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

by Patricia Barletta

  “Someplace in Cornwall, sir,” Higgins offered. “Smugglers land in those coves as if they were free ports.”

  Damien nodded. “You are probably right, Higgins, but Cornwall is too far away for Madame’s purposes. Remember she has a hostage with her. She would have us on her trail for too long. She couldn’t risk us overtaking her.”

  “If I were her,” Johnson said thoughtfully, “I’d head for Dover. It’s the quickest way out of England and closest to France. More people would be travelling on the road, more witnesses so she could leave a visible trail for us to follow.”

  “That seems to be the logical way for her to run,” Damien agreed. “Something tells me, however, that she will not do the logical thing. I don’t think we should trust to luck on this. Higgins, I want you to watch Madame’s house. When they leave, follow them to the edge of the city and observe which road they take. Then wait for us there. Wells, go with him. When Madame leaves her house, come back and let us know. We must be quick to follow. I will wait here with Johnson and Walker for Madame’s message that she has the Lady Jessica. Any questions?”

  “Suppose she has already left for France?” Wells asked morosely. “Suppose she doesn’t want us to follow?”

  Damien had already thought of this, but had tried not to dwell on it. If it were true and Madame reached France secretly, then any chance of ever finding Jessica was lost. Despite his anger and mistrust, he could not bear thinking about never seeing her again.

  He answered, “We have to assume that Madame has not done that. I truly don’t believe she has. Madame wants me to follow her. She has a score to settle with me for fouling up her plans. We have to work on the assumption that she will be trying to lure us to France so that we may be captured as spies. For that reason, we will have to be very alert if we wish to come out of this alive.” He glanced around the table. “Any other comments?” There were none. “All right, gentlemen, you know what you have to do.”

  The men dispersed to their various duties: Higgins and Wells to change from their uniforms to their less conspicuous peasant garb and then to leave to watch Madame’s; Johnson and Walker to change and ready the horses and other gear they would need. Damien remained at the table for some time, hoping that he was correct in his assumptions, hoping that Jessica had not been harmed, that he would find her safe and be able to free her from Madame’s clutches. Finally, he rose from the table and went to transform himself into Le Chat. He hoped he had guessed correctly.

  Jessica returned to consciousness very slowly. She became aware of lying on a bed long before she was able to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if they were glued shut, and her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. Several moments passed as her mind cleared of its fog and she remembered where she was.

  When she tried to move, a sharp pain made her realize her arms had been pulled above her head and her wrists had been tied to the bedpost. Moving her legs experimentally, she discovered that her ankles were bound as well, but had not been tied to the bed.

  She raised her head as best she could and glanced around the dark room. She couldn’t see much of anything as the only light was coming from a crack beneath the door. She heard the faint sounds of many people speaking, as if they were far away.

  Once more Madame du Barré had tricked her. Damien must surely believe she was deceitful and a traitor. And once more, she had been naïve, escaping from his house like the spy he thought she was. But she had left the note for his men find. Surely that would explain her actions. She hoped.

  She had to escape from Madame and turn herself in to Damien. She was sure Madame wanted her as a captive because of the spy business the French woman was involved in. But would Damien believe that she was not a willing participant?

  She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists, but they were too tight. When she sat up to try to loosen the knots with her teeth, nausea gripped her insides. She fought down the waves of sickness, then tried again. But the knot about her wrists was just out of reach. With a groan of frustration, she slumped down.

  Jessica lay on the bed for what seemed like hours. Occasionally, she pulled at the ropes and tried to reach the knots, but her efforts were futile. She heard people walk past the door, couples conversing, and the giggles of women. But when she called out for help, no one answered. Exhausted, she fell into a fitful sleep.

  She did not know how long she slept, or what it was that woke her, but she was suddenly alert. She lay listening. It was very quiet. The silence had awakened her. She heard footsteps approach and stop before her door. A key turned in the lock, and the door swung open. Madame walked in.

  “So, ma petite, you are awake finally, eh?” she said. “Bon, just in time. We have to go on a little journey.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Jessica demanded. “What do you want with me?”

  “Ah, always the questions. First, eat a little something, and then I will tell you.” Madame turned to Jacques who had come into the room with her. “Untie her and bring up the tray I prepared.”

  Jacques took out a knife and sliced the ropes binding Jessica’s hands and feet, then he left. Jessica sat up and gasped as she rubbed her hands and feet, her circulation painfully returning. Madame sat on the edge of the bed. She took one of Jessica’s hands and began to massage it.

  “That oaf,” she complained. “He does not realize that a woman does not have to be tied up like some angry bull. It is painful?”

  Jessica nodded. “Madame, why are you doing this? I have done nothing to harm you.”

  “Nothing, ma petite? Do you mean that you have said nothing about the letters you have delivered for me?” she said with a raised brow.

  Jessica lowered her gaze before the woman’s accusation.

  Madame shrugged. “Ah, well, I expected that. You are the innocent. It is too bad you became involved with Le Chat.”

  “Le Chat? Who is…?” Jessica started to ask, then as she met Madame’s eyes, she realized who it was. Damien, of course. That warning she had received, signed with the paw print of a cat, must have been sent by him. He had been trying to protect her. She had once again been impulsively foolish.

  Jacques returned with a tray of food and some wine. He placed the tray on the table beside the bed, then left. Madame poured a glass of wine and handed it to Jessica.

  “Drink this, ma petite,” she told her. “It will warm you. We have a long, cold journey ahead of us.”

  Jessica took the glass but did not drink. She remembered all too clearly what Madame had done to the tea. “Where are we going?” she asked, trying to delay drinking the wine.

  “To France, of course. Drink your wine, ma petite.”

  France? she thought, panicked. If Madame took her across the Channel, she would never see England—or Damien—again. “Please, can’t you leave me here? I won’t tell Damien anything.”

  Madame laughed. “Foolish girl. Of course you would tell him.” She shook her head. “Non. I cannot leave you here. You will come with us. Now, drink the wine.” Madame’s voice became hard.

  Despite her fear of the woman, Jessica refused to drink the wine. She needed to be alert, so she could try to escape.

  Madame sighed in exasperation. “Jessica, please drink the wine. It will not make you sleep. It will only relax you. I wish for you to be awake when we leave. If you will not drink it, there are other, more unpleasant things that I will use to keep you calm. The choice is yours.”

  Jessica stared at Madame as she weighed what the woman said. She did not doubt that she would do as she said. Deciding she had no other choice, Jessica drank the wine.

  When she had finished the glass, Madame handed her a plate of food and remained with her while she ate. By the time she finished eating, a warm, languid feeling began to spread through her. It was quite pleasant. She felt very relaxed. Madame handed her a second glass of wine, and Jessica drank it with no que
stions. With a tiny part of her brain, she realized she was in great danger, but for some reason, she did not care. Nothing at that moment seemed to bother her. She handed the glass back to Madame.

  Madame stood and tilted Jessica’s face up. “You will stay here for a little while. Do not try to get away. I will be back soon.”

  “Yes, Madame,” Jessica answered obediently. She watched as the woman left, locking the door behind her.

  As Jessica waited for her to return, she felt the effects of the second glass of wine begin to take hold. The small part of her brain which had told her she was in danger had been silenced. She felt nothing. She did not care what happened.

  When Madame returned, she had two of her maids with her. She carried a bundle of clothes and a pair of scissors. Handing the clothes to one of the maids, she said, “Put these on her.”

  The maids replaced Jessica’s clothes with trousers, shirt, and jacket. When she was dressed, Madame snipped off Jessica’s long hair, creating a mass of short curls. With the help of a hat and cape, Jessica had been transformed into a boy.

  Madame removed the locket which Jessica always wore, and retrieved a long lock of hair from the floor. With a satisfied smile at the transformation she had performed on Jessica, she told the maids to bring her downstairs.

  Jessica had become a puppet, doing as she was told, moving as she was guided. She soon found herself sitting astride Aphrodite. Her wrists had once again been bound together before her, and her ankles were tied together by a rope which ran under her horse’s belly.

  Madame, also dressed as a man, mounted her horse. The group of riders, eight strong and all dressed as men except for two of them, began their flight to France.

  Chapter 13

  After donning the garb of Le Chat, Damien retreated to his study. He suspected the message from Madame would not come until very late, giving her time to get a head start. He tried to distract himself with some correspondence, but a pair of clear, blue eyes haunted his thoughts. The touch of silky skin heated his blood. The memory of inky, thick hair made his fingers itch.

  That afternoon during her questioning, he had been merciless with her and unforgiving. Yet in spite of that, when she had thought him injured, she’d managed to escape his well-trained men and rushed to his aid, risking her own life. A flood of mixed emotions washed over him—admiration for her courage, wonder at her daring, and frustrated anger at her stubbornness. What if she truly did care about him? What if she had been telling the truth, that she knew nothing of Margaret’s evil duplicity? If Madame du Barré took her to France, she would make Jessica disappear into the demimonde, the shadowy world of mistresses and brothels. A frantic fear squeezed his chest. He could lose—No! He couldn’t finish that thought. Refused to finish it.

  Something—an air current, a whisper of clothing—made him raise his head. He listened, every muscle tense, waiting. Then in an explosion of shattered glass, something heavy blew through a window and landed in the middle of the floor.

  Damien bounded to his feet and scooped it up. A rock was tied to a small, unmarked package. He placed the package on a table then sank into a chair and stared at it, dreading what he might find.

  Taking a breath, he untied the string and opened the small box. Inside, was a gold locket and a long, black, curled lock of hair. There was no note or message, only the two items. He picked up the hair and placed it in the palm of his hand. It felt soft and alive, and it brought to mind several nights when he had lost his fingers in the thick mane.

  Anger thrummed through him. He knew what Madame was planning, and he had a good idea when she would implement that plan. He’d be damned before he’d allow her to spirit Jessica away. His fist clenched around the length of curl in his hand.

  Leftenant Johnson barreled through the door. “I heard breaking glass.”

  Damien clenched his jaw and stood as he tried to school his face into a soldier’s impassive mien. He held the silken coil tightly in his hand.

  “We have received Madame’s message,” he said. “Higgins should be returning soon to tell us they have left. We’ll be moving out.”

  Johnson paused. “We’ll get her back, Damien,” he said quietly.

  Damien nodded stiffly, annoyed with himself that he had allowed his thoughts to be visible, even to his friend.

  Johnson left, quietly closing the door behind him.

  Several minutes later, Le Chat and his men waited in the dark stable for Higgins to bring the news that Madame had, indeed, begun her escape. They did not have long to wait. The clatter of hooves on the road reached their ears, and soon after, Higgins rode into the mews. Damien went out to meet him.

  “They have gone, sir,” the young man panted. “There were eight of them. Two women.”

  “Good work, Higgins,” Damien said. “And Wells?”

  “He is following them.”

  With a brief nod, Damien mounted his horse and motioned for the others to do likewise. He led them out into the street. They rode without speaking, disciplined and focused on the task ahead.

  When they reached the outskirts of the city where the road forked, they stopped and waited. Damien gave a low whistle. An answering whistle came, then a man on horseback emerged from behind a hedgerow and approached the group.

  “Which way did they go, Wells?” Damien asked.

  “They broke up into two groups, sir,” Wells reported. “Five of them took the road to Dover. That was with the two women. The other three took the west road to the coast.”

  “Then it’s to Dover,” Johnson said.

  “No, wait.” Damien stopped him as he thoughtfully stared down the empty road. “Can you describe the three that took the west road?” he asked Wells.

  “Two men and a boy, it looked like,” Wells answered.

  “That’s it,” Damien said grimly. “The group on the Dover road is a lure. Once we caught up with them, we’d discover we had followed the wrong group. We would never be able to catch up with Madame. We’d be forced to cross into France. Come on! A cask of Mr. Napoleon’s finest brandy for every man if we can make it to the coast before that she-devil.” He spurred his horse and raced off, his men following close behind. What he did not tell them was that they might be forced to cross into France anyway.

  They followed the road for a time, then turned off, racing across the fields and through woods so they would not come upon Madame unexpectedly. They arrived at the coast well in advance of the woman. After a bit of searching, they found a cove with a small boat riding at anchor a few feet from shore. A man sat waiting at its tiller. This was Madame’s embarkation point.

  Silently, Damien and his men dismounted, tethering their horses where they would not be seen. Then, melting into the shadows, they hid themselves behind boulders strewn about the beach.

  They didn’t have long to wait before they heard the sound of approaching hoof beats. Three riders came into view and rode onto the beach. Damien waited until they had dismounted, then he stepped out from behind the rock.

  “Bon soir, Madame,” he greeted her pleasantly. He brandished a pistol. “Are you taking a late-night sail?”

  At his words, three people swung to face him—Madame and Jessica, dressed as men, and Jacques, Madame’s major-domo, who pulled out a very large pistol. Madame had her hand on Jessica’s arm. She appeared to have to guide her. In the moonlight, Jessica’s eyes stared at him blankly. What was wrong with her?

  Madame recovered quickly. “So, we are finally met in the open, eh, my friend, Le Chat?”

  Damien bowed gallantly. “At your service, Madame.”

  Madame glanced around. “Is it possible you are by yourself? You are the foolish one.”

  “Hardly, Madame.” Damien’s tone was dry.

  As he spoke, his men stepped out of their hiding places and formed a semicircle, effectively blocking any escape by land. Madame would be foo
lish to try to outrun them to her boat in the opposite direction.

  “Now, if you would be so kind as to allow the young lady to move to this side of the beach, we can conduct our business,” Damien suggested.

  Madame only paused a fraction before she shrugged and dropped her hand from Jessica’s arm. Jessica did not move. She stood staring at Damien as if she did not see him.

  “Jessica.” Damien tried to gain her attention. Why wouldn’t she come to him?

  Madame smiled. “If you want the girl, Monsieur Le Chat, you will have to come get her.”

  Damien’s eyes narrowed. There was something…Then he understood. Jessica had been drugged. She would not be able to react. One of his men began to edge toward her. Madame turned back her cape to reveal a tiny pistol pressed against Jessica’s side.

  “You will tell your man to move away, Monsieur Le Chat. The young lady is in danger of losing her life. I know you do not wish that to happen. So, you will let us wade out to our little boat and sail away.”

  As she spoke, she began to back away, taking Jessica with her. Jacques grinned evilly, then turned and splashed out to the boat. When Madame reached the water’s edge, she ran through the waves and dragged Jessica behind, blocking any shot Damien or his men might have taken.

  As Jessica was pulled through the water, she turned around to look at him, her placid expression transformed to terror as Madame roughly forced her into the boat. As soon as Jessica was aboard, she turned toward the beach. Damien saw her lips move once, then again as he witnessed the effects of the drug wear off.

  “Damien!” Her scream was cut off abruptly as Jacques shoved her down into the boat.

  Jessica’s cry of fear wrenched at Damien He watched in dismay as they began to sail away. The only clue to his feelings was a tightness about his mouth and a muscle that twitched in his jaw. Inside, a part of him was screaming in rage and anguish. Higgins, who was standing next to Damien, raised his gun.

  “Let me get off a shot at her, sir,” he pleaded.