The Duke's Daring Debutante (Regency Historical Romance)

by Ann Lethbridge

  She gave him a winsome smile. ‘I am so glad to see you again, safe and whole. I worried about you in Spain, and me stuck here in England with no way to reach you. I thought you had abandoned me entirely.’

  He frowned. ‘Me, abandon you? You left me completely in the lurch at Boulogne. I was lucky not to lose my head over that debacle. All this time I have been languishing in Madrid, you have been enjoying the delights of English nobility.’

  The man had no idea about loyalty or familial love. To him it was all about advancement, power, money.

  She widened her eyes as if in shock. ‘You think I wanted to come here to live with a sister who left me to my fate in a burning building? You were my only friend in the world.’

  A protective friend, she’d thought, and a lover, at least for a time. Until she’d discovered the depths of his betrayal. He had broken her heart, but she had made him pay.

  ‘Why did you leave with your sister?’ he asked, his face puzzled. ‘You knew I would return.’

  ‘They didn’t tell you, did they?’

  Doubt filled in his expression. ‘What the devil are you talking about?’

  ‘The men who were supposed to be watching over me left me with that boy, David, and went off to the tavern.’ She’d gambled with them, deliberately cheated and lost all her money to them, and all the while had teased them with sexual innuendo until the only thing they had been able to think about was swiving. Since they hadn’t dared touch Pierre’s mistress, they’d gone off to find women of their own.

  She certainly wasn’t surprised his men hadn’t told him the truth. Why would they risk his wrath when they never expected to see her again? ‘David will confirm my story if you ask him gently enough and don’t make him afraid. The poor lad didn’t stand a chance against Mooreshead when he showed up. I had no choice but to go with him.’ The lies tripped off her tongue as easily as they had when she had been Pierre’s dupe, enticing unsuspecting loyalists into his net. She felt ashamed. She’d told the same lies to Nicky when her sister had asked what had happened to her. Told her she’d spent the entire time hiding with nuns until Moreau had discovered her only weeks before Nicky had. ‘Ask David, if you don’t believe me.’

  His grimaced. ‘Dead men don’t talk.’

  Her heart dipped. David had been sweet. ‘You killed him?’

  Moreau’s jaw dropped. ‘Not I. Your brother-in-law.’

  She shook her head. ‘He was alive when we left. I swear it.’

  It was hard to see his real expression through the disguise, but she had the feeling he was beginning to believe her story. ‘My men must have killed him,’ he said slowly. ‘To hide their dereliction.’

  ‘I would never have left, but Mooreshead said you told them where to find me to save your own life. I thought you had betrayed me.’ He’d certainly betrayed her, but not then. By then she’d known exactly what Pierre was. And what he had made her into.

  ‘Mooreshead.’ He spat the name out. ‘He lied, chérie.’ He put a hand to his heart. ‘You should know I would never willingly let you go.’

  He’d betray his mother for a centime, if it came with a smidgeon of advancement. She had to get out of here, get rid of the portrait and tell Freddy she’d found Moreau. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I should have known better. I hate England. Hate their nobility. I thought once I married Falconwood I would have access to all his secrets. I was planning on passing them along. Who would suspect a duke’s wife of being a traitor? He has not been easy to catch, however. I missed your help. I missed you.’ She didn’t have to pretend to sound miserable, she was desperately sorry to be back in his clutches.

  Somehow she had to get away and warn Freddy.

  ‘My little brave one,’ he cooed at her, as he had so often in the past. He closed in on her, put his arm around her waist and for a moment she thought he would kiss her. She tried not to tense.

  He laughed. ‘Damn this disguise. I am an unpleasant-looking fellow, am I not?’

  Obviously she hadn’t succeeded.

  ‘You will return to France with me,’ he said. ‘Together we will show Falconwood to Fouché, who will extract all his secrets. The Emperor will reward us handsomely, I am sure, when Britain is brought to her knees.’

  ‘I would like that very much.’

  ‘I missed you, chérie. It is good to work with you again.This will make things so much easier.

  He believed her story. The ego of the man. But then he had always thought she was blinded by his charm. Always. Even when he had left her staked out like a chicken to bait a wolf in Boulogne. Even though it had been so very hard to hide her hatred for him by that point. And he was desperate. ‘Was it so very bad in Spain?’

  ‘He put me in the army. As a private. It was hell.’

  ‘How on earth did you get away?’

  ‘I found evidence of a plot against us. Sent the information to Fouché and was forgiven.’

  ‘A real plot?’ she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Hmm, not so much.’

  They laughed as they had laughed together in the old days at their cleverness, only her eyes had been blind to some of that laughter having been directed at her. For believing in him.

  ‘What is your plan? It will be hard to spirit away a duke from his home.’

  ‘Now you are with us it will be very much easier. You will go to the Duke tonight, drug him and let us into his room when the house is asleep.’ He tipped her face up to meet his gaze. ‘You will do this for me?’

  She nodded. ‘And we take him to France? Alive.’ It was a relief to know he didn’t intend to assassinate Freddy out of hand.

  ‘We do. Tonight. There will be a carriage waiting for us.’

  The carriage from the farm. Thank God. Even if he did manage somehow to leave Falconwood with Freddy, that carriage was being watched. It would be stopped.

  ‘You have everything arranged.’ She filled her voice with admiration. If he would trust her enough to let her go from his room, she could warn Freddy. ‘It is perfect. I cannot wait to return to France.’

  The door swung open. Freddy stood on the threshold, his pistol levelled at Moreau. ‘No one is going anywhere.’ His gaze flickered over her, dark, unreadable and so very cold.

  Ah, mon Dieu, how much had he heard? Surely he did not believe...

  She pressed a hand to her chest, felt the hard lump of the miniature against her sternum. If he found it, would he believe her innocent?

  * * *

  It hadn’t taken a great deal of Freddy’s ingenuity to discover which of the gentlemen was the cuckoo in the nest. Peckridge was the only man no one had ever met before and Arthur had been quick to point out that his wife’s cousin was known to be a solitary eccentric man, and it had come as a surprise to find him attending a ball, though, of course, he had to be invited.

  He was the only one no one could vouch for.

  Neither had it taken long to ascertain that the man had gone up to his room after breakfast. With Barker at his back and their men covering all possible exits, Freddy stood with his pistol pointed at the couple embracing by the window. Like old friends. Or lovers. There was no mistaking the familiarity between them or the words he’d heard before he’d opened the door.

  Worse was the guilt written across Minette’s face. The pain in his chest almost sent him to his knees. He cut himself off from it, keeping his gaze fixed on the Frenchman. Keeping his heartbeat steady. His mind clear. ‘Ah, just the man I am looking for.’

  A bitter look twisted Moreau’s lips as he glanced down at Minette, who remained held close to his side. ‘You betrayed me?’ He sounded so wounded Freddy’s teeth ached with the pressure of his jaw.

  ‘No. I figured it out for myself,’ Freddy said. ‘We caught the men who brought the carriage.’

  Chagrin
passed across the other man’s face. ‘It is a bad workman who blames his tool, but these English peasants, they have no imagination.’

  Minette remained in the circle of his arm, so very close to the pistol he held loosely in his hand. One wrong word and the situation might get very nasty. ‘You can confirm this is Paul Moreau?’ he asked her.

  She stared at him wide-eyed and nodded slowly. ‘He is.’

  Moreau preened. ‘Chérie, you told him about us? That was very brave of you, before the wedding.’

  ‘Not really,’ she said softly, regretfully. ‘I only told him about Pierre. I never mentioned that my Pierre and Paul Moreau were the same person.’

  Pierre. The pieces fell together with an unpleasant little click inside his head. Her Pierre and Paul Moreau were one and the same. She had loved this man. Possibly still did. And now, if he had any sense, he would doubt where her loyalties lay.

  Damn it, from the look on her face she was clearly hurting. He couldn’t think of that now. He had to make Moreau believe his words. ‘It seems you have a penchant for misshapen men, my dear.’

  The Frenchman bristled. Used his free hand to remove his bulbous nose and pull off the bushy eyebrows. He spat out wads of padding in his cheeks, becoming a handsome man in his late thirties. ‘Voilà, not misshapen at all.’

  Odd bits of glue dripped from his face, making it look as though it was melting. And the damned pistol stayed where it was, firmly grasped in the hand about her waist.

  ‘Step away from the lady,’ Freddy said.

  Moreau tilted his head. ‘You plan to arrest us, I presume? See justice done. Not take us outside and shoot us?’

  ‘I’m a gentleman,’ he said coldly. ‘What is done with you is not up to me. I will hand you over to the authorities.’

  The expression of fear on Minette’s face clawed at his vitals.

  ‘Put down your weapon,’ Freddy enunciated slowly. ‘Miss Rideau, step aside.’

  Moreau hesitated.

  Freddy cocked his pistol. ‘I will shoot you.’

  The man swore, glanced down at Minette and back at Freddy. ‘I suppose you would not care which of us got hurt.’

  ‘No.’ He prayed like hell the man wouldn’t test him on that particular point. ‘Why would I?’

  Moreau sighed. ‘You overheard our conversation.’ He tossed the pistol aside.

  ‘Freddy?’ Minette said.

  ‘Not now. Barker, see to him.’

  Barker and two of his men were across the room in a flash, picking up the Frenchman’s weapon, holding him by the arms.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Gabe said, striding into the room. ‘By Jove, you got him. And in the house, too. That was a close-run thing.’ He glared at Moreau. ‘Mooreshead, à votre service.’

  ‘I know who you are,’ Moreau ground out, all his smiles and charm gone. ‘You stole one of my very best agents.’

  Minette sent him a look of appeal. ‘Tell Nicky I’m sorry. I never meant to cause her harm. None of this is her fault.’

  ‘Get her out of here, Gabe,’ Freddy said, ‘while I finish with this one.’

  Minette looked startled. Shocked.

  Moreau stared at him. ‘So she has your couilles in her sweet little hands, does she?’ His lips twisted in a bitter smile. ‘You played me well, Falconwood. But since you care about her, I will make you a trade. Let me go and no one will ever know her part in this.’

  The man was a cur. A trapped cur bargaining for his life by saying she was involved in his plan. That not only had she been planning to run off with him, she’d made it possible for Moreau to enter his house. That she’d been involved since the start. Freddy’s stomach fell away. The Home Office boys would be very interested to hear it, because it would put him in very bad odour and reflect badly on Sceptre. Something that would please them no end. He could imagine Blazenby taking full advantage of the situation to advance his career. He looked at his friend. ‘Get her out of here, Gabe. Now.’

  Gabe hustled her out of the room.

  God, he hoped he had his temper under control by the time he was ready to talk to her, because right now he wanted to hit something he was so damned angry.

  Moreau watched her go, his face puzzled. He straightened his shoulders. ‘Doesn’t it bother you that she played you for a fool? That she was planning to help me?’

  The hollow in his chest widened. ‘I doubt she’ll want to go where you are going.’ He gestured to Barker. ‘Tie him up and gag him.’

  Once he was sure his prisoner could not possibly escape he went in search of Minette.

  Chapter Nineteen

  He found her pacing in Gabe and Nicky’s drawing room, her eyes sparkling with anger. Why did she think she had the right to be angry?

  Seated beside Gabe, Nicky followed her with a worried expression.

  The moment Minette saw him she stormed towards him. ‘What you heard. I wasn’t—’

  He cut her off with a chop of his hand. Rude, yes, but he had to know. ‘Tell me one thing. Why did you go to his room?’

  She gasped, looked indignant, then defiant. ‘Why do you think?’

  Gabe made as if to stand but subsided at Nicky’s murmur of protest, watching them through narrowed eyes.

  ‘I think you are an idiot,’ Freddy said.

  ‘Falconwood,’ Gabe said with a growl in his voice.

  He shot his friend a glare. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, both of you, I would like to speak to my betrothed alone. We have some matters we need to discuss.’

  Looking troubled, Nicky rose. ‘I think that is a fair request.’

  ‘Listen to me, Freddy,’ Gabe said. ‘Hurt one hair of her head and you’ll have me to deal with.’ The man was barely holding on to his temper. Freddy knew exactly how he felt. His was rapidly slipping from his grasp.

  ‘Gabe,’ Nicky urged.

  Mooreshead gave him one long last hard look and gently escorted his wife out.

  The door closed softly behind them.

  ‘Well?’ Freddy bit out. ‘Did you think me so incompetent you had to try to capture him yourself?’

  * * *

  Minette stared at him. Took in his fury. Snapped her mouth shut. Was that what he believed? That she thought him incapable, the way his mother did? Thought him less than a man? Not good enough to produce the next heir?

  She hurt for him. Badly. And wished and wished she’d spoken of her feelings out there on the lawn.

  The weight of the miniature against her heart made itself known when she moved towards him. Brought her up short. If she let him continue in this misapprehension, for which he would no doubt hate her, he would never have to know how careless she’d been with her virtue. Never have to see the picture that would not only have ruined her but destroyed her sister in the eyes of society.

  The man had offered her his heart. Told her he loved her. She owed him the truth. He would never expose her folly, not even when he turned away in disgust, glad of a lucky escape. At least she would know she had kept a shred of honour. ‘He had something of mine. Something I had to get back before he was arrested. He caught me before I could leave.’

  He stilled. ‘Did you get it?’

  She swallowed and nodded, fumbled in her bodice, and drew forth the miniature. She held it pressed close to her chest for a second or two then held it out, the back towards him, the ugliness of what she was staring her right in the face. She dropped her gaze to the floor, dreading seeing his anger turn to disgust.

  ‘You risked your life for a trinket?’

  Her heart ached at the flatness his voice. The distance. ‘Not a trinket,’ she said, forcing herself to speak what was in her heart. ‘It is a portrait of Paul and me in what might be described kindly as in flagrante delicto.’ Her faced heated. If it was possible to go up in
flames and have the ashes of combustion blow away on the wind, now would be the right time. ‘It was a jest between lovers. Our faces painted onto a lascivious picture by an artist in the market square. A jest in very poor taste.’ When he made no move to take the picture, she let her hand fall.

  ‘When I heard he was back in England I was terrified he might use it as blackmail. To get me back under his control. He would know I could not bear the idea of anyone seeing it, especially you. Worse, though, would be the ton’s reaction. Nicky and Gabe sponsored me, introduced me to society. To have it become public knowledge that they’d taken such a woman into their midst would have ruined them socially. Look at the way Sparshott behaved over the matter of a kiss. Moreau would know what would happen. And he would use that knowledge to gain his freedom. Those rivals of yours in the Home Office would be only too glad to see Gabe brought down. I could not let it happen. Surely you can understand?’

  Bleak-eyed, he kept his gaze on her face. ‘I do understand, though I regret you did not trust me to retrieve it for you.’ He strode to the window, staring out as if he could not bear to look at her any longer.

  Perhaps knowing that it was Moreau who had been her lover had destroyed his regard, his love. And how could she blame him? She had never been honest with him.

  She crossed the room to stand at his shoulder. ‘I am sorry, Freddy. My intention was not to cause you pain.’

  His fists clenched and then opened. He placed one hand flat on the window frame, as if to stop himself from striking out. But not at her. Never at her.

  He gave her a hard glance. ‘You have no reason to apologise,’ he said in a low, dark voice. ‘He might have killed you when you were supposedly under my protection. Seeing you there, so close to that damned pistol... It would have been my fault. My damned fault.’