Shana Galen (23 page)

Lucia was nodding excitedly. “But more fundamentally,” she interrupted, “it’s about betrayal. Brutus is Caesar’s friend, and Brutus betrays him. Oh, God, Alex!” She grasped him about the waist. “Do you think John knows there’s a traitor? Maybe that’s why he didn’t send the message in code. He knew there was a traitor.”

Camille shook her head, and belatedly Lucia remembered her. She wished she could have taken the words back. Alex might trust Camille’s loyalty, but she didn’t. Had she just endangered John by speaking her thoughts in front of Camille?

“Don’t you think this is all just a little farfetched?” Camille said. “Alex,
s’il vous plaît
…”

“No,” Lucia snapped. “And I don’t hear anything better coming from your lips.”

Camille shrugged smugly. “And as insightful as your observations have been,
chérie
, we still do not know where John is. Or do you purport to have the answer to that secret as well?”

Lucia glared at her, then read the letter over again.

“We know John is safe,” Alex was saying. “And he knows there’s danger. He hasn’t been found yet, so we can assume he’ll remain safe. We may have to go without him.”

“What?” Lucia’s head snapped up. “No! Alex, he needs us!”

“We don’t have time, Lucia. Dewhurst will be waiting. Once you’re safe, I’ll come back for Dashing.”

Lucia put her hand to her forehead and stared at the letter in frustration. There had to be something she was missing. John needed them. She couldn’t leave without him. But how to convince Alex of that? The words blurred before her eyes. What was John trying to tell them?

Then it hit her. The passage. She read it again. The passage—of course!

“Oh, my God! Alex, John is hurt.” She stumbled into him, holding the paper out like a plea. He caught her, holding her steady.

“John’s wounded. That’s why he hasn’t contacted anyone until now. We
have
to find him. We can’t leave him. Not when he’s hurt.” She clutched his shoulders. She knew she was begging, but she didn’t care. She’d crawl on her knees if need be.

“What are you talking about?” Alex stared at her. “Why do you think your brother is hurt?”

“Look at the passage.” She waved the paper wildly before him. “It’s all about Caesar’s wounds and how he got them. The blood running from each, and the
unkindest cut
—the one from Brutus—Caesar’s betrayer!” She held the letter out to him and, reluctantly he took it.

From her throne on the couch, Camille laughed. “You really should go into fortune-telling,
chérie
. You have a knack for reading too much into things.”

Lucia opened her mouth to tell Camille what she could expect in
her
future, when Alex said, “I think she might have a point.”

Lucia stared at him. He
agreed
?

“Maybe Dashing is trying to tell us he’s been wounded.”

Lucia beamed at him, but Camille threw her hands up in wonder. “So the boy is hurt. We still do not know where to find him.”

“I do,” Alex said, and Lucia wanted to kiss him. He glanced at her, though his words were directed to Camille, “It all makes sense now. Julius Joubert.”

“Julius?” Lucia repeated, her voice almost a screech of excitement.

“He’s a doctor near Notre Dame who can be trusted. Wentworth knew him and may have told Dashing about him.”

Camille rose, indignant. “Who is this doctor? Why was I never told of him?”

“There was never any need.”

Camille scowled.

“Alex, we have to go to him,” Lucia said. “We have to get him out of Paris.”

“No.” He gave her a firm look. “You’re not going anywhere.” He turned away from her, heading for his bedroom.

“Alex, this is my brother,” she said, scampering after him. “I have the right to see him.”

“And you will. Not now.” He shrugged his coat over his dark clothes and pulled the bicorne low over his features.

“Why not?”

“It could be a trap. I’m not risking it.”

“A trap?” Camille said, coming up behind Lucia. “I do not believe a word of this. Alex,
cher
, I cannot
believe you are pursuing this. No one reads that much into Shakespeare.”

Alex glared at Camille, and Lucia was happy she wasn’t the only one to receive the evil eye when not in agreement with him.

“I’m coming as well.” Camille held up a finger. “And don’t argue with me. If there is a traitor, I need to know who he is.”

“And we’ll be safer if we’re all together,” Lucia added.

Alex raked his hair. He was fighting it, but she knew she’d won.

“All right. I can’t fight both of you.” He ground the words out. “But you’ll do everything I say. Understand?”

She nodded eagerly.

Ten minutes later she regretted her promise. He made her wear a cape from his own wardrobe, and it was far too large, not to mention inappropriate for a sunny May day. Her one consolation was that Camille had to wear a mantle, too, so they would suffer the heat together.

They went out the back door of the building and climbed into the hired carriage Camille had waiting. She glimpsed Notre Dame’s magnificence briefly as they rode past, and she turned her head to see better. It stood like the hand of God reaching down from the heavens. She could just imagine Napoleon inside, dwarfed by its majestic arched ceilings and stunning stained glass windows, taking the French crown from Pope Pius to place it on his own head.

A few moments later the carriage turned down a tree-lined avenue, and Alex rapped with his cane, indicating to the coachman to stop.

“Stay here,” Alex instructed, looking pointedly at Lucia. “If it’s safe, I’ll come for you.”

Lucia started to protest, but he was already exiting the coach in a flurry of black. She watched as he disappeared into an unobtrusive house shaded with enormous oak trees. Lucia glanced at Camille, then looked away. She wished Alex would hurry. Her brother was inside that house.

After all their searching, it didn’t seem possible that he was finally so near. So near and yet…

What was taking Alex so long? Lucia reached for the door. “I’m going inside,” she told Camille and hopped out. Camille reached for her, but Lucia scooted away, practically running by the time she reached the residence. At the door, she banged on the polished wood.

She almost yelped when Alex pulled it open, yanking her inside, then dragging her to a room that was dim and musty compared to the sunshine of the street outside.

“Do you ever listen?” he barked. His hand was on her elbow and he shook her gently. “I told you to stay—”

“Is he here?” She glanced wildly about the room. “I want to see him.” The door opened again, and Camille entered the room. Then for the first time, she noticed an elderly man with a bushy white beard and eyeglasses standing by the window behind her.

“He’s here,” Alex answered in French, his voice dark and low. Lucia winced, realizing she’d just barged into an unfamiliar house in a hostile country sputtering loudly in the enemy tongue.

“Her carelessness is going to get us killed,” Camille sneered.

Lucia ignored them. John was all that mattered. “Alex,
please
. May I see him?”

Alex glanced at the doctor, who nodded. “Upstairs.”

Taking her arm, he showed her the way, pausing outside a closed door.

“H
ave you seen him?” Lucia asked, staring straight at the dark wooden door.

“No, but Joubert said he’s hurt.” Alex’s look was grim. “Shot in the right shoulder.”

Lucia tightened her jaw. He heart was pounding, and she felt dizzy at his words, but she had to be strong for John. Alex put his hands on her shoulders, and his touch steadied her.

“Joubert removed the bullet, but John lost a lot of blood.” His voice was calm and soothing. “The wound became infected, and Joubertwasn’t sure he’d make it. Your brother’s just beginning to recover.”

“Can he travel?”

Alex frowned, and before he could give her an answer she didn’t want, she said, “Let me see him. Alone.”

Alex frowned.

“Alex, he’s my own brother. Just give me ?ve minutes with him.”

He nodded. “I’ll be downstairs. Yell if you need me.”

“I won’t.”

He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly, then Lucia stood alone before the door. Her brother had always been so strong, so infused with life. What would she see on the other side of the door? Gathering her courage, she turned the brass doorknob and entered. Across the room, John lay on the bed, his eyes closed.

She blinked. He looked very much as she remembered him from two months earlier. Tall and fair like her, with dark blue eyes and curly blond hair, although his was more of an ash blond, he looked like a man sleeping peacefully. With a shaking hand, she closed the door and went to him. In the dim light from the small window, she could see he was pale and his arm was wrapped in a sling. She took the chair beside the bed and clasped his hand. He opened his eyes with a slowness she would not have believed him capable of two months before.

He stared at her, closed his eyes, and blinked at her when he opened them again. “Lucia?”

“Yes. It’s me,” she whispered, leaning over to caress his brow.

“What are you wearing?” he mumbled.

Lucia paused. This wasn’t exactly the reunion she’d imagined. “Is that all you can say? I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Is this a dream?” he asked groggily, and she immediately felt his forehead for any sign of fever.

“No, darling. I’m really here.”

His eyes took her in again. “But your dress—”

“John!” She punched him lightly, and he groaned. “Oh! I’m sorry!” She grasped his hand again, her
anger rising. “But really! Who cares what I’m wearing! I’m here.” Brothers! They never changed.

“I was shot in the shoulder,” he said, and she smiled.

“I can see that. Do you know who shot you?”

He shook his head. “No, but it was one of our own.”

“I read your note. The passage from Shakespeare.”

“How?” His eyes seemed to clear as the grogginess of sleep wore off. “What are you doing here?”

She waved a hand. “I came with Alex, I mean the Earl of Selbourne. It was a horrible muddle. A man named Décharné abducted us because Alex is a spy.” None of that seemed to matter now that she was with John. She squeezed his hand again.

“Good God, Lucia!”

She blinked. “What?”

He scowled at her. “What were you doing with Selbourne? Why were you put in danger?”

“We were searching for you, of course! We were worried because you’d disappeared, and Father asked Alex to find you.”

“How does that involve you?” He raised a hand before she could answer. “Never mind. I forgot for a moment who I was talking to.”

She smiled. “And
you
—Mr. Dashing Spy—have no right to throw stones. What were you thinking, joining the Foreign Office, running off to Paris? Or do
I
even need ask?”

John glanced quickly at the door, and the color seemed to drain from his already pale face. Lucia clutched his hand tighter. “What is it?”

“I’d give anything to have kept that knowledge from you. It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t even be here.” His grip on her hand was firm, and some of her fear subsided. Perhaps John was stronger than she’d first thought.

“There’s nothing to worry about, John,” she said. “Alex is here, and he’ll get all of us out of France safely.”

John stared at her hard. “Why do you keep calling him Alex?”

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “I meant Lord Selbourne.”

“You two have grown very close.” His eyes were like a hawk’s, watching his prey for any vulnerability.

“Not really,” she stammered, looking down. She was doomed now. John would figure everything out; he always did. They were too close to keep anything from each other for long. John grasped Lucia’s wrist.

“What’s happened?”

She stared at the cloak she wore—Alex’s cloak—but John shook her arm. When she looked up at him, her eyes told him everything, and he shouted, “Goddamned bastard! I’ll kill that rake!” He scrambled to sit up, and she tried to subdue him.

“John, it’s not like that.”

“The hell it’s not! Are you telling me he hasn’t bedded you?”

She wanted to lie, but it was no use. He’d know. She bit her lip and looked away.

“Are you getting married? Has he proposed?” John’s voice was stony.

“No,” she whispered.

“I’m going to kill him. Where is he?” John was struggling to sit up again, and this time Lucia had to physically push him down.

“Stop it. This is as much my fault as his.”

“
Your
fault?” John roared, and she winced. “How is this
your
fault?”

She threw his hand down. “I don’t know! It just happened, John! I—I can’t explain it.”

“I can. He seduced you.”

“No!” She shook her head vehemently, but John ignored her.

“Does Dandridge know? Did you break off the engagement?”

For a moment Lucia had no idea who John referred to. Then, like a hazy dream, her engagement, her life in London floated back to her. “No! Of course Reginald doesn’t know, but I don’t care if he does. You know how I feel about him.”

“He’s your fiancé!”

Lucia shut her eyes and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to think about Reginald. Suddenly everything seemed to be falling apart.

Beside her, John was fuming and cursing. With his good arm, he yanked his pillow up and finally pulled himself to a sitting position. Lucia watched him under lowered lids. Like hers, his outbursts of temper were short-lived. A moment later he took her hand again.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She hadn’t meant to start crying, but the words came out on a sob.

“Do you love him?” John asked quietly.

Lucia’s breath caught. Her heart hammered so hard, she thought it would break. She’d wanted to avoid all thoughts of love, knowing Alex would never allow himself to love her. Knowing for certain, after the discussion of his father, Alex would never be hers. She looked at John.

“My God. You love him,” he whispered.

She squeezed her eyes closed, but the tears spilled out anyway.

“No, Lucia. Not him.”

She nodded miserably. “I didn’t
want
to love him, but I couldn’t seem to help it.” She dropped her face
in her hands. “I know it is hopeless. He’ll never marry me.”

“Wrong.”

She looked up at John’s unyielding face.

“He’s compromised you, Lucia, and can be made to marry. He may be a rake, but he’s also a man of honor.”

“No.” Lucia said.

“Lucia, don’t argue—”

“No!”

John frowned. “Why?”

“Do you think I want to marry a man who doesn’t want
me
? Do you think I want to
force
a man to marry me? I’d rather die.”

“Dammit, Lucia.” John grasped her shoulders. “Listen to—”

There was a knock on the door, and like naughty children, Lucia and John went silent. The door opened and Alex entered, Camille behind him.

She quickly dashed the tears from her cheeks and looked away.

As soon as Alex walked into the room, he knew something was wrong. The chamber was deathly silent, and Lucia had been crying. He had never seen her do that. Her brother was staring at him, stone-faced and with teeth clenched.

“You bastard,” John spat. Alex looked at Lucia. She closed her eyes and put her hand over them, and he knew the cause of her tears then.

“Yes, I am,” he said. Lucia’s heart broke at the coolness in his voice.

“Is that all you can say? You’ve compromised my sister. Your sister-in-law!”

“John, do not overreact,” Lucia said quietly.

“Overreact? I am not overreacting, Lucia!”

“No,” Alex agreed. “You’re not overreacting. I take full responsibility.”

“I don’t care about responsibility! What are you going—”

Lucia looked at him sharply, and he broke off. Whatever had passed between them, Lucia obviously had some influence with her brother. It was not too hard to see the path of John Dashing’s thoughts, and Alex actually wondered why Lucia had stopped him, and what he would have said if the question had been asked.

There was a tense silence while Alex contemplated this.

“Perhaps we should discuss plans to escape,” Lucia suggested.

“Yes.”

She was much more composed now. It never failed to amaze him how strong she was. Any other woman of his acquaintance would have crumbled under the disapproval she must be facing from her brother, but not Lucia. She made her own rules.

“Dewhurst is in Calais, arranging passage to England. We meet him in two days. Are you strong enough to travel?” Alex looked at John.

“But I cannot go back to England,” John replied coolly, scanning the room warily until his gaze rested on Camille. There was recognition there and a little suspicion. Alex turned to look at Camille himself, but her face appeared impassive. Quietly John continued, “I was shot obtaining valuable information detailing Bonaparte’s plan to invade England. It must go to Admiral Nelson immediately.”

“Invade England?” Lucia looked astounded. “Surely that talk has all been rumors.”

“I’m afraid not,” Alex said leaning his shoulder against the closed door, arms crossed. “In March I
obtained information stating that Admiral Villenueve, the commander of the Toulon fleet, was ordered by Bonaparte to escape the British blockade at Toulon. All I knew then was that an invasion of England was planned. I brought the information to Pitt, but I wanted to take it to Admiral Nelson as well. I was prevented because it was thought that I had been identified. Apparently that rumor was true.

“Dashing here was sent in my place. Did you reach Nelson?”

“I gave him the information when I found him in Gibraltar. He knew that Villenueve had sailed but was not sure of his destination. He suspected the West Indies and sailed after Villenueve immediately. A few days later in Paris I received more significant information from one of your sources, Selbourne. Villenueve was told to sail for the West Indies in order to deceive Nelson and the British fleet. With Nelson chasing after Villenueve, the British will be unprepared for what Bonaparte has planned. Villenueve is to double back to Europe and combine the French and Spanish fleets in order to sail up the Channel and invade England. Nelson will be too late. There will be no one to protect Britain from invasion.”

“But how will the invasion be accomplished with only the fleet?” Camille asked. “Bonaparte will need ground forces.”

John hesitated, studying Camille once again. He seemed to wrestle with something, then answered. “Bonaparte has ninety thousand men assembled in Boulogne.”

Lucia gasped. She had no idea Bonaparte had amassed so many soldiers. How could England defend herself against such an enormous invasion without the help of Nelson and the navy?

There was silence as each considered the huge
force at Bonaparte’s disposal and England’s fate if Bonaparte’s plan succeeded. England was in the hands of Admiral Nelson, and he, unfortunately, appeared to be falling for Napoleon’s ruse.

“Someone must get to Nelson and warn him,” Lucia murmured.

“He is extremely intelligent. He will probably ascertain the truth for himself,” Camille commented.

“I also have information on the French and Spanish fleets that could prove invaluable to the admiral,” John added. “Bonaparte’s plan takes no account of the poor condition of the French fleet. The information I have may help Admiral Nelson know how best to strike. It was my intention to go to him myself but I was identified somehow and shot here in Paris.” He glanced at Camille again. “Thankfully, I escaped and made it to the good doctor’s.”

“Who identified you?” Alex asked. “Camille intercepted your message. It had fallen into the hands of the French.”

“The French?” John asked in some confusion. “How? I sent it by…” He paused and reconsidered.

“Could it have been Décharné?” Alex asked.

“No,” John answered. “It’s one of ours. I was betrayed.”

“What happened?” Camille asked.

“I went to meet one of my contacts. The meeting had been arranged hastily that day. When I arrived, I found the man dead. Before I could even think what to do, I was shot from behind. I was left for dead. Somehow, I don’t remember particulars, I made it here.”

“And you have no idea who your assailant was?”

“No,” John admitted. “I never saw his face, so it could be anyone. We have to find the man and deal with him.”

“Leave that to me,” Alex said ominously. “We’ll get the information to Nelson, but you are in no condition to do so. Go back to England and confide all you know to Pitt and the king. They may need to prepare for invasion.”

“I would have gone sooner, but I have been confined here, too weak these last days to even cross the room.”

“We don’t have any time to lose,” Alex informed them. “I’ll need to make arrangements for a carriage to Calais. I don’t think you’re well enough to ride yet, Dashing. We’ll return after dark and collect you. Until then, rest.”

Alex went to the door, opened it, and Camille exited. Lucia looked down at John one last time. In his eyes she saw fear. What wasn’t he telling her?

“Be careful,” he whispered. The words sent a tremor of apprehension through her, and his hand shook in her grasp.