And then he dropped her hand. “Forgive me, mademoiselle. I meant only to say thank you.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said hastily. But it was too late. She’d seen the flash of curiosity in his face “I merely want you to take care not to reopen your wounds. Please do not even try to get up.” She stood, swinging her cloak back around her and reaching for the lantern. She set a spare candle on the hearth. “Take care. I promise I shall return tomorrow.”
He inclined his head, with tired humor. He was no longer hiding the pain that tightened his mouth and tugged down his brow. Perhaps he couldn’t. “Goodbye, Miss Anna.”
“Au revoir, Monsieur Louis.”
As she flitted out of the hut, she was now the one who trembled, and she had no idea why.
*
There were many reasons Louis Delon did not want her to go. Not least of them was that he could not remember ever having seen anyone or anything more beautiful.
Perhaps it was the moonlight or the firelight, but the soft glow of her creamy skin and the gleam of her raven black hair seemed to accentuate the refined beauty of her face. And even the old-fashioned, loose-fitting riding habit could not hide her delicious figure. Almost delirious with pain, blood loss and hunger, it was no wonder he thought she resembled an angel.
Only he doubted she was. Her appearance had been far too opportune, too unlikely. She had known he was the escaped prisoner from the fort, yet she hadn’t been remotely frightened as she had helped him. Or at least, not until he’d touched her.
That was the moment her veil had dropped, revealing, if only for an instant, darkness, horror, and terror. He might have imagined it, only he had seen that look before, in young soldiers after battle, in women and children who had got in the way of a rampaging army. It was more unexpected in a supposedly genteel English lady, which served to increase his curiosity.
He wanted her to stay and tell him the story of her life. He wanted to admire the grace and efficiency of her movements, keep her close for weak reasons of simple human comfort. He wanted to learn who she was and make her spill her secrets. He wanted to watch the expressions flit across her face, to make her laugh while they sharpened their wits on each other. He had no idea who she was, or what danger she presented. But he did recognize a fellow spirit.
And so, he let her go.
And when he heard the soft thud of her horse’s hooves as she rode away, he was sorry. She had been kind and whatever she had put on his wounds seemed to have taken the edge off his pain. She gave him something to think about other than vengeance.
Inevitably, the cold fury began to rise, bringing with it, the visions of those men and women, his people, whom Gosselin had sent to their deaths simply to gain favor and power. His power. Louis had been unforgivably slow. He had not suspected such massive betrayal from his lieutenant. For when it mattered, it was Colonel Louis Delon who kept France safe, who plugged the leaks created by the Emperor Napoleon’s policies and actions.
He had known his power was considered dangerous to others, to the disgraced Fouché and Talleyrand and even the emperor himself. He had known his days were numbered. But he had never expected Gosselin to go after his people. That was unforgivably stupid, short-sighted, and dangerous. To say nothing of cruel and inhuman.
For a moment, the agony swamped him again. The faces of Marguerite and her son, and all those others arrested, executed, or betrayed deliberately to the enemy, swam through his mind, accusing, shaming. Brave men and women of various ages and places in life, who had risked far more than Gosselin ever would, to save France from its ever-growing number of enemies. Marguerite and Jean most of all. They had trusted him, and he had failed to save them from his own over-ambitious underling, Gosselin.
Gosselin, you will die, he promised as he had every night for ten months. His visions of the betrayed slid away into the back of his mind, until he was left only with the dark beauty of the English girl who had undoubtedly saved his life. Anna.
Warm at last, fed and almost comfortable, he knew he would drift quickly into sleep.
And he knew that he would see her again.
*
“I’m glad Anna is here,” Serena said to her husband the next morning as he brushed out her hair. It was a duty he had taken over from her maid, although he was not so good at dressing or styling it. He seemed, mostly, to enjoy winding it through his fingers. “Only I don’t think she likes me.”
Tamar shrugged. “Anna doesn’t like anyone very much. Except Christianne.”
“Then why did she come here?”
“Curiosity, probably. And perhaps Christianne’s husband made it difficult for her to stay there. It’s probably quite unsettling to have someone in his house who looks so much like his wife and yet is so unlike her in character. Besides, he’s probably jealous. The twins have always been close.” He laid down the brush and gave her hair a gentle tug until she turned up her face and he could kiss her. “She’ll grow less prickly in time. Just leave her be and you’ll find she’s actually quite fun company when she chooses. Come on, let’s go to breakfast and see if she’s up yet.”
Lady Anna proved to be not only up but eating breakfast while being entertained by Serena’s young sisters. Serena had expected her to be bored or even irritated in such company. But in fact, she was laughing at something Alice had said, and didn’t seem to mind when Helen commanded her attention by simply calling her name.
“Why didn’t you tell us you had such a good sister?” Alice demanded when Tamar and Serena entered the breakfast room.
“I never said she was a bad sister,” Tamar objected. “In fact, I have no objections at all to my sisters. It’s my brothers who are awful.”
“Thank you for such fulsome praise,” Anna said wryly.
Serena, finding a letter from her mother by her place at the table, sighed and sat down to break the seal.
“What is Mama saying?” Maria asked. “Is she still outraged by Miss Grey having the temerity to marry Mr. Benedict?”
“Oh, no, she isn’t outraged, exactly,” Serena said. “Merely inconvenienced. It must be infuriating to have one’s forgiveness proved un-necessary. My mother dismissed the girls’ governess,” she explained briefly to Anna, “over something that was quite unfair and untrue. And by the time she’d come to realize this and wrote our Miss Grey a very handsome letter of apology, appealing to her to come back to us, Miss Grey had married our neighbor!”
“Most galling for her,” Anna said, faintly amused.
“Well, I think it was. Plus, she does not like people stepping out of their station. The girls now go up to Haven Hall three days a week to be taught by the new Mrs. Benedict…” She broke off, frowning. “Actually, they probably shouldn’t go until this prisoner is recaptured.”
“I doubt they’d be in any danger,” Tamar said, heaping his plate with ham and eggs. “Haven Hall is inland, and I can’t imagine this fellow would draw attention to himself by attacking a carriage full of schoolroom misses. But, if you’re worried, I’ll go with them. Better still, send Jem or one of the footmen, armed to the teeth.”
“We could,” Serena said doubtfully, spreading open her letter. “Perhaps he was even recaptured last night. Do we know who he is? What kind of a man he is?”
“Infantry captain,” Tamar said, taking his place opposite the girls. “L’Étrange. Armand L’Étrange. A gentleman, apparently, who had accepted his captivity with grace. So why he didn’t just stick it out for another few weeks until the war finally ends…”
“Perhaps he had bad news from home,” Serena speculated. “Or he’d just had enough and snapped. After all, does anyone really accept captivity?”
Anna cast her a curious glance, as though reassessing her, though Serena doubted it would be in her favor. Hastily, she turned her attention to the letter and read her mother’s latest instructions. “Oh, for the love of—Just when we were comfortable again!”
“What?” Maria demanded.
“
Mama has engaged a new governess for you and she is arriving tomorrow. Mrs. Elphinstone.”
“But we like Miss Grey!” Maria objected. “I mean, Mrs. Benedict.”
“I know,” Serena said ruefully. “But you must admit it isn’t convenient when she is at Haven Hall. And you may like Mrs. Elphinstone excessively.”
“We won’t,” Helen said flatly.
“It’s also possible that Mrs. Benedict no longer wishes to teach, now she is mistress of Haven Hall. I suspect she is merely being kind to us. Anyhow, Mama has spoken and we must make the best of it.” Turning to Anna with something close to relief, she asked, “What would you like to do today? We have some charming countryside and Blackhaven is a pleasant town, although quiet at this season…”
“Please don’t feel the need to look after me,” Anna replied at once. “I arrived uninvited and am quite happy to look after myself. In fact, I prefer not to disturb you.”
“Well, if you enjoy parties, there is a musical evening at the vicarage tonight and on Friday, there is a masquerade at the town assembly rooms.”
“A masquerade?” Anna repeated, apparently amused. “How very decadent!”
“Well, it won’t be, since it is sponsored by the vicar’s wife and Mrs. Winslow,” Serena said frankly. “But it did seem a harmless form of fun leading up to Christmas. We can easily find you a mask and domino cloak. Also, if you can sing or play at all, please come to the musical evening or it is likely to be torture.”
“That isn’t encouraging,” Anna pointed out.
“It raises funds for the vicar’s charities,” Serena said apologetically. “His wife holds them every so often and besides, it lets the young ladies practice their accomplishments somewhere unthreatening.”
“I could threaten them if it would help,” Anna offered.
*
Anna was open about her expedition that morning. She even asked for a luncheon to be packed so that she could go further.
“You don’t want to go far with that Frenchie about,” the cook said darkly.
“Oh, I shall be very careful, and take someone with me,” Anna lied. She had no intention of taking anyone. While she set off in the direction of Blackhaven, she quickly doubled back once she was out of sight of the main part of the castle and galloped across country toward the Black Fort.
Her heart was beating fast with excitement as she drew nearer the wood and the hut where she’d left “Louis”. Captain Armand L’Étrange was the escapee, and that was the name Henry had given her, while convinced it was an alias. If he was right, then this prisoner, Louis, was in reality, Colonel Delon, Bonaparte’s spymaster.
And Anna, had come to learn his secrets.
He was certainly a more interesting man than most, which had to be the source of her excitement. She wanted him to be well and she needed to convince him to change sides. She didn’t underestimate the difficulties, nor the advantages if she could succeed. And she would succeed. There had been something between them last night, even in his poor state, even in the short time she’d been with him. And today, she intended to build on it, win his trust, his liking, and the beginnings of his loyalty.
She all but flung herself off the mare, tying her loosely to the same tree branch as last night. From her continued, keen observation, she knew there was no one else around. They would be isolated here, undisturbed, and she had several hours.
Her heart drumming, she walked up to the door and pushed it open.
The hut was empty. There was nothing to show he had ever been there. Even the mattress was back on the tilting bed.
Slowly, she crossed the room to the hearth. He’d even taken the ashes away. Only the warmth still in the stone betrayed last night’s fire.
“Damn,” she whispered.
He was good. Far more perceptive than she’d given him credit for, he hadn’t trusted her at all.
Chapter Three
Had he been fit, Louis would undoubtedly have stayed and met her on her own terms—while taking sensible precautions, of course. As it was, isolated and wounded, his only safe choice was to leave, which he did at first light.
As he walked into the woods, brushing over his footprints as he went, he acknowledged that without her, he would have been in a much worse state. But with his wounds dressed, food in his stomach, and a night’s sleep behind him, his strength had begun to return. Although, perhaps he was more delirious than he thought because the ridiculous plan that came to him first and made him grin, seemed to be the one with the best likelihood of success.
In easy stages, resting frequently, he walked back up to the vicinity of his prison and the village beyond. There appeared to be no extra soldiers around it any more. They were, no doubt, watching the coast as Anna had told him. And the guards from the fort had obviously returned to watching their remaining prisoners.
The village inn was a coaching establishment. While imprisoned, Louis had made it his business to learn when the stagecoaches arrived and departed. He chose the busiest time for the inn staff when they were all rushing around, changing horses and drivers, and fetching ale and breakfast for hungry stagecoach passengers.
Wandering into the inn yard as though quite familiar with it, Louis went straight to the kitchen and helped himself to a loaf and some cheese while the cook was screeching at someone to get out of her hair. In the tap room, he found a disreputable leather coat abandoned on a stool. And outside again, on the coach box, he found what he really wanted—a pistol and some powder. And as a bonus, a tatty, floppy-brimmed hat. Stuffing those all into his pockets, he clambered awkwardly down again and growled at the man who seemed about to ask what he was about. Apparently satisfied, the man returned to harnessing the horses and Louis went to the stables, where the boys were busy brushing down and feeding the tired horses who had just arrived. They ignored him, so he led out a large nag and saddled her in front of them before mounting and riding off.
He had often found that if you did the outrageous with enough conviction, no one questioned you. He was glad he had not lost his touch during his months in prison.
*
Some hours later, dressed in the stolen coat and hat, riding his stolen horse, he lurked on the main road between Blackhaven and Carlisle. He was so bored waiting for the perfect carriage to hold up that he would have welcomed any traffic at all. He wanted a wealthy young man of about his own height and build, alone. Someone who could be robbed and relied on to exaggerate the story of the hold-up beyond recognition of the actual facts. Instead, beyond a couple of farmers’ carts and a few cattle, he saw barely anyone at all. It was not a busy stretch of road. A couple of private carriages had passed earlier, but since their occupants were elderly and female, he rode straight past them without stopping.
Time was running out and he did not wish to spend another night in the open. So, when he heard the sounds of another approaching carriage, he sprang out of his hiding place to see a hired chaise and accompanying postilions. Without troubling to observe who was inside it, he rode recklessly into the road to force it to halt.
The driver and outriders slowed from instinct. Even before he raised his pistols, he must have looked a disreputable sight in his tatty and torn leather coat, his fair hair hidden under his stolen floppy hat, which he had pulled low over his muddied face.
“Stand and deliver!” he shouted in a rough London accent, brandishing his pistol as he grabbed at the lead horse’s head and all but dragged it to a complete standstill. His wound protested, sending sharp pangs of agony through him. Ignoring the pain, he levelled the pistol at the driver.
“Come down. Everyone, dismount and stand over there.”
“I say,” an irate male voice sounded in the chaise doorway as a young man stepped out. “What the devil is the hold up?”
“Exactly that, young sir,” Louis said amiably, noting with some pleasure that his victim was well-dressed and close enough to the same build as he. “This is indeed the devil of a hold up. Got anyone else in there with you
?”
A scream went up.
“Oh God, she’s having hysterics,” the young man cried in despair, clutching at his already disordered locks.
Louis changed position until he could see the young lady prostrate upon the seat inside, drumming her heels as she wailed like a banshee.
“Looks more like a tantrum to me,” he said judiciously. “But either way, I don’t envy you. Tell you what, young sir, just hand over the blunt and your baggage. I’ll spare the lady’s.”
“Thar’s damned good of you,” the young man said nervously. “Only how can we elope with no money?”
“Live on true love,” Louis advised, accepting the young man’s fat pocket book and his portmanteau. “Here, we’ll share it,” he added, seeing just how much money was inside the wallet. He kindly handed a wadge of it to his victim and pocketed the rest. “Best be off! And take my advice and don’t stop on the way. You’ll never get married once you start involving the law, whichever side of the border.”
“Good point,” the young man said, climbing back into the coach with a wary glance at his rigid beloved.
Louis waved everyone back to their proper places and let the chaise go. Only when one of the postilions paused to level a pistol at him did he raise his own. The man turned back and rode on, presumably deciding that discretion was the better part of valor.
Louis dragged himself and his horse off the road to investigate his plunder.
*
It was growing dark by the time Louis disturbed the peace of Henrit, the snug country estate of Mr. Winslow. In truth, by then, he was so tired and his shoulder ached so abominably, that he all but fell off his horse without acting and called imperiously for the help of a magistrate.
“I’ve been robbed! Highway robbery!” he told anyone who would listen, until Mrs. Winslow gave him a cup of tea in her drawing room. This at least told him he appeared to her to be a gentleman is his second set of stolen clothes. A few moments later, the lady’s husband came bustling in with some concern to hear his tale.
The Wicked Spy Page 3