The Deception (Baron 3)

Finally, she said so low he had to lean close to hear her, “Yes, I understand.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you can keep in your mind a picture of your father holding little Edmund against his chest, the two of them buried deeply in the same grave.”

Yes, she could see that clearly. She said nothing more, and her expression remained fixed. She felt cold and sick. Edgerton had won.

Eventually—she didn’t know how much time had passed—she made her way slowly up the cliff path, clutching her father’s letter close. It was over for her, everything was over for her. She was now a traitor to England.

She had betrayed the duke.

There was no going back now.

Chapter 20

Trevlin sat back on the cushioned wooden bench in the White Goose Inn, his thirst slaked by a mug of porter. If he had thought it odd that Madame de la Valette wished to travel some five miles from Chesleigh simply to explore the tiny Norman church set atop the chalk cliffs, it wasn’t his place to ask questions. He supposed that the young lady was restless, what with only Lord Edmund and the servants to keep her company at the huge castle, and had thus taken to exploring the countryside. In the past several weeks he had accompanied her to Landsdown, a picturesque village in the rolling hills near Southsea, and to Southampton, to visit an abbey that had survived despite centuries of political and religious upheavals, or so she had told him.

When she first ar

rived at Chesleigh, he had thought her a lively lady, whose laughter had more than once brought a smile to his lips. But lately, she seemed more withdrawn, even during their jaunts about the countryside. Trevlin crooked his finger at the barmaid, a pretty wench with an impertinent tongue, to bring him another mug. The wink she gave him removed further thoughts of Madame from his mind.

* * *

Evangeline’s nose wrinkled at the overpowering smell of fish as she turned off the narrow cobbled road that served as the thoroughfare in the small village of Chitterly onto a winding path that led to its ancient stone church. Although there was no one in sight, she sensed that she was being watched. She heard a sudden rustling of leaves behind her and whirled about. There was no one.

She’d stayed close to Edmund since that night with Edgerton down in the protected cove. Of course, Edmund had tired of that quickly enough. She tried to act naturally around him, to laugh and jest with him, but it was difficult for her. Every shadow she saw, every unexpected noise she heard, could be a threat to him.

She’d begun a journal of everyone she’d met, where they were bound, their descriptions, everything she thought could be helpful. She supposed, deep down, that she wanted so badly for something to happen which would resolve the situation that she wanted to have all the proof she could gather.

When she lay in bed at night, alone, frightened, still she wondered if she shouldn’t write to the duke, beg his help. Then she saw Edmund in her father’s arms, and both of them were pale in death, silent, gone from her. She wondered how long she could go on like this. She even considered sneaking to London and killing John Edgerton herself, but there was Edmund, always her boy, for he was hers now, his laughter, his continuing attempts to chase her down in her highwayman role and shoot her with the gun given to him by an evil man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Who had Edgerton told to kill Edmund if she betrayed him?

Oh, Edmund. The threat to him defeated her as the threat to her father hadn’t. He was here, with her, in her care. She was responsible for him, and he was so very vulnerable. He was only five years old.

By the time she reached the top of the rise and the arched oak doors of the church, she was outwardly calm again. She grasped the heavy bronze ring and pushed inward, and the door opened with a loud creak. It was cold and damp inside, for little warmth could penetrate the thick stone walls.

The church was empty. She walked slowly up the narrow aisle, past the bare wooden benches, toward the vestry. She heard a soft scraping sound and froze. “You are the Eagle?”

A slight man, dressed in the coarse woolens of a fisherman, stepped out of the shadows. He was a young man without a sign of a beard on his smooth cheeks.

“Yes,” she said just above a whisper. “Were you following me?”

“Nay, it was my partner. He doesn’t trust women. He would have sliced your lovely throat had you not come alone.”

He was trying to frighten her, but oddly enough, his words didn’t touch her. She’d gone beyond fear for herself. She held out her hand. “Give me your packet now. I have little time to waste with you.”

He frowned at her, for she’d surprised him. Then he slowly drew a dirty envelope from the waistband of his trousers and handed it to her. Evangeline paid him no more attention. She sat down on one of the wooden benches and spread the single sheet of paper on her lap. She raised her eyes. “You’re this man Conan DeWitt?”

The man shook his head. “He’s my partner. He’s the gentleman, not I.”

“Bring him to me. I must see him.” He looked undecided. “Conan told me to meet with you.”

“Nevertheless, he must come in. If he refuses, I cannot do anything further.” Buried in the coded message from Houchard was the description of Conan DeWitt, a man tall and fair, with a mole on his left cheek near his eye.

“Very well,” he said finally, “but there better be good reason.” She shrugged. “I care not what you decide to do.” “I’ll see if he’ll come.”

He slipped out of the church and returned some minutes later accompanied by a tall man dressed in country buckskins, swinging a cane negligently in his right hand.

Conan DeWitt stared down at the girl. She had an uncommonly lovely face, despite its pallor. Jamie had called her a cold bitch, but his voice had held grudging respect. “What is it you want with me, Eagle?”

“Houchard provided your description. I have to be certain that you are the man he speaks of.”