One Night of Passion (31 page)

Never leave witnesses.

Mandeville crossed the deck of the
Sybaris
furious that the inept Bertrand had blundered the capture of Danvers’s ship. The idiot had taken too long to board her, and now there could well be consequences to pay. Not that Mandeville had any intentions of allowing himself to become the debtor in this mishap.

Yet the dangerous shift of this mission had only made his blood burn all that much hotter. He’d come this close to ruin only once before and he’d outwitted his adversary. He’d do it again.

Still, he was loath to leave without those damning papers. Oh, they were aboard this ship, or they had been. Whatever the case, he’d run out of time. In his experience, documents were either readily available or hidden so well that no amount of searching would uncover them. It seemed this was going to be a case of the latter. And as long as the
Sybaris
was held by the French, her secrets would remain lost within her beams and planks—as good a place as any for them.

And then there was the mystery of Madame Saint-Antoine. While she was a charming enough lady, he suspected her story was as much a farce as Bertrand’s claims of great daring. He didn’t like leaving her behind, but he could hardly afford the time to take her into a French port himself and wait out verification of her story.

Regretfully, he’d once again have to rely on Bertrand. At this Mandeville shuddered.

One of his men stepped forward. “Back to your ship, my lord?”

“Yes. And be quick about it.”

As the others started readying the longboat, Mandeville paced about the deck, lost in thought, until his boot stubbed into something. When he glanced down, he spied a notebook of some sort.

Curious, he picked it up and flipped it open, hoping to discover some piece of the
Sybaris’
s mystery, only to find Madame Saint-Antoine’s lovely face staring up at him.

Just a sketchbook, he mused, leafing through the drawings of ruins and churches and other sites. Well done, he thought. Obviously created by someone with a deft hand. One in particular caught his eye, for it was a remarkably detailed likeness of Madame Saint-Antoine.

One, he realized, that might come in handy later on.

He ripped the page out of the book and carefully stowed it inside his cloak. As for the notebook, he tossed it overboard, since it was of no further use to him.

And as he was rowed back over to his vessel, he pulled the drawing out of his pocket and studied it over and over again.

Her face seemed so familiar, but for the life of him he could not place the chit. It was as if the past was reaching out to taunt him, to tell him that he was making a critical error.

But how could that be? he mused. He never left witnesses.

For some time Georgie dared not move from her hiding spot, hugging her knees to her chest, letting the words swirl about her in a hypnotic blur.

Never leave witness. Never leave witness.

The words, like the first dangerous whispers of wind before a thunderous gale, whirled about her in a dizzy blur. Then suddenly her years of nightmares merged into the single memory-one she’d never before been able to piece together-the past and the present merging out of the darkness in blinding clarity.

She sat bolt upright, her heart hammering in her chest.

Dear God, she did know Mandeville.

And she knew now why she should be afraid. So very afraid.

Chapter 13

Standring Abbey

Devon, England

1788

“B
rigitte, I must go to her.” Franklin Escott’s voice rose through the house. “She is expecting me tonight. I will hear no further arguments on the matter.”

“But Pymm’s letter says to wait for him to arrive.” Her mother’s stubborn voice challenged her father’s firm authority. “He warns you not to confront—” she started to say before her husband cut her off.

“Pymm is too cautious by half. And if I don’t go tonight, her ladyship will be found out. And then there will be no sparing her life.”

Georgie sat perched on the stairs outside the library, listening to the rare sound of her parents arguing. Despite the fact that they spoke in hushed tones, the urgency and desperation in their voices had broken the peaceful night and brought her creeping from her bed to investigate.

She shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help herself. It was unlikely she’d be caught, for all the servants had all been given the night off; this she had learned earlier from listening to their nurse, Ninny, and the cook talking. And Ninny was the last one to discover her missing for she was snoring away in her narrow bed, while little Kathleen slept soundly in her trundle nearby.

So there was no chance of Georgie being caught, unless her parents suddenly came out, but from the sound of their voices, their discussion had their attention focused completely on each other.

“Franklin, this could be a trap. Pymm says that his lordship has grown suspicious of late. If he discovers his wife is going to betray him—and with your help, no less—there will be no stopping him from destroying her, the evidence we have sought for so long, and you as well.”

“Brigitte, you worry needlessly. You know I am a far better shot than that man. I proved that when he and I fought over your hand.”

Papa had fought a duel for Mama? Georgie hugged her knees tightly to her chest, her heart hammering with pride. Mama needn’t worry so. Besides being the finest shot, Papa was also an excellent swordsman. No one could defeat him. No one.

Yet Mama’s tone sent a frisson of worry through Georgie’s convictions.

“Franklin, that duel was fifteen years ago. Neither of you are callow youths any longer, playing at fool’s games. The stakes are so much higher now.”

“And that, my dearest love, is why I must go tonight. The stakes
are
too high. Not just for her ladyship, but for
England.
”

It was the way Papa said it,
England,
that sent another proud thrill through Georgie.

Her father’s voice softened. “Brigitte, if you had married that man, it would be you risking everything tonight. It would be you walking away from your child, risking your life to do what you know is right.” There was a moment of silence, then Papa spoke again. “Don’t give me that look, my dearest stubborn Gigi, you know you would be doing the same thing. And you know that is why I must go and help her.”

“Then let me come along with you,” her mother argued. “Her ladyship may need a sympathetic ear, another woman to lend her support.”

At this, her father laughed. “You aren’t fooling me in the least. I can see it from here. Your face is flushed, your heart is hammering with anticipation.”

“I think it is quite unfair that I had to retire from the Foreign Office service after the girls were born.”

Again her father laughed. “If only you
would
retire. No, my love, I need you here. To wait for Pymm.”

Her mother sighed.

“What would you have me do?” her father asked. “Wake Ninny and ask her to remain vigilant for an agent of the Foreign Office?”

Both her parents laughed at this.

Georgie considered getting up and telling her parents that she would wait for this Mr. Pymm, that she could be entrusted with such an important task. But she knew if they discovered her awake and out of bed, not to mention eavesdropping, she’d likely spend all of the next day sequestered in the nursery practicing her stitchery.

She shuddered at the very thought.

“Take the lamp with you,” her mother was saying. “There is no moon out tonight. And it is cold, so please button up your cloak.”

“Stop fussing,” her father said in a voice that Georgie loved, for it was warm and reassuring. “I have to go no further than the hunting lodge and back. I’ll return soon enough.”

Georgie shrank into the shadows, thinking her father would leave from the front door, but instead she heard the library window squeak open, and her mother chiding him not to tear his breeches on the roses below.

What could be so important that her father had to leave the house in the middle of the night, through the library window, no less?

Georgie knew there was only one way to find out.

Follow him.

Mama might have to stay home and wait for this Mr. Pymm, but Georgie wasn’t under any such admonishment.

She quietly dashed up the stairs, sneaking back into her room and snatching up her boots from underneath her bed and her cloak from where it hung on the peg by the door.

Tugging on her boots, she glanced once more at Ninny to make sure the lady still slept. Her cap had tipped over one eye, and she was snoring heavily.

Ninny wouldn’t awaken until the old red rooster started crowing at dawn.

Georgie wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and went down to the kitchen. There near the door hung several small lanterns. She wasn’t allowed to use them, but since she was already going to be punished if she was caught, she might as well break all the rules.

She lit one from the embers in the fireplace and went out into the night.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been out at night, for Papa often brought her outside to teach her about the stars, but this was the first time she’d been out alone.

It was an entirely different world without Papa’s strong hand clasping hers.

Swallowing back her fears, Georgie made her way across the stable yard toward the path that led to the hunting lodge.

The house they lived in had once been an abbey. On the border of the property sat an old house, formerly reserved for guests to the cloistered world of Standring Abbey. Now it was merely called the hunting lodge, though as far as Georgie knew, no one hunted for anything there—except for the occasional rabbits who got into the garden.

Taking a deep breath, Georgie trudged down the path, her little lamp casting a swaying circle of light as she trod along. She moved silently, just as Papa had taught her. What had seemed like fun games, how to creep up on someone without being seen or heard, how to write a letter with ink that couldn’t be seen until a candle was run under it, and other clandestine adventures that her mother sorely disapproved of, suddenly seemed to have been more than just games.

No, it was as if Papa had been preparing her for just this moment.

Up ahead, she spied the lights of the lodge burning like a beacon, illuminating the path ahead.

Not quite sure what she was going to find, she made her way to the hollow of a great oak that grew at the edge of the trees that encircled and hid the lodge in their green embrace.

She blew out the candle inside her lamp and settled in to watch.

Her father paced on the steps, beneath the heavy wooden lintel and timbers that made up the house.

He glanced down at his pocket watch, and then out into the darkness again.

Then she heard the rustle of leaves, the crackle of sticks being broken by frantic and hurried footsteps. And then out of the darkness rushed a lady.

Her hood had fallen away, and Georgie took a deep breath.

The lady was gorgeous.

Her dark hair was piled high on her head in a delicate array. Her features were soft and sweet. But it was her face that struck Georgie.

It was obvious that she was terrified. Wide-eyed with it. Whatever danger Mama had worried about seemed to enfold this mysterious lady like a shroud.

“I’ve done it,” she said breathlessly. “I did as you instructed. I got the papers,” she said in a rush. She hurried into Papa’s arms and began to sob. “I have done this terrible thing. Oh mercy, what is to become of me?” The lady began to weep, slumping against Papa, her small frame heaving up and down as she began to cry in earnest.

“There now, my lady. You must remain strong,” he said. “I’ll take you up to the house. A carriage will be there to take you to London, and then on to your new life.”

The lady laughed bitterly. “My new life! What life can I expect? My husband will be hanged for treason, and I will be disgraced. I won’t be welcomed anywhere, certainly not in Society.”

“I will see to it that your bravery and duty to the King are not forgotten.”

“No, my dearest wife, your deeds this night will not be forgotten,” said a man who stepped out from the shadows of the forest. He stood almost as tall as her father, and wore a black cloak that swirled about him like ravens’ wings. She couldn’t see much of his face, except his mouth, which was drawn in an ugly line.

Almost a smile, but not quite.

To Georgie’s horror, he held a pistol pointed at Papa and the lady.

“So I was right. It is you,” Papa said.

The man nodded. “I see I arrived just in time,” he said, stepping a little closer. “A few minutes more and you might have done something foolish, Mary. Like give Escott those papers so he could prove to his superiors in the Foreign Office that I am Mandeville.” He held out his hand. “Give them to me and go home. And we will never speak of this again.”

The lady shook her head, edging closer to Papa. “So you can kill me without any witnesses?” she said. “Never.”

“Who said I intend to wait until we go home?” Mandeville raised his arm, pistol in hand, and fired a shot at the lady. Her mouth opened in shock, her eyes widened, her hand going for a moment to the stain now spilling over her bodice before she crumpled to the ground.

Her lifeless eyes stared directly at Georgie’s hiding spot.

Georgie stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from crying out.
No. No. No. This couldn’t be happening.
The lady was dead.

Papa dropped to the lady’s side and held her hand in his. “You’ve murdered your wife!”

“Disloyal whore,” Mandeville sneered. “She stopped being my wife the moment she stole from me. Betrayed my trust.”

“Don’t you mean when you betrayed her? Lured her into a lie of a marriage? Good God, man, why did you wed her when you knew what it would mean?” her father asked, rising slowly and menacingly from the ground, a good head taller than Mandeville.

Georgie thought for a moment her father would triumph over this evil man. Her Papa, who always knew right from wrong, who always knew the correct answer to difficult questions, he would stop this ghastly nightmare.