Prologue
1810
Off the coast of Portugal
Resisting the urge to place a hand over the tightly bound packets of highly sensitive papers strapped to his chest Dane pushed back his irritation when the dark haired beauty sidled up to him along the deck rail. Until he proved his suspicions of her being a spy for the French incorrect he would take all the necessary precautions to protect the sensitive materials he carried back to the British home office.
Dane Alexander Fitzhugh, sixth Duke of Westbrook had been in the business of espionage too long to trust anyone at face value. He learned a long time ago women seldom showed their true selves preferring to hide behind misleading half-truths, false innocence and beguiling coyness. With Maria Isadona Benavidez it was no different.
They first met at the Spanish Royal Court of King Charles IV where she made claims of being a distant relative, third or fourth cousin, of the King, just before Napoleon’s French army invaded Portugal. Though unable to disprove her claim there was enough evidence to support his suspicions of her father and therefore her being a member of the Afrancesados, a small group of wealthy influential Spaniards who welcomed a Bonapartist regime and that she was in fact a spy for the French. Over the past several months he had been carefully watching her movements while undergoing his own clandestine activities.
Using his good looks, considerable charm, and perfectly developed but false background he cultivated an image of a superficial dandy and unscrupulous rake interested only in meaningless pursuits of pleasure to win entry into the homes, hearts and confidence of the highest Spanish aristocracy. He developed a labyrinth of informants and contacts using various aliases and disguises, using bribery, blackmail and when necessary even bed sport to get the information needed. All with the intention of aiding the British war efforts in defeating the French.
It was through these methods that he was able to secretly obtain the information now in his possession. Information regarding the plans and movements of French Commander Nicolas Jean de Dieu Soult, first Duke of Dalmtia, including orders sent to him directly from Bonaparte.
A few hours after obtaining the information and dressed in his finest attending a fete hosted by Count Casa de Salvitierra he expressed his pique at being summoned back to England. It wasn’t long after Maria coaxed him into one of the empty bedchambers and pleaded with him to take her on his return voyage.
As much as he enjoyed his dalliances with Maria, she was after all very skilled in the bedroom, he had no wish to continue that part of his job. Dane held no tender feelings for Maria and planned to leave Spain and her behind. That is until orders came from the Foreign Office to deliver her to English soil where they hoped to trick her into passing false information to the French. Cursing his luck and growing weary of Maria’s attentions he played the role required.
Now aboard the British frigate HMS Dreamer, Dane had to feign sea sickness to keep Maria at a distance since she had increased her attempts at seduction which he was certain were only meant to give her access to his cabin and information she believed hidden within.
Holding a lace edged kerchief to his mouth with a whimper in his throat he motioned with a flick of his hand for her to keep her distance hoping the powder he applied to his cheeks gave an adequate appearance of illness. He added a groan and a couple dry heaves for theatrics.
“My darling,” Maria purred audaciously brushing her scantily covered bosom against his arm, “please come below deck and allow me to care for you.”
Sure her form of taking care of him involved removing all his heavily brocade brightly colored clothes he had to convince her he was in no condition to entertain her. Turning to her he made as if about to speak then quickly clamped a hand over his mouth bulged out his cheeks and made as if he was about to cast up his accounts all over her. She took several quick steps back a look of revulsion on her face before he turned away and dabbed at his forehead.
“I could not possibly allow you to tend to me in this condition. It is unheard of.” He made sure he added a bit of a whine to his voice for a dandy such as he portrayed would behave like a mollycoddled child when inflicted.
“I am sure I can find a way of taking your mind off of how horrid you feel.” She seductively suggested trying to wrap her arms around him from behind but he stepped away before she could.
Turning to her he gripped her arms preventing her from brushing her supple body against his and surely feeling the bulk hidden beneath his silk and lace. “My dear Spanish dove I wish nothing more than to spend every moment with you but as a gentleman I cannot possibly. It is beyond the pale that you should see me like this.” Cutting a flamboyant bow and waving his lace covered wrist he told her, “I will retire to my cabin where I will remain in my suffering until I can once again plant my feet upon solid ground.” Hoping he looked appropriately disheartened he rushed past her with more heaving and simpering.
Locking his cabin door behind him he sighed heavily as it seemed he would be denied the luxury of the bracing fresh sea air on this crossing that he had made more times than he could remember since coming into the employ of the Foreign Office.
Oh well, at least the captain kept a good many interesting books on board as well as an ample supply of the highest quality brandy which he now splashed into a cut crystal glass. Plopping down on his bunk he heaved a sigh, stretching out his long legs crossed at the ankles he settled in for what he hoped would be a few relaxing days which he no longer had to play at a simpering toff. He could toss off the layers of colored silk, overabundance of lace and jeweled footwear and just be himself.