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It would be a matter of months, perhaps a year, but Bonaparte would be defeated.

And what then for himself? Would he receive a promotion? Could he hope for a diplomatic post—a place on Castlereagh’s team on the Continent?

The more time he was away from his clerical job at the Foreign
Office, the less he wanted to return to it. Yet, he saw no way out. And without the Foreign Office job, what future did he have?

As he’d told Lady Wexham, he’d run away to sea at fifteen. What he hadn’t told her was that it was because he had been unwilling to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a merchant.

He’d quickly taken to the life aboard ship, working his way up from powder monkey to midshipman in a few months. He’d seen plenty of action—enough to convince him that there had to be a better way for the nations and principalities of Europe to settle their differences than through the shed blood of their men. That’s when the dream had been birthed in him to enter the diplomatic field.

But after a decade of toiling away at the Foreign Office, Rees had come to the conclusion that he was destined to molder away there unless something miraculous occurred.

And that had been when Oglethorpe had offered him the chance of a promotion for spying on Lady Wexham.

Yet now, he found himself questioning his loyalty, he who had never swerved in his allegiance to king and country.

He clenched the reins in his hands. He had to show Oglethorpe something if he hoped for any promotion.
Dear God, what am I to do? Why am I in this situation—torn in my loyalties as never before? Show me what to do . . .

Would You have me expose Lady Wexham?

Protect her.
The words brought him up short, they had been so clear and emphatic. The mare seemed to sense his consternation for she whinnied. Rees patted her neck while attempting to get his own thoughts in order.

Protect her.
Had those been the Lord’s words or his own impulse? How could he be sure?

He’d never had to wrestle with right and wrong before. He was a British subject. His country had been threatened by France for almost two decades. France was the aggressor, not England. He had fought in His Majesty’s navy, been wounded in the service of his country, and
now, although his work seemed obscure and unimportant, he knew it was valuable in the overall scheme of things.

Intelligence gathering was vital to the military and government. Any leaks of information were potentially detrimental to the war effort. It could mean a prolongation of hostilities, which would only result in the death of more soldiers.

It was simple. Rees would have to tell Bunting what he knew. He had no other choice.

Rees was so caught up in his internal debate that his horse had begun to lag. He looked ahead with a start at how far ahead the chaise had gotten. He began to urge his horse forward when a group of horsemen brandishing guns sprang out of the trees lining the highway along that stretch of road.

Rees spurred his mount into a gallop, shouting to Jacob to spring the horses. Cursing the lack of groom to load the blunderbuss, Rees prayed Jacob would be able to outdistance the five horsemen.

The highwaymen shouted for the coachman to stop. One of them spotted Rees gaining on the carriage. Rees jerked on the reins, veering away from the road in hopes of distracting some of the riders. Wheeling his horse around, the highwayman lifted a pistol and aimed for Rees. The blast knocked him backward, jerking his hands from the reins. He flew off his horse, landing with a thud on the grassy roadside, the wind knocked from his lungs. Pain radiated from his right shoulder.

In the distance, Jacob shouted, the horses neighed, and the wheels ground against the hard-packed mud. Rees attempted to roll over. To his frustration the chaise had come to a stop. “Go, Jacob—go!” he shouted, but his voice came out a hoarse rasp.

The next second, the door flew open and Lady Wexham sprang down, running to kneel at his side, ignoring the shouts of the highwaymen.

“Why . . . why didn’t you ride on?” he gasped.

“Hush.” She hiked up her skirt and began tearing off strips of her
petticoat. Wadding it up, she pushed them against his shoulder. He stifled an exclamation at the jolt. “I’m sorry,” she said immediately, her eyes filled with concern.

Jacob came puffing up behind her, with one of the masked highwaymen brandishing a pistol.

“You, madame
,
up!” The bandit gestured with his gun.

She didn’t spare him a glance, her focus on Rees’s wound. “This man needs my attention.”

He thrust the pistol against her cheek, and she flinched from him.

Ignoring the burning in his shoulder, Rees grabbed her arm. “Do as he says.”

Her gaze shifted from him to the highwayman. Finally, she let the wad go and backed away, addressing the coachman. “Hold it to his shoulder, Jacob.”

The older man knelt at Rees’s side. “Yes, my lady. You just give them what they want,” he said with a glare at the highwayman. “They have the horses.”

Through the haze of pain, Rees noted the highwayman training his pistol on him had a French accent. Had they been sent by someone at Hartwell House? His thoughts went to the man who’d followed Lady Wexham the night before. She had been right to leave when she did, except she’d been too late.

As the cloth became soaked in blood, Jacob pressed more of the cloth strips to Rees’s shoulder. “This is going to hurt like the dickens, but I’ve got to bind it up ’fore you bleed to death.”

“Yes.” He braced himself. Jacob began to undo the buttons on Rees’s coat and waistcoat. As he eased them away from his shoulders, Rees clenched his jaw to keep from screaming out. Jacob grunted. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just cut away your shirt. No sense to trouble you any more than I have to.”

Rees only jerked his head.

The coachman took out a pocketknife and slit the muslin apart. “All right then, bite down.”

Rees said nothing, fighting the nausea, and praying for Lady Wexham’s safety.
Don’t let her do anything foolish, Lord.

Jacob took the remaining strips of petticoat and wrapped them around Rees’s shoulder, having to support him with his arms as he brought the strips around his back and under his arm. Rees prayed he wouldn’t pass out before he knew what was happening with Lady Wexham.

He looked across Jacob’s shoulder and couldn’t help an exclamation. One of the men was accosting Lady Wexham, his posture threatening.

“Easy there,” Jacob cautioned, “or you’ll dislodge these bandages.”

Rees searched for the others. One highwayman was holding the horses, while another had Rees’s mare. The last was inside the coach.

“There are only five of them,” Rees managed. “You could have outrun them.”

“Nay, sir, not when Lady Wexham heard the shot and saw you fall. She had me stop.”

“Hopefully, all they’ll want are any valuables and they’ll let us go on our way.” Even as he said it, he was afraid this was no ordinary holdup.

“Aye, I imagine you’re right.”

He cursed himself for not being more alert. He hadn’t seen anyone following the carriage, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t taken a different route. What did she carry of value? And if they found it, what would they do to her? Cold sweat broke out on his forehead at the thought. He would be able to do little to defend her now. He continued to pray.

Jacob sat back with a final tug on the knot he’d fashioned. “There, that should hold you till we can get you to a surgeon. You’ve got a ball lodged somewhere in your shoulder.”

Rees tried to sit up. Jacob put an arm around him and guided him. “Thanks. Do you think you can help me stand?”

Jacob glanced at the highwayman standing a few paces from them, his pistol pointed at them. “Best not. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Let’s wait and see what happens.”

Light-headed from the effort to sit, Rees fixed his eyes on the chaise, wondering what the man would find. Finally, the highwayman emerged, speaking in French to another, who must be the leader. “Nothing in here. We must search her.”

Rees leaned forward, only to be stopped by Jacob. “What’s going on?”

Rees debated and finally said, “I don’t like it. It doesn’t seem he found”—he hesitated—“anything of value. I hope he doesn’t want to search her.”

The coachman uttered an oath and turned to study the men.

The two masked Frenchmen stood before Lady Wexham. To her credit, she evinced no fear but stood straight and eyed them in disdain.

“Where is it?”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you are speaking of.”

“I think you do, madame, and if you are not forthcoming, we will be forced to search your person.” The man who spoke took a threatening step toward her.

“If you do, you are a coward.” She thrust her reticule toward him. “Here, take whatever notes and jewels I have.”

After rummaging through it, he tossed it to the ground. “I think you know what we want.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

He motioned to his companion. “Take her into the coach.”

She fought them, but they overcame her. Rees struggled to stand, but Jacob held him back and he was too weak to overpower him. “We must protect her!”

“We haven’t much choice. They have the weapons. We don’t need another bullet in us. Let’s hope they’ll find what they want and let her go.”

All Rees could do was continue praying . . . and hope Jacob was right, that all they wanted was whatever she had and didn’t intend to harm her in any other way.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged a short while later
from the coach, without Lady Wexham. “She has nothing. Let’s be off before anyone happens by.”

Rees pushed Jacob toward the carriage. “See if Lady Wexham is all right.”

Rees attempted to stand, but a wave of dizziness overcame him. In a few seconds, the highwaymen remounted and galloped away, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. They were heading along the road now, in the direction of Hartwell House.

Jacob stood with a grunt. “Very well.” Before he reached the coach door, Lady Wexham descended, straightening her pelisse. The next second she rushed to Rees’s side.

She knelt beside him, her gaze on his bandaged shoulder.

“My lady, are you all right?” Jacob asked.

“Yes, yes,” she answered impatiently, waving him away. She looked at Rees. “Is it very bad?”

“I’ll live. It . . . looks worse . . . than it is . . .” Speaking was becoming an effort as the waves of pain washed over him.

Before he could ask her what they’d done to her, she turned to Jacob. “Please, help me to lift him. We must get him help as soon as possible.” She looked about her, biting her lip. “What are we close to?”

Jacob considered. “Bentley Priory is just ahead a ways.”

“We have no idea if the marquess is in residence.” With a shake of her head, she stood. “No, it’s best we head directly to London.” She glanced at Rees. “We risk more bleeding with these abominable roads, but once there I can summon my surgeon.”

He preferred being in London where he could have a hope of keeping watch over her. “I’ll be . . . fine.”

The two stooped to begin lifting him. “My lady, I can . . . walk on my . . . own . . . with Jacob’s assistance.”

“Nonsense. We’ll support you on either side.” As she spoke, she was already helping him to his feet, her arm strong around his waist.

He almost passed out when he tried to walk.

Jacob supported him on the other side. “Easy there, lad . . . put your weight on me . . . only a few steps . . .”

By the time they reached the carriage door, he remained conscious only by sheer will.

Shaking off Lady Wexham’s arm, he made a herculean effort to manage the carriage step on his own. Finally, he was in the coach, collapsing across the seat.

Jacob propped him up in one corner of the coach, lifting his legs across the seat as Lady Wexham put pillows under his head and shoulders.

A second later, she exited the coach. Before he had time to wonder where she’d gone, she was back, her reticule in one hand and a flask in the other. “Those blackguards left everything in such a mess, but I have managed to locate my things. Here, take a sip of this.” She leaned toward him, pouring a thimbleful of the flask’s contents into its top and bringing it to his lips. Brandy burned down his throat.

“Thank you,” he managed, letting his head fall back on the cushion.

She made no reply but spread a blanket over his body.

“I’m sorry—”

She stopped in the act of tucking the blanket around his legs. “For what?”

He waved with his hand. “This.”

Her dark eyebrows drew together. “For getting shot defending me? Don’t be daft. I’m sorry to have put your life in danger.”

Again she turned away before he could say anything and leaned out the door. “We must go.”

Jacob closed the door, and the next moment the coach was in motion.

Each sway and bump of the carriage jarred his shoulder. He closed his eyes, praying he wouldn’t be sick.

He felt her hand on his forehead. “We’ll be home as soon as we can. Jacob will get us there quickly, I know.”

He nodded, feeling too ill to open his eyes.

She sat on the seat opposite him.

He remembered the words he’d heard within him.
Protect her.
Is this what the Lord had meant?

What kind of protector had he been? When she’d needed him most, he’d failed her. Who would protect her now?

16

C
éline sat opposite MacKinnon, wincing with each jolt of the chaise. The makeshift bandage Jacob had fashioned was beginning to bleed again. As the fresh bloodstain expanded on the white cotton, she gripped her hands and prayed.

Dear God, please don’t take him. Please—

She bit her lip and looked outside. It had been so long since she’d prayed that she felt unsure. God had no reason to listen to her prayers. The last time she’d really prayed for something had been to be reunited with Stéphane. Instead the Lord had taken him.

Her gaze came back to MacKinnon. His skin was almost as white as the bandaging. How much more blood could he lose?
Please keep him alive. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought him along.