you won’t take some refreshment?’
‘Dammit! Faulkener! Why do you persist in siding with these villains?’ Sir William burst out. ‘If only a few of us made a stand, we could stamp out this infernal business in no time!’
‘Who am I to go against tradition?’ said Benoît lightly.
‘Tradition!’ Sir William exploded. ‘A tradition of murder, terror, blackmail… treason! ’
‘Treason?’
‘What do you call trading with the enemy? My God! I’veeven heard that smugglers row over to France from Dover with belts of guineas round their waists to pay for Bonaparte’s armies. Don’t you call that treason? When good English gold is being used to equip our enemies?’
‘I won’t argue with you on that point,’ said Benoît coldly. ‘But you might ask yourself, who supplies the guineas? Not the poor men who risk their lives in the Strait of Dover. It’s merchants in the City—men who may never come within a mile of the coast—who send the gold to Napoleon. Why don’t you discuss the subject of treason with them?’
‘My God! Faulkener! How can you excuse the villainy of these base scoundrels by laying the blame on others?’ Sir William demanded fiercely. ‘If I had my way, every merchant or banker who sent gold to Bonaparte would be stripped of his possessions—but that doesn’t justify what the local men do. They’re lazy, workshy, and they’d rather spend the night dishonestly landing raw spirit than doing a decent day’s work.’
‘Perhaps if they were paid a decent day’s wage for a decent day’s work, they might not be so keen to risk their lives and their health on the beaches,’ Benoît retorted sharply.
‘By heaven, sir! I might have known you’d have a revolutionary spirit in you,’ Sir William breathed, horrified. ‘It’s your French blood. Next you will be telling me that all men are equal and the government should be overturned. You’re in league with the Frogs!’
Benoît laughed.
‘My good sir,’ he said, chuckling, ‘when I take it into myhead to overthrow His Majesty’s government, you will be the first to know. In the meantime, I regret I cannot help you with your current problem.’
Angelica had been standing, transfixed, at the foot of the stairs, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. But now she suddenly realised Sir William was about to leave and she was in grave danger of being discovered. She hurried back upstairs, nearly tripping over her skirt, as Benoît and Sir William emerged into the hall.
She paused, just around the bend in the stairs, and listened to Sir William’s departure. Her heart was beating rapidly with excitement and alarm, and she tried to still her breathing to a normal rate. It would never do if Benoît suspected she’d been eavesdropping.
His argument with Sir William had given her pause for thought. Asking the help of a smuggler was one thing—but what if he really was a traitor to England? He had made no greater attempt to deny that charge than he had to deny he was involved in smuggling.
She pressed her hand to her mouth in horror. What if Benoît really was a revolutionary? Some of the things he’d said certainly implied he had radical ideas. Until this moment the fact that he was half-French had seemed important only because it meant he might be in a better position to help Harry. She had met a number of émigrés in London, and most of them heartily loathed Napoleon. It had never occurred to her that Benoît might actually support the Corsican monster.
She heard the front door close behind Sir William andtook a deep breath. She had a strong desire to run back up to her bedchamber, but she could hardly spend the rest of the day hiding there. The sooner she faced Benoît the better.
She draped her shawl more becomingly around her shoulders, and walked sedately downstairs. He had been about to return to the room he had occupied with Sir William, but he looked up at her approach.
‘Good morning, my lady,’ he said