The Duchess and the Spy

by Marly Mathews

  “’Course not.” Christopher grinned at Jason, and then turned to leave. “Since the hellcat has now turned into the Angel of Mercy, I suppose there’s only one thing left for me to do.”

  “And that is?”

  “I must persuade the Duchess to marry me,” Christopher called over his shoulder. “It shouldn’t be a problem at all, since I always get my way.”

  “So does Isabella,” Jason groaned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Isabella dabbed at the wetness on her cheeks with the handkerchief that she had found stored away in her reticule. She felt as if she was missing something, but no matter how hard she tried, her tired brain couldn’t remember what it was. She felt him standing beside her, but decided to ignore him. She sniffled, and then edged to the other end of the garden seat when he plunked his arse down next to hers.

  “You might as well call me a whore again, or a filthy Frenchwoman. It matters not, now that Jason thinks the same way.” She opened her reticule and pulled out a handful of coins that she had discovered were in there when she went searching for a hankie.

  “You may have your blasted money back, I do not require it.” She tried to shove the coins into his hands, but he wouldn’t allow her.

  “Keep them,” he said, turning his head away. “Think of it as a reward for pulling Jason out of the English Channel.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, as her heart skipped a beat. Blast the man! If he kept talking to her in this amiable tone, she would be mush, and he’d be able to wheedle anything out of her, anything at all.

  “Wipe those unsightly tears away, Duchess. Tomorrow, we shall away to London and announce our impending nuptials to our families. After that, you may have the greatest temper tantrum in Christendom, but I shall make one thing clear to you. You shall not marry Jason. You are meant for me. Is that understood? I shan’t see him sacrifice his own happiness to ensure your own. He’s like a brother to me.”

  “Don’t tell me that you actually love anyone besides yourself and your sweet Ashley?” she scoffed, hiccupping as she wiped another tear away. “You have my congratulations, but I think I must turn your romantic proposal down.” She rolled her eyes. “And do not worry, I have done a good deal of thinking, and I’ve decided that I cannot marry Jason. You see, we wouldn’t be able to be a married couple not in the true sense of the word anyway, he’s right we are too much like brother and sister.”

  “Thank God,” he said, almost a tad bit too quickly.

  “No matter what you say to me, I shall not be coerced into marrying you. Just as I can’t imagine sharing a bed with Jason, the thought of sharing a bed with you makes my skin crawl.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind in the slightest last night,” he reminded her, making her stiffen with outrage.

  “I wasn’t given a choice was I?”

  “I suppose not,” he drawled. He moved closer to her, and brushed ever so slightly up against her. She jumped up, and he followed her, and reached for her before she could flee. “Pray, don’t go.”

  “You are quite simply the most exasperating man I’ve ever met. I wish our paths had never crossed back in France. I should have taken longer to dress…I should have…”

  “Well, seeing as our accidental meeting wasn’t so accidental, at least not on my part, I don’t see where you had a real choice in the matter,” he chuckled, and puffed his chest out. She pursed her lips. It would figure that he’d concocted everything. He was a man that fed on the control he had on others.

  A slight spring breeze ruffled past Isabella, and she pulled her shawl closer around her, as a damp chill assailed her. Christopher pulled her close, and she tried to shrug him off, but he would not be dissuaded.

  “Blanding’s available, and his arm probably wouldn’t have to be twisted in order to get him to agree to marry you, all he’d have to hear was the fact that you’re an heiress, everything else wouldn’t matter a tinker’s fart to him.”

  “You are just about to reach the ranks of the village idiot. I’d wait until hell froze over before I married your detestable cousin. Given the choice, I’d have to choose you. But you see, I don’t need to marry a man at all. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own. I can get by quite well on my own…even without my more practical gifts.”

  “Ah, I see,” he murmured, turning his glittering eyes on hers. “Is there anything I can say that would change your mind?”

  “No,” she stammered, as her heart hammered in her chest. He had wrapped both arms around her, before she could even collect her thoughts.

  “Is there anything that I can do to change your mind?” his voice came out as a husky rasp, and made firecrackers explode inside of her. Dash it all, he was really too appealing for his own good.

  He cradled her tightly against his chest, and gently tilted her chin up, so that she could meet his deep blue eyes straight on. “It wouldn’t be that bad to be married to me,” he drawled. His eyes were full of hunger, and he seemed as if he had been starving for days. If she wasn’t careful he was going to gobble her right up.

  Her nerves would soon be shattered. Even now she was relaxed so much that her body had nearly gone limp. And then he worked his own kind of magic on her.

  His hot full lips met hers with a reckless abandon. She came alive in his arms, and twined her arms around his neck. She was a kissing fool, but she didn’t care one bit. His kiss was making her senses come alive, and she was feeling things that she had never experienced before. It was as it had been back at the Inn, but different, somehow. Now she knew that she wanted him to tear her dress away, and lay her down on the bench. What was she thinking? Her rioting emotions were getting the better of her. She had to think sensibly.

  She pushed against his chest, and separated from him, just as he looked like he was going to kiss her.

  “We must not.”

  “’Course we can’t,” he agreed readily. “That is to say we can’t until we’re married. I am rather old fashioned that way.” He winked at her.

  “Cheeky.” She let out a prolonged sigh. “Nothing shall change your mind, even though you know that I don’t wish to marry you.”

  “That’s where you’re not being completely honest with yourself, Isabella. You want me. You want me to marry you. It is quite simple, really. You are very fortunate that I’m such an intelligent man.”

  “Pray, tell, sir, are you in the practice of reading minds?”

  “No. I can only read hearts.”

  “How can you be so certain that you know mine?”

  “I know because it already belongs to me.”

  “I have known so much grief in my life, I don’t think that my heart can stand anymore.”

  “If you don’t open it up, you’ll never know. Besides, I’m not asking you to love me with everything you have. But you will marry me, and someday your heart will belong to me. Upon my word, it will.”

  “I am not like the other French people that you have met.” Her confession came from out of the blue. He stared down at her in confused silence, and she could see that he was waiting for her to elaborate. “I hate what France has become, but I love what it could be once again. I don’t care one fig about what happens to me, and if I could I would’ve simply given up yesterday. But I can’t!” she sobbed. “I live for my Mama, and my Papa. I live for all of the family that I have lost to the terror. I am the De Clermont’s living legacy. I shall live for them, so that their deaths will not be in vain. I carry too many ghosts with me—ghosts that will never truly be at rest until I have avenged them.”

  He sat back down upon the bench and perused her intently. “Then live! But don’t live a half-life, live a full one. Make sure that the De Clermont Legacy lives on, marry me! I’ll wager that our marriage would be an ideal one compared to some of the ton’s marriages. Why Lord and Lady Bracknell, have lived in separate residences for their whole married lives. The gossip mill says that they hate each other so much that they’ve killed each other’s prospective lovers, out of sheer
spite. ‘Course, no one has ever been able to get enough evidence against them to make a case.” He stopped, cleared his throat and locked gazes with her. “I will protect you, Isabella, and I’ll watch you to make sure that you never do anything you might later regret. You are one of those in the heat of the moment women, and you need to be protected from yourself.”

  He knew. He had to know. He had jested about it earlier. But now she was quite certain that he was in on her relationship with Napoleon. She would be hard pressed to find a way to keep anything from him.

  “We do what we must,” she whispered, as his hand grasped hers. Now she was in up to her head, as long as she kept her head, she’d find a way to cope.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pierre Dubois stared furiously at his advisor. He clutched his favourite crystal paperweight in his left hand. As his advisor finished with his report, his pent up anger exploded, and without giving any thought to what he was doing, he fired the paperweight across the room. It shattered into a million pieces, as he clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Impossible!” he raged, striding across the room to pour himself a soothing glass of wine. “My niece must be brought back within the fortnight. Do you know what this means for us?” he thundered, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “That bitch knows too much! She could ruin everything! I should have never introduced her to our rutting leader. He’s already decided to give her back her lands—and with it, her title. Now, she will actually be a Duchess…it shan’t only be in name anymore. Those lands…they give great wealth and power to those who possess them. I will not go quietly. That bastard Boney took the De Clermont lands from me, and with it her title, so he shall be punished for it. I didn’t have her family killed by the bloody mad Revolutionaries to be robbed in this manner!”

  His advisor winced, and tried to subtly back toward the door.

  “Sir, His Imperial Majesty requested the introduction. You could have done nothing to prevent it. The Duchess is, after all, a survivor of one of the most prominent noble families that has ever existed in France. The De Clermonts are descended from the House of Bourbon.”

  “You are quite right, Francois. Our most precious brat has royal blood running through her veins, as do I except hers is legitimate and mine is not. I need her back where I can keep an eye on her. Where is that slut, Trudeau?”

  “She is in your other Chateau under guard, sir. She definitely will not be going anywhere anytime soon.” He began tidying the papers that were strewn across Pierre’s desk.

  “Perfect. We mustn’t allow that little bitch to escape. Make sure that a guard is kept on her at all times of the day and night. Oh, and send off a pleasant note telling the little Duchess how well Miss Trudeau is being treated. And of course, we must extend an invitation to that pompous upstart Napoleon. He shall be my guest of honour at my upcoming fancy dress ball. If I am seen in the company of the Emperor as often as possible, it will solidify my charade of being one of his most loyal subjects.”

  “And what if His Imperial Majesty is away on Campaign?” Francois asked.

  Pierre waved his hand carelessly. “Extend the invitation to Empress Josephine or one of his mistresses. It makes no difference to me. One is just as suitable as the other. Soon that inflated ass Napoleon, shall meet his doom, and I will be the man left standing. And my dearest Isabella will be the one to make it all possible. Ah, how I adore her.” A twisted smile formed across his paunchy face. “Yes, her legacy will give seed to a brand new French dynasty.”

  His cruel laughter enveloped the room. “Pour me another glass, Francois. I need it to fortify my senses, soon I shall be Emperor of the French, and everyone shall bow and quiver in my divine presence.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isabella sat behind Christopher’s desk at the Queen’s Head. She sighed, and started to write out a missive to her Grandmamma. If Pierre was actually sending killers out after her, she wanted to make sure that her Grandmamma heard from her before she met her untimely demise.

  “Miss,” Betsy came into their chambers. “Mrs. Cornwell requests your presence for tea at Wisteria House.”

  “Ah,” she looked longingly at the letter she still hadn’t finished. Leaving it, she stood up and followed the maid. Christopher was off on business, and she hoped she’d have time to return and finish her missive before he came back. She didn’t want to look rude so she hastened to Wisteria House.

  *****

  Christopher sat behind his desk at the Queen’s Head. He had wrapped up things sooner than expected and had returned to find that Isabella was still at the Cornwells house having been taken under the wing of Theo’s young wife. She was there while they made the preparations to travel to London. He could only hope that Jason was well enough to make the trip. He tidied his desk, and his eyes dropped to a missive filled with what could only be Isabella’s handwriting. The letter was written in English. Intrigued, he reached for it. As it hadn’t been sealed there would be no harm in him reading it, would there?

  *****

  Isabella was sitting in the quaint little parlour with Maria Cornwell taking tea with her. She had always liked the tea, and had a fondness for it that Pierre didn’t possess.

  Christopher charged into the parlour and caused Maria such a fit that she spilled her tea all of our teacup saucer and part of it on her dress. Isabella was furious. He had to learn how to be a gentleman.

  “What are blustering on about now, sir?” she asked tiredly. She looked to her emerald amulet hoping to see it glowing. It was dull and cool against her skin. “Damnation.” She kept wishing that would show her some sign of danger when it came to the blasted man, but no such luck wanted to fall upon her.

  “Pray leave us, Mrs. Cornwell. I must have words with the Duchess,” he ordered, a hint of a growl present in his voice. He had a murderous expression on his face, and the gleam in his eye matched his visage.

  “I must protest, Lord Wyndham,” Maria said. “You are acting quite highhanded, sir.” Maria still looked quite nervous. Isabella’s heart went out to her…she probably wasn’t accustomed to speaking so to a Peer of the Realm.

  “You are behaving like a buffoon, sir, and you are making Mrs. Cornwell quite nervous. You have no right to behave like this.”

  “No right?” he asked. “Tell me, what the bloody hell is the meaning of this?” he demanded, brandishing a letter and waving it furiously through the air.

  Uh, oh, she was in for it now. But that still didn’t make him an innocent party. Not only was he acting like a brute, but he had also betrayed her confidence by reading a private letter not meant for his eyes.

  “You shall return that to me at once,” she said, placing her teacup down, standing up, and moving toward him.

  “Come and get it,” he challenged, raking her with his piercing gaze. “How dare you contemplate my becoming a widower before we’re even married!” he bellowed. “It makes no bloody sense! I’ve given up on figuring you out, Duchess,” he lowered his tone at Mrs. Cornwell’s outraged gasp.

  “Figuring me out? Why you pretentious addle-brained nitwit, there is nothing to figure out. I should slap you for that last remark.”

  “I should throttle you for this!” he shot back, stepping toward her. She placed her teacup down and stood up.

  “Pray, do leave us, Mrs. Cornwell,” he said softly this time.

  “I shall not,” Mrs. Cornwell retorted, walking toward them. “You shall have to leave this room, my lord. It is unseemly for you to be in here.”

  “Tell her to leave,” he whispered.

  “Maria, could you please leave Lord Wyndham and me. We need to need to have a word alone, there are a few things we need to discuss.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. But mark my words, I don’t like this one bit. Not one bit.” Maria left the room, but made certain to leave the door slightly ajar.

  “Have you finished blustering?” She shifted to the right, as she tried to move away from him. Bu
t unfortunately, he would not be deterred. That much became apparent, when he urged her backwards, and rested his hands against the wall, on either side of her. “My, isn’t this cozy. I must say, Christopher, you have no inhibitions when it comes to taking liberties with me. Shall you force my skirt up and have your way with me here and now? I see that familiar look of angry passion in your eyes.”

  His eyes clouded and calmed.

  “Why are you writing up a farewell letter, do you think I am incapable of protecting you?” he asked, as a muscle in his jaw twitched.

  “I…I felt the need to say what had to be said. I still do not believe that Pierre would have me killed, but my life is dangerous, and there is no reason I should believe that you could protect me. I am never safe when Pierre is involved.”

  “I shall soon be your husband. At that point in time everything that is your business becomes my business, and…” his voice softened. “I shall protect you, Isabella. I shan’t let anyone hurt you. Pierre might be crafty, but he hasn’t matched wits me yet.”

  His words affected her deeply. Her heart went out to him.

  “You aren’t my husband, yet,” she managed to stammer out. And then he sent her heart fluttering again, when he drew closer to her, and lowered his lips to hers. She knew that in light of recent events that she should turn her head away, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. His allure always drove her delightfully to the pinnacle of distraction.

  She had to resist him. She had to keep him from kissing her. His kiss was madness. His kiss was ecstatic death. But it was the sweetest death that she’d ever have. She moaned, and puckered her lips. He brushed his lips ever so slightly against hers, and he was about to plunder further. “Christopher, stop this at once!”

  It was Jason, and his loud voice echoed throughout the little parlour.