Le Cochon waited a moment, but no other bid was offered. “I have five thousand,” he said. “Is there another bid?”
He raised his walking stick to finalize the sale, and Jessica’s heart sank. She knew the dark haired man would not treat her kindly.
Before Le Cochon’s stick hit the floor, a deep voice from the far corner of the room announced, “Ten thousand.”
Jessica immediately sought out the source of the voice. Damien! He leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, appearing bored with the proceedings. He was dressed as Jessica had seen him at Monsieur Montaigne’s, as Le Chat.
The crowd babbled excitedly, and someone exclaimed, “Le Chat!” Le Cochon smiled happily at the large bid and rapped his walking stick several times to regain order. When the crowd quieted down once more, he looked questioningly at the dark haired man.
“Do you wish to bid against the rightful owner of this piece of fluff, monsieur?” he asked.
The man scowled and shook his head. Le Cochon brought his walking stick down sharply.
“Sold, to Le Chat, for ten thousand guineas,” he announced.
Damien pushed away from the wall and made his way to the platform. He tossed two pouches, heavy with coins, at the feet of the auctioneer.
“You may count it if you wish,” Damien drawled, daring the man to do so.
“That will not be necessary, monsieur,” Le Cochon replied quickly. “You have always paid me fairly in the past.”
A glance full of meaning passed between the two men. Damien finally smiled without humor.
“You would do well to remember that, Le Cochon,” he said.
Le Cochon passed the end of the ribbon to Damien. “You have made a wise purchase, monsieur. There are those who would use the mademoiselle against you.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed at the oblique warning, then he turned to Jessica. Placing his hands around her waist, he swung her down from the platform. He removed his cloak, placed it over her shoulders, then guided her through the crowd and outside. He stopped just outside the door of the house and began to untie the knotted ribbon around her wrists.
Jessica remained silent as she watched his fingers work at the ribbon. Her feelings at seeing him, being near him, went so deep she did not trust herself to speak. She shifted her gaze to the dark beyond the lamplight to keep her equilibrium. A movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. It all happened in an instant and yet time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Madame du Barré stood in the middle of the lawn with Jacques beside her. A flash of light reflecting off metal revealed the pistol raised high in her hand, aimed directly at Damien’s back.
A flash, and the report of a gunshot rang out.
Screaming his name, Jessica launched herself at him, knocking him off balance against the wall of the house. She felt a thud in her shoulder, then a white-hot pain. A second explosion rang in her ears, and she watched through a blur as Jacques crumpled to the ground. Madame disappeared into the woods behind her. The smell of gunpowder made Jessica cough.
“Are you hurt?” Damien asked, as he stuck his pistol into the waistband of his trousers.
“I’m all right.” She could not worry about the searing pain in her shoulder. Impatiently, she tried to push him toward the drive. “Please, you have to get away from here. Madame was trying to kill you. Leave me here and go.”
“Not bloody likely,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Do you think I came all this way to leave you?” He grabbed her arm and hurried along the front of the house, across the lawn and into a group of trees. In its shelter were two horses, one already with a rider. Jessica recognized Leftenant Johnson as he held the reins of Damien’s huge stallion. Damien nearly threw Jessica onto the horse, then mounted behind her. With a nudge of his heels, he urged his horse into a gallop.
Waves of nausea and blackness washed over Jessica. Hot pain radiated from her shoulder at every jostle. Warm blood trickled down her side. She tried desperately to remain conscious. Damien did not need to be hampered with her inert form. But the world around her became blurred and fuzzy.
She was not really aware of where they went or how long they rode as she slipped in and out of consciousness. Only Damien’s arm kept her on his horse. He had come for her. That was all that mattered.
They finally stopped before a tiny cottage. The horses were blowing heavily after their long, treacherous gallop through the dark. When Damien dismounted, Jessica flopped sideways from the horse. He caught her before she fell, and his hand slipped against her skin, wet and sticky.
“God’s teeth,” he muttered as he realized it was blood.
With his mouth in a grim line, he picked her up and carried her into the cottage. He placed her on the small cot in the single room. Pulling the cloak away from her shoulders, he saw the round, dark hole seeping blood where she’d been shot. He covered her with a blanket, then went to start a fire on the hearth. As he coaxed the kindling into flames, Leftenant Johnson entered after having secured their horses.
“We’ll have to stay here longer than I had planned,” Damien said. “Jessica has been shot. I want the others on lookout duty at the usual places.”
“They’re already posted,” Johnson said. “Is she hurt very badly?”
“She was hit in the shoulder. I think the ball is still in the wound. I couldn’t see very well.” Damien straightened. “I’ll need some water and something for bandages.”
As Johnson left to gather the supplies, Jessica moaned. Damien grabbed the lamp and hurried to her side. Her face was pale, and she shivered. As he tucked the blanket around her, his chest tightened. She was so small and delicate, yet she had pushed him out of the way of a bullet that might very well have killed him. He knelt down and smoothed back her curls, short now that Madame had cut her hair. They looped around his fingers in silky coils. He mourned the loss of her long tresses.
At his touch, her eyes fluttered open. They widened in panic, and she grabbed his coat.
“Madame has set a trap,” she said. “She means to capture you. Damien, you have to get away.”
Damien smiled soothingly, disengaged her fingers from the front of his coat and held her hand. “It’s all right, Jessica. We’re safe for now. Rest for a while.”
He placed a kiss on her fingers. With a nod and a sigh followed by a grimace of pain, she fell unconscious once more.
Johnson returned with a bucket of water and a handful of cloth strips. Damien helped him empty the bucket into a kettle hanging over the fire, then took him aside.
“We have to be away from here by dawn,” Damien said. “We’ll need a wagon to get Jessica to the coast. Have Higgins take one of the others and see what he can find. Tell them to be very careful. I’m sure Fouché will have patrols out all over the countryside. After you have spoken to Higgins, come back here. I’ll need your help.”
Johnson nodded briskly and left. Damien returned to the cot where Jessica lay. He unclasped the cloak from about her throat and pulled it off her shoulders. There was an ugly little hole where the ball had entered her soft flesh. It bled freely. He folded one of the cloth strips and pressed it against the wound, then tucked the blanket more securely around her. When he had finished, he put his hand to her cheek.
“Jessica,” he said softly.
Slowly, she opened eyes clouded with pain. She smiled weakly.
His thumb caressed her cheek. “Jessica, I have to remove the ball from your shoulder. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“It will hurt, love,” he said. “I’ll try to be careful.”
“I know you will.” Her words were infused with a confidence he did not feel.
He stood and scowled darkly at the wall before him. He was torn with guilt and apprehension, feelings which had never assailed him before. His guilt arose from his desperate desir
e to help the wounded girl who lay before him. She was a member of the family that had inflicted so much pain on his. Margaret’s evil seduction of his brother. His brother’s death in that God-forsaken duel. His mother’s devastation. If he’d had any sense of justice, he should not have followed her into France to save her. He should have let her go to whatever fate Madame du Barré had planned. Instead, he found himself aching with a need to heal her, to escape with her back to England. When he had seen her exhibited at the auction, naked before all those leering eyes, he had wanted to strangle every man there with his bare hands. But even in front of that salacious crowd, Jessica had stood brave and defiant. She was magnificent.
An unfamiliar apprehension swamped him. His responsibility was to get everyone safely out of France, but he felt very unsure about the outcome of this mission. He had never worried about such things before, assuming a favorable outcome for every assignment. He knew his talents and those of his men and used them accordingly. He had trained his men to be resourceful in an emergency. With Jessica injured, their progress to the coast would be slow, giving Fouché time to catch up to them. Resourcefulness could not make up for lost time. Since this slip of a girl had entered his life, he found he could not be sure of anything.
When Johnson returned to the cottage, Damien forced his dark thoughts aside and prepared to remove the ball from Jessica’s shoulder. As the Leftenant held a light, Damien cleaned the wound with the heated water. He could see the ball just below the surface of her skin. Fortunately, it had almost spent itself by the time it entered her shoulder. He held his knife in the fire to clean it. Then with Johnson holding her down, Damien pried the ball from her flesh. She cried out, stiffened against the pain, then lapsed back into unconsciousness. Damien pressed a pad of cloth against the sudden flow of blood from the wound, then washed and bandaged her shoulder tightly. He sat back on his heels, and let out his breath in a rush. Sensing Johnson’s concerned gaze, he frowned to cover his relief and stood.
“Have you checked our lookouts?” he asked, irritated that he had revealed his feelings about Jessica.
“If they see anything, they will report,” Johnson said with a shrug. “Why don’t you try to rest? You haven’t slept in two days. I can watch over Lady Jessica.”
Damien glared at him. Johnson grinned, reached into a pocket and pulled out a silver flask. As he tossed it to Damien, he said, “This might help your mood. Sir.”
Damien hissed out his exasperation at his friend and caught the flask in one hand. He sniffed its contents. The pungent scent of his best brandy assailed his nose. He poured a liberal amount on the bandage covering Jessica’s wound. As the alcohol painfully sterilized her wound, Jessica stiffened, mumbling gibberish in her unconscious state. Damien took a generous swallow, capped the flask, and tossed it back to Johnson.
“At least you’re good for something,” he grumbled. The brandy helped quell the anxiety that had assailed him since discovering Jessica’s wound.
At that moment, Walker burst into the cottage. “Sir!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “A patrol passed me on the road, headed this way.”
“We’ll have to move. Where is Higgins with that wagon?” he chafed.
As he spoke, he heard the sound of horses drawing a heavy vehicle. It was the distinct noise of a well-oiled coach, not the wagon they expected. It stopped before the cottage. At a flick of Damien’s hand, they quickly donned their masks, drew their pistols, and took up defensive positions. Johnson and Walker stood against the wall on either side of the door. Damien stood in the corner and guarded Jessica’s cot. The door creaked open, and a man filled the opening.
Chapter 16
Just as Johnson was about to bang the man on the head with the butt of his pistol, the intruder spoke. “I’ve found us some fancy transportation back to the coast, sir.”
“Higgins!” Damien exclaimed. “Next time, give us the warning call so we know it’s you. Let’s see this fancy transportation.”
He followed Higgins out the door. Sitting incongruously before the cottage was a very expensive coach and four. The coach door opened, and a portly gentleman descended with his hands held above his head. He was followed by young Wells who aimed a pistol at the man’s back.
“Good evening, sir.” Wells grinned. “This is Citizen Boudreau. He has graciously allowed us the use of his carriage this evening.”
Damien grinned and bowed before the man. “Citizen Boudreau, a pleasure to meet you, sir. Allow me to introduce myself.”
“I know who you are!” the man blurted. “You are Le Chat!”
Damien raised an amused eyebrow. “You know of me, then, monsieur?”
Monsieur Boudreau’s hands trembled. “I know nothing, monsieur,” he protested. “I am just a poor merchant. I will give you all the money I have with me.”
Damien looked askance at the elegant coach. “Just a poor merchant, monsieur? Then I must be a dear friend of Monsieur Fouché,” he said drily. “We do not want your money, monsieur. What we want is your carriage and your silence and your cooperation. Now, kindly get back into this fine conveyance. One of my men will wait with you so that you will not feel lonely.” As Boudreau turned away and climbed back inside, Damien winked and nodded his approval at Wells.
Higgins retrieved a bundle from under the driver’s seat and handed it to Damien. “We borrowed his footmen’s clothes, too, sir,” he said.
Damien smiled. “Nicely done, Higgins. You can do the honors and drive.”
As Higgins began changing his clothes, Damien gave orders to move out. He went back inside the cottage and strode to the cot. Jessica was still unconscious. When he put his hand on her forehead, he felt the hot, dry skin of a fever. He muttered a curse. He had to get her home quickly. After checking her shoulder to see that the bleeding had slowed, he wrapped her in another blanket, then doused the fire. His sharp gaze flicked around the space to be sure they’d left no evidence of their presence. Satisfied, he scooped Jessica up and carried her out to the carriage. He laid her on the empty seat with her head in his lap, then gave the word to leave. Johnson sat beside Monsieur Boudreau with his pistol pressed against the man’s side. Their passenger looked like he was about to be ill.
“Is there something wrong, monsieur?” Damien asked mildly.
“What did you do to her, you fiend?” the man demanded.
“Do, monsieur? I did nothing to her.”
The man gestured at Jessica’s unconscious body and stammered, “But-but…”
“She was shot, monsieur, and, I assure you, not by me.” Damien gave him a level stare.
“There was a rumor of a shooting at the auction, but I thought…” The man’s voice trailed off once again.
“Ah, you were at the auction this evening,” Damien said mildly.
Monsieur Boudreau looked frightened to death. Tiny beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He mopped his brow with a lace-edged handkerchief, nervously wiped the palms of his hands, then wiped his forehead a second time. Damien decided to give the fellow a little more to tell his friends.
“What were you doing at the auction, monsieur?” Damien asked. “I did not see you bid on any of the merchandise.”
Monsieur Boudreau’s eyes bulged. “W-well, I—I…he stammered.
“Yes?”
The man swallowed. “I just went to watch, monsieur,” he whined.
“To watch?” Damien repeated. The stiletto appeared in his hand. The blade caught a glint of moonlight as he leaned forward. “To watch whom?” he demanded.
“No one!” the man exclaimed, leaning as far back as the seat would allow. Then amending his lie, he said, “I mean, the girls. I went to watch the girls.” He gestured in Jessica’s direction.
Cold rage washed through Damien as he remembered that room full of men leering at Jessica. But he needed to be sure the man across from him was merely a bystander and not one of Fo
uché’s men.
“I think not,” he said. “I think you were there to catch a glimpse of Le Chat.”
“No! No, no. He shook his head vigorously as he kept his gaze on the knife. “Only the girls.” Then he pleaded, “Please, monsieur, I am a married man with children.”
Damien believed him. The man’s fear was too real. He needed to keep him afraid. He sat back and narrowed his eyes. “Then you should be home with them. I do not like others ogling my woman,” he said as he tightened his hold on Jessica. “I do not think I like you, Monsieur Boudreau.”
“But Monsieur Le Chat, I did not know she was yours,” the man tried to placate. “I only heard…” His voice trailed off with a squeak.
“What did you hear, monsieur?” Damien asked.
When the man did not answer immediately, Johnson nudged him in the ribs with the pistol. Monsieur Boudreau jumped.
Quickly, he answered, “Only that there was to be a special item at the auction tonight. That you would be there.” Fear made his jowls tremble.
Damien met Johnson’s eyes. Madame du Barré had been busy spreading her venom. “You would do well to stay home with your wife and children next time,” Damien said, his lips curled in disgust.
The portly man bobbed his head in vigorous agreement.
Damien turned away, ending the conversation. Eventually, their hostage fell asleep. In between his snores, Damien listened to Jessica’s irregular breathing. He had never felt so helpless and prayed they would reach the coast without mishap. But after they had traveled for quite some time, the coach slowed and stopped. Damien and Johnson exchanged worried glances. Johnson nudged their captive awake.
“Monsieur,” Damien said, “you will find out the cause of this delay and get rid of whoever has stopped this coach. Do not try anything foolish. Remember that my men are sitting above and will hear everything that is said. There will be a pistol trained on your back at all times. If there is any killing tonight, be assured that the first to die will be you.” He motioned for the gentleman to get out.
The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1 Page 20