Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3)

by Shirlee Busbee

  Still puzzled, Christopher demanded again, “Why me for such a task? I’m no diplomat, nor, might I add, have I ever displayed any tendency toward politics—and we’re strangers. Good God!” he exploded. “I could very well be a spy for the British!”

  “Are you?” Jason asked mildly.

  Throwing him a look of dislike, Christopher snapped, “Of course not! But you don’t know it, you only have my word that I’m not.”

  Jason smiled thinly. “But I do know, my friend. As I said a moment ago, I’m playing no game. And since the idea of sending someone to England occurred to me several months ago, I have been searching for a man I thought could handle the task.” Smoothly he went on, “I didn’t consider you at first—I’ll admit it. But you aroused my curiosity and for some months now I have had you closely watched.” Jason stopped, then said deliberately, “Captain Saber.”

  Christopher stiffened but gave no other sign that Savage’s words affected him. Exposure was a risk he had always run, but it was not a fatal risk. He would have preferred to keep his two lives separate, but there was no reason to panic because his secret had been discovered. It depended on what Savage intended to do with the knowledge. Somehow Christopher didn’t think he meant to turn him over to the authorities. Shrugging, he murmured, “Yes, I am Captain Saber—but I am no infamous pirate. Less honorable men than myself have taken to the high seas and called themselves privateers. What difference does it make?”

  Jason smiled with deep appreciation for Saxon’s arrogance. “Mon ami, you misunderstand me—I like a man of action. Your being Captain Saber interests me hardly at all. If I had discovered you were preying on American ships and were in fact a spy, as I first suspected, then this visit would never have occurred. May I be blunt?”

  Christopher snorted. “Haven’t you been?”

  “Perhaps. You asked why I have approached you and I will be honest. There is no one else. I have your measure, thanks to a an adept spy of my own. I know you have played at privateering, but that does not make me think less of you. I know also that you have no love of the British—despite being British yourself.”

  “Savage, I think we had better get one thing straight—I am not British and haven’t been since I was press-ganged into the British Navy almost fifteen years ago. I am American by choice.”

  “Very well, then. We agree. If you are as American as you say, I believe you would want to do something for her.” Jason paused, but seeing he had Saxon’s undivided attention, he continued, “This war of Mr. Madison’s is not going as was fondly foreseen, as you well know. If we are not careful, we shall end up being humiliatingly and soundly beaten. The great conquest of Canada that started this damned business is a disaster. The United States will be lucky if she can hold her own borders, much less gain an inch of Canadian land. How Madison could have been swayed by such war hawks as Henry Clay and John Calhoun, I cannot conceive. And anyone who thinks this damned war is being fought over the impressment of our seamen into the British Navy needs his head examined. It makes for an emotional issue, but it isn’t accomplishing a damned thing—it was an excuse to hide behind for the invasion of Canada. I wish to God—” Jason stopped in midsentence, aware that he had become unnecessarily impassioned. “Forgive me. I did not mean to treat you to my own personal views on this war. But what I have said is true and brings me to my point—this damnable action must be stopped as soon as possible. And I do not want to see New Orleans dragged into it.”

  Christopher, frowning in concentration and with one arm resting on the mantel, asked, “Do you believe the British will attack us? Granted they have an effective fleet harassing us in the Gulf, but the bulk of their troops, ships, and men are in the north.”

  “True. But remember, Napoleon suffered a shattering defeat at Leipzig in Germany in October and is retreating now from Moscow and suffering even further losses. From what reports I have received, he is in an unenviable position. The British field marshall, Wellington, crossed the Pyrenees into France months ago, and though the fighting is heavy, I have no doubt Wellington will carry the day. Once all of Napoleon’s forces have had their teeth pulled, nothing will stop the British from turning on us. The capture of New Orleans would strengthen their hand, and possibly strike a fatal blow to our country.”

  Jason ran one hand through his heavy black hair. “All my reports indicate that the British are preparing for a large attack, what they hope will be a surprise attack, somewhere in the southern United States. New Orleans has not been positively identified as that site, but logic tells me that our Creole Queen is indeed the city that the English hope to take.”

  Thoughtfully, Christopher picked up his brandy, having already decided he would go to England. Jason’s words and ideas about the present war coincided with his own, and he needed no convincing about the gravity of the situation. The Americans were being forced out of Fort George at the mouth of the Niagara; the British had burned the town of Newark and were continuing their advance on Fort Niagara, while their Indian allies were intent on plundering the town of Lewiston, New York. The news was all bad, despite Lieutenant—now Captain—Perry’s victory in gaining control of Lake Erie. There were too many fronts in this war. It was scattered from Canada to Florida, with skirmishes fought in a dozen places with no clear-cut victories or losses. The War of 1812 was turning into a purposeless and unrewarding fiasco.

  The news about a possible attack on New Orleans, though, jerked Christopher out of his acceptance of the war. And he found that he wished to do everything in his power to prevent such a happening. “If you want me to go to England, I will,” he said abruptly. “But I do not see how I can be of any great help to you. I was a boy when last there, and I have few if any sources that would be of use.”

  “I do not expect a miracle, my friend. I know you may discover nothing. I’m aware of the situation and I will not be able to open many doors for you—for obvious reasons.”

  Grimly Christopher inquired, “Your uncle?”

  Jason nodded. “You know my background? Or did you, as I suspected, overhear the conversation last night at the Governor’s Ball?”

  A grin passed over Christopher’s face. “You want a man with ears and wits about him, do you not?”

  “You see,” Jason said with amusement, “you are the man I need. But remember, you will be entirely on your own. There are certain people I can recommend that you see—but only between ourselves. My letters of introduction would do you more harm than good. If it were known we are acquainted, your every move would be suspect. As it is, you will have a very difficult time of it.”

  Christopher shrugged. “I’ll do what I can. But you must be more precise. What good will it do for me to discover that an attack is imminent without proof? How much proof do you need?”

  His fingers making a steeple, Jason stared at him before saying, “Your word alone will suffice.”

  At Christopher’s start of disbelief, Jason said, “All I need is something more tangible than rumors to lay before the military. I will vouch for you and without conceit I can assure you that they will take my word.” With a grimace Jason added, “And if a man of my choosing comes direct from England with word of an attack on the city, and they do not send us troops and supplies, I shall be at my wits’ end.” His voice hardening, he continued, “Governor Claiborne writes constantly requesting reinforcements but is ignored. That situation, in view of a probable attack, cannot be permitted to continue—hence, my proposition.”

  “Aren’t you taking a risky chance? How can you be certain I won’t betray you?”

  “You could. I may be taking a foolish chance. But I know your feeling for the British. I know, too, that you own lands here in Louisiana, lands I doubt you would like to see devastated by war. You had made a place for yourself here in New Orleans, even before the war started.”

  Christopher still looked skeptical. Jason smiled that very charming smile of his and said, “And there are times when I must trust my own instincts.”


  “How much time do I have before I must depart?”

  “I would prefer you to be on the next ship we can get out of port. But you must have a legitimate reason for returning to your homeland, or have you overlooked that fact?”

  Christopher pulled a face. “The thought had occurred to me, and I do have an idea that might work. The problem is time. I’ll need at least a month or two.”

  Frowning, Jason asked, “You realize that time is an important factor?”

  “I’m aware of that. But by the same token, nothing is going to be moving very fast this time of year and we know where the enemy is. You yourself admit that we don’t know for certain that New Orleans is their target. I would hazard a guess that, whatever is planned, nothing definite will be set in motion before the fall, and that assumes Napoleon is beaten on all fronts in Europe. Until he is contained or annihilated, the British and their allies have their hands more than full.” Christopher paused, convinced that despite Jason’s earlier words, he was on trial. Picking his way with care, he continued, “If you agree with my assessment of the situation, I think you’ll concede that as long as I arrive in England by the middle of April, I should have enough time to discover what is planned and to return ahead of the enemy. I’ll be cutting it fine, but without a very legitimate reason for returning to England, I am useless.”

  “Just what is this plan that takes two months to perfect?” Jason asked dryly.

  Christopher hesitated. It was a flimsy idea, but it was all he could think of, and it depended upon so many different things. Not the least, Mrs. Eggleston and Nick. And he didn’t like explaining himself to someone else.

  Jason guessed some of Christopher’s dilemma. After all, Christopher knew very little of him. And from what Jason knew of Saxon, Saxon was not a man used to answering to another.

  Having come to a decision, Christopher said, “Last night I met an old friend of mine, a Mrs. Eggleston.”

  “The governess to the Dumas girl?”

  Startled, Christopher stared at him—was there anything that Savage didn’t know? Nodding he admitted, “The same. Only when I knew her, she was living not far from my grandfather’s estate and was the wife of a retired colonel.”

  “So?”

  Keeping the facts to a bare minimum, Christopher explained about Nicole Ashford—leaving out their personal relationship.. But Jason caught the slight change of inflection in Christopher’s deep voice when the girl’s name was mentioned and drew his own conclusions—young Saxon wasn’t indifferent to the chit. But his words gave away little when he asked, “You think you can eradicate the last five years in a few months and have her presentable by March?”

  Christopher shrugged. “It shouldn’t be impossible. Her first thirteen years were like those of any other young lady, and Mrs. Eggleston will be up to smoothing off the rough edges.”

  “Well, we can only hope. I give you credit for quick thinking.”

  Christopher bowed. A smile hovering about his lips, he murmured, “Thank you. I trust you will find the remainder of my activities as satisfactory.”

  “Oh, I’m certain you’ll get the task done. I am not often wrong in my dealings with my fellowmen, and I don’t intend to be this time.”

  Christopher nodded. Jason rose from his chair and said, “We have covered the most important items in a remarkably short time. For the present, you will set about with your own plans, but keep me informed of any problems or setbacks. I will keep you abreast of any new developments that may necessitate our moving faster.”

  “Agreed. I’ll meet with Mrs. Eggleston as I planned on Wednesday, and depending on the outcome of that meeting, I shall be returning almost immediately to Thibodaux House.”

  After Jason had departed, Christopher roamed the library like a caged beast. At one point, he decided he must be the biggest fool alive to even consider becoming involved in such a scheme, but he knew it would put to rest the dissatisfaction that had been plaguing him, while allowing him to do something for this country that he had adopted—or that had adopted him, he thought wryly.

  Though he did not consider himself a patriot, New Orleans was his city. And he would hate for his lands to be destroyed by war. The thought of the British boot on Louisiana soil was intolerable and he would be damned if he would meekly stand by and let it happen. His plan to return the heiress Nicole Ashford to her rightful place was risky, but….

  Jason Savage, also pacing his own elegant library, was plagued by uncertainty. Saxon’s plan to return Nicole was admirable, but Jason saw several pitfalls. After staring at the fire for some time, he seated himself behind his desk and began to write to the secretary of state, James Monroe. It was a brief letter, and after rereading it, he sealed it. Christopher, he decided, need not be apprised of his action. If it came to nothing, it came to nothing; but if Monroe fell in with his suggestion, he would have something of value to offer the young man.

  Christopher, meanwhile, continued to view the plan from all angles. He distrusted it as much, if not more, than did Jason, but for the moment it was all he had.

  Nick would give him no trouble. Mrs. Eggleston should be willing to fall in with his idea, if she accepted the story he gave her. He could say nothing of his real reasons for wishing to return to England, nor could he tell her the truth about his relationship with Nicole.

  Seeing Mrs. Eggleston last night had been a shock. As a youth left often to his own devices by parents more concerned and involved with the antics of the ton than their own offspring, it had been to Mrs. Eggleston that he had turned, and she had provided the only deep affection he had ever known, except for his irascible grandfather. He had been barely in his teens when his parents had been killed in their coach as it hurtled over a cliff. That tragedy had made him cling even more to the warmth and sanity that she represented. Perhaps, he mused, if she hadn’t been away with the colonel that disastrous summer, he never would have fallen under Annabelle’s dark spell and his uncle would never have been able to trap him so neatly.

  It was unfortunate that he was going to trick Mrs. Eggleston, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that she would be much better off under his care than in her present situation.

  He was still turning over half-formed plans on Wednesday when he set out for his meeting with Mrs. Eggleston. They met in front of a well-known dressmaker’s shop, and after a little conversation, Christopher persuaded her to enter his carriage.

  He had concluded that he would wait to spring Nick’s presence on her. Once Mrs. Eggleston was under his protection, he could, he hoped, present a plausible story of why Nick was at his plantation, un-chaperoned, and why she had been with him for the past five years.

  Although he would admit to Mrs. Eggleston that he had done his share of privateering with Nick in tow, there was no need for her to know of his connection with Lafitte, or that he had sailed under the name of Captain Saber. No, there was no reason for him to divulge everything.

  He didn’t doubt his ability to carry it off; the real problem would be later, in convincing Mrs. Eggleston to agree to lie about her own activities these past five years and to say that she and Nicole had been together. His first step must be to pry Mrs. Eggleston out from under the thumb of Miss Leala Dumas. He had decided that he would offer her the protection of his home, her position being much that of a favorite aunt. In this he was sincere, and even if Jason Savage had not called, Christopher would not have allowed her present situation to continue.

  Now he would be able to use her dependent state, although, to give him credit, this was not what he had originally planned for her. Mrs. Eggleston would not be harmed in any way by the deception, and when it was complete, he would still see to her welfare. But first he must convince her that she was welcome under his roof.

  He presented the idea to her in the politest and most graceful way possible, and was so certain of success that he had planned to have her settled in his home on Dauphine Street that very evening. But he had not reckoned with Mrs. Eggleston�
��s gentle determination to make her own way.

  Her eyes filled with tears at his kind words, and a tremulous smile quivered on her lips. “So kind,” she whispered, but gathering her failing emotions she said, “I cannot, Christopher. It would not be convenable. Someday you may marry and come to regret this fine and noble gesture you make now. I have managed so far, and while some of my charges have been—” She hesitated before saying, “high-spirited, I contrive to make myself amenable to whatever fate sends me. I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice and saddle yourself with the care of one old woman. I have a little aside, and when the time comes that I can no longer find employment, I shall be able to keep myself, if not with the elegancies of life, at least with the necessities.”

  “And in the meantime,” he bit out, “you are at the beck and call of a supercilious young wench who is not worthy of sweeping the floor in front of you. By God, madame, I had thought better of you! Why must you act the drudge When I am offering you most sincerely a way of escape?”

  His plan aside, he was furious that she would not accept his help.

  “Such temper, Christopher!” she reproved. “I had hoped that you would outgrow it.”

  Nearly strangling on the hot words he longed to hurl at her small head, Christopher snapped his mouth shut. Controlling his temper with an effort, he said in carefully enunciated tones, “Madame, you are behaving in a most unreasonable manner! You are saying you would rather continue at the mercy of spoiled beauties and be tossed from pillar to post as they marry and you are again looking for employment. Is this your desire?”

  With a tremor of unease, she said, “Well, not precisely. I would love to have the charge of some dear little children and be able to stay in one family for the rest of my life.” She sighed. “But everyone wants young nannies—they say I am too old and perhaps they are right. You see, there is nothing left for me but to act as companion or governess. Miss Dumas is not dreadful, Christopher. I had been companion to an elderly French émigré lady in Canada, and she was a trifle wearing on my nerves.” Encouragingly she added, “Miss Dumas is an angel beside Madame Bovair,” innocently giving Christopher a clear picture of what must have been a hellish existence. Unaccountably moved, he concentrated on his horses, not trusting himself to speak. Mrs. Eggleston timidly laid a blue-veined hand on his arm and asked in a small voice, “You are not angry with me?”