pay him. It was a business arrangement, nothing more.
When they reached the city gates the road was so crowded and bustling with traders and carriages they were able to slip through without being questioned. The savoury aroma of food emanating from a busy tavern tempted them to stop and dine.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Cassie, when they had finished their meal and were once more on the street, Raoul leading their tired horse. ‘My preference is to find a respectable inn, like the one ahead of us, but...’ she paused and, recalling their recent altercation, she chose her next words carefully ‘...I fear our appearance would cause comment.’
Raoul rubbed his chin. ‘Yours may be explained by an accident to the carriage, but I agree my clothes are not suitable for a manservant. I have a plan, but I will need money, milady.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you intend?’
‘You will go ahead of me, tell them your servant follows. I will find new clothes and join you in an hour.’
Cassie dug a handful of coins from her purse and gave them to him, then she watched him walk away. There was a tiny frisson of anxiety at the thought that he might not return.
‘Well if he does not come back there is nothing I can do about it,’ she told herself as she turned her own steps towards the inn.
Despite her own dishevelled appearance Cassie’s assured manner and generous advance payment secured rooms without difficulty. She requested a jug of hot water and set about repairing the ravages to her hair and her dress. She was only partly successful, but once she had washed her face and hands and re-dressed her hair she felt much more presentable. A servant came in to light the candles and Cassie realised with a start that darkness was falling outside now. Where was Raoul?
She sat down on a chair and folded her hands in her lap, willing herself to be calm. If he had taken the money and gone on his way she could hardly blame him, but she could not help feeling a little betrayed and also very slightly frightened at the thought of being alone.
Her ears caught the thud of quick steps on the stairs and she rose, looking expectantly towards the door, only to stare open-mouthed as a stranger entered the room.
Gone was the rough beard and shaggy, unkempt hair. Gone, too, were the ragged clothes. In fact, the only things about Raoul Doulevant that she recognised were his dark eyes, alight with laughter.
He was, she realised with a shock, devastatingly handsome. His black hair had been cut and brushed back from his brow. His cheeks, free of the heavy black beard, were lean and smooth above the firm jaw. His lips were so finely sculpted that Cassie felt a sensuous shiver run through her just looking at them. He stood tall and straight in a coat of dark-blue wool that stretched over powerful shoulders. The white linen at his throat and wrists accentuated the deep tan of his skin, while his long legs were encased in buckskins and top boots that showed his athletic limbs to advantage. To complete the ensemble he held a pair of tan gloves and a tall hat in hands. He flourished a deep bow and Cassie swallowed, unable to take her eyes off him. The laughter in his eyes deepened.
‘Well, milady, do I have your approval?’
‘Very much so.’ Her voice was nothing more than a croak and she coughed, hoping to clear whatever was blocking her throat. ‘Where did you find such elegant clothes in this little town?’
He grinned. ‘There are ways.’
It was all he would say and she did not press him. On closer inspection it was seen that the coat and breeches were not new and although the boots were highly polished they bore signs of wear. However, Raoul Doulevant presented the picture of a very respectable gentleman and Cassie glanced ruefully at her own clothes.
‘I fear the servant is now more grand than the mistress.’
‘That is a concern,’ agreed Raoul, coming further into the room. ‘When I arrived the landlord took me for your husband.’
‘Oh, heavens.’ She put a hand to her cheek, distracted by memories of standing with him beneath the waterfall. Suddenly her mind was filled with wild thoughts of what it might be like to be married to such a man. She closed her eyes for a moment. It would be disastrous. She had rushed into a marriage once and had suffered the consequences. Falling out of love had been almost too painful to bear. She would not go through that again.
‘Our host appears to be in some confusion over our name, too,’ Raoul continued, unaware of her agitation. ‘I told him we are Madame and Monsieur Duval.’ Her eyes flew open as he continued. ‘I believe, upon reflection, that it would be best if we travel as man and wife.’ He put up his hand to silence her protest. ‘I considered saying we were brother and sister, but although your French is enchanting, milady, you do not speak it like a native.’
‘No, but—’
‘And it would be impossible to pass you off as my servant, you are far too arrogant.’
‘I am not arrogant!’
He continued as if she had not spoken.
‘No, it must be as man and wife. It is settled.’
Cassie took a long and indignant breath, preparing to make a withering retort but he caught her eye and said with quiet deliberation, ‘You asked for my help, milady.’
There was steel in his voice and she knew it would be dangerous to cross him. She doubted he had ever intended to travel as her servant. Well, she had a choice—she could dispense with his escort, and thus break the bargain they had struck, or she could go along with his plan. The infuriating thing was she could not think of a better one.
‘Man and wife in name only,’ she told him imperiously.
‘Even after the...er...intimacies we shared in that shady pool?’
The laughter was back in his eyes, although his voice was perfectly serious. Cassie fought down her temper. He was teasing her, he enjoyed teasing her.
‘We shared nothing but being in the same water,’ was her crushing reply. ‘It was a mistake and will not be repeated.’
‘No, milady.’
‘It should be easy enough to keep a safe distance between us. It is not as if we are in love, after all.’
‘Indeed not.’
‘And in my opinion,’ she continued airily, ‘love is an emotion that is best left to poets and artists. Its importance in real life is grossly exaggerated.’
‘Truly? You believe that?’
He folded his arms and regarded her with amusement. Really, she thought angrily, he was much more at home in these new clothes. He was so assured. So arrogant!
Even as she fumed with indignation he said, grinning, ‘Explain yourself, milady, if you please.’
Very well, she would tell him. Cassie had had plenty of time to ponder on this over the past year. She waved her hand.
‘What passes for love is mere lust on the man’s part. It makes
