself. Lisette Giradet seemed to drive rational thought from him, but it was time he took command of the situation again. The innkeeper went to pass them with a heavily loaded tray. ‘Is that for us?’ he asked, nodding at it.
‘Oui, monsieur.’
‘I’ll take it.’ He stood up and relieved the man of the tray. ‘Sam, we will make an early start in the morning,’ he said, and took the tray up to the bedchamber he was to share with Lisette.
Lisette had used the warm water that had been brought to her to wash off the grime of travel and undressed for bed. She was sitting up against the pillows when there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was a waiter, she pulled the curtains about the bed and bade him come in. ‘Leave it on the table,’ she said.
She heard him put the tray down and go to the door. Opening the curtains, intending to go to the table and eat something, she was shocked to find Jay, who had simply gone to shut and lock the door, taking off his coat.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I am going to have supper. It smells good.’ He hung his coat over the back of a chair and pulled another out for her. ‘Come, you must be hungry.’
‘You can’t stay in here.’
‘I’ve nowhere else to go. You would not turn me out, would you?’
‘But it is unseemly.’
‘You should have thought of that before you stowed away. The whole adventure is unseemly, as you must have known.’
‘Yes, but I did not think…’
‘That is your trouble, Miss Giradet, you do not think. I recall you promised to be good if I brought you.’
‘Good, yes, wanton, no.’
‘Touche!’ He laughed. ‘Come and eat. You may trust me not to pounce on you.’
She eyed the tray with its gently steaming dishes, smelled the delicious aroma coming from them and hunger won. She wrapped one of the blankets about her and padded in bare feet to join him at the table.
‘This innkeeper seems able to keep a good table in hard times,’ she said. ‘The food at the places we had meals before were most unappetising.’
‘No doubt he has a hidden source of supplies and we will be charged accordingly. Let us be thankful for it and eat our fill.’ He ladled food on to a plate for her and then helped himself. ‘We have a long day ahead of us again tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow,’ she repeated. Before tomorrow came they had to spend the night in this room. Could she trust him to keep his promise? She had been in scrapes before, but nothing like this. If he did pounce on her, as he so inelegantly put it, would she fight him off? Did she even want to? If he loved her, she might welcome his advances, but to him she was an encumbrance, a hoyden, he had told her so. He still mourned a dead wife and was true to his vow not to marry again. But that did not mean he would not take a mistress, did it? Oh, she had no one but herself to blame for the pickle she was in.
‘Now let us have done with this cat-and-mouse bickering and make some serious decisions,’ he said when they had eaten and drunk their fill. ‘It is clear the innkeeper thinks you are my wife.’
‘You could have told him I was not.’
‘I could, but then he would have drawn his own conclusions to your detriment. Besides, I could see the advantages…’
‘I’ll wager you could.’
‘Do not be so waspish. Let me finish. If we pretend to be man and wife, you will, as a British citizen by way of marriage, be safe from arrest, even if it is discovered who you really are—or were before you married me. You will be able to go out and about openly. Otherwise you will have to stay in hiding. You may not care for your reputation, but I certainly care for mine.’
‘I see.’ She paused. ‘But we don’t really marry.’
‘No, of course not. It is only a pretence for the duration of our stay.’
She could have wept. Torn between the disappointment of his rejection and thankfulness that he was thinking of her good name did not help her confusion. ‘So what happens tonight?’ she asked.
