by Gaelen Foley
“You did?” he choked out, staring at her, overwhelmed by the youthful sincerity in her blue eyes.
At her simple nod, a shudder racked him and slowly he lowered his head all the way to her lap. He clung to her, unworthy as he was, and then he broke down. He covered her beautiful, artist’s hands in kisses and hot, stinging tears. “Save me,” he whispered. “My beloved, my beautiful friend. You’re the only thing that’s ever really gone right in my life.”
She held him in her embrace for a long moment, nuzzling his ear as she bent over his back and stroked him lovingly. “Lucien, my warlock, my enchanter, you are a healer. You’ve healed me.”
He lifted his shattered gaze and stared at her, lost. “Now let me heal you,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes in silent desperation. Gently caressing his face, she kissed his eyelids and his cheeks.
“I love you,” she murmured again and again. He held very still, drawing the words in deeply to the innermost recesses of his being. When her silken lips grazed his coaxingly, he claimed her mouth in a kiss full trembling urgency.
Her arms went around him; her warm, wet mouth opened hungrily to welcome him. He stroked her tongue with his own and cupped her breast through her gown, then tore his lips away from hers after a moment, his heart pounding wildly, his eyes glittering with fevered desire.
“I need you.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice faint and breathless as she reached down and stroked his hardness. “I’m yours, Lucien. Yours to take. Take my love. Take me.”
With a groan of soul-deep gratitude, he kissed her again and rose to his feet, lifting her in his arms. He carried her over to the sturdy mahogany table and laid her on it, pushing the silver tea service off to the side.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he breathed, slipping her skirts up over her thighs. “Your body, your laughter, your smile. You don’t know how much I need you.”
“Lucien, hurry,” she wimpered, arching hungrily against him, plucking at his falls. Her eyes were hazy with longing, oceans of love to quench the fires of his damnation.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered helplessly, moved. When he stroked her core, she was already hot and wet.
She freed him from his trousers with trembling hands, then let out a soft moan of satisfaction as he pressed deep inside her, taking her there on the table with frantic, jittery urgency, both of them still fully clothed. Gripping her creamy-smooth buttocks, he cradled her body from the hard surface of the table, kissing her throat while she writhed under him. He nuzzled his way down her chest and sucked on her swollen nipples until she let out a sharp cry of pleasure, wrapping her legs around his hips.
“Oh! You drive me mad,” she panted.
“Shh,” he murmured with a possessive smile, laying his finger over her lips as her sounds of sensual delight grew louder. She licked the finger with which he had tried to silence her, then sucked it. He watched her in lust, taking her more forcefully. Turning her head to the side, she bit her lip to stifle her moans, but her body arched desperately under him as his hips plunged between her silken thighs. “Lucien—”
“Yes, angel. Now.”
She went rigid, her face etched with need. Lucien could not hold back a second longer. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out with release as his expert control dissolved. Each burst of his climax seemed to come slamming out from the depths of his being, until he collapsed on her in panting, mindless bliss.
He remained inside of her, staring at her as she held him, stroking his hair. The quiet within him was profound. Everything suddenly seemed so clear.
“I love you,” he whispered at length.
She slid him a roguish glance, her voice sated and scratchy as a cat’s purr. “You certainly do.” But then her gaze sobered. Rolling onto her side, she leaned on her elbow and studied him deeply. “This man, Bardou,” she said in cool-nerved calm. “Can you beat him?”
“If I have your love, I feel I can do anything,” he whispered.
“Then go with my blessing and kill this man, Lucien. He deserves to die for what he’s done to you. I would kill him myself if it were in my power, but the task is yours. End this,” she commanded, staring at him like some fierce, young queen, righteous fury blazing in the indigo depths of her eyes. “Do it for our future. Our children. Do it and come home to me.”
The angelic intensity in her eyes sent chills down his spine, as though she had just endowed him with divine protection, supernatural power. He gazed at her in awe. “I love you more than life itself. I am yours, Alice.”
She cupped his cheek and drew him to her once more, kissing him with trembling passion. “Let’s finish our task, then. I’ll complete that drawing for you and we shall drag this monster out of the shadows.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered, holding her gaze meaningfully.
She gave him a smile full of womanly courage, then they both hastened to put themselves back into more respectable order. Lucien tucked in his shirt, feeling like a new man, then, in amusement, used his monogrammed handkerchief to polish away the charming imprint of her bottom left behind on the shiny mahogany table.
Unaware of his discreet tidying up, Alice cleared her throat, smoothed her hair, and marched back to her chair, picking up her sketch pad.
Lucien wanted nothing but to curl up in bed with her for the rest of the day, but he went and stood beside her, playing with her hair and answering her questions to the best of his ability as she quizzed him on more details of Bardou’s face.
He was taken aback by the likeness that began to emerge on the page.
“That’s very close. The eyes are a little too close together, and you can make the jaw a bit more rounded. Also, he has an oily quality to his skin. Is there any way that you can bring that out?”
But she just sat there, staring down at the picture, not responding.
Lucien glanced at her and suddenly noticed that she had turned quite pale. “Alice, are you all right?”
“Lucien—I know this man.”
“What?”
She looked up at him with panic in her eyes. “This is Karl von Dannecker, Caro’s new beau. I’m sure it’s him, but he’s not French—isn’t he Prussian? Lucien, he is going to be here any minute!”
Alice had never before seen Lucien turn quite that shade of sickly pale.
“He’s been here? In this house?” he clipped out. “While you were here? And Harry?”
“He’s spent the past few nights here with Caro.”
He let out the foulest curse under his breath that she had ever heard, pivoted away from her, and was already marching toward the door.
“Lucien!”
“Get the baby ready; get your coat on. You’re leaving. I’m sending you to where you’ll be safe. Fetch Caro as well. She’ll have to leave with you. Tell the servants to move to the back of the house and stay down. I don’t want anybody making a sound, do you understand? Marc! Kyle!” he bellowed down the hallway, then turned back to her, his expression black with ire. “Do you know what time he’s coming?”
She glanced at the mantel clock. “In ten minutes. She expects him at four,” she stammered. “She is supposed to go away with him somewhere for the weekend.”
Lucien cursed under his breath and started to walk away again.
“What are you going to do?”
“Arrest him. Kill him, with any luck,” he added, glancing toward the front door.
“I belong by your side. Let me help.”
“Hell, no. I’ll try to avoid bloodshed here in your house, but the courts will hang him either way. You!” Lucien called to the startled Mr. Hattersley, who had hurried out at the sound of all the yelling. “Have the carriage made ready for Miss Montague. Marc,” he said as the young man strode into the room. “Bardou’s on his way here. He’s tracked me through Lady Glenwood. We’re going to ambush him when he walks in the door. I want Alice and Harry and the baroness out of here. Take them to Knig
ht House and tell Damien they have to be protected. I’m entrusting them to him. You will help him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Talbert!”
“Here, sir!”
“Can you play a butler?”
“Most assuredly, my lord,” the slight-framed young showman answered with a grin.
“Good. We need Bardou to step into the entrance hall where we can trap him rather than letting him run away.”
“I understand perfectly. I’ll go find a uniform.”
“Kyle!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Make sure our horses are well out of sight when Bardou drives up to the house. If he gets away somehow, we’ll need to be ready to ride in a trice.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Jenkins, O’Shea, check your weapons. You’ll cover me when I attack him. I suppose we ought to take him alive in case he’s got accomplices at large in the city. Alice, what are you waiting for?” he barked, noticing her still standing there in bewilderment. “Do as I told you!”
“But, Lucien, Caro’s not going to listen to me!”
“Make her listen! Now, go!”
Frightened into obedience, she ran up to the nursery to get Harry. Her hands shook as she put his shoes and coat on him and told Peg Tate that she must come with them to Knight House. With an outward show of calm while her heart pounded with fright, Alice shepherded the old woman, the child, Nellie, and the rest of the household staff to the back of the house and gave them Lucien’s instructions, hushing them; then she went back up to get Caro. She braced herself as she knocked briskly on the door of Caro’s bedchamber, because she knew her sister-in-law was going to give her trouble. She could hear the baroness humming to herself in her room.
“Caro!” Alice opened the door.
She was clad only in her negligee with a velvet dressing gown over it, harrying her beleaguered maid as the longsuffering servant carried an armful of the baroness’s gowns from the armoire to the bed.
“What do you want, Alice?” Caro asked in a lofty tone. “You can see I’m very busy. Von Dannecker will be here in a few minutes.”
“That’s what I have come to talk to you about. Alone.”
With an irked look, Caro dismissed her maid. Alice cast about for words. God, she did not want to be the one to have to tell Caro this. “Caro, von Dannecker is not what he appears. He is some sort of criminal,” she said, being purposely vague. “Lucien Knight is downstairs—”
“Lucien?” she exclaimed, straightening up from smoothing the gowns on the bed. She braced her hands on her waist and looked at Alice in confusion.
“Lucien is going to take von Dannecker into custody.”
She wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What?”
“Caro, there may be shooting. We have to get out of here right now. This is very serious. We are all in danger. Hurry up and put something on. Lucien is sending us to Knight House until it’s over.”
Caro stared at her uncertainly for a moment, then burst out laughing. “That devil! He never tires of his little pranks, does he? Well, you just run along and tell that silver-eyed fiend to wait for me downstairs. I will talk to him in a moment, and we shall see what mischief he is up to now; but first I have to get dressed.”
“Caro, this is no prank,” Alice exclaimed in exasperation. “Lucien is not what you think.” She hesitated, for she had promised never to tell anyone his true occupation, but under the circumstances, he would understand. “Lucien is a secret agent for the Crown, and von Dannecker is a French spy. His real name is Claude Bardou.”
“A spy?” she scoffed.
“Even if you don’t believe me, we can discuss it later. Just throw on some clothes and come with me and Harry to Knight House. I am begging you.”
“Knight House! Well, I am not about to go to the duke of Hawkscliffe’s mansion in my dressing gown,” she snapped, but her face had turned white and her movements were jerky as she pulled off her banyan and quickly began to dress.
Alice let out a private sigh of relief. “Come down to the kitchen as soon as you are dressed. I have Harry and the staff already gathered there. The grooms are readying the carriage for us even now.”
Caro gave her an insolent nod, simmering fury in her dark eyes. As she withdrew from her sumptuous chamber, Alice heard the baroness muttering indignantly under her breath. “This is absurd! That devil—thinks he can come into my house and start ordering everyone around. . . .”
Alice rolled her eyes at her sister-in-law’s temperamental ways, but at least she had succeeded in getting her cooperation. She picked the hem of her skirts up and ran back down the steps. She saw Lucien standing in the entrance hall. He cocked his pistol and looked up as Alice came hurrying down the stairs.
“Where’s Caro?” he asked in a grim tone. The brooding wrath in his eyes sent a shudder of dread through her.
“Coming. She’s not happy, but she’ll cooperate.”
“Good.”
Before leaving the entrance hall, Alice ran over to Lucien and embraced him. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. When their gazes met, she made no effort to conceal the tenderness and worry in her eyes. “Be careful,” she whispered.
He nodded tautly and looked away, his jaw clenched. “Alice, I’m so sorry for everything. If I’m killed . . .”
She captured his chiseled face between her hands and stared fiercely into his eyes. “Don’t you dare say that to me. You come home to me. I will be waiting.” She swallowed hard. “I love you.”
A flicker of anguish passed fleetingly through the crystalline depths of his soulful eyes. He lowered his lashes, turned his face, and kissed her palm. “Go and hide with the others,” he murmured roughly.
She nodded and released him, striding back to the kitchen while he returned to his men. Before closing the kitchen door behind her, she looked down the hallway at him one last time. His face was beautiful, savage, and as wrathfully remote as an avenging archangel’s. His eyes gleamed like diamonds set in burnished silver. The sun flashed on the pistol that he pulled out from under his waistcoat as he moved with a predator’s grace through the entrance hall, ordering the younger men into position.
He took his place beside the door, pressing his back up against the wall.
Oh, God, this could not be happening, she thought. Spies and arrests in her very home! Shaken, she shut the door and took her place with the others. Each minute dragged interminably. Where was Caro? What was taking her so long? she thought. Just then, Mr. Hattersley slipped into the kitchen through the garden door.
“Mitchell is harnessing the team, miss. It will be ready in just a few minutes.”
“Good.”
Marc suddenly strode into the kitchen where they all were gathered. He put his finger to his lips and waved Alice down behind the heavy wooden worktable, which the men had turned onto its side to serve as a barricade.
“Are we leaving?” Alice whispered.
“Too late,” Marc replied.
“Silent, now. He and Ethan Stafford just pulled up.”
“But Caro—!”
“It’s too late. She’s still upstairs. She should be fine as long as she stays up there.”
“Perhaps I should get the door,” Mr. Hattersley said in distress.
“They’ll answer it,” Marc said grimly.
Peg met Alice’s eyes grimly. The bewildered old woman was huddled with Nellie and the terrified young scullery maid behind the chopping block. Marc drew his pistol and positioned his body protectively in front of Alice and Harry.
Harry began fussing, disliking the atmosphere of tension. “Where my mama?”
“Keep him quiet,” Marc murmured.
Alice cupped the baby’s downy head against her chest. “Shh.”
“We play hide-and-seek?” Harry whispered.
“Yes, now hush. Put your head down, lambkin.”
He giggled and nestled his head under the crook of her chin. She wondered if the child could hear her he
art pounding, but he grew quiet and still in her arms, playing the game. She closed her eyes and shielded him in fierce protectiveness, only wishing she could shield Lucien as well. All too vividly, she remembered the wound on his side, which she had stitched up that last night at Revell Court. Please, God, keep him safe.
She flicked her eyes open at the sound of a hard knock that came from the direction of the entrance hall. Then she held her breath at the creaking sound of the front door opening.
Chapter 16
The day had come at last.
A moment earlier, Claude Bardou had jumped down from the carriage while Ethan held the reins. Bardou walked up to Caro’s front door, feeling strong. The previous night, he had slept peacefully after rutting with the baroness for the last time. Today he was taking her to the cottage where he would use her as the bait to lure Lucien Knight away from London. She had no idea, of course. She thought he was taking her away for a romantic escape, just the two of them.
Fool, he thought. After leaving her this morning, he had checked on his gun crew one last time and had made sure that his fieldpiece was ready for action, that the kegs of gunpowder were of the proper mixture, that there was plenty of coal and wood to fuel the portable stove. The ammunition would have to sit in the blazing furnace for hours in advance to make it hot enough to wield its full destructive power. Napoleon would have been proud of him, he mused. His planning had been meticulous, he had not allowed his small-minded American moneymen to deter him, and everything was in order. By this time tomorrow, he would be on a ship bound for the Italian coast to see what he could do to help Fouché get the emperor out of captivity on Elba.
In his buoyant mood, he started to whistle a few notes of the “Marseillese” as he lifted his hand to knock on the door, but quickly caught himself before his patriotism showed through. Lord, he would be glad to be done playing the tedious von Dannecker.
When the door opened, Bardou instantly went on his guard. A different butler. Young. Blond hair slicked back, well-turned cravat, smooth and neat.
“Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”