Surrender

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In the Loire, the rebels were led by a young aristocrat, Georges Cadoudal. “He claims he now has twelve thousand troops, and that there will be more by summer. And once again, his question is, when? When will Britain invade Brittanny?” Jack said calmly. But as he spoke, he recalled Cadoudal’s desperation and fury.

“Windham has yet to finalize the plans,” Warlock said. “We only have a thousand émigré troops amassed for an invasion of Brittany, but someone has suggested we use our French prisoners of war, and if we do, we will have about four thousand troops in sum.”

“At least we know they can fight,” Jack joked.

Lucas smiled a little, the tension inherent in such a discussion relieved.

“There must be a timeline, Sebastian,” Lucas said. “We all know that General Hoche has already sent a great number of rebels into hiding. We lost La Vendée once. Surely we will not fail the rebels there again.” Lucas was grim.

Jack knew he was thinking of their sister Julianne. When La Vendée had gone down in flames, her husband had lost his mother’s family estates. His heart had been broken—and so had hers.

“There are many issues, but I am trying to convince Windham and Pitt to invade Quiberon Bay in June,” Warlock said. “And you may relay that to Cadoudal.”

Jack was glad he had some news to convey, and news that might reassure the rebel. Warlock stood and looked at Lucas. “I assume you wish to spend a few more moments with your brother. I must get back to London.”

“I do not mind riding back the way I came,” Lucas said.

“Keep me apprised,” Warlock said to Jack before leaving.

Lucas leaned forward. “How difficult was it for you to contact Cadoudal?”

“Hoche’s interest in La Vendée has made it more difficult than it was,” Jack said. “But we have a prearranged means of communication—and it is in code. You worry like a mother hen.”

“If I don’t worry about you, who will?” Lucas said darkly. “And I wasn’t jesting—I am damned tired of that bounty. Every day, your life is at risk. And the risk is even greater when you are at sea.” He leaned forward. “Captain Barrow is gunning for you. He was bragging the other night at an affair at Penrose’s home.”

Barrow had quite the reputation, but Jack was amused, and he shrugged. “I welcome the gauntlet.”

“Will you ever take life seriously?” Lucas demanded. “Everyone misses you—everyone is worried about you—it isn’t just I.”

Jack felt himself soften. The truth was, he missed his sisters, very much.

“Amelia is about to have her first child.”

“The babe is due in May.”

“That’s right,” Lucas said. “But she looks like she is about to have the child at any time. You have to see her, Jack.” Then he smiled. “She is so happy. She is a wonderful mother and she is so in love with Grenville.”

Jack laughed, but he was thrilled for his sister, whom he had assumed would remain a spinster, but who was not just married, but a stepmother to three children, with her own on the way. “As long as he is loyal and true.”

“He remains besotted,” Lucas said, and both brothers finally laughed. Their sister was such a serious woman, and Grenville had been a catch. It was inexplicable, really.

Jack realized he looked forward to a long-overdue family reunion. “Tell Amelia I will come to see her as soon as I can.” He almost wished that he could simply ride back to London with his brother, and call on Amelia now. But the war had changed everyone’s life, including his. These were dark, dangerous times.

Evelyn D’Orsay’s pale, beautiful image came to mind. He tensed. Damn it, why couldn’t he dismiss her from his thoughts?

“What’s wrong?” Lucas asked.

“You will be pleased to know that I have turned down a beautiful damsel in distress—that I have decided not to risk my life for a woman seeking to reclaim her family’s fortune.” And he was careful to sound mocking, when he did not quite feel that way.

“Oh, ho. Have you been rejected?” Lucas was incredulous. “You sound very put out.”

“I have never been rejected!” he exclaimed. “It is incredible that her wealthy husband left her so destitute, but I have no time now to play the knight in shining armor to save her.”

Lucas laughed, standing. “You are in a twist because of a woman! This is rich! Are you certain she did not reject you? And whom, pray tell, are we discussing?”

“I rejected her,” Jack said firmly. But suddenly he recalled the way he had left Roselynd—and how shocked and hurt she had been. “We are discussing the Countess D’Orsay. And Lucas? I am not interested in becoming ensnared.” He added, “No matter how beautiful and desperate she is.”

“Since when have you ever been ensnared by a woman?” Lucas asked, surprised.

Jack looked grimly at him. Maybe it was time to be honest, not with his brother, but with himself. “I got her out of France four years ago, with her husband and her daughter. And the problem is that I could not forget her then, and I am afraid I cannot forget her now.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE BLACK BRIAR Inn was very busy; every table was full. It was Friday afternoon, so apparently a great many of the nearby village men had stopped by for a mug of ale. The conversation was loud and raucous. Tobacco wafted in the air.

Evelyn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She did not care for this crowd, or the man she had come to meet. He was a very big, dark man in a striped jersey, a vest over that. The vest revealed the pistol he wore, as well as the dagger. His black trousers were tucked into a seaman’s boots. He was unshaven, wore a cuff earring in one ear, and one of his front teeth was black.

He also smelled, and not of the sea. She did not think he had bathed in a month.

Several days had passed since her heated encounter with Jack Greystone. She was still in some disbelief—both over her having kissed him, and his having refused her. What had she been thinking? How had she acted as she had, when she was in mourning? How could he have been so uncaring? So indifferent to her cause? And he had accused her of being dangerous! She would never understand what he had meant by that.

And to think that, for all these years, she had secretly thought of Greystone as a hero!

But she was hurt by his rejection, just as she was hurt by how he had judged her. It did not seem fair, yet she knew, firsthand, that life was so rarely fair.

Determined to move on, as she must do for her daughter’s sake, she had since toured the tin mine. And she had been shocked to see how run-down the mine and warehouse were. The new manager wanted to discuss repairing the facilities. He believed they were not shipping enough ore because they were not extracting enough tin. She did not even have to ask to know that repairing anything would be costly, too costly, as far as she was concerned. And when she had asked the previous manager’s opinion, he did not agree that there had been any kind of theft in the mining operations.

How could she be in this position now? She should be with her daughter, teaching her to read and write, to dance, play the piano and sew. But they did not even own a piano now, and instead, she was at the Black Briar Inn, about to discuss a very dangerous proposition with yet another smuggler—this one frightening in appearance.

She had gone to Henri’s grave every day, bringing fresh flowers. Instead of missing him, she was angry.

But she was even angrier with Greystone.

Her pondering was interrupted. “So ye wish for me to run to France and bring back yer husband’s chest,” Ed Whyte said, grinning. He seemed to like the idea.

Evelyn inhaled and focused on the man she was seated with. It hadn’t taken her very long to decide to find another smuggler to hire—the fact that she could not count on the mine for revenues had made the choice for her—and John Trim had given her several names. But Trim hadn’t been thrilled to suggest either Whyte or his associates. “They’re a rough bunch, my lady,” he had said. “And no great lady should consort with the likes of Whyte and his cronies.”

Evelyn hadn’t explained why she needed to interview smugglers other than Greystone, nor had she explained that she had no choice. But now, she was almost regretting her decision. Whyte was so scurrilous in appearance, with his blackened teeth, foul odor and lewd gaze, that he made Greystone seem like a knight in shining armor in comparison.

Whyte had a very untrustworthy appearance, she thought grimly. He reminded her of a horse trader, or a weasel. And to make matters even worse, he kept staring through her veil, which was transparent, and he kept looking at her bust, even though the neckline of her dress was so high, she could not wear her pearls. He made her terribly uncomfortable. When Greystone had given her a male appraisal, it hadn’t been frightening like this.

“I realize it is a dangerous mission,” Evelyn said, adjusting the veil she wore attached to her hat. “But I am prepared to offer you a very fair share of my husband’s valuable heirlooms. And I am desperate.” But she kept her tone level. She could not plead with Whyte as she had pleaded her case with Greystone.

Whyte grinned at her. “An’ what is that fair share, lady?”

“Fifteen percent,” she said.

Evelyn looked down at her gloved hands, which she clasped tightly in her lap. She might still be hurt by Greystone’s rejection, never mind that she should not care, but she still had a problem—she was haunted by the kisses they had shared.

She had to forget her kiss—and his. Hers was humiliating. His was disturbing her at night. It was disturbing her during the day. It was disturbing her even now. It made her body hum with a fervor that was shameful.

She hadn’t even imagined that a man could kiss a woman with such intensity, such passion, or so thoroughly.

It was time to forget him. He was not a hero. She had been mistaken.

“An’ how much is fifteen percent?”

She looked up at Whyte. “I’m not certain.”

He laughed. “Is this a jest, my lady?” He stood, preparing to leave. “If you want me to go to France for ye, you’ll have to pay me very well—and not with some fair share.”

She leaped to her feet. “Please don’t go.” Her heart pounded. This had been the point in the negotiation when she had begun to think of using her female charms on Greystone. But fortunately, while Whyte kept leering, he seemed entirely interested in money.

Whyte sat down. “Fer such a job, I’d need a thousand pounds—in advance.”

Evelyn sat, inhaling. But she had come to this negotiation prepared. She laid her beaded black velvet purse on the table and opened it. She withdrew a wad of tissue, and unwrapped her sapphire-and-diamond ear bobs.

She had so little left to bargain with. There was the matching sapphire necklace, a sapphire ring, her pearls, a cameo and her magnificent diamond engagement ring.

His eyes widened and he seized the earrings, inspecting them. She winced when he bit into one. “What else do you have for me?”

She choked. “Those ear bobs were costly.”

“They didn’t cost you a thousand pounds. I don’t think they even cost you a penny.” He grinned, his black tooth making her look away.

He was right, if rude—the earrings hadn’t cost her a penny. “They were a gift from my beloved husband,” she whispered.

“An’ now yer in hard times. Yeah, I heard—everyone’s heard. So he must have left ye something valuable in that chest in France. But if ye want it, ye’ll have to pay with more than ear bobs.”

She felt like crying. Evelyn took the matching ring from her purse and laid it on the table. It was a five-carat sapphire, flanked by diamonds.

He took it and shoved everything into the tissue, and into his hip pocket. He stood and smiled. “I’ll be back in a week or two. We can speak some more then.”

Evelyn jumped up. “Wait a minute, Mr. Whyte, I’m expecting you to go to France—immediately.”

But he was sauntering away. He turned and grinned, saluting her with one finger to his temple. Incredulous, Evelyn seized the table as he walked through the crowd—and out the door.

He was leaving—with her jewels! Evelyn ran through the public room, comprehension hitting her—she had just given her sapphires to a stranger, a very untrustworthy stranger—but when she reached the inn’s front door, Ed Whyte was already galloping away.

She collapsed against the frame. Had he just stolen her jewels? Was he actually going to come back and plan the trip to France with her? Oh, she did not think so!

And suddenly she realized how utterly naive she had been, to give him payment in advance. It was one thing to have paid Greystone in advance for escorting her out of France—she had already been on his ship! And she still trusted Greystone, even if he had kissed her and refused her and walked out on her, he could be trusted with payment in advance, because he was, by birth and by nature, a gentleman. He would never steal from her—he would undertake the mission. But Whyte was a smuggler, an outlaw and now, a damned thief.

Damn it!

Evelyn quickly left the inn, before Trim might ask her in to a luncheon with his wife. Tears burned her eyes. Somehow, she must find a way to retrieve those sapphires, she thought, but even as determination filled her, the wiser part of her knew it was a lost cause. She had been taken, robbed.

And now what? She could not afford to lose those jewels; she had so little left. And Jack Greystone’s image loomed in her mind. She cursed, picking up the reins of her mare. This was his fault, she decided furiously. Evelyn knew she remained exhausted, not from lack of sleep, but from the fear over her daughter’s future, which gnawed at her constantly. She fought tears of sheer fatigue. She could not succumb to her desire to cry—she had to find the strength to solve this crisis.