“First room on the right,” Jasper said, hauling Pembroke up the stairs none too gently.
Alice opened the door and stepped inside. It was a small room with a bed in the corner and a chair in front of the fireplace. Jasper came in after her and unceremoniously dropped Pembroke on the bed.
“The fool had no idea he was being framed. Just sulked and pouted about being given the cut direct by his supposed friends.” He snorted in disgust. “All he cared about was himself.”
Alice looked at Pembroke, remembering his distress at the rumors besmirching his family name. “He was worried about losing his home and how the rumors were affecting his mother and sister,” she said softly. “Surely you can understand that.”
“No one cared about my mum or sister and how losing Freddie affected them.” Jasper snapped. “We didn't even have a body for a proper Christian burial. Now sit in the chair.”
Alice sat, watching warily as Jasper approached her while taking off his cravat. The gold buttons on the coat winked at her again. That's where she'd seen them before. In Pembroke's dressing room when they’d searched the pockets of his jacket. He obviously felt comfortable in his master’s clothing, and they were of a similar height and build.
“What do you plan to do with me?” she asked, trying to prolong the conversation, hoping he would feel comfortable enough to reveal his plans.
“I’m going to attend a very important meeting that will make me a rich man.” He went around the chair and yanked both arms painfully behind her. Using the cravat, he tied her wrists tightly. “When I’m through making Wellington’s spies pay, I’ll offer you and the earl to the French. Everyone in Britain will think you’ve run off together. I’m sure the French could find a use for a duke’s daughter who has shamed herself by spying, and a useless English noble.” He laughed cruelly. “You know, maybe the French had the right of it in getting rid of all the nobility.”
Alice bowed her head and sniffed as if she were fighting back tears. Jasper pulled on the knot before he straightened. “Now use the manners that every gently bred lady is taught and sit here quietly until I come for you.”
Alice didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes dutifully on the floor until the door was closed and she heard it lock behind him. Then she started working on her bindings. One thing she’d practiced relentlessly had been escaping any sort of bonds. Her father had made it a game to tie her hands in exotic knots as well as serviceable ones, and, while some had taken longer to get free from than others, she’d always managed it. One more talent she could never divulge to her friends.
Pulling her shoulders back, she tried to feel the shape of the knot Jasper had tied. This one was complicated, but she was confident it wouldn’t take long before she was free. She had to get to that parlor.
Pulling and pushing the sides of the knot, testing what tightened and what loosened with each action was painstaking work. Feeling the knots coming loose under her fingers brought a satisfied smile to her face, but getting out of the bindings had still taken a little longer than she had anticipated. She breathed a relieved sigh when she was finally free.
Stretching her fingers and rolling her wrists, she stood and looked over at Pembroke. He had stopped moaning and was now snoring on the bed. There would be no help from him. She was on her own.
Pressing her ear to the door, Alice didn’t hear anything from outside. With a pat of the back of her hair, she took two hairpins out, then fashioned one into an L-shape and used the other as a straight pick. The lock gave way easily and Alice slowly opened the door. The corridor was empty.
Her slippers were quiet on the wood floor, but she still tiptoed to the front of the parlor doors. The voices inside were soft, but one was unmistakably French. The exchange had begun.
Alice took a deep breath. Surely her father and Christian had noticed her absence by now. They would be looking for her, and hopefully the groom or one of the agents could give them clues as to where she’d been taken. Holding onto that hope, she moved forward.
Just stall the proceedings until they get here, she told herself.
Taking a breath, she decided to play the role of a jealous mistress. Hopefully she could keep up the ruse long enough for her father and Christian to arrive. With one last exhale, she quietly opened the door to the parlor.
Both men turned at her entrance. Jasper’s eyes narrowed, and he started toward her. She moved out of his reach toward the Frenchman. “Don’t come near me,” she warned Jasper. “You’re nothing but an oath-breaker.”
“What is the meaning of this?” the Frenchman said, motioning toward her. He looked like a dandy, with lace cuffs and a cravat that boasted an emerald stickpin.
Alice turned to address him. “I came to tell you, monsieur, that you have been betrayed. Jasper has told the English that you are here, and they are coming to arrest you. After your exchange, he means to ply you with food and wine until they arrive.” Alice looked directly at Jasper. “He is a greedy man with his women and his ways. The English pay well.” She gave a delicate shrug.
Jasper’s jaw went slack and he sputtered in shock. “She’s lying! She’s one of them spies. Her name is on the list. You can read it on the first page.”
“Why would you tell me of his plan, mon petite?” The Frenchman moved closer to her, but she stayed just out of his reach. “Though if what he says is true, the English have improved the ranks of their spies.” He gave her an appreciative glance.
Brushing her hands down her hips, she hoped to distract him enough that he wouldn’t think too closely about her words. “I’m an abigail for the daughter of the house, and Jasper caught my eye.” She lowered her gaze to the floor. “I allowed him a few liberties, and for the last few months he’s written me poetry and given me gifts of fine clothing. He promised to marry me and spirit me away, but instead, he played me for the fool.” She glared at Jasper and didn’t have to put on act of anger toward him. It was all too real. “Now I find out he has given two maids the same promises.”
Jasper’s face was red, as if he were about to have an apoplexy. “She’s lying. Look at her. She’s not a servant!”
She drew herself up to her full height and shook her finger in Jasper’s direction. “I am what you made me― a scorned woman!”
The Frenchman looked between them, putting a finger underneath his chin. “I cannot decide which one of you is lying, so I will take my leave since our business is concluded.”
Alice nearly gasped at his words. He already had the list! She couldn’t let him go now.
She watched him move toward the door, and pulled her dagger out, but before she could do anything, Jasper was shaking his head and blocking the Frenchman’s way. “I need to make sure all the money is accounted for, Dubois. You’re not leaving until I do.”
Dubois rolled his eyes. “Ah. You English have such terrible manners. You can count it after I leave.”
“No.” Jasper pointed his gun toward Dubois’s abdomen. “You’ll wait. I’ll not be cheated by you.”
In the blink of an eye, Dubois had pinned Jasper to the wall and pounded his head into it until the man slumped to the ground unconscious. Dubois wasn’t large, but he was obviously powerful. Alice wouldn’t underestimate him.
He straightened his lace cuff. “I must say au revoir, my lady,” he told her with a shrewd glance. “Unless you have something else to offer me?”
“I’m afraid I need the list in your possession,” she said firmly, holding her dagger in her hand. Not taking her eyes off him, she pressed her lips together, sizing him up. He was a little taller than her, lean, but sure of himself. That could work to her advantage. “I can’t let you leave with it.”
He glanced at the dagger and let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Cherie, I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. I was moved by your story of broken promises, but they were lies. Now I see that you are, in fact, are a very beautiful spy. Sadly, one that will die tonight.” Pulling his own dagger from his boot, he slowly moved toward he
r, shaking his head. “I will have you know I won’t enjoy this.”
“But I will.” Her grip on her knife was loose, but ready.
This was it.
His dagger was slightly larger than hers, but that wasn’t what mattered. Knife-fighting was about speed and disabling one’s opponent as quickly as possible. Alice’s heart pounded so hard in her veins that blood was rushing through her ears, making it hard to hear.
Focus. Breathe.
She stayed on the balls of her feet as they circled each other warily. The blade was above her thumb, shining in the firelight. Alice calmed her mind, keeping to her fencing stance, concentrating entirely on Dubois. Her father’s words echoed through her head. “Aim to slice a large muscle to immobilize. Keep your defenses up.”
Dubois feinted toward one side, but Alice matched his steps. Her skirts were a nuisance, but she didn’t have an extra hand to use to sweep them up. He lunged forward and Alice quickly sidestepped him, but had the presence of mind to slice her knife through the air. She made contact.
He drew his forearm back with a hiss, his eyes wide that she’d drawn blood first. “You've been trained well.”
Alice didn’t acknowledge his words. They were still doing a strange dance, moving in a half-circle, staying the same distance apart. Alice had the added difficulty of not tripping over Jasper’s inert form or her gown.
Seeing her dilemma, Dubois’s gaze was distracted and drawn to her feet for a moment. Seizing the opportunity, Alice lunged forward, slashing his thigh. The razor- sharp dagger pierced through fabric and skin, leaving a large gash in his breeches. Blood rushed from the wound.
“Sacre bleu!” he muttered, stumbling toward her.
She tried to move back, but Jasper’s body didn’t give her any space. With her attention diverted, Dubois was on her in a trice, slashing at her right shoulder.
Alice gasped. Pain seared through her and she nearly dropped her dagger, but instead, she gripped it tightly, swept her arm in a small arc for momentum, and plunged her knife into his side.
He groaned and fell to the ground near Dubois. Struggling to rise, he was moving toward the door when Alice grabbed his hair and held her blade to his throat. “It's over,” she said, breathing heavily. “Give me your weapon, or I’ll finish what I’ve started.”
His dagger clattered to the floor. “I never thought an English woman would be talented with a blade.”
She kicked his dagger away, keeping her weapon pressed to his pulse. “The French usually underestimate the English. Now, kneel.” She stayed behind him, with her blade pressed to the artery in his neck― an uncomfortable reminder that with a flick of her wrist, his blood would be all over the floor.
“I’ll take that list now. And then you have an appointment. With the British Foreign Office.” She couldn’t reach into his jacket pocket and get it herself. Her own blood was trickling down her arm, and she didn’t know if she had enough strength to reach for it. She hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff.
“You’ll have to take it from me,” the Frenchman said. “With the honor I have left, I will not freely give it to you.”
She bent close to his ear, the smell of wine and blood permeating his clothing. “You will have everything taken from you. Your name, your operation, everything that identifies you will be made known to the British. But your honor will not be taken.” She shook her head. “We can’t take what you never had.”
The dagger tip pressed deeper into his skin and a drop of blood fell and trickled down his neck. She held his life in her hands. But she would not end it.
Because she knew what true honor was.
Chapter Sixteen
CHRISTIAN RODE NECK-for-nothing to get to the Rose and Crown. Just before he reached the general vicinity, he slowed down. He couldn’t ride in there lathered and spent. He had to be smart and think through the consequences of his actions. He didn’t want to do anything to endanger Alice further.
As he approached the courtyard, a boy around the age of ten came out of the stables, rubbing his eyes as if he’d just woken up. “Can I ’elp you, milord?”
“If you rub get my horse some water and walk him around the courtyard until I get back, there’s a crown in it for you,” Christian said as he dismounted.
The boy’s eyes widened. “Yes, milord.” He took the reins and patted Prince’s nose. “Come with me,” he told the horse as he walked away.
Christian took stock of the courtyard and was relieved when he saw the Pembroke carriage in the far corner. That likely meant Alice was still here. Christian took a deep breath to calm his pulse. Looking closer, he could see the coachman leaning against the carriage, taking a drink from a flask. Christian walked over. He wanted some answers.
The coachman eyed him as he got closer, wiping his lips on his sleeve. “Have you come for the lady?” he asked without preamble.
Christian covered his surprise at the coachman’s bluntness. “Yes.” He stood in front of the man and folded his arms. “What can you tell me about what’s happened?”
The coachman turned his head and spit in the dirt beside them. “That valet, Jasper is his name, has been ordering everyone around, acting like he’s Quality and not a servant like the rest of us. Came to me with some faradiddle about Lady Alice trying to spare the earl embarrassment by bringing him here to sober up.” He barked out a laugh. “Like a duke’s daughter would be going to an inn during her own party. And without her maid!” The coachman looked at Christian. “I thought it all a bit havey-cavey and made sure that groom in the duke’s stables heard where we were going. I was hoping someone would come for the lady.”
Christian inclined his head. “You have my thanks. How long have they been inside?”
“Not long, but you’d best hurry.” The coachman took another swig from his flask. “Lady Alice is known for her kindness to everyone, no matter what their class. I’d hate to see her hurt in any way.”
Christian took his leave, turning on his heel to walk toward the entrance of the inn. With a glance in the downstairs windows, he didn’t see anyone resembling Alice. His gut clenched and the feeling he needed to hurry intensified. He ran a hand through his windblown hair, trying to figure out the best way to find her. If he burst inside, that might call undue attention to himself and put Alice in more danger by forcing Jasper into a standoff.
No, he’d go around to the back.
Creeping around the side of the inn, the moon gave off barely enough light to make out the shadow of the back entrance. Opening the door, he slipped inside and found himself in a small hallway between the kitchen and the common room. A staircase was across the way. Just as he moved toward the stairs, a large man pushed through the kitchen door and nearly barreled into him.
The man stumbled back and let out a frustrated grunt, “What the―” he started, before he looked at Christian. Quickly schooling his face into a pleasant expression, he wiped his hands on his apron. “My lord, what can I do for you? I’m afraid the rooms are full for this evening, but I can offer you a warm lamb stew.”
He turned toward the light and smiled. Christian froze at the sight. Tall. Blonde. A longish nose. This man could nearly be the valet’s twin.
That’s why Jasper had chosen this inn as the exchange place. He had relatives here. Ones that would help him.
Christian grabbed the man’s shirtfront and slammed him against the wall. “You so closely resemble the Earl of Pembroke’s valet, that I can only assume you are an accomplice to his plans. Treason is a hanging offense, if you didn’t know. And I will make sure you hang right next to him.” He let the man go, but stayed close. “Where did he take her?”
The inn owner held his neck, gaping at Christian. “Jasper took them upstairs. First door on the right,” he said, his voice trembling. “But I haven’t done anything worth hanging over. I only provided a room and a parlor. No harm in that.”
“You can state your case to the magistrate.” Christian turned and took the stairs two at a time. He
carefully opened the first door on the right. As he walked in, he noted the empty chair by the fireplace and an unconscious Pembroke on the bed. Walking closer, he stood over Pembroke’s pale form. Had they left him for dead?
He had to find Alice.
Walking back into the hall, Christian went next door to the adjoining parlor. The door was closed. Christian tried to push open it open, but something heavy was blocking the other side. Throwing his shoulder into it, he finally pried the door open enough that he could get in. Stepping over the valet’s unconscious form lying in front of the door, he turned his attention to the other two people in the room.
And for the first time since Alice had disappeared, he smiled.
She had the Frenchman on his knees, her dagger to his throat. “About time you arrived,” she said, breathing heavily. “He has the list in his pocket.”
Christian hurried forward, reaching into the man’s jacket pocket and taking the list out. After a cursory glance at it, he tucked it into his own pocket. Once it was safely in his possession, he drew the Frenchman to his feet.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked, looking Alice over from head to toe.
“I’m fine,” she said, but blood on her arm belied her words. Her gaze followed his as she looked down at the wound. “It’s a scratch.”
Christian looked her arm and torn dress. Anger fired through his veins. He twisted the Frenchman’s wrist behind his back until he cried out in pain. “If I didn’t know what was already in store for you, I’d kill you myself,” he said in the man’s ear.
“I’m afraid the lady already has,” the Frenchman moaned as the blood from his leg wound dripped on the floor. “You will be spared the privilege of hanging me.”
“You won’t die that easily, monsieur.” The Duke of Huntingdon and two other agents walked through the door, inching the valet’s body farther into the room. The duke looked down at Jasper, then up at Alice and Christian as he took in the scene. “Dubois. Let me properly welcome you to British soil. I never thought to see you so far from your master’s side. It will be an honor to bring the first lieutenant of the French secret police to my superiors.”
The Marquess Meets His Match Page 13