White Horses. Joan WolfЧитать онлайн книгу.
her dyed red hair. “That may be true, but you never had to masquerade as the wife of a strange Englishman before!”
“Mr. Rothschild insisted. It’s stupid, of course. He should know we can be trusted to get his gold to Biarritz without an English bodyguard to make us more noticeable.” Gabrielle looked disgusted. “If Papa were still alive they would never have thought of doing this.”
Emma said, “On the other hand, it will be nice to have someone along who will be responsible for the gold besides us.” She put her bonnet on a walnut chest with a lace runner on the top. “If something bad happens, he can take the blame.”
“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Gabrielle said firmly. “Except I am going to have to pretend this anglais is my husband.”
“I hope he is a gentleman,” Emma said nervously. “Just think, Gabrielle, you may have to share your bedroom with him!”
“Don’t worry, Emma, nothing is going to happen.”
Gabrielle smiled. “I will keep my trusty knife handy, believe me. If he tries anything, I’ll skewer him.”
Emma shivered. “Please God it will not come to that.”
“I doubt it will,” Gabrielle said soothingly. “Mr. Rothschild said the man is a colonel on his way back to the army after being wounded. A colonel should be a gentleman.”
“I hope so,” Emma said “There’s a dining room downstairs,” Gabrielle said. “Let’s go and get something to eat. I’m starving.”
Emma smiled in agreement. “We don’t often get the chance to eat in a hotel of this quality.”
The two women removed their pelisses, hung them in the wardrobe and went down to the dining room.
The earl arrived in Brussels the following afternoon to meet Gabrielle Robichon. He checked into his room at the hotel and was told that the ladies were out. He asked to be notified when they came back.
At five o’clock a hotel employee brought him word that Mesdames Rieux and Dumas had returned and would receive him in room 203. The earl, who was on the third floor, went down a flight of stairs and knocked at the designated door. It was opened by a middle-aged woman with dyed red hair and faintly slanted green eyes. She was wearing rouge.
“Good afternoon,” the earl said pleasantly. “I am Colonel Leo Standish.”
“Good heavens,” the woman said, staring up at him. Then, visibly gathering her wits, she opened the door wider and said, “Come in, Colonel.”
The earl stepped into the room. A charmingly husky voice said, “How do you do, Colonel. I am Gabrielle Robichon Rieux.”
He turned slightly and looked into the huge brown eyes of one of the loveliest girls he had ever seen. Her shining brown hair was parted in the middle and drawn back into a single braid that went halfway down her back. Her nose was small and delicate and her lips were clear-cut and perfect. She was holding out her hand but she was not smiling. He crossed the floor to take her hand into his own. She was quite small; her head did not reach the top of his shoulder, but her handshake was as firm as a man’s.
“You are married?” he said in surprise.
“I was married,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Now I am a widow.”
“You’re very young to be a widow,” he said. He was a little discomposed. He had not expected her to be so pretty.
She shrugged, a very Gallic gesture. “This stupid war has made widows of many young women. I am sure that is true in your country as well.”
“Unfortunately, it is. Was your husband killed in the war?” he asked.
“No. He was kicked in the forehead by one of the circus horses.” Her face was grave. “It was such a stupid accident. André lifted the horse’s rear foot to clean it and Sandi kicked out—something he never does. It was just bad luck that he got André in the head.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“We had only been married for a few months. It was very sad,” Gabrielle said. “And now let me introduce you to my companion, Madame Emma Dumas.”
He turned to the older woman and held out his hand. “How do you do, Madame Dumas.”
They shook hands and then he turned back to Gabrielle. “I appreciate the awkwardness of this situation for you, Madame Rieux. You are very generous, allowing me to masquerade as your husband.”
She shrugged again. “I myself do not think it is necessary, but Monsieur Rothschild insisted. Frankly, Colonel, you are likely to call more attention to us than to be a help.”
He said stiffly, “I will do the best I can to blend into the circus, madame. You are carrying a huge amount of money that is vital to the British forces. It is only natural that the army wants someone along to keep an eye on it.”
She bristled visibly. “Monsieur Rothschild trusted Papa implicitly!”
“But your father is not here any longer,” he pointed out. “And even if he was, the army would probably want to have someone go along.”
She crossed her arms and eyed him up and down. “You are not the sort of person who can easily blend in,” she said.
He was annoyed. “I will do the best that I can, madame.”
There was a little silence. Then she said, “If we are to be married you must call me by my Christian name, Gabrielle.”
“And you must call me Leo,” he said.
“Leo,” she said. Then, briskly, “It is too late to leave Brussels today. We should plan on leaving early tomorrow morning. That way we will make Lille before it gets dark.”
He asked, “The circus is at Lille now?”
“Yes. We wintered there. We usually begin our tour in mid March, so we will be starting a little earlier than usual. But not so much earlier as to make us noticeable, I think.”
“Very well.” He looked at Emma. “May I invite you ladies to have dinner with me this evening?”
“Thank you,” Emma replied with dignity. “That will be very nice.”
Gabrielle nodded.
“At seven o’clock, in the dining room?” he asked.
“That will be fine,” Emma replied.
He gave the women a perfunctory smile and went to the door. It had not quite closed when he heard Emma say, “Whoever would have thought our escort would look like that?”
The door closed before he could hear Gabrielle’s reply.
The dining room of the Hôtel Royale was small, with room for perhaps thirty people. When Gabrielle and Emma entered they saw Leo immediately; he was sitting at a table near the fireplace.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said, rising to greet them.
“Good evening,” the two women replied in unison.
A waiter held Gabrielle’s chair and she seated herself, carefully arranging her plain yellow silk evening dress. Emma, who was dressed in emerald green, was seated as well.
Gabrielle looked at the man who was to pretend to be her husband for the next month. André would be jealous, she thought as she took in Leo’s clean-cut features, his blue-green eyes and his thick golden hair. She noted the breadth of his shoulders underneath his black evening coat. This man was very different from André, who had been dark, whippet-slim and only a few inches taller than herself.
He’s big enough to carry water and help with the tent, she thought. She looked at the unconsciously arrogant tilt of his head. He’ll probably think those tasks are beneath him, though.
The waiter was standing by to take their