The Duchess and the Spy (22 page)

“Then, we shall return to Wisteria House, and enjoy the celebrations that Maria has planned out for us. Then, my darling, you shall have my surprise.”

“Indeed, Christopher.”

“You don’t have to say it in such a long suffering way.”

“Don’t I? I know that I am your slave for life now. As my husband, you are now in charge. However, don’t delude yourself with thoughts of grandeur. The only reason that I married you was for the sake of my family, and the sake of my own destiny. I need no other reason for my character to be besmirched. Already the gossipmongers are probably wagging their tongues about my unfortunate life circumstances.”

“They won’t say anything in proper society for if they do, they will feel the sting of the power of my family. No one would dare insult you now that you are my Marchioness.”

“As for that, mayhap, I would still like to be a duchess.”

“I don’t care what you’d like, Isabella. You are my wife, and that makes you my Marchioness, and affords you all of the protection of that station. This you may be quite assured.” She was touched by his fervent declaration. He had just given her his protection. For once, he was acting as if he actually felt something more for her than just a mixture of lust and hatred.

She stared over at him in open astonishment, and couldn’t help but feel her heart begin pounding rather strongly as he stared down at her with his twinkling brilliant blue eyes. She felt her hands becoming clammy beneath her white gloves, and prayed that her cheeks were not blushing furiously. She still wanted to tell him that she was a duchess no matter what her marital status was, and yet, she didn’t seem to have the heart. He was so damnably dashing, and what was more disturbing was the simmering heat in his gaze. When he gazed at her in such a way, it completely unnerved her, and did her in. She could not stand it, so she attempted to step away from him, only to be immediately pulled back against his side.

She looked over at the open barouche, and suddenly felt as if she were going to faint. She did not have a weak constitution. She had never fainted in her life, and she wasn’t about to allow Christopher to cause her a fit now.

She felt exceedingly tired, and believed that perhaps she had caught cold from being too chilly the day before. Luckily, she had not broken any bones in her roll down the embankment, and for that she would be forever grateful. Her knee was still being a pest, and she prayed it would start to feel better shortly. Without her powers, she’d believed her charms had completely left her…yet she still felt as if some invisible hand guided and protected her.

But alas, she was very light-headed, and she felt as if the world swayed beneath her. Having no other choice, she took a chance, and sagged against her new husband.

“Now that is more like it.” He smiled almost tenderly down at her.

“It is nothing. Think of it as only being a once in a lifetime occurrence. I feel quite weakened, Christopher, and I regret to say that I do not believe that I am able to support myself. Would you rather I make a complete fool of myself?” she questioned, as she immediately felt a supporting hand tighten around her waist.

“Perhaps, I acted in haste this morning,” he ventured, staring down at her paler than usual complexion.

“I confess I do not know what has caused me to feel so heady,” she murmured honestly, as he assisted her up into the barouche. The footmen stood aside, obviously they’d taken the silent hint that Christopher had no doubt given them.

“If you do not think that you can survive the festivities, I will take you away immediately,” he offered, jumping up into the open carriage to sit closely next to her. “I shall take care of you, Lady Wyndham,” he promised, employing her newly acquired title. “I have not told you how very lovely you are today, though I must admit your complexion is paler than usual, and I now regret my ignorance this morning. Pray forgive me.” He pressed her hand gently. She could only nod in reply, for he had stricken her quite speechless with his unexpected apology. The notion of him actually being civil with her was more than she could entertain—he was turning back into the Saint she’d first fallen for back when she was a girl. She could not think of a single sensible word to say, so she simply sat and watched the scenery go by.

He was the first person that she had ever encountered that had such a powerful effect on her. He was so very complimentary to her that she did not know what to say to him in reply. She hated herself for wanting to reply in kind, and yet every time she opened her mouth to speak only a slight sigh escaped her lips.

They quickly approached Wisteria House, and she felt a lump lodge in her throat as a very unfortunate thought entered her mind. Whatever would she do if she ever fell completely in love with this wicked, yet passionate man? She would die. Surely she would.

Their wedding feast was quite enjoyable though she remained seated for most of it, as she truly didn’t feel as well as she should.

The wedding cake was the crowning glory of the meal and she delighted in the beautiful icing, for it looked as if white satin was draped across the plum cake.

He had been very careful not to prick her temper once, and had been watching her so closely that she could barely reach for her champagne, as it was one of the surprises that Christopher had presented her with. She drank champagne rather heavily, and he kept looking at her as if he believed she might turn into the bubbly liquid. It was as if he believed that she was going to have a terrible fit and die right in front of him. He was endearing, yet his watchfulness made her quite uneasy. She almost believed that she was ill, until she decided to finally dance and participated in one very lively country dance, when she had almost fallen down afterwards. She was pressing her luck with her knee, and knew she always pushed herself too far.

She laughed as Christopher pulled her tightly against him, and lost herself in his effervescent sparkling eyes. They lured her and charmed her and made her want to make sweet love to him. She was his wife. She was safe.

She could abandon all ties to France, but if she did, she would be leaving Daphne at the mercies of a ruthless and cruel man. Pierre would order his men to kill Daphne and they would not think twice of it. But she wanted to stay in England. All that she had to do was survive the next few days and hope she would be reunited with Will once they arrived in London. He would know what to do, and he would give her hope for the future.

He had always been able to wipe her tears away when she had been little, and she was relying on that fact now. She needed a shoulder to cry on, and a shoulder to receive comfort upon. She needed someone who would not condemn her on the onset. She prayed that she would be able to confide in her Saint, but deep down she knew that she was fooling herself.

Christopher had told her bluntly and to the point, with no room to maneuver that he would never trust her. Since she was now his wife, she doubted that he had changed his opinion of her. Indeed, he probably still expected her to be an agent working for Napoleon, and though she had escaped two of Pierre’s men, since they had probably uncovered her plan to turn him over to Napoleon, and then to let the English in on his plot, Pierre would stop at no end to capture her and drag her back to France.

But she would not go without a fight. With or without Christopher’s assistance, she would bring down her uncle. She had to throw France into chaos, so that England could emerge victorious.

And perhaps in amongst the hectic chaos, she herself could find some peace. She only prayed that it would not be eternal peace.

As the music waned, from the country quartet, her husband brought her scandalously close to his body, and leaned his head down as he gently pulled her up to meet him. The kiss was sizzling and held a promise that hadn’t been there in their previous kisses. Startled, by the crowds cheering approval, she attempted to pull away from him, but was dismayed to discover that yet again he had a firm grasp around her waist. She gasped, and gazed at him with plaintively imploring eyes.

He only sent her back a roguishly charming smile, and murmured, “I confess, my darling, that I had not anticipated such a response for you. You seem just as excited as I. I do believe that it is time for your second surprise.” He led everyone outside, and waited as Isabella straightened herself, and gazed around at the starry night sky. She noticed a boy in front of a cart, but didn’t see anything else out of the ordinary.

He nodded at the boy, who produced a small torch, and carefully began lighting whatever was in his wagon. In moments, the starry sky was alight with fireworks. They streamed across the sky in their brilliant array, and quite took her breath away.

She sighed, as she became entranced, and murmured, “Even Napoleon himself could not surpass this charming display. His were always somewhat gaudy.” She hadn’t really realized what she had whispered, but she felt him stiffen visibly beside her.

“Indeed,” he whispered, as he stared down at her in wonder. He had realized that she had been at Napoleon’s court, but during the course of the day, he had almost forgotten her involvement. Almost but it would seem, not quite. After the fireworks were spent, his carriage drew up outside of the lane with his liveried coachmen and footmen.

In a blurred movement, Isabella found herself kissing Jason, and grabbing onto him and holding on for dear life. Chuckling, rather emptily, Christopher gently pulled her away from her cousin. Maria was next, and she pulled her into a warm embrace.

“All will be fine, you’ll see,” Maria whispered, patting her back, and fixing her veil that had begun to slip from its position.

“I will find a way to return your dress to you. We could go back to your house, and I could change now,” she said hopefully, darting her gaze toward Jason.

“You may return the dress to me at your earliest convenience. Perhaps, I will collect it when you invite me to London.”

“Of course,” Isabella whispered. “Ah, I shall miss you dearest, Maria.”

“And, I shall miss you,” Maria returned, as Isabella turned to say farewell to Maria’s mother, father, aunt and uncle. She hadn’t thought to receive such a welcome, but the people of this town had opened their hearts to her, and for that she would be forever grateful.

“I heard that some English have chaperones on their honeymoon, why don’t you chaperone us, Jason?”

He smiled at her and shook his head. “I shan’t do that to Christopher. I shall see you back in London. And, Christopher, you had better take care of her, or you’ll deal with me.” 

She turned back to her husband, and wasn’t surprised when he gallantly extended his arm to her. She accepted it, and felt her heart drop, as he assisted her up into the closed carriage. The door shut behind her, and suddenly she felt dismally bereft. She was alone with the hungry wolf, and now she had to make sure that he never got the chance to bite her. She leaned back against the crimson satin cushions, and stared unwaveringly at him. “You truly are a daft man. It shall take us forever to get to London.”

“That, my darling, is why we aren’t going to London. I have another surprise for you.”

“I hate surprises, although I grant you the first two weren’t too bad.” Unperturbed, he merely shrugged his shoulders, and leaned back against the squabs, as a mischievous glint entered his eye. Wary of the look in his eyes, she stiffened, and almost plastered herself to the side of the carriage when he suddenly moved over to sit beside her.

“Oh, I think you shall absolutely adore this surprise,” he whispered, tracing his finger across her arm.

“Why do you persist in being so addle-brained?” She stared at him, with as much resentment as she could muster. “Where are my belongings, scant though they might be?”

“I had them sent ahead this morning, and took it upon myself to have you supplied with an entire wedding trousseau. There are many in London thankful for my heavy coffers at the moment.” He trailed his finger up and down her arm. Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes, trying desperately to ignore his subtle ministrations.

“You are quite pleased with yourself, aren’t you? You must feel like my knight in shining armour.”

“I think I am. Besides, it was all worth it to see you vexed so. I do so love it when you behave that way.”

“I hate you.” She tried to lean away from him, as the carriage jolted having gone over a frightful bump in the road. Suddenly, it lurched to a stop, and the loud sounds of lowborn accents filled the air. Angered, at the prospect of jackanapes attempting to rob her, sent a thrill of fury coursing through her. How much more was she expected to tolerate. “What the bloody hell!”

Christopher placed his finger up to his lips.

Suddenly, the door was wrenched open, and a masked man, shoved his face inside, with a pistol aimed at her. He looked as if he hadn’t bathed in years, and smelled like it too. She stiffened her spine, and stared at him with loathing in her eyes. In the dim light, she could see her amulet shone a brilliant green.

“Why, why what’s we have ‘ere?” he asked.

“Well, what do you think, you daft buffoon?” she retorted angrily. The man stopped for a moment stunned by her nerve, and flashed his black and yellow teeth at her. She shivered at the gross display, and inadvertently leaned towards Christopher. She glanced down and saw the glint of his dagger that he kept shoved in his Hessian, and realized that her appearance was for all intents and purposes working as a distraction. Leaning toward the highwayman, she kept a peripheral view of her husband, and then stared at the man’s black and beady eyes.