To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(61)

“Do you know why?”

“Some men don’t need as much sleep,” the valet said.

She only looked at him.

He replaced the neck cloth and finally looked at her. He sighed as if she’d pressed him. “Some soldiers don’t sleep as well as they ought. Lord Vale . . . well, he likes company. Especially during the hours it’s dark.”

“He’s afraid of the dark?”

He straightened and his frown was quite ferocious. “I received a ball to the leg in the war.”

Melisande blinked, startled at the change of subject. “I’m sorry.”

The valet waved away her sympathy. “It’s nothing. Only bothers me when it rains sometimes. But when I got it, that ball took me down. We were in battle, and I was lying there, with a Frenchie standing over me about to stick me with his bayonet when Lord Vale came charging. There was a stand of Frenchies with rifles raised between him and me, but that didn’t stop him. They fired on him, and how he didn’t fall, I don’t know, but he wore a grin the entire time. Cut them down, too, my lady. Wasn’t one standing when he was done.”

Melisande drew a shuddering breath. “I see.”

“I decided right then and there, my lady,” Mr. Pynch said, “that I’d follow Lord Vale into hell itself, should he tell me to.”

“Thank you for telling me this, Mr. Pynch,” Melisande said. She opened the door. “Please inform Lord Vale that I shall be ready to travel at eight o’clock in the morning.”

Mr. Pynch bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

Melisande nodded and left, but she couldn’t help a lingering thought. The entire time Mr. Pynch had told her his story, he’d stood as che’oddif guarding the little dressing room.

Chapter Twelve

Now, when Jack got back to the castle, he did a very strange thing. He donned once again his fool’s rags and went down to the castle’s kitchens. The royal supper was being prepared, and there was a great deal of activity. The head cook shouted, the footmen ran back and forth, the scullery maids scrubbed dishes, and all the minor cooks chopped and stirred and baked. No one noticed as Jack crept to where a small boy stirred a soup pot over the fire.

“Hist,” said Jack to the boy. “I’ll give you a silver coin if you’ll let me stir the princess’s soup.”

Well, the boy liked this exchange very much. The minute his back was turned, Jack dropped the bronze ring into the soup. . . .

—from LAUGHING JACK

The carriage bumped over a great rut in the road and swayed. Melisande swayed with it, having learned on the first day of their journey that it was far easier to let herself move with the carriage rather than hold herself stiff against it. It was now the third day, and she was quite used to swaying. Her shoulder bumped gently against Suchlike, curled next to her and dozing. Mouse was on the seat on her other side, also asleep. Every once in a while, the dog let out a little snore.

Melisande looked out the window. They appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Blue-green hills rolled away into the distance, demarcated by hedges and drystone walls. The light was beginning to fade.

“Shouldn’t we have stopped by now?” she asked her husband.

Vale lounged on the opposite seat, his legs canted diagonally across the carriage so that his feet were almost touching hers. His eyes were shut, but he answered her immediately, confirming her suspicion that he hadn’t been asleep at all.

“You’re correct. We should’ve stopped in Birkham, but the coachman says the inn was closed. He’s taken us off the main road to find the next inn, but I suspect he may’ve lost his way.”

Vale opened one eye and peered out the window, not looking at all anxious that dark was falling and they appeared to be lost.

“Definitely gone off the main way,” he said. “Unless the inn’s in the middle of a cow pasture.”

Melisande heaved a sigh and began to put away the fairy tale she’d been translating. She was almost done now, the strange fairy tale unfolding beneath her pen. It was about a soldier who’d been turned into a funny little man. A funny little man who was nevertheless very brave. He didn’t seem a normal hero for a fairy tale, but then again, none of the fairy-tale heroes in Emeline’s book were exactly normal. The translation would have to wait for tomorrow in any case. It was too dark to see properly now.

“Can’t we turn back?” she asked Vale as she closed her writing case. “A derelict inn is better shelter th f="4an abandoned hills.”

“An excellent point, dear wife, but I’m afraid it will be dark before we can return to Birkham anyway. Better to press on.”

He closed his eyes again, which was very frustrating.

Melisande gazed out the window for a bit, worrying her lip. She glanced at her still-sleeping maid and lowered her voice. “I promised Suchlike we wouldn’t travel after dark. She’s never left London before, you know.”

“Then she’ll learn lots on this trip,” her husband said without opening his eyes. “Never fear. The coachman and footmen are armed.”

“Humph.” Melisande folded her arms. “How well do you know Mr. Munroe?”

She’d already spent the previous two days trying to find out what Vale needed to speak to the man about. He merely changed the subject when she asked him questions. Now she tried a different tack.