Persuasion (27 page)

She sobered, worried. The glow she had carried with her all day began to rapidly dull. He hadn’t bothered to tell her he was going out for the afternoon, but he was hardly in the habit of reporting his movements to her. And their life was hardly perfect. They weren’t a real family, nor was she certain that he would ever ask her to be his wife. More importantly, Simon lived in the dark, dangerous world of espionage, with the constant threat of being uncovered by his enemies, and the danger of the retribution that might follow.

Fred was entering the kitchens and Amelia glanced at him as she hung her apron on a wall peg. “Has his lordship returned yet?”

“No, Miss Greystone, he has not.”

More anxiety churned. Amelia left the kitchens, glancing into the dining room as she did every night. The table was perfectly set with crystal, china and linens. White and yellow roses formed the centerpiece.

And suddenly she saw Simon seated at the table’s head, in the bronze-velvet coat he had been wearing that day, the two boys seated on his left in their blue dinner jackets. And she glimpsed herself seated on his right, wearing her new rose-damask dress....

She stiffened, surprised by her wishful thinking, and then she was angry with herself. What was wrong with her? There was a time and a place for everything. Until Simon was freed from his services as a spy, she must put her own dreams aside.

Amelia left the dining room, hurrying into the front hall. It was five to seven. She approached the front door where a liveried doorman stood, and glanced out of the tall arched window beside it. His coach was not coming down the drive; it was not parked to the right either, by the stables.

“Miss Greystone!”

Amelia whirled at the sharp cry, as Mrs. Murdock came stumbling down the stairs. Panic had been evident in her tone, and she was ashen. “Mrs. Murdock? Is someone hurt?”

“Miss Greystone—I can’t find her!” Mrs. Murdock ran across the hall to her.

Amelia felt her heart lurch. “Whom can’t you find?”

Panting, Mrs. Murdock said, “The baby is gone! I have looked everywhere! I left her asleep in her cradle, but she isn’t there—she has been stolen, Miss Greystone, stolen from her very bed!”

Amelia stared in confusion and disbelief. Lucille was gone? Lucille was stolen? She did not believe it! “Mrs. Murdock, surely the boys have taken her into their rooms!”

“I have checked everywhere.” Mrs. Murdock began to weep. “Lucille is gone!”

And as the comprehension began, so did the horror.

* * *

S
IMON
SAT
BACK
GRIMLY
in his coach as it moved through his Mayfair neighborhood. His efforts that afternoon to uncover information that would appease his French masters had been an utter waste. He had called on Bedford, Greystone and Penrose, in that order. But he had not been able to ferret out information that might help Pichegru when he attacked the Allied position in Flanders.

His temples ached and he rubbed them. Two days had already passed since he had met up with Marcel and Treyton. His time was running out. From the moment he received any intelligence, it took at least twenty-four hours to get that information to the French on the battle lines, depending mostly on the weather, but also on the network of couriers inside France. The French would move on Tournai at any moment. He was desperate.

Marcel’s threat had been very clear—his old cell in the Parisian prison awaited him, if he failed to provide the French with the intelligence they needed. And as sick as that threat made him—he knew he would never survive another term in prison—it was Tom Treyton who haunted him now.

“Give my regards to St. Just—and to his lovely children.”

That bastard had dared to threaten his children. Simon abruptly opened a window, feeling sick.

Treyton had decided to use the children as leverage. And that made Treyton his worst enemy.

Not for the first time, Simon debated arranging a private meeting with him. And he knew if he did that, Treyton would not leave that meeting alive....

Amelia’s image flashed in his mind. She thought him noble—but he was ruthlessly considering murdering a man in cold blood.

She said she understood that he would do anything to protect the children, but she didn’t understand at all.

And she would not love him if she understood.

One day, the truth would be revealed, and she would be appalled by the man he had become.

And when that day came, she would walk away from him, horrified. He stared out of his window blindly, wondering if he would be able to survive a life without Amelia in it. He wondered if his children would survive.

He knew the answer, so for now Treyton would live, and he would attempt to dance madly to their tune. And he still had one bit of intelligence that he could use, if there was no other choice. He could tell Duke that a number of men, including Warlock, knew he was Marcel, and that he was being played....

He felt sicker now. But it was too soon to play his best and last hand. And it would be his last hand, because once he betrayed Warlock—and his country—in such a way, there would be no going back.

His carriage had halted, he realized. Simon felt warmth begin to steal through him as his door was opened. He couldn’t wait to walk inside his home, greet his sons, see Amelia and pretend, if only for a while, that their life was an ordinary one.

He stepped out of his coach, smiling at the footman. But as he did, he glanced warily around. Earlier, he had been suspicious of another coach, some two blocks behind him. He had wondered if he was being followed, but then the coach had turned off the main street.

No one seemed to be lurking about the stables or the gardens now, spying on him. He was even looking forward to a glimpse of Lucille, and then, of course, there was Amelia... He wished he could find a pretense to have her dine with them.

The front door of his home flew open and Amelia came running out of the house. He took one look at her pale, frightened face, and knew that the serpent had struck them, at last.

His heart seemed to drop to the ground beneath his feet. The force was sickening. He rushed toward her. “Amelia?”

She reached him and cried breathlessly, “Lucille is gone. She has been abducted.” And she began to tremble helplessly, tears spilling, seizing his arms.

For one moment, Simon did not believe it. And then he knew that it was the baby they had chosen to use against him....

* * *

A
MELIA
HUGGED
HERSELF
,
fighting tears, listening carefully as Simon interviewed the last housemaid, an hour and a half later. But Bess had seen nothing and no one. In fact, not a single servant had seen a stranger in the house that evening, much less someone leaving with Lucille, and the entire staff had been accounted for. It was as if the baby had vanished into thin air!

Her heart cracked apart in anguish another time. She was terrified for the child, whom she very much considered her daughter. But no one would hurt an innocent baby, would they? Oh, God, it was cold and raining out. What if she was cold? Hungry?

“Thank you, Bess, for your help,” Simon was saying. “If you happen to recall something, anything, whether you believe it to be related to Lucille’s disappearance or not, you must tell me right away,” Simon said calmly. “Someone entered this house. He or she might have left a clue somewhere. We will continue searching the premises for some sign.”

The weeping maid nodded, turning to leave. Lloyd stood stiffly by the door to the gold room where Simon had been conducting the interviews, Mrs. Murdock with him. “Sir, I will begin another search of the entire house and grounds.”

“No one is to leave these premises, not without my permission,” Simon said. But he couldn’t look at her, and Amelia was aware of it. His spying had brought this down on them!

As Bess ran out, Lucas came striding in, unannounced.

“Lucas!” Amelia rushed into his arms, momentarily relieved—if anyone could save the day, it was her heroic brother. “Thank God you have come to help!”

Lucas held her tightly, but only briefly. “Grenville sent word. My God—Lucille is missing?”

Amelia nodded. “We are desperate to find her! Simon has interviewed the entire staff, but no one has heard or seen anything.”

Simon stepped forward. “Lloyd, bring a bottle of claret and three glasses. Mrs. Murdock, please check on the boys.”

As both servants left, Simon closed the pair of rosewood doors behind them. “Babies don’t disappear,” he said, facing them grimly. “But whoever took her, he or she has hidden their trail.”

“No, babies do not simply disappear. And it isn’t easy walking into a house like this unremarked. Could someone have been paid off to remain silent?” Lucas’s gaze was narrow.

“That seems likely,” Simon said grimly. “But no one is confessing to his or her complicity in this affair.”

Amelia gasped. “You mean that someone did see something—perhaps he or she even saw Lucille being taken—but they are being paid to remain silent?” She was shocked and furious, too.

“It is beginning to appear that way,” Simon said grimly.

Amelia clenched her fists. “Why?”

But Simon did not hear her—either that, or he was ignoring her. He faced Lucas. “Lucille was last seen in her crib at half past six. She was asleep. When Mrs. Murdock went to feed her at seven, the crib was empty.”

The two men stared at one another.

“I can’t help if I don’t know what is really going on,” Lucas finally said.

Amelia stiffened, staring at her brother and Simon. Simon glanced at her. “Why don’t you leave us?”

Fury erupted. “I am not going anywhere! I have every right to know what has happened to Lucille. Do you think I am a fool? We simply assumed your enemies would target the boys. But, then, almost no one knows that Lucille isn’t your daughter. Damn it, Simon! Why did they take her?” she cried. “Why? What do they want?”

He took her by both elbows. “Amelia, you must trust me, now. The less you know, the better.”

“How dare you!” She wrenched away, striking him across the face. His eyes widened, and even as she knew she shouldn’t have struck him, she shouted, “I am done, Simon, done! I will not let you shut me out of this! They have taken Lucille. They have taken my beautiful baby—because of your spy games! It is cold and raining out. She may be wet—she may be hungry—she could get sick! Why did they take her? What will they do to her? Will we ever get her back...alive?” She started to sob.

It was Lucas who pulled her close. “We will do our best to find her, Amelia, but your becoming hysterical won’t help.”

She looked up at him through her tears, the anger receding, replaced by raw fear. “Why did they take her?” she managed to ask, looking only at Simon.

He hesitated, then said thickly, “She is leverage, Amelia. They need information from me immediately, and they have ensured that I must do as they wish.”

“If you have information, give it to them!” she cried, seized with hope. “Do you have the information they want?”

“It isn’t as simple as you might think,” he began.

“No!” She wrenched free of Lucas. “You would betray your country for the boys—but not for Lucille?” She was incredulous and furious, at once. “You give them what they want to hear, Simon. I mean it. You will make certain they give us Lucille back!”

Simon breathed hard.

Lucas said to him, “Do you have what they want?” He was very serious.

Simon turned to him. “No.”

Amelia cried out, fists clenched again. “Then make something up,” she screamed.

He flinched, ashen now. “I should have known this was coming. They threatened the children, quite explicitly, just hours ago.”

Lucas’s eyes widened.

“This is my fault!” Simon suddenly turned to Amelia. “Does that make you feel better? This is my worst nightmare come true!”

She inhaled. “No, it does not make me feel better! I want Lucille back. And I want this to end.” She was panting.

He stared. “I will do what I have to do to get her back,” he finally said.

Amelia had a frisson of fear.

“Do not walk into their noose.” Lucas seized his arm. “That won’t help anything.”

Simon shook him off and approached Amelia, who was frozen. She desperately wanted Lucille back, but it had sounded as if Simon might sacrifice himself for the baby. “What are you planning?” she asked.

He kissed her hard and briefly. “I am doing what I must to bring Lucille home. And when she is home, you will take her and the boys to Cornwall.”

Amelia became alarmed. “And you will come with us?”

He suddenly smiled, but it was both amused and sad—it was resigned. “I doubt that,” he said.

And he was striding toward the door.

“Simon! What are you going to do?” Amelia cried in fear.

But he did not answer her; he left.

* * *

S
IMON
PACED
THE
LOBBY
of the prestigious and very exclusive St. James Club. Two doormen stood by the front entrance, ignoring him, and several gentlemen were seated about the spacious wood-paneled lobby, awaiting their guests.

Edmund Duke entered the lobby, removing his sodden black cloak. Duke instantly saw Simon; their gazes locked.

Handing his clock to a servant by the coat closet, Duke said something, then started purposefully toward Simon, a benign smile on his face. Simon simply waited.

Duke paused before him. “Your note was a surprise. Good evening, my lord.”

“Good evening, Mr. Duke,” Simon said. And as he spoke, alarm filled Duke’s eyes.

Simon knew he had realized his tone of voice was identical to Jourdan’s. He was undoubtedly wondering if Jourdan and St. Just could be one and the same man.

Simon had probably met Duke three times in the past three years, when he had been invited to meetings at the War Office. He had never been formally introduced. Duke had ushered the War Secretary’s guests in on two occasions before leaving; on the third, he had served drinks and had been present for some time before being dismissed from the room.