estate in Burgundy. He is a classical scholar; of her I know naught more than that she is young and unwed. Needless to say, they are rich no more. They are alive, that is the main thing. Or they were when last I heard a few days ago,’ he added bitterly. ‘To come out of hiding and journey north to the ports is hazardous even after all these years. There are informants everywhere.’
‘They cannot have been in hiding all this time, surely? It is almost ten years since the revolution.’
‘Aye, ten bloody years. But remember, the Terror grew slowly at first. The wholesale slaughter only really started when Louis was beheaded, four years after they revolted. For many, especially those of the lesser nobility such as this family, it seemed possible to keep their heads down—if you’ll forgive the gallows humour—and survive the killing. Monsieur Renaud, whom you will meet tonight, God willing, is not himself of high rank, but his wife was the younger daughter of a duke. The blue blood was hers. And so, in the end, it was she who sealed the fate of the whole family. ‘Tis certain they would not have been spared had they been found.’
‘But is it not safe enough now in France under the Directorate? Are they not more tolerant? Surely it’s becoming possible to start again in their own country, rather than to take such a drastic step as these people make tonight?’
‘For some, yes, perhaps you’re right. But for others, those who have lived the life of privilege, to accustom themselves to the new regime seems unnecessary, when in England they can bear their titles proudly once more.’
‘With no money, how can that mean so much? Money is by far more important than a title, as I should know, Lord Rasenby.’
‘And what, Clarissa, do you know of such things?’
She shrugged. ‘My own father was titled, my widowed mother still bears his name. It means naught, for he was cast off and poverty-stricken just the same. At times, I would happily swap my birth right for the wealth of a merchant family—at least that way I wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding the coal seller at quarter time.’ An embarrassed laugh concluded this admission. She had not meant to say anything so revealing, being merely caught up in the need to understand more of the situation in France. But looking into those piercing eyes above her, Clarissa realised Kit had missed none of what she had said.
‘So you claim to be of noble birth? And may I be allowed to ask what this family name is, for I know—have known all along, of course—that the name you gave me is false.’
‘No, there’s nothing to be gained for either of us in that. Rest assured, my real name is Clarissa. That should suffice, for the duration of our brief acquaintance.’ Smiling nervously, for she had no wish to continue this turn in the conversation, Clarissa resolutely faced away from that all too penetrating look, back towards the approaching land. ‘You were telling me about Monsieur Renaud.
If he has no title and his poor wife is dead, I still don’t understand the need for him to leave France.’
Thrusting aside the urge to probe into Clarissa’s background—for like as not it would only lead to more lies—Kit focused instead on the Normandy coastline, anxious to catch the first glimpse of their destination, a tiny fishing village, where a beacon to guide them would be lit if all was safe. ‘The likes of Renaud leave because the future is still so uncertain. True, he has no title, but he has a daughter to protect. And he has the sense, as anyone who has studied the situation can see, to realise that this regime is every bit as volatile as the last. There will be war soon, do not doubt it. In England he’ll be sleeping with the enemy, but at least there is less chance there of invasion, more chance of a respite from bloodshed. France has not come to the end of its sufferings, mark my words. For all these reasons, and others, too, these trips on the Sea Wolf are, however, coming to an end. I must find some other occupation to sate my appetite for danger.’
The bleakness in his voice betrayed his true feelings. Giving up this life was hard for him. Having tasted the thrill of it for herself, Clarissa was not surprised. Laying a hand on his arm in an attempt to convey her empathy, her words were yet hesitant. ‘I can see that you’ll miss this life. But you must take comfort in the good you have done, the lives you have saved. All these émigrés, they must be so grateful. I expect, when you meet them in London, as you must often do afterwards, you are something of a hero to them.’
‘You are much mistaken, Clarissa, to set me up for a hero.’ The habitual cynical drawl had returned. ‘I don’t rescue these people for any more noble motives than a desire for adventure spiced with danger. I care naught for their fate. I take no sides in their politics. Their country can gnaw at its own entrails until it has consumed itself in the process for all I care. Do not attribute to me any heroic virtues, for you will find yourself far from the truth. These people are just cargo, like the silks and brandies we will carry tonight alongside Monsieur and Mademoiselle Renaud. And as to recognition from those I rescue? Never. They are under strict instructions not to acknowledge me once they leave the Sea Wolf. I am not, nor never will be, a hero.’
‘You may choose to deny it. Indeed, to do so is in your character for you are overly fond of your raking, care-naught reputation, Lord Rasenby, as I have pointed out to you several times now.’ His determined cynicism was having a rousing effect on Clarrie. She would not allow him to be so harsh on himself. He was not a complete villain, no matter how much he played the part.
‘I notice that I become Lord Rasenby and not Kit when you are lecturing me, madam. I do not take to it kindly either, for you have not the right to lecture. No one has that right but myself. And believe me, no one could be harder on me than myself either. But to no avail. I am destined for the devil. You would learn, if you chose to spend more time in my company, that I can neither be reformed, nor am in wont of it.’
‘No, you’re not in need of reform, because you’re not anything like as black as you paint yourself. You are not stupid, you told me so yourself. Well, neither am I! You would not have continued with these trips, which put John as much as yourself in danger, had you not felt they were worthwhile—and I don’t mean for the brandy. These rescues mean something to you, would you but admit it, if only to your own heart. To these people at least, you are a hero, I doubt it not. The only need you have of reform is to think as well of yourself as you are entitled.’
‘You persist in this belief at your peril, foolish Clarissa, but be warned. Such determinedly positive appraisals of my character will not change it one jot. Nor will you, by applying such soft soap, beguile me into releasing you from your promise. Now let us have an end to this conversation, for we have important work to attend to. Look straight ahead and slightly to starboard—there is our beacon. We are expected. You may watch, but you must keep silent and take care not to get in the way.’
With that he was gone, joining John at the wheel and leaving Clarissa to her reflections. Anger at his abrupt dismissal and pity for the contempt in which he held himself were foremost in her mind. But there was, too, a growing desire to be the one to bring him to a sense of his own worth. Not to reform him, that phrase he so despised, but to raise his sadly low esteem. She believed in him, and she could prove it to him, too, if only the situation was different.
But to wish things were different was to wish their whole adventure away. Increasingly all Clarissa wanted was for their time together to go on—and on. The thought of an ending to it was a thought she thrust firmly from her mind. A future without Kit Rasenby was not a future she wished to contemplate just yet.
John dropped the sails, and the ship glided smoothly into calmer, shallower waters, navigating by a beacon lit at the end of the harbour wall. Watching Kit’s face as he guided the yacht through the treacherous rocks that guarded the bay, Clarissa realised how truly handsome he was when his countenance was not marred by his habitual cynical
