Surrender (The Spymaster's Men)

by Brenda Joyce

  His face hardened and he did not answer her.

  * * *

  EVELYN HELD HER DAUGHTER’S hand as they made their way down the rocky path to the beach for their daily outing. She thought that this was the part of the day that she liked best—other than the evenings that she spent with Jack.

  The path abruptly turned to deep white sand. Evelyn paused to remove her shoes, as did her daughter. “Can I go ahead?” Aimee asked.

  “Of course,” Evelyn replied.

  Aimee raced through the deep sand toward the water. Evelyn smiled, lifting her skirts and following more slowly.

  A hand touched her shoulder from behind.

  Evelyn turned, smiling, expecting to see Jack, who intended to go ashore that day, but had yet to leave. The Viscount LeClerc smiled at her. “Good morning, Countess.”

  Her heart seemed to drop through her entire body. She froze, paralyzed with alarm.

  “You seem frightened, Countess. But why would you be frightened of me?” He continued to smile.

  Jack was not a French spy; Jack was betraying the French and LeClerc; LeClerc would kill her if he knew it.

  She glanced past him at Aimee, who ran along the water’s edge, away from them. Horrified, she turned her gaze back to the slim man facing her. “You have frightened me. I did not hear you approach.”

  “I did not mean to terrify you,” he said.

  “What do you want? Does Jack know you are here?”

  “Actually, I wish to speak to Greystone, but to answer your question, no, he does not know I am here. Your daughter is growing up.”

  Dread consumed her. “If you ever touch my daughter, I will kill you.”

  He chuckled. “And how will you do that? Instead, you might wish to keep your lover on a leash, Countess, making certain he understands his priorities.”

  She could not breathe. “Are you threatening me?” But her mind was trying to function now. Did LeClerc know that he was being betrayed by Jack?

  “I am reminding you of your priorities,” he said amiably. “Now, won’t you introduce me to your daughter?”

  Evelyn felt her fists ball up. “Stay away from her,” she warned.

  He shrugged. “Fine. I am going up to the house.” He turned and started toward the rocky path.

  Evelyn lifted her skirts and ran down to the water’s edge, catching up to her daughter. Aimee turned and showed her a snail. Evelyn tried to smile. It felt impossible.

  LeClerc knew where she was. How could she remain on the island now?

  For when he found out that Jack was not his spy, he would come after her and Aimee.

  “Mama? What is wrong?” Aimee cried, lowering her hand.

  “My stomach is bothering me. I feel ill,” she said swiftly. “Darling, would you mind? I think we must go back to the house.”

  Aimee nodded, somber now. Evelyn took her hand and reminded herself not to hurry. Why hadn’t Jack’s men, who kept a twenty-four-hour watch for intruders, spotted LeClerc? She assumed his ship was anchored on the island’s eastern beach.

  The walk back to the house, which took ten minutes or so, felt as if it took ten hours. Evelyn steered her daughter into the gardens behind the house and then into the kitchens through a back door. Alice and her daughter were preparing their lunch. Both women started upon seeing them. Evelyn smiled tightly. “Alice, would you please take Aimee upstairs for a moment?”

  Alice looked carefully at her, clearly aware of her agitation, and took Aimee from the kitchens. Her heart still pounding, Evelyn hurried into the central part of the house. It was frighteningly silent. She did not hear any voices at all.

  She hurried toward the library, afraid of what the silence might mean. Its dark wood door was open. Evelyn cried out.

  Jack had LeClerc in a viselike grip, one arm around his throat, choking him. The Frenchman was red. “I do not care to be waylaid by your men, LeClerc, but I like it even less when you threaten Evelyn and her daughter,” Jack snarled. His expression was frightening and vicious.

  This would not help anything, she thought wildly. “Jack! Stop!”

  He started, espying her. “Go away, Evelyn.” He did not release LeClerc.

  “No, Evelyn, stay,” LeClerc choked out, “and tell him about our friendly chat on the beach.”

  Evelyn knew she blanched. “Jack, please! You are not thinking clearly!”

  “Did he threaten you again?” Jack cried.

  “No!” she lied frantically.

  Jack released LeClerc, pushing him away hard as he did so. LeClerc stumbled but righted himself by catching an edge of Jack’s desk. Then he straightened, smiling coldly as he did so. “Are you now declaring your loyalties, Greystone?” His jacket was askew, and Evelyn now saw the pistol holstered on his belt.

  Jack glared. “I have not given you permission to call, LeClerc. The next time you appear here without notice, my men will undoubtedly shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “So now you threaten me?” He was amused.

  “I am telling you that this is my island. Here, I am king. And if you wish to meet with me, you will arrange it beforehand.” Jack’s eyes blazed. But he glanced quickly at Evelyn.

  She knew he wanted to see if she was really all right—if she had been telling the truth. She nodded at him, aware that she wasn’t all right, not at all.

  “I want to speak with you, and there wasn’t time to arrange a meeting in advance.”

  “There is always time.”

  “Really? Maybe, Greystone, you are becoming too complacent in your duties.”

  Jack stared as coldly back. “I am never complacent, and especially not about war.”

  “A naval squadron is sailing toward Plymouth, where three supply ships are in the harbor.”

  Jack’s expression never changed. His eyes did not flicker. He slowly looked at Evelyn. “Would you please leave us? And close the door.”

  Evelyn stared, wanting to know what they meant to discuss. Obviously they would speak of the war, and perhaps the invasion of France. She finally nodded and rushed from the room, shutting the door behind her. Then, shamelessly, she put her ear to it. It was so hard to hear, because her heart was hammering so loudly.

  “There is gossip that the invasion of Quiberon Bay is imminent. You told me it was planned for mid-July. Has the date been changed?” LeClerc asked briskly.

  Evelyn felt her heart pound as she listened.

  “I do not know if the date was changed. My sources claim the invasion will take place on July 15.”

  “Then I hope, for your sake, that your sources are right.”

  “And if my sources are wrong?” Jack’s tone was challenging. “I would think twice about making more threats, Victor.”

  “You need me, Greystone, and your country—Britain—needs me. You are better off with men like myself in power and you know it. So make certain your sources are right.”

  Evelyn strained to hear, but there was a silence now.

  “I will check,” Jack finally said. “But I cannot believe there would be changes without my knowing it.”

  “Ah, yes. You betray even your own brother now.” LeClerc’s tone was mocking, and maybe skeptical.

  “What else do you want to discuss?” Jack asked sharply. “Because if you are done, I suggest you take your leave.”

  “You are a fool, Greystone, to allow a woman to unravel you as she has done.”

  Booted footsteps sounded, approaching. Evelyn leaped away from the door as it opened. LeClerc saw her a moment before Jack did, and he laughed. He turned to Jack. “You know, we can always use another agent, especially a beautiful female one.” He hurried past her, his smile gone, his expression hard and frightening.

  Evelyn collapsed against the wall as Jack seized her arm.

  “You were eavesdropping!” he accused.

  “Yes, and I heard every word!” she cried.

  He pulled her into the library, slamming the door angrily closed. “Damn it, Evelyn, it is as if you
wish to become so deeply involved that you have but one certain fate!”

  Evelyn stared in dismay at him, then turned, opened the door and glanced out. LeClerc was gone. “There will not be an invasion July 15, will there?”

  “I am not answering that!”

  “Is that naval squadron a part of the invasion forces? Is it? Jack! Will there be an invasion soon? It is mid-June, not mid July!”

  “If you think I am telling you war secrets, you are mad! But I will tell you this—our idyll here has just ended.”

  Evelyn stumbled to the couch and sat down. Jack was misleading LeClerc. LeClerc thought the invasion imminent, and he was probably right. And when it came—when it came before July 15—he would know Jack was truly a British agent.

  He sat down beside her and pulled her close. “You can’t stay here now, Evelyn, not after LeClerc has realized you are here. It isn’t safe.”

  He was right. “I have nowhere to go.”

  “You are wrong. You can return to London.” He smiled grimly. “The warrant for your arrest was rescinded ten days ago.”

  She started. “You didn’t tell me?”

  He seemed to blush. And he pulled her closer. “No, I didn’t tell you. Pitt quickly agreed to its dismissal, once Paget had a chance to speak with him.” He paused, watching her. “I didn’t want you to leave, not yet. I did not want this to end.”

  Evelyn felt tears arise. “Our idyll is truly over.”

  He wiped a stray tear away from her cheek, then tucked some hair behind her ears. “Yes. I’m afraid it is.”

  It was as if her heart was breaking another time! “So I will go back to London. And you? Where will you go, Jack?”

  His lashes lowered. “What makes you think I will go anywhere?”

  Oh, she felt like smacking him silly! “There is a naval squadron approaching Plymouth. Will it then go on to France? To Britanny? To Quiberon Bay?”

  He stared directly at her now.

  “Where will you be, Jack, when they invade Britanny?”

  He studied her in silence. His expression was so somber now.

  “Oh, let me guess! You are going to France—to Quiberon Bay!” she cried. She seized his shoulders. “Don’t go, Jack. Please. For me, and for my daughter. You have done enough to help the rebels. You have done enough to help Britain!”

  Jack was calm. “You know I cannot—will not—reveal my plans to you. But most of all, you know I am not a coward.”

  She simply stared, her insides curdling. He was going to France. She was certain.

  “Evelyn, there is no point in delaying. Pack your bags. I will take you and Aimee to Julianne’s this afternoon.” He stood up.

  She stood, as well. “When are you going to France? I have to know.”

  “There is only one thing you have to know.” He embraced her. “I am in love with you, Evelyn.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  London

  June 23, 1795

  EVELYN STOOD BY the front door, waving at Aimee as she got into the Bedford coach with Bette. Aimee grinned back at her as Jolie jumped into the carriage before the liveried footman closed the door. She was on her way to Lambert Hall for her lessons, which she was continuing to take with Grenville’s children—never mind that Amelia had just had her first child, a boy.

  Evelyn stepped back from the door as the doorman closed it. Her smile faded as the queasy feeling which had been plaguing her the entire week she had been in London suddenly returned, inexplicably. In fact the nausea was so powerful, she had the urge to retch.

  Evelyn thought about Amelia and her newborn, whom she had visited daily since the little boy’s birth four days ago. As she envisioned the pair, Amelia in bed, the infant in her arms, both mother and child content as only a mother and her infant can be, her heart turned over, hard.

  Could she be with child herself?

  She had become Jack’s lover exactly thirteen weeks ago. She hadn’t paid attention to the fact, but she hadn’t had a single monthly, not since mid-March—two and a half weeks after Henri’s funeral.

  She had never expected to be blessed with another child, because Henri had been too ill to father another one. But she loved being a mother, and now, faced with the possibility that she might be pregnant, she was overjoyed. She knew she should probably care that she was unwed, and that it would be considered scandalous for her to have taken a lover on the heels of her husband’s death, but she couldn’t care less about the impropriety of her condition—if she was even in a condition.

  However, she could not imagine what Jack might do or think if she was carrying his child.

  She was so afraid for him now. She was certain he was on his way to France—or even already there. Every day she slipped into the chapel on Fox Lane, praying that he would survive his intrigues and the war.

  And he had finally told her that he loved her. It felt like a miracle. Cornwall’s most notorious smuggler—its most notorious rogue—had come to love her in return.

  She did not have to even think about it to know he was not a marrying man. He loved smuggling, the sea and danger. Britain was at war, and contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a traitor—he was a patriot who refused to abandon his country, his cause and his friends in this darkest, most dangerous of times.

  And even if the war ended, she could not imagine Jack sitting at home, going over estate ledgers and the accounts from her tin mine. He loved adventure, and he would never give up the free trade.

  But he would probably marry her, if she allowed it, if he knew she was with child. The world might think him conscienceless, but she knew better. He was a great and noble man, and his sense of honor and justice would propel him into matrimony, if even for all the wrong reasons.

  But didn’t this child deserve two lawfully wedded parents and the legitimacy that entailed?

  And if she were pregnant, she would now have two mouths to feed, not one. She would have two futures to secure. Suddenly Evelyn was overwhelmed. She had yet to discuss the mine with Lucas, and maybe she needed to do so immediately. And Jack would never allow his child to lack, whether they married or not—she was certain.

  “You are lost in thought!” Julianne exclaimed, sailing into the front hall, beaming.

  Evelyn smiled back. She had quickly realized that Julianne was delighted to have another nephew. She had been singing and humming throughout the days, ever since her sister had successfully delivered little Hal, who had been named in honor of his deceased French cousin Henri Jourdan.

  “Aimee has just left for Lambert Hall,” Evelyn said. “I still cannot believe Amelia wishes for such a noisy and busy household, when her baby is only four days old!”

  “My sister is relentless, and she loves children—the more the merrier.” Julianne approached with a sigh. “Your smile has changed, Evelyn. When you used to smile, your eyes would light up. But since returning here, you are so sad.”

  “You know how worried I am about Jack,” Evelyn said softly. She almost wished she could tell Julianne that she suspected she was pregnant. But Jack should be the first to know, not his sister.

  “I know, and I have told you repeatedly, my brother is very, very clever, and he has a very, very swift ship, and if anyone can outrun an enemy ship, it is Jack.” Julianne patted her shoulder. “Besides, he has never been beaten at sea, not in a race or a battle.”

  Evelyn decided not to point out that there could always be a first time. She decided not to point out that an invasion would take place on land. She asked Julianne a now-familiar, often repeated question. “Have you heard anything from him—or about him?”

  “No, I have not. What aren’t you telling me? Why are you so worried?”

  Jack had told her, very definitively, not to discuss his war-related intrigues with anyone, not even his sisters. “I am worried because the day may come where he has to face his enemies on land.” Her heart filled with dread. Where was he? Was he in France? So far, there hadn’t been a peep of gossip or a word in the new
s about a British naval squadron sailing for France. She did not know whether to be relieved or dismayed. She hated being kept in the dark. If only she knew his plans, and if he meant to take place in the invasion of Quiberon Bay—and when the damned invasion would occur!

  “Somehow I do not think you mean on British soil. Now I am becoming worried. What haven’t you told us? Evelyn—he is my brother! If he is in danger, I would like to know.”

  Evelyn bit her lip. “He made me promise to keep his secrets, Julianne, and I am afraid I must do just that.”

  Julianne studied her. “Fine. But now I am worried, so I will seek out Lucas and find out what he knows—and I will get to the bottom of this!”

  Evelyn hoped she would do just that—because then she would have a confidante, without breaking her word to Jack.

  Quiberon Bay, France

  June 25, 1795

  JACK MOVED HARD AND FAST, propelling his strides, his carbine in his hand. The road leading down to the beach was rutted and rocky, making it easier to traverse on foot than on horse or by wagon. It was late afternoon, the day filled with clouds, so the visibility wasn’t very good, either. But he did not decrease his pace. So far, so good—but the sooner he got out of there, the better.

  He was breathing hard. It was always dangerous, being on French soil, and more so this time. But he was not being followed, and the enemy had yet to remark him. Still, there was no time to waste. The sooner he was back on board his ship, the better.

  He was almost running. He had just left Georges Cadoudal and six of his men. The rebel army would be making its rendezvous with the British and émigré army as planned, after the British troops landed that night. Of course, General Hoche was racing across Britanny toward the peninsula and Cadoudal had told him so—yesterday, the French navy had spotted the British naval squadron in the Channel. But Admiral Hood’s fleet had prevented the French warships from intercepting and engaging the British squadron. The fleet was now just off the peninsula, awaiting its final orders before landing its troops.

  And the rebels were armed and ready to unite with Comte D’Hervilly’s troops once they made land, and would then seize and occupy the peninsula, before marching across Britanny to liberate it.