by Regina Scott
“Least I can do, old fellow,” he said when Harry eyed him. “After all, I suspected the worst of you when you really had reformed. Love can do that to a fellow, I hear.”
Patience waited for Harry to deny he was in love. Everyone knew the truth of his activities now. There was no need to pretend an engagement. But he merely smiled and challenged Beau to a game of cards.
Harry encouraged her to join the other women, but she couldn’t make herself leave his side. If the bullet had taken a different path, she might never have held his hand again. Yvette was right. Life was uncertain. She should not delay in telling Harry how she felt.
Neither, it seemed, could Beau.
He made a show of staring at his cards, then murmured so low Patience almost missed it.
“Count on me to help, Harry. You aren’t the only one working for the government.”
Patience started, but Harry played smoothly. “You’re not one of Lord Hastings’ men.”
“No.” Beau almost sounded bitter. “But I do favors for the Admiralty. You must know not everyone trusts you. I was sent to watch your activities and report back. There’s a courier at Folkestone I meet to relay my news or lack thereof. We have a signal.”
Was that the real reason Beau had been going out at odd times? Harry seemed to think so, but he was quick to point out the flaw in the story.
“So, you would have it your attempts at blackmail were just part of the act,” he murmured as he played his card, voice skeptical.
“Certainly,” Beau insisted.
Despite his protest, she shared Harry’s doubts. He might be working for the Admiralty, but he had been working to line his own pockets at the same time.
Whatever his reasons, however, Beau refused to leave Harry’s side now. In fact, with their enforced proximity, it was impossible for Patience to speak to Harry privately. Could she declare her love in front of everyone? Wouldn’t he feel obliged to accept for the moment, even if he had no lasting feelings for her?
With the male servants taking turns patrolling the grounds, Emma, Mary, and the housemaid Sally helped indoors, bringing in tea and cakes at one point, fetching and carrying so that neither Yvette nor Harry had to leave the room unaccompanied. Patience did what she could as well. After all, her life wasn’t in danger.
Emma took her aside as evening approached. “Mr. Teacake says Mr. Cuddlestone wants a word, miss, before dinner.”
Thanking her, Patience slipped out into the entry hall and glanced around. But the spry little butler was nowhere in sight.
She heard a footfall a moment before someone shoved a pillowcase over her head. Stunned, she froze, and strong hands pinned her arms to her sides.
“Easy now,” a man whispered near her ear. “If you shout, I’ll have you dead before they can reach you. Play along, as you’re so good at doing, and you may live to tell the tale.”
She didn’t recognize the voice, but it had to belong to their enemy. Somehow, he had made it past the guards and into the house, but instead of capturing Harry or Yvette, he was taking her.
Panic wrapped around her more surely than his arms. She fought it back.
“You’re making a mistake,” she whispered, but he half carried, half dragged her away from the withdrawing room. Not the stairs, then. They must be moving deeper into the house.
“I know nothing of use to you,” she tried.
“Very likely,” he agreed. “But you have other uses.”
The very idea sent a chill through her.
He pulled up once, dragging her back against him and pressing the material to her mouth to prevent her from crying out. He seemed to be tall, if the stuttered breath above her was any indication. From beyond him came the sound of voices. One belonged to Emma, she thought. All she could manage was a grunt. It must have gone unnoticed, for no one came to her aid.
“Hush now,” he murmured, steering her forward again. “Can’t have you discovered before Lady de Maupassant has been disposed of.”
So, he was after Yvette. What could Patience do to stop him? If she tipped him, he’d only rise again. Most of the staff were busy. Even if she could shout through the material, no one might hear her. If only she had a knife.
Yvette was right. It was easier to be brave when someone you loved was threatened.
She heard the click of a latch opening, and he dragged her over a threshold. The air felt cooler. Were they outside? The pillowcase muffled sound, smell. He pushed on her shoulders until she sat on the ground.
“Now, be a good girl,” he said, binding her hands behind her. “They’ll likely find you in the morning.” He moved on to her feet as well.
“Please,” Patience said. “Have you no family who would caution you against this? No mother who would weep to see a son brought so low?”
“Hush, I said,” he hissed. “My father and mother would be proud of what I’m doing. Vive le France!”
She heard the latch again as he let himself out.
She wiggled. What she sat on was hard. Stretching her arms, she contacted a smooth surface. Stone, perhaps? Was she in a garden shed? But why hide her away? The villain seemed to think she could live through this, so he had taken her for other reasons than to kill her. Ransom? As dedicated to the cause of France as he claimed to be, that seemed too selfish. But perhaps he wasn’t asking for money in exchange for her life.
He wanted Yvette, and Harry stood in the way.
She struggled against her bonds, but nothing gave. She tried shouting but heard no response. Where was she?
Think, Patience!
She held her breath, listening, and heard only silence. No clock ticking. Where at Foulness Manor did time hold no meaning?
Was Harry safe?
Always she came back to that. Harry’s safety, his wellbeing, was all that mattered. What a fool she’d been to wait to tell him she loved him. Now images of him flashed through her mind. His slow smile when he was particularly pleased with something. That dimple as he teased. His utter devotion to safeguarding his country. His love for Gussie, even at her most demanding.
Gussie. Time standing still.
She sniffed the air, drawing it deep. Yes! It had to be. She’d become so accustomed to the scent of the laboratory she’d almost missed it through the mask of the pillowcase. There was the warm scent of roses in the air, along with the acid touch of burnt feathers, which Lydia had feared Gussie would never completely erase. She must be tucked near Gussie’s work table. Which meant the pots with the latest attempts had to be just above. She tightened her stomach, leaned back, and swung her legs right, left.
There!
The work table thunked as she hit it, and she heard the pots and mortars clattering together. A few more hits, and she ought to knock something to the floor, spreading the contents. More than one batch were redolent. Surely someone would notice the smell and remark on it. That, and if she made enough noise, she might succeed in capturing one of the staff’s attention.
Before their enemy captured Harry.
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the withdrawing room, Harry gathered up the cards to deal. Meredith and Gussie had joined him and Villers at the table near the hearth for a game of whist. Lydia had picked up a tome, something about the predations of the Roman Empire, if he recalled, and sat reading. Yvette wandered about the room as if she couldn’t find a place, Julian keeping an eye on her. Fortune trailed her like the tail of a kite, as if she knew Yvette needed a companion. And Harry kept watching the door for Patience.
Might as well admit it. Life was sweeter with her in it. Yet how could he ask her to share a life so uncertain, so tainted by scandal?
Emma hurried in with her usual pace, and Harry only realized her pallor when she rushed up to thrust a piece of paper at him.
“I came back from the kitchen to find this waiting on the floor of the entry hall. Oh, Master Harry, save her!”
Ice crusted his veins as he glanced down at the scrawl.
I have your betrothed
. Bring Yvette de Maupassant to me at the shore at sunset, or Patience Ramsey dies.
All sound shut off. Most thought with it. Patience had been so worried he’d endanger himself. His efforts had endangered someone far more important—the woman he loved.
“Master Harry!” Emma was tugging on his sleeve. He blinked at her, trying to marshal his thoughts.
“What is it?” Gussie demanded as Yvette, Lydia, and Julian came to join them.
Harry shook himself. “I miscalculated. It seems our enemy has entered the house.”
Lydia bent and scooped up Fortune as if the cat could save them. The others at the table climbed to their feet.
Julian strode the door as if to bar it to all comers. “How, when?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “But he has taken Patience and demands that we exchange her for Yvette.”
Yvette nodded. “I agree, of course. You should not lose the woman you love.”
Harry shook his head. “Can you read me so well?”
She smiled. “Oui, mon ami. And how could you not love her? She is an English lady, and you dream of being an English gentleman. Now, what does the pig propose?”
Harry motioned them all closer and explained the situation.
“We should go to the village,” Villers said. “Summon the constable.”
“I cannot allow anyone else to be endangered,” Harry told him, “or, inadvertently, that anyone put Patience further at risk by trying to help.”
“Besides, our nemesis is likely watching the house,” Julian said. “He’d know if anyone leaves.”
Harry eyed him. “But he can’t follow more than one person. Julian, go to the village and gather Undene and his men. Get them to the cove as soon as possible.”
“Count on me,” Julian said.
“Villers, take the grooms to the shore and position yourselves around the cove below the house. I believe you know the location.”
He colored at the reminder he had been spying on Harry but nodded. “I’ll do it.”
“If possible,” Harry told them all, “we’ll catch him when he arrives and rescue Patience with no threat to Yvette.” He turned to his aunt. “Gussie and Meredith, explain things to Cuddlestone and Wilkins and have them stand ready.”
The ladies eagerly agreed.
“What about me?” Lydia begged. “You cannot ask me to sit quietly while Patience and Yvette are in danger.”
“He will not find me easy prey,” Yvette vowed, fingering her sleeve once more. The thin blade leaped to her hand.
“I must find one of those,” Gussie said admiringly.
“You must not,” Harry said. “Your current activities are bad enough. I can smell your laboratory from here.”
As if she could as well, Fortune sneezed.
Gussie raised her chin. “Nonsense. The current formulations are well covered to prevent any leakage.”
“They were,” Lydia agreed. “But it’s possible something slipped by us. A shame I can’t smell much of anything at the moment. My nose went numb days ago.”
She sounded positively cheerful about the matter.
“Well, mine still functions,” Meredith said, “and Harry is quite right. The scent is unmistakable.”
“Fortune and I will check,” Lydia offered. “It will keep me occupied. I look forward to hearing of your victory.”
So did Harry.
They dispersed. Yvette watched them go a moment, then drew herself up as if ready to face whatever lay ahead.
“If you wear a cloak,” Harry offered, “you won’t be visible in the dark.”
“This I know.” She shook her head as she slid the dagger back into the sheath above her wrist. “How odd, to choose one’s clothing to remain unseen by the enemy. I never thought of such things before the Revolution.”
Harry touched her arm. “Stay in England when this is over, Yvette. There’s not a man on Lord Hastings’ force who doesn’t owe you a debt, for information if not their lives.”
Her smile softened until she looked little older than Lydia. “They are fine men, and I was glad to help. But I would like to have a family again.”
He could not argue there. Funny. So many times, he’d lamented his father’s activities, as if his early death had deprived Harry of a family. But Gussie, Cuddlestone, and Emma had been his family, a family that would not be complete unless Patience joined it.
Determined, he led Yvette upstairs. They located a suitable cloak in Gussie’s wardrobe, then collected Harry’s hooded lantern and his sword. The cutlass had belonged to his great-grandfather. Gussie made sure the thing remained sharp. A contingency, she’d said. Somehow, he thought the original baronet of Foulness Manor would approve of what he was about to do.
The clock chimed. Only six? How could he do anything for the next half hour knowing Patience was in danger?
“He will not harm her,” Yvette murmured, watching him. “Not until he knows he has me.”
“All the more reason he will never have you,” Harry said. Sword in its scabbard at his side, he set down the lantern and slipped Gussie’s black velvet cloak about Yvette’s shoulders. The folds held the faint scent of roses. Was this what Patience had been wearing the night she’d followed him?
Yvette pulled the hood up over her red-gold curls. “Allons-y.”
Harry picked up the lantern and followed.
As Wilkins let them out the front door with a nod of respect, Harry paused to glance about. Nothing moved in the twilight. But in the distance, something glimmered like stars—the lamps being lit in the village. Most of his neighbors would eat, talk, and go to sleep with little thought to those who risked their lives to keep them safe. His father and grandfather had been the same. He had been proud to be different. But the risk would not be worth the outcome if anything happened to Patience.
Yvette was right. Patience was everything he loved about England—her calm response to calamity, her resilience in the face of adversity, her subtle sense of humor, her beauty. He would give his life to keep her safe.
He lit a lantern and led Yvette across the lawn.
Though he listened for any sound, watched for any movement, they reached the shore without incident. He caught no sign of Villers, the grooms, Julian, or Undene and his men and could only hope they were hidden among the tall grasses. The eastern sky was already as velvety black as Gussie’s cloak, which brushed the sand as softly as the waves as Yvette walked beside him.
“There,” she whispered, raising her arm, and he saw a shadow gliding toward them, dark cape swirling about its long legs. He could make out no more of features or frame. Harry started forward, and Yvette caught his arm.
“Wait. He comes alone. Make him tell you of Patience.”
He stilled. Of course. Another time he would have realized it first. Now every part of him tensed, like a string on a harp, ready to be plucked.
“Stop right there,” he called. “Where is Patience Ramsey?”
“Safe,” the other figure called. The voice was that of a man. “I will tell you her location when you send Mademoiselle de Maupassant to me.”
“I refuse to send her to you until I know Patience is safe,” Harry countered.
He spread his hands. “Then we are at an impasse. A shame. I do not know if your pretty bride will survive if I do not return for her shortly.”
“You said she was safe,” Harry said, hoping his friends and staff were edging closer.
“And so she is, for now. But I make no promises unless you hand over Yvette de Maupassant.”
“Let me go,” Yvette whispered beside him. “He will not get far, I think.”
“He could kill you here, and we would have lost you for nothing,” Harry whispered back.
Just then, another shape rose from the grasses on the right. It wore a long cloak, grey in the twilight. “Je suis ici,” it said, a woman’s voice, low and seemingly frightened.
Yvette stiffened.
“Ah, my quarry.” The villain’s voice th
ickened with satisfaction. He started to move, but another figure appeared from the grasses on the left. “Non, here I am.”
He pulled up short, glancing between them.
A third shadow came from behind Harry, moving past him and Yvette.
“Voilá, Mademoiselle de Maupassant,” it proclaimed.
“No, look here!” A fourth figure slipped out from behind the tree at the bottom of the cliff.
The villain stumbled back. “What is this? I warn you—I hold Patience Ramsey’s life in my hands.”
“And we hold yours,” Julian declared, darting out from behind the closest figure. Villers and the grooms came from the opposite direction. From the grasses, Undene and his men strode out onto the sand. Their enemy backed away, then turned and ran for the waves.
“Stop him!” Harry cried, leaping forward. “We don’t know what he’s done with Patience!”
The cloaked figure on the right ran to stop him. “Harry! It’s all right. I’m safe.”
That voice! He pulled Patience close, held her tight, heartbeat loud in his ears. He sent a prayer of thanksgiving skyward.
“But how?” Yvette asked, joining them.
The other figures gathered closer as well, pulling back hoods to reveal Meredith, Lydia, and Gussie, but before they could explain, Julian and Villers returned, dragging their enemy.
“You have exceedingly poor taste in staff, Harry,” Villers said. He yanked back the fellow’s hood.
Harry frowned. “Your valet?”
“My valet?” Villers stared at the culprit. “I thought you’d hired Tecet to see to my needs while I was visiting.”
The valet jerked out of their grip. “Idiots, all of you. I moved among you, and you never noticed. I nearly stopped you on the shore that night. I kept this fool out of my business with a little poison in his cup. If the cat had not dismissed the drink last evening, I would have poisoned the lady traitor as well, and no one would have been the wiser.”
“I must remember to thank your pet,” Yvette murmured to Meredith as Villers looked aghast.
