The Wicked Spy
Blackhaven Brides
Book 7
Mary Lancaster
Copyright © 2018 by Mary Lancaster
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books from Dragonblade Publishing
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Mary Lancaster’s Newsletter
Other Books by Mary Lancaster
About Mary Lancaster
Chapter One
Being an ambitious man, Henry Harcourt always entered his neat London house with faint dissatisfaction. He disliked its modest size and unfashionable location. This evening, however, he had more important matters on his mind—matters, which might, in fact, lead to promotion and a larger house before too much longer.
His heart lifted as always at the sight of his wife, Lady Christianne, descending the narrow stairs to greet him. He had married well above his own rank, his wife being the sister of the Marquis of Tamar. Although she was penniless, that had never concerned him, for his was a love match.
Striding to meet her, he realized belatedly that the lady approaching him was not his wife but her twin sister. The twins shared the same petite, delicate figures, raven locks, and lustrous, dark brown eyes. Their beauty was almost ethereal. But there, all similarities ended.
Although most people thought them identical, Henry rarely confused them, even at a distance, for Anna lacked Christianne’s impulsive warmth and sweet disposition. Anna walked with icy poise, her eyes veiled and watchful, her beautiful face betraying little except bored amusement at life. With her sharp perception and caustic tongue, she was one of the most intimidating women Henry had ever met.
She was not an entirely comfortable house guest either. On the other hand, she had proven surprisingly useful to him in his work, and she was just the person he needed to see this evening.
“Ah, Anna. Come into the study, if you please.”
For an instant, her eyes betrayed a spark of interest that was almost relief, but she merely inclined her head, and obligingly followed him into his tiny study.
Henry wasted no time on pleasantries. “Are you on visiting terms with your brother?” He squeezed behind the desk which was really too large for the room.
“God, no,” Anna replied with revulsion. “Which brother?” she added as an afterthought.
“Your eldest brother, Lord Tamar.”
“Oh, I don’t mind him. But I can’t imagine his wealthy new wife condescending to our Kensington hovel.”
Ignoring her slur upon his home, Henry corrected her. “No, I wish you to visit him up in Cumberland. At Braithwaite Castle.”
“Why the devil would I do that?”
Henry frowned. Like Christianne, Anna had grown up wild with little company but her siblings and she clearly saw no reason to mind her tongue with family. “Find your own reasons,” he said curtly. “He is newly married, that should be enough. I want you there because it is a mere ten miles from the Black Fort which houses French prisoners of war.”
That caught her attention. “Go on.”
“In October, an attempt was made to blow up the fort. It was foiled, and the French agents captured or killed. But such a strange act drew the fort to my attention. Why pick on such an obscure prison? Who were they trying to rescue? The men we captured had no idea or weren’t telling. So, I’ve been looking into the inmates and discovered this man.”
He took a sheaf of papers from the inside of his coat and pushed them across the desk to Anna. “Captain Armand L’Étrange. A man of the same name and the same regiment died at Salamanca. I know because a report was made of his bravery.”
“Then who is this?” Anna enquired, flicking through the papers.
“Whoever he is, he surren
dered in Spain at the beginning of this year without much struggle and has given no trouble since. I have reason to believe he is Colonel Delon, the commander of all Bonaparte’s spies—under Bonaparte himself, of course. An intimate—or at least a past tool—of the likes of Fouché and Talleyrand, the one-time ministers of police and foreign affairs.”
Anna cast him a skeptical glance. “What reason could you possibly have for so wild a guess?”
“Well, it is a guess,” Henry admitted, “for we have no physical description of Delon. He was never a very visible commander. But, according to a spy of our own, about a year ago, there was some kind of purge in the ranks of the French police, with several of their spies being killed, or given away to whichever enemy would deal with them. No one has seen or mentioned Delon since, so we think he was pushed out, forced into hiding. He was last heard of in January, in Spain. I imagine his lifespan would have been severely curtailed had he returned to France. He must have a head full of information, dangerous to a lot of powerful people.”
“And so, he pretended to be this L’Étrange and gave himself up to us? A rather drastic move, is it not?”
“Perhaps,” Henry agreed. “But our man placed this Delon within a few miles of where the supposed L’Étrange was captured. It seems likely Delon surrendered in disguise, and as a result, no one has ever asked him to betray anything. But can you imagine how useful his knowledge would be to us?” He smiled faintly. “And this is where you come in, my dear. I would like you to visit the prison, in charitable spirit, and make friends with the man. Help him escape, find out what you can and bring him to me.”
Her face did not change, yet Henry knew that she was pleased. Her very stillness betrayed her excitement.
“To bring such a man to the British side…” she mused. “It would surely help end the war. And it would be quite a feather in your cap, would it not?”
“And in yours,” Henry said steadily. “If you succeed. But make no mistake, Anna. This man is dangerous, and not only for what he knows. They say he was once a mere spy himself and rose to control the whole of Bonaparte’s secret police system under the likes of Fouché. He couldn’t have done that without being highly intelligent, devious, and utterly ruthless.”
Anna smiled and rose to her feet. “Then surely we are well matched. If you procure me a seat, I shall leave on the early mail coach.”
*
Two days later, Lady Anna Gaunt stepped down from her hired chaise. The impressive front door of Braithwaite Castle was already open and a very superior butler regarded her from the top step.
“Be so good as to pay the post boy, if you please,” she said carelessly, mounting the steps. “And announce me to Lord and Lady Tamar.”
Both instructions appeared to bewilder the butler, though not enough to remove him from her path.
“What name shall I say, madam?” he enquired, making no effort to attend to the impatient postillions who were anxious to return to Carlisle.
Anna gazed at the butler as though astonished. “Lady Anna Gaunt, of course. Lord Tamar is expecting me.”
His surprise at least enabled her to sail past him into the house, although he recovered quickly.
“This way, if you please, madam,” he said repressively, and led her across the vast hall and oak staircase to an uninspiring reception room. “I’ll see if her ladyship is at home.”
Anna allowed herself to look slightly offended. “His lordship should have had my letter a week since,” she observed. “I cannot be above a few minutes later than I intended.”
The butler merely bowed and went on his stately way.
In truth, Anna was not remotely offended since she hadn’t written to anyone, and the butler was only doing his duty, preserving his masters from uninvited hoi polloi. Her departure from London had been sudden, her journey north urgent and appallingly uncomfortable, though she had no intention of advertising the fact.
The reception room was small and somewhat soulless, though perfectly decorated. It had struck her, on first approaching the castle, that it resembled her own home, Tamar Abbey—another medieval pile. However, the nearer she approached, the fewer were the resemblances. Both the older and newer parts of Braithwaite Castle were clearly in excellent repair, the estate in which it was set well-cared for and prosperous. Here, the best was obviously made of a difficult and wild landscape. And the question uppermost in Anna’s mind remained, what on earth had possessed the Earl of Braithwaite to marry his very eligible sister to Anna’s entirely ineligible brother? The advantages were all clearly Rupert’s, and Anna was likely to be merely the first of her siblings to take advantage.
The butler’s footsteps returned after several minutes, though rather more hurriedly. “If you’d please to follow me upstairs, my lady,” he said with rather more respect, “her ladyship will receive you. And the post boys will be taken care of.”
“Thank you,” Anna said, and followed him up the grand staircase to an apparently infinite gallery and the first room opening off it. Now the moment was upon her and she would discover what sort of woman had taken on her flat-broke and feckless brother. To say nothing of his awful, grasping family.
But the drawing room—although a much finer apartment—was also empty. The butler bowed again and departed.
Only seconds later, a young woman of around her own age rushed in. Although clearly flustered, she was beautiful, fashionable, and unexpectedly friendly. The kind of woman who had never feared or wanted for anything.
“Lady Anna!” the beauty exclaimed, hurrying toward her with both hands outstretched. “What a delightful surprise!”
Anna almost laughed. She managed to avoid the clearly intended embrace by an adroit sidestep while she briefly shook her sister-in-law’s hand. That much contact was unavoidable. “Lady Tamar,” she said formally.
Her sister-in-law’s hands fell to her sides. Anna might have imagined the flash of hurt in her eyes but the spark of anger was real enough.
“Call me Serena,” her brother’s wife said at once. A perfect lady, clearly, she would not allow a perceived slight to affect her. “We are sisters, after all. But I hope you will excuse our unpreparedness. Paton said we should be expecting you, but I assure you, we received no word.”
“I wrote to Tamar more than a week since,” Anna lied. “It would be just like him to ignore it or simply forget! But the matter is easily remedied. I shall be quite happy to put up in Blackhaven. I believe there is a hotel.”
“Nonsense, you must stay here, of course. Please, sit close to the fire—you must be chilled through. They’re bringing refreshments directly.”
Anna took the nearest chair, making up for her old and unfashionable gown by sitting rigidly straight. “Is my brother not here?” she enquired.
“I left him further along the coast, huddled inside a greatcoat and two cloaks painting the sea from a particular angle. But I’ve sent someone to fetch him home.”
“You needn’t have bothered,” Anna said frankly. “He won’t be pleased to see me.”
Serena blinked. “I’m sure you wrong both of you.”
“Oh no,” Anna said. She allowed herself to gaze more blatantly at her sister-in-law. The girl lacked neither intelligence nor beauty. Anna was at a loss as to why she had married Rupert. “So, are your brother and mine friends?” Anna asked, wondering if that was how they had met.
“They are now,” Serena said cautiously.
“Then Lord Braithwaite did not introduce you?”
“Goodness, no. I introduced them.” There was a challenge in Serena’s direct gaze. “Why?”
Anna opted for honesty. “To be frank, I am wondering what on earth can have possessed you to marry my graceless brother.”
“Love,” Serena said without apology. She didn’t even drop her gaze.
Anna, who had wondered whether Rupert or his bride would be in most need of rescuing, found herself none the wiser. For the first time, she caught a hint of steel in her new sister, a sense
that she might just be a worthy opponent. If opponent she turned out to be. Anna reserved judgement, at least until she had seen Rupert.
“How very romantic,” Anna said, smiling.
But it seemed Serena was only half-listening for a banging door in the bowels of the castle and a raised, familiar voice heralded urgent footsteps and the precipitous arrival of none other than Rupert himself.
“Serena, guess what? One of the prisoners really has escaped the Black Fort and—” He stopped, blinking, brought up short at the sight of Anna. “Good God.”
“Good morning, Rupert,” Anna said calmly. His blurted news was not uninteresting to her, but at this moment, it took second place to their reunion.
Although she would never admit it, Rupert was one of the very few people she was ever pleased to see. But now, finding him healthy and full of vitality, her sense of relief took her by surprise. If this marriage was the result of some deep game on the Braithwaites’ part, she could not yet discern it. Rupert looked happier than she could recall since they were children running wild around the abbey.
Of course, he had luxury and money now, but Rupert had never really been bothered by their lack—at least not on his own account.
“You might have told your wife I was coming,” she reproved. “My letter must have reached you at least four or five days ago.”
Rupert gave a crooked smile. “Doing it much too brown, Anna. You’ve never written to me in your life. You’re welcome, you know…so long as you haven’t brought your brothers.”
“Good God, no,” Anna said, revolted. “I merely thought it time I unburdened Henry of my presence for a few weeks.” She glanced at Serena. “Henry is my sister’s husband. We think he makes himself deliberately dull to avoid my brothers descending on him too often.”
Rupert let out a snort of laughter. “He’s not dull, he just disapproves of us, and who can blame him?”
“Not I,” Anna admitted. “So, I was going to return to Tamar Abbey, but the place is in uproar while your renovations begin, with builders and so on all over the place. Henry said I couldn’t stay there until you and your wife were there, too. And so, Christianne sent me up here instead to see how you did. And to wish you happy, of course.”
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