Surrender (The Spymaster's Men)

by Brenda Joyce

  “I can only tell you not to worry. He is safe.”

  She knew she should not say another word. “I want to see him! Can you help me—please?”

  “Right now, it is best if you stay away from one another.”

  The tears rose up again, more swiftly, with more heat. Evelyn dabbed her eyes. Why would Lucas say such a thing? Did he know about her involvement with Jack, as the rest of the family did? “What has Jack said?”

  “Does it matter? I know my brother, and when he speaks of you, I can read between the lines. Your relationship is rather obvious—to me, at least.” He studied her. “Do you love him?”

  “I am trying to forget him.”

  He slowly smiled. “Seeing him will hardly accomplish that.”

  She hugged herself. “I realize that. This has been so hard, Mr. Greystone. I must speak with Jack—one final time.”

  His brows rose, incredulous. Then he said, “Call me Lucas, Lady D’Orsay. But I must overstep myself now. Jack cares for you and your daughter—and his enemies know it. You are his Achilles’ heel.”

  Evelyn bit back a cry. “Believe me, sir, I know so well that we must not be together!”

  “Then find resolve.” His gray eyes flashed. “Because he has enough troubles now, and if you are used against him, it could be his death.”

  Evelyn gasped.

  “I do not wish to frighten you any more than you are already frightened—I know what you have been through.” He leaned close. His gaze was hard, but not hostile. “I actually came here tonight to meet you. Maybe the day will come when I can take you to Jack, but that day is not now.”

  She almost felt like asking him when that day would be—if it would be before or after the Quiberon Bay invasion. She knew better than to say such things.

  “I realize you have a pair of protectors in Grenville and Paget. But you may also come to me, at any time of the night or day.” With that, he nodded in parting. “I am sorry you are distressed. I am even sorrier if I have caused you distress.”

  “It is not your fault,” she whispered. He bowed and turned toward the library. Evelyn sank against the wall. At least Jack was all right.

  “Evelyn.”

  At the sound of Amelia’s brisk tone, Evelyn turned and forced a smile. The Countess of St Just was a petite woman with dark blond hair and classic features. Amelia looped their arms. “They look like twins, don’t they?” She was sympathetic. “Until one gets to know them—as they could not be more different.”

  “I thought he was Jack at first…. I was so shaken,” Evelyn managed.

  Amelia patted her hand. “I wish I could help you through this terrible time, but I know it will pass!” She shook her head then with disparagement. “I must sound like Julianne, who is an eternal romantic. Evelyn, you seem tired. I will give your regards to everyone, if you wish to retire.”

  Evelyn was relieved. “Would you please tell Julianne it has been a lovely evening? But after speaking with Lucas, I am undone. I do not think I can converse sensibly now.”

  “How often must we insist that Jack is fine and you must stop worrying?”

  Evelyn had heard all about Amelia’s relationship with Grenville—who had courted her when she was sixteen, only to vanish without a word and marry someone else. Ten years later he had reappeared in Cornwall for his wife’s funeral—and Amelia had felt obligated to come to his aid and help with his children. Of course, eventually the love affair had been renewed.

  But for a time, Grenville had fled the country, wanted for treason. Grenville had actually been spying for both the French and British governments. “Did you ever cease worrying about St Just,” she asked, “when he was an outlaw?”

  “Of course not,” Amelia acquiesced. “I did what you are doing—I took refuge in my duties, taking care of the children and his home, until he returned. Aimee is doing wonderfully now. You must concentrate on that.” And then she smiled and hugged her. “Be patient, Evelyn. That is the best advice I can give you, other than to have faith.”

  Evelyn hugged her in return, then slowly went upstairs. She remained shaken. Seeing Lucas had reopened every wound she had—her heart ached terribly, as if she and Jack had parted a moment ago, not three weeks earlier. As much to comfort herself as to check upon her daughter, Evelyn went up to the room Aimee shared with Bette. They were both soundly asleep. Jolie was in bed with her daughter.

  Evelyn kissed her daughter’s cheek as Jolie wagged her tail. “Naughty dog,” she said softly, but she did not order it to leave the bed. Then she backed out of the room.

  A small fire glowed in the hearth of the sitting room attached to her bedchamber. Every night a maid started it, and that night was no exception. Evelyn slipped inside, closed the door and leaning against it, stared at the dancing flames. She thought about Lucas, and she thought about Jack.

  Then she realized she was being watched.

  She stiffened, and slowly turned only her head, searching for the gaze that was upon her.

  Most of the sitting room was in shadow. And in the far, dark corner, a man was seated in a chair.

  He moved, lighting a taper on the table there.

  Evelyn cried out, her heart slamming as the candle illuminated the corner and Jack stood up.

  Evelyn looked at every inch of him—his burning gaze, his loose hair, his navy blue coat, his spotless lawn shirt, his dagger and pistol, his doeskin breeches, his polished Hessian boots. Her gaze flew back to his. “Jack!” He was whole, he was alive, he was there!

  “Hello, Evelyn,” he said roughly.

  She realized she was running to him. He started for her and she leaped into his arms.

  They encircled her as their mouths fused. Evelyn returned his kiss ferociously, her hands in his hair as he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, as they kissed with frightening hunger and alarming force. And Evelyn realized that he had missed her as strongly as she had missed him. He carried her across the room and into the bedchamber....

  * * *

  EVELYN LAY IN Jack’s arms, breathing hard, their legs entwined. Her cheek was against his chest, and she could hear the rapid and furious pounding of his heart. She wondered if it was possible that his heart beat faster than hers; she did not think so.

  Their lovemaking had been stunning—frantic, furious, frenzied. But as coherent thought returned, tears arose. They had just made love, but they could not be together.

  As he held her, his grip tightened. “How are you, Evelyn?”

  She blinked back the tears, smiled and looked up at him. Only a fire burned in the bedchamber hearth, so the room was mostly in shadow. “Your sisters have been wonderful to me and to Aimee. Jack, I have missed you.”

  He kissed her temple briefly, but hard. “I cannot stay.”

  She trembled. She wanted him to declare his love and confess that he had missed her, too, and she wanted to discuss the terrible dilemma they were in. “Are you going to the island?”

  His gray gaze moved over her face. “I do not want to lie to you, and I am not going to answer that,” he finally said.

  She nodded, more tears rising. He was going to France. Maybe he was going to Quiberon Bay! “What about LeClerc?”

  He released her, sitting up. He glanced around—their clothes were strewn about the room. “What about him?” He stood, his muscular body rippling, and reached for and stepped into his drawers.

  Evelyn sat up, holding a sheet to her chest, aware of how instantaneously her desire arose again. “Have you given him the answers he seeks?”

  His glance slammed to hers. “I cannot believe you would ask me such a question. Do you really want to know?”

  “Neither Julianne or Paget think you a spy for the French, Jack.”

  His face hardened, but his eyes moved to her fist, as she held the sheet to her chest. “They are loyal—they are my family.”

  “I am afraid for you.”

  He sat back down on the bed, taking her hand in his and kissing it. The sh
eet dropped to her waist. “I know. I do not want you worrying about me. I want you enjoying town.” He kissed her hand again. Evelyn closed her eyes, her heart thrumming, her body aching with a familiar vibrancy. He touched her chin and she opened her eyes, their gazes meeting. “I want you attending tea, dancing at balls…perhaps with D’Archand.”

  She lifted an eyebrow.

  “I have put you and Aimee in danger. He is taken with you…. Like Trev, he is a good man.” He was unsmiling and terribly serious.

  “Were you spying on us tonight?”

  “I could hardly invite myself to supper.”

  Evelyn felt more tears well. Jack should have been at that table with them—and he should have been at her side. Instead, he was in hiding, an outlaw, with a bounty on his head. “I am not interested in D’Archand.”

  “You should be,” he said roughly. But even as he said it, he seized her shoulder, pulling her close, claiming her mouth with his.

  Evelyn wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, kicking the sheets aside.

  * * *

  SEVERAL DAYS HAD passed, and Evelyn was curled up on a chaise, embroidery in her hand, carefully stitching the pillowcase she was making. The pattern was of red roses, and she meant to give it to Julianne, as a thank-you gift for all she had done. Julianne, meanwhile, was curled up on the sofa, engrossed in a political treatise on the rights of man. Amelia lay on the sofa, dozing. Her tiny hands were splayed on her large belly, and as she slept, she smiled. Evelyn thought she was dreaming of her unborn child.

  The two women had become like sisters. If Evelyn did not miss Jack so much, she would be entirely enjoying her time in town.

  But she did miss him. Jack had not even stayed the night. They had made love another time and then he had left, but not before asking her to keep his visit a secret. Being with him again had only rekindled the fierce nature of her love, and it had been so hard to act in an ordinary manner—when she wanted to tell his sisters how madly she was in love.

  But they had not discussed the future. And Evelyn had been afraid to ask him if she would see him again.

  For nothing had changed. He was a source of danger for her and her daughter, and apparently, she was a source of danger for him. They did not seem to have a future, yet that fact did not quiet her raging, insistent heart.

  Gerard came to the open doors. Julianne did not notice, as she was so absorbed, but Amelia awoke, yawning, as he intoned, “Madam?”

  Evelyn wondered at his odd expression—and then realized he was looking at her. “Gerard?” Evelyn responded.

  “I am so sorry to interrupt, madam, but Captain Barrow is in the foyer, asking for you.”

  Evelyn felt her heart slam. “The captain is here? Asking for me?” How her voice sounded like a squeak!

  Julianne shoved her treatise aside. She turned to look at Evelyn sharply. “Wasn’t Barrow the captain who came to Roselynd—looking for Jack?”

  Evelyn was alarmed. “Yes.”

  “He is asking for Lady D’Orsay, madam,” Gerard said to Julianne. “Should I send him away?”

  Amelia stood up, using the arms of the sofa to do so. The three women exchanged looks. “Did he say what he wants?” she asked briskly.

  “He said he wishes to speak with the Countess D’Orsay.”

  “Should we send him away?” Julianne asked low.

  “I think we should find out what he wants,” Amelia said, already starting for the door.

  Evelyn was filled with dread. She could not imagine what the captain wanted. Perhaps he was hunting Jack. Perhaps Jack had been remarked, either coming or going the other night. If Barrow had remained in Cornwall, it would take him about three days to get to town in response to such information. “Wait,” she said to both women.

  Julianne turned to Gerard. “Please tell him we will be right there.” She shut the door behind him.

  “Jack was here, three nights ago,” Evelyn whispered.

  Amelia and Julianne exchanged brief glances. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Julianne cried, but she kept her voice low.

  Evelyn knew she flushed. “Because he told me not to do so.”

  “You think Barrow has come here to arrest him?” Amelia asked.

  “Why else would he come?” Suddenly Evelyn felt her heart lurch with dread. “Oh, God. What if Jack has stayed in London?”

  “He never stays in town. It is too dangerous.” Julianne was firm. “We had better greet the captain. She opened the doors and strode out. Evelyn and Amelia followed.

  Evelyn saw Barrow the moment she left the salon. He was standing impatiently beside the front door, along with two of his men and the two liveried doormen. Through the window that was behind him, Evelyn now saw two more mounted soldiers, holding the three officers’ chargers. Her dread intensified, but she managed a smile as she lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “Good afternoon, Captain. I did not realize your jurisdiction included town.”

  “Countess.” He bowed slightly, and then nodded at Julianne and Amelia. He stepped briskly forward, extending a tied and rolled parchment at Evelyn. “I am afraid I have a warrant for your arrest, Lady D’Orsay.”

  Evelyn reeled, shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You might wish to read it, but I have been instructed to take you into custody,” he said.

  He was going to arrest her? What had she done? Evelyn succumbed to panic.

  Amelia barreled forward. “There must be a mistake, Captain.” Her tone was hard, and filled with authority. She planted herself between the captain and Evelyn, hands on her hips. “I am Lady Grenville, Captain, the Countess of St Just.”

  “There is no mistake.” His smile was cold.

  Evelyn had begun to think. There could be no charges—what had she done wrong? She realized Julianne now stood beside her, quite protectively.

  “And what are the charges?” Amelia demanded.

  “I have an arrest warrant, Countess, and I do not need charges in order to arrest Lady D’Orsay. However, I will tell you this—it is a criminal act to harbor a fugitive of the Crown in a time of war.”

  Evelyn did not know the law well. But she did know that anyone could be arrested for anything, without charges being leveled. “You searched the house. Jack Greystone wasn’t there,” she cried.

  Barrow whirled to face her, his green eyes flashing. “But since then, I have sworn testimony that he was indeed in hiding in your home—and that you were, most definitely, aiding and abetting the enemy.”

  Evelyn gasped. None of her servants would ever betray her in such a manner! “That is impossible!”

  “Your maid has signed an affidavit, Lady D’Orsay, indicting you for harboring a fugitive of the crown—an enemy of the state, a traitor.”

  Adelaide would never betray her this way. Evelyn felt her knees give way. Julianne caught her arm. “Bette did this? Why?”

  “I imagine she is a patriot.” His implication was clear, even if left unspoken—unlike her. And Barrow stepped aggressively toward Evelyn, clearly meaning to seize her.

  As bulky and unwieldy as she was, Amelia moved with the agility of a cat, stepping in front of Evelyn yet again. “You are not taking the Countess from this house. That would be a terrible mistake on your part, Captain. Clearly, this is a misunderstanding. Or perhaps, Bette was forced into making such an erroneous indictment. In any case, my husband, St Just, will repair this matter.”

  “There is no mistake,” Barrow said harshly.

  “I am warning you, sir, there is a staff here of two dozen—do not attempt to remove Lady D’Orsay from these premises!” Amelia was furious now. Her gray eyes flashed. “And you do not wish to get on the count’s wrong side.”

  “You intend to physically obstruct me?” He was incredulous. “You even threaten me?”

  “We will most definitely physically obstruct you and your men. I suggest you return to your superiors and check your facts. In the interim, I have no doubt you will find the arrest warrant to have been m
istakenly and illegally issued.” She smiled coldly. “Good day, Captain.”

  Barrow trembled in anger, but he was hesitant now. “Fine,” he snapped, turning to Evelyn. “You are not to leave this house, Countess, and I will be back after I discuss this matter with my superiors.” He gestured at his men and flung open the front door himself. The trio pounded down the front steps, toward the waiting soldiers and horses.

  Julianne leaped past Amelia, slamming the door shut. “Bolt it,” she cried to the two doormen.

  Evelyn staggered to the closest chair. Amazingly, Amelia did not move, her hands still on her hips. “Are you all right, Evelyn?”

  Evelyn could not find her voice. Julianne hugged her. “We would never let you be arrested.”

  “Never,” Amelia confirmed. She finally sighed and walked over to an adjacent chair and sat down. “The babe is kicking.” She patted her belly, but looked up. “If Bette has betrayed you, and I imagine she has, then you cannot stay here.”

  Evelyn hugged herself. “She would never voluntarily do such a thing!”

  Julianne clasped her shoulder. “Barrow has been after Jack for the past year. He is obsessed, clearly. I will gamble my favorite necklace that he coerced Bette.”

  “He is going to come back,” Evelyn managed, still stunned by her narrow escape from imprisonment.

  “Yes, I imagine he will—which is why you must leave—immediately—as soon as it is dark.”

  And Evelyn realized what was happening. She was about to be arrested—and if she did not flee—she would go to prison. “Aimee is at Lambert Hall.”

  Amelia patted her hand. “It will be all right, Evelyn. Simon will correct this, and if he does not, Dominic will. I am certain.”

  “But we are going to have to hide until they do,” Evelyn cried. “My God, where will we go?”

  “I know exactly where you and Aimee can hide, Evelyn.” Julianne smiled. “Looe Island.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EVELYN SHIVERED, her arm around Aimee. She could hardly breathe. It was a dark cloudy night, with no stars, no moon and a sharp breeze. She huddled in a wool cloak, as did her daughter. The small dinghy they were in raced toward the nearby cove. In the cloudy night, Looe Island loomed blackly before them.