Once a Spy

by Putney, Mary Jo

  “What if I’m not good at the secretarial work? Would you discharge me without a character?”

  Simon shook his head. “No, I’d ask if there was something else you’d like to do.”

  “I thought you just wanted a valet. Why are you giving me a chance to do more?” Jackson sounded as if he needed to understand before he agreed to do something so unexpected. Another sign of his intelligence.

  “My grandparents believed in education and set up schools on the family estate,” Simon explained. “Good students were given the chance to study further. Their success has benefited them, their families, and the community. One became the physician for the whole area, another opened a shop in the village so people don’t have to travel as far to buy what they need. I’ve found that there are many talented people who could do so much more if given half a chance. So I’m carrying on the family tradition.”

  “Then I’m glad to agree. I’ll do my best for you, sir.” Jackson gave a genuine smile. “And I’ll make sure your boots are well polished, too!”

  * * *

  Suzanne looked forward to going to bed with Simon, especially since it had been a busy day and they hadn’t had much time to talk after returning home from Kirkland’s house. When Simon slid in beside her, she rolled over into his arms and gave a sigh of relaxation. “Now the household feels complete. As soon as Jenny told me that she’d been a lady’s maid, I knew she’d be perfect. I’m so glad you think Mr. Jackson will suit also. He didn’t seem very amiable when we met him.”

  “He was feeling ill at ease with the world, but he relaxed after we talked. He’s clever and disciplined and I think he’ll work out well.” Simon drew her closer so she could feel his rich warmth the length of her body even through layers of nightclothes. “When I told him we were traveling to Brussels for a time, he hardly blinked.”

  “Jenny is delighted by the chance to travel to an exotic foreign land as long as Jackson is coming, too.” Suzanne sighed. “I wonder how our quests will go. For Lucas, for Chambron.”

  “At least we can find Chambron since it must be where we left it. Finding Lucas is quite a different matter.”

  “There can only be so many religious orders in the area. Perhaps your family friend was wrong and it wasn’t Lucas he saw. At least we’ll have tried.”

  Simon stroked her neck and back with a warm, lazy hand. “Are you having second thoughts about going to Brussels? You said once there was nothing for you in France, and Belgium is very French even though it’s one of the Low Countries.”

  “Since meeting you, I’ve become braver about facing the past,” she said slowly. “I’m taking small steps to push fear away. Though I don’t wish to live in France again, I do want to be able to visit and remember that life without pain. Brussels is a long step toward France. When we’re there, I shall become prepared for a visit to Château Chambron.”

  “Are you willing to take steps toward vanquishing some of your other fears?” Simon cupped her right breast with a gentle hand.

  She froze, her pulse spiking. But he did nothing more, and after a few deep breaths, she was able to relax and recognize that his light, warm touch was pleasant. “That’s not so bad,” she said. “In fact, rather nice.”

  “May I go a small step further?”

  Her instinct was to say no. Instead she drew a deep breath. “A very small step.”

  He shifted his hand just enough to gently strum her nipple with his thumb. Even through the fabric of her nightgown, a sharp sensation shot to her loins. She gasped and shoved his hand from her breast as she turned rigid.

  His hand stilled on her torso. “You hate that kind of touch?”

  She rolled onto her back as she struggled to analyze what she felt. “It’s . . . complicated. There is some pleasure and that makes me think of Jean-Louis, who was proud of his lovemaking skills even though he had little thought for me as an individual. But there are also memories of agony from Gürkan. The combination of those feelings is—disturbing.”

  He was quiet for a long moment, not moving. “I don’t know what I can do to counter that.”

  He started to draw away, but she arrested the motion by covering his hand with hers. Her heart fluttered under their joined hands, so she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. This was Simon, not Jean-Louis, not Gürkan. Simon. Whom she’d known half her life and who had never been anything but kind and protective. As she thought of him, she felt her heart slow to normal.

  Silently she guided his hand across her torso from one side to the other. Broad palm, strong fingers, gentle as a kitten’s breath as his hand smoothed over her nightgown.

  She realized that his gliding touch felt good. Sensual. The fact that she controlled where he touched removed the fear.

  Guided by her hand, he continued to caress her slowly. Warmth spread through her, moving to her breasts upward and . . . downward toward her loins. She’d almost forgotten how that felt.

  Enjoying the sensation, she moved her hand lower so that he was stroking over her waist. She’d recognized when they started to share a bed how much she enjoyed touching, and this was a more intimate form of touching.

  She felt like a cat being petted—until she moved his hand lower yet and she realized how close he was to her most private places. She stiffened. “That’s far enough. At least for now.”

  “Agreed,” he said in a thickened voice. He moved his hand from under her hands and curved his arm over her, drawing her close.

  Realizing how aroused he was, she exclaimed, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking of you, only myself.”

  “No matter,” he said in a warm voice. “It’s good that tonight was about you.”

  “That can change.” She separated herself from him enough to allow her hand to move down his torso and under his night wear.

  He gasped and hardened fully when she reached her goal. She smiled in the darkness. She loved giving him pleasure and he loved letting her take charge.

  It made for a thoroughly satisfactory prelude to a very good night’s sleep.

  Brussels

  Chapter 17

  Suzanne woke early in the warm, unfamiliar bed, sliding quietly from the warm, familiar embrace of her husband. They’d arrived in Brussels so late the night before that not much had registered about Kirkland’s house other than that it was well kept by the servants and that it was attractive without drawing much attention.

  She opened the window and leaned out to breathe deeply of the fresh air. The delicious scent of baking bread came from somewhere nearby. Suzanne inhaled happily.

  The morning was mild for mid-March, with hazy sunshine and daffodils blooming in window boxes. Their narrow street was quiet, but a couple of blocks to her left she could see a park that seemed busier.

  “Good morning, ma belle.” Simon joined her at the window, one arm going around her waist to snug her close. “What is it like to be back in Europe in a city that isn’t in France, but feels very French?”

  Suzanne leaned into him. “It’s interesting and not so overwhelming as London. I look forward to seeing more of Brussels.”

  “Would you like to spend the day seeing the sights?”

  “It’s kind of you to suggest that, but I know you want to start the hunt for your cousin,” she replied. “We can admire the city while we search.”

  “You’ve read my mind,” he said with a half smile.

  “Kirkland gave me the name and address of a monk who can help us sort out the possibilities. I’ll send a message to Frère Antoine before we eat breakfast to ask when we might call.”

  Suzanne assumed that the monk was another of Kirkland’s informants. “Sooner rather than later, I hope.”

  Simon nodded, his eyes showing resignation tinged with hope. As Suzanne rang for Jenny to help her dress, she sent prayers to whatever deity might be listening that Simon would get his miracle.

  * * *

  After a breakfast of feather-light croissants, exquisite raspberry preserves, and rich café
au lait, Simon and Suzanne set out to find Frère Antoine, who had invited them to call that morning. Kirkland’s household included Maurice, a weathered Englishman with a limp who had lived in Brussels for so long that his French had only a trace of English accent. He had no trouble conjuring up a light double-benched carriage and horse from a local livery.

  Simon would have driven if he knew the city better, but Maurice knew exactly where Argenté Abbey was, so he sat on the front seat with reins and buggy whip while Simon and Suzanne held hands in the rear seat. Simon suspected Maurice had been a soldier, and that like the other servants in Kirkland’s house, he provided information that might be useful to Kirkland.

  It was a pleasant day for a drive. Maurice made laconic remarks about buildings of particular interest, while Suzanne enjoyed the busy narrow streets thronging with cheerful merchants and housewives. “Being in a French-speaking city again takes me back to my childhood,” she observed.

  “Mostly French speaking, though we’ll hear Dutch and a fair amount of English, too,” Simon said. “There’s a British garrison here, and because living costs are lower in Brussels, a good number of Britons have moved here since Napoleon abdicated.”

  “That makes Brussels a good transition between London and France. I’ll soon be ready to visit Château Chambron. It’s not far. South of Charleroi, only a few miles beyond the border between France and Belgium.”

  She said the words lightly, but Simon saw anxiety in her eyes. He asked, “How do you feel about the estate?”

  She bit her lip. “It was very grand, but I wasn’t particularly happy there. I want to revisit the place so I can put my life at Chambron behind me.”

  Simon didn’t reply, but he took her hand and squeezed it gently. She had come so far already. He hoped that viewing the home of her marriage would allow her to make peace with that part of her past. He wanted her with him in the present.

  Argenté Abbey had originally been in the country, but the expanding city had caught up with it. Weathered stone walls enclosed a sizable estate that included gardens and a farm as well as the buildings of the religious community. The gatekeeper looked dubiously at Suzanne but he rang for a porter when Simon assured him that they were both expected.

  The porter led them to a small office near the entrance to the main building. The chapel and cloisters would be private to the monks, but even monasteries must have some dealings with the outside world, and that was Abbot Antoine’s role at Argenté Abbey. Black robed and with tonsured silver hair, he rose from his desk with a welcoming smile when Simon and Suzanne entered.

  “Colonel Duval, Madame Duval, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Is my friend Kirkland prospering?”

  That explained the warm welcome. “Yes, and he sends his regards,” Simon said. “Do you know him well?”

  “We’ve only met once in person, but he has been a good friend to my order.” Abbot Antoine gestured to a pair of majestically carved wooden chairs. “Please take a seat. Would you like some of our Benedictine beer? Our house is rather famous for it.”

  Simon chuckled. “I’d be happy to partake. I’ve always been fond of Belgian beers. Suzanne?”

  She smiled as she sat and adjusted her skirts. “I’d like to sample some also.”

  Their host opened a cabinet to reveal bottles and drinking vessels. Abbot Antoine poured full-sized mugs for Simon and himself and a smaller one for Suzanne. It was a deliciously tangy drink, and serving it made for a relaxed atmosphere.

  “Now, how can I help you?” the abbot asked. “Lord Kirkland said that you are looking for a relative?”

  “Yes, my cousin Lucas Mandeville,” Simon replied. “He was in the Royal Navy, missing and presumed dead after his ship was sunk some years ago. But recently a friend of the family saw a religious brother here in Brussels who seemed the image of Lucas. I have this picture from his youth, plus a sketch that shows how he might look now. If it was indeed Lucas who was seen.”

  The abbot studied the pictures. Setting aside the image of the aristocratic younger Lucas, he tapped the other. “This man looks familiar. The brown robe suggests a Franciscan. They are a mendicant order, sworn to poverty. They travel throughout their provinces to do their work, often staying at different religious communities.”

  “Did this friar ever stay at Argenté Abbey?” Suzanne asked.

  “I believe so. I’m trying to remember.” The abbot frowned in concentration. “Yes, a brother who looked much like this one stayed here for several nights around the time of the emperor’s abdication last year. The city was crowded because of the celebrations and we had many visitors.”

  “That was the time when our family friend saw him in Brussels,” Simon said, his pulse quickening.

  “But surely your cousin is English if he served in the Royal Navy? The brother I speak of was French.”

  “Lucas lived with my family and spent a great deal of time in France, so he speaks French as well as I do,” Simon said, trying to control his rising excitement. “Do you remember anything else about him?”

  After long thought, the abbot said slowly, “I believe he was called Frère Jude.”

  Simon’s throat tightened. Jude. Judas, the betrayer. If their theory of what had happened to Lucas was true, that might well be the religious name his cousin would choose. “Do you have any idea where Frère Jude might be now?”

  The abbot shook his head. “Friars go where they are needed, so he could be anywhere in Belgium or northern France. There were many disruptions of traditional religious communities under the emperor, so I don’t know what places are the most likely. I can list some possibilities for you. The closest is a priory outside Namur where some Franciscans stay, I believe. Our Lady of Mercy.”

  A youthful monk, perhaps a novice, entered the room with a sheaf of papers and an apologetic expression. “Excuse me for interrupting, Father Abbot.”

  Simon rose. “My apologies for taking so much of your time, Abbot Antoine. You’ve been most helpful.”

  The monk smiled warmly as he stood. “It has been my pleasure. Let me know if your search is successful.”

  “I will,” Simon promised as he took Suzanne’s arm.

  On the short walk back to their carriage, Suzanne said, “Do you think this Frère Jude could be your Lucas?”

  “It’s certainly promising.”

  “Namur is in the same direction as Château Chambron,” she said. “We can visit the priory there on our way.”

  He gave her a quick glance. “You’re ready for that?”

  She drew a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be. With luck, we might find Lucas on the way. What will you do if you find him? Try to coax him back to England?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it,” Simon admitted. “I would like that above all things, but if he has a vocation for the religious life, it’s not my place to interfere. It will be enough to know that he is alive and well.”

  And if this Frère Jude wasn’t his cousin—well, Simon had dealt with loss often enough in the past. He would survive losing Lucas again.

  As they climbed into the carriage, he told Maurice, “Please take us to the Grand Place. I’d like to show it to Madame Duval.”

  Maurice nodded and set the carriage in motion. Simon said, “The Grand Place is the heart of the old city and it’s one of the finest plazas in Europe. The Hôtel de Ville, the city hall, is magnificent.”

  Suzanne smiled and took his hand. “So we are successfully combining your search with seeing the sights. An excellent start to our stay here.”

  “Will you be ready to set off to Namur and Chambron tomorrow?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’m as curious as you are.”

  He smiled at her, thinking how lucky he was that she’d agreed to marry him. They might still face challenges, but together, they were overcoming them one by one.

  * * *

  Suzanne was feeling hopeful on Simon’s behalf. She guessed that he was forcing himself not to be optimistic because if the
mystery friar wasn’t Lucas, the disappointment would be like losing his cousin all over again. So she would be hopeful for both of them.

  Simon pointed ahead of them. “We’re almost to the Grand Place. See that tall spire ahead of us? That’s the town hall, which takes up one whole side of the square. This was a great wealthy trading city for centuries, so guild houses and other buildings on the square are equally splendid.”

  As their carriage neared the Grand Place, the shouts of a crowd could be heard. Suzanne asked Maurice, “Is the Grand Place always so noisy?”

  He frowned. “Only when there’s big news, madam.”

  “Which doesn’t necessarily mean good news,” Simon added quietly.

  When they entered the square, she saw that a raucous crowd was churning in front of the Hôtel de Ville. An official-looking man stood in front of the city hall holding a document and trying to make himself heard over the clamor while members of the crowd were starting to break into smaller groups and talking animatedly.

  “Stop here, Maurice,” Simon said when he saw the crowd. As soon as the carriage came to a halt, he jumped from the vehicle and walked toward the nearest cluster of gesticulating men. “Sirs, what is the news?”

  A young man swung about and called jubilantly, “The emperor is free and he has returned to France to reclaim his throne!”

  Chapter 18

  Suzanne gasped, feeling as if she’d been struck a physical blow. There had been so much speculation about if and when Napoleon might burst from his captivity, but the announcement was still a paralyzing shock.

  More collected, Simon asked, “Are there any details? Has he reached Paris yet?”

  “He landed near Cannes on March first. He returned with the violets, as he promised!” the man exclaimed. “He began marching to Paris with a handful of men at his back and he entered the city at the head of an army. All without a single shot being fired. Not one!”

  Another man said eagerly, “Regiment after regiment went over to him as soon as they came into his magnificent presence. The great Marshal Ney himself swore to the king that he’d bring Napoleon to Paris in an iron cage, then bowed his head to his master when they met.” The man spat at the ground. “The fat king fled the city the night before, the coward. Long live the emperor!”