Lady Emma's Campaign (5 page)

Finally, the ambassador turned to Emma. “Lady Emma, however . . .”

“Out of the question.” William shook his head.

“Her ladyship is the sister of a nobleman. Even the blasted French respect such a thing as rank. They can be trusted to act honorably toward a young gentlewoman, my lord. And I have had some dealings with the prison under its previous leader. He was quite reasonable when it came to prisoner exchange. My man would keep the young lady safe.”

Emma’s heart raced as feelings of fear and hope tumbled around in her chest. “I would be careful—”

“I will not even discuss it,” William said.

“But if it is the only way . . .” Emma began, but a look from William quelled her words.

The ambassador nodded his head in acquiescence. He made arrangements for the group’s meal to be served in the courtyard and excused himself, as he had a late supper with the Dons to prepare for.

Emma did not bring up Henry Wellesley’s suggestion again. She knew William would not entertain the idea, and it would surely anger him to discuss it further. They ate and were shown to their chambers. She found the gown and slippers that had been fetched from the ship. It was one of her very loveliest dresses—Emma knew it showcased her figure and complexion perfectly. She had specifically brought it on the voyage and saved it to wear when she saw Sidney. Laying the dress over a chair, she gazed out her window at the garden and began wrapping her hair in curling papers.

Her emotions battled with each other. She balled her fists in frustration at the annoyance she felt of being so completely underestimated by her brother, and at the same time, her heart filled with love for him. He truly had her safety in mind.

She felt a pang of regret when she thought of how furious he would be in the morning when he discovered that she was gone.

The heavy metal door creaked
and slammed shut, plunging the dank cell into darkness. Sidney breathed a sigh of relief as he lay upon the hard floor and then wished he had not when the pain shot through his side. He pressed his ribs gently with his fingers, attempting to determine the extent of his injuries. No bones broken. He touched his face. His lip was cracked, blood filled his mouth, and one eye was beginning to swell. He vaguely wondered whether it had been hit by the wall or his assailant’s fist.

Finally pulling himself into a sitting position, he moved to lean against the damp wall, wincing as the back of his head bumped against the uneven stones. It was definitely not the worst beating he had received since his capture, and truth be told, Sidney preferred Lucien’s fists to
le creux
, which was by far the warden’s vilest method of torture. Sidney had spent two separate weeks in le creux: a pit too shallow and narrow to fully stand or extend his legs. The pit was sealed by a metal grate, leaving him exposed to the scorching sun and freezing rains, which flooded the small space. Each time, when he was finally released, it had taken days for his leg muscles to stop cramping and finally bear his weight. Although he knew his body could survive another week in the pit, he was nearly certain his mind could not.

He had tried, at the beginning of his incarceration, to document the time that passed, but the dark dungeon where he spent days without food or light had disoriented him so badly that he could only guess how long it had been since he had lost his freedom. Perhaps two months? No doubt everyone he cared about thought him dead.

He touched his fingers to his lip and winced at the stinging. He thought of the continued beatings and interrogations, hoping an opportunity to escape would present itself soon.

Sidney had been occasionally allowed out of his cell into the common area with the other prisoners and had formed an alliance with two other inmates. The three of them were plotting an escape. Sidney spent every opportunity studying the movements of the guards and the layout of the prison. His mind was constantly occupied with devising a way out. Being able to focus on that one task and finding ways to communicate with his partners gave him a sense of purpose and hope that he would not die in a French prison. The only thing keeping him from going mad was the knowledge that he had a job to do. He knew that he must keep his brain active, or he would lose the ability to control it.

And Sidney could not bear to lose his mind. His memories were his only companions—aside from the rats—during the long days. They were his alone, the one thing the guards and warden couldn’t take from him.

He shifted his position on the hard floor, bending his legs and resting his arms upon his knees. He willed his mind to concentrate on anything that would keep it active. He mentally thought through the equations he’d used every day at sea to determine latitude and created scenarios to calculate a ship’s speed. He thought of his shipmates, forcing himself to recite the name and rank of each officer, the ship’s schedule, and every man’s job.

He smiled as he remembered the time he had spent aboard the ship with Amelia. William had been his closest friend, and Amelia had quickly become equally so. He missed them terribly, especially William. The two men had grown up together at sea, closer than any brothers. William had been a natural leader, and Sidney trusted him implicitly. He’d had limited correspondence with his friends for the past year and a half. He thought they may have a child by now, and he spent some time contemplating whether it was a son or daughter, and even smiled at the thought of William chasing twins around the Manor House. His mind wandered to the memory of the Christmas they had spent together, of kind Lady Charlotte and adorable Emma. It was incredible to think that the charming little girl had grown up and been launched into society, and equally unimaginable to suppose that such a young woman as she had not been snatched up quickly by a man of some consequence, as she deserved.

It was with a familiar heaviness in his chest that Sidney thought of his friends marrying. He knew he never would. Sidney’s eldest brother was the Viscount of Stansbury, a longstanding title that had been inherited with a longstanding debt. Sidney’s two elder brothers and their families lived on the family land that Sidney had seen only a handful of times since he’d joined the navy. While he was fond of his family, none of them had a mind for business, and they spent more than the estate brought in each year. Sidney was the family’s salvation. His income kept his relatives afloat and provided for their lifestyles. The honor of preserving his family name was something that he did not take lightly. He had accepted the fact that, for their sakes, he could never leave the sea and the living it provided.

Without warning, the door swung open, banging into the wall and echoing throughout the dark tunnels. Sidney jumped and squinted against the light of a lantern. Fighting to control his trembling, he kept his face impassive and his muscles relaxed. He would not give the warden the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

Sidney stretched one leg out on the floor slowly in an effort to look as casual as possible. “Monsieur Trenchard. My favorite warden. Might I assume that you are responsible for the lovely visit I had an hour ago?”

The warden narrowed his eyes and set the lantern upon the floor. Eerie shadows moved across his face. “Insolent Englishman,” he said in the slurry French accent Sidney was so weary of. “I grow tired of your mocking. If Lucien was not forceful enough to convince you to talk, perhaps another week in le creux will.”

Sidney forced his face into an easy smile which belied the jolt of terror the suggestion produced. “Monsieur, we are beginning to sound like an old married couple, arguing about the same thing over and over.” He sighed loudly. “I will tell you once again that I am not keeping a secret from you. I have no notion of where one might find the lost treasure of de la Cruz. As I have explained numerous times—often under an uncomfortable amount of duress, I should add—I found the coin merely by accident. The greatest regret of my life is putting the blasted thing into my pocket. I should have thrown it as far away as possible, but I thought perhaps I could use it to buy a croissant. I do so love croissants, don’t you?”

Lieutenant Trenchard took another step toward him, but Sidney held up his hand. “Please, allow me. Now you will raise your voice, demanding that I tell you the truth. Perhaps you will rant and threaten, telling me that nobody knows of my whereabouts, there is no hope of rescue, et cetera. You may deliver a few weak blows to my head or kicks to my ribs. Might I just say that I am particularly not fond of that aspect of your personality? After that, you will, no doubt, take the coin from your coat pocket and wave it in front of me while you scream and your face grows crimson with anger. The spittle that forms in the corners of your mouth is particularly unattract—”

The warden’s slap came so fast that Sidney did not register the movement until his head hit the wall and light exploded in front of his eyes.

Sidney sucked in his breath and let it out slowly, stifling a moan as he allowed his mind to clear. “I did not realize you would be changing our regular routine,” he said, acting as if the pain in his head was not making him nauseated. “If you had explained that earlier, I might have been able to skip ahead to my role of writhing in agony. We do need to coordinate our parts better.”

A kick to the stomach knocked him onto his side, and he groaned aloud. “Now that’s just bad manners.”

The warden pulled back his foot to deliver another blow but stopped when they heard voices in the passageway outside the cell. He dragged Sidney to his feet, pushed him against the wall, and leaned his face close. “I will not be deceived forever. Every man can be broken. I will find a way to convince you to tell me the truth.” He shoved Sidney once more, and Sidney wondered if there would ever be a time that his head did not throb.

“I would recommend speaking with your chef, Monsieur, concerning the amount of garlic in your diet,” Sidney ground out, determined to maintain his belligerency to the last possible moment. “Perhaps chewing on a sprig of parsley after you dine . . .”

The warden ignored him and stepped into the passageway to investigate the voices, which were growing louder.

In all of Sidney’s time at the prison, he had not seen another person in the underground dungeon beside the warden and an occasional thug sent to “assist his memory.” Sidney could not make out the words, but he thought he heard a woman’s voice among the deeper male ones. He was obviously mistaken, no doubt a result of the blow to his head. No one, not even the warden, would allow a woman into the dungeon.

The voices came closer, and Sidney listened as the warden argued with another guard. It was a woman’s voice, and she was speaking English.

“I will see Captain Fletcher this moment.”

Sidney’s brain was fuzzy; he must be hallucinating. The guard continued to apologize to the warden, but the woman was determined.

Sidney searched his mind. Could someone have found him? Who?

He looked toward the opening as the flickering light grew brighter. The warden stepped back into the room and held the lantern aloft. Immediately behind him appeared what Sidney could only describe as a vision. Her figure was silhouetted as she stepped past the lantern and cast her eyes about the small cell until they landed upon him. It must be his imagination. The woman looked remarkably familiar.

“I am afraid there has been a mistake,” she said. “I asked to see—” She tilted her head and peered closer. Her eyes widened in shock. “Sidney?” She rushed to him but quickly took a step back. He assumed his stench was the cause of her quick retreat, but she had come close enough for him to get a better look.

It could not be her.

She hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward and laying a gloved hand upon his face. “Oh, Sidney. What have they done to you?”

Reaching up, he placed his hand over hers where it rested upon his cheek. Surely his mind deceived him. He had been thinking about William’s family earlier, and now his imagination had conjured her. Was he finally going mad?

“Emma? How . . . ?” Finally his brain seemed to come back to life, and the rejuvenation was accompanied by an expansion in his chest. He had been found! Surely he would finally be free. He should have never doubted his friends. “Where is William?”

Emma reclaimed her hand. Her eyes shifted, not meeting his. “William is at Cádiz. Soldiers were not permitted behind the siege lines.”

“He sent you alone? To an enemy prison in a combat zone?” The feeling of elation began to ebb. This did not sound like anything William would allow, even for his boyhood friend. “Lady Emma Drake, what are you doing here?”

“I have come to rescue you, of course.” She lifted her chin. “And I am
not
alone. I traveled with an escort. He will arrange your ransom, and we shall leave as quickly as possible.”

“Does William know where you are?”

She lowered her lashes. “By now he does.”

Oh, Emma . . .

“Perhaps, mademoiselle, you would be more comfortable continuing this conversation above ground?” the warden said.

Sidney felt an unexplainable surge of anger when the man took her arm. It was quickly followed by the burst of panic that overcame him whenever he was left in the cold cell alone.

“
Merci
, Lieutenant Trenchard,” Emma said.

“And Captain Fletcher, you will join us,
oui
?” The warden wore a shrewd expression that caused Sidney’s heart to sink.

Lieutenant Trenchard carried the lantern and led the group through the tunnels and up the narrow staircase. The other guard followed closely behind Sidney, who was attempting to walk without feeling the jarring pain of each step in his head and ribs. In just a moment, the warden had unlocked the gate at the top of the staircase, and Sidney breathed in the fresh air and raised his face to the blue sky that he’d seen only rarely since his incarceration. Even though the bright sunlight caused a stabbing pain in his head, he would never take such things for granted as long as he lived. He looked to the tops of the garrison walls, where guards stood at their posts, keeping watch on the inmates as well as on activity outside the stronghold. Instinctively he assessed whether any changes had taken place, noting an increase in guards upon the battlements pointing at the fields outside the fort. They spoke more animatedly than they normally did. He wished he could see what was drawing their attention.

He glanced toward Emma. She stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her. She was studying his face, and he wondered what she saw. The poor lighting in the cell had likely hidden the worst of his injuries. But now she would be able to see that his clothes were filthy, his face was unshaven, and he was covered in an abysmal mixture of bruising and blood. It was a fair assumption that his appearance was just shy of horrifying. The complete reverse was true when he looked at her.

Little Emma had grown up. Her figure had filled out into that of a woman. Her blonde curls were freed from their braids and pinned to her head beneath a stylish bonnet, a few escaping to frame her face and neck. She stood straight and tall with an air of confidence that he had not seen in her before. It was quite becoming. Emma was the epitome of a British beauty: light coloring, large eyes, and a heart-shaped face with pink bow lips. Sidney found himself in awe as he wondered when the cute little girl had become so supremely beautiful.

He was jolted back into reality when he saw Lieutenant Trenchard’s gaze moving back and forth between the two of them. The hairs on the back of Sidney’s neck rose at the Frenchman’s smirk.

Sidney stepped closer to Emma, angling himself to exclude the warden from their conversation. “Emma, you should not have come. This is not a place for you.”

“Nonsense.” Emma raised her chin. “My escort is an emissary from the ambassador at Cádiz. He awaits us at the gates.”