The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1

by Patricia Barletta

  When Jessica was halfway up the stairs, he called to her. She stopped and turned slowly, not knowing what to expect, hoping for an apology.

  “Dinner will be at nine o’clock,” he said. “Please be prompt. My men and I do not like to be kept waiting.”

  She felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She could not endure sitting through a meal with him. Not tonight. Not with all his men in attendance. Not with all of them knowing of her intimacy with Damien. A black pall suddenly dropped over her eyes and her knees buckled beneath her. She crumpled to a heap on the stairs.

  When her eyelids finally opened, she discovered Damien kneeling beside her, cradling her head against his shoulder. Blankly, she stared at everyone standing around her. Realizing she still leaned against Damien, she struggled to sit up, but he would not allow it.

  “Lie still, Jessica,” he ordered. Was that concern she heard disguised in his curtness?

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t know why I fainted.”

  He raised an eyebrow and one side of his mouth twitched upward. “Obviously, the thought of dining with five men,” he said dryly. Lucy appeared beside him and passed him a glass of brandy. He took it and held it to Jessica’s lips. “Drink this. It will put some color back in your cheeks.”

  Jessica took a sip, swallowed and gasped. It burned all the way down her throat and hit her stomach with a jolt. She coughed and pushed the glass away.

  With watery eyes, she looked up at him and said, “I’m better, now. Thank you.”

  Again, she tried to get up. Instead of helping her to her feet, Damien scooped her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way upstairs.

  “Please, Damien, I can walk,” she protested, although she appreciated his warmth and strength.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “but I did not bring you here to kill yourself by falling down the stairs and breaking your neck. If I am to hand you over to a judge, I would prefer that you be in one piece. Besides, I like you better alive than dead.”

  He turned his head to look at her, and Jessica found her face only inches from his. If she moved just the tiniest bit, she could kiss him, and she very much wanted to do that. He stopped just outside the door to a room. He stood still, gazing at her. Jessica was caught in his intense gaze. Her lips parted, and she saw his head bend ever so slightly toward her.

  Behind them, Donny cleared her throat. Damien blinked. The spell was broken. His spine stiffened, and he entered the room with her. As soon as he placed her on the bed, she began to sit up.

  “Stay there,” he ordered. “I will have your dinner brought up to you.” He turned to Donny. “Put your mistress to bed. She seems to be too stubborn to do so on her own.” With that, he left.

  Jessica and Donny looked at each other a moment, each thinking their own thoughts. Donny was the first to break the silence.

  “Aye, he’s a hard one, but he seems fair enough. Ye be lucky he’s a duke, and he cares for ye. Ye could be in prison, now.”

  Sadly, Jessica shook her head. “He does not care for me, Donny. I am only something to amuse him.”

  “Hmph. Amuse, is it? Ye can’t see what’s before yer own eyes,” Donny grumbled. “Well, come on with ye. Into bed. He’d not like it if ye disobeyed.”

  Donny helped Jessica get undressed and into bed, then she began to unpack the few belongings Jessica had taken with her to Braeleigh. When she opened the armoire, she harrumphed, pulled out a blue silk dress and held it up.

  “Look at this,” Donny said.

  “Why, that’s just like mine,” Jessica exclaimed.

  “It is yer dress,” the little woman replied. “They’re all here, all yer clothes.”

  “But why?” Jessica wondered. “How did he know?”

  “He knew. That’s all ye need t’know. Ye don’t cross a man like that. Ye tell him everything tomorrow.”

  Jessica’s chin went up defiantly. “I’ll do no such thing. He will not find out about Jason or the babe from me. He does not have to know yet. And you keep quiet, Mistress Donlin.”

  Donny’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “Aye, I’ll keep quiet,” she reluctantly agreed. “But ye’ll be gettin’ yerself into deep trouble with him.”

  Jessica made no reply. She slumped down into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

  Lucy came soon after with a light meal of broth, fresh bread with butter, and tea. She told Donny there was a meal for her in the kitchen, and that if Donny wished to retire after that, she would take care of the Lady Jessica.

  After Donny left, Jessica pondered her situation. The room she had been given was large and expensively furnished. It was evidently one of the better guest rooms in the house. Damien had been quite solicitous of her comfort. But his manner baffled her. He had turned so cold, almost cruel. Except for that one moment when they would have kissed. Her fingertips touched her lips, a faint smile crossing her face at the memory of his kisses. Her smile faded. She was a fool. He might still harbor a physical attraction to her, but any tenderness he’d had for her had certainly evaporated now that he thought her guilty of treason.

  Sighing, she pushed the tray away and leaned back on the pillows. The food and hot tea had relaxed her. Later, she would decide what to do.

  Damien had dined with his men, but his gaze strayed often to the empty chair to his right that would have been occupied by Jessica. His glances had not gone unnoticed, particularly by his leftenant, Edward Johnson. Edward had escorted Jessica into the house, and had witnessed Damien’s ungentlemanly comments about his relationship with her. Edward glowered at him now.

  With a twinge of guilt, Damien muttered impatiently, “Mind your own business, Leftenant.”

  At the end of the meal, he had given his men their orders for the following days while Jessica remained his prisoner. It was an easy assignment to keep a young woman under house arrest, but he had cautioned them against losing their diligence. The men had accepted his warning, but he felt their disapproval in their silence. He dismissed them in exasperation, not quite sure whether he was angry at the men for having been captivated by this slip of a woman, or at Jessica for arousing their pity, or at himself for being bewitched.

  He sat alone now, in the dark before the fire. Having gone through a good portion of the brandy in the decanter at his elbow, his thoughts chased themselves in circles. He kept coming back to one simple question whose answer was not so simple: Why? He could not find any of the answers that the question prompted. Glancing at the almost empty decanter, he smiled wryly at himself. The brandy certainly had not made him think any clearer, and he was going to have a roaring headache in the morning. With extreme care, he set the glass on the table, pulled himself out of the chair, and started for bed.

  In the upstairs hall, his feet stopped before the door of Jessica’s room. Hesitating only a moment, he turned the knob and walked in. He stepped silently to the side of the bed and held the candle high, allowing its light to fall on her face.

  She was so beautiful, this young woman, too young to have become involved in something as treacherous as espionage. He reached out and smoothed a lock of hair away from her face. His fingers trailed down her cheek. She sighed softly in her sleep, threw her arm wide, and turned onto her back. Her breasts softly thrust against her thin nightrail.

  His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed with an effort. What he wanted to do was climb under the covers and make love to her, to feel her beneath him, her body enticing, responding. Biting down on a groan, he lowered the candle and looked away. He could not, not yet. Their positions in this nasty game would not allow it. Quickly, he walked to the door and let himself out as quietly as he had come.

  The following morning when Jessica awoke, she thought for a moment she was at Braeleigh, in her own bed. When she looked about, she realized she was in a room in Damien’s house.

  It was a
pretty room, decorated in pale greens and yellows, reminding her of spring. She decided it was definitely better than prison, and was grateful to Damien for using his influence so that she would be allowed to stay at his home. Stretching with feline grace, she luxuriated in the satiny sheets. She felt rested and ready for anything, possibly even a meeting with Damien. As she was lying there, a knock came at the door, and the maid, Lucy, entered with a cup and saucer on a small tray.

  “Good morning, m’lady.” She smiled pertly. “I brought you some hot chocolate.”

  Jessica smiled back at the girl. “Thank you, Lucy.”

  Lucy opened the drapes, then stopped at the foot of the bed. “His Grace would like to see you in the dining room for breakfast when you are dressed.”

  The door opened, and Donny bustled in. “All right, out of bed with ye,” she commanded. “Are ye going t’spend the rest of yer life under the covers?”

  Lucy’s mouth dropped open at a servant giving orders to a high-born lady. Jessica gave the girl a grin and a helpless shrug.

  Donny turned on Lucy. “They be wantin’ ye, girl, in the salon to help with the polishin’.” She waited until Lucy had hurried out the door, then she turned back to Jessica. “Ye be feelin’ all right?”

  “I feel fine, Donny,” Jessica assured her.

  “Good.” Donny nodded. “Yer Duke’s walkin’ around lookin’ like a thundercloud. Ye’ll be needin’ every ounce of yer strength today.”

  Jessica sighed and climbed out of bed. She was not ready to meet with Damien. The day was going to be very long.

  When Jessica walked into the dining room, Damien was sitting by himself at the long table. He was staring out the window and tapping a spoon absently upon the folded napkin beside his plate. Jessica stopped hesitantly just inside the doorway. Finally, he glanced up and saw her.

  “Come in, Jessica. I will not grow fangs and attack you,” he growled.

  Jessica frowned at his bad manners. “That is quite possible,” she sniffed.

  His mouth flattened, and he scowled. Slowly he stood as if moving caused him pain, and motioned to a chair at his right. “By all means, my lady, please come in and be seated,” he said sarcastically.

  Regally, trying not to show that she was in the least intimidated by him, Jessica sailed into the room and waited as he held the chair for her. Her nerves only allowed her to perch uncomfortably on its edge. When Damien had resumed his seat, he rang for the servants to bring in breakfast.

  After their plates had been filled, he asked in a more civil tone, “Are you feeling better this morning?”

  “Much better, thank you,” she answered quietly. Jessica noticed his bloodshot eyes, and could not help adding, “A good night’s sleep will cure almost anything.”

  With a raised eyebrow, he said, “I thought I should inform you of what will be expected of you while you are here. You will be allowed the freedom of the house and grounds as if you were a guest. However, if you stray beyond the boundaries, my men have orders to treat you as an escaped prisoner. In other words, they will shoot first, then ask questions. I would appreciate if you did not put them in that position. They truly do not enjoy shooting women. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, Your Grace,” Jessica baited him with the formal address for his bad manners. “Or should I address you as Colonel?”

  His eyes narrowed, but he ignored her barb. Instead, he said, “You will be questioned later in the morning concerning your activities. Your cooperation, or lack of it, will have a large part to play when your fate is decided.”

  Jessica blinked. “What will happen if I do not know anything?”

  “That is a problem,” he said, then dropped his gaze. “Eat your breakfast.” He gave a vague wave at her plate, then turned his attention to his own meal.

  They ate in silence. Uncomfortable and tense, Jessica barely touched her food. She was relieved when they had finished, and Damien’s good humor seemed to return. He held her chair when she rose from the table and walked with her out of the dining room. She would wait in her room to be summoned for questioning. As she started up the stairs, he caught her hand. She turned on the bottom step.

  “It will go easier for you if you tell the truth, Jessica. I will help you all I can,” he said.

  He was a step below her, and so his face was level with hers. His expression was intent, serious. Was there a hint of sympathy there, too? She longed to reach out and touch his cheek. Instead, she bit down on her bottom lip to keep her emotions under control.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, then turned and fled up the stairs.

  About an hour later, the summons came. She was to meet with Damien in the salon. Her nerves were as frayed as the handkerchief she had picked at while she waited. Soon, she would discover her fate.

  No one was in the room when she arrived. Jacobs told her that His Grace would be with her presently, then left her alone. She sat on the edge of a chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes downcast. Several minutes went by before Damien entered the room with another man, a soldier, quite a bit older than Damien.

  “Jessica,” Damien said, “this is General Drayton. He would like to ask you some questions.”

  The General bowed over Jessica’s hand. He reminded her of someone’s grandfather.

  “I cannot recall ever being presented to so lovely a prisoner.” His smile was kind.

  “Thank you, General.” Jessica smiled back at him. Perhaps this would not be such a terrible experience, after all.

  The General sat down across from her. “I am sure you realize that you are in very serious trouble. The more you can help us, the easier it will be for you in the end. We are very willing to be lenient with someone who cooperates. Do you understand, my dear?”

  Jessica nodded, nerves gripping her insides.

  “Good,” the General smiled. “Now, suppose you begin by telling us how you came to be delivering messages for Madame du Barré.”

  Jessica swallowed and began her story. She told how she had gone to Madame to gain entrance to her house, how Madame had offered her a loan to start gambling. Then she explained the way she was to repay the loan: by delivering the letter once a month to Monsieur Montaigne.

  “Did you not think this an odd way to repay a loan?” the General asked.

  “Ye-es,” Jessica faltered. “But Madame was so nice. I had planned to repay her anyway when I could afford it. Delivering the letters was such a small favor to ask. I had no idea what the letters said.”

  The General became thoughtful. “Why was it such a small favor to deliver a letter every month to Monsieur Montaigne? He lives near the town of Osmington in Dorsetshire. That is a fair distance to travel just to deliver a letter.”

  Jessica nearly blurted out the truth, but she stopped herself in time. Lowering her eyes, she said, “I cannot tell you.”

  “Then tell me, my dear, why a well-bred young woman like yourself would want to have anything to do with a place like that of Madame du Barré?”

  She watched her knuckles turn white as she clenched her hands in her lap. “I needed a great deal of money,” she said barely above a whisper.

  “Why?”

  “I cannot tell you.” She raised anguished eyes to the General.

  “Whom are you protecting, Jessica?” The General suddenly did not look like someone’s grandfather. He had changed to a steely commander who was not used to being thwarted.

  Jessica pressed her lips together and remained silent.

  “All right,” he conceded. “We will let that go for the moment. Can you tell us if you ever saw anything unusual at Madame’s? Was there ever anyone there who did not seem to belong? Or was there anyone to whom Madame was particularly friendly?”

  Jessica tried to remember if she had ever seen anything or anyone like what the General had described, but nothing came to mind. She
shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I cannot remember anything like that. I spent very little time there when I was not involved in a game. I…” Her voice trailed off, and she stared off into space as a thought came to her.

  The General leaned forward. “Yes?”

  Her eyes came back to focus on the gentleman across from her. “Charles Durham. The Marquis of Bellingham.”

  “Yes? What about him?”

  Jessica felt Damien tense behind her. “He said something… odd… the night…” She halted, not able to speak of the horrible night the man had attacked her. She had tried not to think of that night, had tried to put it out of her mind. Now, however, the words of the Marquis came to her clearly.

  She took a breath and forged on. “Several nights ago, the Marquis told me that if it were not for him, I would have no letters to deliver for Madame du Barré.”

  General Drayton exchanged a glance with Damien, who was no longer lounging on a window seat, but was now sitting forward, intent on every word.

  “I’m glad I killed him,” Damien muttered.

  The General made a placating gesture with his hand, then turned back to Jessica. He asked, “Did he ever say anything else about these letters that you delivered?”

  Jessica shook her head. “No. Just that once.”

  The General nodded. “I believe you have just given us the name of the traitor in our midst. You see, the Marquis worked closely with His Majesty’s Foreign Minister. He was privy to many state secrets.”

  Jessica’s eyes widened in shock, but she said nothing.

  General Drayton went on, “What you have told us, my dear, is a great help, but I am afraid the story of your own involvement in this matter is not very plausible. How can we be sure that you are not lying to us about being ignorant of the contents of those letters? We must have some proof of your innocence. His Grace informs me that you refer to yourself as ‘Lady Jessica’. Are you truly the daughter of some lord?”