by Regina Scott
“Non,” Yvette said, striding forward. “You will not go down that path.”
Lilith sat up, compress plopping into her lap. “You! I thought you were leaving.”
Gregory joined them. “Miss French has agreed to stay. She and Mother have made up. I suggest you do the same, Lilith.”
Lilith’s chin hardened.
Yvette spoke before she could. “Alas, my lord, it is not so simple. Your sister has repeatedly accused me of neglecting your mother. She slanders my good name. I demand satisfaction.”
Gregory stared at her. So did Lilith.
“Satisfaction?” she asked, glancing between Gregory and Yvette. “Is she challenging me to a duel?”
“No,” Gregory said before Yvette agreed to as much. “Dueling is illegal in England, and gentlewomen do not indulge in the sport.”
“Pity,” Yvette said, eyeing Lilith. “Then I will accept an apology to your brother.”
“My brother?” Lilith met Gregory’s gaze, then dropped her own. Dampness was spreading from the compress in her lap. She picked up the cloth and held it out. Her maid hurried forward to accept it.
Lilith straightened. “Yes, Gregory, I suppose I owe you an apology. I thought you’d be as bad as Father, but you have been kinder and more supportive than I had any right to expect. I will try harder to return the favor.”
“Thank you, Lilith,” Gregory replied. “And I must apologize for refusing to honor your choices. I will try harder as well.”
Her smile was hopeful.
Yvette stepped back. “Bon. I must return to my duties. Carry on.” With a wave of her hand, she sailed from the room.
“Gregory, wait,” his sister said before he could follow. “I wasn’t the only one unpleasant to her. You said she and Mother made up. Did Mother apologize for accusing her of trying to ensnare you?”
Was there no end to the surprises this afternoon? “Mother accused her of what?”
“Trying to marry you. You aren’t considering marrying her, are you, Gregory? I don’t think the family would ever survive the scandal.”
Him, married to Yvette. The image was all too easy to imagine. Discussing politics, opportunities. Working together in the greenhouse. Walking among the woods. Taking her in his arms and…
“You have your own wedding to plan,” Gregory said, cheeks heating. “Let’s focus on that for now.” He excused himself and hurried after Yvette.
He caught up with her at the foot of the great stairs. “I wanted to thank you for what you did just now. I can’t imagine how you managed to convince them both to apologize.”
Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter. “They wished to apologize. They just needed the excuse. Now, we must encourage them to continue to reform.”
“How?” Gregory asked. “I’ve been trying for years.”
She wiggled her mouth. “I will think. Will you work in the greenhouse later?”
“After everyone has retired for the evening, yes.”
“Bon. I will meet you there, and we will strategize.”
Chapter Nineteen
Yvette was satisfied with her performance as she slipped out of the house that night. The countess had come down to dinner and stayed to play whist in the withdrawing room afterward. Lilith had been pleasant all around, even with her love off to London. There had been laughter, camaraderie. And Gregory had gazed at Yvette often as if he couldn’t believe the changes she’d wrought. It felt good to be part of a family again.
She stopped in the middle of the lawn, moonlight brightening the path toward the greenhouse and a cool spring breeze brushing her cheeks. A family? Lady Carrolton, Lilith, and Gregory weren’t her family. She was only playing a part and not for much longer. When Claude had been captured, she would leave Carrolton Park and her demanding, mercurial, amusing countess; the worrisome, wistful Lilith; and the kind, gentle giant of an earl, a man who tended his plants as lovingly as her father had tended his paintings. She would miss him most of all.
Funny. Before she had come to Carrolton Park, she had been plagued with bouts of melancholy. Here they came rarely, if at all. Here she had a purpose, a place. Here she felt safe.
But not at the moment. She heard the crunch of gravel behind her, felt the unwelcome presence. She threw herself to one side just as something hissed passed, flashing in the moonlight before it thudded into the ground. A dagger, much like the one she wore on her wrist.
Then she was up and running, skirts bunched in her fists. Footsteps echoed behind her. If she shouted, Marbury and the footman would come, and her cousin would escape again. Her best chance was to flee to the greenhouse and Gregory, hope Claude would follow. Surely Gregory would not let him get away.
She allowed the door to bang shut behind her, then darted in among the orange trees and crouched down to watch for her attacker. The lamps overhead made it easy to see the table with its little pots, the larger pots lining the walls. Where was Gregory?
The door eased open, and Claude entered. He wore rough clothing, as if he was no more than an itinerant worker, looking for his next position. His hair was still brown as it had been at the wedding. He must not have stopped to retrieve the dagger, for a longer blade gleamed in his grip.
“You cannot escape me, Yvette,” he called in French. “Josephine and her friends can no longer shield you. You have betrayed France.”
She said nothing, hunkering lower. Where was Gregory? Surely he had not left the lamps burning, or was that how the greenhouse worked? She had never bothered to look whether it remained bright inside when he wasn’t working. Now the warmth sent sweat trickling down her back.
“Come out, little one,” Claude crooned, moving deeper into the building. “I promise not to kill you. You will return home with me, to stand trial. Everyone must know your shame.”
Stand trial, like her parents and brothers. She would be condemned as easily. She knew what waited at the end. Despite her determination, she was shaking.
She never saw him coming. Neither did Claude. One moment, her cousin was advancing along the table. The next he was grappling in the embrace of a man far taller and more muscular. The blade clattered as it hit the ground. Gregory grunted as her cousin must have lashed out, but he did not let go.
“Give up,” he gritted out. “You will not escape this time.”
Claude went slack in his grip, and, for a moment, Yvette thought they had won. But her limp-boned cousin merely slid to the ground, righted himself, and ran for the door. Gregory thundered after. Yvette ducked out of hiding, pulled up the blade, and followed.
She found Gregory at the edge of the yard in the moonlight, scanning the wall of darkness that was the wood.
“Get Marbury,” he instructed. “Tell him to muster the footmen, the grooms, and the gardening staff.” He started forward, and fear lanced her. She grabbed his arm with her free hand.
“Gregory, wait! You cannot go in there. He may have hidden a gun. He could have set up traps. I would not see you harmed.”
“He threatened to return you to France,” he countered. “My French may be rusty, but I understood that much. I won’t allow it. This ends now.”
Yvette clung to his arm, cold driving through her heart like an arrow. “Non! Let us find help first—more men, light, weapons. Anything else risks your life.”
She felt him draw a breath. “Very well. I want you safely in the house, regardless.”
He took the sword from her hand, turned, and escorted her back to the kitchen door, keeping himself positioned between her and the trees.
Mr. Marbury and Mrs. Clarke looked up in surprise as they entered.
“A man attempted to accost Miss French,” Gregory informed the butler and the cook. “Gather every able-bodied man and lanterns, and open the armory. You have five minutes.”
Marbury stood. “At once, my lord.”
Mrs. Clarke clucked over Yvette, urging her to sit and have a cup of tea. Thanking her, Yvette turned to Gregory. “Let me go with you.”
> “No,” he said. “My men know the area. And I will be more effective if I’m sure you are safe.”
His logic was unassailable and utterly frustrating. At night, with no knowledge of the area, she would only be a liability. Claude must have been stalking the woods for days. Even he knew more than she did of the layout. She agreed to wait in the kitchen and watched as his staff hurried after him out the door.
Marbury and one footman stayed behind in case their quarry returned. Both were armed with pistols, though she thought Marbury’s size and fierce demeanor at the moment might be enough to deter her cousin. The footman went to guard the front door. The butler locked the kitchen door behind the others, then closed the shutters on the windows, a pistol clutched in one hand.
“Most disturbing,” he said, directing the cook and Yvette back to the table. “I assure you this is unusual, Miss French.”
Mrs. Clarke hitched her apron up. “Never had such doings here at Carrolton Park. But you can be sure the earl won’t stand for it. He takes care of his own. Unlike his father.” She paled as Marbury frowned at her.
“You can retire, Mavis,” he said. “I’ll stand guard.
With a trusting nod, the cook bid them both good night and left.
“I don’t stand for gossip,” the butler told Yvette.
Yvette sat on the chair the cook had vacated. “Will you sit for it?”
That won a smile from him. “No. What’s done is done. It’s the present and future that should concern us.” He affixed her with his best butler’s look. “Is there some reason a gentleman would attempt to accost you, Miss French?”
Yvette spread her hands. “Why should there be? I am meek as a mouse.”
“I seem to recall a story about a mouse subduing a lion,” Marbury countered. “However, I will remind you that I can best do my duty to this household if I am kept informed.”
Yvette nodded. The urge to confess was strong. Perhaps it was the craggy brow over deep-set eyes. Perhaps the fatherly smile that encouraged confidences. Yet Gregory hadn’t seen fit to explain to the man. Should she?
A noise at the door saved her from a decision. Marbury raised the pistol at the portal. “Who’s there?”
“Your master,” came Gregory’s voice, and Marbury rushed to open the door.
Gregory strode in as Yvette hopped to her feet. In his hands was a wool scarf, the sort men wore to stave off the cold.
“Do you recognize this?” he asked Yvette.
She shook her head. “I never saw him wear it, but it’s possible he stole it, as part of his disguise.”
“I’ll take that chance.” He turned for the door, and she darted in front of him.
“What will you do?”
His gaze was dark and determined. “Loose the hounds. They’ll follow the scent.”
“You have hounds?” She could not see him tormenting foxes or other small animals.
“My father had hounds,” he corrected her. “I saw no need to turn the dogs out after he died.”
He wouldn’t.
She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Take care, mon coeur.”
His eyes were bright as he nodded and left.
Yvette turned to find Marbury frowning at her. She met his gaze.
“I am the daughter of a French count, who lost his life in the Revolution. I have been helping the British War Office to uncover secrets in France that could end this war. When my French comrades discovered my betrayal, they incarcerated me. Sir Harold Orwell and Mr. Mayes rescued me, but the French vowed revenge. Lord Carrolton offered to assist the War Office by hiding me here. I have been discovered.”
“I see,” he said. Then he offered her a bow. “How might I be of assistance, your ladyship?”
~~~
It was a long, fruitless night. The hounds nearly ran the Frenchman to ground, but the trail ended at a stream. Try as they might, the dogs could not pick up the scent again upstream or down. Claude de Maupassant could be anywhere.
But not at the house. Gregory made sure of that as he and his staff returned. After assuring Yvette she was safe, he joined his men in searching each room, locking those that could be locked behind him. He checked each window on the ground floor and stationed a man at every entrance. He had never designed the house as a fortress, but he was rather pleased how well it served that purpose now.
Marbury put his finger to his lips as Gregory entered the kitchen. Yvette had her head on the work table, cushioned on her arms, tousled curls gleaming in the lamplight. The butler motioned Gregory back into the corridor.
“She couldn’t stay awake another moment,” he said with a proud smile. “But I must protest my lord. It is unseemly for the daughter of the French aristocracy to live in this house as a servant.”
Gregory sagged. “She told you.”
“Reluctantly,” Marbury admitted. “I understand the need for secrecy, my lord, but surely now Lady Carrolton and Lady Lilith must be told, for their own protection.”
“Of course,” Gregory agreed. “If they are aware, they can be vigilant. A shame Mr. Villers has already taken himself off or he could be of use.”
“Is he part of this?” Marbury asked.
It seemed Gregory wasn’t the only one who had a hard time seeing Villers as an intelligence agent once he was better acquainted with the fellow.
“He was stationed here by the War Office to protect the lady,” Gregory told him, “for all the good it’s done us. But then, I’m the one who sent him away.”
“For good reason, I understand,” Marbury said. “The staff offers your sister our congratulations on her upcoming marriage.”
Entirely proper, but Gregory still thought he heard sarcasm under the polite tone.
“For now, we wait,” Gregory said. “Try to get some rest. I’ll take care of Yvette, and I’ll speak to my mother and Lilith in the morning.”
Marbury nodded and strode off, pistol still in one gloved hand.
Gregory ventured into the kitchen. She looked so innocent, as unacquainted with danger as her parents must have intended before fate had taken them from her. Those curls whispered to him. He allowed himself the luxury of touching one. Such silk, such strength.
Yvette twitched in her sleep, and he drew back his hand. She straightened, blinking. “You have secured the house, then.”
“Yes. I’m so sorry he escaped, Yvette.”
She covered her mouth with one hand as she yawned. “That one has nine lives. Perhaps we should set Fortune after him.”
He smiled imagining the little cat taking down her cunning cousin.
“We will catch him,” she insisted as if trying to convince herself. “Next time, I will help.”
He didn’t want there to be a next time. He wanted her safe, happy. He bent and scooped her up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as he started out of the kitchen.
“Escorting you to your room.” He navigated to the main stair. The footman at the door stared a moment before averting his gaze.
“An escort, he calls it.” She swung her feet, flipping her skirts about her ankles. “Gentlemen who escort ladies this way are not received in fine houses. If your mother saw you, you would be in trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” he said, reaching the top of the stair. Indeed, he was surprised now nicely she fit against him. He strode down the corridor for her door. The latch baffled him for a moment. As if she knew, she laughed.
“Put me down, dear heart,” she said. “You should go no further.”
Dear heart. Though he knew it was the English version of what she had been calling him, the sound of it was sweeter. He set her on her feet, and she raised her gaze, eyes bright and smile soft. He couldn’t stop himself. He lowered his head and kissed her.
Sensations bloomed inside him, around him—joy, delight, a desire for more. He wrapped his arms around her, held her close. He never wanted to let her go. This was why he’d been made so big and strong—to love a
nd protect her all the days of his life.
He wanted to tell her. He wanted to shout it down the corridors, cry it from the roof. He was in love with Yvette de Maupassant, the beautiful, the strong, the wise, the clever.
But how did he tell a lady who needed no one that he needed her most of all?
Chapter Twenty
She could not think, only feel, and what wondrous feelings! A joy she had nearly forgotten, a delight she could not recall. She clung to him, this man who had won her heart.
Yet how could she give a heart so tarnished? She was darkness to his light.
She pulled back. His tender look was nearly her undoing. “You will regret that.”
Even now, color climbed into those firm cheeks. “I beg your pardon. I don’t know what came over me.”
Yvette reached out to touch his shoulder, trying to ignore the pain building inside her. “It was the excitement of the night, mon ami. Think nothing of it.”
Across the corridor came the clang of a bell. For once she was glad of it. “I must go. Try to sleep before you start the day.”
His smile was polite, but it said he doubted sleep was possible. She went to tend to the countess.
Lady Carrolton remained on her best behavior, which was just as well, as Yvette was not at her best. She had gone with little sleep before, but she thought her weariness this time had more to do with that kiss.
So sweet, so fiery—promising a future of love she had never dreamed possible. Was it possible? Could she have a husband, a home, a family again?
Not until her cousin was vanquished. Not until she closed that chapter of her life. Only then would she feel as if she could start anew.
She wanted to go out, keep searching, but she knew the danger and the futility. Claude had darted away. They would have to bide their time until he ventured closer again. She could only hope it would be soon. She wanted this over.
In the meantime, she escorted the countess to breakfast. No one else had come down yet, and she could only hope that meant Gregory was getting some much-deserved sleep. Marbury could not have slept much either, yet he remained his polished self as he stood beside the sideboard, awaiting their requests.
