Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8)

by Lancaster, Mary

  Another, louder knock irritated him. For a second longer, it hung in the balance. And then, because this wasn’t the right way with Anna, he released her hands.

  “Enter,” he said quickly, before he changed his mind. At the same time, he strode to the door and took the tray from the girl—his usual, flirtatious maid—and closed the door. “Join me for breakfast,” he invited.

  She gazed at him, so clearly wondering what had changed his mind that he blurted, “Don’t tempt me. If I take you to bed, I won’t leave you alone, and Gosselin will do his worst.”

  She sat down at the table and poured a cup of coffee, taking a sip before she pushed the cup and saucer across the table to him. “So how should we set about stopping him?”

  “I shall stop him,” Louis said firmly. “He owes me his life many times over. You must keep Henry away from the hotel or he will ruin everything from ignorance.”

  Anna didn’t speak, merely searched his face. He suspected she saw through his instructions to his main aim—to keep her safely out of the way.

  “And then?” she said at last.

  “And then I shall call at the castle, as a good suitor should, and tell you how it ended.”

  “That seems very tame. From my point of view.”

  “I shall endeavor to make it…er…not tame.”

  A smile flickered in her eyes. The reality of “afterward” was already upon them. “And will that be the last we see of Sir Lytton?”

  “Perhaps,” he admitted. “It depends how quietly everything can be done.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Anna. Until the war is over, there can be no certainty between us. Only promises.”

  “I keep my promises,” she said.

  He smiled. “So do I.”

  She drew in a shaky breath and rose to her feet. “Then I shall leave you for now. Au revoir.”

  He rose with her. “Au revoir,” he said softly.

  *

  Anna left him with her emotions in turmoil. But her mind was clear and full of plans. Since she knew he would be watching, she left the hotel and walked up the high street in the direction of the harbor. After a little, she turned left and returned from the side street, walking close in to the wall as she approached the front door so that he would not be able to see her from his window. It was less noticeable than a lady blundering about at the kitchen entrance.

  Again, veiled, she sailed through the foyer to the stairs. By then, she must have been a familiar sight. This time, she did not go on up to the second floor but walked along the first-floor passage. None of the doors were guarded. But by walking the length of the passages repeatedly, and skulking a little, she began to narrow down the rooms likeliest to house Lord Castlereagh.

  And when she encountered a friendly maid stripping down the bed in one of the other rooms, she stopped the maid in the passage with a trivial question while her arms were full of clean bedding. Anna helped her carry it into the bedchamber and struck up a conversation with her.

  As she left, Anna paused at the door, and thoughtfully lifted her veil. “I wonder if you would consider helping me?”

  “Of course, ma’am,” the girl said at once. “Anything.”

  Anna stepped back inside the bedchamber and closed the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  At about half past three in the afternoon, Talleyrand arrived at the hotel. He wore an elderly fur-lined cloak, which effectively covered his habitual elegance of dress, and he was accompanied not by Captain Alban but by a man Louis recognized as Alban’s surgeon.

  Louis gave him time to cross the foyer and walk up to Castlereagh’s rooms on the first floor. Then he rose and donned his coat, still somewhat gingerly, for although his wound had not reopened, it was somewhat tender again after his exertions of the previous night. He tucked a sheathed dagger into the top of his pantaloons, and into the other side, he placed the bulky, stolen pistol. He hoped fervently he would not have to use the latter, since he suspected it fired wide and was as likely to blow his own head off as anyone else’s. Like Talleyrand, he threw a winter cloak around his shoulders to hide the state of his dress.

  As he left his room and walked downstairs, he noticed a difference in the hotel. Large men lounged in slightly ill-fitting gentlemen’s clothes on the first-floor landings and near the front door of the hotel. They were Captain Alban’s men. And Alban himself lounged on one of the foyer sofas with the lady he had landed in Blackhaven more than a week ago.

  This could have proved difficult, for it was possible Alban would have a better memory for prisoners than his men did. However, Louis was fortunate enough to spy Mrs. Winslow entering the hotel and hurried to greet her. She seemed delighted to see him, but then spotted Alban’s wife—the duke’s daughter—and abandoned him with unflattering haste. Louis, with the seal of her acquaintanceship passed out of the hotel, if not unnoticed, then at least not recognized.

  Another of Alban’s men stood chatting to the doorman outside the hotel. Louis strolled past them and round to the back of the hotel where the stable and coach house stood. Alban’s men were also guarding the kitchen entrance, but no one paid Louis much attention as he entered the stable. They might, of course, notice if he didn’t come out again, but he doubted they would waste time trying to discover him and leave the back door unguarded.

  As he had expected, the trap door in the empty stall was un-fastened. Louis lifted it as quietly as he could, climbed down the steps far enough to replace the trap door, and then listened in the darkness.

  There was no one in the immediate vicinity. The stairs and the passage were black and he had to feel his way along them, which made it difficult to move as silently as he would have wished. But at least no light meant he was alone, that Gosselin had not yet entered the passage. If, indeed, he knew of the secret entrance and meant to come this way. If he didn’t—which Louis thought unlikely—then Louis could still observe what occurred inside the room and act accordingly.

  However, when he reached the top of the second lot of stone steps and turned into the final length of the passage, the faintest glow reached him from the far end. A few warier steps confirmed it. A moving flame, a hand-held candle. Gosselin was already there.

  Louis flexed his fingers. He thought of Marguerite and her child, of Dupré and Sanchez and all the others wiped out solely for this man’s ambitions…but anger was not the path to a clear head. His first duty was to preserve the men in the room beyond. At least until he knew the purpose of their meeting.

  And yes, Gosselin had come to kill. As Louis crept closer, he could make out the two pistols in his enemy’s belt. He was dressed like a rough seaman and was peering through the peephole. The candle was set now on the flat stone table beside the secret door, a spare one lying beside it. Gosselin had, apparently, thought of everything.

  Except that Louis would find him.

  Gosselin was so intent upon his spying that Louis actually began to believe he could reach Gosselin and strangle him, before he even knew Louis was there. But inevitably, Louis’s luck ran out. His foot crunched on loose gravel, only very slightly and he paused at once, but it was enough.

  Gosselin jerked around, staring. The candle flame flickered at his movement, its faint light quivering across his white, wide-eyed face.

  “You,” he uttered in hoarse astonishment. “My God, are you everywhere? Do you know everything?”

  Louis smiled unpleasantly. “Yes.” And he leapt forward before Gosselin could recover his wits.

  Gosselin panicked. Perhaps he knew he could not win any fight with Louis. Perhaps he was simply running away by the only route possible or meant to finish his task before Louis had the chance to stop him. Whatever his reason, he lunged at the door lever and all but fell into the dazzling light of the room beyond. The door crashed back on its hinges, presumably startling everyone.

  When Louis ran in, the occupants of the room were leaping to their feet. Four men stood around the table in the middle of the room, which was alre
ady full of papers, pens, and ink bottles. There was also wine and a tea tray, still gripped by a hotel maid who, terrifyingly, bore an uncanny resemblance to Anna Gaunt. But he couldn’t think of that.

  Gosselin had his pistol pointed directly at Talleyrand’s haughty head, and at the range of barely two yards, was unlikely to miss. It did not comfort Louis to understand Gosselin’s plot at last. He meant to kill Talleyrand and blame British treachery, thus both disgracing the one-time foreign minister whom Napoleon wanted back and encouraging enough ill-feeling to continue the war.

  And the knowledge of death flickered in Talleyrand’s clever eyes as Louis flew at Gosselin, bringing him down in a flying tackle.

  The pistol exploded as it fell to the floor. Talleyrand still stood, but the instant Louis took to check gave Gosselin his opportunity. Elbowing Louis in the face, he rolled free, and from the floor, aimed at Lord Castlereagh who was already lunging toward him.

  This would be the alternative plan. It worked just as well if Castlereagh died instead of Talleyrand. The prince was still disgraced and the British, incensed by Castlereagh’s assassination, would almost certainly refuse to make peace.

  Even in that moment, it disgusted Louis. Did the fools really imagine that Napoleon could recover enough to save them any power?

  Dagger in hand, he was about to throw himself at Gosselin once more, when Anna leapt in front of Castlereagh, spreading her arms in instinctive protection. Terror closed Louis’s throat. Everything, everyone in the room seemed to slow down. Men burst into the room from the passage, but Louis paid them no attention. He found himself praying that Gosselin would turn his pistol back on Talleyrand.

  He didn’t. He recognized Anna, and actually smiled as he began to squeeze the trigger.

  He was still smiling when Louis’s dagger took him in the throat. Thrown with the deadly accuracy of long practice, without thought or planning, it killed him instantly.

  The gun did not go off.

  “My dear girl,” Castlereagh said, appalled, staring at Anna as he moved her aside. She didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was locked with Louis’s.

  Stumbling to his feet, he strode to her and pulled her roughly into his arms. If she hadn’t protected Castlereagh and given Gosselin that instant’s pause to imagine his own petty revenge, no doubt Castlereagh would have been dead.

  Questions were being hurled around the room. “Who in God’s name was that?”

  “How did he get in here?”

  “Sir, are you hurt?”

  “What in hell happened here?”

  “Are you well?”

  “Is this man one of yours?”

  Louis heard the words in a cacophony of pointless sound. In that instant, the only thing he cared about was the vital, brave woman he all but crushed in his arms. And she did not shrink. She melted.

  “As I live and breathe,” said a soft voice in French, “I believe I look upon Colonel Delon. So, this is where you have been hiding.”

  Talleyrand.

  Releasing Anna, Louis turned slowly to face him, and bowed. “Sir.”

  “I heard that you were a prisoner of the British. Who did not know what they had.”

  “I escaped.”

  “You are the escaped prisoner?” That was Captain Alban, a pistol in his hand, staring at him hard. “By God, you are. I brought you in The Albatross. Then who the devil is this?”

  Castlereagh stepped forward to look. “The man who attempted to kill both Monsieur de Talleyrand and myself.”

  “His name is Gosselin,” Louis said. “A rogue French spy, representing neither the Emperor nor Monsieur de Talleyrand.”

  “And who, exactly,” Alban asked, “do you represent?”

  Louis smiled cynically. No one.

  But before he could speak aloud, Talleyrand said, “Me. He represents me and my aim of peace in Europe.”

  Louis met his gaze. He could not deny that his heart beat faster at this first claim that his country needed him. He understood at once that Talleyrand was giving him his escape from Britain, from being returned to prison. As Talleyrand’s man, he would be allowed to leave with him.

  “I believe we all have cause to be grateful to this gentleman,” Castlereagh said. “Colonel…Delon is it? And to this girl who would have died preserving my worthless life.”

  “Hardly worthless, sir!” Anna objected, causing Castlereagh’s eyes to widen at her cultured speech.

  He frowned. “Do I know you, madam?”

  An interruption came from the passage door where one of Alban’s men had dragged another inside before slamming the door firmly. “My lord, this gentleman claims to be one of yours.”

  “Harcourt, my lord,” Henry said, shaking off his escort. “I came to warn you then I heard the gun shot…” His gaze fell on Anna, and then on Louis, and he swallowed convulsively.

  Castlereagh’s frown deepened. “You knew of this plot?”

  “I only suspected,” Henry said hurriedly, “but when I tried to see you in London, I heard you had posted up here. I followed you.” He looked directly at Anna.

  *

  Anna was afraid suddenly that he was about to pretend she was Christianne. Which, considering her recent open embracing of Louis, would be somewhat humiliating for both Christianne and Henry. She remembered that she had meant to prosper through Henry’s success and had no objection to helping this along.

  “I was here already, to reconnoiter, as it were,” Anna said smoothly. “I am Mr. Harcourt’s sister-in-law. Though I confess my impulse to swap clothes with the hotel maid would not have met with his approval. I could think of no other way to get in here and be sure everyone was safe.”

  “The passage was meant to ensure our safety,” Castlereagh said ruefully. “We never thought of being attacked through it. My apologies, Monsieur.”

  Talleyrand poked the fallen man with his toe. “None necessary, milord, or I shall feel compelled to apologize on behalf of my country for this filth. Perhaps he could be removed and then we might continue our conversation. I know we are both pressed for time.”

  “Use the passage,” Louis murmured as Alban gestured his men to remove the body. “It comes out in the stables.”

  “Harcourt,” Castlereagh said, “you had better stay. I don’t want you believing there is anything remotely treasonous about this secret meeting.”

  Henry tried not to preen, but he clearly knew, as Anna did, that this could only be good for him.

  Castlereagh said urgently, “I believe we may thank everyone else later, in a more appropriate fashion. For now, please, clear the room. Alban, will the gun shot not have brought the Watch and who knows else?”

  “Probably not,” Alban said calmly, as everyone began to leave via the secret door and the passage door. “It wouldn’t be the first shot they’ve heard in the hotel. Lord Daxton has stayed here. And him?” Alban indicated Louis.

  “I would like him to stay,” Talleyrand said.

  Castlereagh inclined his head. He glanced at Alban. “I believe your escaped prisoner may never be recaptured.”

  Alban gave a sardonic twist of the lips and held the door open for Anna. At the last moment, she glanced back over her shoulder and met Louis’s gaze. Her heart ached with gladness and pain. He had Talleyrand’s protection now. He could go home, vindicated, welcomed, useful. And she…

  “You are Tamar’s sister,” Alban said, falling into step beside her. “He is downstairs in the foyer with my wife.”

  “Then if you allow me to exchange clothes once more with my accomplice, I shall be happy to renew my acquaintance with her.”

  Anna paused outside the room where she had left the maid. “I need to see him again,” she said with difficulty.

  Alban’s hard eyes searched hers, his expression inscrutable though hardly encouraging. “Wait with Bella,” he said shortly and walked away.

  The little maid, who looked rather good in Anna’s clothes, trembled with anxiety. “Did someone shoot at you, Miss?” she de
manded. “Did you shoot them? Oh, Miss, am I in trouble?”

  “Of course not,” Anna soothed, letting the maid loosen her fastenings. “No one was shot. A pistol was fired by accident. Sort of. And no one knows anything about you. If you have been missed below, just tell them you were held up by all the important people along the hall.”

  Five minutes later, back in her widow’s weeds and discreetly veiled, she descended to the foyer, where all appeared to be as calm as Alban had foreseen. Tamar sat on one of the sofas, beside Lady Arabella, with whom he seemed very taken. In fact, while he talked he scribbled with a pencil on a piece of folded paper in his lap. As she drew nearer, Anna saw that it was Arabella’s profile. She had an interesting as well as pretty face, Anna allowed. She could see why her brother liked it.

  Tamar glanced up and saw her. He almost looked straight through her before he frowned, peering closer. “Anna? What the…?”

  “Do be quiet,” Anna said, nodding civilly to Arabella. “My lady. Your husband has asked me to wait with you. So Tamar might go home.”

  “Might I?” Tamar said. “What has been going on? Where’s Henry?”

  “In an important meeting,” Anna said. “You might want to ask him about Mrs. Elphinstone and decide whether or not to keep her with you.”

  Tamar regarded her with fascination. “Might I?”

  “Well, Serena and Lady Braithwaite might.”

  He let that go. “And the shot we heard?”

  “Nothing. No one is hurt.” Apart from the man who lay dead, who was responsible for this mess and so much more cruelty.

  “And you?” he asked quietly.

  “I am perfectly fine,” she replied with impatience.

  “Serena, and even Christianne, were convinced you’d run off with Lewis.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “So I see. But he does live here. Anna, are you in a pickle?”