He curled her hand around his arm and escorted her toward the refreshment table. “We shall see. However, as your closest relation here in London, I would expect you to accept my word over a marquess you have only just met.”
Juliet gave him a sideways look. “You wish me to obey you, Your Grace?”
His eyes burned with smoldering heat as he regarded her. “Alas, though it is a splendid thought, Cousin, I don’t think any man has ever managed that with you.”
Juliet felt suddenly sobered, as memories of the iron-fisted Colonel Arnaud, her old spymaster, clouded her mind like a malevolent ghost. “You might be surprised,” she said, finally.
“Perhaps that’s why you fascinate me so much.” Carver held her in the intensity of his gaze. “Try as I might, I can never pin you down.”
Juliet stopped in her tracks, her breaths becoming shallow. Suddenly, the charade she was playing became too much to sustain.
“Are you alright?” he asked, almost harshly.
Fighting to keep her balance, she reached her other hand out and clasped both about his strong arm. A wave of dizziness washed over her and left her weakened.
“What’s wrong?” Carver said. “I swear, if you are playing at this….”
But she wasn’t playing. Juliet Reed—formerly known as the deadly French spy, Lady Blade—felt incredibly uneasy. The truth was, she was exhausted. She was tired of fighting, and tired of playing yet another well-crafted role created for her by a man.
Colonel Arnaud. Major Nye. Napoleon. Carver Adams.
Juliet had played roles for them all.
She was doing it, still.
A terrifying thought assaulted her. If she ever stopped playing these roles, what persona would be left?
The quiet life she had adopted in Aylesbury was a fictitious role, too. All Juliet knew was that she had never felt more fully human than she had with Carver on the journey to Villarosa. Their time at Esperanza’s quaint farmhouse remained one of the most cherished times of Juliet’s life.
Would Carver believe her if she shared that secret with him? He, himself had taken on a new role as the Duke of Hawksmoor. Had it irrevocably changed him, too? Perhaps Carver Adams was only a ghost, just like Lady Blade.
“I ask you again, are you unwell?” the duke pressed.
Juliet took a steadying breath, using well-honed techniques to regain control. She turned her head slightly toward Carver. “I’m fine, Cousin,” she replied, once again falling into character.
As she and Carver mingled amongst the ton, Juliet forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. This was not the time to start feeling sorry for herself, no matter how easy that might seem. Her own sense of identity wasn’t important right now. Europe was under threat from Napoleon, and she and Carver had been tasked with thwarting that menace. Was she going to put her own self-interest before the safety and lives of innocent people? No, of course not.
Given the lives that had been lost because of her actions during the war, how could she even consider such a thing?
“Ah, Lord Cranmore,” Carver said, greeting an impeccably dressed, dark-haired gentleman. “May I introduce my cousin, Baroness de Rochefort. She is my guest at Hawksmoor House while in London, and I have the honor of acting as her advisor on certain matters. Her late husband was in shipping….”
As Carver continued to weave the story surrounding Juliet’s presence, she scanned the room once more. Of course, she had no idea what she was looking for, but at this point, her old training was hard to shake.
“You must always keep your eyes open,” Colonel Arnaud had said to her during her initial training. “Even if it is difficult, even if you are in pain. Do not close your eyes to it. For the truth will reveal itself to you, if you are brave enough to see.”
There, in the far corner of the ballroom, a figure caught Juliet’s eye.
A man’s back was turned to her, and with only the golden lighting of candelabras, it was difficult to discern much more from across the crowded ballroom. Though she couldn’t see the man’s face, it was his physical form and familiar style of movement that attracted her attention.
Suddenly, a recognition began to resonate. It was buried deep in Juliet’s memories. She craned her neck to watch as the man disappeared into the shadows, as quickly as a ghost.
Perhaps that’s all it was, a ghost. Or a trick of the light.
But something told Juliet it was neither of those two things.
If she was right, what she had just seen could change everything, and put her and Carver’s mission in grave danger.
Chapter 21
Carver was in a foul mood.
Upon arriving back at Hawksmoor House, he and Juliet had retired to the library for a drink. There was much to discuss regarding their evening of information gathering at the Bosworth Ball.
He handed Juliet a snifter of brandy. She accepted it wordlessly and took a sip of the amber liquid.
Carver took a drink as well, hoping the distraction would improve his mood. It didn’t.
“Why are you so cross?” she asked. “Did something happen at Bosworth House that I am unaware of?”
He studied her for a moment, taking in the challenging eyes, the luxurious chestnut hair, exquisite gown, and sparkling jewels. He wondered how any man stood a chance against Lady Blade.
“Lord Bosworth seemed very taken with you,” Carver said, finally.
“Yes, he was, indeed,” she replied. “Does that bother you?”
“No. Why should it?”
She took another sip of brandy. “I thought it might explain your dark mood. Bosworth seems to think you want to court me yourself and make me your duchess—or, shall I say, make Baroness de Rochefort your duchess. Of course, I told him you would prefer a young, pliant, virginal bride to become Duchess of Hawksmoor, not a widow.”
Carver set his drink down and walked slowly toward her. “Though I hate to give Lord Bosworth any credit whatsoever, especially regarding my personal life, I concede he may be right.”
“About what specifically?” Juliet asked.
Carver took the snifter from her hand and placed it on the oak desk. He pulled her into his arms, and she allowed it. He gazed down into her eyes and said, “About you. And me.”
He tilted her chin up and dipped his head for a kiss. He fed on her sensuous mouth, teasing and stroking with his lips, pressing her slightly backward so that she had to cling to him to stay balanced. What was it about Juliet that stoked this voracious fire in his blood and provoked his hunger for her, especially when she was in his arms?
“You looked like a duchess tonight,” he said, dragging his thumb across the curve of her porcelain jawline. “I confess, seeing the way you flirted with Bosworth and had him eating out of your hand made me a tad jealous.”
“It’s a role I must play,” she told him.
“I know that,” he answered. “What worries me is that this passion that burns between us might be a role you’re playing, too. Every time I convince myself that I should leave you alone, I take one look at you, and my desire rages. That makes me cross. I don’t know whether I can trust you, Juliet. Yet we have been tasked with a mission far more important than our own needs. To work together in this, we must find a way to trust each other, but I find that difficult, if not impossible, to do.”
He released her from his arms. Juliet stepped back and the look in her eyes shocked him, for it was a look of vulnerability he’d never seen before.
“I cannot be anything other than what I am, Carver. I am a spy, just like you, and we were attracted to each other during the war because we are alike. You were the first man who truly understood me. With you, I could be myself, and in your arms, I discovered what it felt like to be loved, to put down my burden and give myself over to passion. I thought there might have been a chance for us at Villarosa, but how could I trust that what we felt for each other was real? That it could last beyond the war? That night, before the attack, I wanted to return to you….
”
“Then why didn’t you send for me?” Carver demanded. “I came to the general’s residence that night, but you had already escaped. Shortly after that, the French attacked, but you were probably safe outside the village walls by then. Meanwhile, Hackett and I were inside, fighting for our lives and searching for you.”
“Do you really want to know the truth about what happened that night?” Juliet asked. “Though I fear I will be wasting my breath, because you’ll never believe me.”
Carver frowned. “What is it? Tell me.”
She lowered her gaze and turned away from him, strolled toward the window. For a long moment she stood there, looking out at the darkness, then she began to speak.
“Etienne, my partner, who was wounded at Algora, had sent me a coded message me that night. He warned me of the attack and said that I was in danger, too. Apparently, the French colonel I was to be traded back to had suspected me of treason. There was speculation that I would hang. Etienne said he could get me to safety. I escaped the general’s house and met him at a rendezvous point.”
Carver shook his head. “But how did Etienne manage to get to Villarosa that quickly? He was injured.”
She continued her tale. “Shortly after you and your men took me from the British camp, Etienne escaped the hospital tent. He managed to steal a horse and follow us all the way to Villarosa. He watched us from afar and he saw that you and I had become lovers. He told me all this that night I escaped. He was enraged, like a madman. He called me a traitor to the French, to the Emperor, and most of all, to him. His coded message to me was just a ruse to lure me into his clutches.” She turned to face Carver. “We argued, but the battle was in full swing and I ran for my life and got away from him. I wanted to find you, but it was no use. I knew you and your men would be in the thick of the fighting by then. I couldn’t identify myself to the French forces because they might turn me over to the colonel, or worse, to Etienne. I did the only thing I knew how to do. Survive. I managed to escape the city walls and I ran. I didn’t stop until hours later, when I collapsed. After that, I made my way to the coast and eventually to my father’s home in England. I tried to forget everything about the war, including you and my persona as Lady Blade. But when Major Nye asked if I would come out of retirement to embark upon a mission—with you—I couldn’t refuse.”
Juliet strode forward, and the vulnerability vanished from her eyes. She was Lady Blade again—focused and determined. “Now that I have told you all that, there is something you must know about what happened tonight.”
“What is it?”
She took a breath and spoke without pause. “Do you remember Major Nye mentioned Le Taureau as the possible mastermind behind the plot to restore Napoleon to power? The name did not ring a bell at the time, but tonight I saw someone and it sparked a thought.”
Carver strode toward her. “Tell me. What did you discover?”
She nodded. “There was a childhood nickname of Etienne’s. As a boy, he was almost killed by his father’s prized bull on their estate. The creature got loose from its pen and charged at Etienne, but he managed to evade the animal. After that episode, his family called him “Bull.” Many wouldn’t know that, but he told me once. And tonight, at the Bosworth Ball, I thought I saw him in the shadows.”
“What does that have to do with any of this?” Carver asked.
“The French word for bull is taureau.”
Carver regarded her shrewdly. “Are you sure it was Etienne?”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t be sure. I only saw the man from behind, but it was the shape of his shoulders and the way he moved that made me think of Etienne. I could be wrong, but I could also be right. And if Etienne is Le Taureau and he was Lord Bosworth’s guest tonight, we may have found the connection we’re looking for.”
Carver squeezed his hand into a fist. “If you saw this man and you think it’s Etienne, it’s possible he may know of your presence in London as well. He could expose your true identity and threaten our mission. Or try to harm you, to silence you.”
“Perhaps. But again, I’m not even sure it was him.”
Carver studied her expression. “How do I know you’re not working with Etienne again? You were loyal to him once. This partnership with me could be a ploy. Perhaps you are sharing information with him. Telling him what we know.”
Juliet let out a breath. “I will simply ask you to trust me, but I know how much good that will do. We are both jaded, are we not, Your Grace?”
As Carver beheld the beautiful spy before him, he thought she had finally hit the nail on the head. They were damned if they did, and damned if they didn’t. Neither one could trust the other, and yet, in working together on this mission, it was essential that they did.
* * *
The next day, Juliet was invited to go shopping with Lady Bosworth and her friend, the Countess of Hargrove. As Juliet was trying to make inroads within the upper echelons of London society, it would help solidify her role as Baroness de Rochefort if she were seen with two of the ton’s most influential ladies.
After escorting Juliet to meet them at a tea shoppe, Carver headed to his club to meet Beckett and Alfred. He joined them in a private alcove where they sat in wing-backed chairs, enjoying brandy by the fireplace.
“Carver,” Beckett said, rising to greet him. “Pardon me. Your Grace. I’m still not used to it.”
Carver accepted a snifter from a footman carrying a silver tray and took a seat. “You and me, both, Becks.”
“I, for one, think you make a fine duke,” Alfred added. “Coming to the title later in life has afforded you valuable experience and kept you from being stuffy. If you ask me, most dukes would do well to spend some time on a battlefield.”
“Unless they’re old,” Beckett pointed out. “Like the Duke of Norcross. The man looks to be one hundred. I can’t imagine him leading a charge.”
“Don’t count Norcross out,” Alfred replied. “He’s a tough old nut. I read in the Times that he recently sent a would-be thief on his way in Drury Lane. The bloke must have thought the old man was an easy target in his invalid chair, but Norcross knee-capped him with his cane and then cracked the miscreant on the head for good measure.”
Beckett raised a brow. “I stand corrected, then. If Boney returns, we’ll send Norcross in the first line of attack.”
“Speaking of Boney,” Alfred said, “any news of him? Has he landed in Dover yet, looking for another thrashing from the Allies? You know, one would think that by this time, the man would take a hint. You’ve lost, twice. Give it up, sir.”
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Carver said. “But as we all know, submission is not in Bonaparte’s nature.”
“Where is your dear cousin, Lady de Rochefort, today?” Beckett asked, being careful to play along with Juliet’s backstory.
“She was invited on a shopping excursion with the Marchioness of Bosworth and the Countess of Hargrove,” Carver explained.
“That sounds promising,” Alfred remarked. “It’s good to see the baroness is gaining their trust.”
Carver glanced about the alcove to ensure no one was listening. “Yes, well, that is a rather thorny issue for Juliet and me. It’s complicating things. Given our history, we are mistrustful of each other, and with the task at hand, a lack of trust is dangerous.”
“Pardon me for being crass,” Beckett said, “but have you taken her to bed yet?”
Carver almost choked on his brandy. “Becks, old man, no one could ever accuse you of holding anything back.”
Beckett looked unfazed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But we three have been through a war together. Why should we hold anything back at this late date?”
“Becks has a point,” Alfred said. “I might have gone about it another way, but that’s just me. Now, answer the question.”
Carver exhaled heavily. “Let me put it to you this way. There was no bed involved.”
It was Alfred’s turn to choke on
his drink.
Beckett simply grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. I must agree, beds can be overrated at times. But let’s not get distracted from the matter at hand. Carver, my advice is to try and build the trust that you require in order to complete your mission. If the bedroom is where you let down your guard with each other, then so be it. Show the woman that you can be trusted with her body and her heart, and she’ll soon see that she can trust you in all ways.”
“I agree with Becks,” Alfred said. “However, we all know the risks that come with such a love affair. Do you wish to marry her, Carver? If not, you will need to make provision for her and any children that may result.”
Carver swallowed uneasily. “I wanted to marry her during the war. I asked her to be my wife. She refused, saying she wasn’t sure she could be the obedient wife a man such as me would require. Of course, she couldn’t have been more wrong on that point. I have no interest in a docile woman. The truth is, she has ruined me for all others. That’s why I haven’t married. I realize as the Duke of Hawksmoor, it is my duty to produce a legitimate heir, but I have not been able to stop thinking of the woman I fell in love with in Spain. Now, she is back in my life but I question her motives. Is she truly loyal to England, or is this another double-cross? I simply do not know, and that’s what unsettles me the most.”
Beckett signalled to the footman to bring another round of drinks. “As Lysander says in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ I think both Alfred and I can attest to that.”
Alfred nodded. “Prudence and I didn’t get off to the best start either. She tested me at every turn. But true love is worth fighting for, Carver.”
The footman arrived with another tray and they raised their glasses. “To battles hard won, on any field.”
“Cheers to that,” Carver replied as he sipped his drink and thought of Juliet’s explanation about what really happened at Villarosa. Had she truly wished to return to him that night, and was Etienne’s trickery to blame for her disappearance? Or was Carver believing only what he wanted to believe?
The Duke's Defiant Bride (Brides of Mayfair Book 4) Page 15