Surrender (9 page)

But the truth was that he had helped several families flee France without receiving any kind of compensation from them at all. These Frenchmen and women had left everything they had behind; he hadn’t considered turning them away. But with the Countess D’Orsay, it was different. He knew he must never come to her rescue in a personal way. Their relationship must remain a strictly impersonal one—he was sure of it.

She was simply too enticing and too intriguing. She stirred up too many feelings, and he could very easily become attached. And he had no use for attachments outside of those to his family. He was a rogue, a smuggler and a spy—and he liked his life exactly as it was—he liked living outside society, he liked being on the run.

As for the kiss they had shared, he had to stop thinking about it. Thus far, that had proven impossible. He could not recall ever being so aroused, but when he had kissed her, it had also felt as if he were holding an innocent debutante in his arms.

Yet he knew better—she was a countess, a grown woman, a widow and a mother. She was not innocent and inexperienced. And if he believed, even for a moment, that he could enjoy her bed without becoming entangled with her, he would do so immediately. But he did not think it would be easy to leave her after a single night, so he would stay away—far away.

Therefore, no matter what she offered, no matter how she offered it, he was not going to France for her. He had never been more resolved.

“You have made it—and you are in one piece,” his brother said, cutting into his dark thoughts. He was embraced, hard, by a tall golden-haired man, more politely dressed than Jack was. No one could mistake them for anything other than what they were—brothers. “We are in the back,” Lucas added unnecessarily.

Jack was thrilled to see his older brother. Their father had been an irresponsible rogue, and he had abandoned their mother when Jack was six years old. Lucas had been almost ten at the time. Their uncle, Sebastian Warlock, had managed the estate for them for several years, mostly from afar, as an absentee landlord. Lucas had stepped into the breach by the age of twelve or so, taking over the reins at an early age. Now the brothers were as close as brothers could be, although as different in nature as night and day.

For Lucas managed not just the estate, but the family. Jack knew that a great burden had been lifted from his brother’s shoulders when their sisters had fallen in love and married. Now Lucas spent most of his time in London—or on the continent.

“How are you?” Lucas asked.

Jack smiled. “Do you need to even ask?”

“Now that is the brother I know so well. Why were you glowering at the crowd?” Lucas led him across the room and into a private back room.

Jack debated telling him a bit about the Countess D’Orsay, but then he saw Sebastian Warlock standing facing the fireplace, his back to them. As usual, their uncle wore a black velvet coat and dark brown breeches. As Lucas closed the door, the prime minister’s spymaster turned. “You are rarely late.” His glance was skewering.

“Yes, I am fine, thank you for asking,” Jack returned.

“I imagine that he is late because it is difficult traveling about the country with a bounty on one’s head,” Lucas said, pulling out a chair from the table, which seated four. A fire blazed in the hearth. Bread, cheese, ale and whiskey were on the table.

“Your brother harps like a woman when he is concerned,” Warlock said. “And he is always concerned about you. However, that bounty is the perfect cover.”

“It is the perfect cover,” Jack agreed. Lucas specialized in extracting émigrés and agents from the enemy’s hands and lands. He was a patriot and a Tory, so his having become involved in the war was perfectly natural and Warlock had known it when he recruited him.

Jack had been a different story. For while Jack occasionally moved such human cargo for his brother or another one of Warlock’s agents, Warlock was more interested in receiving the information Jack ferried across the Channel. A great many smugglers moved information along with their cargo across the Channel. Most Cornish smugglers were French spies, however. Jack found it amusing to play such games, and he knew Warlock had known he would think so when he had first approached him some years ago.

“I may have been briefly deluded by such an argument nine or ten months ago,” Lucas said, “but I am not deluded now. It is a very dangerous game. I do not like it. Sebastian, you are going to get my brother killed.”

“You know I did not place that bounty on his head. However, my first rule is to exploit opportunity, and that bounty has provided us with vast opportunity. Were you delayed?” Warlock asked Jack.

Jack took the proffered seat. “I was delayed—but not by the bounty.” He decided to smirk, as if he had spent the night in Evelyn’s arms. And he sobered. He could have seduced her, and maybe, he should have done so. But then he would probably be halfway to France as her errand boy.

Lucas rolled his eyes and poured Jack a scotch before sitting down with him. Warlock smiled and took a seat. He was an attractive man, but unlike his nephews, he was dark, with a somewhat brooding air. In his late thirties or early forties, he had the reputation of being a recluse. The world thought him a rather impoverished and boorish nobleman. It was wrong. In spite of his reputation, he did not lack for the ladies’ attentions.

“What do you have for me?” Warlock asked bluntly.

“I have it on very good authority that Spain intends to leave the Coalition,” Jack said.

A shocked silence greeted his words. But the war had not been going well for Britain and her Allies; France had recently conquered Amsterdam and annexed the Netherlands. Holland was now the Batavian Republic. There had been a number of French victories since the Allies’ terrible defeat at Fleurus, last June.

“You are confirming a rumor that I have already heard,” Warlock said grimly. “Now Pitt will have to seriously press Spain, before we lose her.”

Jack shrugged. He was not interested in the politics of war.

“What of La Vendée?” Lucas asked.

Jack looked at Lucas, meeting his glance. Their sister Julianne had married the Earl of Bedford in 1793. He had been a royalist supporter, and actively involved in the La Vendée uprising against the revolution. Unfortunately, the rebels had been crushed that summer, but fortunately, Dominic Paget had made his way home to Julianne, surviving a great massacre. But La Vendée had been rising again. The Loire countryside was filled with peasants, clergy and noblemen who remained furious over the execution of the king, and the forced secularization of the church.

In the Loire, the rebels were led by a young aristocrat, Georges Cadoudal. “He claims he now has twelve thousand troops, and that there will be more by summer. And once again, his question is, when? When will Britain invade Brittanny?” Jack said calmly. But as he spoke, he recalled Cadoudal’s desperation and fury.

“Windham has yet to finalize the plans,” Warlock said. “We only have a thousand émigré troops amassed for an invasion of Brittany, but someone has suggested we use our French prisoners of war, and if we do, we will have about four thousand troops in sum.”

“At least we know they can fight,” Jack joked.

Lucas smiled a little, the tension inherent in such a discussion relieved.

“There must be a timeline, Sebastian,” Lucas said. “We all know that General Hoche has already sent a great number of rebels into hiding. We lost La Vendée once. Surely we will not fail the rebels there again.” Lucas was grim.

Jack knew he was thinking of their sister Julianne. When La Vendée had gone down in flames, her husband had lost his mother’s family estates. His heart had been broken—and so had hers.

“There are many issues, but I am trying to convince Windham and Pitt to invade Quiberon Bay in June,” Warlock said. “And you may relay that to Cadoudal.”

Jack was glad he had some news to convey, and news that might reassure the rebel. Warlock stood and looked at Lucas. “I assume you wish to spend a few more moments with your brother. I must get back to London.”

“I do not mind riding back the way I came,” Lucas said.

“Keep me apprised,” Warlock said to Jack before leaving.

Lucas leaned forward. “How difficult was it for you to contact Cadoudal?”

“Hoche’s interest in La Vendée has made it more difficult than it was,” Jack said. “But we have a prearranged means of communication—and it is in code. You worry like a mother hen.”

“If I don’t worry about you, who will?” Lucas said darkly. “And I wasn’t jesting—I am damned tired of that bounty. Every day, your life is at risk. And the risk is even greater when you are at sea.” He leaned forward. “Captain Barrow is gunning for you. He was bragging the other night at an affair at Penrose’s home.”

Barrow had quite the reputation, but Jack was amused, and he shrugged. “I welcome the gauntlet.”

“Will you ever take life seriously?” Lucas demanded. “Everyone misses you—everyone is worried about you—it isn’t just I.”

Jack felt himself soften. The truth was, he missed his sisters, very much.

“Amelia is about to have her first child.”

“The babe is due in May.”

“That’s right,” Lucas said. “But she looks like she is about to have the child at any time. You have to see her, Jack.” Then he smiled. “She is so happy. She is a wonderful mother and she is so in love with Grenville.”

Jack laughed, but he was thrilled for his sister, whom he had assumed would remain a spinster, but who was not just married, but a stepmother to three children, with her own on the way. “As long as he is loyal and true.”

“He remains besotted,” Lucas said, and both brothers finally laughed. Their sister was such a serious woman, and Grenville had been a catch. It was inexplicable, really.

Jack realized he looked forward to a long-overdue family reunion. “Tell Amelia I will come to see her as soon as I can.” He almost wished that he could simply ride back to London with his brother, and call on Amelia now. But the war had changed everyone’s life, including his. These were dark, dangerous times.

Evelyn D’Orsay’s pale, beautiful image came to mind. He tensed. Damn it, why couldn’t he dismiss her from his thoughts?

“What’s wrong?” Lucas asked.

“You will be pleased to know that I have turned down a beautiful damsel in distress—that I have decided not to risk my life for a woman seeking to reclaim her family’s fortune.” And he was careful to sound mocking, when he did not quite feel that way.

“Oh, ho. Have you been rejected?” Lucas was incredulous. “You sound very put out.”

“I have never been rejected!” he exclaimed. “It is incredible that her wealthy husband left her so destitute, but I have no time now to play the knight in shining armor to save her.”

Lucas laughed, standing. “You are in a twist because of a woman! This is rich! Are you certain she did not reject you? And whom, pray tell, are we discussing?”

“I rejected her,” Jack said firmly. But suddenly he recalled the way he had left Roselynd—and how shocked and hurt she had been. “We are discussing the Countess D’Orsay. And Lucas? I am not interested in becoming ensnared.” He added, “No matter how beautiful and desperate she is.”

“Since when have you ever been ensnared by a woman?” Lucas asked, surprised.

Jack looked grimly at him. Maybe it was time to be honest, not with his brother, but with himself. “I got her out of France four years ago, with her husband and her daughter. And the problem is that I could not forget her then, and I am afraid I cannot forget her now.”

CHAPTER FOUR

T
HE
B
LACK
B
RIAR
Inn was very busy; every table was full. It was Friday afternoon, so apparently a great many of the nearby village men had stopped by for a mug of ale. The conversation was loud and raucous. Tobacco wafted in the air.

Evelyn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She did not care for this crowd, or the man she had come to meet. He was a very big, dark man in a striped jersey, a vest over that. The vest revealed the pistol he wore, as well as the dagger. His black trousers were tucked into a seaman’s boots. He was unshaven, wore a cuff earring in one ear, and one of his front teeth was black.

He also smelled, and not of the sea. She did not think he had bathed in a month.

Several days had passed since her heated encounter with Jack Greystone. She was still in some disbelief—both over her having kissed him, and his having refused her. What had she been thinking? How had she acted as she had, when she was in mourning? How could he have been so uncaring? So indifferent to her cause? And he had accused her of being dangerous! She would never understand what he had meant by that.

And to think that, for all these years, she had secretly thought of Greystone as a hero!

But she was hurt by his rejection, just as she was hurt by how he had judged her. It did not seem fair, yet she knew, firsthand, that life was so rarely fair.

Determined to move on, as she must do for her daughter’s sake, she had since toured the tin mine. And she had been shocked to see how run-down the mine and warehouse were. The new manager wanted to discuss repairing the facilities. He believed they were not shipping enough ore because they were not extracting enough tin. She did not even have to ask to know that repairing anything would be costly, too costly, as far as she was concerned. And when she had asked the previous manager’s opinion, he did not agree that there had been any kind of theft in the mining operations.

How could she be in this position now? She should be with her daughter, teaching her to read and write, to dance, play the piano and sew. But they did not even own a piano now, and instead, she was at the Black Briar Inn, about to discuss a very dangerous proposition with yet another smuggler—this one frightening in appearance.

She had gone to Henri’s grave every day, bringing fresh flowers. Instead of missing him, she was angry.

But she was even angrier with Greystone.

Her pondering was interrupted. “So ye wish for me to run to France and bring back yer husband’s chest,” Ed Whyte said, grinning. He seemed to like the idea.

Evelyn inhaled and focused on the man she was seated with. It hadn’t taken her very long to decide to find another smuggler to hire—the fact that she could not count on the mine for revenues had made the choice for her—and John Trim had given her several names. But Trim hadn’t been thrilled to suggest either Whyte or his associates. “They’re a rough bunch, my lady,” he had said. “And no great lady should consort with the likes of Whyte and his cronies.”

Evelyn hadn’t explained why she needed to interview smugglers other than Greystone, nor had she explained that she had no choice. But now, she was almost regretting her decision. Whyte was so scurrilous in appearance, with his blackened teeth, foul odor and lewd gaze, that he made Greystone seem like a knight in shining armor in comparison.

Whyte had a very untrustworthy appearance, she thought grimly. He reminded her of a horse trader, or a weasel. And to make matters even worse, he kept staring through her veil, which was transparent, and he kept looking at her bust, even though the neckline of her dress was so high, she could not wear her pearls. He made her terribly uncomfortable. When Greystone had given her a male appraisal, it hadn’t been frightening like this.

“I realize it is a dangerous mission,” Evelyn said, adjusting the veil she wore attached to her hat. “But I am prepared to offer you a very fair share of my husband’s valuable heirlooms. And I am desperate.” But she kept her tone level. She could not plead with Whyte as she had pleaded her case with Greystone.

Whyte grinned at her. “An’ what is that fair share, lady?”

“Fifteen percent,” she said.

Evelyn looked down at her gloved hands, which she clasped tightly in her lap. She might still be hurt by Greystone’s rejection, never mind that she should not care, but she still had a problem—she was haunted by the kisses they had shared.

She had to forget her kiss—and his. Hers was humiliating. His was disturbing her at night. It was disturbing her during the day. It was disturbing her even now. It made her body hum with a fervor that was shameful.

She hadn’t even imagined that a man could kiss a woman with such intensity, such passion, or so thoroughly.

It was time to forget him. He was not a hero. She had been mistaken.

“An’ how much is fifteen percent?”

She looked up at Whyte. “I’m not certain.”

He laughed. “Is this a jest, my lady?” He stood, preparing to leave. “If you want me to go to France for ye, you’ll have to pay me very well—and not with some fair share.”

She leaped to her feet. “Please don’t go.” Her heart pounded. This had been the point in the negotiation when she had begun to think of using her female charms on Greystone. But fortunately, while Whyte kept leering, he seemed entirely interested in money.

Whyte sat down. “Fer such a job, I’d need a thousand pounds—in advance.”

Evelyn sat, inhaling. But she had come to this negotiation prepared. She laid her beaded black velvet purse on the table and opened it. She withdrew a wad of tissue, and unwrapped her sapphire-and-diamond ear bobs.

She had so little left to bargain with. There was the matching sapphire necklace, a sapphire ring, her pearls, a cameo and her magnificent diamond engagement ring.

His eyes widened and he seized the earrings, inspecting them. She winced when he bit into one. “What else do you have for me?”

She choked. “Those ear bobs were costly.”

“They didn’t cost you a thousand pounds. I don’t think they even cost you a penny.” He grinned, his black tooth making her look away.

He was right, if rude—the earrings hadn’t cost her a penny. “They were a gift from my beloved husband,” she whispered.

“An’ now yer in hard times. Yeah, I heard—everyone’s heard. So he must have left ye something valuable in that chest in France. But if ye want it, ye’ll have to pay with more than ear bobs.”

She felt like crying. Evelyn took the matching ring from her purse and laid it on the table. It was a five-carat sapphire, flanked by diamonds.

He took it and shoved everything into the tissue, and into his hip pocket. He stood and smiled. “I’ll be back in a week or two. We can speak some more then.”

Evelyn jumped up. “Wait a minute, Mr. Whyte, I’m expecting you to go to France—immediately.”

But he was sauntering away. He turned and grinned, saluting her with one finger to his temple. Incredulous, Evelyn seized the table as he walked through the crowd—and out the door.

He was leaving—with her jewels! Evelyn ran through the public room, comprehension hitting her—she had just given her sapphires to a stranger, a very untrustworthy stranger—but when she reached the inn’s front door, Ed Whyte was already galloping away.

She collapsed against the frame. Had he just stolen her jewels? Was he actually going to come back and plan the trip to France with her? Oh, she did not think so!

And suddenly she realized how utterly naive she had been, to give him payment in advance. It was one thing to have paid Greystone in advance for escorting her out of France—she had already been on his ship! And she still trusted Greystone, even if he had kissed her and refused her and walked out on her, he could be trusted with payment in advance, because he was, by birth and by nature, a gentleman. He would never steal from her—he would undertake the mission. But Whyte was a smuggler, an outlaw and now, a damned thief.

Damn it!

Evelyn quickly left the inn, before Trim might ask her in to a luncheon with his wife. Tears burned her eyes. Somehow, she must find a way to retrieve those sapphires, she thought, but even as determination filled her, the wiser part of her knew it was a lost cause. She had been taken, robbed.

And now what? She could not afford to lose those jewels; she had so little left. And Jack Greystone’s image loomed in her mind. She cursed, picking up the reins of her mare. This was his fault, she decided furiously. Evelyn knew she remained exhausted, not from lack of sleep, but from the fear over her daughter’s future, which gnawed at her constantly. She fought tears of sheer fatigue. She could not succumb to her desire to cry—she had to find the strength to solve this crisis.

An hour later, her mare trotted into Roselynd, gravel crunching beneath her hooves. Evelyn was grim. She intended to confront Whyte, one way or the other, and make him return her sapphires. She might even enlist Trim to help her. Perhaps, if a group of the villagers barraged him, he would return the sapphires.

She was not hopeful. As she parked the gig in front of the stables, Laurent came out of the house and hurried over to her.

He took one look at her and said, “What happened?”

Evelyn climbed down from the curricle and patted the mare. “I have been taken.”

Laurent groaned. “I knew you should not deal with common smugglers!”

“I gave Ed Whyte my sapphire ear bobs and the ring, and I have the terrible certainty I will never see him again.”

“Ahh, I knew you should have tried to approach Greystone again! He would not steal from you—he might be a smuggler, but he is a nobleman!”

She began to unhitch the mare from the traces. Laurent was right—he would never steal from her. But if only he knew what had really transpired, she thought. “Laurent, I told you that he refused me in no uncertain terms—after I begged and pleaded with him.”

Laurent led the mare into the barn, turning her into a box stall. She watched him as he latched the stall door and walked back outside. “But you are beautiful, you are a woman and you are in distress. No man could remain indifferent.”

She trembled, recalling their tense and then heated exchange—recalling his final indictment of her. “But he did walk away,” she said, aware that her cheeks were hot and probably red.

“
Madame,
what really happened? You have been miserable for days!”

Evelyn stared. If there was anyone she could confide in, it was Laurent. “I didn’t tell you everything. He mentioned that he found me very beautiful—but he was still about to refuse me. And…I kissed him.”

Laurent started. “You kissed him?”

She blushed, her heart racing wildly, as she waited for Laurent to point out that she had behaved most improperly. “I don’t know what overcame me, and then he kissed me back.” She laughed mirthlessly. “It was quite the kiss, but he refused me anyway.”

Laurent came to life. “That is odd!”

She didn’t want to reveal every detail, so she shrugged. “I regret the kiss—of course I do, as I am in mourning,” she said. Then, she said, “He seemed angry when he left.”

“You must be wrong! You are a sweet, kind woman, and so beautiful, you steal a man’s breath away!” Laurent said firmly. “He is the man for this mission, Countess. We both know how courageous he is—and how skilled. And we are not talking about a few family heirlooms. We are talking about Aimee’s future. Therefore, it is time for you to mend fences—and approach him again.”

She choked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you want to raise Aimee in splendor? Or in poverty?” he asked.

Evelyn sat down hard on the wood bench in front of the stables. “So I am to approach him again, without any pride? Beg him again? And then what?” She flushed instantly—imagining another heated encounter.

“Well, we both know you are not a wanton woman.” Laurent sat down beside her, taking her hands. “You should write him a very sincere note of apology. In it, you must also tell him he is welcome here, anytime.”

Evelyn looked at him carefully. “I may have kissed him, but he did kiss me back.” But should she apologize to him all the same? Would it make a difference? What if he accepted such an apology—so they could discuss matters?

“So? Men can be such fools—I happen to know.” Laurent smiled then. “I cannot tell you exactly what to write, as I was not there for your encounter. But we are a conceited lot, and we like it when we are right. Tell him you are so sorry if you offended him. It was hardly your intention. He will be pleased, Countess. And welcome him back to Roselynd.”

She stared. Could she actually write such a note of apology? A part of her was loath to do so, but she had behaved inappropriately. Still, so had he.

“Who else can you ask to go to France for you?”

She trembled. Damn it. Laurent was right. She needed Jack Greystone.

“You could point out that you are terribly confused right now—you have just lost your husband.
Madame,
I am certain you will find the right words to appeal to his male vanity. You could even tell him that he was right to refuse such an absurd advance on your part. He will love being told that!”

She wondered if Laurent was right. Most men would probably be enticed by such an apology, but she didn’t think Greystone was at all like most of his peers. However, she remained desperate. If he would not respond heroically, then she had no choice, really, but to attempt to manipulate him.

“And when he calls—and he will call—you won’t mention what you want of him. Trust me. He will quickly want to know why you aren’t begging him for his aid. You must play an opposite role—you are desolate, inconsolable. It has become hopeless.”

Evelyn stared, because the scenario Laurent was describing was starting to sound somewhat viable. “And maybe I could tell him I have given up. That it is too dangerous to go to Nantes, to my old home, to find an old chest—that no one could accomplish such a feat. And I must be resigned to my new circumstance.”

“Now you are being very clever,” Laurent said, kissing her on both cheeks in succession.

But would he insist that he could retrieve the chest? How would she know if she did not try? She thoroughly disliked the idea of playing games with Greystone, but she was desperate.