Surrender (19 page)

And she was beyond disappointment.

She hurried down the hall and into her own bedchamber. Alice was waiting for her there, and a fire was roaring in her hearth.

What had just happened? she wondered.

“Can I help you disrobe, madame?” The maid smiled.

As she changed into her cotton-and-lace nightgown, took her hair down and braided it into a single tail, Evelyn reminded herself that he was exhausted, probably far more so than she was. And he had drunk a great deal of wine.

But he had decided to become the perfect gentleman, and she simply could not understand why!

Now she realized that she had been expecting his advances all along, and that she had probably decided to stay on the island that evening because she wanted to be in his arms. She sat down on the sofa and stared unseeingly at the hearth. She should not be so disappointed, she decided. Jack respected her now. He was treating her the way she should be treated—as a lady in mourning.

But she was not calmed or convinced. Henri had never made her feel so tense and so desperate, so explosive. But Henri wasn’t young and handsome, and he could not outrace a navy, and he would never wish to engage in a gun battle with his enemies! Her heart turned over hard, Jack’s golden, handsome image filling her mind. Maybe it was time to admit that she was entirely infatuated with him, and the attraction was far greater than a physical one.

But why not? He had saved her life, and her daughter’s, and he wasn’t just a handsome and intelligent man, he was skilled and courageous, and he even came from a good family. Was she falling in love? That would be so dangerous, wouldn’t it? Even though he thought her beautiful, and they were becoming friends, he was a smuggler and an outlaw. Men like that did not court and marry women like her.

Did she want him to court her? And if he did, what would she do? Wasn’t she in mourning? Evelyn was amazed at her train of thoughts. This was the second time in as many days that she had considered his character in relationship to the prospect of a courtship.

She suddenly realized that she didn’t care about mourning Henri. She had nursed him for almost eight years—she had done enough! If Jack became serious about her, she would welcome his suit. And he was becoming interested in her. Why else would they have shared that supper, and so much conversation? She had not mistaken all of those heavy, lingering looks!

She sat very still, breathing hard. She had never been interested in any man as she was in Jack. She had never been attracted to any man the way she was to him. And she had never admired anyone as much.

If she was falling in love, as dangerous as it was, she had to do something about it.

After all, there were no rules on Looe Island.

She stood up. She had spent eight years nursing an old man. Now, she wanted to live her own life.

Evelyn began taking out her braid, her hands shaking in some shock over what she meant to do—uncertain whether she merely meant to seek Jack out for his kisses or for far more. It just didn’t matter. Suddenly she felt as if she were escaping prison. Evelyn shook out her waist-length hair and stared at her flushed reflection in the mirror. Her eyes glittered almost wildly. She did not recognize herself.

She had been following rules her entire life. Yet she was a grown woman, a mother and a widow. If she wanted to be in Jack’s arms, she had every right.

Evelyn fanned out her hair, donned her cotton wrapper and hurried from her room.

His door remained entirely open. She looked across the gold-and-red sitting room, and into his bedchamber, for that door was also wide-open. However, it was barely lit and cast in shadow. She could not see anyone.

“What are you doing?”

She started, and realized Jack stood in the sitting room after all, but by the hearth—he had one hand on the marble mantel. And he wore only his pale wool, knee-length knickers.

“What are you doing?” he demanded again as harshly as the first time. His expression was hard but incredulous.

She had not expected him to be undressed, and she had never seen such a man in a naked state before. She stared. His hair was unbound. It brushed his broad shoulders. His chest was wide and hard, two massive slabs of muscle. His nipples were erect. His abdomen was tight and flat. She did not dare look lower, although she wanted to. She slowly lifted her gaze up to his.

His eyes widened.

“May I come in?” She smiled, even though her mouth was entirely dry.

“No.”

She swallowed. “There are no rules on Looe Island.”

His eyes widened even more. He stepped toward the sofa, but not past it, his face hard, his eyes smoldering. He did not seem inebriated now. “What is wrong with you?”

“I am tired of living like a widow.”

He began shaking his head, incredulously. “Go back to your bedchamber—if you know what is good for you.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, starting forward.

“If you come in here, you will not be leaving.”

“Good,” she said. She halted, two steps within his room, barely able to breathe. “That is what I want!”

“You are a moral woman. I am not a moral man. Go back to your room—before I show my true colors.”

She inhaled. “You have shown, and are showing, your true colors. You are a very moral man—and you are proving it, right now. Meanwhile, I have decided to be the amoral one.”

“You are not amoral…. You could not be amoral.” And he shuddered. “I am an instant from seizing you and taking you to bed,” he warned. “But I am trying to play the gentleman.”

“You can play the gentleman tomorrow—and tomorrow, I can play the widow.” She bit her lip, so hard, she tasted blood. Very aware of what she was doing, she unbelted the wrapper and slid it from her shoulders. It fell onto the floor by her feet.

He breathed hard—she saw his muscular chest rising and falling. “I am not going to allow you to turn tail on me this time,” he ground out.

“I won’t,” she managed, feeling faint with need. “I won’t, Jack. I love you.”

He began shaking his head. “This isn’t love, Evelyn, this is lust.”

“No. I am falling in love with you.”

“Then I will break your heart, sooner or later, because this is not about love, not for me.” His eyes did not meet hers as he said this, and his expression was fierce.

She did not believe him. No two people could feel such desire and not be falling in love. Evelyn turned and shut his bedroom door. Then she faced him and shrugged off her nightgown. She was naked beneath.

His eyes blazed. He strode to her. Before she could think or react, Evelyn was swept into his arms, and up his body. Somehow she was astride his waist, her legs around his hips, clutching his shoulders, and he was pressing her into the door. And his mouth was on hers, in a frenzy.

Evelyn kissed him back, clawing his shoulders, thrusting her tongue past his teeth. She heard him gasp. Their tongues mated. His palm grasped one buttock, shifting her. Something massive and hard pushed up against her sex. She cried out, thrilled, beyond excitement.

He pressed her harder against the wall, and without breaking the kiss, he reached down and pulled at the drawstring of his knickers. The undergarment slid down and he kicked it aside. “Evelyn.”

Evelyn could not think. He was throbbing dangerously against her and desire consumed her.

He caught her face with both hands, framing it. She met his blazing regard. “Last chance. I will let you go if you tell me now that you have changed your mind.”

“Make love to me,” she gasped, clawing his shoulders and wriggling lower.

He groaned, lifting her into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, and for one instant they stared at one another.

“I have never had a lover,” she said softly.

His eyes widened. “You were married to an old man!”

She could not smile. “But I have never wanted anyone before. I never considered an affair—until I met you.”

He stared, his eyes blazing. “You are an extraordinary woman,” he said roughly. “And I do not want to hurt you.”

And just when she thought he meant that he did not want to break her heart, she glimpsed his entire muscular, hard, proud body, hovering over hers. She had become so hollow, so faint, that she went still. She could not bear the anticipation any longer. “Hurry,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”

He moved over her, smiling. And in moments, Evelyn was weeping in ecstasy and pleasure.

CHAPTER TEN

E
VELYN
AWOKE
IN
Jack Greystone’s bed.

She grinned, stretching like a cat, recalling bits and pieces of his lovemaking last night. She had never felt so wonderful, so delicious, so replete and so loved. And she was shameless, wasn’t she? For she was stark naked beneath his sheets, relishing it!

She wondered where he was as she sat up. His half of the bed was cold, indicating he had arisen some time ago. She slid her hand over the silky sheets where he had slept, her heart turning over hard. If she hadn’t been falling in love with him before, she was most certainly falling in love now.

She wished he hadn’t gotten up! So easily she could slip into his arms another time.

Evelyn rose from the bed, pleased to see that he had left her nightgown and wrapper draped over a big burgundy chair, and she donned both. Then she opened the heavy damask draperies, allowing bright sunlight to fill the room.

Outside, the sun was high—it was close to noon. The sky was a bright blue, filled with puffy white cumulus clouds—it was a beautiful spring day. She glimpsed the gardens below, and just past the hedges, the blue-gray sea. White horses frothed merrily upon it.

Evelyn turned, crossed the room and carefully opened the door to his sitting room. It was empty she saw with relief. She hurried through it and then peeked into the hall. When she did not see anyone, she ran up the corridor to her room, and slammed that door closed.

Panting, she laughed. Hopefully no one knew she had spent the night in Jack’s bed, but if they did, who cared? She wondered if she had ever felt as buoyant, as happy, as carefree and as young. Now she truly felt like a debutante, and she did not care if she was being foolish. Except no debutante would have taken a lover last night. And she was thrilled she had decided to break the rules!

Suddenly she thought of Henri and she sobered. How had she ever endured his touch? She had never allowed herself to fault him at the time, but now she knew the difference between tolerating a man and wildly wanting someone.

She felt sorry for the child bride she had once been, but she hadn’t known better, and Henri had given her Aimee. For that, she would always be grateful. However, gratitude was not love.

A knock sounded on her door.
Jack
. Evelyn whirled, thrilled and opened it. Her smile vanished as she faced Alice, carrying a breakfast tray.

“Good morning,” Alice said cheerfully, walking past her and placing the tray on the small dining table beside one window. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” Evelyn wondered if Alice knew about her affair, but could see no sign that she did. “I slept wonderfully—it is so late!”

“It is half past eleven, my lady. Can I help you dress?”

“That would be wonderful.” She stared, smiling fixedly now. Where was Jack? Was he in as good spirits as she was?

She felt her smile falter.

This is not about love, not for me. This is about lust.

Why had she recalled that terrible statement? She rubbed her arms, suddenly worried. But he had subsequently called her an extraordinary woman, and he had made love to her many, many times.

Alice handed her a cup of hot chocolate. Evelyn thanked her. “Is Mr. Greystone up? I cannot imagine him sleeping in.”

Alice looked away. “He is walking on the beach.”

Evelyn set her cup down, surprised.

“He walks this entire island every morning when he is at home. He never sleeps past six or so.”

She could not wait to encounter him now. She wanted to rush back into his arms, have him hold her—and reassure her. Surely, he was as thrilled with their affair as she was—and surely, he had some affection for her now. She could not simply be just one of his many lovers! “Alice, help me dress. I am going to join the captain.”

* * *

I
T
WAS
A
BEAUTIFUL
DAY
, bright and sunny, but with a strong breeze, and Evelyn left the house, inhaling the salt tang in the air. Her heart was racing with anticipation as she glanced at the fork in the road just ahead. The island had two beaches, and the servants hadn’t known which beach Jack was on, so her guess was as good as any. She decided to head toward the cove where his ship was anchored, and she turned left, taking the same road as when she had first arrived.

Although rocky, the road leaving the house was well used, and Evelyn hurried down it, in spite of her small heels. She imagined Jack’s surprise when he saw her, and then she imagined a lover’s warm embrace. She smiled. Suddenly she wondered if she had ever been this happy. The only instance that could compare was her joy when Aimee was born.

She slowed, the end of the road ahead. She had been so intent on getting dressed as rapidly as possible that she hadn’t paused to consider the fact that she was supposed to return to Roselynd that afternoon. And she had to return—she was a mother, with a mother’s duties and responsibilities, and she missed Aimee. Still, she didn’t want to leave, not just yet. She wondered if she could rationalize staying for another day or two.

She had reached the sandy path that led to the beach and she lifted her skirts, trudging through the deep white sand now. The island’s central ridge was on her left, and ahead she saw the small, pale beach and the cove where they had disembarked yesterday. Jack’s black ship floated at anchor. In the distance, she could just glimpse the hazy British shore. But no one was on the beach, and she halted abruptly, disappointment claiming her.

He had to be on the island’s only other beach, which was on the south side of the house—facing the open waters of the Channel. She sighed, lifted her skirts and began trudging back the way she had come. She was now warm, and she took off her cloak, sliding it over her arm. Her shoes were not meant for walking on sandy paths and rocky roads. Her feet were starting to hurt.

Sometime later—she wasn’t walking quite as sprightly now—she had returned to the house. She briefly considered giving up her quest and waiting for Jack at the house, but she was afraid he might be gone for hours. She continued past the gardens and hedges. And when she passed the last hedge, she faced nothing but the black rocks which formed the perimeter of that side of the island.

Evelyn hesitated, for this side of the island was so inhospitable. The road led up that hill into those rocks, and it was a much rougher path than the previous one. She frankly did not know if she could navigate it, but she had been told that once she reached the top of the knoll, the road descended almost directly to the beach. How far could the beach be?

Evelyn folded up her cloak and laid it on a boulder that was twice her size. Then she started grimly up the road, tripping now and then on the rocks and ruts. She was quickly out of breath. She would surely break a heel. She was probably getting blisters. She debated turning around.

But she was almost at the top of the hill. Evelyn increased her pace, panting, and finally arrived at the crest of the black rock knoll.

And she stared ahead. The view was magnificent, the ocean seeming to stretch out into infinity, sparkling silver in the sunlight. She even thought she saw specks in the distance, which she assumed where ships crossing the Channel.

She glanced down at the beach below the hill and froze.

Jack stood a hundred feet below her—speaking to another man.

Her eyes widened as she saw the small dinghy lying on the beach in the ocean’s shallow water. A larger ship, perhaps a cutter, sat anchored not far from the shore.

Who was Jack meeting? Her heart slammed. He must be engaged with another smuggler. There was no other sensible explanation!

She thought about turning around. Then she dismissed the notion—she knew he was a smuggler, so there was nothing to hide.

Evelyn started down. The road had become a narrow, steep, winding path, very much like a gorge, between the rocks and cliffs. It was treacherous, commandeering all of her attention, and the cliffs quickly obfuscated her view. She could not see the beach, the two men or the ocean. Black rock formed walls on either side of her, but above her head, the sky was bright.

Evelyn finally reached the very foot of the path, perhaps a half an hour later. She paused, panting hard, and partially collapsed against a boulder. She realized that she had been a fool to go down such a route. From where she stood, she could glimpse a part of the sandy beach, and just a bit of the tide. Inhaling, she stepped past the boulder.

And she saw Jack and the other man. They hadn’t seen her yet, and while she could hear their muted voices, she could not make out any of the conversation. She was surprised—the other man was most definitely not a smuggler—unless he also came from a good family. For the stranger wore the clothing of a gentleman. He was clad in a tan coat and pale breeches, his dark hair tied in a queue.

As she looked at the stranger, she was alarmed. He seemed familiar. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

Both men had their backs to her, as they faced the ocean. Suddenly the wind shifted, blowing hard, and Evelyn’s skirts flew up. She caught them as she heard Jack say, “I told you. I do not know when it will take place.”

“That is hardly helpful!” the stranger replied.

Evelyn froze—she knew that voice!

The stranger continued, his French accent thick, “How many men will D’Hervilly muster?”

“Three or four thousand,” Jack said promptly. “But your problem will come from the Chouans. Cadoudal will have as many as ten thousand rebels, if not more.”

The stranger cursed in French. Evelyn stared widely at the two men now. She did not know who Cadoudal was, but were they speaking of the infamous Comte D’Hervilly? He was a well-known émigré, one constantly begging the British government for its support against the French government in the French countryside, where rebellions were taking place. Had she heard correctly? But what were they talking about?

“A rebel army of fifteen thousand will be easily defeated.” The Frenchman shrugged. “But we must know when the damned invasion will take place. Gossip has it they will invade Brittany—find out.” It was an order.

She began to shake. They were talking about a Chouan rebel army—which the French would defeat. She knew who the Chouans were—they were the peasants and noblemen who continued to wage a rebellion against the French republic in La Vendée, from its hills and valleys, its farms and villages. Recently the French government had begun to seriously suppress them.

She could not breathe adequately now. She tried to comprehend what she had heard—when she was afraid of what she might think. They had also been talking of an invasion of Brittany. D’Hervilly would have three or four thousand men—that sounded like an émigré army!

Were they discussing an invasion of Britanny by émigré and British forces?

And had Jack been ordered to discover—and divulge—British military plans?

Surely, she had misheard! Surely, she did not understand! She could not think clearly now!

“Has my contact changed?”

“No, it has not,” the Frenchman said. Too late, Evelyn realized that she had cried out the moment Jack had made his last comment. And the stranger whirled, facing her—instantly seeing her.

And now, Evelyn realized that she was staring at Victor LaSalle, the Vicomte LeClerc, who had been her neighbor in Paris in the summer of 1791—who had been imprisoned that summer, as an enemy of the state, just before she had fled Paris with her family. In shock, she stared.

As shocked, he stared back.

And real comprehension began. Why was LeClerc asking Jack about an invasion of France—if that was what he was doing? And how was it that he had survived the charges leveled against him? How had he survived a French prison?

“Evelyn!” Jack started up the beach, toward her, smiling. She did not move, because his smile was entirely false—it did not reach his eyes.

Somehow, she smiled back. “Hello! I heard you were walking on the beach and I had hoped to join you!”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very.” What had she interrupted? What was she to think?

There was only one conclusion.
LeClerc was a Republican now. Jack was a French spy.
They had been discussing a British invasion of France!

Their gazes met, but she could not see into his gray depths. They were flat and cold. His expression was tight and hard, in spite of the fixed smile. “Have I disturbed your…meeting?” She continued to smile, her heart racing with fear. Jack could not be a spy!

“You could never disturb me,” Jack said lightly. “May I introduce you to an old friend?”

Evelyn trembled. She had been using LeClerc’s name when she had fled France four years ago, and surely Jack recalled that. But she could have picked his name out of a hat. He would not know that they were acquainted, would he? She finally met the Vicomte LeClerc’s eyes, which were even colder than Jack’s. She wet her lips nervously.

“Do not bother,” he said. “I am well acquainted with the comtesse. Bonjour, Evelyn.
Ça va bien?
”

They had never been on a first-name basis—they had socialized once or twice. “Monsieur le Vicomte. Thank God you escaped prison. We fled France, shortly after your incarceration. I never expected to see you again. This is a…wonderful…surprise.”

“I imagine not. And I certainly never expected to see you again, Comtesse.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I heard about Henri. I am so sorry for your loss.”

She was afraid to ask him about his wife and children. He smiled and said, “They did not survive. My wife was arrested several days after I was, and she was taken to the guillotine. My sons eventually suffered the same fate.”

She inhaled. “I am sorry.”

LeClerc said, “I cannot imagine how you found your way to this island. Or should I even ask?”

Jack said, his odd smile fixed in place, “The countess is my guest.”

“Obviously. Well, I do hope you are enjoying the amenities my friend is offering.” He seemed amused. “I am off, Greystone.”