Authors: Brenda Joyce
“He is.” Jack was blunt. “I have even heard the rumor that your friend Nadine D’Archand is involved in aiding the émigré community there. I hope that is not the case. If she wishes to help her compatriots, she can help them here, once they have safely landed on our shores. Lucas should do the same.”
She was surprised. “Nadine is very political, but she has never given any indication that she is doing anything at all to help émigrés flee France. You must be wrong.”
“I hope so,” he said.
Amelia stared at him for a moment. “Maybe you can help me, Jack. I am worried about Grenville.”
He started. “So I am right. There is more here than meets the eye. You are hardly his housekeeper, if you are so worried about him!”
“We are friends!” she cried. “He is in danger and the children might be in danger, too—he has admitted as much. But he won’t admit to anything else. I think he might be a spy!”
Jack took her arm and pulled her close. “Lucas told me that you were suspicious of him.” His stare was piercing. “What do you mean, he admitted he is in danger?”
“He referred to keeping the children safe. But when I directly asked him if he is a spy, or some such thing, he hedged, and changed the subject.”
Something flickered in Jack’s eyes. “You should stay out of this, Amelia. I do not want you involved in the war, not even on its periphery.”
“I am already involved, because of you and Lucas, and now Simon,” she said tersely.
“So it is Simon! I knew it—you are glowing because you are in love with him all over again,” he accused.
She pulled away. “Yes, I love him, Jack. Just as I love his children. He is in trouble. Can you help me find out why?”
His face was hard and tight. “If I didn’t know how prim and proper you are—how sensible—I would ask if you are having an affair!”
She flushed. “What a rude comment to make!”
He rushed on, as if he hadn’t heard her, “But I know you, Amelia, and you would never become a man’s mistress. Thank God for that! Why has Lucas allowed you to stay on here? Why don’t you go with Momma and stay with Julianne? If Simon is in danger, then so are you.”
“I am not abandoning him and his children,” she cried. “So you also think that he is in danger?”
He said carefully, “I don’t know.” He stared grimly, and she could feel his mind racing. She wished she knew his thoughts. “Has he indicated that he is leaving town?” he finally asked.
She shook her head. “No, he has not said a word about leaving town. Why? If he leaves, does that mean he is going to France—as Lucas does?”
“No, it does not. It could mean anything.”
“He is rarely in town—that is what I have heard!” She worried that Simon meant to soon leave—yet he hadn’t said a word. “Did Lucas tell you all the reasons why I am so worried?”
“He mentioned something about odd behavior, nightmares, some ramblings,” Jack said.
She stiffened. Lucas and Jack had had a lengthy conversation about Simon—she was certain.
Jack grimaced. “Damn it. I did not plan on staying in town for another day. But I am going to see what I can find out. You have made me curious. I cannot imagine why Grenville would feel that there is danger here in town—whether his activities are related to the war or not.”
“Thank you, Jack,” she said. And she hugged him, hard.
* * *
I
T
WAS
VERY
DIFFICULT
to concentrate on the task at hand, Simon thought grimly.
It was not even ten that morning. Simon was at his desk in the library, ostensibly dealing with some estate accounts. But in truth, he was trying to decide how to deal with Marcel. Jourdan had just received another summons—the drop-off location for messages was a small shop on Pall Mall. Either he had to come up with a foolproof disguise or he was going to have to send someone in his stead to meet Jourdan’s contact. Both options were far too risky. Just then, he preferred the latter choice of sending intelligence to Marcel through a courier he could trust.
But as he brooded upon how best to proceed—and time was not on his side—he had been hard-pressed to keep his attention on the subject of his intrigues. Amelia was haunting him.
There was no small amount of guilt. She was a good, upright, moral gentlewoman, and he had taken advantage of her affection for him and the attraction they shared. It was simply unacceptable. But he could not regret the night they had shared. She had said that it had been the best night of her life; it had certainly been the best night of his.
There was also so much pleasure, so much joy. She had done more than warm his bed, she warmed his heart, even now. She was everything he was not. She was good and kind, honest and warm, compassionate and selfless. He knew he was not going to be able to give her up, not as a friend and not as a lover.
And that just highlighted their differences; he was entirely selfish.
Of course, sooner or later he was going to be sent back to France, and that would end the affair. He couldn’t imagine what excuse he would give to her then. But he would never frighten her with the truth.
For he recalled the way she had looked at him, time and again. Was Amelia in love with him? He thought so—he hoped so!
He shoved the ledgers he was supposedly reviewing aside. Amelia was astute and tenacious. She suspected that he was a spy. How was he going to convince her otherwise? He did not want her burdened with the truth. He did not want her living in fear for him.
He would be the one to live in fear—for them all.
A knock sounded on his door, which was open. Lloyd stood there—and so did Sebastian Warlock.
Absolute displeasure began. Simon stood up stiffly as Lloyd said, “Mr. Warlock insisted, my lord. I apologize for the interruption, but he said you would not turn him away, not even at this hour.”
A new tension riddled him now. Simon smiled coldly. “Thank you, Lloyd. Please close the door. And we are not to be disturbed.”
Warlock sauntered inside as Lloyd backed out, closing the ebony door. “Hello, Grenville. Am I interrupting?”
“I dislike surprises,” Simon said. “But of course, you are always welcome.” And they both knew that was a lie.
Warlock seemed amused. Clad in a black-velvet coat and tan breeches, he took a chair before the desk. “You haven’t sent me a report. How did your meeting with Jourdan’s contact go?”
Almost furious now, Simon took his own seat. He hated being controlled, as if a puppet on a string! “He did not show up,” he lied.
“Really?” Warlock’s brows lifted. “Hmm, that is two times in a row. I am beginning to grow suspicious.”
Simon felt his heart lurch, but he was careful not to change a single facial muscle. He certainly wasn’t going to tell the spymaster that Marcel was Edmund Duke—and the mole.
Or had Duke been sent to spy on his meeting with Marcel—by Warlock?
Was it possible?
God, anything was possible in these times of war and revolution! “Are you sure you did not apprehend my contact?” Simon asked, sounding wry. “For that is the obvious conclusion to draw.”
Warlock crossed his legs. “I will have to chat with my friends in the Alien Office. I do hope we are not interfering with one another. Miscommunication is so bothersome.”
Before he had finished speaking, there was another knock on the door.
Simon tensed. He had told Lloyd not to interrupt, and he knew who was at his door. And even as he thought about Amelia, the door opened and she poked her head in, smiling. “Simon, I was wondering,” she began. But she saw Warlock and stopped.
His heart lurched wildly, with so many soaring, jumbled emotions that the only thing he was certain of was his raging desire. He wanted to sweep her into his arms again and make wild love to her. But he could hardly do such a thing, so he stared, marveling at how beautiful she was. But even as he did so, he was acutely aware of Warlock, who had stood up and was glancing with interest at him and then at Amelia.
Simon was afraid he looked entirely smitten.
Her smile faltered as she turned to her uncle. “Oh, dear. I did not realize you had a caller.” She smiled again. “I am sorry, I have disturbed you.... Sebastian, this is a pleasant surprise!” She was flushed.
Warlock ambled over to her and took her hand and kissed it. “I am so pleased to see you, Amelia. I was hoping to have a chance to speak with you after Grenville and I finished our affairs. How are you?”
Simon did not want them conversing—not at all! But she said, “I am well enough, thank you. You seem well, sir.”
Simon stepped around his desk, joining them. “Amelia, good morning. Is there a problem with the children?”
She flushed again and did not meet his gaze. “I had a question, but it can wait.” She smiled at Warlock. “I look forward to our conversation.” She glanced aside and hurried out, closing the door as she did so.
She had appeared so guilty, Simon thought.
“Amelia has never looked better,” Warlock mused. “Yet she is a housekeeper.”
She hadn’t appeared like any housekeeper he knew, Simon thought. She had looked like the mistress of the house. “She adores my children—and Lucille,” Simon said sharply. There was a warning in his tone.
“I am sure that she does. Just as I am sure you were in great need of a suitable housekeeper, given the state of your personal affairs. Can we get back to more pressing matters? Have you arranged another rendezvous?”
“I am working on it,” Simon said. “But time is running out. The French took Menin and Courtrai a week ago, which means the Allied invasion of Flanders is surely about to begin. I am hoping to meet with Jourdan’s contact by tomorrow at the latest. What can I give him?”
“Coburg will attempt to retake both cities, with forty thousand men.”
Simon did not allow his expression to change. Was Warlock lying? Bedford believed that Coburg had mustered sixty thousand troops—although his belief was based on gossip.
“Are you certain?” Simon asked, very calmly. “I must give Marcel a genuine number, otherwise they will take my head.”
“I am very certain. I would not compromise your value as an agent, Grenville. Surely you know that?”
Simon knew no such thing.
Warlock added, “You are my most valuable asset. You are in the perfect position. The French believe you are their agent, when you actually belong to me.” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “I am not sure when I will want you to return to France. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize how useful you are here in town, feeding the information I choose to Marcel and the other Jacobins here in town, and thus to
le Comité
and Robespierre.”
“How pleased I am to hear that,” Simon managed to say, but his heart was thundering. Was it possible he wouldn’t have to go back? He prayed that would be the case.
“You are useless to me if you are uncovered, much less captured and thrown back into a French prison.”
As Simon thought how heartless Warlock was, a thump sounded outside the library door—as if someone standing there had dropped something. Simon froze. Amelia. Warlock strode to the door and swung it wide—and Amelia fell forward, into the room.
Warlock stepped aside, appearing disgusted, and she stumbled. Simon lurched forward and caught her, preventing her from falling.
In his arms, she looked up at him, her eyes huge, her face ashen.
She had heard them, Simon thought, stricken.
“Well, well. It appears that spying runs in the family,” Warlock said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A
MELIA
CLUNG
TO
S
IMON
,
beyond shock.
He gripped her arms tightly, staring down at her, his face taut with tension. Dismay darkened his eyes.
Simon was a spy—as she had suspected. But he wasn’t just a spy—he was a double agent. Yet there was so much more....
“I am ashamed of you, Amelia,” she heard Warlock say. “To spy upon your own family, to bite the veritable hand that feeds you.” He was mocking.
“Simon,” she said. But before she could beg him to deny everything—before she could ask him if he had been in prison—a warning look entered his eyes. He shook his head, very slightly.
Her heart continued to thunder and it was deafening. He had been in prison. She suddenly felt faint and sick.
Warlock closed the door. Amelia heard him walk up to her and a new tension began. Simon released her and slowly, with dread, she somehow turned and faced her uncle.
“Why were you spying on us?” Warlock asked coldly.
Before she could respond, Simon stepped between them. “You cannot speak to her in such a manner. I will handle this.”
“I am afraid that is not possible,” Warlock said. “Not because she is my niece. This is a matter relating to national affairs, this is a matter of state.”
Amelia shuddered. “I did not mean to spy.”
Simon whirled as Warlock made a scoffing sound. Her uncle said, “Of course you did. You were purposefully standing outside the door, with your ear pressed upon it. I happen to know you are not the radical your sister was. So why would you spy upon Grenville?”
“You do not have to answer him,” Simon said.
Amelia was frightened. Her uncle had never appeared as cold or as powerful—or as ruthless. But Simon was frightening her, as well.
He was an agent, and not just for Pitt. He was playing some kind of terrible game, because the French believed him to be one of their own. No wonder he lived in constant fear, for she knew what his fate would be if he were ever caught.
She began to shake. He had been in prison, in France. Was that why he had changed? Was that why he had nightmares? Was that the reason for the haunted look in his eyes?
Warlock was waiting for her to answer. She said carefully, “There are three small children in this house. It has been clear to me for some time that something is wrong—that Simon is in trouble or in danger. I must protect the children. Your relationship with Simon has raised so many questions. So, yes, I decided to eavesdrop.”
“Not a wise decision,” Warlock said. “I take it my other niece did not speak glowingly of me?”
She inhaled. “You made Bedford’s life hell, Sebastian. You even made Julianne’s life hell—yes, she told me, you wanted her to spy on Dominic! How could you ask your own niece to do such a thing?”
“I want to win this war. I want to prevent the revolution from coming to our shores. And to accomplish those goals, I will do what I have to do—even if it means asking my own flesh and blood to engage in an unsavory task or two.” And Warlock’s dark eyes blazed. “So call me a bastard if you will, but someone has to win this damned war and someone has to keep this country safe.”
She looked helplessly at Simon. He stepped toward her, and for one moment, she thought he was going to put his arm around her. As if remembering that he must not do such a thing, he dropped his arm.
“She will keep this to herself, I am certain,” Simon said.
“Will she? For how long?” Warlock was caustic. “How much did you hear, Amelia?”
She hesitated.
“I thought so,” Warlock said flatly.
Amelia shivered. “I would never betray Simon! I would never tell anyone what I have learned.”
Warlock was entirely skeptical. “Not even your sister? Or Lucas?”
She flushed. Could Lucas help Simon? “Are you advising me not to speak of this to anyone—not even Julianne or my brothers?”
Warlock said, “The fewer who know, the better. I am not advising anything. I am telling you to keep this matter to yourself. I am asking for your word.”
She shivered. How could she give it? She knew Lucas would help Simon if she asked him.
“I know how loyal you are, Amelia,” he added softly. “I remember you as a small child, when your father left you, almost twenty years ago. You became a matriarch at the age of seven. I know you will do anything for those you love. In fact, I believe you think it your duty to do so—as it became your duty when you were such a small child.”
Warlock was speaking the truth. But Amelia doubted they had exchanged more than a dozen words in the past five or six years. He hardly knew her now. “Then I am flattered.”
“I am not trying to flatter you. I am trying to explain to you that we are all on the same side of a war. You, Simon and I have the same interests and aims. And while your brothers and even Julianne are on our side, the less who know the truth about Simon, the better.”
“I understand,” Amelia said.
“You haven’t given me your word,” Warlock pointed out, too lightly.
She felt herself flush. How could she promise not to go to Lucas? She trusted her brother. He was on her side. She did not trust her uncle.
Simon looked at her. “He is right.”
“She will not give me her word,” Warlock said to Simon, speaking as if Amelia were not in the room. “You know as well as I do that if our enemies ever realize how close she is to you, they will do whatever they must to get her to break.”
Amelia was frightened. She had never seen this side of Simon before—or of Warlock. “What do you mean—they will break me?” she cried.
“No,” Simon said swiftly. “Amelia is my housekeeper. No one will ever think otherwise, and no one will ever think she knows anything of value.”
Amelia looked at Simon—who was grim and unhappy—and then at her uncle. He wore an almost identical expression. And suddenly she realized that she might be in danger, too.
“Send her back to Greystone Manor,” Warlock said. “And that is not a suggestion. I want her gone by tomorrow morning.” His face hard, he turned abruptly and walked out, not bothering with a goodbye.
Amelia collapsed in the closest chair. Simon strode to the door and slammed it closed. He faced her. “Damn it, Amelia, you have gone too far!”
“I am not returning to Greystone Manor—he does not control our lives!”
“He controls mine!” Simon shouted.
Amelia flinched.
Simon knelt beside her. “And he is right. You cannot tell anyone about me. You are in danger now, because of me.”
She took his hand. “Then we will face the danger together.”
“No. I knew it was wrong to ask you to be my housekeeper, just as I knew I shouldn’t bring you here—or take you to bed! When will you see that I am an insufferable and selfish bastard?”
She clasped his face. “You are a hero and I love you.”
He inhaled. “You are deluded!”
She shook her head and kissed him briefly.
He pulled away. “He knows that we are lovers, Amelia. I have no doubt. If he can discern that, then my enemies will as well, and they will go after you, Amelia, to hurt me....” He trailed off.
He was in anguish. Amelia slid to the floor and pulled him into her arms. “We will face this together,” she said.
He took her face in his hands. “I will do whatever I have to do to keep you and the children safe.”
“I know,” she whispered, meaning it.
He kissed her—like a dying man.
* * *
H
IS
HEART
CONTINUED
to thunder. Holding Amelia very tightly, still fully dressed, only his breeches undone, his jacket on the floor, Simon rolled to his side. But he kept her securely in his arms as he did so.
He had never needed anyone as he did Amelia, he somehow thought. How he wished he could make an honest woman of her, and take her and the children far away.
She was gasping for breath. She snuggled against him, her cheek on his chest, and Simon pulled her skirts and underskirts down. Had he loved her as much ten years ago? He could not recall. He knew he had been smitten then, but it was so much more now.
They were in her bedchamber, the door locked. “Are you all right?” he asked unevenly, when he could finally speak. He had been in such a mad rush to make love to her. “Amelia, were you pleased?”
She smiled up at him, perspiration on her temple. “Was I that quiet?”
He smiled back then. He had clasped his hand to her mouth when she had climaxed—it was the middle of the day. “You exercised admirable restraint,” he whispered.
“It was wonderful, Simon,” she whispered, and she laid her cheek on his chest again.
He stroked her hair, the euphoria beginning to recede. As it did, he recalled Warlock’s orders that he send Amelia away and everything else that had just transpired in the library. His heart sank.
Did Amelia know everything?
What would she think of him when she finally realized the extent of what he was doing?
She glanced up at him. “We should not linger, Simon, although part of me does not care if we are caught like this.”
“I care!” he said fervently. “No one can know that we are lovers, Amelia. No one.” God, she was in so much danger. And it was entirely his fault.
“Were you ever going to tell me the truth?” she asked, her gaze searching.
“How much did you hear?” Suddenly he hoped that she had only heard that he was a spy for Warlock—he prayed she did not know any more, for entirely selfish reasons.
“I heard everything, Simon. You have been spying for us—but the French think you are spying for them!” In his arms, he felt her shudder.
He looked up at the ceiling. When would she realize what the double game he played really meant? Because when she realized what he was capable of, she would finally lose her faith. Amelia slipped out of his arms and sat up. Sickened, he sat up, too. He began to button his breeches.
“You have been in France,” she said.
It was a careful accusation. “Yes.” He did not look at her.
“For how long? Is that why you were never at home with your children, with Elizabeth? Is that why no one ever really knew where you were and how to reach you?”
“For the most part, I have been living in Paris for the past two years, clerking in the city government. There I am known as Henri Jourdan—who was my cousin, by the way, before he was executed along with most of Lyons and the rest of my French relations.” He finally glanced at her.
“I am sorry.” She was ashen. She took his hand. “How did you ever get into such intrigues, Simon, when you have children who need you? Are you a patriot, then?”
He pulled it away. She was finally judging him. “I had many reasons for accepting Warlock’s proposition, three years ago when he first approached me, and patriotism was only one of them.” He stared. “Most of my reasons were selfish.”
“I do not believe that.”
“My reasons were selfish,” he repeated.
“You love your children,” she said firmly. “I cannot imagine you giving up fatherhood the way that you did!”
“I was never a good father.” How calm he sounded. “I had been staying away to avoid Elizabeth because that pleased me—never mind that my sons needed me. I rationalized that she was an excellent mother, so my presence did not matter.” He shrugged. But his heart pounded painfully. “Warlock presented me with an opportunity that offered me an excuse to remain in continued exile from my family. Why wouldn’t I accept it?”
Tears filled her eyes and she took his hand again. “I wish you had had a good marriage, Simon. I am beginning to think that if you had, you would have never gone to France and we would not be here, worrying about French agents learning of your affairs—or worse.”
“You really mean it!” he exclaimed. Her selfless virtue would never cease to amaze him.
“Of course I do. Simon, how much danger are you in? Is it the French that you fear?”
He knew he must not answer her truthfully. He did not want her even more frightened. “Right now, I am not in any danger, Amelia, as Jourdan is entirely trusted.”
Her gaze was piercing. “They put you in prison.”
His heart sank.
“I heard Warlock say that it would not serve him well if you were captured and sent back to prison.”
He inhaled. She was too clever to be misled.
“Do not patronize me. We are in this together and I am not a fool. I refuse to be left in the dark.”
“No, you are not a fool, Amelia. Yes, they imprisoned me.”
She was so still, so calm. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters—it matters to me. So please, tell me why you were imprisoned in France. Did they realize you were an Englishman?”
He wet his lips, his mind racing. He would omit parts of the truth, but he would never tell Amelia a lie, even if she had just given him the perfect lie to tell. He found his voice and cleared it. “No, they did not discover that I was an Englishman. They continue to believe that I am my cousin, Jourdan. I made a terrible mistake, Amelia. Last November, I returned to London to see my sons—because it was William’s birthday. I only stayed in town for two days. But the moment I disembarked in Brest, I knew I was being followed. Within three weeks, I was apprehended and accused of treason, and thrown into a prison in Paris.” Suddenly his voice broke. He recalled that cell in absolute detail, and he could not continue.
A crowd of thousands filled the square.
He grasped the iron bars of his cell, staring outside, filled with revulsion and fear.
Behind him, he heard footsteps. He tensed. Were they coming for him?
The crowds roared...again.
Le Razor
had just taken another victim....
And the stench of blood was everywhere.
Somehow he said, “It was play them or go to the guillotine. I had to convince them that I really was Jourdan—and that I would go to London and visit my cousin, St. Just, and attain the information necessary for them to win the war.” He could not face her now.
Amelia pulled him into her arms, his face against her breasts. As if he were a child, she kissed the top of his head. “It’s all right now. You are here with me, with the children. You will never go back there again and you do not have to speak about it. You did what you had to do to live, Simon. I understand.”