“You have been charged as a traitor, and I have been told that you were planning my assassination,” Napoleon said, in his commanding voice. The entire crowd gasped and murmured at his public accusation, but to his credit, Will merely stared at him dumbly.
“I would like to object,” Isabella said.
“My dear, your objections have no weight here,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you have muddled your brain with too much champagne.”
“Indeed, I have not. I have a reason,” she said haughtily, giving him the famous De Clermont stare.
“Of course she does,” Blanding spoke up snorting, as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. “She is his cousin.”
“Indeed,” Napoleon said. “Well that explains things.”
“I do not give a damn about him, he is nothing to me,” she declared coldly. “I am loyal to you, sir, and I objected because I have reason to believe that those two men and that woman have conspired against you, sir. My dear Uncle Pierre plans to murder you, and then assume your position once you are dead.”
Pierre turned a violent shade of red, and more outraged exclamations were heard throughout the crowd.
“Do you realize what you are saying, Mademoiselle?” Napoleon asked, reaching for her hand.
“Oh, yes. But I had nowhere else to turn. You see I am in a terrible predicament, but I knew that I would be safe with you.”
“Of course you are, my dear. You are most definitely safe with me,” he said, waving his hands as his men took Ashley, Pierre and Blanding into custody. “But you have no proof.”
“These charges are ludicrous. She is a madwoman! She is a witch!” Pierre screamed, trying to break away. “She is the traitor. Have you not forgotten that she is the sole survivor of the blasted De Clermont’s?”
“The sole legitimate survivor, Uncle. You always conveniently forget that you are a De Clermont as well, not in name, but by blood. You are a bastard, are you not? My uncle and that man have poisoned your champagne, and I can prove it!” she cried out, reaching for the coupe of champagne.
“My lovely, pray do not drink it,” Bonaparte cried out in horror, believing that she meant to martyr herself.
“Oh, my lord, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she murmured softly. “Indeed not! I shall have my beloved English cousin drink it.” She heard an outraged man’s cry, and she ignored it, though her hand trembled. “I shall enjoy watching him suffer, as I did on that day, when I almost succeeded in letting him drown. Isn’t that right, my sweet William?” Will stared at her incredulously. “You shall die one way or the other, why not chose an honourable death?” she suggested softly. He stared at her angrily, and took the glass with a composed hand.
“I die an honourable death, knowing that one day you shall be punished for your betrayal.”
“Mayhap, but I will see you die first. I am protected, sir, a very dangerous, most handsome man has promised to keep me safe.”
Will raised the glass to his lips, and time stood still as he drank it.
She watched him fearfully, as he gasped for air.
“You shall burn in hell.”
William was really putting his all into the performance. She could see by the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe she had betrayed him.
“No, my dear cousin, you are wrong. Vive la France.”
“Bravo, my dear,” Napoleon said. “You have indeed earned my loyalty,” he purred, “That and something else.”
She paid him no mind, and rushed toward Will. She fell to the floor, and tenderly reached out for him. She cradled him in her lap, and held on to him, as he reached for her hand.
“I forgive you,” he rasped out, loudly enough so that the whole assemblage could hear. She held him, as his body convulsed, and then, as he gasped for his last breath, she leaned down and gave him a parting kiss on the forehead.
“Farewell, William,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
Isabella saw him break through the crowd, and she screamed as she saw the murderous intent in his eyes. Someone fired a shot at Napoleon and pandemonium erupted as they rushed to escort Napoleon to safety. She pushed herself to her feet, and ran through the crowd and out into the courtyard. She headed straight for the bushes, as the gravel crunched behind her, as he struggled to catch up with her. She pushed her way through the trees heading for the protective enclosure of the hunter’s cottage that was on De Clermont land, if only her magic would return to her.
Isabella was running so quickly that she fought to regulate her breathing as her grey dress nearly tripped her. She hoisted it up, as a branch flew back in her face and scratched it. Pain distracted her, as blood spattered onto her dress. She glanced behind her and noticed with paralyzing fear that he was gaining on her.
His black cloak sent pure dread coursing through her. She continued running as the burgeoning ache in her leg intensified. She stumbled on a rock, tripped and fell, and scrambled to right herself when she heard him behind her. She stared up at his black hood, and terror stole through her. She stared at his familiar glittering blue eyes, he, was only a few paces away from her, and she desperately reached for a stone to throw at him in her defense.
“Heaven help me,” she whispered.
But he missed! Miraculously, something had gone wrong with the pistol. However, the man behind her was not as unlucky. Another shot rang through the still night as Austin Blanding collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
“My Saint Christopher,” she said, as he came toward her, and wrapped her in his arms. “Oh, Christopher, don’t ever let me go.”
“What did you do to Will?” he asked coldly. He stared at her as if he wanted to shake the life out of her.
“He’s not dead. Only sleeping. What I gave him mimics death, but he is very much alive, Christopher. He shall wake in a few hours.” He pulled her closer to him, and kissed the top of her head.
His stiffened, and then spoke, “You traitorous little bitch,” Christopher said. She knew whom he’d seen, and there was only one way out of this situation. She reached for the pistol he had on his person.
“Do you trust me?” she asked softly.
“With my life.”
Isabella stepped around, and pointed the pistol into the middle of his back.
“Ashley, he murdered poor Blanding while he was trying to save me from Wyndham, you must sympathize with me, when you realize what a hideous monster I am married to.”
Ashley screamed, as she ran toward Blanding, and fell to her knees.
“No, Austin, return to me! You can’t be dead…you can’t be dead. You will pay for this, you bloody bastard,” Ashley vowed, reaching for a hand pistol she carried in her reticule.
“That isn’t necessary,” Isabella said tiredly. “Put the pistol down. I want to be the one to make myself a widow.” She pushed Christopher to the ground right before Ashley fired her pistol. “Damnation,” she said, as Ashley’s shot winged her. She returned fire, and felled the woman with a death blow. Weakened, Isabella fell to her knees. Ashley was dead. She had killed her.
Isabella felt cold. She felt so cold. She had never…she hadn’t killed anyone before in her life.
“Isabella, you foolish girl, you could have been killed,” Christopher said.
“And yet, here I am. I have survived to fight another day.”
“You shouldn’t have placed yourself in such peril. You should have let me protect you.”
“I had to face my fears, Christopher. I knew you would save me in the end.”
He pulled her close to him, and held her as if his life depended upon it.
“Here I am, basically unscathed, and yet…I couldn’t save Daphne, Christopher.”
“How did you plan on getting back to England once you’d saved Will?”
“Why I hadn’t thought of that, but something would have come to me. Besides, where there is a will, there is a way, I always say.”
“You are quite mad, Isabella.”
“Mayhap, I am. I do
know that I am madly in love with you.”
“If you had died, I would have been well and truly lost.”
“Hardly. You would have continued on, Christopher.”
“No, I wouldn’t have. I can’t bear the thought of life without you, Isabella. Don’t ever give me such a fright again. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Thank God. I love you more than life itself, Isabella. Remember that.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that I love you, my sweet little duchess—my beautiful wife.”
“Oh, Christopher, I love you too.”
“We have to get back to Château fort De Clermont,” he said after a short while. She nodded her head, still a bit shocked, as she leaned heavily on him while he wrapped his large handkerchief around her grazed arm.
“However shall we escape?” She sagged against him, and took in a long shuddering breath as she inhaled his comforting scent.
“Never fear, my darling, your Saint is here,” he said reassuringly, as they charged back into Château fort De Clermont. Most of the crowd had dispersed, and Jack was kneeling by Will.
“What is that woman doing here?” Jack demanded.
“Will is very much alive, and so are we, you fool. Do you honestly think that Isabella would kill her own cousin? Grab him and get a bloody move on.”
“Daphne’s dead, but I shan’t let Will die. Christopher, pray do give Jack some much needed assistance with Will.”
He helped Jack hoist Will up, who was a dead weight, and they had almost reached the drawbridge, when Pierre stepped in front of them.
“Pray move, Uncle.” Her command changed Pierre’s expression.
“I won’t, you little bitch. I should have found you all of those years before so that you could have met the same fate as your dear Mama and Papa.”
At his words, rage boiled within her.
“You are by far the most despicable creature that I have ever encountered. You condemned innocent men and women and yet here you still stand, unscathed. You wretched being. I hope that you rot in hell,” she spat.
Enraged, Pierre moved toward her, and attempted to strike her. She steeled herself, and heard Christopher’s cry of rage. He charged at Pierre and knocked him to the ground. Pierre scrambled away from him, as Christopher continued coming toward him undeterred. Something round fell from Christopher’s cloak, and it emitted a purple smoky cloud that disoriented Pierre, and made Isabella cough.
Pierre pulled out his rapier, and Isabella watched in horror as Christopher’s cutlass rang out against Pierre’s rapier. She had seen Pierre cut down the most skilled swordsman in no time at all. She held her breath, as Christopher jumped out of his way, and slammed into a chair.
He righted himself quickly as he let out another terrifying roar, just as he moved past Pierre’s defenses, and pierced him with his cutlass.
“It should have been mine,” Pierre gasped, as blood began pouring from his side. “It all should have been mine, save for an accident of birth. Your grandfather was my father,” he gasped falling to the ground. “I should have been the Duke of St. Malo.”
“Ah, but even if you hadn’t been born a bastard, you never would have been worthy to be the duke. Let’s go home, Christopher,” she said, as together, they walked away from Pierre.
Her senses came alive as she felt Pierre’s murderous intent. She would not allow him to kill her husband. She turned around, and saw the dagger flying toward him. Calling upon her magic, she made it stop in mid-air, and then, as she concentrated, she made it fall to the ground.
Pierre was stunned. “You—are—a—witch!”
“Yes, I am. Magic works in mysterious ways. With Christopher, I didn’t need it, but in the face of losing him—I did need it. Goodbye, Uncle Pierre. May you get exactly what you deserve.” Finally, the ghosts of her past had been laid to rest. “Farewell, Mama and Papa. Until we meet again,” she whispered, staring over at the medieval tapestry that her mother had hidden her behind so many years before.
****
“I have a surprise for you,” Christopher said, as they reached the English Frigate. The HMS Tempest was waiting patiently for them in the early morning dawn, and they would be fortunate indeed if they would be able to reach English soil in one piece. She clung to Christopher just as Will stirred.
“I do not like surprises.”
“You’ll like this one,” he promised, as they climbed aboard the ship. The captain raced to meet them.
“Isabella,” Daphne cried, toward her.
“Daphne,” she cried, hugging her so tightly that she feared she would squeeze the life right out of her.
“Oh, my little miss,” Daphne rejoiced.
Isabella smiled, as she felt Christopher’s presence behind her.
“Christopher, we have a blessed life.”
“Indeed, we do, and now you should have this back. He showed her the emerald amulet and gently put it around her neck.
“Thank you,” she said softly, placing her hand protectively around her mother’s magical amulet—in the end, she hadn’t needed it to channel her powers.
“I am sorry for ever doubting you, Isabella. I should have listened to you when you said that you knew Ashley.”
“And, I also revealed your cousin to be a traitor.”
“We always suspected Austin. I guessed that it was he who had poisoned my father but I had no proof. The poor deluded fool thought he would be given a dukedom when Napoleon finally conquered us. I have married a very clever little duchess who likes to masquerade as a witch from time to time.”
“And I have married the most dangerous man in England. I have married my Saint.”
“And I have married my Angel.”
She had found real magic. She had found true love.
Epilogue
Isabella stared at her reflection in the mirror, as she straightened her white silk gown. She went out into the hallway, and glided down the stairs, as the music from the ballroom streamed out to her. She stood on the threshold, and stared across the room until her eyes locked with her husband’s. He cheekily winked at her, as his sparkling blue eyes glimmered with love. She looked around at her family, and smiled when she saw Marianne and Jason together. Will was avidly talking to Roselyn, and Maria was hanging on Theo’s every word. Theo had been discovered with Daphne in France, and had been revealed as a reluctant English spy as well.
Christopher reached his arm out for her. He was the love of her life. She fell into his arms, and he whisked her out onto the dance floor.
“I love you, Duchess,” he said lovingly, staring down in appreciation at her beautiful charms.
“And I love you, my Saint,” she returned, as she leaned up to kiss him softly. Everyone in attendance sighed at the romantic display of love.
“You are everything to me.”
“And you are the man of my dreams,” she returned, as the world stopped spinning long enough for him to kiss her passionately and send her senses reeling.
Her mother had been right, all of those years ago. She had been destined for greatness. She was home. She would be forever safe within the arms of the most dangerous man in England—her Wolf, her Saint Christopher, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. This surely was heaven on Earth.
The End
You can read more about current and future releases of Marly Mathews’ by visiting her website, www.marlymathews.com don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter while you are there! You can also like her author page on Facebook and follow her on Amazon to keep up to date with all of her current and future releases!
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The Duchess and the Spy Page 35
