at him briefly, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She was too afraid he would see the pain behind her anger, and she was ashamed on her father’s behalf, as well as her own.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quietly. ‘I had no intention of insulting your father. I have no doubt that he is still a fine and noble man. But he was also a very active man—and the loss of his eyesight must have hurt him grievously.’
‘It has,’ she whispered.
Benoît’s unexpected understanding of her father’s plight disturbed her almost as much as his earlier words had upset and angered her. She found she was trembling with a mixture of confused emotions. She didn’t object when Benoît took her hand and led her back to her chair. He picked up her brandy glass and gave it to her, then sat down again himself.
‘I hate to disappoint you,’ he said lightly, once more sounding completely relaxed and at ease, ‘but I haven’t been actively involved in the smuggling trade for nearly fifteen years. I am now an entirely respectable and, I regret to admit it, unromantic businessman.’
Angelica choked on the brandy and began to cough, her eyes watering. She started to rummage in her reticule, and then found that Benoît was presenting her with a spotless linen handkerchief.
‘So I’m afraid you won’t hear any ponies trotting beneath your window tonight,’ he continued, as she dried her eyes, ‘or see any mysterious lights shining from the landing casement. In fact, you will probably find your stay here as uneventful as a night under Sir William’s roof.
‘Actually,’ he added reflectively, ‘you may find your stay here rather more restful than it would be with “Blunderbuss Billy”. I believe he has a habit of setting the whole household in an uproar whenever he goes out to chase my erstwhile companions in crime.’
Angelica smiled, in spite of herself.
‘I can imagine,’ she said, trying to summon up her usual good-humoured composure. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I had no right to speak to you so bitterly just now. Papa only told me about his meeting with you yesterday. I really wasn’t sure what to expect of you—but I assure you I will keep your secret as faithfully as Papa has always done.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ said Benoît gravely. ‘Is your father well in every other respect?’
‘Yes,’ said Angelica, biting her lip. ‘It was a carriage accident. The coach overturned and splinters of wood and glass went into his eyes,’ she added, almost as if she felt impelled to do so, though Benoît hadn’t asked for further details. ‘He broke his arm and suffered a raging fever for several days, but now everything is mended except his eyes.’
She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but she couldn’t disguise the bleakness in her voice. The Earl’s body might have healed, but his spirit was still sorely wounded. Benoît watched her shrewdly, but he didn’t comment.
Angelica glanced down, dragging her attention back to the business in hand, and was dimly surprised to realise that she was still holding the two letters. One of them had already been creased and stained; now they both looked the worse for wear. She tried to smooth them out in an instinctive, almost automatic gesture.
‘So what is it your father wants me to do for him that he is no longer able to do for himself?’ Benoît enquired, a trifle impatiently, as the silence lengthened.
Angelica looked up.
‘To rescue my brother from Bitche,’ she said simply.
Outside, the wind was growing stronger, and she could hear the patter of raindrops against the window. A storm was blowing up, isolating Holly House even further from the outside world. She had heard no movement from anyone else in the house for some time. It would be easy to imagine that she and Benoît were the only two people awake and breathing on the face of the earth. She certainly had the very real sense that he was the only person who could help her, and that this was the moment of truth.
‘I see,’ he said at last, his deep voice expressionless. ‘You want me to travel through more than two hundred miles of French-occupied territory and then rescue your brother from one of Bonaparte’s most notorious prisoner-of-war fortresses.’
‘Papa spared you—and your family. Now we’re asking for a life in return,’ said Angelica with breathless urgency.
She leant towards him, her golden curls dancing, unconsciously holding out her hand to him in a pleading gesture, trying with every fibre of her being to compel him to agree.
She was desperately anxious for her brother to come home. She was sure the Earl’s black moods were made worse by his unspoken fears for his son’s safety. And Harry had always been so cheerful and lively. Perhaps he would be able to find a way of helping Lord Ellewood to come to terms with what he had lost—all Angelica’s efforts had failed.
‘A dramatic rescue is hardly necessary,’ said Benoît dryly. He was still leaning back in his chair, dark and imperturbable, infuriatingly unresponsive to Angelica’s beseeching blue eyes. ‘All your brother—what’s his name…?’
‘Harry. He’s a midshipman.’
‘All Harry has to do is sit tight and behave himself, and he’ll be exchanged in due course,’ said Benoît. He took a sip of brandy, and watched Angelica over the rim of his glass. ‘There’s no need for all this melodrama over a perfectly straightforward situation.’
‘But it’s not straightforward!’ said Angelica passionately. ‘Maybe you haven’t realised, but the French have stopped making automatic exchanges of their prisoners. When the war broke out again in 1803 they even detained civilians—women and children. Many of them are still being kept prisoner at Verdun. Papa says such infamy is in breach of every civilised code of war!’
‘I’m sure many people think so,’ said Benoît softly, still intently studying Angelica, an enigmatic expression in his eyes. ‘But I also understand there is a school at Verdun, with several young midshipmen among its pupils. Why is Harry not one of them?’
‘He wouldn’t give his parole,’ said Angelica flatly. ‘He has already tried—and failed—to escape once. That’s why they’ve sent him to Bitche. It’s a punishment depot, isn’t it? You seem to know all about it.’
‘Only what I hear,’ said Benoît mildly.
His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts, but he was frowning slightly and Angelica at least had the satisfaction of knowing that he was giving the problem his full attention.
‘The fortress was built by Vauban, I believe,’ he said after a moment’s reflection. ‘It’s situated on the summit of a great outcrop of rock. Not an easy place to escape from.’
‘Harry’s done it once already,’ said Angelica proudly. ‘Look!’ She passed him the older of the two letters. ‘We received this only yesterday from one of the détenus at Verdun.’
‘Thank you.’ Benoît put down his brandy glass, unfolded the crumpled paper and began to read.
‘This paragraph here!’ said Angelica impatiently, dropping onto her knees beside his chair, so that she could see the letter too.
Harry and his friends were at liberty for nearly three months. After many difficulties they reached the coast in safety, but they could not find
