The Wicked One (34 page)

"You are correct."

Nerissa turned and looked into her sister-in-law's brilliant green eyes.  "Do you know something I don't?"

"A letter has just come from Charles.  Since Lucien is still abed, and I'm a perpetually nosy female, I took it upon myself to read it."  She drew a folded piece of vellum from her pocket and, with a gentle smile, handed it to Nerissa.  "Here."

Nerissa's breath caught as she stared at the missive.  Hope and panic clawed for possession of her heart.  What news would the letter contain?  With shaking hands, she turned so that the fiery gold light streaming in from the window illuminated Charles's recently-penned words:

Calais

3 February 1778

Lucien,

After countless inquiries, I have learned that the survivors of
Sarah Rose
were transferred to a small gaol near here, which I took upon myself to visit under the guise of an American diplomat.  I have found Brookhampton.  Our friend, though alive, is somewhat the worse for wear.  According to those with whom he is imprisoned, he was engaged in ship-handling when the vessel was attacked, suffered an injury that rendered him unable to speak for himself, and was taken prisoner along with the seamen.  As his identity was not known to his companions, they were unable to testify on his behalf.  Subsequently, our friend has spent the first weeks of his incarceration trying to reclaim his memory — and the last weeks, his freedom.

As you can imagine, the situation here is a precarious one.  Given the rather singular activities in which he was engaged when the ship was taken, the French do not recognise our friend as a peer of the Realm and subsequently refuse to release him.  The English authorities with whom I have pled his case are reluctant to pursue the matter, for fear of setting the fatal spark to already hot powder and bringing about this war that looms ever nearer on the horizon.  The situation is beyond my ability to rectify; I have taken lodgings at 22 Rue de la Mer in Calais, and beg your presence here as soon as you can grant it.

Charles

Nerissa lowered the letter, her eyes filling with tears.  "He's alive — oh, dear God, Eva, he's alive!  We must go to him at once!"

Eva gently took the paper from Nerissa's shaking hands and, putting an arm around her shoulders, guided her to the table where their breakfast waited.  "I have made a grave mistake, Nerissa.  You see, when I first visited the prisoners in gaol, there was a young fellow lying on the floor, apparently near death . . . he was dressed like all the other seamen, and so I neglected to consider that he might be your lost Perry."  She poured a cup of tea, her eyes rueful.  "Had I known your beau was given to masquerading as a common sailor, I might have taken a closer look at him."

Nerissa wiped at her tears.  "I'm sure he was only doing it as a last way to have his fun, his freedom, before settling down to a life of boring domestitude with me."

"Here, now.  You do not know that.  After all, men" — she smiled — "they do such silly things."

That
got a watery smile out of Nerissa.  "Yes . . .  And Perry
is
the leader of the Den of Debauchery, known for their outlandish pranks and outrageous deviltry.  Or at least, he
was
.  I tell you, Eva, that is going to change the moment we get him back."

"I'm sure it will."  Eva handed the cup to Nerissa.  "Here.  Drink up, while we decide what is to be done about this situation."

"But there's nothing to decide — we must get my dear Perry out of that horrible place at once!"

"Indeed, but you must hear me out first."  Eva poured a cup of tea for herself.  "As Charles has said, the political situation in France is dangerously volatile at the moment.  I know this is going to be hard for you to hear, Nerissa, but you would serve Perry best by remaining here in England and preparing a loving homecoming for him — while I go to France and negotiate for his release."

"You?  But Eva, you've been dreadfully unwell . . .  Why don't you let one of my brothers go?"

"Because this is something I must do," she said firmly.  "I have much to atone for where your family is concerned, Nerissa.  My conscience is burdened.  Please, let me do this — for you, for Perry, for Charles."  Her face grew shadowed for a moment.  "And, for Lucien."

"Lucien?  He will never let you go by yourself."

"Lucien" — Eva affected a superior look — "will do as he's told."

An amused male voice cut through their conversation:  "Lucien will do
what
?"

Both women jerked their heads up; there was the duke standing in the open doorway, one brow raised, his eyes gleaming as he took in the two startled faces.  He strolled into the room, seated himself beside Eva, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I understand that a letter from Charles came for me this morning," he said conversationally.  "Perhaps you'd like to share it, my dear?"

"How did you know that?"

"I know a lot of things, my love.  Do hand it over."

Eva rolled her eyes, grinned, and relinquished the letter.  She watched as Lucien quickly scanned it, his face going grave.  "I must leave for France at once."

"I am going with you."

"No, Eva, I forbid it.  You have been ill.  I would not have you accompany me on such a perilous mission —"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is too dangerous —"

"Now, look here, husband —"

Nerissa wisely chose that moment to intervene.

"Really, Lucien . . . you
did
tell us all that you're turning over a new leaf.  That you're no longer going to control our lives.  If Eva wants to go, I think you owe it to her to submit without argument."

Lucien's jaw tightened as Eva rose to her feet.

"Your sister's correct," she said.  "Besides, I know my way around French diplomacy far better than you do.  You would be well advised to let me handle this."

"But —"

"Lucien," Nerissa warned.

He thinned his lips.  Took a deep, slow breath as he reined in his protests, and sought the calm both women were both denying him.  Oh, this letting go, this relinquishment of control . . . it was going to kill him, he just knew it.  But Eva was right.  She was capable.  She knew her way around this situation far better than he did, and having her along in Perry's rescue would be an asset, not a detriment.

He exhaled, and looked bleakly at his wife.  "I can't win," he murmured, shaking his head. "I just can't win."

"No," she said, grinning as she got to her feet.  Linking her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his, kissing him until the bleakness left his eyes and they began to simmer with building heat.  "You can't win, so you might as well stop trying."

Chapter 29

War was declared between France and England the following day.

While Eva, Gareth and Andrew went to Portsmouth and prepared for the crossing to France, Lucien hurried to London, where he was granted an audience with yet another hapless soul who owed him a favor:  the First Lord of the Admiralty.  Within hours, he was on his way back to Portsmouth, where he informed his wife and siblings that they were to journey to France as guests of a certain Captain Christian Lord aboard the 74-gun warship,
Arundel
.

Predictably, the captain — a tall, austere man with pale gold hair and foggy gray eyes — was not at all pleased to have civilians aboard his ship, and even more irate when he learned that one of them was a powerful and famous duke.  Still, Captain Lord graciously gave over his own cabin to the Duke and Duchess of Blackheath, ordered his first and second lieutenants to relinquish theirs to Lords Andrew and Gareth de Montforte, and made his quarters elsewhere.

It began to rain shortly after the ship weighed anchor and headed out into the foamy chop of the Channel.  Captain Lord, directing activities from the quarterdeck with an eagle eye, waited until his command, and the little brig
Magic
that accompanied them, was well clear of the vessels anchored around Spithead, then invited the duke and duchess to join him in his quarters for a conference.

There, the two men granted each other a wary respect, each well aware of the other's power and influence in his given domain.  Captain Lord had already been briefed by his admiral about their mission:  to bring the Earl of Brookhampton safely — and quietly — out of France.  Though Lucien was accustomed to taking matters into his own hands, he conceded that this was a military operation, and thus prepared to grudgingly defer to Captain Lord's judgement.

The officer ensured that his guests had tea, coffee, and some light refreshment before unrolling a map of Calais.  Spreading it out on his table, and using a sextant to point out various parts of the coast, he began to outline his plan to get Earl Brookhampton out of the French gaol.

"My orders are to secure His Lordship's release under terms as peaceable as we can manage, given the circumstances.  I hope we will not be forced to rely upon
Arundel
's guns to effect our mission, but if it comes to it, we may have no choice."

He took a sip of coffee.  "Admiralty has already made contact with Lord Charles in Calais, who has been briefed of our plan."  The captain's gray eyes assessed his guests and the lieutenants who surrounded him.  "Obviously, with war now declared, it would be unwise to take our ships in within sight of the French coast.  Therefore, we must fool the Frogs into thinking that this is an American, not an English venture.  One glimpse of
Arundel
and that plan will be laid to waste."

Lucien saw Eva straighten in her chair.  "I'm of the same mind, Captain.  As I know the French coast well, and have contacts near Calais, I propose that I be the one to go ashore and, as part of the American contingent in Paris, negotiate for Lord Brookhampton's release."

"No," said Lucien flatly.  "I will go."

"You can't go," Eva countered.  "One look at you and the French will know immediately that you're English.  Then we'll have to rescue you from gaol as well as Perry."

"I forbid it," Lucien said firmly.  "It is unsafe.  Besides, if Charles can fool them into thinking he's American, so can I."

"Charles served in Boston.  He's married to an American.  He can effect a passable enough Yankee accent if he so chooses, which is the only reason he's been able to deceive the French into thinking he's something he's not.  I'm sorry, Lucien, but I don't think you're capable of pulling off the same deception."

"You have only just recovered from your injury, Eva.  This is too dangerous!"

"And you," she said sweetly, nudging his ankle beneath the table with her foot, "have only recently recovered from yours."

Captain Lord just looked at the two of them, his cool gray eyes giving away nothing.  At last he cleared his throat.

"With all due respect, Your Grace, I am in favor of the duchess's plan.  With appropriate support from my own men, I would prefer that she go in your stead."  He smiled dryly.  "Besides, if I were to allow you — a duke — to go, and something happened to you, Admiralty would have my head."

Lucien's eyes went cold.  "Are you trying to tell me that I can
not
go?"

Again, that hard, uncompromising smile.  "Yes."

Lucien stared at the other man.  Nobody —
nobody
— had ever tried to thwart him, let alone challenge his authority.  Who the bloody hell did this fellow think he was?  He turned his most chilling stare on the captain.  "And you think your head won't roll if something happens to my
wife
?"  His voice was dangerously soft.  "Trust me, Captain, should one hair of her head be harmed, I will ensure that you — and your precious career — are ruined."

Eva rolled her eyes.  "Boys —"

But Captain Lord was not finished.  "I have my orders, and I will carry them out as I see fit."

"My wife is not going ashore."

"Oh, yes, I am," said Eva.

Lucien, jaw tensed, got to his feet.  He knew the captain's word overrode his own here aboard ship, but he could not accept it.  He knew Eva's reasoning was sound, but he could not condone it.  And he knew that if he did not immediately remove himself from this cabin, somebody — he directed his blackest stare on the unflappable officer — was going to get hurt.

Very hurt.

He glanced at Eva.  "I will see you at supper, my dear," he snapped, and bowing, turned on his heel and stalked out.

Eva waited until the door shut behind him, then smiled at the unruffled captain.  "Well, then," she murmured.  "Shall we continue?"

~~~~

Gareth and Andrew, fascinated by the workings of a warship, had stayed topside until they were well out into the Channel, watching the seamen running up the ratlines to set the sails, admiring the smart orderliness with which everything was carried out, enjoying the feel of the mighty vessel under their feet — and speculating on the reasons for why Lucien, alone at the weather rail, looked about as furious as they'd ever seen him.  But as the rain worsened and the ship settled on her course, Andrew retreated belowdecks, leaving Gareth still topside.  Some time later, he joined Andrew in his brother's borrowed cabin.

"I say, Lucien's in one hell of a temper," he announced, as he went to the stern windows and watched the coast of England fading into the mist far astern.  "I just met Eva going topside to try and console him."  He grinned.  "'Twould appear that he and the captain didn't quite hit it off on the best of terms."

"Well, no surprises there."  Andrew was scribbling in a notebook, a lead box resting near his elbow.  "Two men used to absolute control are bound to clash."

"I was talking to one of the crew . . . a lieutenant named Teach.  'Sdeath, the bloke looks just like Blackbeard.  Said the captain is one of the Royal Navy's finest and served for a time in Boston, so he must have a good understanding of the Yankees.  Probably would get on well with Charles, if he were here."