She allowed her gaze to wander in the Marquess’s direction. She found him looking at her, his thin brows raised. His greedy eyes and fleshy lips spoke of indulgence, or something baser. Verity gave up and put down her knife and fork. She toyed with her wineglass. Another like Jacques Rocchard. Well, she knew how to deal with scoundrels such as he. She felt the weight of her pistol in her reticule. She would use it if she had to. She swirled the wine in her glass, attempting to form some sort of plan. But fate could play a heavy hand in this affair. What if Beaumont had already been captured? The thought almost wrung a cry from her. Her father would not last long in a Paris prison. She would lose them both.
“Madame?”
Verity looked up to find the Marquess standing before her. “Oui, monsieur?” She offered her hand.
He kissed her fingers, lingering a moment longer than etiquette required, while he studied the betrothal ring that she’d added to her disguise. “I am the Marquess of Ramsbotham. I feel we’ve met before, can that be so? Surely, my memory would not fail me where a lovely woman is concerned.”
Verity gave a small smile and met his gaze boldly. “I don’t believe so, my lord. I would not forget such a prepossessing figure as yourself.”
“Would you join me in a glass of wine?”
“I shall be delighted.”
He sat down and beckoned to the waiter. “Your husband does not travel with you, Madame?”
Verity spun an elaborate tale of her lonely widowhood, and her desire to return to her family in France. “I have heard terrible stories about my country. I need to ensure everyone is safe. But there are no ships sailing for another day, and if the weather should turn bad ...”
He smiled, but it failed to warm his shrewd brown eyes. “I may be able to assist you, Madame.”
“I should be most grateful, my lord.”
He nodded. “My boat leaves for France on the morning tide. You are welcome to accompany me.”
“That is most generous of you. But I insist on paying for our passage.”
“I don’t want your money. I shall enjoy your company.” His gaze roved from head to toe with lascivious intent.
Verity longed to hit him with her fan, but she merely waved it to hide her expression. “And my page, of course.”
The Marquess’s smile slipped. “That boy is your page?”
“Oui.”
He recovered quickly. “Where does your young page sleep tonight?”
“On a pallet in my chamber, my lord.”
“Of course.” He smiled thinly as he rose from the table. “You must excuse me; I have business to attend to. We leave at first light, Madame. My boat, The Narcissus, is at anchor across the way.”
“We shall be there, my lord.”
Verity entered their room. Henrietta sat on her cot, her arms clasped around her legs, a long fair plait over her shoulder. “Well?”
Verity placed a finger to her lips and shut the door. “It is all arranged. We sail at first light.”
“Perfect!” Henrietta clapped her hands. “We are only a few days behind Papa.”
“Oui.” Verity sank onto the bed.
Henrietta frowned. “What did the Marquess say?”
“I pray he doesn’t change his mind,” Verity said.
“Why would he do that?”
“I didn’t quite play the game he expected.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. What game?”
