Brenda Hiatt

by Scandalous Virtue

  “I’ll drive, my lord,” volunteered Parker.

  Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man! See if you can find a relatively unoccupied alley nearby.”

  The valet climbed atop the coach, and a moment later they were in motion again, though slowly. They turned, went more quickly for a minute or two, turned again, then stopped.

  Parker opened the trap door. “Mayhap this will do, my lord.”

  Peering outside, Jack saw that they were in a narrow lane between tall buildings. It stank to high heaven, but appeared to be deserted. “Excellent, Parker! Now, unfasten that smaller trunk and I’ll help you to bring it down.”

  A few minutes later, he had the trunk open and was rifling its contents. Ah! Here were just the things he wanted. “Nessa, you’ll need to change into this.” He held up one of her abigail’s plainer gowns. “’Twill be a bit tight, I fear, but that can’t be helped. Parker, I’ll wear this black coat of yours—it’s the Frenchiest thing in here, I believe.”

  He turned to examine the servants. “Mrs. Simmons, you’ll do well enough, but I’d advise you, Parker, to divest yourself of the ruffles at your wrists and throat. You’re rather too obviously a gentleman’s gentleman as you are now.” He and Parker then left the women in the carriage so that Simmons could help Nessa to change, and completed their own transformations outside in the alley.

  “If anything goes wrong,” he murmured to Parker as they adjusted their clothing, “get my wife to the coast and on a ship to England. Nothing else matters.” Parker nodded silently.

  A few muffled exclamations from within the coach attested to the difficulty of carrying out his instructions in such close quarters, but eventually the door opened. Nessa emerged, clad in the black stuff gown and a voluminous shawl.

  “Some of the hooks in the back would not quite hook,” she explained, “but the shawl should disguise the fact.”

  Jack nodded his approval. “It covers your hair as well. Excellent. Now to discover whether we can leave Paris as easily as we entered it.”

  This time Jack took the reins, while the others rode inside. With some difficulty, he managed to back the horses and carriage out of the alleyway. Turning them, he then headed northward, taking back streets wherever possible. Most of the activity seemed to be centered near the Tuileries and Palais-Royal, so that once they’d gone a mile or so, the traffic lessened considerably.

  They were nearing the city wall, and he was beginning to breathe easier, when he saw the blockade. Though it did not look particularly official, a few burly Frenchmen had apparently taken it upon themselves to search each conveyance leaving the city. Cursing, Jack turned the coach again, to seek another route, only to find the next exit similarly blocked by zealots eager to earn their emperor’s gratitude.

  Halting yet again, he looked about for a likely alternative when the thing he had most dreaded occurred.

  “Is this Jack Ashecroft I see?” exclaimed a female voice in French. “I should have known that if any Englishman had the fortitude to still be in Paris, it would be you.”

  “Bonsoir, Collette,” he responded, realizing that attempting to ignore or evade her would likely do more harm than good. In fact, if she still held any tender feelings for him, she might be induced to help. “You are a sight for sore eyes.” And indeed, his onetime paramour was as lovely as ever.

  “Finding yourself in difficulties?” She sauntered close, looking up at him with a half-smile.

  “Rather,” he replied. “I returned to Paris only this evening, after visiting friends in the countryside, to discover this.” He indicated the blockade a few hundred yards ahead. “Has the arrest of all English been ordered?”

  She shook her head. “Not ordered, no, though the silly English behaved as if it had. And now that the emperor is expected momentarily, some of my countrymen seek to curry his favor by acting on their own.”

  “Can you help me, Collette? For old times’ sake?” He smiled down at her, summoning all of his charm—for Nessa’s sake.

  She glanced at the coach. “Who do you have with you? English friends?”

  “Just my servants,” he said quickly. Too quickly, it seemed, for Collette now looked suspicious.

  “Indeed?” Before he could prevent her, she opened the carriage door. Jack jumped off the box to stand beside her.

  “My valet,” he explained, pointing to Parker, “an under-housekeeper, and a maid.” He indicated first Simmons, then Nessa. “The two women were employed at the house where I visited. They wished to return to England, so I hired them.”

  Collette’s glance lingered on Nessa. “I can imagine what you hired this one to do!” She flashed a knowing glance at Jack. “And yet you wish me to help you?”

  Jack glanced negligently at Nessa. “A pretty face, but nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, wishing Nessa’s French were not so good. “She can’t hold a candle to you, of course, Collette!” He forced himself to keep his eyes on the Frenchwoman.

  “That goes without saying,” she agreed. “Very well, mon Jacques, for the sake of what was—and what may be again—I will assist you. Help me up, so that I may sit beside you.”

  Jack gestured for the others to reenter the coach, then boosted the woman onto the box before climbing up to take the reins again. To his surprise, she directed him back toward the first barricade he had seen.

  “Raoul there, on the right, is my cousin,” she told him as they approached. Then, more loudly, “Raoul! Are you minded to fill your pockets tonight?”

  The burly man scowled up at her. “Helping English to escape, Collette?”

  “Only peasants, servants left behind to make their own way by their curst, cowardly masters—but with the money to pay passage.”

  “How much money?” Raoul’s eyes gleamed in the dim torchlight.

  Recognizing his cue, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold sovereign. The man snatched it from him, then carried it closer to the light, to examine it suspiciously. He then returned to open the carriage door.

  “Not that I don’t trust you, Collette.” He stared at the three inside for a moment, then grunted and closed the door. “Very well, then. Odds are they’ll never make the coast anyway, before our emperor conquers the English for good.” With an uproarious laugh, he waved them past the barricade.

  “Thank you, Collette,” said Jack, when they had gone half a mile down the road. “Now, if you can give me directions to the most likely route to the coast, I’ll be forever grateful. You’ll want to return to Paris, will you not?” He slowed the coach.

  But she shook her head. “I live in this direction, and you’ll be needing a place to spend the night safely. Continue as you’re going—it’s only a few miles away.”

  Collette had been pure Parisian, as Jack recalled. No doubt it was her parents who lived up ahead. At any rate, she was right. They’d need to stop soon for the night, for the sake of the horses as well as themselves. It was more than an hour later that Collette directed him down a long track off to the right, which eventually led to a sturdy farmhouse.

  “Wait here,” she told him, then clambered down and hurried into the house—to apprise her parents of company, he presumed. A moment later a tall man slammed the door open and strode to the carriage. While Jack was still preparing his speech, the man reached up and pulled him roughly to the ground.

  “So, Jacques Ashecroft! I have longed for an excuse to do this,” he roared in French. Before Jack could regain his balance, the man planted him a stunning blow to the face.

  Falling to his knees, Jack looked up confusedly. He could feel the blood running freely from his nose. A muffled scream came from inside the carriage, but he resolutely ignored it, silently willing Nessa to remain where she was.

  “Have I offended in some way, monsieur?” he asked, in what should pass for native French.

  The man’s chuckle held a vicious edge. “Offended? Offended? Why should your seduction of my wife offend me? Only the thought of the emperor’s r
eward keeps me from killing you here and now. I confess I once doubted her story of how you forced her, but Collette has now proved her faithfulness by bringing you here.” He glanced back to where she stood in the open doorway of the house, her arms folded across her chest.

  “There are three more in the coach,” she told him. At Jack’s incredulous stare, she merely shrugged.

  “They are but servants,” said Jack. “You will gain nothing by holding them here.”

  Collette stepped forward. “Two are servants. The third? I think not.” She pulled open the carriage door and gestured, with the pistol he only now noticed she held, for the occupants to get out.

  Jack’s mouth went dry. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He was seeing the proof of it yet again. Somehow he had to convince them to let Nessa go. She stood there bravely, glaring at her captors.

  “You’re right,” he said abruptly. “She’s not a servant. She’s a whore I picked up in Paris, who promised me her favors for free in return for passage to England. As I seem unlikely to collect now, you may do what you wish with her.” He struggled to stand, but the hulking Frenchman immediately grabbed him by the collar.

  At that moment Parker’s foot shot out, kicking the pistol from Collette’s hand. Grabbing Nessa with one hand and Simmons with the other, he bolted for some nearby trees. With a strangled oath, Collette scrambled for the pistol.

  “Stop,” her husband barked. “Let them go. We can’t guard so many anyway, nor do I wish to feed them. I have the only prize I need in one of Wellington’s most valuable officers.”

  Jack offered up a fervent prayer of thanks for Nessa’s escape, just before a savage blow to the back of his head made everything go black.

  For a minute or two, sheer panic kept Nessa’s legs moving. She scarcely noticed the undergrowth snagging her skirts or the branches stinging her face. But as reason overcame fear, she slowed, pulling against Parker’s iron grip on her wrist.

  “Wait! Wait,” she panted. “We can’t leave Jack. They’ll kill him!” Remembering his last words, she almost felt he deserved it—but no. Surely he’d said that only to save her. Still, right now she rather wished she didn’t know any French at all.

  Parker pulled her forward again. “They won’t kill him. They want a live prize to give the Corsican when he arrives. He should be safe enough for now.”

  Nessa stopped resisting and trotted by his side. “For now? But what if he fights? Tries to escape, come after us? Mightn’t they kill him then?”

  “His lordship won’t come after us,” Parker assured her. “His first concern will be your safety. I’m to get you to the coast at all costs. Those were his orders.”

  “Do you mean he expected this to happen?”

  “Of course not. But he’s a man who likes to be prepared for every—”

  Just then Simmons, who’d been panting more and more loudly, stumbled over a root and nearly fell. Parker released Nessa’s wrist to support her.

  “There, now, mum, we can walk for a bit,” he said kindly. “I hear no sounds of pursuit, so we should be safe for the present.”

  Nessa considered taking the opportunity to bolt back to Jack, but realized that would likely only endanger him more. In fact, without her along, he would never have been in this predicament at all. Remembering how he’d disappeared into the crowd in the Paris streets, she was certain he could have escaped the country easily, had he not had her safety to consider.

  They walked now, conserving their energy, Parker murmuring encouragements to the flagging Simmons. Nessa followed along, deep in thought. She’d brought Jack little but trouble from the moment he’d met her, she realized. Far from giving him the respectability he’d sought, she’d embroiled herself—and him—in one scandal after another, each worse than the last. ’Twas her fault they’d had to leave England, and now it would be her fault if Jack were imprisoned or killed by Napoleon’s forces.

  Jack’s last words came back to haunt her again. Perhaps he really did think of her as little more than a whore! And he’d told Collette earlier that Nessa couldn’t hold a candle to her…But no. Jack had told her he loved her, and she would not, could not believe he hadn’t meant it. Not after the last two weeks they’d spent together, sharing their hearts. She owed him her faith, and her loyalty.

  “—extremely well, ma’am. You’re a very brave woman, Mrs. Simmons,” Parker was saying softly.

  “It’s…it’s miss,” replied Simmons, almost shyly.

  But Nessa scarcely noticed this oddity. “Parker,” she said suddenly, “you were with Jack in the wars, were you not?”

  He nodded.

  “Then no doubt you and he faced dangers at least this great. What would Jack do now, were he in our place?”

  Parker slowed, considering. “There was a time, on the Peninsula, when half a dozen or so of his soldiers were captured.”

  “Yes?” prompted Nessa eagerly. “And what did he do?” She realized now that though Jack had told her much of his childhood, his hopes, his dreams, he’d told her almost nothing of his years in the army.

  “He waited until all but the sentry were asleep, then created a diversion.”

  “A diversion?”

  Parker nodded again. “Some pigs, as I recall. The French forces had occupied a farmhouse and its buildings. His Lordship contrived to release a herd of pigs, and in the resultant confusion he was able to get his men out.”

  Nessa had to stifle a giggle, and saw that Simmons’ lips were uncharacteristically twitching as well. “Pigs! Oh, my. But”—she thought hard for a moment—“mightn’t we do something similar now, tonight? Wait a few hours, till everyone is likely to be asleep, then get Jack out? If anyone is about, we could create a diversion, just as he did on that occasion.”

  But Parker shook his head. “His Lordship would never forgive me if I put you in such danger, my lady. Once I have you safely to the coast and bound for England, I shall return and endeavor to rescue him myself.” Simmons nodded vigorously in agreement.

  “But that may be too late!” Nessa exclaimed. “It would be days—perhaps more than a week—before you could return. Napoleon is due in Paris at any moment, and once they turn Jack over to his forces, you’ll never get him out. He might even be”—she swallowed—“executed.”

  Parker made no reply and Nessa could see, by the dim moonlight that filtered through the now-sparse trees, that the man was torn between concern for his master and obedience to his orders. She pressed her point.

  “If he dies, what good is my safety? I’d sooner die myself than live without him, I assure you.” Abruptly, she stopped and sat down on a large stone. “In fact, I’m not going a step further. I rather doubt you can carry me all the way to the coast. I’ll escape you at some point, and go back for Jack. I’m certain I’d have a much better chance of freeing him with your help, but if I must, I shall attempt it alone.”

  Simmons began to sputter something about unseemliness, but Parker sighed. “Very well, my lady, you win.” Nessa thought he looked almost relieved. “If we plan carefully and are exceedingly cautious, we may have a reasonable chance of success. ’Tis certain they’ll not expect us to return, especially not tonight.”

  He turned to Simmons. “We passed an abandoned shelter of sorts a short way back. Do you wait there for us, and get some sleep if you can. It would be as well if at least one of us is well rested. If we fail to return, you must make your way north as best you can. Do you see that star?” He pointed and waited until Simmons nodded. “That is due north. Between that, and recalling that the moon rises in the east, like the sun, you should be able to manage.”

  Simmons looked more than a little frightened, but raised her chin bravely. “I trust you will return, and with His Lordship—but I’ll be quite all right. Pray do not worry about me.”

  Nessa regarded her abigail with new respect. Just now, however, she had other things to think about. “Here’s that shed now,” she commented. “Ah, good—there is dry straw and bracken in
side. This heavy cloak will only hinder me, so I’ll leave it here for you to lie on, Simmons. Try to sleep, and we will be back before you know it.” She fervently hoped her words would prove true.

  Jack awoke to darkness. The first thing he noticed was a pounding headache. The next was that his hands and feet were bound by thick rope, and that he was lying on something prickly and smelly—dirty straw was his guess. Straining his eyes in the blackness, he saw a few chinks of dim light, outlining just enough of his enclosure to reveal it as a stall in a barn. Listening intently, he heard the shufflings and snortings of nearby animals, but no obviously human sounds.

  Struggling into a half-sitting position against the rough boards of the wall, he wondered how long he’d been unconscious. Not terribly long, perhaps, as it was still obviously night. Would Nessa and Parker have made it to relative safety by now? He devoutly hoped so.

  He’d been mad to entrust Nessa’s safety to someone like Collette, he realized now. The woman had been more bitter than most when he’d broken off their brief relationship upon discovering she was married. He should have known she’d jump at the chance to revenge herself upon him. Had his experience and knowledge of women deserted him, or had it always been but a figment of his imagination? He rather suspected it had.

  Which meant he might not understand Nessa as well as he believed, either. Certainly, he’d done little to make her life better. First he’d denied her the very thing she wanted: the freedom to live her life her own way. Wasn’t that the same thing he’d always demanded for himself? Why shouldn’t she have the same chance? And now he’d put her in terrible, perhaps deadly, danger.

  A cold finger of horror touched him. Not only was Nessa in danger, but their unborn child as well. Her desperate flight to the coast, now without his protection, might well cause her to miscarry—in which case he would never forgive himself. For a moment he struggled uselessly against his bonds, out of sheer frustration, then lay back, exhausted. No, he must conserve his strength against the chance of escape. In the morning someone would come to feed him, surely. Then, perhaps, he could contrive—