The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1

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The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1 Page 16

by Patricia Barletta


  “Well, miss,” the sergeant answered, “I’m not supposed to leave my post, you know.”

  “Please, sir? I have to clean under it, and I just can’t move it myself. If I don’t do it, Jacobs will have my head. It will only take a minute, Sergeant. Please?”

  Jessica heard a mumbled reply and then footsteps retreating down the hall. She hurried to change into her riding clothes, leaving her dress on the floor where it fell. Bless that girl, she thought. She left Madame ’s note on the bedside table. She wanted no suspicion that she had tried to escape.

  She waited until she was sure that Lucy and the sergeant were gone, then she left her room and hurried down the hall. She stopped to listen at the top of the stairs. Hearing no one near, she glided down the steps and across the foyer. Outside the door to the salon, she stopped again and hoped no one would be inside at this time of day.

  She opened the door and peeked inside. The room was empty. Slipping inside, she closed the door quietly behind her. Across the room were the French doors, just as she remembered. She ran to them and tried the latch. It turned smoothly. She stepped onto the veranda.

  The veranda was on the side of the house and overlooked a small orchard. Through the trees, she could see the street and the iron fence which surrounded Damien’s property. The fence appeared to be about four feet in height. She would have to jump it, for she could not risk going past the guard at the gate. She hoped the shock of seeing a woman on horseback jumping the fence would cause his aim to be off the mark.

  She looked down over the veranda railing. The distance to the ground was not too far. She climbed over and let herself drop. Time was working against her. She only had a few more minutes before her escape was discovered. Discarding caution, she ran to the stables. She could not waste precious minutes in stealth.

  Aphrodite’s stall was at the back of the building. Fortunately, no stable hands were about. So far, her luck had held. Quickly, she saddled her horse, led her to a low stool and mounted. Jessica leaned over and patted the horse’s silky neck.

  “All right, girl, it’s now or never,” she whispered, encouraging both her horse and herself.

  She dug in her heels and they took off at a gallop. As they reached the fence, she glanced over at the guard at the gate. His mouth hung open in amazement.

  “Halt!” he called.

  Jessica and Aphrodite sailed over the fence with ease.

  “Halt!” he called again. “Halt or I’ll shoot!”

  She cringed against Aphrodite’s neck as she waited for the shot. It never came. The soldier’s threat had been false. Running feet followed, but she was on horseback and faster. She breathed a sigh of relief and did not slow down as her horse galloped around the corner. The soldiers would mount up and be after her soon. If she could just reach Madame ’s, she would be safe. Damien’s men would not come after her there for fear of ruining all their hard work in incriminating the woman. Besides, that was where Damien was. She would still be his prisoner.

  As she galloped through the streets, passing coaches, making people jump out of her way, her mouth tightened. She had a few questions for Madame herself. The French woman had been heartless to involve her in treason. Jessica had done nothing to Madame to make the woman wish to entangle her in crimes. Other than being a foolish innocent. She pushed her angry thoughts away for the moment. Her first priority was Damien and helping him.

  She reached Madame ’s in only a few minutes. Slipping from her horse, she flew up the steps and pounded impatiently on the door. A lifetime passed before Jacques came to the door and showed her into the salon where Madame was pouring tea.

  Jessica did not bother to greet her. “Damien,” she blurted breathlessly at the entrance to the salon. “Where is he?”

  “Ah, ma petite,” Madame smiled. “Come, sit down. Calm yourself.”

  Jessica strode into the room, but she did not sit. “Where is Damien? I have to see him. How badly hurt is he?”

  “He is upstairs. He is being tended by the doctor,” Madame said calmly. She poured a second cup of tea. “Please, Jessica, sit down. Join me for a cup of tea. You may visit with him later. There will be plenty of time when the doctor has finished.”

  Jessica reluctantly perched on the edge of a chair across from Madame and accepted the cup. She took a small sip. “How did it happen?”

  “A fall from his horse.” Madame shook her head. “Damien must have hit his head. He was…How do you say…?” She searched for the word.

  “Unconscious?” Jessica offered.

  “Oui, c’est ça. Unconscious.”

  “Where did it happen? Why was he here?” The questions tumbled out of Jessica as she tried to read Madame ’s placid expression.

  “Here?” Madame shook her head. “No, no, no. He was not here. It was an accident down the street. A delivery cart and a coach—Boom!” She clapped her hands together to demonstrate. “His horse must have been spooked and threw him. When I heard all the noise, I ran out. There he was, lying in the street. Of course, I had him brought here. How could I not care for my dear friend?”

  Jessica pondered Madame ’s words as she continued to sip her tea. She had known Madame far longer than she had known Damien. And the French woman had always been good to her, protected her, kept her safe from lecherous men so that she could earn the money she needed.

  But questions and suspicions kept her on edge. Something did not feel right about the situation. And then she thought of something else.

  “Where is Damien’s horse?” she asked. “I didn’t see it out front.”

  Madame shook her head sadly. “The poor animal broke its leg and had to be shot.”

  Jessica remembered the times Damien had put her before him on that horse and taken her back to her rooms. What a tragedy that such a magnificent animal had to be destroyed. Unsettled and distraught, Jessica lifted her cup to her lips once more and sipped the tea to fortify herself. She noticed it had an odd taste, but attributed that to Madame ’s French chef. No one made tea like the English. She glanced anxiously toward the entrance of the salon. How long was that doctor going to be?

  A sudden thought occurred to Jessica. If Damien had been unconscious when he was brought here, how could he have told Madame that she had been under arrest at his house? Something was not right. The woman was watching her closely, almost as if she were waiting for something to happen.

  Casually, Jessica placed her cup on the table before her and stood. Trying desperately to act nonchalant, she walked around to the back of her chair. For some reason, she felt the need to put something solid between herself and Madame. Her knees felt strangely weak, but she thought it was only because she was nervous.

  There was something very wrong. Had she been lured into a trap? Was Damien even here? As she stood with one hand on the back of the chair, a wave of dizziness swept over her. Her hand flew to her head. What was happening to her? Madame was looking very smug about something.

  “Are you not feeling well, ma petite?” Madame asked. Her expression showed triumph, not concern.

  And then the realization came to her: The tea.

  “What did you do to me?” she demanded weakly.

  Madame smiled. “It was only something to make you sleep for a little while. You will feel better when you wake.”

  “Damien is not here, is he? You tricked me to get me here,” Jessica accused.

  Madame smiled. “Non, he is not here.”

  Jessica swayed and caught herself by grabbing the chair. She felt dizzy and confused.

  “Do not fight it, ma petite,” Madame soothed. “It will do you no good.”

  Jessica heard her voice as if from far away. She felt herself falling, then blackness.

  Chapter 12

  Twilight was falling by the time Damien returned home. He was not in the best of humor, having spent the afternoon trying to convince
General Drayton to leave the arrest of Madame du Barré to him and his men. The General thought that since Damien had captured Madame ’s courier, he no longer needed to involve himself in the case. Damien, on the other hand, was not content to allow the matter to be taken out of his hands so easily. He knew Madame ’s wily tricks and trusted no one but himself to bring her to justice. The argument had ended in a stalemate.

  Besides being overruled by his commander, the woman he had under house arrest had deceived him, betrayed him. She was the daughter of the man who had killed his brother. She was the woman who fired his blood, made his heart race. She was the woman who haunted his dreams.

  She could be a traitor.

  And then he had received that urgent summons from Edward to return home with no explanation. His mood had never been so black. When he found no guard at either the gate or the front door, his temper boiled over. Something had happened in his absence, something he did not want to hear. Leftenant Johnson met him in the foyer as he walked in the door.

  “Edward, what the devil is going on?” he demanded harshly. “Where are the guards? Why is there no one on duty?”

  Edward Johnson cleared his throat nervously and walked to the door of the salon. “I think you had better come in here, sir,” he told Damien with unaccustomed formality. He opened the door as proper protocol for a lower-ranked officer for his commander.

  Damien glared at him. As he entered the room, all his men jumped to attention. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He had taught his men never to come to attention when he walked into their midst. It had been too dangerous for any remnant of army etiquette to appear while they had been in France.

  Damien sat on the arm of a chair and looked at Johnson. “All right, Leftenant,” he said quietly, holding his temper in tight check. “Perhaps you had better tell me what this is all about.”

  Johnson picked up a note from a nearby table and handed it to Damien. “I think you’d better read this, sir.”

  As Damien took the note from Johnson, he realized his men were still standing at attention. “Dammit, sit down!” he barked. They immediately complied.

  He had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. The feeling became worse when he read the note Jessica had left behind. How did Madame know that he had Jessica under arrest in his home? Someone had to have given her that information. But who?

  What Jessica had not known was that he had placed guards on her not only to keep her from trying to escape from him, but also to keep her safe from Madame. He had expected the woman to try to get to Jessica, and through her, to him. He had been proven correct. But he had not expected it to happen in his house. And that did not absolve his men for allowing it to happen. He ran his gaze around the room, meeting the eyes of each of his men.

  “Do you mean to tell me, gentlemen, that one rather tiny woman outwitted four of the best men in His Majesty’s Army?” he asked scathingly. There was no answer, only an uncomfortable shuffling of feet. “How did she get away?” he demanded.

  Johnson answered. “She slipped past Walker with the help of a maid—Lucy. The same girl who gave her the note. We questioned her, but all she did was cry and say how sorry she was, and that the Lady Jessica said it was a matter of life or death.” He took a breath. “We tried to follow the lady—”

  “But you lost her,” Damien finished.

  “Yes, sir,” Johnson answered. He shifted uncomfortably.

  Damien did not berate his leftenant for the failure. The man already felt guilty enough. Nor did he waste time castigating Walker for failing his guard duty at the bedroom door. Instead, his mind focused on Jessica. She had been clever to deceive his men. He rose and walked to the French doors, most likely the ones through which Jessica had made her escape. Staring blindly out into the darkness, he crushed the note in his hand. How could she fall for such a ruse? Didn’t she realize what a crafty, dangerous woman Madame du Barré was? Fear for Jessica’s safety threatened to overwhelm him before he squelched it. Now was not the time to allow his feelings to interfere with what he had to do. He stood lost in thought.

  A knock at the door of the salon drew him from his musing. He was about to tell whoever it was that he was not to be disturbed when his mother pushed open the door.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Grace,” she said.

  She only used the formal manner of addressing him when she had something serious to say.

  “I believe you might wish to speak with this young woman.” The duchess stepped aside to reveal the maid, Lucy.

  Damien’s brow crinkled in bewilderment. “Shouldn’t Jacobs be dealing with her?”

  His mother shook her head. “This is not for our butler.”

  “Go on, girl. Tell ’im,” Mistress Donlin said from behind Lucy and gave the girl a push into the room.

  Lucy shook, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I-I’m s-s-so s-sorry, Your Grace.” She gulped and twisted her apron in her hands. “She-she promised me a-a new frock.”

  Mistress Donlin tsked.

  “Who offered you a new frock?” Damien asked, a cold feeling of dread taking hold of him.

  “Th-the F-french lady in the park.” Lucy sniffed.

  “Madame du Barré.” Damien spoke the name as if it were a curse. He felt his men’s attention focus on the maid. Anger surged through him that his men had failed to get the truth from the maid. His house had been invaded by a spy. “Tell me everything.”

  “She s-said all I had to do was deliver a note to the Lady Jessica. She said you wouldn’t mind. I’m so sorry!” Lucy bawled into her apron.

  Mistress Donlin grabbed Lucy by the arm and shook her. “Quiet, you silly baggage.”

  Damien watched Lucy and a suspicion formed. “Did the French lady ever ask you to do anything else?”

  Lucy’s eyes widened guilessly and her tears stopped. “Oh, no, Your Grace.”

  He did not believe her. His gaze met his mother’s. “How did you discover this?”

  “Mistress Donlin overheard the girl telling one of the other maids about the frock and other fine things she would soon acquire,” the duchess said.

  Damien gave a nod to Jessica’s nanny. “Thank you, Mistress Donlin.” He turned his attention back to the maid. “I should arrest you, Lucy.”

  “Oh, no, Your Grace!” Lucy began to bawl again. “I promise I won’t ever speak to that French lady again.”

  Grimly, silently, Damien agreed. If everything fell into place, that “French lady” would be in an English prison very soon. But first he had to save Jessica. He had no time to deal with the foolishly greedy and hysterical housemaid.

  Turning to his mother, he said, “I think Jacobs should handle this.”

  His mother sent him a little smile. “I thought the same.”

  Jacobs would dismiss the girl and make her feel fortunate that she had not been sent to prison and grateful to get references.

  With a regal nod to his men, the duchess said, “Gentlemen.” Then she turned and sailed out of the room with Mistress Donlin following, holding a firm grip on Lucy.

  “Blimey,” Walker said when the door had shut behind the ladies. “A traitor in your own house, beggin’ your pardon, sir.”

  Damien raised an eyebrow at Walker, for he had been the one guarding Jessica’s door and had been fooled by Lucy. The young soldier ducked his head and a flush colored his neck.

  Damien said nothing further, for his mind was already on the confrontation with Madame. Determination to save Jessica wiped out every other thought and emotion.

  “It seems, gentlemen,” he said, “that Madame du Barré has played her trump card. By using one of the maids in my household to take the Lady Jessica, she has nothing else to do but run for the coast. She’ll want to lure us to France. I believe she has played right into our hands.”

  “How has she done that, sir?” Wells, the youngest of his
men asked.

  “She will have to come out into the open to make her escape, Wells,” Damien answered. “We will capture her, retrieve the Lady Jessica, and then lay Le Chat to rest.”

  There was a general murmuring as the men approved of Damien’s plan.

  “Aren’t we going to break into the gaming house, sir?” Higgins asked.

  Damien shook his head. “I would like to, but it would be foolhardy to try. The house is built like a fortress. The walls are twice as thick as an ordinary house, and the doors are strong enough to secure a vault. We would never be able to get in, find the Lady Jessica, and escape with our lives—or hers.” Dropping the note on a nearby table, he went on, “I suggest that we discuss this over dinner. We can do nothing but wait until Madame sends word to us regarding her demands. When that happens, we may not get another meal for a long time.”

  Resigned, his men dispersed to change for dinner.

  As he watched them file out, Damien vowed, one way or another, he would get Jessica back.

  As soon as his men reconvened about the dining table, Damien explained his plan.

  “Madame will send word to us that she has the Lady Jessica, for I am sure she expects us to follow. As soon as she does that, she will begin her escape to France, but not too quickly. She does not want to lose us. She would prefer to have us catch up with her on French soil. It would be a victory for her if she could capture us as spies, instead of the other way around.

  “I assume she has more than one escape route to France. We know of at least two. One of them was from the beach at Montaigne’s house. She won’t use that one. Now that we know of it, it’s too risky. She must have another somewhere around Dover, that she uses when she is pressed for time.” He glanced around the table at his men. “Any other ideas where she might cross?”

 

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