The Duchess and the Spy (15 page)

There was a tentative knock at the door, and she turned her head, wincing when she hit another snag.

“Come,” she called out, as she began trying to work a knot out of her thick hair.

A short thin maid entered the room, carrying a tray brimming with food. She was balancing it precariously, and nearly had a mishap before she managed to settle it down onto the table.

“Lord Wyndham asked that breakfast be served promptly at nine o’clock,” The maid said curtsying quickly.

Isabella’s stomach rumbled again. The pixie faced maid stared in awe at her.

Feeling uncomfortable beneath the maid’s blue gaze, Isabella turned away.

“Thank you. That will be all,” she said, as the maid set out the plates, and the silverware.

“You don’t sound French, my lady,” The maid mused tilting her head to one side. Then her eyes widened as she realized that she might have unconsciously committed a social faux pas.

“What is your name?” Isabella asked, sighing with relief as she worked out the stubborn knot.

“Betsy, my lady,” the maid said, blushing from ear to ear.

“I’m part French. But that is all you need to know. It isn’t healthy for one’s constitution to listen to vicious gossip,” Isabella advised. She sat down and flung her thick loose hair over her shoulder.

“No, my lady, you are right,” Betsy muttered ducking out of the room.

Isabella grunted, and reached for some ham and eggs. She had just tucked into her food, when the door opened. She dropped her fork and stared up into Christopher’s smiling eyes.

Oh aye, this was definitely not going to be good for her digestion.

His eyes were twinkling with a joke that only he could understand, and though she still held her knife in her other hand, it was frozen in mid-air. She knew she was gawking like a besotted young girl, but if she’d thought he was handsome yesterday, he had certainly outdone himself today.

His thick wavy black hair was delightfully windswept, and his dark eyes glittered with good humour, instead of the usual discontent. He was wearing a similar outfit to what he had been wearing yesterday, and her mouth became dry, as she quickly licked her lips.

He swaggered into the room, and she knew her eyes were glued to him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She brought herself to her senses long enough to gingerly reach for her freshly poured cup of tea. She nearly sloshed it down the front of her dress, and smiled ruefully as she decided that it wouldn’t have been such a bad idea to do.

“The food looks delicious,” he said, washing his hands in a nearby basin, and then settling into the chair opposite her.

Finally, she forced her eyes to stare down at her eggs and ham. Carefully, she cut a mouth-sized piece of ham, and delicately slipped it into her mouth.

He piled a heap of it onto his plate, and then began to tuck into it as if he hadn’t eaten in days. She didn’t know what to say to him. He had been to the shops that much she could tell just by looking at the several packages he’d been carrying. Her hair flopped into her face, and she nearly chewed on a strand when it slipped into her open mouth. Grimacing, she pulled it out of her mouth, and sighed impatiently. This just would not do. She’d have to find something to tie her hair back with.

After a few moments of feeling distinctly ill at ease, she looked up, and discovered Christopher staring at her thoughtfully.

“You were right.” He spoke as if he hadn’t wanted to make the admission but did so grudgingly. “That dress certainly does nothing for you. In fact you’re quite an eye sore in it.”

“Upon my word, Christopher, with those kinds of compliments you are certainly on the road to swelling my head to oversized proportions.”

I…none of the shops I went to had anything ready to wear…I thought I might be able to buy something that had been made as a sample, alas, there was nothing. So I went to Mrs. Cornwell, and she had a few frocks that she was able to part with. She is more or less your size, so they should fit you.”

He set his knife and fork down and then reached for a couple of the parcels. “These should wrench you out of your persnickety mood,” he said, thrusting them at her.

“Thank you, Christopher.”

He smiled at her. “Mrs. Cornwell, also had a redingote for you as well that she says you can keep. We shall have dresses made for you once we reach London.”

She ripped open the parcel that he handed her, and gawked at the soft muslin dress that took her breath away. She wiped her hands thoroughly and then gently fingered the smooth and soft material.

“This must have been one of her best frocks. I hope you compensated her in some way, Christopher.”

“Aye.”

“It’s definitely more suited for as a morning or day dress, thank you,” she mused, enthralled by the soft texture and becoming color.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You may change while I go and discuss some business issues with Merryville. When I return we’ll be off to visit Jason. If we stay here long enough you can take your measurements to one of the dressmakers here in Town, however, I don’t think you should go to the shop where that monstrosity came from.”

“No indeed. But why…why did you go? Surely you could have delegated that task for someone beneath you.”

“I had to. I had to see that you didn’t look quite so pathetic when you went to see Jason.”

He smiled softly at her, and she smiled in return. “Now, I have some other things to attend to, so I shall leave you in peace. I shall return shortly.”

As soon as he left, she changed quickly, and haphazardly tied her hair back with a lavender colored ribbon that she found tucked in with the dress. Breathing in deeply, she checked the time, and sat back on the bed. Feeling a little weary, she laid down, and meant to only rest her eyes, but soon, she was fast asleep.

*****

Christopher came back into their chambers and stopped short. He stared at the sleeping form of Isabella with longing in his heart. Damnation, but he wanted her. He knew what he had to do. He had to go and procure a special license. He had to have her as his wife, and somehow, he had to give her little choice in that manner for she would rail against it. He silently walked back to the door, and opened and closed it loud enough to wake the dead. He had to do it that way, if he got too close to her, he’d want to kiss her and kisses invariably led to something else, and he was determined to have her as his wife first.

Isabella sat up with a start. Her eyes were dazed from her deep sleep.

“Christopher?”

He studied her. She looked as if she were quite confused.

Isabella felt disoriented. For one brief moment, she’d believed she was back in France. She tried to gain her bearings. The laudanum she took the night before had to be still muddling her brain.

“Is that really you, Christopher?”

“Aye.”  Now he looked a little concerned. “Perhaps, you had too much of that laudanum.”

“I think…it was my dreams again. I was dreaming of being back with Pierre when you woke me up. You have my gratitude for doing so…although your technique was a little jarring.”

He chuckled. “I do apologize. I never thought it would have that kind of an effect on you. If you’re ready, I have it all set to go. We can go and see Jason.”

She stood up, and walked over to him. She was still limping, and he frowned at her.

“On second thought, keep taking the laudanum. You’ll need it to manage the pain.”

“I can manage the pain quite well on my own.”

“Indeed.”

She reached for the small beaded reticule he had bought her, and joined him.

“Onward kind, sir,” she said smiling cheekily, as he offered her his arm. She considered refusing his offer, and then when the pain in her knee reminded her of her weakness she took his arm with a grateful smile.

“Well that’s more like it, you’re finally being sensible, Isabella. It is a most refreshing change.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean you’re usually a bit of a silly goose.”

“You insufferable imbecile.”

Anger surged through her. She pulled away from him, ignored the pain in her knee, and quickened her steps, as she hobbled away from him.

Isabella darted a quick glance over her shoulder, as she made her way through The Queen’s Head. She walked right past the nosy landlady, and found herself out on the street before she even realized how far she had walked. She looked behind her again and discovered that Christopher still hadn’t made it out of the Inn. No doubt the prying landlady had delayed him. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew that she would recognize the house as soon as she saw it.

A young lady walked toward her, and Isabella stopped in front of her.

“I do beg your pardon, but do you know the way to the Doctor’s house?” The young lady stared at her as if she had never been asked such a question in her life.

“If you keep walking and pass the church and bakeshop, you’ll find that it’s the first on your left, my lady,” The young woman said, curtsying, and then hurrying on. She crossed the street and heard thundering hoof beats approaching her, but she paid no mind to them, and quickened her pace, when something made her look up.

The man on horseback was riding straight toward her, and she recognized him as one of Pierre’s lack wits. She bolted into a run, but hadn’t made it far before she felt his iron grip wrap around her waist. He hoisted her up onto the horse in front of him, just as she let out a scream that echoed through the High Street of town. She tried to lash out at him with her powers, and grunted when he tightened his grip on her. She’d have bruises on her from his roughness.

Her Saint’s enraged voice carried to her from behind, and she heard him shouting out commands, as chaos ensued. She just wished that he would get his arse moving and come charging to her rescue.

Her abductor hadn’t counted on her fighting back. She slammed her elbow into his ribcage, and heard him groan out in pain. Then, in some masterful feat, she knocked him off balance, and managed to hit him again. He toppled from the horse, and landed with a great thud. But that didn’t stop her other problem. The horse was nervous, and kept galloping away with her.

She frantically reached for the reins, and pulled back on them, but to her despair, nothing happened.

“Have you gone mad, you crazy beast!” she screamed, pulling back on the reins, as she felt the wind whip through her hair. She was not a horsewoman. It was something she’d never taken an interest in, and now, she desperately wished she had.

She had a runaway stubborn horse that seemed bound and determined to do her in.

“Merde,” she spat out. The horse was in a wild frenzy, but she would not give in or give up. She could hear Christopher racing toward her on his own horse, but she didn’t have the luxury of being able to check behind her shoulder to see how close he was.

Screams of horror echoed around her. The horse carried her out of the town, and they were headed toward the sea, when a hand shot out of nowhere and brought the horse to a standstill.

“Are you all right?” he asked urgently, as she stared into his eyes. She knew she must look an absolute fright, and she felt shattered right down to her bones.

“Yes,” she managed to stammer out. “I…I confess, I have never been of much use on a horse.”

He dismounted quickly, and stood next to her.

“Come down from there. I shall help you.”

“I can’t move,” she stuttered, between clenched teeth. And actually, that was the God’s honest truth. If she moved on her own accord, she knew that her legs would buckle beneath her.

“I said that I would be here for you,” he said softly.

Numbly, she heaved herself off of the spooked horse, and immediately collapsed back into his arms. The world was rushing around her, and everything looked as if it swayed. If she didn’t get her wits about her, she’d fall unconscious. She fell into a muted daze instead, and barely felt him urge her onto his horse. He mounted behind her, and she slumped against his broad and comforting chest.

“Who in blazes was that man?” he asked, as his breath tickled the nape of her neck. She coughed, and wrapped her arms around herself.

“He’s in Pierre’s employ,” she said dully, as they cantered back into town.

“Where is the man that attacked the Duchess?” Christopher asked Merryville, who stood waiting for them while he absentmindedly crunched his beaver hat, in his hands.

“Hell, most likely, Wyndham,” Merryville answered.

“You speak in riddles, mate,” his voice sent shivers coursing through her and made her heart beat faster. The nearness of his body was nearly driving her mad with the urge to press as closely against him as was possible.

“He is quite dead,” Merryville said, as Isabella moaned. “He’s got a broken neck. I suppose the bastard finally received his comeuppance.”

Isabella felt as if she were about to retch, and yet Christopher hadn’t moved an inch.

“What about his accomplice?” Christopher asked furiously.

“Oh, we brought him down. He’s fine, save for wound to his shoulder. I expect someone’s fishing out the shot as we speak.” Merryville grinned up at Isabella, and she mustered a faint smile as she felt her stomach churn again. She was certain that she was going to be sick, but for her own pride, she had to quell her rolling stomach.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Merryville asked, peering anxiously up at her. She nodded dumbly, and placed her hand over her mouth. “Wyndham, the Duchess is turning an interesting shade of green,” Merryville remarked.

“Do you need to get off the horse, Isabella?” he asked gently, as she nodded again. God, how she needed to, she wanted as far away from the equine as she could get. It was the understatement of the day.

He dismounted first, and then held his arms out for her as she shakily sank into them.

“Merci,” she muttered, so dazed was she that she didn’t even realize she’d spoken French, not even when he frowned at her.

She relied on his strength, as he led her to the doctor’s house. Goodness gracious, that was a close call, and yet she felt horrible for causing someone to die. If she hadn’t thrown Pierre’s man off of the horse, something terrible would have befallen her. And yet, she couldn’t understand why Pierre wanted her dead. Had his instructions been misconstrued? Or had he ranted and raved so much that one of his lackey’s had gotten the wrong impression and therefore sent the wrong message onward to England?

“I take it the dead man and his partner were sent to cart you back to France?”

She wanted to tell him that Pierre had sent his man to fetch her back. She wouldn’t entertain the notion that he wanted her dead. If he were going to kill her, he’d no doubt want to witness her death for himself.

No matter what she told Christopher he would no doubt be furious, and he would be encouraged to ask her questions that she wasn’t yet prepared to answer. Pierre probably worried that she was planning to reveal his plans of a political coup, and he needed her back where he could control her every movement. What Pierre didn’t know was that she cared little for that part of his plans, she only wanted Daphne out of their clutches, and she’d do anything to ensure her safety.

“As soon as I deliver you into the guardianship of Elphinstone, I’m going to question the living blackguard. If you aren’t telling me the truth, now is the time to confess all. If you’re in over your head, Isabella, I can help you.”

His words hung in the air, and echoed in her muddled brain. She had a headache the size of the Colonies, and her heart ached.

“I have nothing more to say. Upon my word, I feel so shaky, that I can barely string two words together, much less two thoughts.”

“I understand.” His eyes rested on her for a moment, before he looked away.

He left her at the door, just as the Cornwells maid opened it to admit her.

“I’ll return for you in an hour.” He called over his shoulder.

She turned her back to the maid, and petulantly stuck her tongue out at him. Her heart plummeted down into her stomach, when he stopped in mid-step, and whirled around. For a moment, she believed that he had eyes in the back of his head. Gulping with trepidation, she backed nervously toward the door. She walked a fine line with Christopher…one she didn’t want to cross. She didn’t fear him—but she did fear the emotions he made her feel.

He raised his fingers to his lips, and slyly blew her a kiss.

Cheeky man. She smiled.

“This way, Miss,” the small maid said, curtsying and then walking back into the small entryway. The staircase wasn’t far from the front door. She followed the maid up the steps, and turned the corner. The hallway was narrow, and she nearly collided with a grumpy looking nurse.

The maid led her into a small bedroom that was cramped with furniture. It had a large bay window, and it was by far, the prettiest feature in the room.

“You have a visitor, sir,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy to Isabella.

“Jason!” Isabella cried, rushing toward him. He held his arms open for her, and she snuggled into them breathing in his musky aroma. “You look much better this morning!”

“As do you, Bella,” he said, casting approving eyes on her. “Pull up that chair, and let’s have a chat. And before you do that, why don’t you give us another kiss.” He tapped his left cheek, and she obediently settled her lips against his scratchy bristle.

“You need a shave, Jason.” She twitched her nose, and resisted the urge to sneeze.

“Aye, I do at that. But when that monster of a nurse offered to assist me, I declined. I rather value my neck.”

“Aye, I saw her. I wouldn’t trust that grumpy woman with a razor either.”

She laughed, and leaned in closer when he beckoned for her to do so. She settled herself down on the nearby chair, and pulled herself close enough to the bed, so that her knees were literally touching the side of it.

“That nurse is one severe lady. As soon as Theo gives me the all clear, I’m removing myself from this house.” He shuddered, and grimaced. “I wouldn’t want her to get the inspiration to bathe me.” He widened his eyes, and then rolled them heavenward, causing her to chuckle again. “How are you?”

“I feel much better this morning.”

“That is good to hear. I noticed you had a bit of a limp…anything serious wrong with your leg?”

“Nothing that won’t heal.”

“I want to know exactly how Pierre treated you. He didn’t…he didn’t place his hands on you, did he?”

“Pierre only struck me across the face, if he struck me at all.” She watched fretfully, as Jason’s eyes filled with anger. She had to pacify him. He didn’t need to get himself all riled up, when he was helpless to do anything about it. “For some unknown reason, he always made a point to show a certain amount of restraint around me. I think it might have had something to do with the small amount of power I wield. The gifts I possess couldn’t aid me in escaping the monster, but they did help me a great deal when he fell into one of his towering rages. They certainly eased the blows, and redirected his frustration on more than one occasion. Though I daresay, he scarcely had any patience with any other female that was unfortunate enough to be caught when he was in the midst of one of his rages. He never showed much discernment between his mistresses, or his servants. I caught him beating and trying to forcibly tackle one of the maids once. When I intervened, he was startled out of his wits, and released her, the poor thing.”

Jason’s face had gone completely red now, and he was crunching his bedclothes between his fists.

“But everything to do with Pierre is but a bad memory now—one I intend to forget.” She smiled, and tilted her head. “Pierre is capable of anything. He is a ruthlessly cruel man, and he is a far greater threat than even Napoleon himself. But I am a clever, and intuitive woman. Whenever he fell into one of his deeply dark and brooding moods, I would be certain to make myself scarce, and if I don’t want someone to find me, trust me, they won’t. May we discuss something else? I feel a headache coming on. I hate Pierre for taking me away from all that I knew and loved, and I wish I had been around to help Aunt Claudette through her fever.”

His eyes filled with emotion. “There was nothing to be done, at least that’s what the doctors told us. She was healthy one minute and on her deathbed the next. I only give thanks that I was there in her final hours. We all missed you terribly, Isabella.”

“And I missed you all. I can’t wait to be reunited with everyone.”

A shiver raced through her. The bay window had been open, and a particularly cool gust of wind had just engulfed the room.

“Aye. I was thinking the same thing yesterday. I thought that I was going to meet my maker, and then my angel of mercy came to my rescue. I am in your debt, Isabella.”

“No, you are not. I am in your debt for all of the love and compassion you have shown me. I couldn’t in good faith allow anyone to drown. And besides, there have been numerous incidents where you’ve pulled my bonny hide out of the fire.” She grinned broadly. “I love you, Jason. I wouldn’t ever let anything happen to you. Now come on then, tell me about the family.” She desperately wanted to change the subject and hoped that Jason would go along with it.

A cacophony that sounded as if the house was falling in upon itself carried to her ears. “My Saint Christopher,” she whispered, her eyes widening with fear. He’d probably questioned Pierre’s thug and gotten the answers that he had been looking for. “Oh, dear, somehow I suspect this isn’t going to be pretty. And, there’s no telling how ugly our argument is going to get, I feel so vulnerable without my gift responding to my calls.” Jason looked furtive, and looked at her a little too long before he settled his gaze on the door that Christopher would charge through shortly.