The Making of a Duchess (26 page)

   "Of course. Where would I go?"

   He did not know, but he had the feeling he might never see her again. "I'd like my brother to meet you."

   "And I would like to meet him. Having him in London will make proving your story to the Foreign Office a good deal easier."

   He frowned. That was not what he had meant at all. He wanted the people who mattered to him to know her, but before he could say that, the orchestra began to tune, and they returned to their seats.

   Perhaps it was best that their conversation had ended. It was clear she had no expectation he would marry her. Perhaps she did not want him in any case. And then again, did
he
really intend to marry her? What did he know about her other than the fact that she was a governess and a poor spy? She had no family, no connections, no money.

   And did he really care about any of that?

   What he did care about was duty. It was his duty to marry and continue the line. His mother had never said he should marry a fellow aristocrat, but he had always understood it to be an obligation.

   And what of his own desire to exact retribution on those who had tried to extinguish his family? News of his marriage to another threatened French aristocratic family would probably never reach the peasants who had killed his father, but it was a victory all the same.

   The opera began, and Julien pushed all thoughts of marriage out of his mind. He would think about that later, when he returned from France and had Armand safely in England. He would think on it after the threat of a charge of treason was eliminated. Right now, he simply had to survive this opera.

   The
Racer
was moored under a crescent moon, and the fog rolled in thick off the waters of the Thames. The masts, furled tightly with white sails, shot high into the cloudy sky. All in all, Julien judged it to be a good ship. It was small and likely fast—a racer indeed.

   But with so little time before departure, where was the ship's crew? The vessel sat low, which meant the cargo might already have been loaded, but surely someone was about. As he stood in the shadows of a nearby alleyway, Julien felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Was this a trap? Had Sarah betrayed him?

   And then he heard the sound of a carriage approaching. He ducked back farther into the shadows and watched as Stalwart's conveyance appeared, halted, and the man himself departed, followed by the large, black man Julien knew as Oak.

   The captain stood, hands on hips, surveying his ship, and Oak put his fingers to his lips and whistled. A moment later, the dock was swarming with crew members. They had appeared silently and went about their work. Their first task was to lower the gangplank. Stalwart started toward it, and Julien moved out of the shadows. It was now or never.

   "Captain," Julien called. "A word."

   Stalwart paused, turned, and waited for Julien to approach. "Did you bring the blunt?" Stalwart asked.

   Julien gestured to a satchel he carried. "Perhaps you'd like to see it in the privacy of your cabin?"

   "That I would." He started up the gangplank again, then called over his shoulder, "Oak, bring our other guest to my cabin as well."

   Julien frowned. "What other guest? We never discussed another passenger."

   "This is my ship. I don't feel the need to discuss what I do aboard it with you."

   That was true, but it did not mean Julien had to like the arrangement. What if this guest knew him, could identify him? Julien did not like the added risk. But what choice did he have? He could go along or go home.

   Blowing out a sigh, he followed Stalwart across the deck, went into a hatch, and down a short flight of steps.

   At the end of a narrow corridor, Stalwart paused and held open the door to his cabin. The room was small which, considering the ship was compact and built for speed, was expected. The sleek cabin had a berth, a trunk, a small desk, and a table littered with maps and charts. The furniture was bolted to the floor, and a weak lamp burned above the desk.

   Stalwart motioned Julien inside, and ducking his head, Julien entered the cabin. He set the heavy satchel on the table. It was filled with five thousand pounds, and Julien hated to release it, but it was the price for Armand. He had to remember that. The rest of the money he had given to Stover, with orders to bring it as soon as Julien sent for it.

   Of course, he had plenty of money on him—sewn into his coat. But that was in francs. He would be prepared if all did not go well in France.

   "You'll get the rest when I return safely. I have it with a friend."

   Stalwart shook his head. "I should never have agreed to this. You'll cause me more trouble than five thousand pounds. You already have."

   A knock sounded on the door.

   "Come," Stalwart said, his eyes on Julien. The door swung open, and outside stood Oak with Sarah right beside him.

   "What the hell?" Julien started forward.

   She gave him a sheepish look and allowed the large man to push her into the cabin. The door closed behind her, leaving the captain, Julien, and Sarah alone.

   "I can explain," Sarah began.

   "What are you doing here?" Julien said at the same time.

   "I knew this would be amusing," Stalwart drawled, taking a seat at his desk.

   Julien rounded on him. "We need a moment alone."

   The captain raised his brows. "Well, you won't get it in my cabin. I've been anticipating this all evening."

   Julien turned back to Sarah. "What's going on? Is this some sort of trap?"

   "No, this isn't a trap." She reached out to touch him, reassure him, but he moved away. "I-I'm going with you."

   "The hell you say! You'll do no such thing."

   Behind him, Stalwart chuckled, and Julien had the urge to throttle the man.

   "Julien, just listen to reason. I need to come because—"

   "I don't give a damn what you need. You're to go home this very instant. Stalwart?" He turned back to the captain. "May she use your carriage?"

   Stalwart shook his head. "Of course. How do you think she arrived here?"

   Fuming, Julien turned back to her. "What is going on?"

   "If you'll just give me a moment to explain—"

   "There's no time." Julien pulled out his pocket watch and examined the face. "The ship sails in ten minutes. You have to get off."

   "I'm afraid I can't do that."

   "Then I'll carry you off." He advanced on her with every intent of lifting her, throwing her over his shoulder, and bodily removing her from the vessel.

   "Captain!" she cried, skirting around the table. "Tell him!"

   "She's coming with us, Valère," Stalwart answered. "It's both of you or neither. That's the agreement."

Sarah had known Julien would not react well to this. She did not blame him, but she had no other choice— at least that was what she told herself when she left the house tonight.

   As was expected of her, she had smiled through dinner and, alongside the duchesse, bid Julien farewell. They pretended he was only going to his club for the evening, not wanting to alert the servants to the truth.

   As soon as Julien was away, the duchesse retreated to her room. Sarah pretended to do the same then sneaked out a back door, clothes and papers tied in a pillow case and thrown over her back. She had been trembling like a leaf as she left, terrified something would go wrong.

   But fortunately, she had been able to hail a hackney quickly, and the jarvey had agreed to take her to Captain Stalwart. She knew she would need his support. Walking through The King George had been a daunting task with Stover and Julien and had seemed almost impossible on her own. But she had done it, and it was with a small sense of accomplishment that she knocked on Stalwart's door. Though obviously surprised to see her, he admitted her to his suite right away and, after the initial pleasantries, she told him she planned to sail with him.

   He raised a brow. "Your duc's fee pays only for his passage." He was sitting in an armchair, sipping brandy while the large man he called Oak gathered the personal effects from the room and packed them in a trunk.

   Sarah took the seat opposite him. She was resolved now. She had come this far and would not turn back. "There will be no passage at all if I'm not allowed to come along."

   The captain set his brandy glass down on the table between them and steepled his fingers. "That's a serious threat. I hope you're prepared to back it up."

   "I am. I'm an operative for the Foreign Office. I think they would be very interested to know about your recent excursions to France."

   Stalwart did not blink. "They might, but do you really think I'd allow you to leave and tell them?"

   He reached into his coat and pulled out a small knife. Casually, he began to groom his nails with the tip. Sarah swallowed, feeling the bile rise in her throat. She was no idiot. Captain Stalwart was threatening to kill her!

   But she had thought her plan through, had tried to anticipate every detail. She smiled. "If I don't leave safely or give a signal within the next five minutes," she said, glancing at the clock on the mantel, "you won't be going anywhere but Newgate tonight."

   He worked the knife on his nails and studied her. Sarah could tell he was trying to decide whether or not to believe her. She raised a brow, hoping she looked a good deal more confident than she felt.

   "Why do you want to accompany Valère?" the captain finally asked. "Is the Foreign Office watching him?"

   "That doesn't concern you, nor will it. Suffice it to say that Valère needs me."

   The captain let out a loud bark of a laugh that made her jump. "He does, does he?" He shook his head, and for a moment she did not think he believed a word she said. Then he shrugged. "Very well. Come along. If nothing else, this will be amusing. And it's been some time since we've had a woman on board." He grinned. "Don't expect me to protect your virtue."

   Sarah had considered that problem, and she knew with Julien beside her, she had little to fear. He would watch over her, protect her. But she wanted more than Stalwart's nonchalant acceptance. Valère would not give in so easily.

   The captain had risen and was gathering his greatcoat, but Sarah stood in front of him. "One more thing."

   He raised a brow.

   "Valère will argue," Sarah said quickly. "He'll do

everything in his power to have me thrown off your ship. I need you to agree now that it's either both of us or neither. If I'm thrown off, the Foreign Office will be waiting when you return."

   He narrowed his eyes. "I don't care whether you two stay on the docks or get tossed to the sharks. I care about the blunt."

   "Then you agree?"

   "I agree."

   "And—" She had scarce opened her mouth before he stepped forward and held a finger in front of her lips.

   "Don't push your luck."

   Sarah closed her mouth and waited while Oak and the captain made their last preparations. Finally Stalwart turned to her. "Don't you need to signal your friends?"

   Drat! She had forgotten! "I'll do that right now," she said, trying to sound as if this was the way she had intended it all along. She went to the window, pushed it open, and leaned out. No one passing below paid any attention to her, but she felt like an idiot anyway. She waved her hands and made several impromptu gestures. She hoped they looked like some sort of code.

   She closed the door and turned back to the captain. He had a bemused smile on his lips, but he bowed and gestured for her to precede him out the door.

   And now she was standing in front of a seething Valère. At least the captain had kept his end of the bargain. She could see Julien taking in the situation, debating his options.

   As she saw it, they could either both get off the ship or both travel to France. She did not know what options he was considering. She prayed there were not any loopholes in her plan, but her stomach plummeted when Valère's scowl faded, and he gave her a knowing smile.

Julien did not know what had possessed Sarah to come to the ship and attempt to go with him, but no matter the reason, he was not taking her. Apparently, she had made some deal with Stalwart, but he saw a way out of that.

   Smiling, he crossed his arms. "You can't come."

   She met his smile with a defiant glare. If he was not mistaken, she was growing braver day by day. What had happened to the pale-faced girl who had barely been able to speak when he walked into the room?