From the corner of his eye, Blake saw she had released the horses and discreetly led one of them in his direction. He waited for the horse to approach and then, using his scuffed boots, erased the maps he had drawn. With his decision made, he mounted and headed south to meet Lucy as she had instructed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lucy took a few more steps before she said, “Thank you, Mr. Smyth. I know my plan would not have been executed so successfully without your assistance. I really appreciate you being by my side. I feel safe with you.”
Was Mr. Smyth blushing? Ignoring her observation, she continued, “I agree with your plan for the horses and the carriage, but disable two wheels, not just the one. As for the men, we need more time before they are able to shout for help.”
The well-worn path indicated it was a route other travelers were likely to use.
Lucy glanced over at the men tied up. “Leave the larger one where he is. I do not want to move him and provide an opportunity for him to escape. Please ensure his restraints are tight and then move the others so they are bound to trees that are a good distance from each other where they cannot converse easily. If they are smart enough to save their voices when another party passes close by, they should be able to call for help. We are to head toward Saint-Malo.”
Lucy made her way over to Evan, who gave her a boost. Mounted on her mare, she scanned the road and the woods. Her contingent at the ready, they headed south along the path.
It wasn’t long before she spotted Blake waiting just to the side of the road a furlong away. She smiled broadly as she approached. She was a bundle of nerves on the inside. Even now, covered in dust, Blake made her pulse race. She still had not figured out how he had managed to escape but was extremely glad she had found him.
She turned in her saddle to address Mr. Smyth as they made their way closer to Blake. “Lord Devonton will be leading the way to Saint-Malo.”
At the mention of Blake’s name, Mr. Smyth frowned and then narrowed his gaze down the road. When they were alongside Blake, Mr. Smyth said, “Lord Devonton, I’m relieved to see you alive. I thought your captors had somehow misplaced you.”
“Mr. Smyth? Or is it Mr. Jones?”
Before Mr. Smyth could reply, Lucy curtly stated, “For this mission, he is Mr. Smyth.”
She was rather unsettled by a feeling of possessiveness. For all intents and purposes, Mr. Smyth was under her direction, yet he ultimately worked for the Home Office. As to how many identities he held, she didn’t care to find out; all she knew was that while he was here, he was her Mr. Smyth. What a complicated life he must live. Would his real name shock her? How had he become involved with the Home Office? That was a puzzle for another time. At present, they needed to get to Saint-Malo expeditiously so they could return safely to London.
Lucy dismounted, and the gentlemen followed suit. “I do not believe we have much time before it is noted you are missing, my lord, so if you will lead us to the most efficient route, we should be on our way.”
“We are still under the cover of darkness. We will have to ride at a slower pace until dawn. I estimate it will take us three days before we reach Saint-Malo.”
“Three days! If we take the road, it should only be two at the most. I would have expected through the woods to be more efficient. Are you sure you are knowledgeable enough to lead us?”
No man liked to be questioned. She probably shouldn’t have voiced her concerns in front of the team. Would he be angry and yell at her in return?
Blake did not respond with harsh words. Instead, he stood a little taller and faced her directly. “Do you trust me? If not, then I will thank you for the mount and suggest we part here.”
Part ways? Now? She had just found him.
Her mouth was agape, and no words were forthcoming. She had called upon nearly every favor she had, she had sailed across the Channel, her absence from Town would be noted, putting her virtue and reputation at risk, all because… because she loved him. She had finally come to the conclusion he was the only man she could envision having a future with.
She had muddled through the guilt of loving someone other than James. If she had been honest with herself earlier, she would have realized what she felt for James was deep admiration for a wonderful boy who had grown into an honorable man who would have married her out of duty and obligation, not love.
She wanted to stomp her feet and yell at the top of her lungs. Weeks of hard work, sleepless nights, and hours spent soul-searching, wasted. Blake didn’t love her. He was willing to leave her here in the middle of France.
As the silence lingered between them, Blake gazed into her eyes. The glassiness was a telltale sign of the tears she refused to shed. It was like he had stripped her bare, revealing a vulnerability she rarely showed anyone. But there was something more. Love! He had seen that exact look in his mama’s eyes.
His heart was torn at the sight before him. He wanted his fiery hellion back. He wanted to see her eyes filled with wonder and life, not unshed tears. He closed the gap between them and then gathered her in his arms.
His lips grazed her ear as he spoke. “Lucy, trust me.”
She shivered in his arms. She still appeared dazed and filled with confusion and hurt, but she managed to nod.
She mounted her horse with his assistance. Both Blake and Mr. Smyth vaulted into their saddles. Blake took the lead, with Mr. Smyth by his side. Lucy followed behind, flanked by her footmen.
“Smyth, I assume you are here on Home Office orders?”
The man’s response was to glare at him. Blake was in no rush, and so he waited patiently for Mr. Smyth to answer. “My orders were to protect and assist Lady Lucy. I do not believe Archbroke or her brother is aware of her present location. She is an extremely determined and resourceful woman.”
Interesting. How had Mr. Smyth and Lucy become acquainted? Did the Home Office somehow employ her as they did her brother? How did they come to arrive on the Continent? Where was Harrington?
Blake’s features must have reflected his thoughts, as Mr. Smyth continued, “I believe Lord Harrington was coordinating with the Home Office. He had planned to travel to the Continent and provide you with assistance. However, to date we have not seen nor heard from him. But I suspect he was delayed in Dover.”
In an attempt to gain information from the man, Blake strategized that praising Lucy might loosen the man’s tongue. She and her guard had fallen a ways behind, enough to provide privacy for the conversation he wanted to have with Mr. Smyth.
“Lucy is quite remarkable. I’m assuming it was not her beauty that has earned your devotion and loyalty, but her courage and bluestocking ways.”
“I would have to be dead or blind not to have noticed Lady Lucy’s beauty, but I can assure you she has already given her heart to another.”
The comment captured Blake’s full attention.
Mr. Smyth continued to confess, “I’ve never worked with a better strategist. I will admit that at first I was astonished by Lady Lucy’s expansive network of individuals, all of whom were willing to accommodate her requests. I’m extremely grateful for the opportunity to have become acquainted with her and hope she knows she can always depend on me and trust me whenever needed.”
Blake did not miss the not-so-subtle reference to trust.
Turning slightly in his saddle to catch and hold Blake’s gaze, Mr. Smyth added a parting comment. “You said remarkable? I’d say extraordinary. You refer to her ways as bluestocking; I’d call them pure brilliance. Any fool would know the difference.”
After his declaration, Mr. Smyth fell back to join Lucy, leaving Blake to ruminate on his comments. He rode alone, which he was content with. For the moment.
Streaks of daylight were just emerging when Blake led them to a creek where they could give their mounts water and a well-deserved rest. While the footmen took care of the horses and Mr. Smyth went hunting, Blake took the opportunity to approach Lucy. He had felt the daggers she had been throw
ing at his back with her piercing eyes the entire journey. “Lucy, I wanted to apologize…”
Lucy held up a hand, “Blake, I need your assistance in guiding us to Saint-Malo, but once we arrive, please do not feel obligated to continue on with us. You may do as you please.”
Blake’s belly ached as if she had just punched him in the gut. He shook his head; he could not believe she wanted to be rid of him. Had it been a gleam of love in her eyes he had seen or had he imagined it? He turned on his heel and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Blake and Mr. Smyth returned to their makeshift campsite. Blake emptied his pockets of herbs and edible plants. Mr. Smyth threaded the hares on a spit and left them to roast over the fire. John and Evan brought wood to add to the fire and a blanket for Lucy to sit on.
She didn’t know what had possessed her to push Blake away with her words. Was it to retaliate? To cause him as much pain as his words had caused her? She wasn’t usually so petty.
After their meal and with all evidence of their existence hidden, Blake announced, “We shall push forward at a much slower pace, but we will not be making any further stops until nightfall.” He had addressed the group in its entirety, but Lucy felt there was a silent message among his words just for her. What fanciful ideas he caused her to have.
But as she ran his words over and over in her mind, his message became clear. With no coaching inns to change horse teams, they would need to travel at a much slower pace, thus increasing their time. She should not have questioned Blake about his capabilities. He was the most familiar with their surroundings. It was not well done of her to do so in front of the others.
She pushed her mount forward to speak to him. “Blake, I believe we should find shelter for the evening.”
Without looking at her directly, he ground out, “As you wish, Lady Lucy.”
Blake’s use of formality was like a dagger to her heart.
The woman obviously didn’t think he had any sense or knowledge of how to lead a team or ensure their safety. Why had he been crushed by her declaration that she wished to part ways in Saint-Malo? He had sworn long ago never to let anyone get close again. Instinctively, Blake had gone on the defensive, using the honorific to push her away, but that was not what his heart was telling him to do. Why was he unable to focus?
Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Blake considered: southwest or directly west? He needed to make a decision. Should he consult Lucy? No, the woman caused havoc with his thoughts. He wanted her. He needed her. His gaze involuntarily followed her movements; a few tendrils of hair had escaped caressing her cheek and the back of her exposed neck. The scent of lavender teased his nose, and his gaze was drawn to her legs encased in breeches. Blake’s body responded, making him move uncomfortably in his saddle.
The southwest route would afford more cover and privacy. Blake had been a fool. He needed to get Lucy alone, away from the others. Would he be able to convince her that, despite his words, he would never leave her?
He knew exactly what he wished for once they arrived in Saint-Malo. He had two days to accomplish his personal mission. He had never failed one yet, and this was the most critical to date.
Surveying the ground just beyond the path they were traveling, Blake spied leaves and branches in an unnatural pattern. He slowed his mount and raised his hand to signal the party to stop. The area reminded him of the numerous bivouacs he had seen and stayed in during the war. He turned in his saddle to confirm their location—they were about halfway to Saint-Malo.
Blake dismounted and ordered, “Stay mounted.”
Would she follow his command? When she remained seated, he walked farther away from the makeshift trail. Spotting ash and coal hastily dispersed, he stopped to assess the ground. Tracks, two males with mounts. Bending to pick up a piece of coal, he sniffed, a lingering burnt smell. The fire had not been banked long.
Blake approached Mr. Smyth. “Check the immediate surrounding area and set up camp. Have John and Evan gather wood for the fire.”
He didn’t wait for a response and went to help Lucy dismount. He raised his hands up, placed them around her waist, and pulled her off her mount. Her legs would feel like jelly after long hours in the saddle. He gently let her slide down his body until her feet hit the ground; instead of releasing her, he held her tight and bent his head as if to talk to her. Brushing his lips over hers, he held a breath waiting for her response. Elation flowed through him as she lifted onto her tiptoes and returned his kiss.
She broke the kiss but held on to the front of his coat, “Blake, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned your abilities and definitely not in front of the others. I shouldn’t have implied I wanted to part ways either. Will you forgive me?”
Blake cupped her cheek and solemnly replied, “Will you forgive me?”
Lucy nodded and put her hands around his neck as he bent down to kiss her. This was no apology kiss; this was an “I’ll never let you go” kiss. He wanted to make her moan, and when she did, she also flattened herself to him. Blake couldn’t stop his hand from skimming down her arm to settle in the small of her back and press her into him even more. His other hand rested at the base of her skull, tilting her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss.
Needing a breath, Blake pulled back. “I’m going to check on the men. Do you know how to tend to the horses?”
Instead of replying, the woman haughtily turned and led the mounts, swaying her hips just enough to keep his attention on her. The she-devil gave him a cheeky smile over her shoulder and winked. There was much to be discussed, but he was confident that in the end all would be well between them.
Had the men seen their interlude? Blake scanned the area, and his eyes landed on Mr. Smyth as the agent left the woods and headed in Lucy’s direction. Changing directions, Blake reached her first.
“Lady Lucy, I’ve found a note that was hidden in a tree knot. I believe it is in code.” Mr. Smyth handed her the parchment.
Lucy seemed to focus on the note as Blake tried to read its contents over her shoulder. She turned and gave him a look, telling him to give her space. She softly mumbled, “It does not appear to belong to the frogs. It’s not an obvious or simple code.”
Blake crowded her again. “May I see it?”
Why would she be hesitant to hand over the note? What did she know of French missives or codes? He pried the parchment from her hand. Looking over the numerals and symbols, he broke into a grin, and then he made a sound like a laugh and a growl combined.
“It’s from your brother.” Blake couldn’t help but laugh at Harrington’s note. “He knows you beat him to the Continent. He says he is sure that by now I’ve either escaped or have been rescued by you, and he has decided to remain on the Continent and track down Addington. In the last paragraph, he states he will see us back in London, and we had better be wed by the time he returns.”
Lucy’s eyes widened, and her jaw slackened.
Blake put a finger under her chin to close her pretty mouth. “He used a code we had devised back at Eton.”
Apparently, she was not soothed. “Wed? Why would he say such a thing?”
“Lucy, you will be with me without a proper chaperone for many nights, both while we are here on the Continent and when we return to England. You must have known we would have to wed when you came for me.”
“I was saving you.”
“And you did save me, in more ways than you realize.” Blake gently turned her by the shoulders to move toward the fire, where a pallet had been laid out. “Let’s get some rest.”
Blake guided Lucy over to the pallet. She was so compliant; he guessed her mind was preoccupied with the content of Harrington’s note, just as he was. If her brother knew where to leave them a note, Blake was not doing an outstanding job of obscuring their route. Then again, he and Harrington were often of like mind, and perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise he would have determined Blake’s destination. Given his assumptions about Blake’s rel
ationship with his sister, it was a rather obvious choice.
He let Lucy get comfortable while he went and spoke to the men.
“Is Lady Lucy well?” Mr. Smyth asked first.
“She will be.”
John turned and addressed Evan. “She didn’t look well. Shocked and dazed. Mayhap we should move her pallet closer to ours.”
“I will see to her welbeing.” He received three dubious looks. “We are approximately halfway to our destination. With others having recently traveled this path, we will take a more obscure route to Saint-Malo.”
The three men nodded their assent, and Blake made his way back to Lucy. She was lying on her side, so he slid next to her, lying on his back, his shoulder a mere inch from her. They weren’t touching, but he turned to look at her. Cream-colored flesh above her collar teased his eyes, her neck begging to be marked with his teeth. His breath moved the loose tendrils of hair. As if seeking out warmth, she moved so her back was up against his side.
He lay with his hands cupped behind his head. They itched to touch Lucy, but that would not be a wise decision given their surroundings. Mr. Smyth, John, and Evan surrounded them, with the plan that they each take turns remaining awake and on guard.
As Blake gazed up into the sky, counting the stars, he sought ways to distract his wayward thoughts. He would try anything to keep his mind off Lucy and her lush body lying next to him.
Lucy kept wiggling under the blanket, and every time her bottom came into contact with his hip, images of her kissing and straddling him popped into his mind’s eye. As he gazed up, he searched for constellations, but instead, his mind wandered again; this time to images of Lucy slowly undoing his shirt buttons and placing light kisses down his chest and following the trail of hair that led below his smalls.
Blake felt his body was reacting, especially since she had turned over to face him, with one of her hands tucked under her cheek, the other rested on his abdomen. She appeared to be sleeping, but she remained restless. Blake was struggling to act honorably as Lucy continued to move against his side. He started to remember the taste of her on his lips and tongue, and instantly the need to touch her became too much. If he moved her, would she continue to slumber? What would her response be?
Secrets of Lady Lucy Page 18