Johnson carefully looked out and reported on what was taking place. “A patrol. I can see five, no, six men. Boudreau is talking to them. They seem to be accepting what he is saying. He’s coming back. The patrol isn’t leaving.”
Monsieur Boudreau opened the door and stepped into the coach. He wiped his brow with his damp handkerchief.
“The sergeant insisted on accompanying me to my home,” he told Damien. “He said the notorious bandit, Le Chat, was in this area, and it was not safe to be out alone.”
Damien smiled widely, appreciating the irony of the situation. “I am glad he was so solicitous of your welfare, monsieur. A shame he will never know that he escorted Le Chat to safety. Is there a house close by?”
Boudreau looked out the window. “I think there is one about a mile up the road.”
“Good. We will pretend it is yours.”
Damien communicated the plan to Higgins through the little door in the ceiling. He prayed that one of the soldiers did not look inside the coach before he could be rid of them. Relief washed through him when Higgins turned into a drive.
“Thank the soldiers, monsieur,” Damien instructed their prisoner. “Do it quickly and get rid of them.”
Monsieur Boudreau stuck his head out of the coach and called his thanks to the patrol as Higgins drove slowly down the long lane, then stopped around a curve. They waited tensely for the soldiers to leave. Finally, he turned the coach about, and they continued on their journey.
They halted at dawn in a small field beside the road where a stream meandered through the grass. They were able to refresh themselves and water the horses. Jessica was still unconscious, and her fever had risen. Her skin was hot and dry to the touch. Damien bathed her face with cool water and forced a few drops through her cracked lips. Her eyes opened, and she stared up at him. They were glazed from the fever and an incredible, bright blue.
She reached up and touched his cheek. “Damien,” she sighed. “Don’t let our baby die. Please.” She closed her eyes and a tear slipped out from beneath her lashes.
Damien gently pushed her hair away from her face. “The baby won’t die, Jessica. I promise.”
She sighed and fell asleep.
Damien sat back on his heels. A child? He should have known she would conceive. She’d been a maiden and had no knowledge of the ways to prevent conception as his mistresses had. He shook his head at his lack of foresight, at his stupidity. As he caressed her face, he knew her naïveté did not matter. He’d wanted her from the moment he saw her at the gaming hell.
The impact of this news hit him like a blow from a sledge hammer. He could not catch his breath. God’s teeth, everything was different now.
She was with child… The daughter of the man who shot and killed his brother carried Damien’s unborn child in her womb. He dragged air into his lungs and shook his head at the insanity of it. But he could not dwell on that now. He had to get them out of France.
He pushed all other thoughts out of his mind as he inspected her shoulder. The bleeding had almost stopped. After washing the wound, he changed the bandage, then gathered everyone together. They had to move on. Until they reached the coast, they would not be safe.
By late afternoon, they sighted the English Channel. It was a relief for everyone. They were all exhausted, and Monsieur Boudreau’s whining and complaining grated on everyone’s frazzled nerves.
They waited at the edge of the beach for Walker who had been riding several minutes behind the coach with the horses. Damien shifted Jessica off his lap and onto the seat, then he climbed down to reassure himself that all was well. He scanned the area. The beach was empty, and the woods and fields in the other direction seemed quiet. Their small bark was anchored several yards out from shore, just where they’d left it. As he walked to the water’s edge, Higgins and Wells disappeared into the woods to attend to nature’s call.
Damien watched the bark rise and fall gently on the swells. A sense of urgency flowed through him. They would not be safe until they were on board and sailing away from shore. Jessica’s life and that of his unborn child depended on him. He swallowed, not wanting to think about what that meant.
A sound from behind made him swing about. He cursed. Their luck had run out. Madame du Barré sat atop the dunes on a horse surrounded by eight soldiers. They each held a rifle aimed at him. Two more soldiers were on each side of the coach, and they also had guns trained on the occupants inside. Damien glanced quickly towards the woods where Higgins and Wells had disappeared, but there was no sign of them. Walker had not yet arrived. Madame rode onto the beach followed by the soldiers.
Hiding his apprehension, Damien strolled toward the woman and bowed. “Good afternoon, Madame.” He flashed a grin. “Did you come to see us off on our voyage?”
She laughed lightly. “You are a brazen rogue, Monsieur Le Chat. Always ready with the quick wit, eh? But I do not think you will be taking any voyages for a long time. As you can see, you are greatly outnumbered. I believe you have used up all of your nine lives.”
Damien grinned. “Do not be so sure, Madame. Did you know that this spot is called Witch’s Cove? Witches are known to have supernatural powers and are always associated with cats.” As he spoke, he moved closer to her horse.
“Stay where you are, monsieur,” she warned. “These men will get very nervous if you come any closer.”
As she finished speaking, an eerie wail came out of the woods. It ended in unearthly laughter. The horses shied and pranced nervously. The soldiers fought to keep them still and exchanged frightened, worried glances.
“You will not fool me with your tricks, Monsieur Le Chat,” she said sternly.
“Tricks, Madame?” he queried. “I have used no tricks. You have watched me. I have been standing here before you in full view.”
As he spoke his last word, the sound of many horses came from the woods. They thundered across the ground, sounding as if they would burst out of the woods in a huge herd. The soldiers with Madame tensed, shifting their rifles toward the woods as they prepared for a large group of riders to emerge, but none appeared. Then, as suddenly as the sound had begun, it stopped. There was no fading of the sound into the distance, it merely ceased. There was deathly silence. Even the waves crashing on the beach seemed muted.
“Ghosts!” one of the younger soldiers exclaimed.
“Witches,” another mumbled.
“Captain contain your men,” Madame ordered to the officer beside her without taking her eyes from Damien.
Before the captain could open his mouth, the spectral laughter sounded again from the woods. Two of the soldiers crossed themselves, turned their horses, and bolted. Damien raised an amused eyebrow at Madame.
“Hold steady, men,” the captain commanded.
“What are those noises, sir?” a very young soldier questioned.
“Quiet, soldier!” the captain barked.
Three huge, black crows flew up out of the trees, circled, and, cawing loudly, swooped past the group on the beach.
“Mother of God,” one of the soldiers who was guarding the carriage mumbled. “Witch’s messengers.” He dropped his rifle and galloped away, followed by two more men.
As the remaining three soldiers and Madame were distracted by the commotion, Damien dug the toe of his boot into the sand and flung it up in front of Madame’s horse. The animal reared in fright. Madame fought for control, but without success and toppled off the horse. In a flash, Damien dropped to one knee beside her and held his stiletto to her throat. “If you do not wish to see this woman’s throat slashed, gentlemen, I suggest you retreat back to Paris.”
“Shoot him!” Madame screamed.
“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Madame,” the captain told her with regret. “I have received other orders from Monsieur Fouché.” He turned to Damien. “You win this time, monsieur. You are fortunate that Madame
du Barré has outlived her usefulness.” He saluted and rode off with the remainder of his men close behind.
“Cowards! Fools!” Madame screamed after them. “You will live to regret this!”
Damien smiled coldly down at his captive. “I think, rather, it is you who will live to regret your actions, Madame.”
He stood and dragged the woman up with him. Whistling sharply, he waited as Higgins, Wells, and Walker emerged from the woods with the horses. Madame glared at Damien at the appearance of his men.
“You have not won yet, Monsieur Le Chat,” she spat at him. “You will never see me go to trial.”
Unmoved by her threat, Damien turned to his men with a smile. “Excellent evil spirits, gentlemen.”
“I thought the crows were a nice touch.” Higgins grinned.
Damien chuckled as he handed Madame over to the Sergeant. “Higgins, tie her up. Wells, tie up Monsieur Boudreau and start his coach back on the road to Paris. Someone is sure to find him sooner or later. The rest of you, get the horses aboard our ship. Make haste, gentlemen.”
He strode to the coach and checked inside. Jessica was mumbling in her delirium. Johnson was holding her on the seat of the carriage with one hand, and with the other, he pointed his pistol at Monsieur Boudreau. Damien gathered Jessica into his arms and carried her out to the boat. His men would see to the rest. His first concern now was the courageous, wounded woman in his arms.
Half an hour later, relief washed over Damien as he watched the shoreline of France recede in the distance. This would be his final mission as Le Chat. It had nearly cost his men their lives, and it could still snuff out Jessica’s. The thought of losing her made his chest constrict. Determined to do everything he could to keep her alive, he turned with resolute steps away from the ship’s rail to tend the sick girl who lay in a bunk below.
Chapter 17
When Jessica opened her eyes, she found herself in a soft bed in her room in Damien’s house. For a moment she thought she must be dreaming. Then she felt the tickle of a spring breeze on her cheek and she understood. Damien had succeeded. He’d rescued her and brought her safely home. Relief washed through her, followed immediately by apprehension. Was he angry with her for escaping him and forcing him to cross into France to come after her?
She was too tired to worry and felt strangely weak. She tried to move, but a sharp sting in her shoulder and tight bandages restricted her. Memories flashed through her head—the shooting, Damien and his men taking her to a small cottage, a wild ride to the ship. A rustle from the corner of the room drew her attention. She watched with trepidation as the Duchess of Wyndham approached.
“I am glad to see that you are awake, Jessica,” she said gently. “You had us all quite worried. You were very ill when Damien brought you home.”
“I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble, Your Grace,” Jessica murmured.
She was ashamed that this woman, whom her family had caused so much suffering, had taken her into her home and cared for her. Struggling, she sat up.
“Please, don’t move,” the Duchess said. “You will open your wound and make it bleed.”
“But—” Jessica began.
“Shh. Lie still,” the Duchess ordered as she helped her lie back down. “It is no inconvenience to have you here. I would not have forgiven my son if he had not brought you here to recover. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, a little,” Jessica admitted.
“Good. That is a good sign. I will have Aggie make up a tray for you. Now, stay there and rest. Donny will be back soon to sit with you.”
With a smile, she left the room. Jessica mused over the kindness of the Duchess. The woman seemed sincere in her concern, yet Jessica felt uneasy. She had been the victim of two other women who had appeared kind at first before revealing their true natures. She didn’t think Damien’s mother was like Margaret or Madame du Barré, but she was wary just the same.
Her musings took a different route as she wondered where Damien might be. He was probably quite happy to relinquish his care of her. She was surprised she wasn’t in a prison cell, although she supposed not even Damien would have locked up a wounded person.
Through the open window, she heard a horse and rider arrive. Damien’s voice drifted up to her as he spoke to one of the grooms. He sounded energetic and well rested. She hoped he would be lenient with her. She was still under arrest after all. Perhaps he would be kind enough to bring Jason to see her. She missed her brother terribly. She had no idea what would become of her now. With no means of gambling to earn the monthly payment for Margaret, she was doomed. Bleakly, she took a deep breath and winced at the ache in her shoulder. She would have to figure something out, otherwise Margaret would never allow her to see her brother again.
The door opened, and Donny entered with a tray. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she tried to hide a smile. “I see ye finally decided to wake up,” she grumbled. “‘Tis bad enough ye try t’escape, but then t’get yerself shot on top of it…” Her voice trailed off in an unspoken accusation as she shook her head. She helped Jessica prop herself up, then placed the tray across her lap. “Had us all worried to death, ye did. An’ His Grace havin’ t’go t’France after ye.”
“He doesn’t seem any worse for the adventure,” Jessica observed wryly as Donny lifted a spoon to her lips. She swallowed the delicious meat broth, already feeling stronger. “I just heard him arrive home, and he sounded very fit, as if he’d had a wonderful night’s sleep.
“Aye, and that he has.” Donny nodded, scooping up another spoonful of soup for Jessica. “The first in six nights. Yer fever broke last night, and he finally left yer side and went t’his bed t’sleep. Wouldn’t leave ye no matter how much Her Grace asked.”
Astonished, Jessica gaped at Donny. She didn’t know which shocked her more, that she’d been unconscious for six days or that Damien had remained with her the whole time she’d been ill.
She was not about to reveal where her thoughts traveled. Instead, she asked, “Did you say he hadn’t slept in six days?”
“Aye, brought ye here six days ago, he did, not lookin’ much better than ye did.”
Jessica closed her eyes, her hand moving to her abdomen.
“The babe is all right,” Donny whispered, laying her hand on Jessica’s cheek. “The doctor examined ye.”
Jessica opened teary eyes and nodded her thanks.
“Eat yer broth.” Donny said gruffly as she spooned up another mouthful for Jessica.
Jessica grinned at Donny’s tone. The woman’s rough bluster was merely a ruse, hiding a heart of gold. She finished most of the thick broth that Donny had brought, and then with Donny’s assistance, she settled back into the pillows and fell into a deep, healing sleep.
For the next three days, Jessica slowly regained her strength. Donny remained with her most of the time, and the Duchess visited her often. But Damien was conspicuously absent. Several times Jessica heard him arriving or leaving. She heard his footsteps in the hall, but he made no effort to visit her.
He would probably be very relieved when she was strong enough to leave. Although she had no idea where she would be taken, she was quite certain that Damien wanted her gone. After all, he’d made his feelings for her quite apparent before she’d been captured by Madame.
On the fourth day of her convalescence, Donny and a new maid, Frannie, helped her out of bed to bathe and dress. Donny had quietly told her that Lucy had been let go for being a part of Madame’s conspiracy. Jessica felt badly for Lucy, for she had liked her.
She felt remarkably better after her bath and with Donny’s help, ventured downstairs for a stroll. She couldn’t help but notice that her guards had completely disappeared, and she assumed that Damien counted on her weakened condition to keep her close to the house.
During the next few days, she never encountered the master of the house. He was either o
ut, or sequestered in his study. Two nights later, quite late, she thought she heard him stop outside her door, but she could not be sure.
Throughout her recovery, Jessica had done a lot of thinking and had come to a decision regarding her future. Of course, her future depended on what Damien and the courts decided to do with her, but if she were found innocent, she had a plan. She contemplated telling Damien about the baby, but then rejected that notion. She would not take his pity. She would approach another gaming hell and use her notoriety as her way in. The cost would be high. She was not the innocent fool she’d once been. Her reputation was ruined and without a protector like Madame, she would have to figure out a way to keep the men at bay while earning Margaret’s payment. Perhaps she could hire a private guard. Maybe one of Damien’s men would consider it. She would have to raise some funds first. But that required a trip to a gaming hell. The thoughts circled in a dizzying puzzle.
A week after she had risen from her sick bed, as she stepped from her bath, a knock came at her door. It swung open before Donny could answer it. Donny jumped to stand in front of Jessica to hide her nakedness, while Jessica clutched a towel to cover herself.
Damien, looking relaxed and rather pleased with himself, stood in the open doorway.
“Yer Grace!” Donny gasped in shock. “M’lady is bathing.”
Totally unruffled, Damien’s gaze swept past Donny to rest with obvious pleasure on Jessica. He smiled lazily. “I would not deem it improper to pay my respects to my fiancée.”
Jessica’s mouth dropped open. Moments passed before she was able to squeak, “Fiancée?”
“Yes, my love,” Damien said, appearing to enjoy the effect of his words. “Fiancée: that term which is applied to one betrothed to be married.”
“Married?” Jessica squeaked again.
“Married,” Damien echoed with a nod. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. “I believe it’s customary for a couple to marry who are to be parents. Don’t you agree?” When Jessica continued to gape at him, he went on, “Is it not your wish to have a legitimate father for the babe?”
The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1 Page 21