The Soldier's Dark Secret

He put his empty coffee cup carefully down. Love. He closed his eyes, but it didn’t go away. He loved her. Last night, he had made love to her. He was a bloody fool. He loved her. Jack swore. Then he frowned. That didn’t change the fact he had no right to love her, and he was not fit to love her. But, dear heavens, how he loved her.

Jack pushed his chair back, making it screech on the flagstones. ‘To work,’ he muttered. ‘Answers are what she needs, she told me so last night. And since I can’t provide her with anything else, the very least I can do is make sure that she has those.’

* * *

He was in Henri Marmion’s study when Celeste arrived back several hours later. Her hair was wet. Her skin was flushed. Her eyes sparkled. Jack’s heart gave the most curious little flip. Here she is, a voice in his head whispered insidiously. Yours.

He was already halfway across the room when he caught himself and came to a sudden halt, feeling decidedly foolish and a little bit sheepish and rather angry with himself. ‘Has it been raining?’ he asked gruffly.

‘I’ve been swimming.’ She smiled at him. ‘And thinking.’

‘Right.’ Did she want him to ask what she’d been thinking? ‘You look—different.’

Her smile widened. ‘Yes? That is because my hair is sticky with salt and my clothes are full of sand and my skin is red with the sun. And because I have made some very important decisions.’

‘What decisions?’

‘I will tell you, but not yet.’ She hesitated, then put her hands on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. ‘That is for last night. And because I know you don’t want to talk about it, then I won’t, but I want you to know that I will always, always remember.’

His arms went round her waist of their own accord. ‘Celeste...’

Her expression became serious. ‘Do not tell me you regret it, Jack.’

‘Never,’ he said fervently.

‘Bien.’ She slipped from his embrace and looked around the room, taking in the open doors of the bookcases, the stacks of books on the desk. ‘What on earth?’

‘I thought yesterday that this little library must have cost a small fortune to amass. Look at these,’ Jack said, pointing to a row of thick volumes bound in tooled leather. ‘A full set of the encyclopédies, no less.’

‘I feel so stupid,’ Celeste said, running her hand along the shelves. ‘I was never permitted into this room, but even when I was here in January, I didn’t think— It is like the school fees, no? Where on earth did the money come from?’

Jack grinned, producing the letter with a flourish. ‘At last,’ he said, ‘I think I might be able to answer one of your questions. I found this hidden away inside a copy of the Odyssey.’

Celeste gave a little squeak. ‘Jack! What is it?’

‘A letter from a Madame Juliette Rosser of Boulevard de Courcelles, Paris. Madame encloses a draft for the usual amount,’ Jack said, ‘and expects a receipt by return of post.’

‘And that is it?’

‘It is enough.’

‘But—what shall we do?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? We go to Paris.’

Chapter Thirteen

Paris—one week later

As the carriage came to a stop, Celeste smoothed a wrinkle out of her gloves. Her jade-green walking dress was simple but very well cut, the matching, short pelisse with long, narrow sleeves fitted to perfection. Her brown boots matched her gloves. The ribbon on her hat matched the strings of her reticule. Even in the rarefied surroundings of the exclusive Boulevard de Courcelles, which overlooked the elegant Parc Monceau, she hoped she would pass muster.

Jack too was dressed elegantly, in knitted pantaloons and Hessian boots, his tailcoat fitting tightly over his shoulders. Unlike her, he did not seem nervous. No uniform, but today he was Lieutenant-Colonel Trestain. Rather than intimidating, for once Celeste found it reassuring.

‘Have you been able to find out anything about this Madame Juliette Rosser?’ she asked.

‘The Rossers are a very old family. Madame is related somehow to the Comte de Beynac, whose main estates are in the south-west near Cahors, where you thought Henri originated—which may or may not be a coincidence. This is the Comte’s hotel, though I gather Madame Rosser has been in residence for many years, through most of the Terror, unusually. She is one of those grandes dames of Parisian society whom everyone fears and few are permitted to actually visit.’ Jack smiled ironically. ‘It seems we are most honoured. Or rather you are, since we must assume it is the Marmion name which gained us this audience.’

‘I don’t know why, but I thought that a woman named Juliette would be young.’

‘Just because the most famous one of all died young doesn’t mean that none of her fellow Juliettes survived past twenty.’ Jack covered her hand with his. ‘You are nervous, and no wonder, but remember, this might prove to be another dead end.’