Chapter 2

I’ll pray for you.

The words followed Adam to the coast, across the Channel to a secluded cove on the French homeland until they became a sort of talisman, as if his safety depended on Esther Baumann far away in England.

He stepped onto a pebble-strewn beach behind Viscount Rochlin. The vessel that brought them, the marquess’s private yacht, had been luxurious beyond Adam’s experience, even among his wealthy relatives. “Trust Richard,” Rochlin had said, “To send us into Hell in style.” The viscount seemed more amused than impressed. Adam had to admit every effort had been made to see to his comfort. Once they landed, however, they were on their own, and arrangements were up to Adam.

By the time they rested in Abram Baumann’s house in Paris and began their trip south, he had to admit Rochlin was agreeable company. The viscount rested amiably enough in a Jewish banker’s house; he made only practical suggestions regarding the use of a false-bottomed and battered old carriage to hide gold; he found the plan that included his role as “Monsieur Delacroix’s” deaf mute cousin amusing. Still, the man was heir to the Earl of Chadbourn and, if gossip proved correct, soon to inherit. People like that put their personal interests first. Adam viewed him with great caution.

The two men rode side by side in front of the carriage, matching their pace to the lumbering vehicle’s maddening slowness. On the road between towns, the viscount could at least speak. Their driver, loyal to Abram Baumann, kept his own council.

“Next time, don’t forget to imply I am deaf as well as mute,” the viscount remarked on the third afternoon. “It will loosen tongues when I’m around.”

That made sense. Adam had realized very quickly that, terrible though his accent may be, Rochlin understood French perfectly well. He listened and missed nothing.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Rochlin rolled his eyes. “That’s another thing. You call me Guillaume in front of others. Call me Will when we’re alone. You’ll drive me mad my-lording me.”

“Correct etiquette demands—”

“Etiquette be damned. I’ve seen more than one mission go awry because some officer with more lace than brains demanded his due at the expense of the objective. We are partners in this enterprise. It would help if you could treat me accordingly, whether others are present or not.”

Adam wondered if he meant it, truly. While his statement made some practical sense, Adam doubted it would extend to viewing a Jew as his equal under any other circumstances. He didn’t respond.

“Stubborn man,” Rochlin mumbled under his breath.

Neither man spoke for the next two hours. An inn came into view midafternoon.

“It’s too early to stop,” Rochlin said.

Adam stared at a map and strained his memory. At the pace of the carriage, their journey would take them five hours to reach the next town. “If we press ahead, we'll reach the next posting inn well after dark. I don’t see how we can do it.”

“We could camp tonight,” Rochlin suggested. “Are you up for sleeping on the ground?”

The suggestion startled Adam. He had lived simply enough as a student in Mont-Ombre, but he’d never been an outdoorsman and certainly didn’t expect it of a viscount.

“Come, come, man. I spent four years fighting the French in the Peninsula. I’ve slept under stars more nights than not. You can have the carriage if you prefer.”

Adam bristled at the implication he was less of a man than the viscount. “I can sleep out if we must.”

“We must. This pace is killing me. This was to be my first Yuletide home after years of war. I want to get back. Don’t you?”

“For Christmas?” Adam demanded, swallowing bile.

“No, you daft man. I know your tradition is otherwise. I meant to family, to friends… to Miss Baumann.” He shot Adam a sly smile.

Adam found himself smiling back. “You wish to spend your holidays with your family?” he asked.

“Family is everything. You could join us. You might like Chadbourn Hall filled with greenery, plum pudding, and song.” The viscount shrugged. “Or you might want to hurry to London once we return. Isn’t your family there?”

“My parents are dead,” Adam told him. “Mr. Baumann is a cousin, rather distant unfortunately.”

“No family? I can’t imagine anything worse,” Rochlin said sadly.

Adam remembered belatedly that the dying earl wasn’t just a title. This man’s father lay ill. No wonder he wanted to get home as soon as possible.

“If we could lighten the carriage, we might go faster. We’ve already removed ourselves and what baggage we can fasten to our horses,” he suggested.

“What if we put the baggage back into the carriage and removed some of its heavier load?” Rochlin asked.

“The gold?”

Rochlin nodded. “We can sew it into our saddles and into our shirts. We can’t take it all, but removing even some of the weight should help. Our exploring officers used clever pockets to carry sensitive messages and, yes, gold. We’ll need some fustian and needles, but it can be done.”

“You sew?” Adam laughed.

“I sew. I cook. I am a man of many talents. War teaches many things. Do you think this town big enough to have a draper’s shop?”

“No, but the next one will.”

“So tonight, we sleep under the stars, and tomorrow, we shop.” Rochlin grinned.

“As you wish, my lord,” Adam said sarcastically.

Rochlin made sound that imitated a dog’s growl.

Adam laughed. “If you insist. It may just work—Will.”

They bedded down in a farmer’s field that night. Adam paid the man a few sou, so he gave them straw for bedding. Will, as Adam now tried to think of him, declined. “Straw breeds bugs,” he whispered when they were out of earshot.

Adam lay on the hard ground, wrapped in a blanket and his greatcoat, and stared up at a moonless sky strewn with stars. Did Esther Baumann look out on the same stars? Even in London, the brighter ones would be visible. The memory of her voice came to him then. I’ll pray for you, he heard, and he fell asleep.