by Amy Jarecki
“Now?”
“I am a fallen woman, you see.”
He licked his lips. “I do see. Quite clearly.”
“Then let us not tarry. Take me to your rooms and show me the passion that thrums through your blood.”
He leaned forward as if about to kiss her. Evelyn stepped back quickly and pulled his hand. “Not here, my darling.”
There were several holes in their plan to corner Claude Dubois, but the one John rued most was that no weapons were allowed inside Versailles—aside from the daggers he had hidden up his sleeves, in his breeches, and in his garters. John’s fingers itched to wield a dirk, a pair of dueling pistols, and his bloody sword.
Now, as John and Cameron followed the lecherous cur while he led Evelyn through the labyrinth of opulent passageways, they hid behind corners and columns like common thieves. Playing their part, he and Sir Kennan pretended to be deep in conversation whenever they encountered passersby.
But then a woman opened a door, seemingly ecstatic to find two able-bodied men. She babbled in French, asking them to help her move a harpsichord, of all things.
Cameron started to go inside the woman’s rooms until John gripped his shoulder and pulled him back. Feeling like a heel, he looked the woman in the eye, apologized, and suggested she ring for a pair of footmen to assist her.
To the lady’s shocked and indignant scolding, which echoed through the corridors like a cathedral bell, John hurried Sir Kennan along. “Since when does a bloody pirate turn gentleman?”
“Some of the most gracious gentlemen in my acquaintance are pirates.” Chuckling, the seafaring heir to the Cameron chieftainship jabbed the heel of his hand into John’s shoulder. “Besides, the lass was bonny.”
“Och aye? You’d leave Lady Mar’s fate and a chest of gold in the hands of Dubois whilst you pushed some bit of muslin’s harpsichord across the bleeding floor?”
“I kent you would have stopped me,” the captain whispered.
“I see,” John growled under his breath as they hastened toward a marble set of stairs. “It was your intention to make me look like a pompous prick.”
Cameron sniggered. “Aye.”
John silently moved to the wall, where he could look up the steps without being noticed. He beckoned Sir Kennan. “’Tis clear.”
But when they reached the top, Dubois and Evelyn were nowhere to be seen. John stared down the long corridor lined with doors on either side, at least twenty of them. “Shite!”
Together they hastened through the passageway, only to find yet another long corridor with too many doors.
“Why the bloody hell did you have to stop for the harpsichord woman?”
“That took all of two ticks of the clock.” Throwing up his hands, Kennan turned in a circle. “We have to be close.”
“I don’t like this.” John turned his ear but heard nothing. “I’ll kick in every door if I must.”
“I’ve a better idea.” Cameron grabbed a bouquet of roses off a gilt table adorning the juncture of the two passageways and headed off.
“Where are you going?”
“For help.”
“Och, I’d rather start kicking,” John growled and followed, though grudgingly.
They hadn’t gone but a few paces when one of the doors opened and a maid stepped out, her arms laden with linens.
The pirate held up the flowers. “Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle. S’il vous plaît, Monsieur Dubois?”
She pointed down the corridor. “Numéro deux cent cinquante-six.”
“Merci,” said John, bowing, then hastening after Cameron.
“See?” The man shoved the flowers back into the vase as they passed. “Number two hundred fifty-six.”
John ran down the next passageway, reading numbers until they reached the end, and another stairwell. “Fie!” The numbers stopped at two hundred forty-nine.
“Dubois has to be on this floor.”
“Unless…” John studied the last door. It was numbered 250, except beneath it in small letters were two words: et tous.
“And all,” said Kennan, translating as well.
John grabbed the latch and pulled the door wide.
A high-pitched gasp came from midway down the corridor, lined with doors only on one side.
A fire ignited in John’s chest as he surged forward. “I’ll kill him!”
“Not before we find out about the gold.”
John didn’t give a rat’s arse about the gold. He wanted a confession written in blood and, afterward, Dubois could hang.
“Shall we not enjoy a Bordeaux before—?” Evelyn squealed loudly.
John didn’t even try the latch. Using his heel, he kicked the door so hard it burst open with a loud slam.
Dubois had Evelyn bent backward over a settee with one hand on her breast, the beast.
“Unhand her!” he bellowed, surging forward.
But Lady Mar was faster. “You bastard!” she snapped, slapping the Frenchman across the face and kneeing him in the loins.
“Oof,” Dubois grunted as he recoiled, reaching to protect his manhood.
John grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the floorboards, landing a kick to the man’s kidney, and another and another. “You bloody ruined me, you festering pustule.”
Covering his head, the Frenchman drew his knees beneath his chin. “I did nothing. Please. Stop!”
Sir Kennan kneeled and tied Dubois’s wrists and ankles.
John gestured toward a wooden chair. “Put him there.”
“You cannot harm me,” Dubois whined. “I am under the protection of the king.”
“Not my king,” John said, spreading his hands to his sides and turning full circle.
Evelyn stepped in and slapped the man. “You bastard.”
The Frenchman licked a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and sneered at her. “You’re a hellion of the worst sort.”
“I am—”
John pulled her aside as he slammed his fist across the lout’s chin. “If you want to live through the night, you’ll watch your mouth. I need a signed confession admitting I had nothing to do with King Louis’s plot to invade England.”
The horse’s arse had the audacity to smirk. “The Earl of Mar needs me to clear his name?”
Sir Kennan produced a pair of iron pliers and clamped them shut in front of Dubois’s nose. “And I need to ken where ye stashed the gold, ye villainous whoreson.”
His eyes growing round, the Frenchman leaned away. “I-I-I gave it to Louis, of course.”
“I’ll believe that when Hell freezes over.” Kennan gave John a nod. “Hold his head back.”
“My pleasure.”
“Where’s the gold?” Evelyn demanded. “For once in your life tell the truth!”
The man’s eyes shifted to a rectangular Oriental carpet while sweat bled from his temples. “I swear it has been given to the king!”
John grabbed Dubois’s head while Kennan moved in with the pliers. “Pull the top front. ’Tis crooked anyway.”
Dubois squealed.
John nodded to Evelyn, who drew back the slip of carpet. “What’s this?”
Applying the pliers to the tooth, Kennan’s hand stilled as all eyes shifted to a door hidden in the floorboards.
“Open it, m’lady,” John said, sinking his fingers into the flesh on Dubois’s cheeks while the man kicked.
After throwing back the hatch, Evelyn pulled out a bit of black cloth, then clapped her hands over her mouth and gasped.
The sheen of gold coins reflected the firelight.
“Bloody miserable thief.” Snarling, Sir Kennan yanked out the tooth. “Ye planned to keep it for yourself all along.”
Dubois howled and launched himself from the chair. “It is mine!” His arms and feet tied, the blackguard hopped to the hearth, snatched a poker, and swung it at Evelyn’s head.
John caught the Frenchman’s arms midstrike. “You’ve just made your last mistake.” Twisting the pok
er from Dubois’s grip, he jabbed it into the bastard’s belly. As the man doubled over, John slammed the iron rod across the back of his head.
The Frenchman collapsed onto his face, blood pooling beneath.
“Is he dead?” Evelyn gasped, looking horrified.
Sir Kennan kneeled and held the back of his hand to the cur’s nose. “He breathes.”
“I should have hit him harder,” John said, tossing the poker on the settee. “Though he’ll not be signing a damned confession.”
Sir Kennan reached into the hiding place and scooped up a handful of coins. “I doubt we’ll need it with this.”
Evelyn took a Spanish doubloon from his palm and studied it. “This goes to Prince James. All of it.”
“Agreed.” John found a valise and a satchel. “It will be heavy.”
Evelyn removed her wrap and spread it on the floor. “I’ll carry my share enfolded in this.”
John paused and cupped her cheek. “You’ve helped quite enough this eve. Without you, we wouldn’t have got to Dubois so easily.”
Sir Kennan began scooping handfuls of coins into the satchel. “But what about your pardon?”
The familiar tic twitched above John’s eye. “I’ll have to face the queen and tell her the truth. ’Tis the only way.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was nearly dawn when the trio finally made their way back to Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye. The prince and princess had accepted the hospitality of King Louis, remaining at Versailles, and weren’t expected until the feasting was at an end.
After bidding good night to Sir Kennan, Evelyn stood in their lavish French boudoir, her arms wrapped around her husband’s neck. “I doubt we’ll hear anything further from Dubois. If he complains about the gold, Louis will know the extent of his emissary’s double dealings.”
John cradled her head against his chest. “I wonder where that man’s loyalties lie.”
“I’m quite convinced he cares only for himself.”
“Then let us speak of him no more.”
Evelyn looked up. She’d wanted to discuss his plan and now they were alone, she no longer could hold her tongue. “Perhaps we should send for the boys and stay in France, since he didn’t sign a confession.”
“Hush.” John kissed her lips. “I’ve been Anne’s faithful servant for eleven years. She can very well face me and listen to truth. I have never given her cause to doubt me. Why shouldn’t she believe my word over that of a traitor?”
“And Argyll?”
“True, he poses the greatest thorn in my side—but with parliament in recess and the duke in Scotland, this may be my only chance to influence the queen.”
“What happens when you set foot on British soil? Do you not fear capture?”
John rubbed his little finger along her lip. “Mark me, I’ll have a solid plan by the time we reach London.”
He gave her side a tickle. Evelyn giggled and squirmed. “Do you believe so, my lord?”
Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed and climbed in beside her. “What was that, wife? A wee laugh?” He tickled her again. “I like it when you writhe, especially when you’re beneath me.”
Evelyn raised her arms and drew him over her. “Then stop toying with me and let me watch you disrobe.”
Chuckling, he rocked back on his haunches. Buttons sprang open, silk and cambric sailed to the floor. “I cannot abide court clothing,” he said, his blue eyes shining with humor.
Evelyn licked her lips, her gaze drinking in his sleek, naked body. “You prefer to wear the garb of a Scotsman?”
“Of a Highlander.”
“Indeed. And that’s how I like you second best.”
His brow furrowed. “Only second?”
“Well.” She smoothed her fingers up his muscular thighs, stopping right before she reached his…“Stark naked is my favorite.”
“I always wanted to be wed to a daringly scandalous woman.” His deft fingers removed her clothing. How he could be more efficient than a lady’s maid always boggled Evelyn’s mind.
She brushed a strand of hair away from his face. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I was hardly able to stop myself from staring.”
“Truly?” His gaze dipped to her breasts, and his tongue slipped to the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t think you cared much for me.”
“I suppose I did try to give that impression.”
“Because you thought me an arrogant fop?”
“And I was ever so wrong.” Drawing his face to hers, she kissed him. “Know what else?”
He grinned like a man who didn’t have a care in the world. “You love me?”
Reaching back, Evelyn drew the ribbon from his hair and let his locks fall forward, making him look wild and dangerous. “How did you know that’s what I was about to say?”
He cupped her cheek in his palm, his eyes growing dark and serious. “I never thought anyone would ever again capture my heart.” He kissed one cheek and then the other. “But in you I have found love so deep it makes me feel like the king of the universe.”
Evelyn’s heart soared as, in each other’s arms, they truly became one.
For three days, she reveled in the adoration of her husband’s arms, making love often and taking long strolls through the château gardens. On the fourth day, the sound of the royal carriage approached from the tree-lined drive, and their days of bliss had come to an end.
“Come in, come in,” said the prince, beckoning the trio into his drawing room. “I’ve been anxious to hear about your escapades.”
Sir Kennan motioned to the footmen to place a chest on the table. “And we’ve been ever so anxious for your return.”
James tapped his fingers together. “It appears as if your efforts yielded success. I saw not a glimpse of Dubois during my visit.”
“Indeed, I imagine he suffered a nagging megrim, Your Highness,” said John.
The prince gestured to a set of velvet upholstered armchairs. “Well then, please do not make me wait a moment longer.”
But John wasn’t ready to sit. He moved beside Sir Kennan and the chest. “As we suspected, we found the gold.”
“And Lady Mar led you straight to the varlet’s den,” said James, holding the chair for Evelyn.
“Aye.” John motioned for Kennan to open the chest and reveal the gold. “And we’ve recovered a king’s fortune—your fortune, sire.”
“My heavens.” James crossed the floor and plucked a coin. “Where did he hide such treasure? And within the walls of Versailles without the king’s knowledge?”
“Beneath the floorboards of his apartments,” Kennan explained. “Lord only kens what he planned to do with it.”
John grasped his hands behind his back. “He was most likely waiting for his opportunity to smuggle it out once he was assured Hull and the rest of us had given up the chase.”
“But he didn’t relinquish the gold without a fight,” said Evelyn. “Mr. Dubois attacked me, and during the skirmish, Mar knocked him out cold. As a result, the man wasn’t merely unwilling, he was unable to sign a confession proving my husband was not guilty of treason.”
“I see.” James tossed the coin back into the chest, then scooped a handful and watched them slide from his palm. “You are right, there is a king’s fortune here—more than enough to raise an army should it become necessary.”
John nodded. “And I believe it will. There are too many Whigs at court who fear you.”
“Exactly.” James closed the chest’s lid. “I need allies, especially you, Mar. You know the players at court. You know whom I can trust and who will stab me in the back at their first opportunity.”
“I do.”
The prince looked him in the eye. “I can ill afford to see you, my Secretary of State for Great Britain, with your head in a noose.”
John took in a sharp breath. “Aye, however—”
“I agree,” Evelyn interrupted. �
�There is no other high-ranking peer at court more loyal or more knowledgeable than my husband.”
Sir Kennan pounded his fist over his heart. “Hear, hear.”
“It is settled,” said James. “Mar, you will take one-third of this coin to my half sister to purchase your pardon—that should be quite ample payment to bend her will. One-third of it will then be divided between you two men as a finder’s fee, and the last third will be held here to finance my succession.”
John’s mouth grew dry. He hadn’t planned to tell James about rendering Dubois unconscious and his inability to secure a confession. He’d planned to return to London and face the queen alone—explain what had happened and take his punishment. “Your Highness, your generosity exceeds my wildest imaginings.”
Joining the men at the table, Evelyn pressed praying fingers to her lips while her eyes welled. “We are truly grateful.”
“I will forever be your most humble servant,” said Kennan.
“Then let us toast to our success.” James snapped his fingers at a footman, who poured glasses of sherry for all. “To allies and the future of Great Britain. And you, Sir Kennan, you will be my Lord High Admiral.”
Bending into a deep bow, Sir Kennan clasped his hands over his heart. “I am honored, Your Majesty.”
The prince smiled regally. “I shall never forget those who have been loyal during my exile, my friends.”
They spent the remainder of the afternoon discussing plans for the succession. And later, as John and Evelyn retired to their chambers to dress for the evening meal, his wife took him by the arm and whispered, “I wish I could see my father’s face when he learns you’ve given his gold to Queen Anne.”
John dipped his chin and nuzzled into her neck. “It wasn’t Hull’s gold to begin with, and now we’ve put it to a far greater purpose.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I’d like you to remain aboard the ship until I send for you,” John said, standing on the deck of the transport they’d taken from Calais to the Pool of London under the guise of Mr. and Mrs. Hay.