She smiled. “And you—Mr. Dashing Spy—have no right to throw stones. What were you thinking, joining the Foreign Office, running off to Paris? Or do I even need ask?”
John glanced quickly at the door, and the color seemed to drain from his already pale face. Lucia clutched his hand tighter. “What is it?”
“I’d give anything to have kept that knowledge from you. It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t even be here.” His grip on her hand was firm, and some of her fear subsided. Perhaps John was stronger than she’d first thought.
“There’s nothing to worry about, John,” she said. “Alex is here, and he’ll get all of us out of France safely.”
John stared at her hard. “Why do you keep calling him Alex?”
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “I meant Lord Selbourne.”
“You two have grown very close.” His eyes were like a hawk’s, watching his prey for any vulnerability.
“Not really,” she stammered, looking down. She was doomed now. John would figure everything out; he always did. They were too close to keep anything from each other for long. John grasped Lucia’s wrist.
“What’s happened?”
She stared at the cloak she wore—Alex’s cloak—but John shook her arm. When she looked up at him, her eyes told him everything, and he shouted, “Goddamned bastard! I’ll kill that rake!” He scrambled to sit up, and she tried to subdue him.
“John, it’s not like that.”
“The hell it’s not! Are you telling me he hasn’t bedded you?”
She wanted to lie, but it was no use. He’d know. She bit her lip and looked away.
“Are you getting married? Has he proposed?” John’s voice was stony.
“No,” she whispered.
“I’m going to kill him. Where is he?” John was struggling to sit up again, and this time Lucia had to physically push him down.
“Stop it. This is as much my fault as his.”
“Your fault?” John roared, and she winced. “How is this your fault?”
She threw his hand down. “I don’t know! It just happened, John! I—I can’t explain it.”
“I can. He seduced you.”
“No!” She shook her head vehemently, but John ignored her.
“Does Dandridge know? Did you break off the engagement?”
For a moment Lucia had no idea who John referred to. Then, like a hazy dream, her engagement, her life in London floated back to her. “No! Of course Reginald doesn’t know, but I don’t care if he does. You know how I feel about him.”
“He’s your fiancé!”
Lucia shut her eyes and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to think about Reginald. Suddenly everything seemed to be falling apart.
Beside her, John was fuming and cursing. With his good arm, he yanked his pillow up and finally pulled himself to a sitting position. Lucia watched him under lowered lids. Like hers, his outbursts of temper were short-lived. A moment later he took her hand again.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” She hadn’t meant to start crying, but the words came out on a sob.
“Do you love him?” John asked quietly.
Lucia’s breath caught. Her heart hammered so hard, she thought it would break. She’d wanted to avoid all thoughts of love, knowing Alex would never allow himself to love her. Knowing for certain, after the discussion of his father, Alex would never be hers. She looked at John.
“My God. You love him,” he whispered.
She squeezed her eyes closed, but the tears spilled out anyway.
“No, Lucia. Not him.”
She nodded miserably. “I didn’t want to love him, but I couldn’t seem to help it.” She dropped her face in her hands. “I know it is hopeless. He’ll never marry me.”
“Wrong.”
She looked up at John’s unyielding face.
“He’s compromised you, Lucia, and can be made to marry. He may be a rake, but he’s also a man of honor.”
“No.” Lucia said.
“Lucia, don’t argue—”
“No!”
John frowned. “Why?”
“Do you think I want to marry a man who doesn’t want me? Do you think I want to force a man to marry me? I’d rather die.”
“Dammit, Lucia.” John grasped her shoulders. “Listen to—”
There was a knock on the door, and like naughty children, Lucia and John went silent. The door opened and Alex entered, Camille behind him.
She quickly dashed the tears from her cheeks and looked away.
As soon as Alex walked into the room, he knew something was wrong. The chamber was deathly silent, and Lucia had been crying. He had never seen her do that. Her brother was staring at him, stone-faced and with teeth clenched.
“You bastard,” John spat. Alex looked at Lucia. She closed her eyes and put her hand over them, and he knew the cause of her tears then.
“Yes, I am,” he said. Lucia’s heart broke at the coolness in his voice.
“Is that all you can say? You’ve compromised my sister. Your sister-in-law!”
“John, do not overreact,” Lucia said quietly.
“Overreact? I am not overreacting, Lucia!”
“No,” Alex agreed. “You’re not overreacting. I take full responsibility.”
“I don’t care about responsibility! What are you going—”
Lucia looked at him sharply, and he broke off. Whatever had passed between them, Lucia obviously had some influence with her brother. It was not too hard to see the path of John Dashing’s thoughts, and Alex actually wondered why Lucia had stopped him, and what he would have said if the question had been asked.
There was a tense silence while Alex contemplated this.
“Perhaps we should discuss plans to escape,” Lucia suggested.
“Yes.”
She was much more composed now. It never failed to amaze him how strong she was. Any other woman of his acquaintance would have crumbled under the disapproval she must be facing from her brother, but not Lucia. She made her own rules.
“Dewhurst is in Calais, arranging passage to England. We meet him in two days. Are you strong enough to travel?” Alex looked at John.
“But I cannot go back to England,” John replied coolly, scanning the room warily until his gaze rested on Camille. There was recognition there and a little suspicion. Alex turned to look at Camille himself, but her face appeared impassive. Quietly John continued, “I was shot obtaining valuable information detailing Bonaparte’s plan to invade England. It must go to Admiral Nelson immediately.”
“Invade England?” Lucia looked astounded. “Surely that talk has all been rumors.”
“I’m afraid not,” Alex said leaning his shoulder against the closed door, arms crossed. “In March I obtained information stating that Admiral Villenueve, the commander of the Toulon fleet, was ordered by Bonaparte to escape the British blockade at Toulon. All I knew then was that an invasion of England was planned. I brought the information to Pitt, but I wanted to take it to Admiral Nelson as well. I was prevented because it was thought that I had been identified. Apparently that rumor was true.
“Dashing here was sent in my place. Did you reach Nelson?”
“I gave him the information when I found him in Gibraltar. He knew that Villenueve had sailed but was not sure of his destination. He suspected the West Indies and sailed after Villenueve immediately. A few days later in Paris I received more significant information from one of your sources, Selbourne. Villenueve was told to sail for the West Indies in order to deceive Nelson and the British fleet. With Nelson chasing after Villenueve, the British will be unprepared for what Bonaparte has planned. Villenueve is to double back to Europe and combine the French and Spanish fleets in order to sail up the Channel and invade England. Nelson will be too late. There will be no one to protect Britain from invasion.”
“But how will the invasion be accomplished with o
nly the fleet?” Camille asked. “Bonaparte will need ground forces.”
John hesitated, studying Camille once again. He seemed to wrestle with something, then answered. “Bonaparte has ninety thousand men assembled in Boulogne.”
Lucia gasped. She had no idea Bonaparte had amassed so many soldiers. How could England defend herself against such an enormous invasion without the help of Nelson and the navy?
There was silence as each considered the huge force at Bonaparte’s disposal and England’s fate if Bonaparte’s plan succeeded. England was in the hands of Admiral Nelson, and he, unfortunately, appeared to be falling for Napoleon’s ruse.
“Someone must get to Nelson and warn him,” Lucia murmured.
“He is extremely intelligent. He will probably ascertain the truth for himself,” Camille commented.
“I also have information on the French and Spanish fleets that could prove invaluable to the admiral,” John added. “Bonaparte’s plan takes no account of the poor condition of the French fleet. The information I have may help Admiral Nelson know how best to strike. It was my intention to go to him myself but I was identified somehow and shot here in Paris.” He glanced at Camille again. “Thankfully, I escaped and made it to the good doctor’s.”
“Who identified you?” Alex asked. “Camille intercepted your message. It had fallen into the hands of the French.”
“The French?” John asked in some confusion. “How? I sent it by…” He paused and reconsidered.
“Could it have been Décharné?” Alex asked.
“No,” John answered. “It’s one of ours. I was betrayed.”
“What happened?” Camille asked.
“I went to meet one of my contacts. The meeting had been arranged hastily that day. When I arrived, I found the man dead. Before I could even think what to do, I was shot from behind. I was left for dead. Somehow, I don’t remember particulars, I made it here.”
“And you have no idea who your assailant was?”
“No,” John admitted. “I never saw his face, so it could be anyone. We have to find the man and deal with him.”
“Leave that to me,” Alex said ominously. “We’ll get the information to Nelson, but you are in no condition to do so. Go back to England and confide all you know to Pitt and the king. They may need to prepare for invasion.”
“I would have gone sooner, but I have been confined here, too weak these last days to even cross the room.”
“We don’t have any time to lose,” Alex informed them. “I’ll need to make arrangements for a carriage to Calais. I don’t think you’re well enough to ride yet, Dashing. We’ll return after dark and collect you. Until then, rest.”
Alex went to the door, opened it, and Camille exited. Lucia looked down at John one last time. In his eyes she saw fear. What wasn’t he telling her?
“Be careful,” he whispered. The words sent a tremor of apprehension through her, and his hand shook in her grasp.
Chapter 27
On the way back to Alex’s apartment in the Latin Quarter, Lucia couldn’t stop thinking about John’s last words.
“Be careful,” he’d said, and his hand had trembled in hers. She took a deep breath. Lord, she’d be relieved when they were all finally out of France and safely home on English soil.
Alex gave her some last-minute instructions as they entered his apartment. He was in a hurry to get the papers and money he needed and secure them a carriage, and maybe that was why he didn’t notice that something was wrong. But Lucia felt it right away. A chill of apprehension and warning wrapped itself around her as soon as they crossed the threshold into his quarters. Camille entered behind them and didn’t seem to sense the danger, either.
“Keep the curtains drawn and the rooms dark,” Alex was saying. “Look in my wardrobe for the false documents we’ll need to get out of Paris. Lucia, are you listening?”
She stared hard at the room. The couch…
The swords and the shield above the couch. One sword was missing. She could have sworn it was in place when they left. “Alex, something isn’t right—” She turned to Alex and froze as she caught the flash of metal in the fading sunlight.
“I do not think you will be needing those documents, Selbourne.” Camille raised her pistol.
“What the hell?” Alex pushed into the room and thrust Lucia behind him. “What are you doing, Camille?”
“What I should have done days ago.”
Lucia heard the click of the hammer as Camille cocked it into place. “It’s you, isn’t it?” Lucia said softly.
Alex stared at her. “Lucia, I told you—”
“It’s her, Alex.”
He shook his head and turned to Camille.
Camille chuckled. “That’s why I love you, Alex. You always see the best in me. I am almost sorry I could not live up to your standards. Now you will die thinking the worst of me.”
Lucia began to tremble, and Alex moved closer to her.
“Put the gun down, Camille,” he said. “You’re no traitor.”
“Oh, but I am.” She waved the gun at them, and Lucia flinched.
“I would love to kill her first so you would have to watch her die,” Camille told Alex. “But I think it more prudent for you to be the first to go.”
Lucia felt Alex stiffen with rage. His body was poised for battle, but she felt like grabbing him, holding him, keeping him safe.
“Why?” he said, voice deceptively cool. “What happened to you?”
“What happened?” Camille gave a short, bitter laugh. “I was never a patriot like you, cher. My parents were killed in the Revolution, and I hated the misguided fools who did it, but the Revolution is over now. Bonaparte has a new vision for France. We can rule the whole of Europe and beyond. Do you think I want to stand by and watch you English bastards defeat us?”
Oh, Lord. Lucia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How badly had this woman compromised England?
“How long?” Alex’s body shook with anger. “How long have you been deceiving me—deceiving all of us?”
“You mustn’t take it personally, Alex.” She moved closer, still pointing the gun at them. “If not for me, you would have been dead long ago. I kept your identity a secret as long as I could, but after your last escape, it was no longer possible. That information concerning Villenueve was too important. Décharné was on to you.”
“He said he’d discovered your identity after my escape from France.”
“A precaution, I’m sure, so you would trust me in case you managed to elude him. And do you know, Alex, that even yesterday I would have saved you? I meant what I said about the two of us leaving together. Getting away. But then I saw her.” She waved the pistol at Lucia, her eyes burning with jealousy. There was no disguising it now, or the woman’s intent. She was going to kill them both. “I saw her and knew it would never happen.”
“What would never happen?” Alex asked. Lucia clutched his tailcoat, willing him to silence. Willing him to change the direction of the conversation.
“You would never love me,” Camille answered. “I’ve loved you for years, Alex, and I’ve watched you spurn me again and again for other women. I meant nothing more to you than a common prostitute.”
Lucia closed her eyes. The pain in Camille’s voice was heartrending.
“No.” Alex took a step toward Camille, and Lucia stared at him in shock. Why was he moving closer?
“You know I care about you, Camille,” he said, his voice low and seductive.
“Stay where you are.” Camille waved the pistol at him. “You’ll never care about me the way I care about you.”
But Lucia heard the hope in Camille’s voice.
“That could change,” Alex said, his tone soft and convincing. Lucia shivered at how convincing he sounded. He took several steps closer, and even his movements were seductive. He was a man who knew how to use his charms.
“I don’t believe you,” Camille stammered.
“Don’t you? Time
and again,” Alex said silkily, “I’ve been there for you, Camille. You know I’d do anything for you. Let’s start over. Put the gun down, and we’ll talk about this.”
Lucia watched the French woman’s hand tremble, causing the pistol to shake. Her eyes were locked on Alex, and Lucia could see how desperately she wanted to believe him.
But then she shook her head. “No. You must think me a fool. Besides, there’s still her.” She waved the pistol at Lucia, and Lucia swallowed her cry of fear.
“She means nothing to me. She’s like a sister to me. I have an obligation to Ethan to protect her. Nothing more.”
Camille frowned. “But I saw you with her this morning. Was that nothing?”
Alex shrugged. “She was convenient. What you and I have is deeper than that.”
Lucia inhaled at the sharp pain stabbing her heart at every word Alex spoke. He moved farther away from her and closer to Camille, was almost beside her now. Lucia told herself that Alex didn’t mean what he’d said to Camille. He was just trying to get the gun away, to save them, but the words ripped into her nonetheless. All her doubts and insecurities weighed on her. He’d never promised her anything, never declared his love. Was she just a convenient distraction? Did she mean anything more to him?
With Alex halfway across the room, Lucia wondered what her next step should be. Should she run? Stay still? Alex’s body was still in front of hers, giving her some protection from Camille, but how long before the woman stepped around him and turned the gun on her? The woman would not hesitate to pull the trigger.
“But how can you forgive me?” Camille was saying. Alex was still inching toward her, but she hadn’t lowered the pistol. “After all that I’ve done?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alex said.
Camille gazed at him, and her hope was a beacon setting her face aglow. Then it dimmed. “But you don’t know everything, cher. I was the one who revealed Henri’s identity and your own. That night in London when I came to see you? I went directly to Décharné to tell him you were at home.”
Shana Galen Page 26
