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‘You find us comical, no doubt,’ Jay said, as Sam continued on his way and disappeared into his own room.
‘What have you been doing?’
‘Learning to live like a citoyen of Paris.’
‘With Lord Portman?’
‘Yes. Please go back to bed. You are not decent.’
He was unsmiling and brusque. She retreated and banged the door shut. It wasn’t fair of him to make her love him so, when there was no hope of a happy conclusion. She was just as unmarriageable as she had always been and this pretence of theirs only heightened that.
Jay went on to his own room and stripped off the filthy clothes. Harry might take easily to being one of the sans culottes, but he was not comfortable in the garb. But if it helped to get Michel out of gaol and all of them safely back to England he would have to heed Harry’s lessons, because the sooner that happened the better for all concerned. How convincing could he make himself? Not very, if Lisette’s reaction was any measure; she had laughed at him.
Had she realised that the nightrail she was wearing was almost transparent? He had been given a tantalising glimpse of womanly curves and firm breasts which had roused him as nothing else had done since he had last shared a bed with Marianne. And his wife had been deceiving him even then. How she must have been laughing at him. And now Lisette laughed. It was for a different reason, it was true, but it had been enough to bring it all back. If only he had not drunk so much of that rough wine…
He was woken next morning when Sam brought water for him to wash and shave. ‘You are awake at last,’ he said. ‘Seems to me late nights do not suit you, if you cannot rouse yourself before noon.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve stood many a night watch as you well know. It was that rotgut wine they serve at the Cross Keys.’
‘You have me there. I was feeling decidedly queasy myself when I woke. A glass of Calvados soon cured it. Shall I fetch you some?’
‘If you please. Where is Miss Giradet? Has she had her breakfast?’
‘Hours ago, Commodore. Then she went out.’
‘Out? Where?’
‘Shopping, so she said.’
‘With Madame Gilbert?’
‘No. Madame is cooking your breakfast.’
‘Fetch my clothes, Sam, and be quick about it. Heaven knows what mischief the woman will get up to out on her own.’
He flung himself into his clothes and left the house without having anything to eat or drink except a hastily swallowed glass of brandy.
Lisette was standing outside Monsieur Duplay’s house, wondering if she dare knock on the door. Her hesitation was not fear for herself, but the knowledge that if she took the next step she would be betraying Jay. He was an exasperating man, so cool-headed, so convinced he was always right, so blind to her feelings, that she ought not to hesitate. If he did not care for her and thought of her as an encumbrance, then he had no one to blame but himself if she took steps to free her brother herself.
The morning was cold—frost clung to the bare branches of the trees and on the bodies that still swung from the lamp posts—but it was not the weather that was making her shake, it was the thought of what she was contemplating. Unable to bring herself to do it, she turned, intending to walk away, when the door opened and Gerald Wentworth came out. He evidently did not think it necessary to hide his rank; he was immaculately dressed in a silk coat with silver buttons and striped breeches with ribbons at the knees.
‘Mrs Drymore,’ he called, doffing his hat. ‘Good morning to you.’
She could not ignore him. ‘Good morning, sir.’
‘You are out and about early.’
‘Yes, I felt like a walk.’
‘But you have been standing outside this house for the last ten minutes, I saw you from that window.’ He waved his cane at an upper window. ‘Is there someone there you wish to speak to? Monsieur Robespierre, perhaps?’
She had to think quickly. ‘My husband and I dined with him two nights ago and it is the custom to call on one’s host and thank him for his hospitality, but I realised it was too early in the day and no doubt he was at his breakfast.’
‘I believe his repast is done, I have just left the gentleman. Would you like me to escort you inside? I am sure he will see you.’
‘No, I do not think I shall trouble him, after all.’ She began to walk away.
‘Come now, you are not afraid of him, are you?’ he asked, falling into step beside her.
‘Why should I be afraid? He is a man like any other.’
‘Not like any other, Mrs Drymore. He is one of the most powerful men in France, he can command the life and death of thousands with a flick of his fingers. He is the most admired and the most feared of all men.’
