A Rebellious Lady Read online

  But the French were in control. They had chased the British to Corunna, forcing them to withdraw from Spain. Before long they would secure Portugal—Marshal Soult was already in Oporto—then the whole peninsular would be in French hands.

  No, logic dictated that Pierre’s rumours must be wrong and, having come so far already, it would be silly to turn back without having much stronger evidence of any danger.

  Dismissing her doubts, Desiree shrugged lightly.

  ‘I think these tales of guerrilla atrocities have been greatly exaggerated,’ she said with a return of the confidence which had borne her through all the difficulties so far.

  Beauchet, who had been listening to their conversation, suddenly chimed in. ‘That is all very well, cherie, but just how do you propose we get to Vitoria?’

  Stung by the sarcasm in his high-pitched voice, Desiree glared at him.

  ‘Another vehicle is bound to come along soon. After all, this is the Royal Road to Madrid. I’m sure we shall obtain a ride.’

  ‘Bah! We might wait for hours!’

  ‘Then we must walk.’

  Her announcement seemed to strike both her listeners dumb.

  ‘We are only a league or two from Victoria,’ she continued in a more moderate tone. ‘We could reach the inn in a couple of hours or less if we walk briskly.’

  ‘Walk!’ Beauchet whipped out a large spotted silk handkerchief and mopped his brow. He was already sweating profusely, although the sunshine on this new May morning was no more than pleasantly warm.

  ‘You have another suggestion?’ Desiree enquired sweetly.

  ‘Yes! Abandon this crazy enterprise.’

  Desiree’s intensely blue eyes flashed with scorn. ‘You were quick enough to accept the task only a few weeks ago, monsieur.’

  He shrugged, his expression as sulky as a thwarted baby’s. ‘The situation appeared different in Orléans,’ he muttered. ‘But now I have had the opportunity to gather new information and assess the true facts. Without a proper armed escort, I do not feel that I can continue with this journey, mam’selle.’

  ‘You were paid to escort me to Burgos where my brother is to meet me,’ Desiree said tightly, striving to hang on to her temper.

  What was the fellow up to? Surely he had more sense than to believe in unlikely rumours?

  Desiree eyed him suspiciously. The man was bone idle and had made it plain that he had no taste for the journey. He wanted to go home, but he needn’t think he could scare her into giving up her plans.

  ‘What you ask is impossible, monsieur. Do you expect me to conjure up an armed guard out of thin air? Let us forget this nonsense and continue at once if you please.’

  ‘We must turn back,’ Beauchet repeated stubbornly, ignoring her acid comments. ‘You can always write to your brother and ask him to meet you at the border.’

  Desiree bit back a very unladylike English oath.

  Taking a calming breath, she said firmly, ‘I haven’t undertaken this trip to enjoy a brief holiday. It is my hope that my brother will let me stay and make my home with him so you see I cannot just abandon my plans.’

  ‘Ma foi! You will be murdered in your bed.’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous, monsieur!’

  Beauchet drew himself up haughtily. ‘If you will not listen, then I am afraid I must resign my service and take leave of you.’

  ‘You refuse to fulfil your obligations?’ Desiree was shocked. Beauchet might be lazy and half-addled by drink, but she had assumed that he was a gentleman.

  ‘You paid only half my fee in advance,’ he reminded her. ‘We have already travelled several hundred miles from Orléans. I consider that I have amply fulfilled my duty.’

  ‘You are a despicable rogue!’

  Beauchet’s fat jowls quivered with indignation. ‘Your words are insulting, mam’selle, but, honour aside, I think I should prefer to be a rogue than a dead fool!’

  Desiree would have found his pose of affronted dignity quite laughable in other circumstances. Unfortunately, to be stranded alone in a strange land was not an amusing prospect!

  Overcoming a pang of dismay which had momentarily sent an icy shiver down her spine, Desiree gracefully inclined her fair head.

  ‘As you wish, monsieur, I have no doubt I shall do better without a drunkard for company.’

  Ignoring the gobbles of outrage which greeted her remark, Desiree pointedly turned her back on him and asked Pierre to extract her baggage from the chaise.

  The light blue carriage-dress she was wearing had fashionably narrow skirts. She ought to change into something more practical.

  In spite of Pierre’s objections, Desiree still thought it might be possible to ride the carriage horses. She had a riding-habit with her and it was worth a try.

  Pondering the difficulties, Desiree suddenly realised that Beauchet was conferring with the coachman in agitated whispers.

  ‘What is going on?’ Alarm flashed through Desiree’s slender frame.

  ‘I told you, I’m leaving.’ Beauchet snatched up his own valise and thrust it at Pierre. ‘Here, find some way to secure this,’ he ordered.

  ‘Leave those animals alone!’

  Desiree ran forward, but the courier thrust out an arm to prevent her.

  ‘You have no right to take them.’ Desiree’s high-boned cheeks were scarlet with fury.

  He sniggered. ‘I’ll admit it was your money that paid for their hire, cherie, but since they can’t take us to Vitoria, I reckon that contract is void.’

  Desiree threw him a look of disgust. ‘You are little better than a thief!’ she exclaimed.

  An indignant expression crossed his plump face. ‘I don’t intend to keep them. I shall return them to their own stables on our way home,’ he asserted loftily. ‘I’ll even call in on Lamont when we get to Bayonne. It’ll save you the trouble of writing to the fellow.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose that makes everything all right! Perhaps you expect me to thank you?’

  ‘There is no need to take that tone,’ he retorted huffily. ‘I have every right to terminate my services since you have not paid me in full.’

  Sickened by his deviousness, Desiree clamped her lips shut before temper led her into saying more. It was obvious that he had lost all sense of honour, she would not humiliate herself by entering into further discussion with him.

  Returning to her valises, she stooped to feel their combined weight and knew that they were too heavy for her to carry any distance.

  ‘Do you think you could take one of these for me, Pierre?’ she asked, still contemplating her bags. ‘I won’t be able to manage both of them.’

  ‘He can’t do that.’ There was a note of triumphant spite in Beauchet’s high voice.

  ‘You are turning back?’ Desiree’s gaze jerked up and she stared at Pierre with dismay.

  Hanging his head, the coachman avoided her eyes and nodded silently.

  Desiree moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘See me safely to Burgos and you shall receive a generous reward,’ she said, swallowing her pride.

  ‘I’m sorry, mam’selle, truly I am.’ Pierre shuffled his feet in sheepish embarrassment. ‘I’d like to help you, but Monsieur Lamont is going to have my hide over this accident as it is. I might lose my job if I don’t report to him as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll explain to him—’

  Hastily, Pierre shook his head. ‘My wife is expecting our first child. She’s bound to hear what’s happened and if I don’t go back, she’ll worry herself sick. You see, she didn’t want me to cross over the border in the first place.’

  ‘Come on, we’re wasting time.’ Beauchet cut across the servant’s red-faced apologies and ordered Pierre to give him a leg up to mount the horse he had selected. Without saddle or stirrups it was a tricky business, but the roan was a placid beast and stood still while the courier settled himself on its broad back.

  Desiree hoped he was as uncomfortable as he looked!

  Pierre
moved to the second mount and then hesitated. ‘Come with us, mam’selle.’

  Desiree shook her head, outrage stiffening her spine.

  ‘I want the money you were holding for me, Beauchet,’ she said, her anger at the courier’s underhand behaviour hardening into a stubborn resolve to manage on her own.

  A look of shifty disappointment flashed over the courier’s face at her blunt demand, deepening Desiree’s suspicion that he had been planning to cheat her.

  ‘And all my official papers, if you please,’ she added grimly.

  ‘Aye, hand everything over,’ Pierre echoed, his expression stern.

  Eying the young groom’s big fists, Beauchet sighed and reluctantly complied.

  ‘Thank you,’ Desiree stood back with a look of scorn.

  Hortense had insisted she sew pockets into each chemise. She would take care to bestow her valuables safely as soon as the two men departed.

  ‘Sure you won’t change your mind, cherie?’ A faint note of shame underlay Beauchet’s farewell.

  Hearing it, Desiree smiled coldly. Had he just realised what an awkward time he was going to have of it, trying to excuse the despicable way he had abandoned her?

  ‘Go and be damned to you,’ she said sweetly and, turning her back on him, began to calmly repack her belongings to fit the most important items into the smaller valise.

  * * * *

  The slim golden spires of Vitoria seemed to waver before Desiree’s eyes and with a little groan she set down her bag and, removing her gloves, flexed her cramped fingers. The sun, which earlier had seemed so pleasant, was now blazing at its zenith and she felt as if she might melt.

  Wiping the back of her sleeve across her damp forehead, Desiree surveyed the small plain of Vitoria, which lay aslant like a diamond among the surrounding hills. The town itself stood on an eminence, with the Royal Road sweeping in from Madrid in the south-west and out to Bayonne in the north-east. It was just her luck that no vehicle had appeared!

  Not that she looked very respectable to ask for a ride. She cast a rueful glance over her dust-streaked skirts. And her hair had tumbled down under her bonnet, which she had reluctantly kept on for fear of sunburn.

  Maman had always insisted that neatness was one of the true marks of a lady. Desiree grinned to herself. She had never shown proper attention to her mother’s scolds, preferring to scramble after Etienne no matter how she ripped her clothes.

  With a sign, she thrust her gloves into her valise and picked it up. It wasn’t far now and standing here feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to do any good!

  Her mouth twisted wryly. How often her grandfather had used that phrase to her! Whenever she had fallen off her pony or failed in any of the other tasks he had set for her, Sir William had insisted that she try again until she achieved success. No matter how bruised or humiliated she might have been, she had always been forced to obey.

  ‘You may be the daughter of a penniless émigré but you also have Cavendish blood in your veins. Oblige me by showing some courage, Anne!’

  Her grandparents had always refused to call her Desiree. They insisted on using her second name, Anne, ignoring Corinne Fontaine’s protests. As a little girl, Desiree had accepted their dictates without thinking; the ways of grown-ups were often mystifying. It was only when she was older that she had realised it was one of the many methods by which they had sought to destroy her mother’s influence.

  Entering the town, Desiree firmly dismissed the past and its disturbing memories. She needed to keep her wits about her. The inn she wanted, the White Virgin, lay just off the main square. It was apparently named after the famous white jasper statue which stood enshrined in a niche over the door of the old church of San Miguel.

  ‘Look for la Virgen Blanca at the top of the square,’ her informant had said. ‘Behind the church turn right and you will find the inn.’

  Concentrating hard, Desiree was scarcely aware of the curious glances she received.

  To her surprise, many of the houses were made of grey stone and some had bay windows. Allied to the green, hilly scenery, it wasn’t at all how she had pictured a Spanish town. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the heat, Desiree could have almost imagined herself back in England.

  There! That little street was the one she was looking for.

  Desiree hastened forward just as two men came out of one of the buildings. They stopped with their backs to her and stood talking, blocking the entrance to the narrow calle.

  Desiree came to a halt. She had no intention of being forced to squeeze past them.

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen.’ The Castilian phrase had slipped her memory—she knew only a little of the language which was used in this part of Spain—but made subconsciously wary by Pierre’s mutterings, she instinctively spoke in English, not French.

  The taller man turned round and Desiree found herself looking into a hard austere face, deeply tanned by the sun. From beneath the thin black brows, equally dark eyes surveyed her. The glance lasted only a second or two, but Desiree could have sworn that he had taken in every detail of her appearance, from her tangled blonde ringlets to her dusty leather shoes.

  Then, with a curt nod, he stood back, allowing her to pass.

  Desiree could feel his eyes boring into her back all the way up the street!

  To her relief, she found the inn easily. A pair of big wooden doors stood open, revealing a shady courtyard and Desiree quickly stepped inside, glad for some reason that she could not name to escape the tall, dark-haired man’s gaze.

  A stout woman dressed in black appeared. She looked amazed to see Desiree standing alone in her courtyard.

  Acutely conscious of her lack of a suitable escort, Desiree attempted to explain that she required a room.

  A flood of rapid Castilian answered her.

  ‘I’m sorry, No le entiendo. I don’t understand.’ Longing to sit down and desperate for something to cool her dry throat, Desiree cudgelled her brains for some way to convince the frowning landlady that she was respectable.

  ‘May I be of assistance?’

  The voice was ice wrapped in sable velvet.

  Desiree swung round. The tall Spaniard she had encountered earlier had materialised at her side, although she had heard no sound to indicate his arrival.

  ‘Forgive me, but you do want a room?’

  Desiree nodded, tongue-tied by surprise. His English, although marked by a strong accent, was excellent!

  A quick-fire exchange followed. The woman was clearly reluctant, but Desiree’s unexpected champion was obviously a man accustomed to obedience.

  ‘I have made arrangements for you to have a room at the rear. It will be quieter.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Desiree had recovered her composure. ‘You are very kind….’ Her voice trailed off slowly.

  ‘Permit me to introduce myself.’ His expression did not change as he responded to her hint, but Desiree was sure that she saw a brief flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. ‘Rafael de Velasco.’ He executed an elegant bow. ‘And you, señorita?’

  So he had noticed that she wore no wedding-ring.

  ‘My name is Anne Cavendish.’ Desiree smiled at him innocently, the same instinctive sense of caution which had operated earlier prompting her to conceal the whole truth.

  At the moment, Spain and England were allies. It might be safer to claim her father’s nationality, although on his last leave home Etienne had complained that Spaniards were notoriously insular in their outlook and generally hostile to all foreigners.

  Rafael de Velasco appeared to be an exception to this rule, but, helpful though he had been, he was still an unknown quantity.

  He was also undeniably attractive. Under that rather shabby coat his shoulders were broad, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his long lean body. In fact, he looked to be in peak physical condition, an impression heightened by the lithe grace with which he moved.

  Desiree wasn’t sure how old he was. Thirty, perhaps? His thick, somewhat unrul
y hair was free of any kind of grey and his olive skin was smooth, but there was a cynically weary twist to his mouth. It was a beautifully cut mouth with a sensually full lower lip in contrast to the hard angles of his determined chin, thin high-bridged note and elegant cheekbones.

  Patrician features, but the plainest of clothes. He looked like a pirate with that mop of black curling hair and those dark mysterious eyes, but he had a gentleman’s manners.

  Desiree wasn’t sure what to make of him, but she would have wagered her best earrings that he would make an excellent dancer…or duellist!

  The stout woman re-appeared, interrupting Desiree’s thoughts. She was carrying a tall jug and two earthenware beakers. Beads of moisture clung to the jug and Desiree licked her lips thirstily as she watched the woman set it down on a small table in a corner of the courtyard before departing again.

  ‘I told Consuelo to bring you some food. It will be ready soon. In the meantime….’ Rafael de Velasco indicated a pair of rickety-looking chairs pulled up to the table. ‘shall we sit down?’

  Desiree hesitated.

  Why did he make her feel so unsure of herself? She was self-reliant by nature, and, at twenty-one, had grown accustomed to acting independently, for Hortense had left all the decisions to her after Maman had died. That was almost two years ago and she had learnt to run the household and act as hostess to Etienne’s brother-officers and friends.

  Desiree, who was bored by the unchanging, dull routine of her everyday existence, had loved it when Etienne came home on leave. In fact, Hortense had accused her of flirting at the parties he gave. She had objected, defending herself by saying that she preferred to discuss horses with the men than the latest fashions with the women, but all the same she knew that her elderly chaperon had a point.

  Among Etienne’s friends she came alive, just as the château itself did when they arrived. She didn’t deliberately set out to flirt, but she never felt self-conscious or awkward with them. Perhaps her lack of shyness was a legacy of her strange upbringing. Her grandfather had treated her like a boy, even to teaching her how to shoot and fish.

  Whatever the reason, she enjoyed male company, but attractive though she found him, Desiree knew she ought not to encourage Rafael de Velasco’s attentions.