The Marquess Meets His Match

by Julie Coulter Bellon

  “Dubois hasn’t said a word, and the doctor doesn't think he's going to live much longer. He can't seem to stop the bleeding no matter what he does.” The duke rubbed a hand over his face. “Dubois is the first lieutenant to the French secret police. For him to die on British soil . . . well, there would be repercussions in the intelligence community. Possible retaliation.”

  Christian looked at the locked door in front of them. Did Dubois know he was dying? “May I question him?”

  “Yes.” The duke raised his hand and motioned toward the door. “If nothing else, you can sit with him. Perhaps the closer he gets to taking his last breath, the more likely he’ll be to tell us why he risked coming here for that list.”

  Christian eased his chair back and stood. The man behind that door could very well have held the lives of dozens of British agents in his hands if Alice hadn’t stopped him. Rubbing his hands together at the thought, Christian stepped toward the chamber. He wanted to know why. Hadn’t enough lives been given during the war? When would it stop?

  Opening the door, he stepped into the darkened room that was only illuminated by a torch on the wall and a candle on a small night table. Dubois was lying on a stone slab that the priests must have used for a bed in centuries past. It didn’t look comfortable, though he’d been given a pillow and a blanket. His upper torso was bare with a bandage covering his ribcage. His legs were covered by the blanket, but Christian assumed his thigh wound had been bandaged as well. From the rigid way Dubois was holding himself, he was in a great deal of pain.

  “Hello, Dubois,” Christian said as he advanced into the room and took a seat in the chair next to the makeshift bed.

  “I’m so surprised to see you, monsieur. I was under the impression British agents were hiding behind the skirts of women these days.” His voice was weak, but clear. Dubois turned his dark eyes on Christian. “Or have you brought the lady with you? I admit, I might answer any questions she had for me.”

  Christian let the words wash over him. Dubois was obviously trying to get a rise out of him by mentioning Alice. “She’s already bested you once tonight. I thought to save your pride.”

  Dubois gave a slight chuckle before dissolving into a coughing fit. Wincing, he cleared his throat and managed to say, “The beauty does have some bite. I underestimated her. How is her wound?” He glanced shrewdly at Christian.

  “Barely more than a scratch. I doubt she will even have a scar. Which is more than I can say for you.” Christian tsked. “You’re not looking well at all.”

  “Yes, your little girl playing at the spy game was lucky tonight.” He leaned his head forward. “She won’t last long in this business. Women never do. They have to make too many compromises that eat at their souls. Men are better at hiding in the darkness.”

  “Sometimes the darkness catches up with us.” Christian shifted forward. “With a position such as yours, I’m surprised you came here personally to retrieve an unsubstantiated list of possible British agents. Why not send one of your men?”

  “Ah, the questioning begins.” Dubois coughed again. “But I find I feel like chatting with you a while longer.” He winced again as he tried to turn on his side and face Christian. “Now that Napoleon has been defeated, there are many who are reaching for power. Having leverage, knowing secrets, seems to be the best way to gain that power. A list like that could give us an advantage in working behind the scenes to come to an accord with the British.”

  That made sense. Jockeying for position could be greatly enhanced through blackmail. “Would you have used the list for your own gain, then?”

  A ghost of a smile crossed Dubois’ face. “Ah, you are so much smarter than I first thought.”

  “That’s why you came alone. You don’t want anyone to know.” Christian leaned back in his chair.

  “That list could have led to many more secrets, you see. British intelligence agents undoubtedly have French contacts who are betraying their country. Once they have been ferreted out, I could use them to further my own aspirations.” He glanced down at his legs. “But alas, nothing went as planned.”

  Because of Alice’s bravery.

  “It almost did,” Christian pointed out. Dubois’ face was graying at the edges, his skin the color of parchment. He didn’t have much time.

  “Yes. Almost.” Dubois closed his eyes. “I know who you are, Major Wolverton. When I first saw you at the inn, I couldn’t think of where I'd met you before. But as I lay here, I remembered. It was in Spain.”

  Christian furrowed his brow. “I don't recall such a meeting.”

  “You wouldn’t. One of our patrols had captured you and brought you to our captain. I stood at the entrance of the tent to observe your questioning. I admit, your crude clothing and Spanish accent fooled all of us. A poor farmer, you said you were, your broken English so convincing. But now, seeing you dressed as a fine English gentleman, with the accent of the nobility, I must bow to your skill at deception.”

  Christian thought back to that night and the tent he’d been questioned in. He vaguely recalled an officer by the entrance of the tent as he’d been questioned for hours. “I can’t say I’m pleased at the renewal of our acquaintance.”

  Dubois coughed, and when he moved his legs, blood started to seep through the blanket and drip onto the floor.

  Alarmed, Christian made to stand. “I must get the doctor. You’re bleeding.”

  Snaking out a hand to grab at his coat, Dubois stopped him. “No. Do not call the doctor. I have loosened the bandage so I may die here. Please. Allow me this privilege.”

  Christian was torn. He should want Dubois alive to be questioned, but looking at the man already so close to death, it seemed a mercy to grant his request. He sat down again. “I hope it wasn't something I said.”

  Dubois smiled, wiping away a bit of blood on his lips. “You have humor in dark situations. Your men must have appreciated that. But to answer your question, I prefer my own company. Though I have enjoyed our small chat this evening.”

  Christian took a breath. This was a unique situation with a dying enemy in front of him. “Do you have anything you’d like passed along? I know the French ambassador is a discreet man and would help us get any messages through if you'd like to send one.”

  “No, there isn’t anyone.” Dubois looked up at Christian. “Our game is a lonely business. If I could, I might have made different choices and found a woman to love.” His hand clenched as his lifeblood steadily dripped onto the floor. “If I’m not mistaken, you have feelings for the lady at the inn. The vixen with a knife.” He raised his eyebrows. “If I may be so bold, monsieur, don’t take that lightly. A chance to love is so fleeting. Take it.”

  “I appreciate your advice.” An image of Alice flitted through Christian’s mind. Was love what he felt for her? He wanted to be with her. Needed her to be safe. He admired her skills, loyalty, and compassion. But was that love?

  Dubois’ breathing was becoming labored. He turned to stare at the ceiling. “If I had one warning to give, it would be to watch the actions of Fournet, the Minister of Police, very carefully. He has powerful allies and a secret network of eyes and ears that give him advantages he wouldn’t otherwise have. And he wants more. Much, much more.”

  The last came out as a whisper. The end was near. “Consider it done.” Christian took the man’s hand in his own. “Rest now.”

  Dubois closed his eyes. “Merci.”

  They stayed there like that until Dubois took his last breath. Christian had held the hand of a dying man before, but he’d never imagined he’d do that for a French spy. It seemed fitting somehow, from one spy to another. Standing, Christian laid Dubois’ hand on his chest and drew the blanket over his face.

  Walking to the door he opened it to find the duke in conversation with another agent. They turned at his entrance, and the duke’s eyes met his.

  “He’s dead.” Christian moved to the duke’s side. “He loosened the bandages from his thigh. But before he di
ed, he did say that we should watch the Minister of Police, Fournet. Apparently he doesn’t have the best interests of the French people in mind, but his own power.”

  The duke let out a breath. “I'll send a message to London with a full report. We’ll need to transport his body there as soon as possible.”

  “What about Jasper?” Christian asked. The energy he’d had earlier had dissipated. He wanted to put this night behind him.

  “As a traitor to the Crown, he’ll pay the ultimate penalty.” The duke ran a hand through his hair. “Too many men died on the battlefields, men like his brother. But Jasper's need for revenge and his willingness to murder make him a menace to society.”

  Christian agreed. “How are the two agents that were shot?”

  The duke nodded toward the agent he’d been speaking to when Christian had come in. “That’s what Wetherly was just updating me on. Both men have had the bullets removed, and we’re hoping to stave off any fever.”

  Wetherly gave Christian a short bow. “The physician is quite hopeful, but their recuperation will take time, of course.”

  “We'll make sure they are well taken care of,” the duke promised, his gaze on Wetherly. “I know you’re concerned, but we’re going to do everything we can on their behalf.”

  “I know you take care of your own,” Wetherly said. “They couldn’t be in better hands.”

  Christian was tempted to sit down, but stayed on his feet. “So Jasper will be charged with Thomas’s murder, two attempted murders of the agents, and one more if we count Pembroke, and the kidnapping of Alice?” He shook his head. “That's quite a list.”

  “Yes.” The duke grimaced, the candlelight giving his face a dark shadow. “I’ve been working on a bill to provide a small annuity to those who lost a wage-earner on the battlefield. So many women are finding themselves in reduced circumstances. It seems like there is more we should do.”

  Christian’s esteem for the duke rose at his words. “I’ve been thinking of how to help those coming home from the war to adjust to life in England again. Perhaps offering a club where we can talk of our experiences and feel the support of our brothers-in-arms once more.”

  “That is a capital idea.” The duke clapped him on the shoulder. “I should be happy to support such a worthy cause.”

  Wetherly’s grave expression broke into a smile. “I know several men who could benefit from such a club.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been hoping to start work on it as soon as this mission was over.” He glanced at the room where Dubois’ body lay. “Though it didn't end in the way I thought it would, at least it’s done.”

  The duke followed his gaze. “Yes, it does. We should get some sleep. It will be a busy day tomorrow.”

  “I’d still like to meet with you tomorrow morning. On a separate matter.” Christian raised his eyes to the duke. He wanted to ask for Alice’s hand in marriage, but wasn’t sure the duke would accept such a hasty request from a potential suitor. Without extenuating circumstances, society would expect a proper courtship. And if that’s what was required to win Alice’s hand, then that’s exactly what he would do.

  “Of course. I’ll see you in my study at nine o’clock sharp.” The duke turned to Wetherly. “I need to start the travel arrangements. If you'll accompany me to the house, I'll have a room made up for you. With all you've done tonight watching over Channing and Hutton, you've earned it.”

  “With all due respect, Your Grace, I’d rather return to assist the doctor in their care. They might require something in the night, and I’d like to be there for him.” Wetherly bowed and worriedly eyed the duke, his mouth pinched as if he thought he might offend him.

  “Commendable.” The duke leaned down and grabbed his discarded cravat from the table. “Very well, then. I’ll expect an update on their condition tomorrow morning.”

  Wetherly nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  The three men walked toward the door, and when Wetherly had exited, the duke turned to Christian. “I want to thank you for your service. With the war finally at an end, the role of the Falcon Group is changing. But there is still work to be done whether it’s for the Falcon Group or as a nobleman with a place in Parliament. You have the option to do both, as I have done, or to choose one. Just think carefully. Especially if you’re thinking of taking a wife.” The duke cut him a meaningful glance, then turned and walked out without waiting for Christian’s reply.

  Nodding to the man still standing sentry at the door, Christian watched the duke walk back to the house. He’d successfully navigated both worlds, but at what cost? Working with Alice had opened his eyes to the value of her skills. Would she want to continue working for Falcon Group? Did he?

  He strode after the duke. Whatever decision he made, he’d discuss it with Alice first. They'd made great partners on this mission, and he wanted it to stay that way― whether they were partners on a mission or in the life he hoped they’d spend together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ALICE SLEPT DEEPLY. The sun was streaming into her room when she woke. Stretching, she turned over and saw a cup of chocolate on her night table. Sitting up, she reached for it and took a sip. It wasn’t hot, but it was still warm. Pulling her feet up under her, she sipped the chocolate and thought over the events of last night. So much had happened. She had so many questions still. Hopefully she could speak to her father as soon as possible. And Christian. She smiled. Yes, she definitely wanted to speak to him this morning as well.

  As she got out of bed, her stomach growled. Putting a hand on her middle, she realized she hadn’t eaten since luncheon yesterday and was ravenous. Ringing for a breakfast tray, she donned her robe and looked out her window. The sky was cloudless and the birds were singing, as if they knew how happy Alice was this morning and were celebrating with her.

  She turned as the maid came in with her tray. It didn’t take long for Alice to finish off the eggs and kippers. With her stomach now full, she rang for Winnie to come help her dress. Once she’d been buttoned into her favorite green day dress, she sat down at her dressing table. Winnie undid her night braid and began to brush out her hair.

  “What’s being said belowstairs?” Alice asked, looking at Winnie in the mirror.

  Winnie stopped brushing and began to coil Alice’s hair. “It’s been fairly quiet. Not many know of what happened, and those who do are loyal to the duke and would never gossip, my lady.” Winnie swept Alice’s hair into a chignon and pinned it. “I’m so glad you’re home safe.”

  Alice smiled warmly at her maid. “Have the houseguests gone home, then? Is Lord Pembroke still here?” It made sense that her father would have him brought here to recover and be questioned.

  “Yes, my lady. Everyone left after the ball last night, and I don’t think any of them were the wiser that you had been kidnapped. And Lord Pembroke was brought in last night. The doctor had just summoned your father when I came up to your chamber.”

  Winnie put the finishing touches on the chignon. “Is there anything else?”

  “No.” She stood and finally asked the question she’d wanted the answer to most of all. “Have you seen Lord Wolverton this morning?”

  “No, my lady.” Winnie gave her a sly glance. “I can have one of the footman track him down if you needed to get a message to him.”

  Alice’s cheeks grew warm, and she couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. “No, that’s quite all right. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

  She pulled at her sleeve, attempting to cover more of the dressing over the cut on her arm. Once she was satisfied, she walked out of her chamber, deciding to go to Lord Pembroke’s room. She wanted to see how he was faring and, though an unmarried lady in a gentleman’s quarters pushed the bounds of propriety, if her father was present, it wouldn’t be untoward.

  Going to the stairs that led to the guest wing, she hoped to catch a glimpse of Christian, but he was nowhere to be seen. She pushed down her disappointment, and knocked on Lord Pembroke�
�s door.

  “Enter,” her father’s voice intoned.

  She opened the door and was surprised to see Lord Pembroke in the receiving area of his chamber instead of his bed. He was in a nightshirt and banyan, sitting in a chair next to the fire, her father standing next to him. He must be feeling better, then.

  “I’m glad to see you up and about, my lord,” she said, moving into the room and smiling down at him.

  Lord Pembroke made to stand, but clutched his head and sank back down. “Forgive me, my lady, but I have the devil’s own ache in my head. It was those drugs I was given.” He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and rubbed his temples. “I can’t apologize enough for Jasper. I want you to know I had no idea what he was up to.” His hands lowered, his fingers clenching in his lap as he spoke. Alice’s heart pricked with compassion.

  “You’ve been through so much because of him,” she said, taking the chair next to his and sitting down. “I’m sure you feel wretched about the whole thing.”

  Her father moved to the left, until he was standing directly in front of Pembroke. “How did your valet get a list like that?”

  Pembroke glanced up at him, fingering his nightshirt cuff. “I wasn’t allowed in the military because I’m the sole heir to the Pembroke title. But I wanted to serve my country.” He shifted his gaze to Alice. “I thought if I showed I could get information, I could prove myself and gain a position in the Foreign Office.” He stopped talking and hung his head, letting out a deep exhale.

  “How did you get that list?” her father asked again, but softly this time.

  “I know a widow whose husband had worked for the Foreign Office. He had a bundle of papers that he’d taken home and hidden. The widow found herself in reduced circumstances after he died, and when I found out about the papers, I offered to buy them. The purchase would help her with necessities and help me gain a position, I thought.” He sounded weary and regretful, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.