Surrender (21 page)

He had not escorted her ashore. One of his men had done that. Evelyn had wanted to look over her shoulder at him, one last time, but she hadn’t. She had forced herself not to look back.

“I am still sad, about your father.” Oh, how she hated lying to Aimee now! “But I am so happy to see you,
chérie.
”

“I’m sad, too, Mama, but Laurent took me to the inn and look, we have a puppy!” Aimee beamed.

Evelyn rose as she saw Laurent coming out of the house, a chubby tan puppy with small floppy ears bounding ahead of him, its tail wagging. The pup was as large as a full-grown Labrador. “Is that a mastiff?”

Laurent gave her a sheepish smile. “Mr. Trim’s bitch had a litter, and we went to see the puppies. Aimee insisted, madame.” His smile vanished, alarm in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

In that instant, she forgot about the new and soon-to-be very large addition to their household. Jack had asked her to believe in him, but not convincingly. In that moment she also knew that she could not betray him to Laurent. And she knew her motives were not related to the jeopardy such a revelation might put her in. Was she giving him some benefit of the doubt, even though she should know better?

“Our journey was not successful,” she replied.

His eyes widened.

She met his regard briefly, and then knelt to pet the puppy, which was jumping on her skirts. “Get down,” she said. “What is his name?”

“
Her
name is Jolie,” Aimee said. “We are keeping her, aren’t we? Please! She already sleeps in my bed!”

How would they feed that dog? Evelyn sighed. “Yes, we will keep Jolie, but you will have to make certain she doesn’t chew the furniture we have left.”

Aimee promised, and ran sideways back into the house, the pup leaping after her.

Watching them, Evelyn had to smile. The sight of her daughter playing happily with the puppy was a beautiful one. “A smaller dog would have been so much easier to feed,” she said softly.

Laurent took her hand. “There is no gold?”

“Apparently it was stolen, for Jack dug up the entire area.” Laurent followed her as she went into the house.
“Mon Dieu,”
he said. “And now it is Jack?”

She started, handing him her small valise. Her pulse was racing. She was almost ready to confide in Laurent, at least partly, and tell him that she had had a brief affair. “Yes, it is now Jack.”

“You have been crying. Somehow, I do not imagine that you have been crying over the gold.”

“Actually, I cried for a great many hours, on board his ship, but not because there was no gold. Henri should have made certain we had something for our future.” She was firm as she turned to the flowers on the only table in the entry hall. She began to rearrange them. “He left us penniless, Laurent. It is inexcusable.”

For once, Laurent did not rush to his beloved master’s defense. “I do not know how he did such a thing,” he confessed.

She paused, a rose in hand. “I am no longer in mourning.” As she spoke, she realized she would never wear black or gray again, or not for a very long time. “Ask Adelaide to press my burgundy gown.”

He straightened. “I think you are making the right decision, madame, as Henri was ill for so long!”

She took his arm, forestalling him. “I had an affair with Jack.” Oh, how calm she sounded.

His eyes grew as large as saucers.

She smiled grimly. “I believe I fell in love.”

“Madame!” He began to smile in delight.

“No.” She shook her head. “He warned me he would break my heart Laurent, sooner or later, and in a single day, he did just that.” Before he could speak, she said, “I cannot supply details. But I was a fool, and it is over.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “Madame, how can it be over? When you are still so deeply in love?”

“I am not in love,” she said, and the moment she had spoken, she knew that Laurent was right. She was still in love, no matter the extent of his perfidy. She was in love with a traitor.

Unless he was innocent and, somehow, she was wrong.

Laurent put his arm around her. “You have had a lover’s quarrel, madame, and you are just too inexperienced to realize it. Have no fear. Monsieur Greystone will be at this house in no time at all—and he will have flowers in his hands.”

Evelyn knew her smile was a frozen one. Jack Greystone was not going to appear at Roselynd, and especially not with flowers. On that point, she had not a single doubt.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
HE
PUPPY
WAS
growing, Evelyn thought with a frown, as she watched Aimee and the mastiff frolicking about the front lawns through a window in the entry hall. A week had passed since she had returned from Looe Island, and the pup had already grown significantly in size.

She could not regret allowing her daughter to keep the dog, because they were constant companions. But it ate a great deal, and she was afraid she would simply not be able to afford it for much longer. She had also banished it to the kitchens at night; it did not need to share her daughter’s bed!

Her heart lurched. Tomorrow she was driving out to the tin mine. Her visit would not be a surprise, for she had sent a letter to the new manager earlier in the week, informing him of her plans. She had also spoken with two banks, one in Fowey, the other in Falmouth, to find out if it was even possible for a woman in her straits to borrow funds, and if so, how much credit might be available to her. She had not been reassured. Her application would not be considered until she could prove ownership of Henri’s estate! And once she managed to do that, she had been warned that the outcome was not promising. Apparently Henri had used up all his credit long ago, and impoverished widows were considered unworthy of loans.

She had tried to explain that, with the price of tin as high as it was, she would have enough revenue from the mines, once the repairs were made, to pay back the loan. But neither clerk had seemed interested in her assessment.

She sighed, wishing the heavy feeling in her heart would go away.

Laurent kept telling her that it was a lover’s quarrel, and Jack would soon call. She had finally shouted at him that it was far more than a lover’s quarrel, shocking him to no end. He had been grossly insulted, and she had had to apologize. Her grief was making her the worst of shrews. Even Aimee looked at her with worry now.

She had to move on. But it was extremely hard to do, considering that she had spent an entire night in his arms. And even if she could forget that evening, how could she forget the conversation she had overheard on the beach, or the conversation they had had afterward?

She had given that conversation a great deal of thought—it was almost all she could think of. She could not allow a British-led émigré army to invade Brittany and face a certain massacre. She had since decided she was going to have to speak with the authorities—soon. It was her patriotic duty.

The idea made her feel violently ill. She was not certain that she could actually betray Jack. She wondered if she could claim to have overheard a pair of men she did not know. And if she did that, she would be lying for him—when he did not love her as she loved him.

She hugged herself, impossibly saddened. Then she saw a carriage coming up the drive. She stared, unsmiling. It was still too far away for her to make it or its occupants out, but she was certain it was Trevelyan.

She had sent him a note requesting his call. She was boxed in now. Therefore, she would do what she had to do—she intended to ask him to advance her the funds she might need for the mine’s repairs.

She had no pride left; she was that desperate. But what was worse was that she knew he was fond of her, and that his affection would make him inclined to help. Didn’t that make her as unprincipled as Jack? Abruptly, Evelyn shoved her misgivings aside. She walked into the kitchens to ask Adelaide to bring tea—and only tea—with some sugar cubes and lemon. Trev would understand.

She went back to the front door and opened it, making certain to smile. Trev was standing with Aimee, his hand on her back, and the puppy. Then he bent, picked up a stick, and threw it for the dog. Jolie raced after it happily, barking.

Aimee clapped her hands as the mastiff sniffed about the stick. It decided to grasp it, and Trev instantly praised her. “Now, Aimee, go to her and pet her, then toss it again and say fetch,” he said. “Soon you will be able to play fetch with her, anytime you like.”

Warmth stole through Evelyn as Aimee ran up to the dog, telling her how good she was. Aimee took the stick and Jolie began leaping about in excitement. Her daughter threw it, shouting, “Fetch!” Instead of chasing the stick, Jolie began jumping up and down around Aimee.

Evelyn felt like crying. She decided then and there that she would never give the dog away. And one day, Trevelyan would make a wonderful father. It was so obvious.

Then she realized that Trev was watching her. She reminded herself to smile. “Hello.”

Unsmiling, he approached. “What has happened? You look so sad!”

She inhaled. She hadn’t wanted him to realize the state she was in. “I was enjoying watching you with Aimee,” she said, meaning it. He was so kind, she thought, and he was handsome and honorable; why couldn’t he make her heart race?

“You seem stricken, Evelyn, but I won’t pry. I was thrilled to get your note.” He took her hand and kissed it, but his gaze remained worried.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “And thank you for teaching Aimee how to play with her dog.”

“That is a large dog for a little girl.” He smiled, following her inside.

“I was away for a few days, and when I came home, it was a fait accompli.”

“Really? Where did you go?”

She hesitated before the salon, wishing she hadn’t brought up the subject of her brief voyage.

“You look as if you were caught stealing from a cookie jar,” he said softly.

She couldn’t quite smile. “Henri left some valuables behind in France. I went to retrieve them, but they were gone—stolen, perhaps.”

He choked. “You went to France?” He was incredulous, and as she hurried into the salon, he followed, his eyes now wide with growing comprehension. “Wait a moment. Let me guess. This is why you were seeking out Jack? Did he take you to France, Evelyn?”

She smiled tightly at him. “Yes, he did, and it was a brief trip.” She was final.

He stared at her in absolute disbelief. “I cannot believe,” he finally said, “that my friend would actually transport you to a country we are at war with. In war-infested waters!” he added. “Why didn’t you come to me? I have a great many connections. And I would have gone to France for you!”

She sat down hard on the nearest chair, trying not to cry. “I meant to reward him well,” she said.

He was skeptical. “Greystone did not take you across the Channel for a few pounds—or a thousand pounds!” He now stared very closely. “Something has happened, it is obvious. Why are you upset?”

She stared back at him. Should she confide in Trevelyan? Should she tell him, not about the affair, but about the conversation she overheard on the beach? She so needed a confidant, and she so needed advice. But she felt ill again; she could not do it. “I was counting on those valuables, Trev. Now, instead, I must investigate my mine, and find a way to make it profitable.”

“I wish to help,” he said immediately. He sat down beside her and seized her hands. “You have a child to feed—not to mention a very large dog that will grow for some time.” He finally smiled.

His gaze was searching hers now. In that moment, Evelyn knew he harbored a romantic interest in her. She could not mislead him. “You are so kind,” she cried. “I do need a loan. I have already gone to two banks, but I must prove I have inherited Henri’s estate. They also indicated they would probably refuse me.”

“I would never refuse you,” he said, releasing her hands and standing.

She stood, as well. “I do not want to manipulate you, not in any way.”

“That is an odd statement.”

“Not really. I asked you here today so I could ask you for a loan. I was told that I need to make repairs to the mine before it can be profitable. Obviously I don’t have the means to make any repairs. But once those repairs are made, I can repay you.” She swallowed. “So you see, this is not a social call.”

He shook his head grimly. “I did not think it was, actually—as you are in mourning.”

She tensed, instantly thinking of the shameful night she had spent in Jack’s bed. She hoped she was not blushing.

“Why are you afraid to ask me for a loan? You are my friend, Evelyn, and you are a beautiful, gracious, kind woman—one in dire straits. I wish to be the gallant dashing to your rescue.” He smiled, clearly trying to ease her mind.

“You are a heroic man. I treasure our friendship.”

His smile vanished. “But?”

“I cannot return any romantic affection,” she said harshly. “Not now, not yet—and maybe, not ever.”

He stared, lowered his gaze and slowly paced. Evelyn stood very still, watching him. Then he faced her. “I understand. I wasn’t asking for romantic affection—but I must admit you have captured some of my interest.”

She could not meet his gaze. What should she do now? She did not want to mislead him—and even broken, her heart seemed to be already taken.

“But I am not in love with you, Evelyn. I am intrigued, and perhaps I could fall in love with you, but that day has not yet come.”

Her relief was boundless. “I am so glad we have our old friendship back.”

“You have my friendship, Evelyn, whether you want it or not. However, I do have one question for you.”

She knew what was coming and she froze.

Trev stared. “He has turned your head, hasn’t he?”

Evelyn simply stared.

“You do not have to answer—that is answer enough.”

She clasped her hands. “We aren’t even friends!”

“Of course you are not. I suggest prudence, Evelyn. Greystone is a rake, he is interested in you and little good will come of your association with him.” He was firm. “Besides, infatuation is only that.”

Evelyn was at a loss. She wanted to deny any interest on her part, including infatuation, but that would be a terrible deception to make. And it felt good, in a way, to have a confession out in the open, even if she had not made it—even if he was so astute that he had guessed some of the truth.

“How much do you need?” he asked softly. Tears of relief and gratitude arose.

“I don’t know yet.” Then she realized that Laurent had come to the door. They both turned to him.

“You have another caller,” Laurent said. “Lucas Greystone.”

It took her a moment to comprehend him. Jack’s brother was at her door? Her heart skipped wildly as she realized what his arrival meant. Jack had sent Lucas to help her, in spite of what had happened.

Trevelyan came to stand beside her. “You are acquainted with Lucas Greystone?”

“He is here to help me with the mine,” she whispered. Why would Jack send his brother to her aid now?

“That is an excellent idea,” Trev said. “Lucas knows more about mining than anyone else I know. And he will certainly decide what repairs the mine needs, and how much you will need to finance those repairs.”

Evelyn regarded him, thinking about all she had learned. “Do you know him well?”

Trev nodded. “Yes, I do.”

She hesitated. “Can I trust him?”

“Lucas is a gentleman, if that is what you are asking.”

She flushed. Jack was a spy—but hadn’t he said that his brother managed the family estate? And wasn’t Julianne married to a renowned Tory? There was no reason to believe that Lucas was involved in the war.

“I think I will go and leave you to your discussion.”

Evelyn looked up at him, impulsively taking his hand. “Thank you so much.”

He bowed. “Anytime, Evelyn—you need only ask.”

They walked together into the front hall, where Lucas Greystone stood. “Lady D’Orsay?” He bowed briefly. He was tall and golden, broad-shouldered and nearly a twin version of his brother. “I am Lucas Greystone, and my brother has insisted that I must help you with your tin mine, at all costs.”

* * *

E
VELYN
SLOWLY
PREPARED
for bed, now braiding her long dark hair. As she did so, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Jack had sent Lucas to help her. Why?

Lucas had spent a single hour with her after greeting Trevelyan, who had then left. He had taken a cup of tea and asked a dozen questions, none of which she could answer. Then he had asked for permission to visit the mine, which he wanted to do that afternoon, on his way back to London. She had given it instantly, writing a new note to her manager. And when he had left, he had had all of her mine ledgers in his possession. He wanted some time to go over the accounts, and when he was done, he would return them to her.

She had thanked him profusely.

“Of course, it is my pleasure. But do not thank me,” he had said. “Thank Jack. He made it abundantly clear that I had no choice but to rush to your side. You must have made a great impression upon him.” And with that, he had left.

Why would Jack wish to help her? Did that mean that he had some feelings for her, still?

What other reason could there be?

Evelyn realized that she wished, desperately, that he still cared, even though he was a damned spy. Tears arose. God, what was wrong with her?

And as she wondered that, a man appeared in the mirror behind her, smiling with malicious intent.

He was slim and dark, elegantly dressed, but with a missing front tooth—and he was holding a knife.

Before Evelyn could scream, she was seized from behind, the knife placed hard against her throat. She cried out in pain as the blade nipped at the sensitive skin of her throat.

A paralyzing fear consumed her.
He was going to slit her throat.

Her heart slammed. Was Aimee all right?

“Vous devriez fermer vos portes la nuit, Comtesse.”
You should lock your door at night, Countess.

“Aimee?” she gasped, struggling. And as she seized his forearms and writhed to free herself, she felt a pinprick on her throat—and then she felt blood trickling down her neck. “Please!” she gasped. “My daughter!”

“I would not speak if I were you!” He jerked hard on her.

She choked in fear, but she went still.
Dear God, was Aimee all right?

“I have a message for you,” he said softly, his mouth on her ear.

She whimpered, afraid the knife would cut deeper into her throat. But the feeling of his lips made her want to retch, as did the feeling of his body against hers.