“As clear and straightforward as any government document can be, Captain,” Lord Aytoun responded.
“Then are you satisfied with it, m’lord?”
“Yes, this will do,” he said, placing it on the table beside him. He turned his attention to Grace. “You were just speaking about the harrowing attempt to abduct you, Miss Ware.”
Rivenhall’s attention turned back to her. She could feel Sir Rupert’s eyes on her as well.
“You were attacked here, Miss Ware?” Rivenhall repeated.
If the man’s surprise was pretended, then Grace decided he was the finest actor in Europe.
“That’s correct, Captain. And of course, we now know the reason for the attempted abduction is right here.” She held up the folded document.
Lord Aytoun leaned forward. “And Mrs. Mariah Douglas, wife of the late Cabinet minister, was behind it,” he said with a shake of his head. “Difficult to believe.”
“You’re saying that Mrs. Douglas was working for the French?” Rivenhall asked. “Have the authorities apprehended her?”
“Indeed they have.”
Grace knew the earl’s words were being taken as fact.
“My son was informed of Mrs. Douglas’s desire to cooperate fully. She’s in the viscount’s study with the bailiff right now. I believe you were with them recording her statement, Mr. Branson.”
The clerk nodded, holding up a sheaf of papers.
“She’s admitted her involvement?” Rivenhall exclaimed.
“The timing of your visit here is quite fortuitous, Captain,” Grace said, turning casually to look for Sir Rupert. He was still looking on from the window.
“You’ll have the opportunity to hear the sworn statement Mrs. Douglas has agreed to give in exchange for a pardon for herself,” the earl added. “She’s offering solid evidence as well as the identification of her accomplices.”
“This news is astound—”
Before Rivenhall could complete his sentence, the library door opened. Grace and the others stood as Hugh and Mrs. Douglas entered, flanked by two footmen.
The woman’s pale face took in everyone in the room before fixing a look of cold fury on the man behind Grace.
Before she could even turn, the room erupted.
As the hand closed on her arm like a band of steel, Grace cursed herself for allowing Sir Rupert to get behind her. How many times had her father told her of the value of flanking the foe when a diversion engages their attention elsewhere. Grace felt the knife blade pressed to her throat as she was jerked backward.
“Let her go,” Hugh shouted.
The entire room became a moving tableau. Hugh and Lord Aytoun charged across the library toward them as Rivenhall stood stock still, a stunned look on his face. Mrs. Douglas’s expression of fury was replaced with wide-eyed surprise. MacKay had half risen from his chair, upsetting the inkstand, and the papers in Branson’s hand spread out on the floor around him.
Sir Rupert yanked her away from the two men.
“You’re a fool, Mariah,” he spat. “Stay where you are, Greysteil, or this one is a dead woman.”
Hugh’s face darkened with rage.
Grace felt the keen edge of the blade against her skin. This wasn’t happening. She had survived Antwerp, the arduous journey in darkness, the fevers, the attack on the lane . . . just to have it end now? It had taken her a lifetime to find Hugh, and now she was to be wrested from his arms. If this blackguard took her from here, Grace knew he would kill her with as little hesitation as they’d killed her father and the others.
After all she’d lost and now gained—after finding love—now death would claim her?
“What are you doing?” Rivenhall shouted. “Put the knife down. Release her.”
Elliot ignored the orders and moved toward the door.
“You can’t escape,” Lord Aytoun growled.
“I can and I shall,” Elliot snapped. “Greysteil, the two of you will escort us to the carriage that brought us here. Miss Ware and I shall leave unmolested, and no one will follow us. If I so much as see a hay cart in pursuit of us, she will die.”
“This is madness, Elliot,” Rivenhall said. “This must stop now.”
Hugh inched closer. “You will not be leaving here. You don’t seriously think I’d allow you to take her out of here.”
Fight. The words of her father rang in her ears. Always fight. Never allow yourself to become the prey. Fight. She was no weak and passive victim. She would rather die here in Hugh’s arms than in the darkness of a shuttered carriage, only to have her body tossed out along the road.
Smashing her heel down as hard as she could on her attacker’s booted foot, Grace ducked to the side, feeling the blade nick her jaw as she dropped down.
That was all that was needed.
Grace felt her arm break free and she stumbled out of the way as Hugh flew at Elliot. The massive fist that crashed into the envoy’s face drove him back toward the wall. Before he could right himself, more blows rained down on him.
The knife lay at Grace’s feet and she picked it up as she backed away.
Hugh pounded Elliot with both hands, snapping his head back with every lashing blow. The man’s knees collapsed beneath him and he sagged unconscious to the floor. Hugh was standing over him as the two footmen rushed to help. Across the room, Mrs. Douglas sank into a chair. Lord Aytoun was watching Captain Rivenhall warily, but the man stood in a state of shock.
Hugh rushed over and took Grace into his arms.
“You’re hurt.”
“No, I’m fine.”
His worried eyes scanned her face and neck for injuries. He wasn’t believing her. “He cut you. The edge of the knife . . .”
“It was nothing. Truly.” She had to take his cheeks in her hands and force him to look into her eyes to get his attention. “It’s over, Hugh. You saved me.”
He caressed her face, his thumb running across the place where she’d felt the knife press against her skin. “My brave fighter. My warrior. This is twice now where your fearlessness has shone through. I can’t tell you how proud you make me.”
“You’re giving me too much credit.” She smiled up at him. “Each time, you were the one who saved my life.”
“I could not have done it without you.” His arms tightened around her. His lips brushed against her hair. She heard him take a deep breath. “Your courage . . . so impressive. Facing Elliot, I knew you wouldn’t stand and do nothing. I feared for your safety, but I was certain you would dive into the fight.”
Grace understood his fears. And she was relieved that he saw her as herself and not vulnerable as Amelia had been. What they had was a different path, fraught with new challenges and trials.
“And I was sure that you’d finish whatever I started.”
“We are a match, you and I,” he whispered against her lips. “You complete me.”
Grace pressed her lips against his, overwhelmed with the rush of emotion. He was her love, her partner, and soon to be her husband. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.
He was hers as she was his. Forever.
* * *
The following day, Captain Rivenhall met with Grace and Hugh before he departed for London.
“I cannot tell you how sorry I am for our failure to secure the safety of your party when you landed in Antwerp,” he told Grace. “The Foreign Office has been operating under the assumption that the list would be comprised of military officers. We were focusing on men Colonel Ware might have become aware of during his time in the Peninsular campaign. We didn’t expect the danger to come from within.”
“Frightening that the treachery of Sir Rupert Elliot and Mrs. Douglas could have gone undetected,” Hugh said.
“When Westminster hears this news, a tidal wave will sweep through the Foreign Office. This list will undoubtedly produce a number of shocks.” Rivenhall turned to Grace. “On behalf of the crown, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. Your father�
��s sacrifice will be remembered.”
“About the source of the names,” Grace said, having thought about it last night. “I believe my father may have come across this list recently. As you know, he had been working in the service of Napoleon’s brother in America. I don’t know how he got it, but he obviously didn’t know the true identities of these people or he wouldn’t have addressed one of the letters to the envoy in Brussels.”
“Are you saying it’s possible this list was delivered with Joseph Bonaparte’s knowledge?”
“I cannot say. I can tell you that King Joseph—or Count Survilliers, as he is known now—wants nothing to do with those still loyal to his brother. He has been cutting political ties on every side. Perhaps you heard rumors that he was offered the throne of Mexico, but that he refused it.”
“Yes, we heard that,” Rivenhall replied.
“It’s true,” Grace affirmed. “He is withdrawing from politics. He only wants his family to live free of any further turmoil. The government of America has offered him just such a sanctuary.”
Grace had learned so much in her months in King Joseph’s company. He didn’t share his brother’s ambitions.
“My father’s remains. What happened to him?”
“Oh yes. By the time I found out about the colonel’s demise, Queen Julie’s people had already learned of the murder and had taken possession of the bodies. Your father is buried in Brussels, Miss Ware.”
“I’m glad,” she said softly, hoping that since they hadn’t arrived as expected, Queen Julie would have gone out looking for them.
“That was another reason why I was convinced the list was gone,” Rivenhall added. “We thought that whoever was responsible for the attack in Antwerp had the list. Beyond that, we assumed Queen Julie had recovered it, and it was lost to us in any case.”
“Only Elliot knew the truth,” Hugh said. “That’s why he wrote to Mrs. Douglas, alerting her to come to the Borders.”
“And insisted that we come here as well,” Rivenhall added.
“What will become of these two?” Grace asked. “And the others on the list?”
Hugh and the captain exchanged a look.
“I think it’s safe to say neither one will ever bother you again, Miss Ware,” Rivenhall told her. “Sir Rupert and Mrs. Douglas will be tried and punished for their crimes. They have a great deal to answer for.”
Chapter 32
One week later
The sky outside the open windows was a shade lighter, and Grace knew the dawn was about to break. Gently, she lifted Hugh’s arm from around her waist and slipped from his embrace. He stirred slightly, and she felt the temptation to curl back into his warmth.
There was so much on her mind. The rest of the Pennington siblings—Gregory, Phoebe, and Millie—were arriving today, but Grace no longer felt reticent about meeting them. She looked forward getting to know them before the rest of the family and their guests started to trickle in.
This year, the annual summer ball was to be preceded by a wedding. Grace looked over her shoulder at the groom’s tranquil face. He was just the same during the waking hours, while the tumultuous demands of planning and choosing and preparing were going on around him. Calm, happy, satisfied, and clever about stealing Grace away when his mother and Jo were looking the other way.
Like the scent of the early roses drifting up from the gardens, a feeling of happiness wafted on the soft breeze of her life.
Our wedding, she thought. Only a week away.
Her father’s face came into her mind, and with it came that pang of missing him. How he would have wished to see the day! How much she wished she could tell him how well he’d succeeded in everything he set out to do for her.
Pulling a quilt around her, Grace padded across the floor to the window and gazed out at the fields beginning to glisten with dew. The pale sliver of a moon had dropped low in the sky, and her mind turned to the letter she’d received yesterday.
Queen Julie wrote that she felt great pain at the loss of Grace’s father. He was a fine man and a loyal soldier. It had been her honor to see that he received the rites of a proper burial. She only wished that Grace had been there. The queen told her that she’d already written to share the tragic news with her husband in America, and that he too would be grieved at the loss.
Finally, Queen Julie addressed the matter of the diamond. The stone is yours, ma chérie. No doubt, your father intended it for your start in life . . . or, as you tell me you are about to marry, for your dowry. Enjoy it, sweetness. I know you will put it to the best of uses.
Grace knew exactly what she was going to do with it. That diamond would fund a fine expansion of the tower house.
“You’re up early.”
Hugh’s voice was a warm whisper in her ear. Grace’s breath hitched in her chest as she felt his warmth close around her. “I couldn’t sleep. I have so much on my mind. But you promised me a ride at dawn. If we’re going to slip away before your mother and sister awaken, we’ll need to go soon.”
Last night, he’d suggested that the two of them escape for a couple of hours before the commotion began anew.
His hands gently pulled the quilt from her shoulders, and Grace felt his naked body press against her own from behind.
“Perhaps a ride right here before we ‘slip away’?”
Grace felt his teeth scrape over the sensitive skin beneath her ear, and she shivered with excitement.
One hand cupped her breast while the other moved down over her stomach and slid into her sex. She leaned her head back against him as his teeth nibbled her earlobe.
“You already know that I can’t refuse you.” She smiled. The play of his fingers in and out of her flesh had her body humming to the most tantalizing song. She leaned to one side and dug her fingers in his hair, kissing him deeply.
He turned her toward the mirror standing by the wall, allowing Grace to look at their reflection as he entered her. She watched through a thick haze of passion how one expert hand caressed her breast while the other continued to coax the pleasures within her. He moved with exquisitely timed strokes, sliding into her again and again, and Grace stared with utter disbelief at the image of two people rising together on undulating waves of passion before finally coming apart in an explosion of ecstasy.
Moments later, still breathless, still wrapped in his arms, she gazed out the window at the sunlight advancing across the fields and chasing away the remaining shadows of night.
“And now,” he whispered in her ear. “We go for the ride I actually promised.”
* * *
The sun was a bright orange ball behind them when they reached the ruin of a church. Grace was surprised to see the half-dozen men waiting, but she was shocked to see the inflated balloon rising above the securely tethered gondola.
Truscott, Darby, and several grooms were standing by it and turned as one to greet them.
“Fine work,” Hugh called out, jumping from his horse and helping Grace dismount. “Did it take the whole night to fill the envelope?”
“Most of it, m’lord,” Darby said. “As you predicted, positioning the opening to take the gas took some doing.”
Truscott pointed to the long rope running from the ruined church steeple to a tripod of timbers sunk into the turf some distance away. “Darby’s idea of rigging this line and hoisting the bag up to it was brilliant. Once the men got the bloody thing up and in position, it filled quick as a sheep’s bladder.”
Grace’s eye took in the vessel. The varnished material of the envelope glistened in the morning sun, and the blue cloudless sky beckoned. The idea of rising above the earth, disconnected from the world and humanity, to go where few people had ever gone, thrilled her beyond measure.
It felt like an eon ago since she promised to go aloft with him, but she never expected to be so excited at the prospect of flying . . . until now.
“It’s magnificent,” she whispered.
Hugh took her hand in his. “So . . . are you
ready?”
Truscott came up and joined them. “You don’t need to do this, Miss Grace.”
“I believe I do, Mr. Truscott.”
“Your fiancé’s last flight went off in a stiffer breeze than we have this morning, and every villager and farmer for twenty miles about was quite entertained. But the rest of us, after riding pell-mell ten miles on the other side of Baronsford, only got there in time to witness him dragged like a stone over walls and hedges for another half mile. We thought he was a dead man.”
“Not this time,” she said. “Last autumn, he tells me, he didn’t have the help of our excellent Mr. Darby, who has fashioned a valve that will allow him to control our altitude and our descent.”
Truscott walked with them as they moved toward the balloon. “Remember, Hugh, it’s only a week before your wedding, and if anything were to happen to you—but more importantly to her—the earl will have all of our heads on poles on the ramparts. And that’s after your mother has us skinned alive.”
“I’ll take good care of him,” she said, smiling.
They’d dragged an empty chest to the gondola, and Hugh helped her climb in. As those on the ground got ready to release the ropes, Grace braced herself against the side and looked around her. Thick lines and rope netting rose from the sides of the gondola, securing it to the balloon above them. A flying ship.
She thought of the last time she’d been in this basket. Exhausted by her run through the murky alleyways of Antwerp. Stunned and torn inside at the sight of her father’s murdered body. Afraid for her own life. Ripped from everything she had ever known and propelled into an unknown future.
Grace closed her eyes and ran her hands over the wicker walls and the rawhide lacing. She let her fingers trace the woven patterns, recalling the darkness and gradually diminishing hope of ever breathing fresh air, or seeing daylight, or breaking out of what she’d come to accept as her coffin.
Hugh’s arm stole around her. “Shall we?”
She smiled up at him and nodded.
As the ropes were released, Darby saluted them and the others let out a shout. The basket rose smoothly, and in a moment the ruined church and the hill and the fields grew smaller and more distant. They were sailing toward the sun, the balloon rising higher over cottages and ponds and meadows. Animals in their enclosures looked like toy figures. All around, the world was a rolling patchwork quilt of green and earth tones. A river snaked along through meadows and forests.
Romancing the Scot (The Pennington Family) Page 26