The Duchess and the Spy (7 page)

“Dear God,” Jane exclaimed horrifically. She pressed her hand to her mouth, as her eyes widened to dangerous proportions. Tears pooled within their luminescent depths. “His poor father. He has already lost so much!”

Sunlight poured into the room, but it did nothing to cheer him up. The incredibly high ceiling gave the room an open feeling. The walls were lined with scads of bookshelves, and they were near to bursting with the books they harboured. The library was painted a muted shade of yellow, and marble pillars separated one section of the library from the other.

“I don’t know how I’m going to tell his family.”

“They might already know,” Jane sighed.

He cast his eyes down to the Axminster carpet, and fell into an uneasy silence.

“I should have done more. Elphinstone shouldn’t have been on the
HMS Minerva
, when it went down. It was in sore need of being repaired, and if we didn’t need it so badly, the damn ship would have been off active duty months ago.”

“Be that as it may, my dear, you can’t torture yourself. I suspect that Jason wouldn’t want you to agonize over his death. He would have wanted you to mourn him, and then, he would have wanted you to move on with your life.”

“I know.”

“Whatever you do, do not mention William. Mary has enough things on her mind as it is. I know that she frets over him every single day, and she deals with her stress by simply putting it out of her mind. I can feel for her, whenever you and Jack are away, I almost lose my mind with worry.”

“My lips are sealed,” he promised. Leaning forward, he reached for one of his mother’s books.

“Mama, do you believe in witches?”

His mother hesitated. “Well, they are in Shakespeare, and people have always believed in them…”

“Ah, yes, we used to burn witches at the stake, Mama.”

“Yes, well, those were dark barbaric times. I am glad to say that our society has become enlightened.”

“Yes, indeed. The frogs became enlightened enough to use something as barbaric as the guillotine.”

“Indeed, and yet it is better than the breaking wheel.” His mother sighed. “I think that magical creatures do exist, my dear. Why do you ask?”

“Because I believe we know one of them.”

“Ah, I see. Found Isabella, did you?”

He groaned. “You know me too well. Aye, I found her, and she used her magic on me.”

“Well, she is Isabella De Clermont. You know she has MacLeod blood in her, and they…well, legend has it they have fairy blood, Son. And over the years that blood has become diluted and now…now they say they are witches.”

“I knew of the legend, I just never thought it was real.”

“Well, it is about time you realized there was something different about her. She was such a lovely girl—quite besotted with you, and we so hoped you two would someday marry. Unfortunately, dear Mary didn’t inherit the gift that runs in that side of their family. But Isabella’s grandmother, Adaira, she has it, as did Isabella’s mother, Sandrine. Adaira had three children, Mary, Sandrine and her son, Robert. Sandrine had a brother named Robert, and married a Robert,” his mother laughed. “Now, Adaira’s son is the Duke, and they say he has a bit of a magical touch. However, it has been rumoured that Isabella is the most gifted one in the family line. They haven’t had a woman like her in the family since the 17th century. So, she was taken back to France, eh? I know Duncan searched high and low for her and sent out people to find her, and her grandmother has done all that she could…they say that the family can’t affect their own destinies. It seems that is their curse. They can’t save themselves, or those they love.”

“She was taken by her bastard uncle, Pierre Dubois.”

“Now…are you just calling him a bastard or…”

“No, he’s actually a bastard by birth, Mama. It seems he was the by-blow of Isabella’s grandfather.”

“Ah, I understand. Oh, he must be a very bitter man.”

“Perhaps. All I know is that he took Isabella away from all that she knew and loved.”

They both turned their heads at the loud cacophony that came from the front entryway.

“That must be Mary,” Jane sighed. “Remember, not a word.”

He solemnly nodded his head. Jumping up, she carefully smoothed the wrinkles out of her morning muslin dress. She halted in mid-step as a footman swung the library door open to admit Jack. Jack was Christopher’s younger brother, and they both worked for the same secret branch of the government. Christopher was known as The Wolf, and Jack was known as The Falcon.

“Jack, I wasn’t expecting you,” Jane exclaimed. She dashed toward him.

“Yes, I know, Mama. I am here to see Christopher. I am afraid it concerns a secret matter, only for his ears.”

Jane had once been an asset to the Crown, but she’d been out of that life for quite some time.

“I see. Well, I shall give you a few minutes of privacy.” She wandered away to the other end of the large library.

“I am here to tell you that the Whitehall wants you down in Dover as soon as possible. They still require a senior officer on the ground, and you have been selected. The French are training better spies, and they’ve nearly been the undoing of us. If we allow any more crucial intelligence to be leaked to the enemy, we may as well pack it in. Fortune favours us, as we’ve gotten wind of some new developments, and we’ve received a tip off that one of their newest assets, was being ferried across on
The Bastille
, problem is it looks as if there are no survivors.”

He couldn’t talk, he nearly couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be dead.

“You look like you’re half dead, Christopher. What’s got you so rattled?”

“I…Isabella…she was probably the asset that was on that ship. Oh, dear God.” He couldn’t articulate anything else. He’d been struck down by the thought of vibrant Isabella dead. She’d been so alive…so haughty—so regal. So damn beautiful, and now…now she was lost to the sea. “She’s a survivor, though, isn’t she? She could have made it. She is a witch, after all.”

“Mama,” Jack called. “I think Christopher has gone straight to Bedlam.”

Jane joined them, and passed her hand over his face, seeking to bring him back to the here and now.

“What did you tell him that has unsettled him so? He’s glassy eyed. He was already shattered with the news of Jason’s demise.”

“Isabella De Clermont. It seems she is dead as well.”

“Oh, God. Keep your voice down…if Mary were to come in now and hear you…no, I won’t hear of it. You will not tell her that her niece is dead until you know for certain, is that clear, Jack?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Their family…their family has suffered enough. Oh, poor Duncan. If he’s lost his only son, and Isabella as well,” she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I…I can’t think of how devastated he will be, and Mary…she’ll take it hard. She loved Sandrine so, as did Adaira, and knowing that their last connection to Sandrine has passed from this world. Oh, it is too sad. Such a tragedy. Christopher, come on now. Come back to us.”

He shook his head, and sighed. “I…I must away to Dover and see for myself if she’s really dead…maybe…maybe…she found Jason and saved him.”

“Oh, that’s a little farfetched, don’t you think, Christopher?” Jack scoffed.

“Never say farfetched when magic is involved, Jack,” Jane said. “I think we should focus on something a bit cheerier, and I do believe that you have to get moving, darling.”

Everyone grew as silent as the grave as soon as they heard Mary’s gay voice. The footman announced her, and Christopher felt as if he needed to be anywhere but where he was at the moment.

Mary came bounding into the room, with her eldest daughter on her heels. Margaret glowered at Jack, who in turn, smiled back at her.

Mary raced over to Jane, and gathered Jane’s hands within her own. Mary was beaming. His heart sunk. She looked so happy…she didn’t know what sort of heartache awaited her.

He had to snap out of it. He had to keep going. His mother had been right. Elphinstone would have wanted him to get on with it. After all, he didn’t have the luxury of drinking himself into a stupor. There was still a war raging on, and there was definitely no rest for the weary. He wouldn’t relax, until Napoleon was driven straight to hell.

“Oh, I have wonderful news,” Mary exclaimed.

“What is it?” Jane asked.

“I…Mama is on her way to London. She wrote to me and told me to expect the unexpected within the next few days. I couldn’t quite believe it. She hasn’t left Scotland since we lost…since Isabella was taken from us.”

Pain radiated through his chest. He had to leave. He couldn’t listen to Mary anymore…not when Isabella could be dead. 

“Mama, we must away,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Aye, you two go,” Jane said softly.

Jack and Christopher left the Library, and made for their father’s study.

“I want to be off as soon as possible, Jack, so tell me everything else I need to know before I leave.”

Jack moved away from him. He seemed tense, and a nervous expression once again dominated his visage.

“These reports are from Will, and they were intercepted by
HMS Tempest
earlier this week.”

Christopher folded his arms, and leaned against the Chinese silk wallpaper, as a flicker of anxiety passed across his face.

“I take it his cover is still safe?” he asked.

Jack nervously cleared his throat. “Not for long, it seems. He says that Napoleon is amassing a flotilla of ships off of the coast of Brest, France. That doesn’t come as a surprise to us, but the old men, didn’t think he’d be able to muster the resources ever again to have another go at invading England by sea. They say he’s mad to try as he should know we shall destroy his ships.”

“Any plans on how to get Will out?”

At his inquiry, Jack dropped his gaze to his feet.

“Not yet. We’ve put our best men on it. He’s created quite the life for himself there…sometimes, I am almost envious of the fellow.”

“Jack…” Christopher sighed.

“Well, he has an exciting life, doesn’t he? He isn’t stuck at home poring over intelligence reports and hoping that the information isn’t too out of date. I think sometimes that that the newspapers have better intelligence than we do,” he sighed. “Will has to remain where he is for a while longer. We can’t pull him out yet, not when he’s doing such a wonderful job. His information might be the only thing to nip Napoleon’s diabolical plans in the bud. We’re struggling just to stay ahead as it is. Granted, we still have the most powerful Navy in all of Christendom, but if Boney managed to catch us by surprise, our numbers would be decimated greatly.”

“So what you’re telling me is that we could be facing another Trafalgar, and this time…this time we don’t have Nelson.”

“By Jove, I think you’ve got it.”

“I should have taken her with me when I left France. I don’t know why I allowed her to convince me to leave her behind. It is bad over there…but as it is, Will has himself situated well within Boney’s circle, and if anyone can get us the intelligence we need, it’s him. Damnation, I should have ignored her. I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.”

“Will knows what he’s doing. He’ll come through for us. He’s also concerned about something else, and you might be interested as well.”

“Well, spill it.”

“It seems that old Boney has been paying a particular amount of interest in one beautiful young lady—”

“And that young lady is Isabella, the beautiful and enchanting Duchess. She should have come with me. I left her there. I allowed her, a mere woman to twist me around her little pinky finger.”

“And you’d probably let her do it again.”

“Jack…”

“Admit it, Christopher, we Brandon men are weak when it comes to the ladies.”

“”Fine. I’ll relent. We Brandon men susceptible to charm of the fairer sex. Ashley charmed me, but Isabella…I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for her. She’s in my blood, Jack.”

“You sound like you’re already in love with her.”

“Mayhap, I am.”

“She’s become the little Corsican’s latest conquest, Christopher.”

He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “Bloody hell.”

“I am sorry.”

“Well, none of it will matter if she’s dead, will it?”

“No…I suppose not.”

“If anyone can come out of this…if anyone could survive the rough waters of the English Channel, it would be Isabella. She’s a fighter, Jack.”

“Whatever you say, Christopher. If she has survived, mayhap she’ll wash up onto the shore shortly, and if you make haste, you might be there in time to once again be her Saint Christopher,” Jack said with a smug look.

“You can be a cheeky bastard all you like, Jack, but I believe in Isabella, and mayhap, mayhap, I am a Saint.”

“Indeed, and I am a monkey’s uncle.”

The English Channel was rough, and Isabella struggled to remain above the water. She clung to the piece of wreckage she’d discovered somewhere around dawn, as another wave crashed against her.

Bloody bodies surrounded her, and her stomach rolled. Soon, exhaustion would make her give up. Her magic had failed her again, and she couldn’t figure out why. It had returned after Christopher had left her that fateful night, and now…now in her hour of need, it had abandoned her again. She’d never felt more alone, or more vulnerable. She was in the hellish waters of the English Channel. Alone. It didn’t get much worse than that.

She knew the frigid temperature of the English Channel normally kept the sharks at bay, but she also realized that she could just as easily become their prey.

Her limbs were heavy with fatigue. She spewed out a mouthful of water, as the sun beat down on her. She had been painstakingly treading the water, since last night, and now it had to be past noon. Her bone numbing exhaustion was about to get the better of her, and she was almost ready to give up.

She could probably swim to shore, but the night battle had disoriented her, and her head throbbed. Add to the fact that she felt desperate, and it was no wonder why she couldn’t seem to save herself.

She spotted a man’s motionless body a short distance away from her, and saw, he too, was struggling to remain afloat. He let out a heart wrenching moan, making her insides twist. She had to help him. She wouldn’t be the only survivor from last night’s battle. Summoning the necessary courage and strength, she swam over to the man.

She must bashed up her knee when she fell on
the Bastille
.

Moving at a snail’s pace, it took her an age to reach the man. As she drew near him, she studied him closely.

He wore a Royal Navy uniform. His forehead sported a deep bloody gash. He was whiter than white. Her heart leapt. He was near death. She could tell that by his shallow breathing.

“Stay with me, I am coming.” Her words were but a hoarse whisper and yet, by the way he tilted his head to the one side, she knew he’d heard her. Why hadn’t they sent out rescue boats? Had they dismissed it thinking all hands had been lost? Her mind couldn’t stop thinking about that. Surely, they should have sent out people to retrieve possible survivors?

Finally, she reached him, and grabbed a hold of him. He let out another raspy moan that reached down and touched her heart.

“My Mama always told me stories of water faeries, mermaids, sirens and selkies. Which are you?” He began coughing.

“What about witches?” she whispered softly. His eyes brightened. His eyes, they reached down into the depth of her soul—she knew this man.

She listened to him continue to mutter, but didn’t answer him as she stared toward the coastline. She could tell by his thick accent that he was Scottish, and her heart was buoyed by the thought.

But she still had problems to solve.

Was she staring at French soil or English soil? She barely knew which way was up, and she groaned as she considered what to do. She had no choice. She had to swim toward the land. She breathed in deeply, and began to pull him toward the shore.

It had to be English soil. It just had to be her mother’s homeland. She had to pray that when she reached the sandy shore, a battalion of Boney’s men didn’t come down on them. For if they did, they would cart this officer off to prison, and he would face an uncertain fate.

She battled the waves, and after a grueling length of time, she finally caught sight of the glittering beach. Tears of joy streamed down her face, mingling with the salty seawater.

“Thank God, thank God, thank God,” she whispered over and over again, as she pulled herself up onto the white sand.

Calling upon strength she didn’t know she possessed, she reached for the Scotsman, and dragged him onto the beach. She took care not to smash his injured head again. Her ears perked, and sweat beaded across her brow.

Men shouted in the distance. Fear sliced through her heart. She couldn’t tell if they were shouting in English or French…and without her powers to lean on in her time of need, she felt vulnerable. She reached for the amulet around her neck. It didn’t glow.

Collapsing onto her knees beside the Scotsman, she reached for him.

“Wake up, you big hulking Scotsman,” she muttered. She watched her words carefully, and struggled to keep from reverting to speaking French.

His eyelids fluttered. He swore beneath his breath. She fell against him as he stared up in adoration at her.

“We must do something about your head,” she murmured gently. She stood up. Wavering slightly, she nearly collapsed, before she regained her balance. Her long muslin frock clung to her legs, and she knew that the material was quite see through now.

“Mon dieu!” she muttered. She clamped her hand over her mouth, widening her eyes when she realized her mistake. Her knee throbbed, and when she looked down at it, she could see that was badly swollen, and the bruising on it was starting to show, she had to vent or she would explode. “God Almighty, give me strength!” This time, she watched her every word. She really had to think before she spoke, or she’d be waving to a redcoat firing squad, before she had been in England for a fortnight.

The Scotsman moaned again. She kept an eye on him, and did a frustrated jig on the beach. She had to gather her wits, before everything blew up in her face.

Men approached. They were speaking English. Thank God.

Reaching underneath her dress, she ripped off a piece of her petticoat. She gently tied the material around his head, frowning when the blood quickly soaked through it.

“I fear that you shall require a few stitches,” she muttered. “We must get you to a doctor.” She placed pressure on his wound, and beamed at him when he smiled wanly at her.

Her teeth began chattering, as coldness invaded her body. What would happen to her when the men found her? Would they cart her away, and sentence her to death? Her mind raced, and she decided to distract herself, by asking the Scotsman some questions.

She finally had the chance to get a good look at him.

“Jason?” she whispered in disbelief.

He smiled as she spoke his name. “I thought you’d never recognize me. I knew it was you, Isabella as soon as you spoke.”

Her heart broke.

She threw herself on top of him, and clung to him, as tears filled her eyes. He patted her back, and she heard him groan. Fearing she’d hurt him, she stopped hugging him.

“Did I hurt you?”

“You were squeezing a bit too hard,” he admitted.

She laughed. “I…I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you…and to be home. Oh, how I have missed everyone. I can’t wait to see Aunt Claudette and Uncle Duncan, and Grandmamma and Roselyn…and Aunt Mary…”

She stopped speaking when she saw the sadness that filled his eyes.

“I…I am not going to see one of those people ever again, am I?” she asked, with dawning dread.

“No,” he rasped, his eyes filled with overwhelming sadness. “Mama…Mama is gone, Isabella. She perished from a fever shortly after you were taken.”

Grief ripped through her. She cried silently, and used the back of her hand to wipe away her tears. “She...she is with my Papa now.”

“Aye. She made Papa promise that he would never stop searching for you. He made his vow to her right before she died.”

“Who…who took you?”

“My bastard of an uncle, Pierre Dubois, and before you ask, he really is my uncle. It seems my Grandfather had a by-blow, and it was common knowledge amongst those who were around at the time. Of course, not many are still alive from back then, most of them were taken the way my Papa was. But…he showed me several correspondence with my grandfather’s seal on it that confirms it. And I hate to say it, but I could feel the familial bond between us. It was most disconcerting.”

“Oh, Isabella. How…how…did he hurt you?”

“No. He made me his ward, Jason. He took everything from me. My lands, and with them, my title. I’ve made some terrible decisions, and now I don’t know what to do. I have had to make some bargains, Jason—bargains that have made me feel sick inside. My life is nothing. I am ashamed of myself. But you have to know, Jason—they haven’t made me forget who I am at heart. Pierre took a lot from me, but he could never take the love I have for my family. And now…now I am here, and however shall they treat me? Shall they treat me like an alien agent?”

“You are not an alien. You are one of us. Don’t fret, Bella. I shall do whatever I can. You mustn’t have any regrets. Live in the moment,” he advised, turning his head at the sound of Christopher’s voice. “Quickly now. You must take my coat off and put it around your body. Your frock is wet and well that muslin was sheer enough when it wasn’t dunked in the ocean, and now…well, you’re rather displaying everything you own, Bella.”

She looked down at herself, and gasped. “You are quite right. Oh, I look a sight to be sure.” She helped him to shrug out of his coat, and she put it on.

“Good…that’s much better,” he said approvingly.

She stared at the approaching men. She was afraid of them.

Jason pulled her hand into his, and she was grateful for the gesture of support.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised.

It felt so good to be home with the people that she loved, and who loved her in return.

“I have been relying on Daphne and only Daphne for far too long,” she said, her voice wavering. “When I was with Pierre it felt like an eternity of misery. I never want to be so dependent on someone I despise ever again.”

His eyes lit with understanding, and her heart soared.

She was home, and she was free at last. “Promise me that I will never have to go back!”

“I promise.”

He squeezed her hand, and then on a lighter note, she turned her attention to his beard.

“This facial hair of yours simply will not do. It makes you seem quite wild,” she breathed. Her skin tingled, and she turned around as the sound of Christopher’s angry voice. She sighed. It was in high dudgeon for some reason.

Her Saint Christopher had found her, and he looked mad as hell!

Her breath lodged in her throat, and she nearly forgot how to breathe. She’d forgotten how bloody handsome he was. Her heartbeat quickened, and her palms became sweaty, as fire raged through her. Without his mask…with the sunlight haloing him…he quite simply robbed her of her breath.

Napoleon’s court had boasted many handsome men. Christopher far surpassed all of those dandies. Simply put, he was a man of his own making, and it made her blood thrill. She was his, and she would gladly throw herself into his arms, for just one more kiss—she remembered the way his touch felt and the memory made her shiver.

His hair was a dark wild mass of waves that fringed his chiseled face. It was unfashionably long, and reached past his ears. His greatcoat flashed behind him in the wind, and gave him an unrivalled air of power. He wore tight breeches that showcased every sinewy muscle, and made her heart nearly pound out of her chest.

He was dressed with care. His crisp white shirt, further accented his dark green tailcoat, over which he wore a greatcoat. He wore a cravat tied in his own knot.

He was a man with enough confidence for two people. She had never been attracted to anyone the way that she was drawn to him.

Suddenly, she felt as if she were the damsel in distress, for this side of Christopher alarmed her. The way he charged toward her, he seemed more like her predator than her Saint.

“Steady, Isabella. You look like you’re going to run back into the sea. You remain with me.”

Jason’s voice soothed her, and made her remain where she was.

Christopher bore down on her, and the expression he wore, sent a chill racing through her. Jason moved so that he could stare at the man coming toward them, and she was alarmed by the paleness of her cousin’s skin.

“Christopher,” he whispered. His voice cracked with the depth of his emotions, and Isabella suddenly felt the need to protect him.

“Pray stay awake, Jason,” she murmured urgently. “You must stay awake. If you fall asleep, you might never wake up!”

Christopher sank to his knees beside her, and roughly shoved her to the side. This was not her Saint…where was the man that felt passion for her, he’d been concerned about her welfare in France, and now he tossed her aside so carelessly? Who did he think he was?

If this was what Christopher had become. She wanted no part of him.

He barked out a series of orders that seemed to cause mass panic amongst his men. Taking Jason’s greatcoat off, she laid it gingerly over him. He looked so weak, her heart ached.

He pushed her aside again, and she put her hands out in front of her, before she landed face first into the sand. She seethed with anger, as she felt it roll through her in unbridled waves. He had pushed her. Of all the insults! Glaring over at Christopher, she struggled to push herself to her feet. How dare he? His impudence galled her. Whom did he think he was dealing with? Her title might not have much sway here in England, but she was a Duchess, and he would treat her with respect!