The Duchess and the Spy

by Marly Mathews

  “Whose man are you?” she asked boldly, haughtily staring over at him.

  “Pierre Dubois employs me.”

  “Jolly good, then,” Isabella stated, inwardly crying out in fear. “Right, take me to him then,” she ordered imperiously. He stared at her, just as a questionable looking carriage pulled up. Another dirty looking man was just about to place his hands on her, when the man she had been formerly talking to stepped protectively in front of her.

  “Keep your paws off the Mademoiselle,” he ordered gruffly, gently reaching out to assist Isabella up into the carriage. “She is coming willingly, and you will treat her with respect or I will slit your throat.”

  “I do not believe that I caught your name,” Isabella said, staring at the man in wide eyed amazement.

  “Bernard’s the name,” he said, settling himself in the carriage beside her. “Worry not, Mademoiselle, I won’t let anyone lay a grimy finger on you. My Mama always told me to treat a woman with care, and I always heed her advice.” Bernard leaned lazily against the seat, and tipped his hat to fall over his eyes. “We’ll have a long ride ahead of us. I pray that you are prepared.”

  “I am most prepared.” She stared out the window as the carriage quickly left Mayfair.

  She was leaving Christopher behind—forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Christopher was in the foulest of moods. He had just gone through an agonizing night, orchestrating the mission that would save Will. He was tired, hungry, and he wanted to see Isabella more than anything else. He needed to hear her sweet voice and know that when he returned from his mission she would be waiting for him.

  He loved her so much, it sometimes stole his breath. He had realized that when Jack had questioned her loyalty. She would never betray him. He knew it in to the very depth of his soul. He hastily dismounted his horse, and had scarcely walked up the stairs, toward the front door when it was wrenched open. His mother stood there on the threshold wringing her hands anxiously as she caught sight of him.

  “Christopher, pray do make haste, something quite frightful has happened!” she cried, rushing back into the house. When he turned the corner, he noticed Adaira pacing back and forth as if her dress had caught fire. She slammed her walking cane down onto the floor, and her tense expression turned to relief when she caught sight of him.

  “You must bring her back!” she declared, her green eyes filling with desperation. “I can’t lose her again. I won’t lose Sandrine’s daughter. Losing Sandrine, the way I did, nearly killed me. I never should have let her marry her French husband, I never should have let her leave Scotland. I did, and I set into motion all of the terrible events that almost broke my family. I won’t lose the last bit of Sandrine that I have. You will make certain of that, sir.”

  “What the bloody hell are the two of you on about?” he demanded in frustration, as a cold sensation raced through his heart. He rushed toward the stairwell, and bounded up them two at a time, as his mother and Adaira followed him, at a safe distance. He ran through the hall and skidded to a stop when he reached their bedchamber.

  It was empty. His eyes searched the room furtively, when he noticed something glittering on Isabella’s dressing table. He stumbled over to it, stared down in heart-stopping dread at the note, and at the enchanted emerald.

  “Damnation.”

  She had left. She had left him.

  “I shall fetch her back.”

  “Good,” Adaira said. She and his mother had followed him to the bedchamber he shared with Isabella.

  He tucked the amulet into his coat to rest against his heart. He left the letter on the table, as he barged across the room, almost colliding with his brother.

  “Jack. Thank God you’re here.”

  “A French ship, broke through our lines last night. There was a firefight, but it escaped unscathed. Damn Frogs.”

  “Thank God,” he breathed.

  “Have you gone mad, brother?”

  “Isabella has gone to France, Jack, dear,” Jane said sadly. “She was no doubt on that ship. We must give our thanks, that she wasn’t harmed.”

  “Then, she did betray you.”

  “No, she didn’t. Will’s present situation cannot be blamed on Isabella.”

  “Now I do believe that you have gone to Bedlam,” Jack said.

  Adaira slammed her cane down on the floor.

  “Now see here young chap, I shall not condone you slandering my lass that way.”

  “She didn’t betray me, Jack,” Christopher said.

  “And how pray tell do you know? One of our men, heard her conversation in that blasted bookshop, and heard her giving out vital information that may have doomed Will.”

  “She wasn’t referring to Will. She wouldn’t do that. Will is her cousin too.”

  “Fine, then, but you better be careful. I wouldn’t want you to find yourself proven wrong.”

  “I am not wrong.”

  “And how can you be so sure?”

  “Because I love her, and she left me the key to her heart. Are you coming or not?”

  “Course, I am. By the by, where are we going?”

  “We are going to save my wife, and Will.”

  “Good luck,” Jane and Adaira said at the same time.

  Chapter Thirty

  Bernard assisted Isabella out of the rowboat, and she stared up at the foreboding structure of her family Castle with a heavy heart. Château fort De Clermont still had a moat and the drawbridge had been lowered to allow the guests entrance. She stared behind her at the English Channel, and repressed a sob, as she linked her arm through Bernard’s. He had been quite the gentleman and she would stick close to him, until her plan came to fruition. She stared at all of the dazzling lanterns, and looked at Bernard questioningly. “Monsieur Dubois is throwing a fancy dress ball tomorrow night. The Emperor is expected to attend,” he said. She was led up and across the drawbridge of Château fort De Clermont.

  She looked up in surprise, as Pierre came running toward her with his arms opened wide. He was dressed in his usual pomposity, and his gold trousers and cream coloured tailcoat, with his ostentatious frills were enough to make her quite queasy. She grudgingly walked into them, as he hugged her tightly, pressing her ample charms up against his chest.

  Revulsion raced through her, and she concentrated deeply, to keep herself from throwing up. He boldly patted her bottom, and her blood boiled. If he touched her again, she would lose her mind.

  “It is good to see you again, Uncle Pierre,” the words tasted bitter in her mouth. She forced herself to remain civil. If she didn’t humour him, the consequences could be dire.

  “Ah, my darling girl, it is splendid to have you back,” he said breathlessly, taking her arm, he ushered her into Château fort De Clermont’s medieval Great Hall. She stared over at the De Clermont’s ancient tapestries, and felt her heart constrict as all of the horrible memories came flooding back. But then she heard her Mama’s gay laughter, echoing through the halls. She heard her Papa’s warm and deeply booming voice, and she felt instantly comforted. They were with her. She blinked her eyes, as she saw her Mama and Papa’s images flash across one of the tapestries, but when she looked back at it, their smiling faces were gone, replaced by the warrior and his noble lady. She stared at the woman’s flaxen blond hair, with her circlet of flowers atop her head, and her mouth grew dry.

  She had the sinking sensation that all hope her mother had survived was gone. She was not part of this living world anymore, and that thought made her want to kill Pierre with her bare hands.

  The door closed heavily behind her, and she felt as if the walls closed in on her. She swallowed thickly, and with her pounding aching heart she glided up the stairs toward her doom.

  ****

  “Uncle Pierre, you must allow me to see Daphne,” Isabella begged. It was the following morning and she watched servants rushing back and forth to ready the enormous ballroom for the soiree that evening.

  “You shall
see her this evening, Isabella. Have you figured out your costume yet?”

  “Yes,” she said tight-lipped, turning to leave. She collided with a familiar looking man, and stared up at him in unrestrained horror.

  “Hullo, my dear Lady Wyndham.”

  Isabella stared at Austin Blanding with a violently pounding heart. “You devil!” She whispered with disgust, just before Pierre came up beside her and rested his hand familiarly around her shoulders. She settled back into her clever façade, and curtsied politely to Blanding, while he bowed grandly to her in return. She wanted to strangle him. She wanted to make him pay for all of the misery that he had given his family.

  “What the bloody hell, are you doing with her?”

  “You will treat my niece with respect,” Pierre ordered angrily, as he quickly pinched her bottom. She felt her anger soaring through her, but hastily kept silent, as to not give herself away. Blanding made her skin crawl as he stared openly at her chest.

  “Your darling niece is Lady Wyndham now. She’s turned the other cheek, Monsieur Dubois.”

  “Oh, no, my dear Blanding. My marriage to Wyndham was only a carefully devised ruse. I am back right where I belong,” she said coyly, fluttering her long thick lashes at him. He looked at her as if he didn’t believe her, but Pierre fell for her routine. He looked down at her in adoration. She had his trust at least.

  “Why don’t you go and prepare yourself for tonight? You shall be the most beautiful woman in attendance.”

  She heeded his advice and escaped Blanding’s insidious scrutiny.

  *****

  Isabella stared at her image in the mirror, and pulled down on the plain grey wool dress. She piled her hair on top of her head and hastily tucked her flaming red curly hair beneath her prim white cap. Then, she slipped her feet into her white slippers, and left her hands gloveless. “Forgive me for what I am about to do,” she prayed, staring up at the heavens. “But alas, we do what we must.” She walked out her door, and fortified herself, as she went to meet her executioner.

  ****

  Christopher stared at the impressive medieval castle, as he wet his lips in an attempt to smother the trepidation that was welling in his heart. Normally, he viewed a mission with indifferent composure. But this time everything was at stake, literally. His Isabella was in there somewhere facing the demon of her nightmares, but her Saint was on his way.

  Will was also in there though he had not yet been revealed as a spy. He and Jack suspected that Napoleon was biding his time, as he was expected to arrive soon.

  He dismounted from his horse, and his black cape flew dramatically out behind him. His cutlass hung at his side. He stared up at the castle as he imagined seeing Isabella on one of the parapets with her glorious red hair billowing in the wind.

  Jack’s sapphire blue cape rippled in the wind, and he stared over at his masked brother. He too was masked, so that no one would ever be able to recognize and identify them. He had reason to believe that there was a traitor terribly close to them, and he would make sure that man paid for making Isabella culpable for his own devious crimes.

  “Do you have Mama’s invention?” Jack whispered, as they approached Château fort De Clermont.

  “’Course, I wouldn’t leave England without it my good man. Do be careful, Jack, your French is a tad rusty.”

  They handed in their invitations, and stepped up into the large throng of people. The Greek revival seemed the most popular theme, yet many women were dolled up in the gowns of the last two centuries, with their faces and wigs powdered to match. Some wore the dresses with the wide panniers. He stared at one painted woman who was bewigged with a birdcage in her elaborate headdress. He quickly moved away from the woman as her bird began screeching out a particularly annoying melody. His eyes were diverted for a moment, as the entire crowd turned their attention to the grand staircase.

  There she was, his beautiful Duchess.

  His breath caught in his throat. And though she was dressed rather ironically, her beauty still shone through. She was classical. And when she was eighty years of age, she would still be as beautiful as she was tonight.

  She seemed haunted, and her eyes were filled with torment, even though she had a captivating smile across her face. She was entrancing, and he found that he was quite enthralled as she came towards him. He stepped back, and she was so preoccupied that she fortunately did not notice him. She had her left hand clasped tightly by her side, and his heart broke to see her so plagued by grief. His heart grew heavy as he noticed that she still wore her wedding band.

  As much as he admired and loved her at the moment, he also wanted to talk some sense into her. How dare she put herself into such mortal peril!

  Music began streaming through the hall, and into the ballroom, as a grand procession filed in. There he was. The annoying little bastard that had caused too much English blood to taint the sea and ground red. He was a son of a bitch, but Christopher wasn’t here to see him meet his demise. Someone else would have to dispose of him. Right now, he only wanted to see Pierre pay.

  Jack stared over at him, and then, they both looked to where Will was. He was dressed as a priest. Will as a priest was a sight to be sure. He watched as Isabella was led toward the front of the room to sit by Napoleon’s ostentatious throne. Even though she was dressed as her mother had probably been dressed when she had been sent to the guillotine, she still carried herself like the lady she was.

  Somehow, she kept smiling, as she searched Napoleon’s courtiers for Will. When she saw him, a genuinely wistful smile crossed her features, only to become guarded when Pierre leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Anxiety flashed across her face, and she rushed down to follow him from the hall.

  *****

  “I know, my darling that I promised you that you would see Daphne Trudeau, and as you know, my dear, I am a man of my word.” She caught sight of Daphne’s profile and raced toward her.

  “Daphne!” she cried. The woman turned around, and her excitement turned to horror, disdain and rage. “You!” she seethed, emphasizing her word with as much hatred as she could muster.

  “At last, the precious little duchess,” Ashley purred, as her eyes stared mockingly at Isabella. “I see that you picked up right where I left off. But then, poor Chris was such a boorish man, always ensconced in his damnable books, and juicy letters.”

  “Where is Daphne?” She turned to Pierre. “Where is she, Uncle?”

  “Oh, I did away with that troubling baggage a long time ago,” Pierre said carelessly.

  “You lie,” she whispered hollowly.

  “Oh, he is quite right,” Ashley confirmed, playing with the jewels that hung around her neck. If she thought they were real, she was mistaken. They were paste, and as fake as the woman standing in front of her. “I saw her lifeless body,” she said, grinning gleefully.

  Isabella couldn’t believe that her Saint Christopher had fallen for such a despicably cold woman. Feeling quite weak suddenly, she reached out for support, and found that Blanding had appeared out of nowhere, and was more than willing to lend it.

  “Oh, never fear, Mademoiselle. I daresay that you will get over it. After all, she was just a mere servant,” Blanding said dismissively.

  Her vision blurred, as she was led from the study back through the Great Hall and then, into the ballroom and she struggled to maintain her composure as she was led toward Bonaparte. She gave him a low curtsy, and noticed with disgust that he was still trying to gain a good view of her abundant cleavage.

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” she said, as she gave him her hand to kiss. She stared at the glass of champagne that sat next to him, and realized that it had probably already been tainted. She would have to add her concoction to it, to nullify its effects and add something entirely different to it. Someone was about to get what they deserved, and it certainly would not be her. She took her own champagne and sipped at it delicately, as she searched the hall for Will.

  Suddenly, their
gazes locked, and his surprised glance nearly unnerved her. She was here to save his life, and save him she would. She entered into a lively chat with the Emperor as she accidentally, knocked his glass of champagne. Everyone else was preoccupied, as she slipped her concoction into it, when she righted his glass. Luckily, none of his champagne had spilt. For being so clever he could be tediously dull.

  “I am a clumsy fool,” she said apologetically, begging his forgiveness with her coquettish smile.

  “Think nothing of it, my dear.” He leaned in closer to her. “You will be able to make up for it later tonight.”

  Lecherous swine. “You are too kind, my lord.”

  Will carefully approached the throne. Her heart raced.

  “You shall enjoy the entertainment tonight, my dear, as I will be exacting justice against a traitor.”

  “Indeed,” she whispered, as her heart hammered in her chest.

  “You,” Bonaparte said, pointing his bejeweled finger in Will’s direction. “Come here, Philippe Gambon.”

  Will suddenly stopped his approach and stared over at her with wild eyes. She prayed he would not believe what she had to portray to Bonaparte and the rest of the guests. He knew her well, he should see through her charade, and yet, the doubt he wouldn’t, nearly crippled her. He continued his ascent towards the throne, and stopped only when Bonaparte ordered him too.

  “You have had serious charges laid against your door,” Napoleon began, as she edged nervously on her red settle.

  “Indeed,” Will said, as his only defense. She stared down at him in his priest’s robes, and noticed with heartache that he had curled his fingers around the large cross that he wore around his neck.