Surrender (10 page)

“I will write him,” she said, thinking carefully now. “And I will send the letter to one of his sisters.”

“You must deliver the letter yourself, so you can meet his sisters and befriend them,” Laurent said. “Lady Paget is married to the son of a great Frenchwoman—the Dowager Countess of Bedford was a friend of Henri’s, many years ago.”

Evelyn hadn’t known. “You have been making inquiries?”

“Of course I have. Aimee is like a daughter to me.”

Impulsively, Evelyn hugged him. “I am feeling just a bit better,” she whispered, meaning it. She was even excited—she hadn’t been to London in two years, and a trip from the moors suddenly seemed terribly overdue. And surely Lady Paget would be able to locate her brother. But she wasn’t about to allow herself to be hopeful. Instead, she felt a vast trepidation.

“And you may be even happier to know that you had a caller earlier—a gentleman caller—a very dashing one.” Laurent smiled. “He left a note.”

Evelyn started. “Who was it?”

“Lord Trevelyan,” Laurent said.

* * *

H
IS
SHIP
SECURELY
at anchor in the cove, Jack leaped out of the dinghy two of his men had been rowing to the shore. He was accustomed to such a maneuver, and he landed on the damp sand, without getting even the toes of his boots wet. “Go up to the tower and keep watch,” he ordered. “I will not be long.”

His men dragged the boat onto the sand, both of them scowling. He did not blame them. They had left Roscoff, France, at dawn, and they were looking forward to a reunion with their families. Most of his men lived in the small village of Looe, or its outskirts. They had been bound for Jack’s home on Looe Island, but he had abruptly decided to detour.

As his men vanished up a trail in the cliffs, Jack started up the wood steps leading to the house just above the cove. He had dropped anchor in this cove a hundred times, and even in the early evening darkness, he had no trouble making his way up the rough steps and the rocky path to Faraday Hall. Robert Faraday had been investing in his activities since Jack had had command of his first ship, eight years ago.

He had first met Faraday eight years earlier, in an inn in Bodmin. There, he had convinced the nobleman that the return on his investment would be well worth his while—and it had. Faraday was one of his most important patrons. He would be excited to learn about the high-quality Chinese silk in the Roscoff warehouses, which Jack intended to purchase on his next run. He knew Robert would want a piece of that pie.

And he told himself that that was the only reason he was trudging up to the back door of the house now. He did not give a damn that Evelyn D’Orsay had been raised at Faraday Hall. He had learned that she was Robert’s niece last week. When she had been driving all about Cornwall, making inquiries about him, he had made a few inquiries of his own.

Talk about life’s little coincidences! he thought grimly.

Of course, when he had first dropped anchor in this cove, Evelyn hadn’t been in residence at Faraday Hall—she had been a bride in Paris. Or perhaps she had been a newlywed in the Loire countryside. It did not matter.

She had been sixteen when she had married; he recalled her telling him that, very clearly.

Their paths might have crossed far sooner, had she not married the French comte.

He supposed that was a coincidence, too—or was it an irony?

He did not know why the idea bothered him. He did not know why she remained implanted so firmly in his thoughts. He had just had a very successful run to France. He had brought the French Republicans a shipload of woolens and metal grommets; he had then met one of Cadoudal’s lieutenants, relaying the information given him by Warlock, while also relaying ten dozen carbines, five dozen pistols and enough powder for three times as many weapons. Warlock had also arranged the weapons transfer.

He knocked on the kitchen doors in the back, wondering if he was a fool. Right now, he could be at his island home, a good scotch whiskey in one hand, a pretty village wench in his arms.

Except, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a pretty village girl. Kicking at a rock, he waited rather impatiently, until a kitchen maid let him in. Redheaded and freckled, she blushed when she realized who he was. “Captain Greystone!” she breathed. “No one is expecting ye!”

Because he was annoyed, he gave her his fullest, most seductive smile. “Is Lord Faraday in?” He could not recall her name.

“He’s in the library, sir.” She smiled back, lashes lowered.

He was accustomed to good fortune, and hardly surprised that his host was within. He gestured and she led him through the house. He knew the way, but he followed her.

The mansion had been built twenty years earlier by Robert’s father, David Faraday. It was a fine home, built in the early Georgian style, with beige marble floors in the entry, and parquet floors throughout. Works of art covered the walls, and while not masterpieces, they were pleasant enough. Bronze busts graced pedestals in the hallway. The house was not overly furnished, but the salon had a large, beautiful coral-and-blue rug from Persia, and other fine rugs graced the floors in the music room and library. Most of the furniture was custom-made. Gilded chandeliers hung from the ceilings. Robert had clearly amassed a small fortune over the years.

He thought about Evelyn, living in a mostly unfurnished house, desperate to hire him to go to France to retrieve some family heirlooms. Obviously she meant to sell them. How could her husband have left her and their daughter in such straits? It was truly a dereliction of duty—and not his affair. He sighed as the maid knocked on Robert’s door.

Faraday beamed when he saw him. “This is a pleasant surprise,” he exclaimed, coming forward. He was casually clad in a smoking jacket, and a cigar was burning in an ashtray, a glass of French brandy beside it.

Jack turned to thank the maid, and when she retreated, he closed the door behind him. The library was a large room with one wall of books, several seating areas and a large desk, behind which was a window looking out onto the cove. Facing Robert, Jack shook his hand. “I have just come from Roscoff. I decided to stop by on my way home, as I have just seen a warehouse filled with the kind of silk we haven’t glimpsed since before the war.”

Robert’s eyes brightened as he turned and poured Jack a glass of very fine French brandy—the kind Jack did not smuggle unless it was for himself. He then offered him a cheroot, which Jack accepted. These days, some of the best tobacco came from Virginia or the Carolinas, but when he inhaled, smiling with pleasure, he recognized it as being from somewhere else. “Is this Cuban?” he exclaimed.

“Yes, it is. You know I will participate.” Robert grinned. “I imagine we will have that silk sold before you even touch down on the beaches here.”

“I will make certain of it,” Jack said, exhaling. He began to relax, for there was nothing like a good cigar and brandy after a run across the Channel.

“Sit down, my boy,” Robert said, pulling up a big upholstered chair. Jack took it, stretching out his breeches and boot-clad legs, taking a sip of the brandy. It was old, French and excellent. Robert sat in the facing chair. “I have a small favor to ask of you.”

Jack was mildly curious and he smiled, puffing on the cigar. “Feel free.”

Robert exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “You have not yet met my niece, Evelyn D’Orsay. She has been recently widowed and lives with her young child on the Bodmin Moor.”

His tension was immediate. “Actually, I have met her.” And he suspected what would come next—Evelyn had lobbied her uncle to speak up on her behalf.

Robert seemed surprised, and then relieved. “It seems that her husband, who was a friend of mine, left her in rather dire straits. I cannot understand it, but of course, they are émigrés, so they left a great deal behind when they fled France. Still, she has a child to raise.” He appeared disapproving.

Jack couldn’t help it—he disapproved, too—and Robert had just echoed his very own thoughts.

“Evelyn believes that her husband has left her some valuables in France at their country home. She is determined to retrieve them—and she has asked me about you.”

Jack smiled stiffly. Was his heart racing? “She has asked a great many Cornishmen about me, Robert. She has been trekking about the countryside, making inquiries about me, and indicating that she wishes to speak with me. A dozen cronies have alerted me to the fact.”

“She believes that you could retrieve those heirlooms, Jack,” Faraday said. And he lifted a thick gray brow.

Jack grimaced. “Robert, what she wishes is madness.”

“She is grieving, and I cannot blame her if she is not thinking clearly. She was very fond of D’Orsay.”

He almost choked on the sip of brandy he was taking. Had she loved that old man? Was it even possible? And why the hell should he care? He had assumed it to be an arranged and loveless marriage. “He was old enough to be her father.”

“Yes, he was, and maybe that was the attraction—her own father was a rogue, as irresponsible as they come. And he abandoned her. She was left in our care when she was five years old. Why wouldn’t Evelyn fall for Henri? He was everything my brother was not—solid, dependable and respectable—and he offered her a wonderful life. Besides, he fell in love with her at first sight.” Robert smiled. “I know. I was there…. I witnessed it myself.”

Jack felt like pointing out that it would be easy to fall in love with a beauty like Evelyn; she, undoubtedly, had fallen in love with D’Orsay’s fortune. But Jack had heard Robert’s every word—he hadn’t realized her father had abandoned her. As it turned out, they actually had something in common.

“You are glowering,” Robert said.

“Well, that is because I agree with you—D’Orsay should have provided for his wife and daughter.” Jack hadn’t thought about his own rakehell father in years—he could not recall what John Greystone had even looked like—but he thought about him now. His father had chosen the game halls of Paris and Antwerp over his own family. His mother had never been the same after he left, and a few years later she had begun her retreat from reality. To this day, she was often addled and incoherent, and entirely incognizant of her surroundings. She now lived with Amelia and Grenville.

“But he did provide for them, although not in a usual way. There is a small fortune in that chest,” Robert said.

Jack took a puff of his cheroot. “She did not seem to know its value,” he finally said.

“A chest filled with gold is either a small fortune or a large one. Did you agree to retrieve the chest for her?”

He almost coughed on the tobacco now, hearing for the first time that the chest was filled with gold rather than family heirlooms. As he attempted to compose himself, a light knock sounded on the door and Enid poked her head in. “Hello, Mr. Greystone. I heard you were here. I do not wish to interrupt. I merely wanted to greet you and see if you had had supper.”

Jack was already on his feet, and bowing over her hand. “Lady Faraday, forgive my poor manners. But thank you for asking, and I have already dined.”

She lifted a disapproving eyebrow at Robert, perhaps for all the smoke in the room. “You should open a window,” she said.

Robert ignored that. “We were actually discussing Evelyn D’Orsay,” he said. “Have you called on her yet?”

Enid stared, a bit coolly. “I have been intending to, all week. I will do so as soon as I can. Why on earth would you and Mr. Greystone discuss Evelyn?”

“She is recently widowed, and she is in a bad way—Jack agrees with me.”

Enid smiled at Jack. “I did not realize that you were acquainted with Evelyn.”

Jack smiled. “I have recently made her acquaintance.” But he was still stunned by Robert’s revelation. So she was chasing a pot of gold? He should have known! And wouldn’t that solve a great deal of her problems? Not that it was his affair.

Enid seemed bewildered and Robert said, “She is in a difficult circumstance, and I was hoping Jack could be of help.”

“Well, she has certainly come down in the world,” Enid remarked. “But I would be careful if I were you. She is a fantastic coquette. Most gentlemen are taken with her, and leap to do her bidding—hoping to receive her favors.”

“Enid,” Robert reproved.

“Rest assured, I am not in need of any favors.” Jack smiled, speaking mildly, but he did not care for Enid’s condescension. Of course, he recalled how desperately he had wished to bed Evelyn the other night.

“Good.” Enid approved. “Besides, after having married D’Orsay, I am sure she will seek to remarry some kind of title, with a fortune, of course. I imagine she will be married before the year is out. Her next husband will certainly restore her finances.”

“You are probably right,” Jack said, remaining outwardly indifferent. But that was what widows like Evelyn D’Orsay did. It would not be unusual for her to remarry as soon as was socially acceptable. And then she would not need him to run to France to retrieve a chest of gold. He should, in fact, be relieved.

“Trevelyan was quite fond of her when they were children,” Robert remarked. “And he is now a widower.”

“He is a great catch for most of us, but he will only inherit the title of a baron, dear, when Lord Trevelyan passes. I doubt Evelyn would marry so low.”

Jack stared at them both. Having been friends with Ed Trevelyan since childhood, he knew Trev had been a rogue before his marriage, with an eye for beautiful women, and his family had been involved in smuggling for generations. If he wished, he could captain his own ship and he had the means to hire any smuggler he chose.

“I happen to recall that Evelyn also liked Trevelyan,” Robert remarked.

Enid scowled. “Really? And what about Annabelle? She is about to become a spinster—she is twenty-two.”

Robert sighed while Jack absorbed this news—that Evelyn had returned Trev’s interest. Before he could ask when this old romance had occurred, Enid faced him. “So how can you possibly help Evelyn?”

“The countess is considering making an attempt to retrieve some family valuables that were left behind in France,” Jack said, knowing better than to reveal full details.