The Duchess and the Spy (30 page)

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Christopher was furious. He didn’t know if he wanted to throttle her or kiss her senseless. She had the gall to go traipsing around Mayfair without an escort, when she realized that her life was in peril wherever she went. She had no sense whatsoever, and he wanted to instill some much needed sensibility into her. He stormed into Murray House as soon as the butler admitted him and the butler and footmen were wise enough to stay out of his way, though he discovered rather quickly that the housekeeper was not as intelligent.

“My lord, I must insist that you not go any further. Her Grace is not in residence, and you have not properly announced yourself. As such, it would not seem fitting for you to go barging through her private residence.”

“I do not think that it is your place to give me instructions.” His look made her move aside. He stared in expectation at the butler, but the man only straightened himself, and stared forward as if he had suddenly forgotten how to talk. “Bloody Hell.”

They were closing ranks. Obviously, the staff had chosen to remain loyal to their young mistress. He sighed and then stared down at the pale blue handkerchief that was lying across the bottom step of the grand staircase. He ignored it, hurrying past it, as he began the pursuit of a lifetime. The mansion was completely quiet, and maids scurried out of his way, as he swung open about ten bedchamber doors before he tried one that would not open.

“Isabella, open this door.”

“Never. I don’t ever want to see you again, Christopher!”

“Never is quite a long time.”

“I daresay that is fine with me. I don’t care if I see you ever again. An age wouldn’t be long enough.”

That was it. He had heard quite enough, and he wasn’t about to let her have her own way in this matter.

Isabella knew she was pushing Christopher past his limits. Wild eyed, she began backing away from the door as the doorknob rattled. The door crashed open, and he came barreling over the threshold. She cried out in alarm, and ran further into her bedchamber, toward her dressing room, but tripped and fell. She moaned as pain exploded throughout her leg, when he came down upon her.

“Do not touch me,” she ordered, shrinking away from him, as he placed his revolting hands on her body, and quickly pulled her up into his arms. “You dreadful man, do put me down! Deuce it all, Christopher, you have far exceeded your liberties. Shall you try ravishing me against my wishes?”

“I daresay, darling, that wasn’t what you were saying earlier this morning.” She swallowed thickly. His eyes glinted with a dangerous intent, but not one that meant he wanted to throttle her. Shivering, she quickly placed her hand up to her hot cheek.

“You are a persnickety, addle-brained fool.” She watched him warily, as he sidled around the bed and stared curiously at the diary that she had sitting on her rosewood escritoire. She grew apprehensive as she realized how old the diary was, and almost cursed her grandmother when she realized that the woman had left everything untouched in her room. The maids had only come in and cleaned the room, leaving everything as it had been four years ago. She had forgotten her diary in London, and had returned to Scotland without it. She didn’t want him to read it, and she let out a long suffering groan, as he reached for it.

“Pray, don’t open that, it is mine from a lifetime ago.” She jumped up from where he had unceremoniously dropped her, and making it over to his side in no time at all. “Give me that.” She extended her hand for him to place in within her grasp. He stared at her tauntingly, with the corners of his mouth twitching with sudden amusement. “Christopher, you tire my patience. I shall not ask again. If I had my magic right now, I’d make you do a jig just for your insolence!”

“I was not aware that you were asking, wife,” he replied, cracking the leather cover open.

“Oh, you will be the death of me,” she exclaimed, wincing as he rifled through the pages. He stopped on one page, and began reading the entry. Before he could get too far, she wrenched it away from him, and stuck it behind her back. “If you were not aware, Christopher, a diary is personal, and does not invite everyone to read it for entertainment.”

“I was being mentioned in that passage, and I shall have it back to read it.” He reached for the diary, but she cleverly sidestepped him. “I never knew that I shattered your heart.”

“You know that as a lass I was deeply besotted with you,” she remarked smoothly hoping that she would distract him and placate him at the same time. “Why ever would you care about what silly girlhood musings I wrote in my diary? You do not seem to play the part of a romantic, and I daresay that you normally do a spectacular performance at being the stiff-upper lip bully.”

“I still want to know what possessed you to flee from Covington House, and I thought reading your diary might give me some insight into that convoluted brain of yours. My family is not frightening. The only conclusion that I am able to draw is that you were scared of me, and I want to know why.”

“You are a beast.” She flung open her wardrobe, gasping when she discovered that all of her clothing from four years ago still hung pressed and smelling like violets. She stood there gaping as she reached out to touch her violet coloured dress gingerly. Everything was as it had always been. It was as if she hadn’t even left. And perhaps, in a way, she never had.

“So this is your old bedchamber, and your life as it was once upon a time,” he murmured, reaching out for the diary and snatching it away from her before she could react.

“You shall give that back this instant,” she said. Her nerves were shot. She felt like having a good cry, and must have looked like because his expression changed dramatically when he looked at her.

“Don’t cry. I had to read it, since it mentioned me in such a favourable light. I knew you were besotted with me, but the way you write about me here, why you paint me like a chivalric knight.”

“It is true. I was quite infatuated with you, and now that I reflect upon it, I have no idea why. I feel so overwrought. I can’t quite believe that my grandmother kept everything as it was when I was taken. She kept it as a shrine to me, I suppose and I’m mourning all that I lost. I spent four long agonizing years in France. And all the while I clung to a life that I could never return to. Things changed in my absence, and most weren’t for the better.”

“We should have found you sooner,” he admitted, and by the shocked expression he now wore, he hadn’t meant to give her that bit of damning information.

“Are you telling me that…that you…you were always looking for me?”

“I had a hand in it, aye. Your uncle wanted the Earth searched for you, and we did all that we could.”

“We, being the branch of Intelligence you work for.”

“You could say that.”

She sighed. “Pierre moved me around quite a bit, and France is a large country to get lost in.”

“Indeed.”

“I wish you had found me sooner, and oh, I wish I had possessed the courage to use my magic against him…I wish I had killed him to ensure my escape. I have never...” her voice broke with emotion. “I have never been able to cause that kind of harm with my magic…I’ve never been able to force myself to do it. I suppose…I suppose I’m too damn soft for my own good.”

“Not soft. You possess more courage than most, Isabella.” He smiled at her. Her heart warmed. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long, perhaps, he had spoken in haste against her…mayhap, he hadn’t actually meant what he’d said. Many said things they didn’t mean. With that, he took a step toward her.

“Why don’t you come home with me? This house is no longer your house, Isabella. You are my wife, your place is by my side, and mine is at your side.”

Christopher needed her to see how much he needed her—how much he wanted her. He had a feeling she’d been eavesdropping again, and had heard something she shouldn’t have. If he couldn’t make her see sense, then, he would do something to put some sense back into her.

He marched over to her, ignored her startled protest, and picked her up, and threw her kicking and screaming over his shoulder. He patted her affectionately on the rump, and heard her groan in frustration, as she whacked him squarely on the back.

“You…you…wretched cur! You put me done this instant,” she commanded.

“Come now, my darling, do be accommodating. You are my wife, and I am taking you back where you belong. You admitted yourself that you wrote that diary when you were a girl. Well, let me remind you darling, that you are no longer a girl. Why, you might even have my child growing inside of you right now.”

“Insufferable!” But she didn’t finish her thought, as she considered his words. Good heavens, he was right. He may have gotten her with child, and though the thought sent a shiver of delight went through her, she knew that he was only saying it, to stop her rambling. She was only a mere Frenchwoman—who was a witch without her powers that was only good for entertainment, so why would he want her to carry, and have his child? It didn’t the remotest amount of sense.

“Nonetheless, I shan’t go anywhere with you, Christopher. Put me down!”

“I would advise you against trying to get your own way on this one, dearest,” he murmured, “And cease your constant struggling, you will only succeed in harming yourself, and hurting that beautiful knee of yours.” She was just about to begin fighting him again when he reached the stairwell and began walking down them.

“I see you’ve finally decided to behave.”

“Fiddlesticks.” 

“I smell the country…I think we have company,” he said suddenly.

“Isabella?” It was Roselyn!

“Laddie, if you do not put my niece down, then I will be forced to give you a sound thrashing.”

“Damnation,” he muttered, carefully putting her back on her feet. She stood for a few moments, trying to collect her composure.

“Uncle Duncan, Roselyn,” she exclaimed, going over to greet them.

“As you see, sir, I have found and delivered your niece back to you…however, she is not in your custody anymore, she is in mine, as she is now my wife.”

“Tried to make an honest man out of this riffraff, did you, Isabella?” Duncan asked chuckling.

She looked over at Christopher’s petulant look and smiled. “I think you might have struck a nerve, Uncle. He seems quite put out.”

“And well he should! He took a bloody long time fetching you home! So, he married you, eh? I suppose he now thinks he is master of your life. We shall have to do something about that. Are you styling yourself as Lady Wyndham, or sticking with Duchess?”

“I uh…well, Christopher wanted me to go by Lady Wyndham.”

“I see,” Duncan said, eyeing him warily. “If you’d like, I could toss him out on his ear, Bella.”

“No…no, that’s quite all right, Uncle. If you’re looking for Jason, he’s at Covington House.”

“He usually is when we’re in London,” Roselyn said. “I can’t imagine why.” She smiled.

“Well, I suppose Wyndham is worthy of you. He is a good chap, and Jason thinks the world of him.”

“Thank you, sir,” Christopher said.

“Oh, indeed, now I need only train him out of calling me that blasted Frenchwoman.”

“Is that so?” Duncan asked, his eyes hardening. “Perhaps, I do have to bloody your lip, laddie.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go to the bother, Uncle. I am sure I can train him out of his stubborn ways.”

“Most wives do think that,” Duncan admitted. “Ah, well, if you call her that blasted Frenchwoman in front of me, or even in front of Jason, you shall have a fight on your hands, laddie.”

“I understand, sir.”

She looked at Christopher. He was trying awfully hard to behave himself in front of her relations. She sighed heavily.

“I shall leave you three in peace, while I go and attend to an errand,” Christopher said, quickly taking his leave. One minute he was hell bent on sticking it out with her, and the next minute he was doing a disappearing act. He was a conundrum.

She called for tea, while they went to sit in the White Saloon.

“Where is Daphne?” Roselyn asked softly, as they settled themselves on the sofa.

“She…that is…I uh…I had to leave her behind in France.”

“We understand,” Duncan asked. “How…did you escape with Wyndham?”

“No…I sort of came over on a French Ship,” she said.

“I take it you were forced to leave Daphne behind, eh?” Duncan asked softly. She wanted to spill her guts to him, she really did, and now that Christopher wasn’t around, she didn’t think there was any point in keeping it a secret anymore.

“I am in a terrible scrape, Uncle Duncan. I had to do things I didn’t want to do in order to ensure my safety and that of Daphne’s.”

“What did they make you do, dearest?” he asked, as Roselyn went over and rang for tea.

“I…they…that is the man who took me…my bastard of an uncle, Pierre Dubois, he wasn’t a kindly man. And…he is my uncle, he was Aunt Claudette’s uncle as well. Oh, what a horrid man he is.”

“I know,” Duncan said, anger lighting his eyes. “I know exactly what sort of a bastard he was, Isabella. Pray continue, tell me everything.”

“I had to agree to become a…well…to…”

“Become an informant of sorts?” he supplied.