Persuasion (25 page)

“You are making me uneasy.”

“You never told me how Grenville became an agent for the French.”

Her heart thundered. “He did what he had to in order to survive,” she said slowly. “He had a choice—become one of them or go to the guillotine.”

Lucas made a harsh sound. “Amelia—would Grenville ever betray his country?”

She shot to her feet. “Of course not!”

Lucas studied her. “Not even to save his own life—or yours—or his children’s?”

And suddenly Amelia was at a loss and she could not answer him. Because Simon would do anything he had to do to protect her and the children. He had said so—and she believed him.

“I thought so,” Lucas said.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

L
UCAS
HAD
INSISTED
THAT
SHE
take his carriage home. He had a driver, and Amelia sat in the open curricle in the backseat, curled up in the corner. Her mind was racing uselessly. She was exhausted from the emotional turmoil she had been swept up in, ever since she had eavesdropped on Warlock and Simon yesterday.

It was almost supper time. She could not wait until the evening meal was over, and the children had been put to bed. All she wanted to do just then was crawl into Simon’s arms, close her eyes and let him hold her tightly.

Her driver cried out.

Amelia gasped, her eyes flying open as the curricle she was riding in swerved hard to the curb. A large black coach was passing by them and it had come dangerously close. She clung to the seat as one of the curricle’s wheels hit the curb. Shocked, Amelia turned to stare after the black coach, expecting it to continue its mad rush by them. Instead, the coach’s two-horse team turned sharply in front of them, causing Lucas’s carriage horse to scream in alarm as it reared up to avoid crashing into the other team. The black coach braked in front of her curricle, positioned in such a manner that they were prevented from going forward.

Amelia was disbelieving—was the other driver insane? Or intoxicated? They had almost had a terrible collision! “Is our horse all right?” she cried.

“He’s fine,” the driver gasped, “but we are lucky, madam, we did not crash into this coach.”

Amelia was standing now, and holding on to a safety strap for support. The team of black geldings in the coach’s traces seemed unnerved, but otherwise fine. Before she could ask if there was anyone in the coach—and if anyone was hurt—its door was flung open. A man descended rapidly in a whirl of dark clothes, and was striding toward her.

“Sir?” Amelia began, confused. His face was set, and suddenly he was opening her own door and seizing her arm. Amelia cried out as she was pulled bodily from the curricle.

And as she was pushed toward the other coach, she realized what was happening. She was being abducted. Amelia screamed, trying to pull free of the stranger as her driver shouted in protest. “Unhand her!”

But it was too late and Amelia was already thrust up into the dark interior of the other coach.

As she fell hard and face-first onto the seat there, the man shoved the coach door closed behind her. Instantly the coach moved forward.

She had been abducted.

Fear immobilized her, but briefly. And Amelia realized she was not alone.

She started to sit up, and as she did, a strong hand closed around her waist, helping her.

More fear assailed her. Amelia pulled free, sitting up instantly and pressing backward into her seat. And her gaze locked with Warlock’s.

“You are fortunate,” he said softly, “that it is I who wishes a word with you and not the enemy.”

She gasped. “How could you do such a thing?” But as she stared at her uncle, she realized that he was right. She was in danger now, because she was Simon’s lover and she knew too much. French agents could abduct her, just as her uncle had.

“I asked you to give me your word, Amelia, and you refused to do so.” He shrugged, his expression bland. “It hardly takes genius to know you would run to Lucas the first moment you could do so. But at least I trust him.”

She was gasping for breath and trembling wildly. “You frightened me!” But what did that mean? Was he implying that he did not trust her—or Simon?

“Good, because you should be frightened. You should be on your way to Cornwall, in fact.”

She was beginning to regain some composure—and she was furious. “I am not leaving Simon, damn it.”

His brows lifted. “Then you will stay here at your own risk—and now you comprehend just how risky it is to remain here.”

“You are certainly making your point, Sebastian. In the future, I will be more careful and travel with Garrett at my side. But if you have staged a false abduction to impress me, then you have wasted your time!”

“A wise decision, to keep a bodyguard, but I did not stage an abduction just to frighten you. I told you to keep everything you have learned in confidence. You disobeyed me, and there is always a price to be paid for disobedience, Amelia.”

She stared, taken aback and uncertain of how she should respond. Should she fear her own uncle? He had come to the family’s aid twenty years ago, but two decades had passed since then and the country was at war—and war changed everyone. She knew that firsthand.

She finally said, low and carefully, “I have done no harm. As you said, Lucas is trustworthy. Simon is in trouble, and maybe Lucas can help.”

“I can help, Amelia. It is to me you should have turned.” He was calm.

She was not about to tell him that she did not trust him, and perhaps, that she feared him. “Yes, you can help. I want you to let Simon out, Warlock. He has been in your intrigues long enough. He has a family to think of, especially now that his wife is gone. He is being ripped apart by these terrible deceptions. He needs to be a father to his children, not be one of your spies.”

“Even if I decided to let him out, to use your term, his French masters would hardly be so agreeable. They are expecting Grenville to provide them with valuable intelligence, Amelia. The reach of the Terror is vast. It has come to our shores. Grenville must dance to their tune, otherwise he will pay a dear price for his treachery.”

She shivered. “We could go into hiding. We could disappear.”

“He cannot give up an earldom, Amelia.”

“Then what is the answer?” she cried. “Or is the real answer that you won’t give him up?”

“Grenville remains terribly valuable to me, more so than ever, in fact. Come, Amelia, you are highly intelligent. Surely you know that Grenville is perfectly placed to do the worst damage to France? You remain a patriot, do you not?”

She hissed, “I will not sacrifice Simon to the damned war!”

“And I hope you do not have to. Grenville has been playing a dangerous game for several years. If he can continue to do so successfully—and there are men like him who have done so successfully for many years—he will survive. Do you really wish to help him? I have no doubt that it would ease his mind if you took the children and went to Cornwall.”

Had she become a distraction—a dangerous one? But she knew Simon needed her close by! She was consumed with dismay. There was no end in sight to these horrible war games. She simply could not imagine going around and around like this, bowing to one master and then another for years and years, and wondering every time Simon went out into the night, if he would ever return. “Simon needs me. I cannot leave him now. So do not ask me to do so again.”

“I thought that would be your reply.” He seemed slightly amused.

She shook her head grimly. “I will do my best to be a help to him—not a hindrance or a distraction. But you must assure me of one thing. Assure me that you will not send Simon back to France, not now, not ever.”

“You may rest assured that right now, I prefer him to be where he is. But I can make no promises, Amelia. None of my men have spoken with Robespierre, but he has.”

She clenched her fists, horrified. Had Simon become that deeply involved in the French republican government? “I won’t allow him to go back. It is too dangerous. They already imprisoned him once! He would never survive another prison term.”

“Unfortunately, he will do as I say.” He was calm. “But I will certainly take what you are saying into consideration.”

She shook her head, feeling powerless. “You are heartless, Sebastian.”

“If I had a heart, I would probably be dead, as would most of my men.” He shrugged.

“I am your niece! I love him!” she cried.

“Yes, that is obvious—too obvious. You cannot allow his enemies to realize that you are lovers, Amelia. Because if his deception is ever uncovered, Grenville is in jeopardy, as are you and the children.”

She turned to gaze out of the window at the passing buildings, tears arising. She hated Warlock now. She hated the war.

“I am not the enemy. I want nothing more than to attain a happy ending for us all.”

He spoke softly, and Amelia looked at him, wondering if she had misheard.

“But I have found that there are few happy endings to be had, outside of fairy tales and novels. I look forward to the day when Grenville can return to his life as an earl and a father, when I have no further need for him, when this damned war is over. But I am a realist, Amelia, not a dreamer, and my attention is on the present and the immediate future. You need to be a realist, as well. You need to keep your romantic expectations in check. These are not romantic times.”

She hugged herself and stared out of the window again. He was trying to tell her that the odds were not in her favor, she realized with a sinking sensation. He was saying that she would not be happily settled in the country with Simon and the children one day.

“I brought you here for a reason.”

She jerked, meeting his gaze with dread.

“In this time of war and revolution, there is no reason that you cannot do your part, too.”

She stiffened. She knew she was not going to like his suggestions.

His gaze was sharp, his smile casual. “You are living with Grenville now. And you know him well—better, perhaps, than anyone.”

She did not like this new tangent. “I know him very well.”

“He seems entirely fond of you.”

She tensed. “We are friends.”

“Good. Friends and lovers, it is truly perfect.”

Her tension grew. “You do not sound mocking.”

“I am not being mocking. If you are going to remain here in town, then you may as well be useful. And you can be very useful, Amelia, by listening carefully to what Grenville says and how he says it—by watching him with care and reporting all of this back to me.”

She was aghast. “I am not spying on Simon!”

“Why not? If he is doing what he claims, then there is nothing untoward that you could possibly reveal, is there?”

She inhaled. “What does that mean?”

“I believe you know exactly what I am saying.” He added, “Grenville has convinced his French masters that he is one of them—and that is no easy task. So I must wonder, is he one of them or is he one of us?” The bland indifference was gone. Warlock’s dark eyes burned.

She cried out. Hadn’t Lucas questioned Simon’s loyalties, as well? “He would never betray us. He would never betray our country.”

“War is a monster that devours men whole,” Warlock said harshly. “I know—firsthand. Sometimes it takes their bodies, at other times, it takes their souls. So the question becomes, who has Grenville’s soul?”

“I will never spy on him.” Amelia trembled.

“Not even to save him from the French?” Their gazes locked. “Not even to save him from himself? Not even to simply...save him?”

Amelia stared through her tears, incapable of looking away.

* * *

S
IMON
’
S
BODY
BEGAN
TO
SPASM
as Amelia moved her mouth over him. “Amelia,” he gasped, seizing her arms.

Amelia allowed him to drag her up his body. He wrapped her in his arms and thrust upward, deeply, into her. Astride him, she held him close as their bodies fused with both desperation and love. She knew that every time they made love, it could be the last time. She had never been as bold, as aggressive, as frantic, as she had just been.

He cried out wildly, but she followed him a moment later with her own climax.

She floated in that state of euphoria she was becoming familiar with, still in his arms, her body draped over his. “You did not have to do that,” he whispered roughly.

She tightened her grasp, her cheek nestled against his chest, the pleasure fading rapidly. There was no following sense of satiation. Instead tension began. Every moment of that day rushed back to her, in vivid detail. Lucas had questioned Simon’s loyalty. And her uncle wanted her to spy on him....

“Are you all right?” he whispered, kissing her temple and moving her to the bed, beside him. He kept her in the circle of his arms.

What were they going to do? What was she going to do? How could they keep the children safe? She kissed his chest and looked up, aware of the need to cry. “Being with you is always wonderful, Simon.”

“Then why do you look so sad?” His gaze was concerned and searching.

She reached for the covers and pulled them up, suddenly cold. “Would you ever consider running away with me and the children?”

His eyes widened. “If I thought, for a moment, that we could run and hide without being discovered, yes, I would consider it.”

She studied him in dismay. “Why would it be so hard to hide?”

“I am a gentleman with means. You are a lady. Our presence would be easily remarked, no matter where we went.” He sat up and so did she. “Is that what you want to do?”

“If that is what it would take to keep us all safe—and together—then, yes, that is what I want to do.”

He began shaking his head. “And what about your brothers? Could you really run away without telling them where you are going? What about Julianne? Your mother? She would not be able to come with us—she could so easily give us away.”

Amelia sank back against the pillows. She hadn’t thought any of this through. “So that is it, then? We will stay here, like this, until the war ends—or until my uncle sends you back to France?”

His face darkened. “Amelia, I have never regretted anything more than I regret bringing you into my sordid life.”

“You are the joy in my life,” she cried.

“No, I am the reason you walk about with fear in your eyes.” He got up abruptly. “How could I have thought, even for a moment, that you would not learn the truth about me?”

“I am glad I learned the truth, so we are in this predicament together.” She tried not to stare. The fire in the hearth was low, but a half a dozen candles were lit, illuminating the bedchamber. She hadn’t ever seen Simon walk about so immodestly before. He had always been careful to avert his back to her, and quickly reach for his clothes. She watched him go over to the chair where his caftan lay, her heart racing with renewed desire. He was all lean, hard muscle, as superb as a Greek athlete from bygone times. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them.