Shana Galen (16 page)

“The docks.”

Lucia froze. Alex? “What?”

“The docks,” he said again, and this time she knew it was he.

“Shut up! No talking.”

There was a thud and Lucia yelped, though she wasn’t the one who’d been kicked.

The docks.

Lucia’s heart hammered in her chest. This was not a good sign. The plan was definitely going to have to be revised. Surely the men weren’t going to take them to France? She couldn’t go to France! She wasn’t even allowed on Bond Street without a footman. Perhaps if they knew who she really was—but no, if they had no qualms about abducting Alex, an earl, what would the second daughter of a viscount be to them?

Perhaps…“Oof!” The carriage slammed to a stop and a moment later she was hauled out and tossed over one of the men’s shoulders again. The smell was worse outside the carriage, but now she fought for every breath as she bounced unmercifully on the man’s shoulders. She registered voices nearby and plates clanking together. A tavern? Perhaps if she screamed, someone would—

The hand of the man carrying her tightened on her thigh. Lucia yelped.

“If you scream, mademoiselle, no one will come,
and you will only anger Décharné,” he said in accented English. “Do you want to anger Décharné?”

Lucia could only suppose the correct answer was that she did not. The man’s footsteps echoed hollowly; with a sinking feeling, she realized they were now on a ship. The man carrying her wound his way around the vessel, making her dizzy until he descended below deck. There were more twists and turns, a door was unlocked, and she was dropped on a cold floor, her hood yanked off. Lucia blinked and squinted.

Two men stood before her, their silhouettes accented by the light from the open door behind them. From her position on the floor, all she saw clearly were their thick black boots in front her face.

“Sit up,” one of them ordered in French.

Lucia staggered to her knees, and the man grabbed her face between his greasy hands. He leaned down, his lips inches from hers. His foul breath nauseated her. “She’s a pretty one, all right. I say we take her above deck and pass her around a bit.”

A cold stab of fear sliced through her. Lucia clenched the muscles of her stomach as the bile rose in her throat.

“Can’t,” the other man answered. “Décharné says we can’t touch her yet. She better be worth the wait.”

Lucia tried to pull back, to escape the man’s grimy grip, but he pinched her chin more tightly, laughing. His breath almost gagged her. “Don’t worry, pretty one. You won’t escape me long.”

He shoved her back onto the floor, and both men stomped out of the cabin, laughing. At the sudden jolt, the nerves in Lucia’s numb arms woke and howled in protest. Tears came to her eyes as she struggled to sit again.

Then the door closed behind the thugs, and she was alone. In complete darkness.

T
he darkness closed in on her, and thoughts of pain subsided as new fears emerged. Where was Alex? Had they killed him, or was he in his own dark hole with rats, insects, or worse? She looked around wildly, unable to see even her hand before her face.

What if rats attacked her? What if the ship sank? What if Décharné forgot her? Would she starve to death? It was all too easy to imagine herself dying slowly. Painfully. Alone.

Oh, Lord! What if Décharné
didn’t
forget her? What if those men came back? Lucia dug her fingers into her palm and forced herself to be practical.

She wasn’t in a hole. She was on a ship in some sort of storage area. A moment later, the door opened again, and she jumped in surprise and fear.

Please, God, don’t let them touch me
. Then she cried with relief when Alex was shoved inside, and the door closed and locked behind him.

“Alex, thank God!” She scooted toward him.

“Lucia?” His voice was low and muffled by his hood. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?” She could hear the tightness in his voice, the concern. Dear man. She would never call him a horrid cretin again.

“I’m fine. Oh, Alex, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Where is here, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I think we’re in some sort of storage cabin, but I can’t see anything. It’s pitch black.”

“Lucia.” They were both bound, and he couldn’t reach for her, but the tone of his voice was almost as good as a caress. “Can you take my hood off?”

“No, my hands are still tied.” She leaned into him, comforted by the feel of him. He pressed into her, too, and they squeezed together for a long moment.

Finally he said, “I’m going to work my way behind you, then I’ll lie down and put my head in your hands, and you can pull the hood off.”

A moment later, they were braced against each other, back to back. His bound hands grasped hers, and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly, then maneuvered until his head was in her hands. She pulled clumsily at the hood, her fingers still numb from the tight bindings, but finally she felt it come free. She heard Alex take a deep breath, and he leaned against her again.

“Is there any light after your eyes adjust?”

“No.”

He was quiet.

“Where are they—”

“Shh,” he said. “We’ll talk about that later. Try and get out of your bindings.”

“I can’t. My hands are numb.”

“So chivalry is dead.”

He shuffled closer, his back rubbing against hers,
then he grasped her hands in his and fumbled for the knots. He pulled on them, testing. “Bloody hell.”

The ship lurched, and she fell against him, cutting off his words. Her fear rose in her throat again. “I suppose that means we’re under way?” she choked out.

“Yes.” His voice was taut with strain.

A volcano of panic erupted within her. “Oh God, Alex! We have to think of a way to get out of here. Those men—those men—”

“Shh.” He pressed against her. “I know.”

“You don’t know what they said when you weren’t here. They want to—” Her stomach rolled, threatening to heave its scant contents.

“Breathe, Lucia,” Alex ordered, voice low and comforting. “They won’t touch you. They don’t know who you are, and as long as Décharné isn’t sure of your worth and how he can use you, you’ll be safe.”

“Would it matter if they knew who I was?”

“No, but let me worry about that. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Lucia leaned back, resting her head against his solid shoulder. Hearing the words aloud soothed her ragged nerves. Alex would never allow harm to come to her or Francesca or anyone he considered part of his family. He would protect her with his life.

“We need a plan.”

Alex groaned. “You never give up, do you?”

“Alex, this is no time for jokes.” She sat up indignantly. “We need a strategy.”

“And I suppose you have one.”

Lucia bit her lip. “Not yet,” she admitted. She searched the darkness for inspiration. “I need to know where we’re going and who these men are first.”

He was silent.

“Alex, you owe me that much at least.” She felt his body tighten.

“I owe you? Need I remind you, madam, that
you
crawled through my window, you entered my bedroom, you—”

“I made a few impulsive decisions.”

“A few?”

“
Alex
.”

He sighed. Heavily. “I can’t tell you everything.”

“Tell me what you can.” She scooted closer. The mystery surrounding Alex was finally unraveling, and she was excited and a little afraid.

“Ethan was in France.”

“Ethan?” Lucia frowned. “What does he have to do with this?” This wasn’t unraveling. This was just tangling the matter further.

“My mother’s family was French, and my half-sister, Lady Emily Aubain, married a French nobleman. I didn’t really know her. She was older than Ethan and away at school when I was growing up. When the Revolution began, she and her husband, Luc, went into hiding. Ethan attempted to get Emily, Luc, and their daughter out of France. He failed. They were turned in and sent to the guillotine. All of them. Even my two-year-old niece, Renee.”

“Oh, Alex!” Lucia’s heart ripped in two, shred by pain she knew must only be a fraction of what Ethan and Alex felt.

“Ethan was there to see it.” Alex’s voice was cold and unemotional. “The crowd cheered when the blade fell on her tiny blond head. Ethan wanted revenge, and that was when he met Wentworth—the same Wentworth from your brother’s note. The Foreign Office stationed Wentworth in France, and he was monitoring the situation and reporting back to
Lord Grenville. Anti-British sentiment was high in France, and everyone had to be cautious.”

Lucia thought of her brother, now in France as well. If the French hated the British twelve years ago, how much might that hatred have grown now that the two countries were at war? How much more danger might that mean for John?

“After the executions, Ethan went mad,” Alex continued, “risking his life to smuggle the condemned out of the country and setting up safe houses and a network of contacts. He was blinded by the danger until Wentworth saved him. Wentworth convinced Ethan he could have a greater impact if he joined the Foreign Office. Ethan agreed, and no one except Grenville and Wentworth knew of Ethan’s involvement.”

“But I’ve heard rumors that Ethan was helping England with the situation in France,” Lucia said. She felt Alex nod.

“There are rumors, but I doubt you or anyone else guessed the extent of Ethan’s involvement in the war effort. He and Wentworth not only gathered information on the French political situation, they were instrumental in helping dozens of innocent people escape the guillotine. By the time Bonaparte came to power, Wentworth was too old to continue as before. Ethan needed someone he could trust.”

“And who better than his brother.”

“Exactly.”

It was all coming together now, and Lucia couldn’t believe she had never suspected Alex of working for the Foreign Office before. It was just—he didn’t seem the patriotic type. Didn’t seem the kind of man to care about kin and country. Or anything. “And, of course, you agreed,” she said.

“There
was
my sister’s death to avenge.”

“And I suppose the danger, the excitement, the risk, and the chance to be a hero played no part in that decision?”

“Someone has to be a hero, sweetheart. Couldn’t let Ethan take all the glory.”

She could almost hear him smiling.

“I assumed the name of Christophe Homais—remember that because you’ll have to use it in France. I obtained lodgings, a false background and identity, and I instituted myself among Bonaparte’s outer circle. It took years to establish my position. To gain their trust. Eventually I was able to begin procuring information. If it was something I thought relevant, I sent it by Ethan or Camille to Wentworth or the secretary.”

Lucia shook her head, still unable to comprehend, but it made perfect sense. All the time Alex spent in Europe. His reluctance to talk about his business there. She couldn’t believe it—wouldn’t until he said it directly.

“Are you telling me that—am I supposed to believe that you’re a
spy
?” When she said it aloud it sounded absolutely ridiculous.

“I prefer to be called an intelligence specialist. But the short answer is, yes.”

Lucia blinked. He was a spy.
Alex
was a
spy
. “And—and these men have discovered your identity and are taking you to France for trial?” she stammered.

“Something like that.”

“But that’s treason!” She jumped to her knees and cursed at the pain of the needles racing up her sleeping legs. “In England the penalty for treason is quartering. My father told me about it. It’s barbaric. Alex, what are we going to do?”

“You fail to grasp one crucial point.” His voice was calm, almost amused.

“What’s that?”

“They have to get me to Paris first, and I have no intention of allowing that to happen.”

“But how can you—”

“You’re not the only one who can devise plans. I already have one, so you can stop your plotting. In fact I think I’d prefer it if, from now on, you wouldn’t even
think
the word
plan
.”

Lucia huffed. Why was it that no one had any faith in her plans? Hero or not, he obviously didn’t know everything or they wouldn’t be tied up, in the dark, and on a ship bound for France.

“May I ask the details of this wonderful plan?”

She heard him chuckle. “They’ll have to take us off the ship when we dock in order to transport us to Paris. We’ll escape then. Most likely we’ll put ashore in Calais, and I have contacts there.”

Well, it was more than she had, but still…“Forgive me, but this all sounds a bit general. How do you intend to escape once off the ship?”

“Details, Lucia. I’ll make that part up when I come to it.”

“Make that part—this doesn’t sound very promising.”

“Lucia, trust me. We
will
escape.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s what I do best.”

She snorted, thinking it was true in his personal life as well. “If you’re so good at escaping, then why not exercise your prowess in London?”

“They had a bloody pistol to your head, and I didn’t want to risk it!”

His voice was angry, but Lucia’s heart was sud
denly beating hard. Alex cared about her! He’d obviously been terrified when the pistol was aimed at her head, and that meant he really did care. He’d as much as said so. She was beaming.

“Try freeing your hands again,” Alex said.

Lucia barely heard him. “Hmm?”

“Move your hands. They were swollen before. Try now.”

She wiggled them. The heavy cords burned her skin, but miraculously she was able to slip first one hand out, then the other.

“I’m free!” She turned and hugged him, kissing his neck, then feeling for his cheek, his lips. “Oh, Alex, thank you! I knew you cared!” She kissed him again.

He probably thought she’d been hit on the head to be this happy at being free. She was clutching him so tightly,
she
could hardly breathe.

“Lucia.” His voice was muffled. “If you’re done now, see if you can free me.”

“Oh, sorry.”

She gave him one last hug, then started on his bindings. A half an hour later, she had to rest. Her arms were aching and her fingers were raw and wet with sweat or blood.

There was no comfortable way for Alex to sit, so she crossed her legs and laid his head in her lap. Sucking on her sore fingers, she said, “So, you’re the intelligence specialist, how long can we expect to be on this ship?”

“We should arrive in France in a day, day and a half at the most,” he said, voice floating up to her.

That was about what she’d calculated, but the thought of so many hours in this tiny, dark room and the intentions of the men above almost drove her to panic again. She wondered what time it was, and
then she thought of her parents. “Oh, Alex! What will my parents think when I don’t come home?” She tried to keep her hysteria under control, but she heard it creeping into her voice. “They know I’m missing by now, and they’re probably sick with worry.” But more than that, she was concerned that her vanishing would create a scandal. Her father would never forgive her.

“Hodges will figure out what’s happened. He’ll go to Dewhurst, and Freddie will go straight to my brother and your sister. I’m sure Ethan and Francesca can concoct some plausible reason for your disappearance.”

Ethan and Francesca? Freddie? Her mind was spinning. “Freddie? You mean Lord Dewhurst? Does
he
know you’re a spy? Pardon, I mean an intelligence specialist.”

“Freddie’s worked at the Foreign Office for years.” He sat up but stayed close enough that his arm brushed hers.

“Lord
Dewhurst
? The same Lord Dewhurst who cries when his cravat has a wrinkle?” She couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice. The notion that Dewhurst was a spy was so absurd, she almost forgot about her parents.

“I don’t believe it,” she said finally.

“That’s why he’s so good at it.”

Lucia opened her mouth and shut it again. How could she argue? It made perfect sense.

“But I warn you not to call Freddie a spy in his presence,” Alex went on. “He makes a clear distinction between spies and intelligence specialists. It’s a matter of pride.”

“But he
can’t
be a spy,” Lucia protested feebly. “He’s—he’s a dandy!”

“And?”

“And he thinks of nothing but his cravat and—and his next bon mot.”

No answer, only the sound of the ship cutting through the water.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Lucia, look around you. Do you think I’m being absurd?”

He had a point.

“Who else?”

“The less you know, the better.”

Oh, no! She was in too deep now, her curiosity barely plumbed. She wasn’t going to be put off by that argument. “My sister?”

“No.”

“Does Francesca know about Ethan?”

There was a pause. Alex only paused when considering what answer he should give.