Chapter 13
After donning the garb of Le Chat, Damien retreated to his study. He suspected the message from Madame would not come until very late, giving her time to get a head start. He tried to distract himself with some correspondence, but a pair of clear, blue eyes haunted his thoughts. The touch of silky skin heated his blood. The memory of inky, thick hair made his fingers itch.
That afternoon during her questioning, he had been merciless with her and unforgiving. Yet in spite of that, when she had thought him injured, she’d managed to escape his well-trained men and rushed to his aid, risking her own life. A flood of mixed emotions washed over him—admiration for her courage, wonder at her daring, and frustrated anger at her stubbornness. What if she truly did care about him? What if she had been telling the truth, that she knew nothing of Margaret’s evil duplicity? If Madame du Barré took her to France, she would make Jessica disappear into the demimonde, the shadowy world of mistresses and brothels. A frantic fear squeezed his chest. He could lose—No! He couldn’t finish that thought. Refused to finish it.
Something—an air current, a whisper of clothing—made him raise his head. He listened, every muscle tense, waiting. Then in an explosion of shattered glass, something heavy blew through a window and landed in the middle of the floor.
Damien bounded to his feet and scooped it up. A rock was tied to a small, unmarked package. He placed the package on a table then sank into a chair and stared at it, dreading what he might find.
Taking a breath, he untied the string and opened the small box. Inside, was a gold locket and a long, black, curled lock of hair. There was no note or message, only the two items. He picked up the hair and placed it in the palm of his hand. It felt soft and alive, and it brought to mind several nights when he had lost his fingers in the thick mane.
Anger thrummed through him. He knew what Madame was planning, and he had a good idea when she would implement that plan. He’d be damned before he’d allow her to spirit Jessica away. His fist clenched around the length of curl in his hand.
Leftenant Johnson barreled through the door. “I heard breaking glass.”
Damien clenched his jaw and stood as he tried to school his face into a soldier’s impassive mien. He held the silken coil tightly in his hand.
“We have received Madame’s message,” he said. “Higgins should be returning soon to tell us they have left. We’ll be moving out.”
Johnson paused. “We’ll get her back, Damien,” he said quietly.
Damien nodded stiffly, annoyed with himself that he had allowed his thoughts to be visible, even to his friend.
Johnson left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Several minutes later, Le Chat and his men waited in the dark stable for Higgins to bring the news that Madame had, indeed, begun her escape. They did not have long to wait. The clatter of hooves on the road reached their ears, and soon after, Higgins rode into the mews. Damien went out to meet him.
“They have gone, sir,” the young man panted. “There were eight of them. Two women.”
“Good work, Higgins,” Damien said. “And Wells?”
“He is following them.”
With a brief nod, Damien mounted his horse and motioned for the others to do likewise. He led them out into the street. They rode without speaking, disciplined and focused on the task ahead.
When they reached the outskirts of the city where the road forked, they stopped and waited. Damien gave a low whistle. An answering whistle came, then a man on horseback emerged from behind a hedgerow and approached the group.
“Which way did they go, Wells?” Damien asked.
“They broke up into two groups, sir,” Wells reported. “Five of them took the road to Dover. That was with the two women. The other three took the west road to the coast.”
“Then it’s to Dover,” Johnson said.
“No, wait.” Damien stopped him as he thoughtfully stared down the empty road. “Can you describe the three that took the west road?” he asked Wells.
“Two men and a boy, it looked like,” Wells answered.
“That’s it,” Damien said grimly. “The group on the Dover road is a lure. Once we caught up with them, we’d discover we had followed the wrong group. We would never be able to catch up with Madame. We’d be forced to cross into France. Come on! A cask of Mr. Napoleon’s finest brandy for every man if we can make it to the coast before that she-devil.” He spurred his horse and raced off, his men following close behind. What he did not tell them was that they might be forced to cross into France anyway.
They followed the road for a time, then turned off, racing across the fields and through woods so they would not come upon Madame unexpectedly. They arrived at the coast well in advance of the woman. After a bit of searching, they found a cove with a small boat riding at anchor a few feet from shore. A man sat waiting at its tiller. This was Madame’s embarkation point.
Silently, Damien and his men dismounted, tethering their horses where they would not be seen. Then, melting into the shadows, they hid themselves behind boulders strewn about the beach.
They didn’t have long to wait before they heard the sound of approaching hoof beats. Three riders came into view and rode onto the beach. Damien waited until they had dismounted, then he stepped out from behind the rock.
“Bon soir, Madame,” he greeted her pleasantly. He brandished a pistol. “Are you taking a late-night sail?”
At his words, three people swung to face him—Madame and Jessica, dressed as men, and Jacques, Madame’s major-domo, who pulled out a very large pistol. Madame had her hand on Jessica’s arm. She appeared to have to guide her. In the moonlight, Jessica’s eyes stared at him blankly. What was wrong with her?
Madame recovered quickly. “So, we are finally met in the open, eh, my friend, Le Chat?”
Damien bowed gallantly. “At your service, Madame.”
Madame glanced around. “Is it possible you are by yourself? You are the foolish one.”
“Hardly, Madame.” Damien’s tone was dry.
As he spoke, his men stepped out of their hiding places and formed a semicircle, effectively blocking any escape by land. Madame would be foolish to try to outrun them to her boat in the opposite direction.
“Now, if you would be so kind as to allow the young lady to move to this side of the beach, we can conduct our business,” Damien suggested.
Madame only paused a fraction before she shrugged and dropped her hand from Jessica’s arm. Jessica did not move. She stood staring at Damien as if she did not see him.
“Jessica.” Damien tried to gain her attention. Why wouldn’t she come to him?
Madame smiled. “If you want the girl, Monsieur Le Chat, you will have to come get her.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed. There was something…Then he understood. Jessica had been drugged. She would not be able to react. One of his men began to edge toward her. Madame turned back her cape to reveal a tiny pistol pressed against Jessica’s side.
“You will tell your man to move away, Monsieur Le Chat. The young lady is in danger of losing her life. I know you do not wish that to happen. So, you will let us wade out to our little boat and sail away.”
As she spoke, she began to back away, taking Jessica with her. Jacques grinned evilly, then turned and splashed out to the boat. When Madame reached the water’s edge, she ran through the waves and dragged Jessica behind, blocking any shot Damien or his men might have taken.
As Jessica was pulled through the water, she turned around to look at him, her placid expression transformed to terror as Madame roughly forced her into the boat. As soon as Jessica was aboard, she turned toward the beach. Damien saw her lips move once, then again as he witnessed the effects of the drug wear off.
“Damien!” Her scream was cut off abruptly as Jacques shoved her down into the boat.
Jessica’s cry of fear wrenched at Damien He watched in dismay as they began to sail away. The only clue to his feelings was a tightness about his mouth and a muscle that twitched in his jaw. Inside, a part of him was screaming in rage and anguish. Higgins, who was standing next to Damien, raised his gun.
“Let me get off a shot at her, sir,” he pleaded.
Damien put a hand on the man’s arm to restrain him. “No. There’s too much risk of hitting the Lady Jessica.”
Without another word, Damien stuck his pistol into his belt and strode up the beach to where the horses had been tied. Leftenant Johnson reached him just before he swung himself into the saddle.
Remorse and determination warred within Damien as he turned to his friend. “Madame won this time, Edward,” Damien said in a clipped voice. “I allowed her to escape and take Jessica with her. Arrange for transportation to France for me for tomorrow night. I have to go after Jessica.”
Johnson looked worried. “You know this is a trap.”
“What would you have me do, Edward?” Damien asked, his frustration escaping for just a moment. “I’m determined to free the Lady Jessica and capture Madame.”
After a moment of hesitation, Johnson gave a nod. “I’ll make the arrangements and tell the others,”
“No,” Damien told him firmly. “I’m going alone. It’s too risky for you and the others to come. We just barely made it out the last time with our lives. You will not tell the others of my plans.”
Johnson remained silent as Damien mounted his horse. The other men arrived, bringing the abandoned horses with them. Damien gazed down at Edward.
“That’s an order, Leftenant. Not a word to the others,” he said sternly. Wheeling his horse, he rode off.
Two hours after midnight the following night, Damien rode onto the old, little-used dock just outside the port of Dover. A small ship was riding the gentle swells at the end of the wooden structure. The dock had originally been built for much larger ships, so it was above the level of the deck of the tiny ship which rose and fell at its end.
The whole area was deserted, and the sound of Apollo’s hooves on the wooden planks of the wharf sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness. As Damien dismounted, a figure detached itself from the shadows on the boat.
“You’re late,” the man accused with humor in his voice.
Damien froze at the greeting he and his men used in France when they had become separated while carrying out their mission. In the next moment, he recognized his second in command.
“I was unavoidably detained.” Damien gave the accustomed answer.
Before Johnson could answer, three riders approached. Damien scowled in frustration. There was nowhere to hide, and the last thing he wanted was to be seen by anyone. His trip across the Channel could be delayed because of these intruders. He needed to get rid of them quickly.
The riders rode onto the dock. Damien stood his ground, but loosened the pistol from the waist of his breeches. In the dark, he was unable to discern faces. They kept coming. He pulled out the pistol and held it down beside his leg. The group stopped several feet away and dismounted.
Damien scowled as he recognized them and turned to Johnson. “What the devil is this, Leftenant? A bloody going away party?” he growled. “I told you I was going alone.”
Sergeant Higgins cleared his throat where he stood with Wells and Walker. “We didn’t think you should, sir,” he ventured.
Damien turned on him in a rage. “You didn’t think…?” He took a deep breath to calm himself, then swung about to Johnson. “Leftenant, I gave you an order.”
Johnson shrugged and grinned, unaffected by Damien’s anger. “You have always told us to be resourceful. Have me court-martialed.”
Damien shook his head. “I may just do that.” He returned the pistol into his waistband with a sigh of exasperation. “As long as you’re here, you might as well come along.” He threw the reins of his horse to Johnson. “Since you brought so much help, you won’t need mine to get the horses aboard.”
He jumped down onto the deck of the ship and found a comfortable spot while his men boarded, and they made the crossing to France.