The Deception (Baron 3)

Chapter 36

Shafts of bright early morning sunlight fell on her face. Slowly she opened her eyes. The night had finally passed. She’d slept fitfully, terrified at any moment that they would come for her. But no one had banged on her bedchamber door. Morning had come. She lay there, thankful that it was another day and that she was still safe, at least here in her room. She ignored the pain in her body, because she couldn’t do anything about it, and forced herself to think.

Had Lord Pettigrew’s men caught both Paul Treyson and the other man? Or just one? Which one? She thought of the letter she’d given to Paul Treyson. She’d not used either her name or John Edgerton’s. She closed her eyes, feeling relief wash over all the pain.

They were scouring the area for an English traitor. They were searching for a man, unless one of the men had confessed to Lord Pettigrew that the English traitor was a woman. If they had confessed, then it was over. There was nothing she could do. She had to believe that they hadn’t told Lord Pettigrew anything; surely they wouldn’t. Lord Pettigrew’s men had probably already come to Chesleigh. She couldn’t stay in bed. She had to act naturally. Were she to plead illness, the duke might suspect or Lord Pettigrew might think it odd. She wasn’t a good actress, but she would have to be today.

She thought of her father; she thought of Edmund. If she was to save them, she must first save herself. When she saw herself in the mirror, she nearly expired on the spot. Her hair was sticky and tangled around her face. Oh, and the rest of it. She couldn’t bear to look at herself. Nor did it matter. She would simply cover herself very well indeed. At least she hadn’t broken any bones.

Two hours passed before she finished drying and curling her hair. She chose a very feminine, frivolous gown, one that fit snugly over her breasts and flared out to a ruffled hem. If ever she needed to appear the epitome of helpless, fragile womanhood, today was the day. She looked down at her hands, winced at the sight, and pulled on a pair of white mittens.

She saw no one downstairs. She was on the point of going into the breakfast room when she heard carriage wheels on the gravel drive. She walked quickly into the drawing room and drew back the heavy curtain to see Lord Pettigrew climbing out of his carriage. He looked very tired.

She heard Bassick bidding him welcome. It was some minutes more before she heard the duke’s voice.

“Drew, I’m glad you’re here. We scoured every bush, visited every farmhouse between Chesleigh and three miles to the south. We didn’t find the traitor, dammit. Did you find the man?” Thank God. They were looking for a man. “We did find something of interest,” Drew said in a low voice. “Let’s speak privately.” Evangeline

pressed close to the wall until their footsteps receded down the corridor. She forced herself to wait some minutes longer before she followed them.

If Bassick thought it odd that she should suddenly appear, he gave no sign of it, merely bowed and bade her a good morning. She forced herself to greet him brightly before turning away to walk to the duke’s library. She drew a deep breath before the closed doors, then drew them open and walked in, her smile as brilliant as the morning sun.

Drew Halsey had just begun speaking when Evangeline wafted into the library, looking so exquisitely beautiful and softly female that both men stared at her for a moment. Then Drew got hold of himself. He frowned, impatient to get this all out and discussed. Then he saw her eyes widen and forced himself to smile. He wasn’t about to frighten this lovely young woman. He didn’t think he’d ever before seen her looking so very lovely, her face alight with carefree laughter. He thought of Felicia and smiled more widely. “Good morning, Evangeline,” he said, quickly rising and walking to her. He took her mittened hand and kissed her fingers. “You are looking remarkably fine this morning.”

She pulled her hand away, laughed at his compliment, and said, “I hope I’m not disturbing you. Both of you look so very serious. I thought his grace and I could take Edmund for a drive to Rye. Oh, goodness. I hope nothing is wrong? It isn’t anything to do with Felicia, is it, Drew?”

The duke was standing against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were upon her thick honey-colored hair, piled in careless curls atop her head with soft tendrils falling over her ears. She looked like an exquisite model of the fashionable lady, complete to her white mittens. But when she’d spoken, he’d stiffened. She sounded for the world like a young lady trying out her wiles on the first available gentlemen.

“No, no, don’t worry, Evangeline,” Drew said quickly, wanting to remove the fear from her lovely eyes. “Felicia is just fine. Actually, I’ve been here for the past two days. Felicia is in town.”

“Good morning, Evangeline,” the duke said. He walked to her, stood before her, silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. “A ride into Rye with Edmund, you say?”

“Yes, your grace,” she said, then looked quickly away. He saw so much, always, perhaps too much.

The duke was silent for a moment longer, then stepped back to lean against the mantelpiece. “Attend us a moment, Evangeline. Then certainly you and I and Edmund will do something doubtless quite exciting, beginning with breakfast. In fact, I think you should join us. I believe it only fair that you hear what we have done.”

“Richard, are you certain? She’s a lady, I don’t wish to alarm her.”

Evangeline ignored Drew and said, “What do you mean, your grace?” She sounded to her own ears as guileless as a nun. Hopefully the duke had the same hearing. She fluttered her hands. “Goodness, how mysterious you sound. I believe I shall sit down in case I begin to feel weak.”

The duke said nothing as Evangeline sat down. Drew Halsey looked from one to the other, shrugged, and walked over to the duke’s desk.

The duke looked down at his thumbnail, frowned because it was on the jagged side. Had he hurt her with that jagged nail? He shook his head at himself. He said, “I didn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t wish you upset further. When I received your letter about Mrs. Needle’s murder, I hired a Bow Street Runner to come back with me to Chesleigh to investigate while we were in London. He told me that before you and I went to London, he’d been by the cove and he’d seen strange goings-on down on the beach—a lantern light as a signal and bloody mysterious chaps rowing to the dock. He thought they were French. I spoke to Drew, and he believed it worthwhile to investigate the matter himself. How many evenings have your men spent hiding in the trees up on the cliff path, Drew?”

“It’s been nearly two weeks. I was with them last night. As I was telling you, Richard, your Bow Street Runner was quite right.”

Evangeline clapped a hand over her breast. She stared at him in absolute horror.

Drew shot the duke an harassed look, but the duke merely looked down at his thumbnail again. “Yes. Please continue, Drew.”

“Late last night we spotted two cloaked figures on the dock, meeting with a third man. When two of the men gained the cliff path, we confronted them. Unfortunately, they lost their heads and ran, and we were forced to shoot. I don’t know how the other man, the one who brought them in, escaped, but he did. I have no idea how he managed it. You know, Richard, how treacherous the cliffs are. By God, I’ve always believed them perfectly sheer. But somehow he must have scaled the rocks and gained the cliff top, all without our seeing him. It was very cold last night, with no moonlight. There were countless shadows the men saw, but none of them were the traitor.” “That’s horrible,” Evangeline said, her mittened hands still covering her breast. “Do you have proof that the men you killed were French?”

“Yes, Evangeline,” Drew said. “There was a packet on one of the dead men, some sort of coded instructions that we’ll break—I have no doubt about that. The traitor had scrawled his initials on the bottom right corner. Also, before he died, the man who carried the instructions whispered something in French. All I could make out was the words l’Aigle, and traitre. It seems likely that he thought the man who’d met them had betrayed them, but of course he hadn’t. There was also another letter in the man’s pocket, addressed to the Lynx, evidently the traitor’s contact in London. As I said, it’s written in some sort of code that we’ll break soon. It was signed L’Aigle or Eagle.” He continued toward the duke, “As you know, we went north of Chesleigh. Nothing, Richard. The man got away from us. It’s frustrating. We’ve got to catch him. I can’t imagine the damage he’s already done. I’ve had three men working to break that code since last night. It shouldn’t be long now.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” the duke said. “The man has to be local. He must be. And the damned bastard has been using my property to bring in spies. I’ll kill the fellow when I get my hands on him.”

“If you find him before I do, please don’t kill him. We need information from him. Then we’ll hang him and save you the trouble of dirtying your hands. I know it angers you that the French have been using Chesleigh as an entry point into England. As we thought, Richard, Mrs. Needle’s murder must somehow be connected. She must have discovered something. You know that she still moved about the county at will, despite her advanced years, so the chances of her overhearing something or seeing something makes sense. I would like your permission to question your servants. I don’t hold out much hope, but perhaps someone saw something last night.”

The duke nodded, saying nothing. He looked at Evangeline.