The Making of a Duchess (22 page)

   She had little time to dwell on it. Valère's valet returned with the cloak, and the duc dropped it over her shoulders. It was heavy and smelled like him. She shivered, remembering his hands on her the night before.

   "Let's go."

   Obviously Valère desired anonymity. Instead of a coach, the duc had a hackney waiting. Sarah was pleased to see that it was clean inside. The drive to Covent Garden was long as the traffic in London was considerable. The ride was made longer as Valère kept up a steady stream of rules and admonishments.

   Sarah sighed. "I understand. I'm to stay with you at all times, say nothing, do nothing, and keep my face hidden."

   "You forgot that you are not to say your name or give any indication of who you are."

   She frowned at him, and thankfully the hackney slowed.

   They alighted and were met by Marcus Stover. Sarah liked him. He was amiable and intelligent. He did not appear as gratified to see her. He gave Valère a questioning look, to which the duc replied, "Don't ask."

   Stover didn't. Instead, he bowed and began to greet her, but Valère clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't give any indication that she's anyone important."

   Stover nodded. "Good idea. Where we're going, it's best if everyone assumes she's just a doxy."

   Sarah sighed. From governess to spy to prostitute. What was next?

   Stover gestured to the hackney he had procured. "I had to pay a king's ransom, but the jarvey's agreed to take us into Seven Dials."

   "Seven Dials!" Sarah blurted out.

   "You've heard of it, my lady?" Stover asked.

   "I—" She had forgotten she was supposed to be from Italy. "I thought I heard one of the gentlemen at a ball discussing it. He said it's a den of thieves and cutthroats, and few who go there come out alive."

   "It's not as bad as all that," Valère said, and Sarah felt somewhat reassured. Stover opened the hackney's door, but Valère held her back for a moment. "Remember what I told you. Do
not
leave my side."

   He took her hand, and Sarah closed her eyes, allowing herself to be handed up. She wished she had known those cucumber sandwiches would be her last meal. She would not have refused the slice of lemon cake.

   If she made it through this night alive, she was eating as many ices at Gunther's tomorrow as she could stomach. Cake, pies, and tarts too.

   The men climbed into the hackney after her, and Sarah could not help staring out the window. It was not long before the sundial marking the entrance to Seven Dials came into view. She blew out a breath. What she would not give for a piece of cake.

Julien did not like taking Sarah into Seven Dials. He had seen her face go white at the mention of the place, and he didn't feel much better about it.

But he was not surprised. After all, smugglers

weren't exactly the type to hold soirees in their drawing rooms. Sarah would be fine, he reasoned, even as they drove past several rough-looking men. He saw Stover clench his walking stick a little more tightly and did the same. As long as Sarah did as he had instructed, she would be fine.

   The hackney wound its way past the dregs of humanity. Children begged in the streets, some deformed and so thin Julien did not see how they could walk. Prostitutes plied their trade brazenly, and men and women gambled in every door. The sound of music and the clinking of glass and a baby's forlorn squalling filled the night.

   In the hackney, Sarah clutched his hand tighter.

   Stover rapped on the roof of the hackney, and the conveyance slowed. "I have it on good authority that our man can usually be found in The King George."

   Julien half laughed at the name. He would bet a thousand pounds the King had never been within a mile of his namesake, nor ever would be.

   The tavern had little in the way of royal accoutrements. The wooden sign outside was dirty and crooked, as were the patrons spilling out of it. Julien moved aside to allow the two men and one woman to pass, and then pushed through the people at the entrance.

   Dark and crowded, the place smelled of rotted wood, dried ale, and unwashed bodies. Stover led them to a corner, which gave them a view of most of the room. He stood and observed for a few moments, then turned to Julien. "I have a pretty good description of the man, but I don't see anyone who matches it."

"Who are we looking for?"

"He goes by the name Captain Rex Stalwart."

   Julien raised a brow. It was almost certainly an assumed name. "What does he look like?"

   "Medium height. Black hair, long and curly, and a black mustache." Julien scanned the room without any luck. If it had been just he and Stover, he would have ordered a gin and sat at a table with Stover to wait. But he did not want Sarah here any longer than necessary.

   "Wait here," he told her, putting her arm through Stover's. "Keep an eye on her," he admonished his friend.

   A large, muscled man was behind the bar, and Julien had no trouble attracting his attention. "What can I get you, gov? I've got some good wine if you've the coin to pay for it. And if these old eyes don't deceive me"—he gave Julien's greatcoat a long look— "you do."

   "What I need is information," Julien said, placing a crown on the scratched wood of the bar. The bartender eyed it and then Julien.

   "Go on."

   "I'm looking for Captain Rex Stalwart. Heard of him?"

   The man covered the crown with his hand, sweeping it away. "I might have."

   "Know where he is?"

   "I might."

   Julien laid another crown on the bar, and the man just stared at him. Clenching his teeth, he laid another crown beside the first.

   "He has a room upstairs. Third door on the left." He turned away, taking the crowns with him, and Julien went back to Stover and Sarah.

   "He's upstairs. Let's go."

   "I could wait in the hackney," Sarah offered.

   Julien frowned. "Don't talk."

   He barreled his way through the room and up the stairs with Sarah behind him and Stover directly behind her. At the appointed door, he gripped his walking stick tightly and knocked firmly.

   "Are you certain this is the right door?" Sarah hissed. Julien gave her a silencing glare.

   The voices behind the door ceased, and a moment later, it opened enough so Julien could see a large, shirtless dark-skinned man with two gold hoop earrings. "Who are you?"

   "No one." Sarah stepped back, but Julien grabbed her before she could retreat.

   "Julien Harcourt. I need to see Captain Stalwart."

   "The captain ain't in."

   Sarah pulled back again, but Julien ignored her, sticking his foot in the doorway before the pirate could shut him out.

   "We can wait. I think the captain will be interested in seeing me."

   "Why's that?"

   "Because I have the money to make it interesting."

   "Let him in, Oak," a voice from the other side of the door called. Oak, who was as big as a tree and thus aptly named, moved aside and opened the door.

   Julien entered, keeping Sarah, as skittish as a new colt, behind him, and Stover on his right. The room was tastefully decorated. It was a sitting room with a door on one side that probably led to the bedroom. Captain Stalwart sat in a chair, and in his hands he held several documents. Julien also saw maps strewn about.

   But for Oak, the captain was alone, and his eyebrows rose as the three of them entered. "A visit from the quality," he said, tone mocking. "To what do I owe this honor?"

   "I understand you're a man who can acquire things—French silks, French wines."

   "Is that what you need? Something pretty for your ladybird?"

   "I need much more than that. I need passage to France."

   Stalwart didn't blink. "I can't get you there."

   Julien pulled out a sizeable stack of blunt. "That's not what I hear, and I'm prepared to pay."

   Stalwart leaned back. "Julien Harcourt," he said lazily. "You wouldn't happen to be related to the duc de Valère?"

   Julien did not answer.

   "I've received several letters from this duc. But I haven't responded. Know why?"

   Stalwart rose, not seeming to expect an answer. He stepped forward, rested his hands on the back of another chair. "Because I don't take passengers. You can take a packet across the Channel, if that's what you want."

   "There aren't any at present."

   He gave a look of mock despair. "Too bad."

   "Yes, it is," Julien said, putting his money away. "Let's go," he said to Stover.

   They turned to leave, but before they could reach the door, Sarah cried, "Wait!"

   Julien clenched his jaw. How had he known she would not be able to do as he had told her?

"Serafina, let's go," Valère said from behind her. He took her arm firmly, but she shook him off. She knew she should shut up and go with Valère, but then what? If Valère did not succeed in traveling to France and recovering his brother, Sarah would have to admit to Sir Northrop that she had failed. She could not surrender Valère to Sir Northrop, especially now that she knew, almost without a shadow of a doubt, Valère was innocent.

   This was her last chance, perhaps Valère's only chance. She could not walk away without a fight. "Captain Stalwart, you have to allow His Grace go with you."

   Stalwart's eyes narrowed at her. His eyes were dark and his skin swarthy. He might have been a handsome man once, but now he was hard and weathered. "I don't
have
to do anything, madam."

   "But you don't understand—"

   "Serafina? Is that your name?"

   She pursed her lips. "Yes."

   "Well, Serafina, I decide who gets on and off my ships, and your duc isn't coming."

"But if you only knew why he needed to go—"

"I already know."

She paused. "You do?"

"Serafina."
Valère took her arm again. "We're leaving."

   She shook him off again. "Not yet." Valère swore under his breath, but she focused on the captain. He was watching them, eyes glittering. "I don't think you do know why His Grace wants to go back to France."

   "You're a feisty one, ain't you?" Stalwart said, sitting down again and raising his wine glass.

   "Not usually," she muttered. Valère was going to kill her for this. She had broken just about every one of his rules.

   "Your duc wants to go back to France to see if he can reclaim any of his fortune. I see a dozen of his kind in a year. They want to reclaim what's rightly theirs. Well"—he looked at Valère—"you're not going to get it, and in my opinion, you probably don't deserve it back anyway."

   Valère stepped forward, but Oak jumped in front of him, blocking his access to the captain. "You don't know anything about my family, Stalwart."

   The captain shrugged. "And I don't care. Good night."

   Oak began to push Valère and Stover out the door, and Sarah figured she had exactly two more minutes before she was thrown out as well. "But you don't understand. Valère doesn't care about money or land he lost in France. He has far more wealth here in England. What he cares about is his brother Armand. He wants to rescue him."

   Oak grabbed her arms and lifted her off the ground. She was too determined to stay to be frightened. Struggle as she might, the big man moved inexorably toward the door. "Surely you can't refuse a man who just wants to save his brother! The boy was only eleven when he was left behind. Surely you can't hold a boy responsible"—she grabbed onto the door jamb, and Oak tried to pry her hands loose—"for the crimes of the aristocracy."

   Her hands fell free, and she stumbled back into the hallway. The captain's door slammed shut in her face.

   Valère caught her. "What the hell were you thinking?"

   She looked down, feeling stupid and ineffective. "I'm sorry. I should have remained silent. I just wanted to help."

   "Well, next time you can better help by not announcing my life story to complete strangers."

   "Perhaps we should be on our way." Stover, who had been standing a few feet away to give them privacy, spoke up now. "I don't like to court trouble any longer than I have to."

   "Right. Let's go." Valère took her arm and followed Stover down the stairs and back into the tavern. A few people glanced at them curiously, and Sarah quickly replaced the hood of the cape, covering her hair and face.

   Once outside, they realized the hackney was gone. Stover swore, but all three knew they were not likely to find another. Valère began walking. "What will you do now?" Sarah asked as they made their way past a group playing dice.

   "I'll find another way to get to France," Valère growled. "I'll never give up."

   "Perhaps you should wait," Stover said.

   Sarah did not like Stover's suggestion, but what other choice did they have? "Perhaps Mr. Stover is correct." She tried not to cough as they passed a woman stirring a pot containing a foulsmelling concoction. Oh, how she wished this night were over. "Right now you're being watched so closely—"