Surrender (31 page)

Lucas cursed. “The last thing you need is a personal involvement now! LeClerc will manipulate you thoroughly, Jack, through her. Damn it.”

“I have ended the association.”

Lucas laughed harshly. “Really? And that is why you sent her to Julianne and Paget? To end the affair? I have no doubt you will be knocking on her bedroom door before the week is out!”

Jack flushed, because he had had just such treacherous urges, a great many times. “I am the reason she is in danger and I cannot—I will not—allow anything ill to befall her.”

Lucas stiffened, staring. “You are in love?”

Jack felt his cheeks warm. Was he in love with Evelyn D’Orsay? “She has no one to protect her.”

His eyes widened. “You are truly in love!”

Jack stood. “I will kill LeClerc just before or just after midnight of June 25.”

Lucas leaped up. “Even if you were reckless enough to seek out LeClerc in the heart of France, you are not a killer!”

“What else am I to do?” Jack said, fighting to remain quiet in the crowded room. “God willing, we will liberate Le Loire, but I am going to betray him. He will seek revenge on Evelyn and her daughter! I am in too deep to bow out now, and even if I could, I cannot turn my back on the Chouans! But I cannot turn my back on Evelyn, either!”

He stared at his brother, who stared back, their expressions of dismay and fear undoubtedly identical. And Jack knew it was true. “Yes,” he said softly. “To answer your question—I am in love.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
HERE
HAD
BEEN
no word. It was truly over.

Evelyn paused before the open door of the library. She had been in London for three days, and the time felt like an eternity. Even though the earl had told her that Jack was safely aboard his ship the day after her arrival in town, there had been no other details—not a single one. She did not know if he was better, or where he was—or what he was doing. And maybe that was best. But Evelyn had been waiting for a message from him. She could not believe that Jack would not contact her, even if they had ended things.

But his failure to do so sent such a strong signal. He meant to keep his distance. She knew it was for the best. She could hardly remain his lover now. But it was one thing to have decided upon a wise course of action, another to accept it with one’s heart.

How could she stop loving him?

It was so difficult, being strong. No matter how she tried to tell herself that she must move forward with her life—without him—it seemed impossible. No matter how she told herself that she must stop loving him, that also seemed hopeless.

Yet that was exactly what she must now do—she must focus on her life in town, on Aimee’s upbringing, on her daughter’s future.

And Aimee was thrilled with their new life. She loved living in town. She was taking her lessons with Amelia’s three stepchildren at Lambert Hall, and after classes, there were rides on the ponies Grenville kept for his children and picnics in the gardens behind the house. Grenville’s oldest son was Aimee’s age, and they had become fast friends. Indeed, the children were all getting along famously. And Amelia had welcomed Aimee into her home with open arms—as if she were a blood relation. But then, Amelia loved nothing more than being a mother hen with a large brood.

Still, Evelyn had not slept well since she had left Roselynd—since they had decided it was over. She was tormented by her heartbreak, her love and her worry for him. Surely, ending their affair did not exclude some communication. For, in spite of everything that had happened, they were friends now. They might not be lovers, but they cared for one another and respected one another. He had a responsibility to contact her, to let her know that he was all right! Surely Jack knew just how worried she was.

She could not help wondering if he had healed. Was he capable of defending himself, if he were ever brutally attacked again?

Was he in France? Was he in French waters? Had he followed LeClerc’s orders? Had he uncovered the date for the invasion of Quiberon Bay, and passed that information over? Were the British and émigré troops in jeopardy? Would their invasion be met by an ambush—a massacre?

Whenever she thought of his betraying her and their country and countrymen, she was sickened. But at the very same time, her heart would scream in protest at her—somehow, a part of her did not believe he was capable of ever committing such an act of treason. But it had begun to truly sink in. She had information that might affect the course of the war....

Dominic Paget was at his massive desk at the far end of the library. As always, he was such an imposing figure, and a bit intimidating. He had noticed her, and he set aside the papers he was reading. “Lady D’Orsay?” His smile was brief.

She had never sought him out for a private word before. She wished she did not have to do so now. But she could not keep this secret. The authorities had to know what Jack meant to do—what he was doing. She could not allow thousands of lives to be endangered.

“My lord, I hope I am not interrupting,” she said nervously. She felt heartsick as she spoke.

He stood, smiling. “Come in, Countess. Clearly, you wish a word.”

She shut the door and turned, aware of the enormity of what she meant to do. Yet she had no choice. “Is there any more news of Jack?” she asked carefully, because she so wished to know.

“I am afraid not, but that is hardly unusual. He is rarely in one place for very long.”

Evelyn clasped her hands. “I am very concerned about him, but I am also very concerned about the conversation I overheard when I was on his island.”

Paget turned, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. Evelyn took it, thanking him. Her heart was pounding. She had decided to reveal what she knew to Dominic, because he was both a great patriot and Jack’s brother-in-law. She felt certain the earl would protect Jack, yet she also felt as certain that he would never allow the French invasion to be jeopardized.

“Jack has lived in the eye of danger for most of his life. I understand that you have become fond of him—he is my wife’s brother, and I am fond of him, too. But I am also confident that if anyone can survive the intrigues of this war, it is Jack.”

How she wished she could have a drop of the earl’s confidence! “He is wanted for treason,” she cried. “How will he ever survive such charges? Even if the war ends, he is an outlaw.”

“Charges can be dropped.” He was matter-of-fact.

Evelyn stiffened in her seat, wondering if he truly meant it.

“I know that I cannot stop you from worrying about Jack, but I wish you would try. You are clearly exhausting yourself—and you have Aimee to think of.”

“She has always come first, and that is why I am here,” Evelyn said. Was it possible that one day, Jack could be a free man? She had to rein in her hope. He was a spy, in a time of war. So much could befall him.

She thought about the beating he had endured; she thought about LeClerc and his threats, and the frenzy of accusations and executions in France during Le Razor.

“I take it you wish to discuss another matter with me?” Paget’s soft tone cut into her anxious thoughts.

“Sir, no one seemed disturbed when I revealed the nature of the conversation I overheard on Looe Island.”

His mouth curled. “As you know—as the world knows—I was one of Pitt’s agents, once upon a time. My wife and I have been involved in a great many intrigues, Lady D’Orsay, so perhaps we are a bit desensitized now.”

“An invasion of Quiberon Bay is planned, my lord, one with both British and émigré troops. Jack told LeClerc as much, but what he did not reveal was the date of the invasion. LeClerc ordered him to uncover that date.”

Paget stared. “And what is your point?”

She inhaled. “If Jack reveals the date of that invasion, it could fail. Or worse, thousands of fine British soldiers—and émigrés—could die!”

“Yes, if Jack betrayed us, the invasion would surely fail and a great many Englishmen and émigrés would die. I take it you believe he will betray us?”

How could Dominic be so calm? Surely, he understood the implications of what she had said! “I know what I witnessed and what I heard. Jack is a French spy. I could not keep such a secret. Someone in authority had to know. I decided to come to you.”

He studied her for an interminable moment, his bland expression never changing. “You are very brave. Lady D’Orsay, you should forget that you ever heard what you did. Recalling it only keeps you in danger. I will take care of the matter.”

She was amazed. “What will you do with the information I have given you?”

“The less you know the better.” He was final.

And she realized that Paget did not believe that Jack was a spy for their enemies. Like Julianne, he believed in Jack. There was no other explanation for his calm reaction to what she had revealed. But was it at all possible that they were right?

“I wish I knew nothing,” she cried. She realized she was standing. “I love Jack, even if I should not. I feel like an absolute traitor, having told you what I have.”

He got to his feet and came out from behind his desk, and he actually put his arm around her. “My dear, you did the right thing, coming to me. You know, in many ways Jack is like my wife—they are both impulsive and passionate, determinedly so. I am not surprised that you have come to care for him. You could do worse, Lady D’Orsay.”

She had no more doubt—Dominic Paget did not believe Jack a traitor, not for a single second!

“But now, you must forget what you know—what you have heard,” he said.

She had never been as confused! Evelyn met his green gaze, which was direct and commanding. “That is probably impossible.” She hesitated. “Will you protect him?”

“He is my family. Of course I will protect him.”

She nodded, near tears, relieved.

“But I must add one more piece of advice. Listen closely.” He dropped his arm. “If you are ever questioned about Jack, and you cannot plead ignorance, then you must reveal what you have told me today—you believe Jack a traitor and a French spy.”

Evelyn was taken aback. “Why?”

“Because his life will depend upon it,” Dominic Paget said. “You should not be involved in these games, but unfortunately, it is too late.”

* * *

“I
UNDERSTAND
THAT
you have been residing in Cornwall, Lady D’Orsay. How is London treating you?”

Evelyn smiled at the Comte D’Archand. Julianne had given a dinner party, and she had met the émigré and his eldest daughter, Nadine, before supper, for the first time. Apparently they had just returned to town.

She had been seated between two gentlemen, and it had been a pleasant affair, with a great deal of meandering conversation, some of it related to the comings and goings of the ton, recent affairs and announcements, and some of it related to the war. A part of her had truly enjoyed the gay evening—just as a part of her had enjoyed the past weeks spent in town. But if she allowed her thoughts to wander, she would not feel quite as content. Until she heard from Jack or heard news of him, she lived in a state of constant worry. Not a day went by that she did not recall LeClerc and his threats or the pending invasion of Quiberon Bay and the danger surrounding Jack.

Supper had just ended and Julianne had ushered everyone out, the gentlemen to their cigars and brandies, the ladies to their sherry and port. Evelyn was tired—she continued to sleep fitfully—and she had lagged behind the women, debating retiring for the evening, if she could politely do so. The comte had caught her in the corridor, outside the salon where the ladies had assembled.

They had been briefly introduced before supper. The comte was in his early forties, she thought, but he was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired and very handsome. She was already aware that he found her attractive—she had caught him casting glances at her throughout the meal. But then, she had teased and curled her hair, and her headdress matched her gold-and-burgundy evening gown exactly. She did not look like a widow in mourning; she looked like a fashionable and elegant noblewoman.

“Sir.” Evelyn smiled politely. “London has treated me very well. I believe that Julianne and Amelia have made it their life’s mission to entertain and amuse me, when Amelia should not even be out and about.” Amelia was due to give birth next week, but no one could convince her to stay home, not even her husband.

He laughed, flashing bright, even teeth. “She is very bold to be out in society in her condition. Grenville seems beyond anxious. So…have they succeeded?”

She had to smile back. “There have been teas and luncheons and carriage rides. The past week or so has passed in a veritable whirl.” She was speaking the truth. She had been introduced to a dozen peers. Everyone had, in fact, been kind, curious and friendly. Amelia was the most determined—she was the leader of this social effort, Evelyn had quickly realized. It was as if introducing Evelyn to the ton was a task she must accomplish before she had her first child. “They have become such good friends—I almost feel as if they are my sisters.”

“Nadine feels the same way—no two women could be more generous in spirit,” D’Archand said. “And do you prefer town to the country?”

“Sometimes I do. But sometimes I miss Cornwall, with its stark moors and rocky beaches, its inclement weather!” She smiled. “Did I hear that you also have a home in Cornwall?”

“Yes, we do, but far south, in the St Just parish. Actually, we are not far from St Just Hall and Greystone Manor.” Evelyn tensed at the mention of Greystone Manor, which she knew was Jack’s family home. “Lady D’Orsay,” the comte continued, “would I be overstepping my bounds, as we have only just been introduced, if I asked you if I might show you some of London’s brighter attractions?”

She froze. A tall, tawny-haired man in a brown satin coat and pale breeches and stockings was entering the front hall.
Jack.

Evelyn’s heart slammed. It had been almost three weeks since their parting at Roselynd.

He turned, and their glances collided.

Dismay flooded her. Evelyn realized she was staring at his brother, Lucas. They were so alike—tall, broad-shouldered, powerfully built, with that same tawny, sun-streaked hair.

From across the great hall, Lucas smiled at her.

“Do you know Lucas Greystone?” D’Archand asked.

Evelyn inhaled, facing him—while summoning up a smile. “Yes, I do. He has been kind enough to look into the operations of a mine on my estate.”

D’Archand’s stare was speculative. “Greystone is a great patriot and a good friend of mine. As is his brother. I must say, you look as if you have seen a ghost.”

She flushed. What could she say to such a comment—when he was staring so closely at her? And now she realized she was faced with a good friend of Jack’s. It was such a small world. “I think we both know that these are difficult times.”

“Yes.” He was grim. “I am sorry, Countess, I am aware that you fled France with your family a few years ago—as I did. May I offer you condolences for the passing of your husband?”

“Thank you.” She hesitated. “I have not answered your question.” From the corner of her eye, she watched Lucas enter the salon. Amelia hugged him instantly. With her due date so near, she was huge for a tiny woman. Several women rushed up to him then, the younger ladies clearly eager to flirt with him.

“No, you have not.”

She focused on the gentleman standing before her. How could she lead him on? “As you can see, I am not in mourning, yet Henri died two months ago. I loved him, monsieur, but he was ill for a very long time.”