Racing with the Wind (Agents of the Crown)

by Regan Walker

  “I don’t know the answer to your questions. I suppose it is possible the child is yours and she wants a wedding to give it a name, but the results of my inquiries before I left London leave me wondering.”

  Hugh looked at his friend, one brow raised in question.

  “It seems she has taken a lover.”

  Startled but relieved at this development and what it could mean, Hugh looked at his friend. “Well, that certainly changes the picture. Who?”

  “James Harrison.”

  “The married Earl of Malmesby?”

  “The very one. My sources tell me she has been with him for a while…perhaps even before you ended your affair with her. Malmesby cannot offer her marriage, even if she is large with his child.”

  “Is she large with child?”

  “Not that I could tell, but you know women’s clothing. Those gowns Josephine introduced to Europe do not exactly hug the form. When Lady Hearnshaw gave me the message I saw no difference in her shape, but the folds of her gown could have hidden much.”

  Hugh felt helpless. It was not a feeling he often experienced. “There is nothing I can do from here. I’ll have to deal with this in London.”

  “I will finish my business in Paris and return as soon as I can. I’ll not tarry. I have my own reasons for wanting to be back in England.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and John entered when admitted. His face bore an eager look. “I bought yer tickets, m’lord. Three of them, just like you asked.”

  Lambeth seemed surprised. “Three? Who is going with you?”

  “I plan to take John. We may have escaped the Prussians this far, but I expect more of them will be waiting at the crossing. They will be looking for a woman—or possibly a man and a woman. They will not be looking for the three of us dressed as we will be.”

  Lambeth chuckled. “Like the old days, eh? Well, we did use that disguise with success. I suppose it could work again. I’m a little sorry I’ll be on my way to Paris.”

  * * *

  Mary slept alone that night. Hugh did not ask to share the bed, and she was somewhat relieved though she missed his arms around her. She found him brooding the next morning when she descended the stairs. Her own eyes were swollen and red from crying. She felt empty inside, too stunned to deal with all that Lady Hearnshaw’s news could mean.

  Hugh approached, very serious. From his appearance, he hadn’t slept well either. Taking her hand he said, “Mary, it will come out all right. I promise.”

  She withdrew her hand as their eyes met. The words to respond would not come. She wanted to reach out for him, to hold him, but she resisted. He might never be hers again.

  “We will cross the channel today in disguise,” he said, clearly trying to distract her thoughts. “We’ve worn the garb of the church before to hide from Napoleon, and it may serve us well today, too. We will travel as monks. John will accompany us.”

  “Ah,” she said. “I suppose it is a good thing the weather has turned cold. I can wear the hood over my face.” Her voice sounded numb to her, without emotion. That seemed odd, since she was reeling with emotion she could not control. She had to get through this and get home, to a place where she could break down alone.

  * * *

  A cold fog hung over the channel. Hugh had arranged for passage on a new type of boat, a steamer named The Majestic. There would be two hundred aboard, and he hoped it would be enough of a crowd for them to get lost among the other passengers.

  They stood off to one side, watching the busy harbor and the huge number of people gathering to board the boat or see it off; the afternoon was noisy with children scurrying here and there to catch a glimpse of the boat, peering around adults who were also hoping for a good view. Hugh had decided to wait until most of the passengers boarded. Already he had seen a small group of Prussian soldiers on a hill nearby the harbor. French soldiers stood close to the pier. For Mary’s sake, he wanted to avoid a confrontation. She was in no condition to deal with more difficulties.

  He studied her, comparing her size to John’s. The habit she wore made her nearly the same. Padding helped disguise her, too, as long as no one noticed her face. They carried nothing save a few necessary items beneath their robes. Hugh wore his brace of pistol daggers. They were clean and loaded, but he prayed he would not need them.

  * * *

  The Prussian soldiers stood on the hill. In their dark blue jackets, they were a stark contrast to the French soldiers in light gray standing guard at the crossing. One of the Prussians raised his hand over his eyes to focus better on the scene below, and he called out to his commanding officer in German.

  “Sir, we’ve been watching this crossing for days and have seen no sign of her. Why do you think she’ll be on this boat?”

  The senior officer considered the question. He didn’t owe the younger man any explanation, but he decided to share his reasoning anyway. “Because she will have had enough time to get here from Paris, and because the steamer will carry enough passengers to make it the most attractive place to hide. Yes, I believe they will cross here and on this boat.”

  “And what exactly are we looking for again?”

  “A tall young woman with blonde hair,” the officer snapped. “I doubt she is traveling alone. She’ll have protection. The last report suggested she might be traveling with one man, but two of our men have already been killed in an attempt to capture her.”

  Below, most of the passengers had already boarded, and the crew was in the final stages of readying the steamer for departure. The one young blonde they had stopped to question earlier was French and traveling with her husband and child. They had seen no other young woman matching the description.

  The senior officer scanned the crowd, his eyes stopping on three figures that were just boarding. Three monks traveling to London? Two of them had hoods drawn over their heads. He turned to his junior officer.

  “Major Yorck, take Dielhman and question those monks just now boarding. See what you can learn about them.”

  The young officer scanned the pier and saw his objective. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  Yorck and Dielhman descended the small hill to the dock. As they did, they were aware of being watched by the contingent guarding the crossing. It was clear from their faces the French soldiers deeply resented the presence of Prussian soldiers here. While they tolerated the allied soldiers posted in Paris, they had less tolerance outside that city. But there was little to be done about it.

  “Where are you going, Father, and what is your business?” Yorck demanded in a brusque voice as he reached the three monks making their way slowly up the gangplank. The tall one turned, and Yorck had a brief moment of concern that he’d tangled with the wrong cleric.

  * * *

  Hugh paused, staring at the Prussian officer while contemplating what to say. Finally he answered in French. “We are about the business of the Church, and we have been summoned to England for special work with Father Christopher in London.”

  The young major carefully looked at him, and also his companions. John had peeled back his hood, so his face was visible, but Mary was focused on the wooden deck, her hood still up. All that could be seen was her nose, her jaw and her lips. There was no denying how fine were her features and lips, and the longer they stood there, the more certain Hugh became that the Prussian officer would notice.

  The major appeared about to question him further when a French officer approached. “What is going on here?” he demanded in an agitated voice.

  Hugh turned immediately and said in perfect French, “Good day to you, my son.”

  Major Yorck turned, too. “I was just asking the monks where they are going.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? They are traveling to London. And why should that be your concern? These are French monks doing the work of the Church. How could that be your business, Prussian?”

  Hugh breathed a sigh of relief, seeing the dynamic between the two. He also acted quickly when a loud bellow fr
om the ship’s horn signaled the imminent departure of the steamer. “We must be boarding, I fear.” He spoke to the French soldier, exuding confidence but also conveying he was anxious to be on his way.

  The Prussian did not respond but continued to study what he could see of Mary peeking out beneath her hood.

  The French officer grew impatient. “Eh alors, I ask you again, Prussian, what concern is it of yours?”

  The major turned to him. “We are looking for someone.”

  “A monk?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you can look somewhere else and leave our men of the cloth alone, then. This steamer is about to depart. All must leave who do not have tickets.”

  “I’ll purchase one,” offered the Prussian major.

  “Not for this sailing, you may not,” the French officer said. “All tickets for this crossing have been sold. You will have to wait for the next one.” Directing his voice to the waiting crowd he shouted, “The steamer is about to depart!” He then moved between the monks and the Prussians and motioned Hugh forward. “You may continue on, Father.”

  The Prussian major was displeased, but clearly there was nothing he could do; the French officer had jurisdiction. He gave one last look at the hooded trio and left, his young subordinate following.

  Hugh relaxed only after the ship departed. Watching from the deck of the steamer as it left Calais, Hugh saw the Prussian return and report to his superior on the hill. The group of soldiers there all turned and watched until they could watch no longer, and neither could Hugh.

  That had been close. God bless the French.

  Chapter 28

  Hugh had stopped at his town house first thing after the return to London, where he’d dropped John and changed clothes, and now he began the trip that would return Mary to Campbell Manor outside the city. Seeing the distance in her eyes, it felt to him like she was on the other side of the world, not the other side of his carriage. Silent for most of the journey, every so often she sighed deeply, as if the burden she carried was too heavy to keep inside. It was killing him. He was losing his golden girl; he could see it in her eyes. It was almost as if she had already said goodbye. She wasn’t crying, but he thought it was only by sheer force of will.

  As they neared Campbell Manor, he could stand it no longer. “Mary, look at me.”

  Sadly obedient green eyes rose to his. He wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, to tell her that all would be well, but he was certain she would resist. He reached out his hand and covered hers. “We will wed. You are mine now. I’ll not give you up because some woman tells an untruth.”

  “Lady Hearnshaw is not ‘some woman,’ Hugh. She is your mistress. Or was.” Her troubled gaze drifted out the window to the passing countryside, but he could tell she was not really seeing it. “And now she carries your child.”

  “There has been nothing between Amanda and I. It was over before you and I met. I don’t believe she carries my child, not that it should make any difference to us. Have you considered the possibility that you might? I took no precautions with you. My plan was to be married by now. I would welcome our child.”

  Mary looked back at him with the eyes of a startled doe. It was plain on her face that she had not considered the possibility. But her expression did not seem to improve; in fact, her mood only soured.

  “Mary, do not give up on us. I am not going anywhere. We will marry.”

  She did not reply, just turned back to stare out the window.

  God, he was becoming the rake they said he was. His former mistress claimed to be carrying his child, and he had deflowered a virgin who now rejected him—the woman he loved, he reminded himself.

  He could see her heart was breaking. The only thing that kept him from feeling a like despair was the hope that he could sort this out and win her back. He should be proud of her determination to do the noble thing, the selfless thing, but at the moment it was only causing them both pain. Mary Campbell probably didn’t consider the fact that other women were devious creatures. Amanda Hearnshaw was not above trying to manipulate him; he was certain of that.

  When the carriage stopped at Campbell Manor, Mary fled. Hugh followed, giving his hat to Hudson. Mary was still wearing the stable boy’s clothes she had worn under the robe when they left Calais, but the butler did not give any indication he found his mistress’s behavior or dress unusual. Hugh shook his head. The nobility played at such farce sometimes, and their servants were tolerant, and today he was glad for it.

  He presented his card. “Is the countess at home, Hudson?”

  “Yes, my lord. I will see if she is accepting visitors.”

  Hugh spent the next hour explaining to Mary’s mother what had transpired in Paris, leaving out only his proposal, Mary’s acceptance and then most of what followed in the past three days and nights. He made excuses for Mary’s behavior upon her return, saying that they had suffered several incidents on the road from Paris and she was in desperate need of rest. That much was not a lie, and Mary’s mother seemed to accept his explanations without pause. Perhaps she knew her daughter better than he realized. He finished by telling her, “Countess, I expect your brother, Lord Baynes will return shortly. He was just a day or two behind.”

  She smiled. “I will speak to him when he returns. Thank you, Lord Ormond, for bringing my daughter home. I know my brother would not have placed Mary in your charge unless he trusted you to keep her safe.”

  Hugh’s thoughts were a tangle as he traveled back to his town house without Mary, most of them dark and depressing. Had he really assured her safety? No, he had not. Unless he wed her, she was ruined. And now that they were back in London there was the Prince Regent’s interest to consider. Hell.

  At home he made arrangements for John to return to Calais then had a bite to eat and fell into a chair exhausted. There was no one to turn to, no solace he could seek. Even Lambeth was unavailable to share his misery. Instead, he took a long drink of brandy, looked into the fire and considered what a mess his life had become.

  Tomorrow, he supposed, there would be a reckoning.

  * * *

  As Hugh strode up the familiar steps of Lady Hearnshaw’s Mayfair town house, the grand style of it reminded him she was a wealthy widow. That was one reason he’d allowed himself to get involved with her; she didn’t need his money and she wouldn’t want his title. Obviously she had made a mistake, the question was with whom. He hoped it was with the Earl of Malmesby. Hugh would not be the one coming to her rescue.

  The door opened just as Hugh reached for the brass knocker. Amanda. She had been waiting for him. The gown she wore was sheer, and the low-cut bodice barely covered her full, rounded breasts. He peered over her shoulder. Not a servant in sight.

  “What is your game, Amanda?”

  “Hugh, darling, whatever do you mean?” She patted his lapel, purring into his ear.

  Lifting her hand off his coat, he stepped back from the doorway. There was nowhere to run, though, so a moment later he stepped across the threshold. At the same time he said, “I am betrothed, madam—and it isn’t to you.”

  She walked deeper into the house and laid her hand over her belly in a dramatic gesture. “But the child.”

  Hugh followed her inside, closing the door behind him. Moving close, he lifted her hand from her body and his gaze focused on her stomach. It was difficult to see if any roundedness had been added. “If there is a child, Amanda, it isn’t mine and you well know it. We haven’t been together for months, and I always took precautions.”

  “Darling,” she cajoled, and he had to admit her voice had always been sensuous, “you know those measures cannot assure there will be no child.”

  “They do in my case,” he snapped.

  And yet, Hugh wondered. Could she really be carrying his child? He’d been very disciplined about the steps he took to avoid siring any bastards, but there was always a possibility. The Albany men had always been virile.

  “Amanda, I am not
ignorant of your doings. Are you expecting me to claim the Earl of Malmesby’s child as mine? Because I won’t.”

  The shock on her face was genuine, and it told him a great deal. Relief flooded him.

  “You didn’t think I was aware of your relationship with James Harrison.”

  “No.” She began to stutter. “I-I…”

  “Of course I know about your married lover, and so I know why you are in the market for a husband. But do not allow yourself to think it will be me.” It was the bluff of a lifetime, but it seemed to be working.

  She collapsed into a chair near the entry. “Hugh, you are being most disagreeable! What am I to do? You know James cannot marry me, and you and I cared about each other once, didn’t we? You once said a marriage of convenience was what you expected, and what would be inconvenient about marrying me? I thought if you believed the child to be yours…”

  Even if she was a friend, he found it hard to sympathize with a woman who would pin another’s bastard on him, depriving him of the one he loved. Friendship could go only so far. “So you admit the child isn’t mine.”

  Her face was downcast.

  Hugh let out the breath he’d been holding, and a feeling of exhilaration swept over him. The child wasn’t his! Thank God. His relief and his love for Mary made him more forgiving than he probably would have been otherwise. For the sake of what he and Amanda had once been to each other, he would help.

  “I will see what I can do to assist you in this predicament—as a friend, Amanda. But that is all. And, my marriage will no longer be…convenient. It seems love rarely works that way.”

  * * *

  From the window of her bedroom Mary watched the man she loved ride off. He had come again, and again she had refused to see him. Her emotions were too raw; she would not be able to endure his arguments. They would only be the same words he’d given her before, that the baby his mistress carried wasn’t his, that Lady Hearnshaw had another lover. Her bedroom had been her shelter for a week. Her tears would not stop. Inside she felt empty.