Chapter 5
“Excuse me, Your Grace.”
Damien glanced up from his breakfast to find Jacobs standing in the doorway of the dining room. The majordomo’s face was carefully expressionless, a look he wore when he disapproved of something.
“Yes, Jacobs, what is it?”
“There is—ah—a person here to see you, Your Grace. He says it is most urgent that he speak with you.”
“Who is it, Jacobs? You know I dislike having my breakfast interrupted.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Jacobs’s impassive veneer cracked slightly, and he grimaced. “He would not give me his name. He said it was a question of utmost secrecy. He is waiting in the front hall.”
Damien raised an eyebrow. For Jacobs to leave a visitor standing in the front hall meant he regarded the individual as little better than riffraff from the streets. However, the man must have had some redeeming quality for Jacobs to allow him past the front door, rather than being sent to the back entrance.
The Duke tossed his napkin down beside his plate and stood. “All right, Jacobs. I will see him.”
“Very good, Your Grace. I will be nearby should you wish my services.”
Damien hid a grin. He would like to see very proper Jacobs in a tussle with some vagrant. Solemnly, he thanked his butler and went to see about this mysterious visitor.
As the Duke entered the front hall, he saw a man gazing up at a recently acquired painting by J.M.W. Turner. The man’s clothes were mud-stained, and it appeared he had worn them for quite some time. Mud streaked his face, making him almost unrecognizable. Several days’ growth of beard shadowed his jaw. Damien had barely entered when the man swung about, snapped to attention, and saluted him.
“Edward!” Damien grinned as he walked toward the man and held out his hand. “You haven’t saluted me in four years, Leftenant. There’s no need to start now.”
Edward grinned back as he took Damien’s outstretched hand. “I like to practice occasionally.”
“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow. My apologies for Jacobs’s inhospitality. He obviously didn’t recognize you. Come into my study and I’ll pour you a brandy. You look like you could use one.”
When the two men had settled themselves and Damien had supplied his guest with a generous helping of his brandy, the Duke gazed at the man who was next in command in his group of spies. He watched with amusement as Leftenant Edward Johnson took a large gulp of the amber liquid and sighed in pleasure.
“That helps to warm my bones,” Edward said. “It’s damned uncomfortable living in the woods.”
“I thought you enjoyed hunting,” Damien teased.
Edward glared at him. “Not for five days running. I didn’t expect to be playing the spy in my own country.”
“Hmm. Yes, quite an odd situation. Well, what have you found out for us?”
The Leftenant began his report. “I watched Monsieur Montaigne’s house, as you ordered, for five days— three of which were bloody rainy, by the way. Nothing unusual happened on the first four. No visitors. He and his housekeeper went about their normal routine. On the fifth day, his housekeeper left early in the morning. It appeared she was going to market. While she was gone, Montaigne had a visitor.”
“Ah.” Damien nodded in satisfaction.
“How the devil did you know the courier would show up?”
Damien smiled. “Information concerning England’s negotiations with Turkey had been revealed to Madame du Barré. We knew she would rush to get this to Fouché.”
Edward gave a low whistle.
“Yes, her boldness is incredible, isn’t it?” Damien agreed. “Now, about this visitor. Can you describe him?”
It was Edward’s turn to grin. “It was not a him. It was a her.”
“The devil, you say!”
Edward chuckled. “Yes, a woman.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed as he remembered his last attempt to get information before he and his men had to flee from France, when they had been made fools by one of Fouché’s male spies. “I don’t suppose you could have been mistaken?”
Edward shook his head and snickered. “I was not the one who decided that ‘Madame Duquènes’ would make a good hostage.”
“I seem to recall your agreeing with me. Fouché’s man made a damned convincing woman. You were convinced that Fouché’s clerk was madly in love with her… him.” Damien watched his second in command squirm, then said, “Well, what about this one? Could we be mistaken a second time?”
“No, not this time. This was very definitely a female.”
“All right. Describe her.” Damien sighed. He disliked having to arrest women. He felt they should not be involved in something as dangerous as spying.
“She was petite in stature, rather young, jet black hair. From where I was standing she was quite a stunner. I dare say you’re in for a pleasing assignment.”
Damien scowled. “All I want is a description, Leftenant, not a commentary.”
“Sorry.” Edward grinned, not in the least repentant.
“What else?”
“From her mannerisms and the way she carried herself, she appeared gentle-born,” Johnson went on. “The horse she was riding was of excellent stock. Arabian, it seemed. And she spoke French.”
“Could you hear what was said?”
“Only the usual pleasantries, then they went inside.”
“Interesting,” Damien mused. “Did you discover any clue to her identity?”
“I did visit the local inn. It seems she comes from the area, but does not live there any longer. She visits once a month, usually around the fifteenth, but I could not discover her name, nor where she resides now, nor the purpose of her monthly visit, unless it is merely to act as courier for Madame du Barré. The people in the area are suspicious of strangers asking questions. It seems this woman, whoever she is, is important to them. They appeared to be protecting her.”
“Well done, Edward,” Damien nodded with satisfaction. “Perhaps Le Chat will be riding again soon.”
“Here? In England?” Edward’s brow rose in surprise.
Damien had told him and the others who rode with them that he was ending his career as the notorious spy Le Chat.
“Yes, just one more time. It takes a cat to catch a rat.” He stood to signal the end of the interview when he saw Edward stifle a yawn. “Go home and get some rest, Leftenant. I will contact you when I need you and the rest of the men.”
Leftenant Johnson rose as well, after he tossed down the remainder of the Duke’s excellent brandy in his glass.
Damien watched with amusement. “I will give you a cask of that when this job is over,” he said.
Edward grinned. “It’s been a long, wet, cold assignment. And I have always enjoyed your brandy.” He added as an afterthought, “Your Grace.”
Damien chuckled, and shook his friend’s hand, then rang for Jacobs. When the butler appeared, the Duke told him, “See Leftenant Johnson to the door, Jacobs.”
He watched his majordomo’s eyebrows lift ever so fractionally as the man realized whom he’d left standing in the front hall. Jacobs bowed his acknowledgment of the Duke’s request, then turned to Edward and apologized with great dignity. At Jacobs’s admission of his mistake, Edward lifted a comical eyebrow at Damien, then followed the man out the door.
When the two had left, Damien sank back into his chair. So, it was a woman he was after. A woman of small stature with black hair. One who usually appeared at Montaigne’s around the fifteenth of every month.
A tiny, nagging suspicion began to gnaw at the back of his mind. He frowned at his thoughts. It was too easy, too coincidental. There were many black-haired women who frequented Madame’s, several of whom were petite. But how many of them left London around the middle of every month? He remembered her words, that she was taking the early coach out of London. It had been two days before the fifteenth. He cursed under his breath.
The evening of Jessica’s return to London found her at Madame’s. She had delivered the letter from Monsieur Montaigne, and now she wandered about the establishment. As she watched the play at the various tables and listened to the gossip, she discovered that quite a bit of the conversation concerned herself and the game she was involved in the night before she left for Braeleigh. Her sudden appearance again after being absent for three nights after the incident raised more speculation than she cared to think about, especially when her name was repeatedly linked with that of the Duke of Wyndham.
Jessica was reluctant to leave Madame’s, for that would be running away. She needed to pretend that the gossip did not affect her. Too tired from traveling to play, she lingered among the tables. She watched a game over the shoulder of one of the players. The man was going to lose heavily if he continued to pick at his buttons every time he had a bad hand. The others at the table could easily discern his nervousness.
Becoming bored with the game, she glanced around the room. Then she saw him. The Duke was here, but he was not alone. A lovely, blonde woman hung on his arm. He leaned close and smiled at something she said. A surge of anger made Jessica’s insides contract. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time finding someone else to warm his bed. She refused to examine why she was so angry, and instead, consoled herself with the knowledge that he would not be bothering her any more.
Turning away from the table, she made her way to one of the private gaming rooms that was empty at the moment. She had a splitting headache and needed to be away from the noise for a while.
She sat at a table covered in green felt and picked up a deck of cards. She would give the Duke time to become involved in a game and then she would leave. That way, she would be sure of not meeting him again. Absently, she began to shuffle the cards. Again, and again the cards slipped together. The monotony of the movement helped to ease the ache behind her eyes.
Suddenly, she felt another presence in the room. Looking up, she saw him standing on the other side of the table. He had an uncanny ability to sneak up on her.
“May I sit in on the play, or is this a private game?” the Duke asked with a smile.
Shrugging her indifference, Jessica motioned to a chair across from her. She would not let him see that he affected her in any way. Returning her gaze to the cards in her hands, she asked coolly, “What happened to your companion?”
His smile widened into a grin. “Is the lady jealous?”
“No,” she stated flatly, “merely curious.”
“I see,” he said, still smiling, obviously enjoying himself. “Well, to satisfy your curiosity, my love, she is occupied with trying to lose a substantial amount of coins I just bestowed on her. And to further satisfy your curiosity, she is just a friend, someone with whom I occasionally dally, but who means little to me. I do not live the monkish life.”
The bluntness of his last statement caused Jessica finally to look at him. “I did not inquire about your petites amours, Your Grace,” she said evenly. “We have no commitment to each other.”
The Duke sighed. “That is true. Sad, but true. Something I hope to remedy in the near future.” He leaned back in his chair. “Was your business concluded successfully?” he asked.
“It was,” she answered without thinking. Then realizing what she had admitted, she asked suspiciously, “How did you know I was away on business?”
“No one leaves London for only three days for pleasure,” he told her. “Especially not at this time of year.”
Jessica watched him, waited for him to go on with the conversation, to tell her that he had discovered her identity, or at least to give a reason why he came to speak with her, but he just sat and looked back at her. Finally, she could stand the silence and his gaze on her no longer.
“If there is nothing else you wish to say to me, Your Grace, I would appreciate your leaving me alone,” she said tiredly.
“I have a great many things to say to you, my love,” he replied softly, “but this is neither the time nor the place.” He paused for a moment. Then, in an offhand manner, he said, “I am having a small dinner party tomorrow evening. I would like you to be my guest.”
“No.” Jessica did not even have to think about her answer.
“Fine,” he went on as if he had not heard. “I will send my carriage for you.”
Jessica stared at him in disbelief. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. Perhaps you did not hear me. I said no. I will not be a guest at your dinner party.”
The Duke’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You will be there tomorrow,” he contradicted. “You will be ready, or my footmen will drag you from your lodgings in whatever you might be wearing at the time.”
“You have no right…” she began. The forbidding expression on his face made her voice falter.
“I disagree. I would say I had every right to do as I wish with you. I am remaining silent in order that you may continue as a patroness of Madame’s house.”
She gasped. “That is blackmail.”
The Duke smiled and nodded. “Precisely.” He stood. “Until tomorrow, m’lady,” he said as he gallantly bowed to her. Then he turned and sauntered from the room.
Disconcerted, Jessica gazed after him. How was she to get out of this predicament? Evidently, the Duke’s interest had not waned with her absence from Madame’s. She had thought that if she ignored him, he would leave her alone. Obviously, that was not going to work. Damn him.
She sighed and rested her head in her hands. The only thing she could do was to oblige him. She could do nothing else. She believed him when he said he would have his footmen drag her out of her lodgings, and the threat of his reporting her cheating still hung over her. She decided to leave Madame’s for the evening. She was too tired to care what he did. Perhaps tomorrow some solution would occur to her.
The following day, Jessica pondered how she was going to escape being the Duke’s guest that evening. Then, while she was dressing for the dinner, she arrived at the obvious answer to her problem. She simply would not be at her lodgings. She would go to Madame’s. He would not cause a scene there and drag her out. Madame would not allow it. Jessica smiled triumphantly to herself. Quickly, she finished her toilette. She had to be gone before his carriage arrived.
When she was ready, Donny checked her appearance. Jessica wore a simple gown of deep red velvet with no lace or frills to hide the plunging décolletage. Tiny puff sleeves barely hugged her shoulders, leaving a generous expanse of bare skin. The gold locket which she always wore was her only adornment. Her hair was swept up into curls atop her head, and tiny tendrils escaped to frame her face and tickle her neck.
“Aye,” Donny nodded approvingly. “If he catches sight of ye tonight, he’ll be eatin’ out of yer hand.”
Jessica made a face. “I don’t want him eating out of my hand, Donny. I don’t even wish to see him. If he comes tonight, tell him…Tell him I am out with another gentleman.” Jessica smiled wickedly. That would teach him she was not to be owned.
Donny’s look was disapproving. “Ye be playin’ with fire, lady fair. He be a duke, and ye don’t anger them high-born gentlemen. Besides, ye might be better off if ye was pleasant to him. He might ask ye to marry him.”
“Marry? Ha! The last thing on his mind is marriage. Besides, I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth. He’s arrogant and overbearing and despicable, and I hate him.” Jessica clasped her cloak about her shoulders and raised her hood. “Don’t wait up for me, Donny. I will probably be quite late.”
“Hmph, I’ll wait up fer ye if I’ve a mind,” Donny grumbled as Jessica walked out the door.