Surrender (35 page)

“Evelyn, there is no point in delaying. Pack your bags. I will take you and Aimee to Julianne’s this afternoon.” He stood up.

She stood, as well. “When are you going to France? I have to know.”

“There is only one thing you have to know.” He embraced her. “I am in love with you, Evelyn.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

London
June 23, 1795

E
VELYN
STOOD
BY
the
front door, waving at Aimee as she got into the Bedford coach with Bette. Aimee
grinned back at her as Jolie jumped into the carriage before the liveried
footman closed the door. She was on her way to Lambert Hall for her lessons,
which she was continuing to take with Grenville’s children—never mind that
Amelia had just had her first child, a boy.

Evelyn stepped back from the door as the doorman closed it. Her
smile faded as the queasy feeling which had been plaguing her the entire week
she had been in London suddenly returned, inexplicably. In fact the nausea was
so powerful, she had the urge to retch.

Evelyn thought about Amelia and her newborn, whom she had
visited daily since the little boy’s birth four days ago. As she envisioned the
pair, Amelia in bed, the infant in her arms, both mother and child content as
only a mother and her infant can be, her heart turned over, hard.

Could she be with child herself?

She had become Jack’s lover exactly thirteen weeks ago. She
hadn’t paid attention to the fact, but she hadn’t had a single monthly, not
since mid-March—two and a half weeks after Henri’s funeral.

She had never expected to be blessed with another child,
because Henri had been too ill to father another one. But she loved being a
mother, and now, faced with the possibility that she might be pregnant, she was
overjoyed. She knew she should probably care that she was unwed, and that it
would be considered scandalous for her to have taken a lover on the heels of her
husband’s death, but she couldn’t care less about the impropriety of her
condition—if she was even in a condition.

However, she could not imagine what Jack might do or think if
she was carrying his child.

She was so afraid for him now. She was certain he was on his
way to France—or even already there. Every day she slipped into the chapel on
Fox Lane, praying that he would survive his intrigues and the war.

And he had finally told her that he loved her. It felt like a
miracle. Cornwall’s most notorious smuggler—its most notorious rogue—had come to
love her in return.

She did not have to even think about it to know he was not a
marrying man. He loved smuggling, the sea and danger. Britain was at war, and
contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a traitor—he was a patriot who refused to
abandon his country, his cause and his friends in this darkest, most dangerous
of times.

And even if the war ended, she could not imagine Jack sitting
at home, going over estate ledgers and the accounts from her tin mine. He loved
adventure, and he would never give up the free trade.

But he would probably marry her, if she allowed it, if he knew
she was with child. The world might think him conscienceless, but she knew
better. He was a great and noble man, and his sense of honor and justice would
propel him into matrimony, if even for all the wrong reasons.

But didn’t this child deserve two lawfully wedded parents and
the legitimacy that entailed?

And if she were pregnant, she would now have two mouths to
feed, not one. She would have two futures to secure. Suddenly Evelyn was
overwhelmed. She had yet to discuss the mine with Lucas, and maybe she needed to
do so immediately. And Jack would never allow his child to lack, whether they
married or not—she was certain.

“You are lost in thought!” Julianne exclaimed, sailing into the
front hall, beaming.

Evelyn smiled back. She had quickly realized that Julianne was
delighted to have another nephew. She had been singing and humming throughout
the days, ever since her sister had successfully delivered little Hal, who had
been named in honor of his deceased French cousin Henri Jourdan.

“Aimee has just left for Lambert Hall,” Evelyn said. “I still
cannot believe Amelia wishes for such a noisy and busy household, when her baby
is only four days old!”

“My sister is relentless, and she loves children—the more the
merrier.” Julianne approached with a sigh. “Your smile has changed, Evelyn. When
you used to smile, your eyes would light up. But since returning here, you are
so sad.”

“You know how worried I am about Jack,” Evelyn said softly. She
almost wished she could tell Julianne that she suspected she was pregnant. But
Jack should be the first to know, not his sister.

“I know, and I have told you repeatedly, my brother is very,
very clever, and he has a very, very swift ship, and if anyone can outrun an
enemy ship, it is Jack.” Julianne patted her shoulder. “Besides, he has never
been beaten at sea, not in a race or a battle.”

Evelyn decided not to point out that there could always be a
first time. She decided not to point out that an invasion would take place on
land. She asked Julianne a now-familiar, often repeated question. “Have you
heard anything from him—or about him?”

“No, I have not. What aren’t you telling me? Why are you so
worried?”

Jack had told her, very definitively, not to discuss his
war-related intrigues with anyone, not even his sisters. “I am worried because
the day may come where he has to face his enemies on land.” Her heart filled
with dread. Where was he? Was he in France? So far, there hadn’t been a peep of
gossip or a word in the news about a British naval squadron sailing for France.
She did not know whether to be relieved or dismayed. She hated being kept in the
dark. If only she knew his plans, and if he meant to take place in the invasion
of Quiberon Bay—and when the damned invasion would occur!

“Somehow I do not think you mean on British soil. Now I am
becoming worried. What haven’t you told us? Evelyn—he is my brother! If he is in
danger, I would like to know.”

Evelyn bit her lip. “He made me promise to keep his secrets,
Julianne, and I am afraid I must do just that.”

Julianne studied her. “Fine. But now I am worried, so I will
seek out Lucas and find out what he knows—and I will get to the bottom of
this!”

Evelyn hoped she would do just that—because then she would have
a confidante, without breaking her word to Jack.

Quiberon Bay, France
June 25, 1795

J
ACK
MOVED
HARD
AND
FAST
, propelling his strides, his
carbine in his hand. The road leading down to the beach was rutted and rocky,
making it easier to traverse on foot than on horse or by wagon. It was late
afternoon, the day filled with clouds, so the visibility wasn’t very good,
either. But he did not decrease his pace. So far, so good—but the sooner he got
out of there, the better.

He was breathing hard. It was always dangerous, being on French
soil, and more so this time. But he was not being followed, and the enemy had
yet to remark him. Still, there was no time to waste. The sooner he was back on
board his ship, the better.

He was almost running. He had just left Georges Cadoudal and
six of his men. The rebel army would be making its rendezvous with the British
and émigré army as planned, after the British troops landed that night. Of
course, General Hoche was racing across Britanny toward the peninsula and
Cadoudal had told him so—yesterday, the French navy had spotted the British
naval squadron in the Channel. But Admiral Hood’s fleet had prevented the French
warships from intercepting and engaging the British squadron. The fleet was now
just off the peninsula, awaiting its final orders before landing its troops.

And the rebels were armed and ready to unite with Comte
D’Hervilly’s troops once they made land, and would then seize and occupy the
peninsula, before marching across Britanny to liberate it.

His mission was, finally, complete.

Images flashed in his mind now—of Evelyn, of Aimee and the
memories they had so recently made on his island. God, he wanted to get home.
But returning to Britain would not solve the predicament he would soon find
himself in. He thought about LeClerc. By tomorrow, the vicomte would surely
realize the extent of Jack’s treachery.

He did not know where LeClerc was. But he would find out.

He had one ambition now—to get on board his ship, where he
could flee France if need be. He wished he could do just that. He realized that
he would not mind if he never returned.

But he could not return to Britain just yet. The hunt had just
begun—and only when he found LeClerc would he be able to go home to Evelyn.

The beach was just ahead. In the growing twilight, he could
just make out his black ship on the iron-colored sea. His glance moved to the
shoreline, where he had left the dinghy with three of his men.

Jack stumbled.

There were six men there—his sailors were bound, and held at
gunpoint.

He heard an assailant coming from behind and whirled, raising
his carbine, pulling the trigger. But he faced three men, and each man had his
musket leveled at his face.

And LeClerc was behind them, his eyes blazing. “
Bonjour,
Jack. I did not realize you had a penchant
for our beautiful countryside.”

“LeClerc,” he said tersely, his mind racing. He had found
LeClerc! But the tables had been turned. He had to talk his way out of
this—otherwise, he was the dead man walking, and LeClerc could exact his
vengeance upon Evelyn. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“There is nothing fancy about it,” LeClerc said, stepping past
his men. “May I?” He reached for Jack’s gun.

Jack tensed, instantly realizing he would have little choice
but to hand his weapon over. “I have been trying to make contact with you,
LeClerc. You can be a hard man to find.” He spoke calmly—as if he were not about
to be seized, and maybe murdered, on the spot. “There is a British naval
squadron offshore. They are about to land their troops. You must get word to the
French at Fort Penthievre.”

“Liar!” LeClerc struck him hard, across the cheek, with the
butt of his gun. “Royalist!”

Jack had seen the blow coming, and he had jerked back, so the
gun did not strike him squarely. Still, pain exploded in his head and he
stumbled. However, he still held his carbine.

“You are wrong,” he said as calmly. “Or have you forgotten that
I am wanted for treason in Britain? I can hardly be a traitor in two warring
countries.”

LeClerc nodded at whomever stood behind Jack.

Jack whirled to deflect the blow, but he was too late, as a
musket was used to slam his legs out from under him and another musket slammed
down on his chest. Jack rolled away, firing; the Frenchman he had aimed at, who
had hit him last, fell back, his chest exploding bright red.

From behind, someone wrenched the carbine from him.

Someone else kicked him hard in the ribs.

Another savage beating ensued, as he was kicked and beaten with
the guns. And finally, when his body was a mass of blazing pain, the cloud of
darkness descended. Almost miraculously, the kicking, the punches, the blows
from the guns, stopped.

LeClerc bent over him and whispered, “We still execute enemies
of the revolution,
mon ami.
You have made a terrible
mistake, and now, you will pay…with your head.”

* * *

L
AURENT
CRIED
OUT
, his eyes wide, and then he swept Evelyn into
his arms, embracing her happily.

Evelyn hugged him in return. She had not been able to keep her
suspicions to herself; she had just told him that she believed she was three
months pregnant.

“You are going to have another child!
Mon
Dieu!
” Tears now filled his eyes.

“I am praying it is true,” Evelyn said as she sat down on the
sofa in her sitting room. She touched her still-flat belly. “Of course, I do not
know what Jack will do.”

“He loves you, madame. It is obvious—so of course he will marry
you!”

Evelyn simply smiled, her hand still on her abdomen. The door
to her sitting room was ajar, and Julianne suddenly stepped onto the threshold.
She prepared to politely knock on the open door. Instead, her gaze shot to
Evelyn’s hand as it rested on her belly in a gesture as old as time.

Evelyn stood up, smiling. But inwardly, she was dismayed. If
she wasn’t careful, Julianne would guess that she was with child. Her hostess
was astute and clever.

“Am I intruding?” Julianne asked.

“You could never intrude,” Evelyn said meaning it. But
Julianne’s bearing was a bit sober. “Julianne?”

“I have war news and I know you will want to be the first to
hear it.” She hurried into the parlor and put her arm around Evelyn.

“You’re frightening me! Is it Jack? Have you heard from him? Is
he all right?” she cried, her heart lurching horrifically.

“I haven’t heard from Jack, and we haven’t heard anything about
him. But, Evelyn, a British force comprised of our troops and émigrés, led by
the Comte D’Hervilly, has invaded the peninsula of Quiberon Bay.”

Evelyn had to sit down.

“You are as white as a ghost!” Julianne cried, sitting beside
her. “Why does this news strike you so?”

“Jack could be with them,” Evelyn managed, filled with
fear.

Julianne’s eyes widened. “When you came here in April, you told
us you had overheard Jack speaking about an invasion of France. He was speaking
about this invasion?”

Evelyn nodded. “I begged him to tell me if he would be a part
of it—he refused to even answer!”

Julianne was now pale, too. She took Evelyn’s hand and gripped
it tightly. She finally said, “Well, my brother may be reckless, but he is a
dangerous man in his own right. If he is there, he will survive whatever
intrigues he is up to. I have no doubt.” She was firm.

“There is more,” Evelyn whispered.

Julianne started, stiff with dread.

“He told the French that the invasion would take place next
month. Now they know he is not their spy. Now they know he has deliberately
misled them—and betrayed them.”