by Lucy Adams
Although where Mr. Breton received his information from, Marcus did not yet know.
He shrugged to himself, thinking that it did not matter all that much. There would be a good deal of pressure placed on Mr. Breton, to the point that he was quite certain he would tell everything that he knew in due course. Mr. Breton was not a Frenchman and nor did Marcus think that his allegiance lay with that particular country. From the look of it, Mr. Breton was a man of very little means who had, most likely, been taken in by the prospect of financial gain should he do as he was asked. They might even have to question him and then return him to his post and position, under strict instructions to continue as he had done before. It would not be the first time the League had done such a thing, but it was sometimes necessary in order to find those who were traitors to the Crown.
“I have told you that I know nothing,” Mr. Breton exclaimed, turning his head around as far as it could go before swiveling back again. “I just do as I am told. I get sent the note from Mr. Caron. Then I go into the woods and deliver it.
“To who? Marcus asked, his voice low and grating. “Who takes it from you?”
“I don’t know!” Mr. Breton cried, as if Marcus was asking him something quite ridiculous. “The man who comes always covers his face.”
“Then you are certain it is a man?”
There was a momentary hesitation and Marcus’ interest flared at once.
“I—I am not certain,” the man said, as Marcus drew closer to him, coming to walk alongside him rather than behind as he had been doing before. “He does not say a word to me, always wears a thick cloak of black and covers his face and head with a hat and a scarf and the like.” He swallowed and looked up at Marcus, who was half a head taller than he. “I swear to you, I do not know.”
Marcus nodded and fell back behind Mr. Breton, glad that they would soon be at the waiting horse and cart. They had come to a very quiet, sleepy town close to the border between England and Scotland, which meant he felt almost as far away from London as he could get without going into the country of Scotland. The others from the League who had been with him in the capture of Mr. Caron had mostly returned to their own homes or had gone back to London for the Season, ready to work quietly there in order to continue to protect the King and Prince Regent. He had insisted that he could apprehend and interrogate Mr. Breton without any further assistance, other than the few servants he had with him and, it appeared, he had been quite correct to insist. Whether or not he would bring Mr. Breton to London or would return him to his post so that he could catch someone of greater importance, Marcus was not yet sure.
“Here, my lord.”
Marcus focused his attention on the path ahead, seeing the clearing opening up to them like a warm greeting, bringing him a sigh of relief. The horse and cart were waiting patiently, with the horse dipping its head to chew at the lush grass at its feet.
“Wait a moment.”
Marcus knew to be careful. Just because things appeared to be just as they had left them did not mean that there was no danger lurking ahead. He had taken great care in his plans, making certain not to dress finely or to wear anything other than his underclothes that might show him to be a gentleman of the ton. Instead, he and his servants were dressed as country folk, with his man driving a horse and cart rather than the carriage Marcus was used to.
“Let us move with great caution.”
Stepping out slowly into the clearing, Marcus watched the horse carefully. If there was any sign of danger, surely he would hear it. His ears would prick up, his head would lift and he might nicker a warning—but as yet, nothing had occurred. The horse continued to chew the grass and Marcus felt his worry begin to fade away. Looking all around him and carefully searching the shadows with a firm, severe gaze, he found nothing whatsoever and forced himself to take a step forward, his feet cracking some small twigs and sticks underfoot.
Again, there came no sound, no sudden exclamation, no flash of a blade that he would need to defend himself against. Turning, he beckoned his servant to lead Mr. Breton out into the clearing and towards the horse and cart, walking near the horse himself and pulling the reins from the tree branch where they had looped it.
“Where are we going?” Mr. Breton’s voice was quavering, his eyes wide with fright and all attempt at strength now fading from him.
“Never you mind,” Marcus muttered, as he handed the reins to his tiger. “You just think about all you’ve got to tell me once we get there.” Satisfied by the slight flare of fear in the man’s eyes, Marcus climbed up beside his tiger and let out a long breath of relief as the horse began to move forward, the wheels of the cart rumbling over the bumpy grooves in the ground.
His jaw worked hard and his brow furrowed as he thought of all that Mr. Breton might be able to tell them, Marcus held onto the side of the cart with one hand, his other hand curling into a fist. Whoever it was that had been passing on information to the French, he was determined to discover the truth of their identity and use what he had discovered to bring a stop to it at once. Those who betrayed their King and their country would have to face the consequences of such actions, even though he was certain that Mr. Breton had no real understanding of what might follow for him now. Gritting his teeth and battling the sense of bubbling anger over such treason, Marcus let out his breath slowly, trying to regain his composure. He was part of The King’s League now and that meant he had a responsibility of his own to keep himself in check so that his mission would not be tainted by his own failings. Nodding to himself, Marcus closed his eyes and took in three long breaths, feeling himself calm to a quietness that he knew would help his fractious thoughts. With the news of the ongoing war slowly winding its way towards England every few days, it was a relief to Marcus to know that he was doing something that was helping the fight against England’s enemies.
Th-unk.
Marcus’ eyes flew open and he turned his head, his mouth opening to speak—only to see Mr. Breton staring at him with dead eyes. Red blood was spreading out across his dirty white shirt, his head falling back as life left him completely. Marcus’ heart slammed into his chest and he shouted aloud at his tiger, only to hear the sound of another bullet slamming into the wood of the cart.
“Hurry!” he cried, the tiger urging the horse forward whilst Mr. Breton lay, lolling about, in the back of the cart. “We are discovered!” there was nothing Marcus could do but allow his servant to drive the horse forward, the cart bumping over a rut and then sliding into the ditch on one side of the road. With a loud exclamation, his servant jumped from the cart, pulling Marcus with him—only for a yelp of pain to escape him.
“Run!” Marcus shouted, seeing his servant’s eyes flare. “Do as I tell you! Run and do not emerge until you are safe.” He did not say more but rushed forward towards a thicket, knowing that they had a few moments until their attacker could shoot again.
What he did not realize was that, within the thicket itself, was a deep trench, surrounded by the trees and bushes that hid it from his view. With panic pushing him forward, Marcus rushed in between two small saplings, only to find his feet gone from under him. Pain screamed through his body, his head smacking hard off a protruding rock.
Then everything faded from his view and he was lost to unconsciousness, darkness surrounding him and pulling him into its tightly held embrace.
Chapter One
The woods were rather cold today, Augusta thought, meandering slowly along the well-trodden paths that lay within a mile of her father’s estate. Her thoughts turned to London, sighing sorrowfully as she felt that same, desperate urging to attend the Season there but knowing very well that her father had no intention of taking her. He had permitted her to have her come-out, of course, but that had been a very small affair indeed and had only been a few acquaintances and, whilst it had been in London, had not allowed her to linger there for the Season itself. She had welcomed one or two new acquaintances at that time but neither one had kept in touch with her,
despite her eagerness for them to do so. In addition, that had occurred some three years ago and still, her father had not once mentioned going to London. In fact, he had seemed even less agreeable now than he had been before.
Sighing again, Augusta rubbed at her forehead, trying not to allow herself to become too upset. She longed for her mother, who had passed away some years ago, leaving Augusta alone with only her father for company. Her elder brother, Timothy, who was eight years her senior, had already produced the heir, having married only eighteen months prior. He showed very little interest in his sister and did not even write to enquire as to the health of his father, seeming to be quite contented with his own life and situation. The smaller estate was the one Timothy and his family occupied, which was set a good deal closer to London. Augusta had once hoped that her brother might ask for her to come to London so that he could accompany her for a Season, but as yet that hope had been dashed. It seemed as though she were to spend her days caring for her father, until finally, she would become nothing more than an aging spinster, with no prospects and nothing to call her own.
“That is enough,” she said aloud, trying to find something that might lift her spirits. There was no use in considering what her future might be, when she herself had very little idea. Her father might change his mind. He might decide to take her to London for the little Season. All she needed was one opportunity, one chance to find a suitable match for herself—given that her father and her brother were clearly not going to do any such thing!
“Good afternoon, fair cousin.”
Augusta started violently, looking up in surprise, only to see her cousin emerging from the trees. She recoiled at once, taking a step back from him. “Stayton,” she said, darkly. “What is it you are doing here?”
The honorable Mr. Stayton laughed, his dark eyes holding nothing even akin to mirth.
“I thought to accompany you,” he said, with a grand bow that did nothing to appease Augusta. “Is that so difficult to understand?”
Still watching him carefully, Augusta glanced back at the path behind her, wondering if she would be able to lose her cousin in amongst the trees. She did not like him in the least and had become very disconcerted of late over just how he watched her with such an unsettling gaze.
“Augusta,” her cousin said, coming towards her with one hand outstretched. “Surely you cannot think that I mean anything untoward by coming out after you?” He threw up one hand towards the sky. “Look, the clouds are already very heavy indeed. It is unwise for you to be out walking alone.”
“I have been out walking alone for many years,” she responded tartly, seeing the flicker of anger jump into his expression, his brow furrowing and his lips now thin and tight. “I do not require your company, Stayton, and certainly do not wish for it.” Turning on her heel, she began to walk along the path with hurried steps, her heart beating furiously as she wondered just how long her cousin had been searching for her. He had been residing with herself and her father at the estate for some months now, with no clear eagerness to depart again, but she was becoming more and more troubled by his presence. He was a thick cloud that grew darker every day, lingering over her in a constant threat. What it was about him, she could not quite say, but whenever she caught him watching her, a small smile catching the corner of his mouth, she could not help but shudder.
“You are being quite foolish, Augusta.”
His voice was growing ever closer and Augusta was forced to turn around again, coming to face him as her heart slammed hard against her chest, her whole body tingling with fright. Determined that he would not see any such fear on her face, however, Augusta lifted her chin high and held her cousin’s gaze, aware of just how changeable he was. He could go from anger to delightfulness in a moment, from disdain to good humor. She would not be afraid of him, she told herself, wondering silently where her dog had gone to. He always accompanied her when she went out walking but was very much inclined to disappear into the woods in search of rabbits or squirrels. He would always appear again in due course but despite her attempts to train him to come to her call, the rascal never obeyed. If he had done, she would have called for him now, feeling the need to have some sort of protection by her side.
“You are pushing my company away,” Stayton said, tilting his head as an almost lazy expression ran across his face. “Why might that be, my dear lady?”
Augusta swallowed but did not let a flicker of fear cross into her expression. “Because I prefer to be in my own company,” she stated, firmly. “Your intrusion is unwelcome.”
Stayton’s lip curled and an ugliness appeared in his eyes that had Augusta shrinking back within herself.
“You have made me feel nothing but unwelcome these last few months,” he growled, his changeability once more frightening her. “You have turned away from me for no particular reason, choosing to shun me without explanation.”
“I have done no such thing,” she retorted, balling her hands into fists—not out of anger but out of a determination to keep her courage at the fore. “I have conversed with you, sat with you and taken tea with you. However, that does not mean that I have to accept your company each time you press it upon me, Stayton. And this occasion is one where I have no wish for it!”
“But what if I wish for it?”
Standing her ground, Augusta felt a seeping dampness leeching into her toes, her boots no longer keeping out the wet. Her whole body felt chilled, her heart quickening as Stayton moved forward, his eyes locked onto hers. She could say nothing, finding her throat suddenly dry, her fingernails biting into her soft palms.
“You are very....” his eyes gleamed as he considered her, “very alone, Augusta.”
Her stomach tightened as swirls of anxiety began to run through her, suddenly all too aware of just how vulnerable she was. If he wanted to press his attentions onto her, if he wanted to walk with her or, in fact, do perhaps a little more than that, then she would have no choice but to accept it, whether she wished it or not. He was taller than she and certainly much stronger. It would be simple enough for him to overpower her.
“That is to say, you are alone at the estate for a good deal of the time,” her cousin continued, his expression one of sympathy that Augusta did not believe to be sincere. “Your father is present, I know, but he is not often near to you.” Taking another step closer, he let a grin slather itself across his face. “And now, out of doors and in the woods with no companion or even a maid with you, you are all the more solitary.”
“I have always walked here alone,” she said, trying to force strength into her voice. “There is nothing that concerns me about that.”
“No?” he murmured, moving even closer, forcing her to lift her head in order to look up at him. “Are you certain you have not even the slightest bit of concern at present, Augusta?”
She swallowed hard, finding herself stepping back despite her determination not to do so.
“Surely there must be a little fear in your heart now?” he continued, reaching out one hand towards her, as she started violently, her breath catching and terror beginning to penetrate her bones. “An awareness that, without anyone else here with you, a good many things could occur.”
Fear seemed to have her fixed in place as she finally realized what those long, penetrating looks and dark smiles had meant. She could not quite catch her breath, her stomach twisting this way and that as she forced her legs to move, her feet like blocks of wood.
And then, out of nowhere, came a black, furry shape that propelled itself towards Stayton, sending him stumbling backwards as a cry of pain left his lips. Her dog, Rufus, had somehow sensed that she was in trouble and had come to do what he could for her. In protecting her from Stayton, he had given her an opportunity to escape her cousin - and it was an opportunity that she took without even a moment of hesitation.
Without a backwards look, Augusta picked up her skirts and ran, turning on her heel and moving as quickly as she could. She could still hear shouts
of pain coming from her cousin but did not stop to look back, despite her worry for her dog. Moving off path, Augusta began to climb through the undergrowth and trees, her steps staggering and her breathing ragged as she did all she could to escape Stayton.
Finally, she sank down onto a fallen tree trunk, wrapping her arms around her knees as she buried her head into the folds of her skirt, shaking violently. So her cousin intended her harm, it seemed. From the look in his eyes, Augusta feared that he had come out here to follow her for one sole purpose, thinking that she would give him her very self - either willingly or unwillingly. Had it not been for Rufus, then she might not have been able to escape him.
Shuddering and praying silently that her dog would not be harmed, Augusta forced herself to take in long, slow breaths in an attempt to calm her frantic heartbeat. She was, for the moment, quite safe, although what would happen once she returned to the estate, she could not even begin to imagine. To have to sit at dinner with her father and her cousin and pretend that she was quite all right and not at all upset was unthinkable! Should she tell her father about what had happened? Even as she thought it, Augusta knew that it was a foolish idea. He would not be overly concerned, she knew, given that he cared about very little indeed, including himself. There was a sadness, a melancholy that lingered around him these last few months, one that seeped into her own life, and Augusta knew that to speak of him of what Stayton had threatened would only add to his sadness, even though she doubted he would say anything to Mr. Stayton himself.
