Surrender (The Spymaster's Men)

by Brenda Joyce

  Evelyn began to breathe, but harshly. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.

  She rearranged her expression, but she wondered why Jack did not want his sister to be aware of his presence. “Coming,” she called brightly. She ran to the door, unlocked and opened it. Julianne stared curiously at her.

  “I must have locked it by mistake,” Evelyn said quickly. She brushed a trickle of perspiration from her temple.

  “That is odd,” Julianne responded, entering the room. She handed Evelyn a shawl she was holding. “You left this downstairs,” she said, but she suddenly glanced about the room, as if looking for another occupant.

  “Thank you,” Evelyn said. She could not see Jack from where she stood, but if she went to the bed, she would be able to do so. “I was just about to finish packing.” She forced a smile. “Perhaps we can take tea before I leave. I am almost through.”

  Julianne glanced at her skeptically. “I thought I heard voices,” she said.

  Evelyn tried to appear innocent. Julianne walked to the bed and sat down on its end. “I wish you would stay on a bit longer,” she said, and then she glanced at the armoire—and saw Jack.

  She leaped up, eyes wide. Evelyn slammed the door closed, blushing.

  “Hello,” Jack said, walking over to his sister and hugging her. But as he did, his gaze met Evelyn’s over his sister’s shoulders.

  Julianne hugged him back, then looked closely at him—and at Evelyn. “I take it I am interrupting?”

  “You could never interrupt,” Jack said, smiling.

  “You are not interrupting,” Evelyn said quickly.

  Julianne smiled at them. “Are you seducing Evelyn, when she is my houseguest?” she asked Jack. “Once was not enough?”

  Evelyn winced, but Jack seemed amused. “How could you possibly suggest such a thing?”

  Evelyn knew she was turning red. “Julianne, I am sorry. He simply appeared, and as it isn’t safe for him to be seen in public, we decided to have a discussion here.”

  “I think I understand,” Julianne smiled, rather smugly. “And I can suggest such a thing because I know you so well. But try to remember, Jack, Evelyn is a widow and she is in mourning,” she told her brother. “She is also a gentlewoman. I expect you to behave, at least for the moment.”

  “So now I must behave—yet I am to risk my life for her?” Jack bantered.

  “Yes, that would sum it up,” Julianne said, rather happily.

  Her heart lurched hard. Evelyn wondered if she had heard correctly. Had Jack decided to help her after all? He had yet to make any such indication!

  Jack’s gaze shifted and their eyes locked, before he turned to face Julianne. “Must you take in every stray, still? Haven’t you learned your lesson?” His tone was affectionate. “Must you rally to every injustice? Assist every tragic victim? The countess has many admirers, Julianne, who can fight her causes for her.”

  “I will take in whom I wish to,” she said archly. “And I will certainly continue to fight injustice! I take it the two of you have patched things up? And that you intend to help her retrieve her valuables from France?” Julianne asked, but it wasn’t exactly a question.

  Evelyn froze as Jack slowly looked at her. They hadn’t reached any such understanding.

  Jack’s stare was relentless. “Yes, I believe I will help her.”

  Evelyn was in disbelief. She was speechless.

  Before Evelyn could answer, Julianne took his arm and kissed his cheek. “I knew you would come around! I knew you could not refuse her for very long.” Julianne winked at Evelyn.

  Jack wasn’t smiling. “Can you give us a moment, please? And, as I cannot linger, I will speak with you quickly before I leave.”

  Julianne’s amusement vanished. She hugged him, hard. “I miss you so much, Jack. I hate this need for secrecy and stealth!” She hurried from the room.

  Evelyn wet her lips. “You are going to help me after all?”

  “Yes, I am going to help you.”

  She felt her knees buckle. He reached out and caught her around the waist. Instantly, Evelyn moved into his arms.

  For one moment, he held her closely. Evelyn was shocked by the tension she felt coursing in his body—and the answering tremors in her own. “I am running for Roscoff tonight. We will sort out the details when I return,” he said harshly. “I will come to Roselynd in a few days.”

  Her eyes widened. He was going to help her—and in a few more days, he would come to Roselynd.

  “I wouldn’t have responded to your letter, if I was not planning to go to France for you,” he said. And abruptly, he let her go.

  Evelyn could barely believe her good fortune. “I can’t thank you enough,” she whispered.

  He studied her. “I’m not sure about that.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EVELYN STARED AT the papers on Henri’s desk. She had been home for three days now, having returned in mostly good spirits—Jack Greystone was going to France for her. Unbelievably, they seemed to have resolved their misunderstanding.

  She meant to steer a careful course with him now. And that meant she must not think about his opinion of her, or about the attraction that seemed to hang in the air whenever they were in the same room. What did matter was that her financial problems would soon be over and she could give Aimee the childhood she deserved.

  Evelyn sighed. The pile of papers on Henri’s desk was for accounts owed—and it was shocking. She could not believe how much debt they had accrued in the past few years. They owed local merchants for everything from groceries to kerosene and firewood; but there were even bills dating back several years for clothing and jewelry purchased in London, before they had become so destitute! Evelyn knew she could manage the current accounts, but when she realized how much they had spent, all those years ago when living in town, she was ill. How could they have been so reckless? Hadn’t Henri realized that their funds would eventually run out, and that they must maintain an entirely different, and lower, standard of living?

  Too late, she wished she had insisted on being involved in far more than planning menus and caring for Aimee and Henri.

  But she had not been involved, she had been entirely ignorant. And it would be so easy to blame Henri for their downfall, but she knew she must not do so. He had been accustomed to living large. The French revolution was to blame, not her deceased husband. He had wanted to keep her in silks and jewels. He had even said so.

  Adelaide stepped into the small library, smiling. “Will you come and take luncheon, my lady? I have prepared a very pleasing stew.”

  Her head ached now, worry filling her heart. When would Jack Greystone call—so they could finalize their plans? A pang of stronger anxiety went through her. He had said he would return to Roselynd shortly, and what he did not yet know was that she intended to go to France with him. Oh, how she hoped to avoid another dispute with him. Clearly, she must walk a fine line.

  She did not want to think about having been, briefly, in his arms, in her bedchamber at Bedford House. But every time she thought about Greystone and the impending voyage to France, that was exactly what came to mind. She shuddered. She had to dismiss her feelings, as confused as they were, and her yearnings, which were as perplexing. She had to stop thinking about the one kiss they had shared—and their most recent conversation. But how was she to pretend to herself that she wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again? There was so much anticipation, as if she were a young debutante—as if he were a beau.

  She stood up. “I think I have lost any appetite I might have had,” Evelyn said grimly. She brushed a wrinkle from the skirt of her dove-gray silk gown, which was trimmed in black braid. “We have accumulated so much debt, I am in shock,” she said. She may have to try to make the tin mine profitable, even if the gold in France were recovered.

  “You will feel better after you eat,” Adelaide began. Then she looked past her, out of the window behind the desk. Evelyn turned and saw a handsome carriage in t
he driveway, halting before the house. Briefly, her heart skittered wildly, but then she realized it had three occupants, not one. Besides, Jack Greystone would not arrive in broad daylight, nor would he knock on her front door.

  Another pang went through her. She had seen how fond he was of his sister. She should not feel sorry for him. He was the cause of that bounty on his head, for running the British blockade, and he might very well be a French spy, but she did feel compassion anyway. It could not be easy, being both a gentleman and an outlaw.

  Evelyn walked over to the window as Adelaide remarked with some delight that they had visitors, and she would prepare tea. Evelyn watched Trevelyan alight from the carriage’s driver’s seat. She realized she had begun to smile and that she was pleased to see him. She stood by the window.

  He made such a dashing figure as he paused by the horses in the traces. He was undeniably a tall, muscular and handsome man, and she liked the fact that he did not wear a wig. His hair was as dark as hers—it was the color of midnight. There was no mistaking that he was an aristocrat, either, and not just because he wore his dark coat and pale breeches so well. He simply had an air of both elegance and authority about him.

  His wife had died ten months ago—he would soon be out of mourning.

  She realized that her cousin was with him. John had climbed out of the backseat, and he was helping a young woman she did not know get down. “Do we have anything we can serve with the tea?” she asked Adelaide, with some worry.

  “I can make a few small cucumber sandwiches,” Adelaide said. “Do not fret about it, my lady. No one will know our cupboards are bare.”

  But of course she was worried—they had to offer refreshments to their guests, as if all was well. Appearances had to be kept.

  “Now that is a handsome man,” Adelaide smiled, sending her a knowing look, as she turned and rushed back to the kitchens.

  Evelyn certainly agreed. Trev was not only handsome, but wealthy. He was probably the catch of the parish. Even now, she imagined that a great many mothers were scheming about how to best attract his interest in their daughters.

  There was a standing mirror in one corner of the room, and she hastily checked her appearance there. She looked well enough—there was a slight flush to her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes—and she tucked a few escaping tendrils of hair back into the somewhat severe and old-fashioned chignon she wore. But since retreating to the Bodmin Moor, she had no time for fashion, and certainly no inclination to style her long hair. Loose curls styled about the face were the rage, with long hair hanging past one’s shoulders, unless one wore a wig, but she had no interest in wigs. Evelyn sighed. She so looked like a country mouse and a widow in mourning.

  But she was pleased to have company, never mind that they had little tea to spare. She hurried into the front hall.

  The trio of guests was just being ushered inside by Laurent as she came in. Trevelyan smiled at her. “We heard you were back from town and decided to call. I do hope we are not intruding.”

  His smile was infectious. Evelyn pushed aside her financial worries and smiled back. “I doubt you could ever intrude. You are always welcome here.” She gave him her hands and he kissed them properly. But when she pulled away his stare sobered, becoming searching, and Evelyn was flustered. Trev had called on her before she went to London, and they had had tea. She had wondered about his interest then. She found herself wondering about it now.

  John swept into the breach, hugging her. “Please meet Matilda, my fiancée. I have been on pins and needles, waiting for the two of you to become acquainted.”

  Evelyn smiled at the pretty slender blonde. “I am so very happy for you.”

  “And John speaks so highly of you, Countess,” Matilda said, grinning. Freckles splattered her tiny nose. “I have been eager to meet you, too. In fact, I have been counting the days since you returned from town!”

  She was certainly not shy, and her smile was wide and infectious. Evelyn liked her immediately. “Why don’t we adjourn into the salon? I will serve tea.”

  Trev smiled at her. “Actually, we have come to invite you on a picnic. Our carriage is laden with roasted chicken and lamb pies.”

  “It is the middle of March,” Evelyn protested. “It is freezing cold outside.”

  Trev grinned. “Oh, it is not that cold out—and it is perfectly sunny—there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Besides, we have furs in the carriage.”

  Evelyn stared, trying to comprehend why on earth they would have decided to have a picnic when it wasn’t even spring yet. John stepped forward. “Maybe it is a bit too early in the season for a picnic. We surely don’t want the ladies to be cold.”

  “You know, you’re right. What was I thinking? I cannot think clearly where you are concerned, Evelyn,” he said with a wink. “I have a better idea. We will have our picnic right here, and we can pretend we are at the pond, watching the ducks swim by.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide. He had taken her to the pond one day, when she was fifteen and he was but two years older and they had had a picnic there. She had been overwhelmed with nerves, and she had thought him the most handsome boy she had ever seen.

  Lucille had had a fit when he had brought her home, and when Trev had left, Enid had told her she was not allowed to accept him as a caller, not ever again.

  Trevelyan wasn’t smiling now. She sensed he had never forgotten that day. She hadn’t recalled it in years. It was a bit daunting to recall it now.

  “Good idea,” John agreed. “What do you think, Matilda?”

  “I think it excessively clever to have a picnic inside!” Matilda laughed.

  “Laurent, my good man, will you help me bring the baskets in?” John asked.

  Evelyn’s heart skipped as Trev ducked his head and she realized what they were doing. They knew she was in dire financial straits. They had used the excuse of a picnic as a pretext to bring a good meal into her home.

  Trev glanced up. Evelyn tried to smile, but she was so moved that she failed, and she felt moisture gathering in her eyes. She should protest—she should have pride. Instead, she simply nodded gratefully. It had been years, but he was still such a good, reliable friend.

  And it crossed her mind that he might press a suit, once her period of mourning was over. She tensed. Instantly, she thought of Jack Greystone.

  “I think this is even more amusing, to have the picnic indoors,” Matilda cried. She looped her arm in Evelyn’s. “I saw them stash sherry in one of the baskets. Do you like sherry? My mother says I am too young, but I adore it and I intend to imbibe.”

  Evelyn fought for her composure. She glanced back at Trev as she and Matilda started into the salon. He gave her a lazy smile.

  She was shaken. Was she comparing Trev to Jack? That was the last thing she wished to do! And no comparison could be fair. Jack Greystone was a smuggler—he was an outlaw. Trevelyan was the well-heeled heir to a barony. There was no reason to make comparisons.

  But one did leap out at her. She had been in Jack’s arms, not once, but twice. Trevelyan knew she was in mourning—and she knew he would remain respectful of the fact.

  “You are looking at me as if I have grown horns,” he said softly.

  She jerked back to reality. “You are being very gallant, Trev.”

  He smiled slowly. “If I am winning your approval, I am a very happy man.”

  Evelyn had to smile at him now. If he had intentions, she reminded herself that he would have to delay them—so she need not worry now. “I am trying to recall if you were always so charming.”

  “You have forgotten? I am stricken,” he teased with a laugh.

  “Do you have any faults?”

  “Oh, I might have a few.” He grinned. “Shall we picnic, my lady?”

  As Laurent and John brought the wicker baskets in, Matilda began to tell her about the wedding plans that were in progress. Trev left to retrieve a plaid wool blanket and lay it out upon the floor. John rekindled the fire until it roared. Eve
ryone took up plates, and began filling them. Adelaide now brought Aimee downstairs, as Evelyn had asked her to do. She hurried to her daughter.

  Aimee was wide-eyed. “Mama, what is this?”

  “We are having a picnic, darling, indoors, because it is too cold to do so outside.” She took Aimee’s hand, watching in some disbelief—the baskets contained roasted chicken, lamb potpies, platters of fruit and cheese, freshly baked breads, and both red and white wines. There was enough food, in fact, to feed the group for several days.

  “How are you today, Aimee?” Trev asked. When Aimee blushed he smiled at Evelyn. “She looks exactly like you.”

  John handed Aimee a heaping plate, and Evelyn smiled gratefully.

  Sometime later, everyone was seated on the floor, legs crossed, with glasses of wine and plates piled high. Trev sat on Evelyn’s right; Aimee was on her left. “How was town?” he asked with a smile.

  She decided instantly that she would never lie to him. “I had a wonderful time, actually. I stayed with Lady Paget.”

  His smile never changed, but his eyes certainly did. “I see. I had assumed your trip concerned some business affair. I hadn’t realized you knew Lady Paget.”

  She bit her lip. “I didn’t. But I called anyway.”

  “Of course you did—you are so determined.” He still smiled, but his gaze was darker now. “I haven’t seen Greystone, Evelyn, so I have not been able to speak to him on your behalf.”

  She hesitated. She hardly needed Trev to solicit Jack for her now.

  “Although I am against your having any association with him, and I remain concerned about it, I am your friend, Evelyn, and I only wish to help you if I can.”

  Evelyn wondered if she flushed. Could he somehow guess that there was tension between her and Jack? “I do appreciate your concern. And I am pleased we are friends again, after so many years have passed.”

  He studied her. “I truly hope you mean it. I did not expect for us to become reacquainted, but frankly, I am very glad you have returned to Cornwall.”