Authors: Christina Dodd
“Father has a copy of the will and a letter from Mama’s French relatives.” Genevieve was obviously incensed with Caroline’s incredulity, so she spoke slowly and enunciated her words. “Grandmamma left you ten thousand pounds to be used as you wish, but she hopes you’ll come to visit France and stay with the family, and she asks that you bring me. She said she would have left half of the money to me, but she doesn’t trust the
canard
whom Mama married—that would be Father—to keep it in trust for me. She knows you’re old enough to spend wisely and take care of yourself and me.”
Caroline freed herself from Genevieve’s embrace. She groped for a chair and seated herself, for her knees were distinctly weak. “Ten thousand pounds.” Her voice sounded odd even to herself, and she could scarcely breathe for the relief. “Ten thousand pounds. I don’t ever have to do anything I don’t want to again. I don’t ever have to be afraid.”
“The money is held at the Bank of England for you.” Genevieve knelt beside her and smiled sunnily. “Only you can sign for the funds.”
“I can care for you as you deserve.” Still stunned, Caroline stroked her sister’s face. “My God. For the first time in my life, I’m free.”
“When can we go? Can we leave now?” Genevieve laughed and shook Caroline’s shoulders. “We can leave now!”
This was a dream come true. They
could
leave then, that minute. Genevieve would never have to go back to that cold, dim, silent house. They could live in the south of France and be warm and loved by a whole new family. Thank God.
Thank God.
It was the answer to all her prayers.
Caroline would never see Jude again.
She stared into Genevieve’s face. Never see him, never touch him, never worship his body, never adore the way he swept her off her feet and plot the next time when she would sweep him off his…
“You look funny,” Genevieve said critically. “Is your breakfast going to make a reappearance?”
“No. No! Where did you learn such a phrase?” Caroline asked, horrified.
“Oh, I don’t know. Cook, I suppose.” Genevieve shrugged awkwardly.
“Pardon me for intruding.” Nicolette stood in the doorway. “But I was concerned. Is everything all right?”
Caroline and Genevieve came to their feet, and when Caroline introduced her sister, Genevieve dropped a gawky curtsy and said, “Your Grace, it’s wonderful. Caroline is an heiress!”
“An heiress?” Nicolette entered and sank into a comfortable chair. “Caroline, is this true?”
“So it would appear, Your Grace.” Caroline held her hands before her in a prayerful manner. “We were just discussing what we should do.”
“Oh, dear.” Nicolette’s expression a mixture of delight and dismay. “Caroline, I suppose this means you’ll be leaving us at once.”
“Yes!” Genevieve said far too loudly.
Caroline patted her lively sister’s hand. “I haven’t decided—”
“You haven’t decided?” Incredulously, Genevieve turned on her. “What do you mean, you haven’t decided? Of course we’re leaving at once. Why would we stay?”
“Because I promised the duke of Nevett that I would see his son married,” Caroline explained, “and it wouldn’t be honorable to walk out before I’ve completed my task.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” Genevieve had a child’s way of recognizing twaddle and an adolescent’s impatient way of speaking. “He’s a duke. He’ll hire somebody else.”
“No one else is as qualified.” Caroline was aware of Nicolette’s concerned gaze resting on her and resisted the temptation to meet her eyes.
“That’s just dumb,” Genevieve declared. “I’m not going back to Father’s. You can’t make me!”
Out in the foyer, they heard males speaking. Caroline forgot Genevieve. She forgot the duchess. She forgot her inheritance.
Jude had returned. Caroline would recognize his voice anywhere, and the now-familiar guilt and excitement brought her to her feet.
“Caroline, did you hear me? I’m not going back to Father’s house!” Genevieve said.
Nicolette put her hand on Genevieve’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. Let’s just…watch for a moment, shall we?” They followed Caroline out into the foyer.
Jude looked not at all like the giddy coquet Caroline had escorted to the opera, nor like the demanding lover of the night before. He had gone home to change, and his somber suit was echoed by the stern and distant gaze he leveled on her. He handed his hat to Phillips and his tone was clipped and impatient. “Miss Ritter, what did Comte de Guignard give you last night?”
“What did he give me?” What did Jude mean? Was he angry with her? He spoke as if she were some kind of lowly creature to whom he owed nothing, not even a smidgen of civility. “He didn’t give me anything.”
“Yes, he did,” Jude said. “He gave you a slip of paper. What was on it?”
Vaguely Caroline remembered Comte de Guignard expressing his regard for her and insisting that she have somewhere to go…“He offered me a place of sanctuary.”
“Where?” Jude’s eyes narrowed on her.
“I don’t know. I don’t need sanctuary.” She walked up to him and looked directly at him, trying to plumb the difference in him and the reasons for it. “Do I?”
“No, but I need to know where they’ll escape when…”
“When what?” Caroline noticed the duke stood in the door of the breakfast chamber, but all of her attention was on Jude.
“Show me the paper.” It was not a request.
“I’ll go get it.” She started up the stairs.
“I’ll go with you.” He followed on her heels.
She started to object, but he alarmed her with his intensity and his air of menace. No matter what she said, he would follow her, and propriety be damned. And maybe when they were alone he would tell her what had happened to turn him into a steel-eyed avenger.
As they climbed the stairs, Nevett watched them, then went to his wife. In the tones of a man making a horrible discovery, he demanded, “What is going on around here?”
With a smirk, Phillips said, “Your Grace, I believe
I
can answer that.”
“W
hat’s happening?” As they climbed the stairs, Caroline glanced back at Jude. “Tell me, please. What has Comte de Guignard done that you’re so angry at him?”
Jude waited until they were out of sight of their audience on the curved stairway before he softly answered,
“He plans to assassinate the queen.”
Caroline’s breath stopped. She stopped. “What…what do you mean? He can’t assassinate the queen.” Caroline turned to face Jude. “He’s a count. He’s not some scruffy anarchist. He’s a gentleman. Why would the rich and titled Comte de Guignard try to eliminate our monarch?”
“He’s wants to start a war between France and Britain by killing Queen Victoria and blaming France for it.” Jude spoke as if his theory was fact instead of some madness he had fabricated out of his love for drama.
Except he didn’t look mad. He stood on the stair below her. Their eyes were on the same level, and his face was different. So different. Intent, intelligent, driven.
“Is Her Majesty safe?” she asked breathlessly.
“We’ve diverted the queen. Sent her on a different route and substituted a mannequin in her place in the carriage.”
“Why would war start if the comte killed the queen? Comte de Guignard isn’t French. He told me so.”
“How many people can tell the difference? He’s been careful to make himself appear very French to the people who’ll be brought in as witnesses, and who can be counted on to raise the alarm. Besides, he doesn’t plan on getting caught. Today, while Her Majesty rides to Parliament, he’s going to shoot—or more likely, have Bouchard shoot—and yell, ‘
Vive la France
.’ They have paid innocent people to join in and probably to carry guns and confuse the investigation.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Not at all. I was supposed to carry a pistol, also, but I wasn’t home to receive the invitation they sent me last night.” He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. As she scanned it, he grimly said, “I was here with you. If I’d gotten that invitation, then I would have understood the details of their plot much earlier.”
Caroline read Comte de Guignard’s message with incredulity, but that incredulity suffered more and more as Jude gave her the facts, and the proof.
“Go on. What else will the Moricadians do?” She handed back the stiff cream paper.
Jude crushed it in his hand. “They’ll have written a letter purportedly from a French extremist and sent it to the newspapers. During the riot caused by the shooting they’ll escape to their sanctuary. From there they’ll catch a ship and leave the country.”
Jude’s sharp, flat tone made Caroline feel stupid, as if she’d missed the obvious. “How do you know this? When did you find it out?”
“I’ve always known they were here to do something horrible. It was a matter of finding out what, and where, and to whom.”
“But the comte…?” Yet she remembered his attitude when he spoke to Jude at the opera. She remembered the way Monsieur Bouchard watched people, with contempt and derision.
“De Guignard is a killer.
Bouchard
is a killer. Early this morning he shot Miss Gloriana Dollydear.”
“That’s impossible. I heard her sing only last night.” Yet Caroline knew Jude wouldn’t lie, and she could almost taste her horror. That beautiful young woman, so talented, and now…dead? “Why would Monsieur Bouchard do such a thing? Why would they kill an opera singer?”
“Because de Guignard told her too much. Because Bouchard was afraid she was working for us.” With a firm hand on Caroline’s back, Jude started her back up the stairs. “Because she
was
working for us.”
“Us?” A sick feeling formed in the pit of Caroline’s stomach.
“I’m part of Throckmorton’s team at the Home Office.”
Caroline walked ahead of Jude, putting together the facts in slow, inescapable logic. “So all the time I’ve been teaching you to flirt and trying to find you a wife, you haven’t really been learning anything, and you’re not interested in marriage. Instead, you’ve been trying to discover what Comte de Guignard and Monsieur Bouchard were planning to do.”
“That’s right.” Opening the door of her bedchamber, he ushered her inside.
The blood drained from Caroline’s head. She felt faint. She felt ill. And inevitably their confrontation was going to get so much worse.
Daisy busied herself picking up Caroline’s clothing, putting the brushes back on the dressing table. She frowned at Jude. “Ye shouldn’t be in this young lady’s bedroom, m’lord.”
“Daisy,” he said, “wait outside.”
“Nay, m’lord, I can’t.” The maid put her hands on her hips. “ ’Tisn’t proper. ’Tisn’t right.”
“Daisy, please.” So many emotions whirled in Caroline, all of them violent and alien, that she didn’t know if she were wretched or angry. “Give us a moment alone.”
Daisy looked them over, and perhaps she saw something in their rigidity that told her a confrontation was unavoidable. “All right, Miss Ritter, but I’m not going farther than behind the dressing screen,” Daisy said stoutly.
“That will do.” Caroline waited until Daisy disappeared. Moving to the far side of the room, she stared at Jude like a boxer facing her opponent. In a low tone, she asked, “Did you never think to
ask
for my help?” She answered before he could. “No. You thought if I knew the facts, I’d refuse. I didn’t have a choice in this little farce.”
“There wasn’t time to explain the situation.” He, too, kept his voice low. “It was a matter of some secrecy—and now some urgency. Give me your reticule.”
“You simply didn’t trust me to keep your secret.” The agony of her own words caused her to reel in shock. She had used this man for pleasure, and allowed him to use her, and fallen in love…
Nausea turned to something worse. Something painful and horrible. She felt as if she’d swallowed something poisonous, and she was very much afraid that what she’d swallowed was the truth.
She had fallen in love with the frivolous, ridiculous, marvelous earl of Huntington. Now she looked at him in his dark garb and his serious mien, and she didn’t know him. She had thought she did, but he wasn’t the man she thought he was. “You used me.” She wanted him to deny it.
Instead he agreed. “I did use you. But I used you in a good cause.”
A good cause. His own cause. Like Father. Like Lord Freshfield. Without a thought to how she would feel.
“You pretended to be a fop because…?”
“We have to talk about this later.” Jude glanced around. “Where’s your reticule?”
“No.” Caroline had been taught that gentlewomen were not stubborn, that it wasn’t a ladylike trait. But for this man, she’d discarded ladylike behavior and a great deal of other things like virginity and propriety. “No, now. You said Her Majesty was in no danger, so…now.”
Something in her expression must have warned him, for he said, “There are a great many reasons why I didn’t tell you what I was doing, a great deal of them because when I was with you, I thought of nothing but you. Kissing you. Having you.”
“Sh!” She glanced furiously at the screen where Daisy lurked.
“Because we had unfinished business.” He lowered his voice, but it was just as intense. “I wanted you so desperately I missed that invitation last night. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Yes. That you’re trying to blame me for an evening spent in lasciviousness.”
“And mutual pleasure, and no. That’s not what I meant at all. I meant that you’re more to me than I wish.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t sound right, but you know what I mean.”
“I used to think I knew what you meant, but I’ve come to realize I don’t know you at all. Now I’m sure that once I kissed you, once I gave you my body, you decided I was yours to use as you wished.”
“That’s not true.” He sounded soothing, calm and sensible.
Which made her voice rise. “Which part? That you feared I’d refuse, or that you thought I was yours to use as you wished?”
“I never thought that because you gave me your body, I could use you.” He spoke even more quietly as if hoping to hush her by his example.
“But you did, so it was that you didn’t want me to have a choice.” She clenched her hands to keep them from shaking, and the truth spilled from her in a dreadful, earthshaking rush. “If you’d asked me, I would have done anything for you. I would have done it for England, too, because it was the right thing to do, but mostly I would have done it for you. Because I was so infatuated with you that I surrendered the chastity I’d cherished for four dreadful years when selling myself would have made my life so much easier.”
“I treasure the gift you gave me,” he said, and she thought he look stunned. “But right now, I really need that reticule.”
“Paltry!” She loved him, and he so obviously didn’t love her. She took a quivering breath. “You were laughing at me.”
“No.” To his credit, he managed to look dismayed—and distracted by that stupid reticule.
“You used me. You’re no better than my father.” She was crying, wiping tears off her hot cheeks. “You’re worse than Lord Freshfield. I don’t know if there’s a man in the world worth having, but I do know you’re not the one.”
“I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t think you’d ever find out—”
“So that’s what you thought? That as long as I didn’t find out it was all right? What kind of warped integrity is that?”
He took her shoulders. “Listen to me. I’ll come back. We’ll talk, I promise. But the Moricadians are going to shoot at the queen, and yes, we’ve sent a message to Her Majesty’s guard and she’ll be safe, but de Guignard and Bouchard must be apprehended or they’ll try again. And if they succeed, the queen, our queen, will be dead. At the least, they’ll ruin the fragile relations between France and England. We’ll have another war, a war that’ll make the devastation of the last war appear trifling. Other people’s agony meant nothing to the Moricadians. Murder means nothing to them.” He gently shook her. “Caroline, isn’t the bond between you and me less important than our country’s safety?”
All of her fire and passion died. A deadly calm took its place. She stepped away from him. Away from the love she cherished. “Of course it is.”
He stared at her as if he didn’t know how to handle her. “You’re thinking you’re not going to earn the sum my father promised you.”
“What?” Was he really that stupid?
“I always meant to pay you. If you’ll help me now, I’ll double whatever Father pledged.”
Without her volition, her hand flew out. She slapped him with the full force of her arm.
Disbelief in his eyes, he cupped his reddening cheek.
She shook out her skirts like a woman removing the paw print of a troublesome dog. An uncouth, offensive, loathsome dog, and she was insulting dogs by comparing them to Jude. Leaning over, she pulled the reticule from underneath the dressing table. “It was right where you kicked it last night.” She threw the purse at him and consumed by her wrathful fire, she said, “Now—
do
go save the queen, and
don’t
ever come near me again.”
He seemed remarkably unimpressed with her ultimatum, for he opened her reticule. He removed the slip of paper. He read the message, and in a distracted voice said, “Stay here. You’ll be safe. Gloriana Dollydear was shot because de Guignard told her their secret location. I don’t want you shot for the same reason.”
“I’m not going to follow you.” She hoped her scorn hid her anguish. “I may be stupid, but I know when I’m not wanted.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Dropping the note on the floor, he tugged her into his arms and held her prisoner against his body. His lips touched hers, as he said, “I will always want you.”
He took her mouth in a fierce kiss that sabotaged her wrath and ignited her passions. She responded without thought, without resistance, showing the love she denied.
Why not? It was the last time. She embraced him, tasted him, while he savaged her mouth as if he wanted to impress himself on her.
He kissed her like a soldier going to his death…and she kissed him good-bye.
He let her go. He stepped back from her. He stared as if he wanted one last look. “Remember me, sweet Caro. No matter what, remember me.”
Caroline watched him walk out the door, and she was glad to see him leave. Glad. The tears that dribbled down her cheeks meant nothing!
Follow him.
He dared think she was going to follow him. That swine had thought her loyalty could be bought. Worse than that, that her loyalty
needed
to be bought.
Sweet Caro,
he had called her. Well, it didn’t matter that he remembered her pet name. She meant what she said. She never wanted to see him again. Never. Ever. Not if he crawled on his knees…
And she wasn’t going to follow him.
Yet she found herself running down the corridor to the top of the stairs, and got to the landing in time to see the door shut behind him.
She was only glad he walked out of there with the reddened imprint of her hand on his cheek.
Nicolette stood in the foyer looking up at her. “You hit my son.”
“As hard as I could.” Caroline braced herself for the duchess’s reaction.
“If I know him, he deserved it,” Nicolette said tranquilly.
“Yes. Yes, he did.” Caroline needed to drag her thoughts away from Jude and back to her responsibilities. “Where’s my sister?”
“I sent her into the dining room for a cup of tea and some scones. She’s very upset, but like all youngsters that age, food seems to cure her distress. Don’t worry about her.” Nicolette indicated the outer door. “Where did Jude go?”
“He’s off to capture the Moricadians and charge them with the attempted murder of the queen.”
“Ah.” The duchess nodded. “I had wondered.”
Nicolette’s lack of shock brought Caroline down the stairs to the foyer. “What do you mean, you had wondered? You knew about this?”
“Of course I didn’t know. Jude would never tell a woman anything to cause her distress. He’s one of those men who is determined to shield all women from strife, no matter how much it irks us.”
“He might shield
you
from strife, but he was willing enough to use
me
in his little plot.”