Compromised for Christmas

by Charles, Jane

  “Tired and thirsty.” She attempted to lick her lips, but there was no moisture in her mouth.

  He grinned wider. “The fever is gone. I was worried for a while.”

  “Fever?”

  His eyebrows wrinkled in worry. “Don’t you remember being shot?”

  The moment came back to her in a flash. “Vaguely. We escaped?”

  “Barely.” Jean Pierre settled on the side of the bed, reached to the table, and poured her a glass of water. He assisted her in sitting up. “Drink slowly. You haven’t had anything for two days.”

  Two days? She had been unconscious for two days? The water was cool on her tongue, and she forced herself not to guzzle it all in one drink. Jean Pierre held her gently and patiently while she took small sips until the glass was almost empty. After setting it back on the table, he placed pillows behind her so that she could recline instead of lying on her back.

  “Where are we?”

  “We should reach Le Havre tomorrow.”

  She knew the port. It was the one she had arrived in some three years ago. Calais may be closer to England, but it was guarded more heavily.

  “Then home.”

  His smile was gentle but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then home.”

  Elizabeth tried to swat away whatever it was that was shaking her shoulder. Didn’t they know she wanted to sleep? Her hand connected with a face. Beneath her fingers, a beard had begun to fill in. Beard? She cracked her eyes to see who was bothering her and focused on the serious green eyes of Jean Pierre. He had the nicest eyes. They reminded her of warm summer pastures.

  “We need to go.”

  “Where?” she asked in a return whisper.

  “We are at Le Havre.”

  “Le Havre?” It took a few moments for her mind to clear. “Oh.”

  She struggled to sit up and Jean Pierre placed an arm behind her back. The blanket fell away and she yanked it up to her chin. “I need my clothing,” she hissed.

  Jean Pierre produced her dress and held it up so she could slip her arms in, then pulled it down over her bodice before he efficiently fastened up the back. Elizabeth swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her knees buckled, and blackness invaded with bright spots twinkling in her peripheral vision. Jean Pierre steadied her with strong hands at both elbows and helped her sit back on the bed.

  “Goodness.”

  “You need to move slower. You haven’t moved from that bed since you were shot, and that was almost four days ago.”

  Those days were a fog to her. There were flitting images of Jean Pierre bathing her face, holding a glass of cold water to her lips, and spooning hot broth into her mouth. What she did not recall was a doctor, yet her side seemed to be on the mend, though it burned and ached at the moment from her sudden movement. Elizabeth took deep breaths, and soon any threat of darkness receded. Jean Pierre settled on the floor and rolled her stockings over each foot and up her calves. Thank goodness he didn’t throw up her skirts; it was bad enough his hands were skimming up her legs. The man was far too familiar with her body.

  He slipped the boots on and tied each before he looked up. “Do you think you can walk?”

  Elizabeth wasn’t so sure, but she nodded her head. He stood and helped her slip the cloak on, then directed her towards the steps. She lifted one foot and had to grab the low wall for balance before she tumbled. She hated this weakness.

  Jean Pierre cursed and before she could contemplate his actions, he scooped her up in his arms and was striding across the deck. “Thank you, Maurice. I am indebted to you.”

  “Ah.” The man waved a hand in dismissal. “I was sick of Paris. I think I will go south. I am too old for this cold weather.”

  Jean Pierre laughed and continued down the plank.

  Gravel crunched beneath his boots, and Elizabeth lifted her head to look around. Maurice was already sailing away, but there wasn’t another boat in sight. Hadn’t Jean Pierre said there would be one here? The gentle lapping of water against the shore combined with Jean Pierre’s even steps were the only sounds. A chill hung in the air. Elizabeth turned her face into his shoulder and took a deep breath. Even though they had begun their escape four days ago, and most of their time had been spent on the boat, a comforting scent of soap emanated from him. She was fairly certain she didn’t smell nearly as nice, since she had not had the opportunity to bathe.

  “There it is.”

  Elizabeth lifted her head long enough to look towards the water. She could barely make out a boat. A rowboat manned by two sailors just reached the beach as they approached. Jean Pierre nodded in greeting and placed Elizabeth on a middle seat. The men pushed the boat into the water until it floated and then hopped in. Jean Pierre settled beside Elizabeth and placed an arm around her waist as the two sailors picked up the oars and began rowing back to the ship. Elizabeth’s side ached and all she wanted to do was sleep once again. A newborn kitten had more energy than she did at the moment.

  They reached the yacht and a rope ladder was flung over the side. Elizabeth eyed it with determination. She could do this. She placed one hand over the other; her feet followed. Jean Pierre came up from behind and he pushed her skirts up, revealing her calves. Elizabeth would have been mortified if it wasn’t necessary so that she could climb without tripping over her dress. A sailor helped her over the side, and Jean Pierre quickly followed.

  “We need to hurry, men.”

  The two who rowed them from shore scrambled up the rope as two other sailors hoisted the small rowboat up and out of the water.

  “She’s getting closer, Captain,” a man called from the upper deck.

  “Who?” Jean Pierre demanded.

  “A French ship. We’ve evaded three of them so far.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get below and stay hidden.”

  “This way.” A young man stood not far away and pointed towards a set of steps. Elizabeth tuned in his direction, but Jean Pierre scooped her in his arms once again and hurried towards the opening. She could certainly walk now, but maybe Jean Pierre didn’t think she was moving fast enough.

  They followed the young man into the cabin but instead of stopping there, he reached beneath the shelf of a bookcase built into the wall and pulled a lever. The bookcase swung out. He lifted a lantern and led them down a few more steps into a dark, enclosed room.

  “Captain had this built into the hull of the ship for smuggling. We will come get you when it is safe.”

  Elizabeth glanced about the small space, barely the size of a bed. In fact, with the exception of a small area, a mattress and blankets covered the floor. Jean Pierre set her on her feet and Elizabeth bent to enter. The room was not even high enough to stand in. No wonder they had fitted it with a bed.

  “I’ll wait until the two of you get settled. You won’t be able to see a thing after I am gone.”

  Elizabeth moved over to make room for Jean Pierre.

  The young man ducked back into the cabin. “You might as well sleep. There isn’t anything else to do in the dark.”

  With that, the shelving closed and they were left in complete darkness.

  “Young pup, so very young and innocent,” John said with a quiet chuckle.

  “You should get some more rest,” John suggested.

  “I’ve done nothing but sleep. But you should.”

  The mattress moved and it dipped behind him. He could sleep for a week given the opportunity, and he wasn’t about to waste one now. He stretched his hand out to feel along his side of the bed, and his fingers brushed her skirts. Good. Elizabeth was against the wall, leaving the outer side for him. He located the pillow and stretched out beside her. He hadn’t lain down in days.

  “Jean Pierre?”

  “Yes?”

  “Where did you find a doctor? I don’t remember there being one.”

  “We didn’t.”

  The mattress dipped and he assumed she turned towards him. Elizabeth gasped and rolled b
ack. She must be feeling better if she had forgotten the bullet hole in her side. Not that it had been all that deep, thank goodness. Her cloak and dress had helped slow down the impact, but it also carried bits and pieces of material into the wound. He caused nearly as much damage as the bullet, trying to make sure the wound was clean of anything that could cause infection.

  “I thought I was shot.”

  “You were.” He rolled to face her so she didn’t feel the need to face him. Not that it mattered, the room was black as pitch—it was impossible to see anything. “It wasn’t safe to stop anywhere, and Maurice was not sure who could be trusted.”

  “Then who treated me? I know someone did, because there is a bandage around my side.”

  “I did.”

  Silence followed his statement, and he knew Elizabeth’s mind was churning. It was John who removed her dress and chemise so that he could get to her side. He had done his best not to look at her person and had covered as much of her with blankets as possible. He was the one who dug the bullet out, which now rested in his pocket. He’d poured brandy into the wound, which had caused her to cry out and scream, momentarily waking while he placed a hand over her mouth so as not to be heard before she was unconscious again. He’d stitched the wound and bathed her body each time her fever had spiked those first two days. But he wouldn’t tell her everything—only admit to what was asked.

  “You undressed me?” Her words were so quiet he would not have been able to hear her in any other setting.

  “I had no choice, Elizabeth. You would have died. I had to remove the bullet.”

  “I understand.”

  He wasn’t so certain she did. Or, perhaps she was mortified at being seen. Given her family, despite the fact that she was a spy, John didn’t doubt Elizabeth was a proper young lady beneath it all. Her kiss had been too innocent, too tentative to have been kissed before, which meant no man had ever seen her unclothed, either. Until him.

  “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  John grinned into the darkness. “You would have done the same for me.”

  “I suppose I would have.”

  “You should sleep, Elizabeth. You still need to heal.”

  She didn’t respond but simply sighed and John took it as an indication that she intended to do just that.

  He rolled over, putting his back to her so he could watch the door. He should be exhausted, but his mind remained alert. Elizabeth Whitton was an amazing young woman. While he certainly cared for her, the thought of the risks she’d taken for England over these last few years left him suddenly chilled him. She hadn’t hesitated when they had to run, and she’d seen to it that messages of warning were delivered to others while he remained behind. In fact, the only thing that stopped her was a bullet.

  Even injured, she wasn’t a trial. Of course, she slept most of the time, but when she did awaken she didn’t whine, cry, or complain, but just asked how they were progressing. And bit by bit, pieces of his heart were being turned over to her. Not that he would ever tell her. That was simply not done. They had a job to do and most likely would never see each other again when this was over.

  John forced his eyes closed and willed sleep to come, trying to forget she lay next to him. And trying not to think about the fact that sleep wasn’t the only thing to do in bed in the dark.

  The wall opened and sunlight streamed into the room. John raised his arms to block his eyes from the sudden daggers of light.

  “Good morning,” the young man chirped.

  “Good morning.” Elizabeth sounded just as happy in her greeting.

  John groaned. His eyes were heavy and he was certain he only slept an hour, if that. “What time is it?”

  “Almost noon.” The boy put a tray on the ground. “I have tea and biscuits.”

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth sat up and stretched.

  “I’ll leave the door open for now. But if we see another ship, I will have to close it.”

  John nodded his head in understanding and stretched his arms above his head. Almost noon? He had slept close to twelve hours. Well, he did need the sleep, as did Elizabeth. He turned to look at her. Most of the color was back in her cheeks, though they had lost some of their roundness. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I feel marvelous, finally.”

  He doubted she felt that well, but anticipated her recovery would be quick once the fever had broken.

  “And I am famished.” She lifted her skirts up, crawled across the bed to the tray of food, and poured two cups of tea. There was no milk or sugar, not that he cared. He was too busy staring at her ankles. If anything, these days had led them to become quite comfortable in one another’s presence.

  John sat and accepted a cup and biscuit from her.

  “How soon before England?”

  “I don’t know. It will depend on the weather, how far out of the way they have had to go to avoid the French. The trip could take two days to a week, depending.”

  “A week?” Elizabeth squeaked. “What day is it?”

  “The fourteenth. Why?”

  “We can’t be in the Channel a week.” If it were possible, John suspected Elizabeth would pace. Her agitation grew with each lapping wave outside the cabin window. “Grandfather expects me in Yorkshire by the twenty-fourth.”

  He had forgotten the message she’d received that started this whole escape off in the first place. Had they still been working in their previous roles, she would have not gone. He supposed now that they had to return to England, there was no reason for her avoid the holidays with her family.

  “And he expects me to bring my husband. Oh dear, what am I to do?”

  John stared at her. Should he offer? No. If either he or Elizabeth wanted to continue in this work, the fewer people who know who they really were, the safer they would be. “I would offer but I can’t.”

  Disappointment flashed in her eyes, but Elizabeth smiled instead. “I understand. I would insist if we were going back, but we aren’t. I will think of something to tell Grandfather.”

  John placed his cup back on the tray and reached over to grab her hand. “It isn’t that I don’t want to, and I would, but I can’t be recognized.”

  She frowned and her eyebrows furrowed. “Someone in my family would recognize you?”

  A smile pulled at his lips. Since that letter, he had known who she was but he’d never revealed his own name. “I roomed with Edgeworth one semester at Eton. He will know in an instant that I am not Jean Pierre Bouvier, as well as his brother, Julian.

  Her mouth popped open in surprise, and her eyes sparkled with delight. “Who are you, really?”

  John moved to the open door. The cabin was empty and the door shut. He settled back on the mattress beside her. “John Phillip Trent.”

  Her eyes grew wide again. “I remember Nick mentioning your name. You were close friends at one time.”

  “That was before I took a job with the Home Office and disappeared.”

  Elizabeth sighed and leaned back against the wall. “It is too bad you cannot come with me. I am sure Nick would like to see you again. I was closer to Nick and Julian than the others. Julian spent much of his time at our house, especially when my mother was so ill. Nick visited almost as much, though he was more protective of me. I sometimes thought he considered me a younger sister to be protected instead of simply another cousin.”

  John would like to see Edgeworth, too. Well, unless Edgeworth learned any of the details of the time John and Elizabeth had spent together, such as the kissing, undressing, and sleeping together. The man would beat him to a bloody pulp, and he had no doubt Edgeworth was protective. It was his nature. “It would be good to see him, but it’s impossible.”

  “You still have family in England?” Her head tilted to the side as she asked the question. For a moment, he didn’t answer. The light caught the blond in her mussed hair, and her smile was enchanting. If he didn’t know better, he would think Elizabeth had just been tumbled and was quite hap
py with the experience. Desire shot to his groin. She was the last lady on earth he needed to think about tumbling if he valued his life and nether regions.

  “My father is Earl Bentley. I have two older brothers and a younger sister.”

  “And you haven’t seen them in a very long time, either.” Her smile was gone, replaced with a sympathetic frown. It was hard on both of them going so long without returning home. “They will be thrilled to see you at Christmas, I am sure.”

  “I suppose so.” Over the years, he had tried not to think of his family because the homesickness could be too much. Not that he would ever admit such a thing. But four years was a very long time. When he left, Madeline, his younger sister, had just turned sixteen. She must have married by now. Did she have children? Were his brothers married too? Did Clayton now have his heir and spare? John shook the thoughts from his head. He would know soon enough.

  “What do they think you have been doing all of this time?”

  “Nothing as settled as being married and living in a chateaux along the Mediterranean.” Her face pinked at the reminder of the lie she had told her family.

  “They believe me a wastrel, sowing wild oats, flitting from one thing to another.”

  “Wine, women and gambling?” She laughed.

  He returned her grin. “Something like that.”

  She looked down and picked at the blanket. “Does it bother you?”

  “What?” He wished she would look up so he could gauge her thoughts.

  “That they don’t know the truth and are allowed to think the worst.”

  “At times.” More times than he cared to admit. The last letter he received from his father was three years ago, demanding that he come home and do his duty and quit wasting his life. John was given one month to become an upstanding citizen, or his funds would be cut off. He didn’t know if his father had gone through on his threat, but John had never heard from him again. What would this homecoming hold for him? At least he felt secure his step-mother would be happy to see him.

  Elizabeth crawled across the bed and peeked into the cabin.