Surrender (2 page)

She was tempted to agree. But what if someone discovered them
while she was gone—what if someone realized who Henri was? “I want you to stay
here and guard
le comte
and Aimee with your life.
Please,” she added, consumed with another intense wave of desperation.

Laurent nodded and walked her to the door. “The smuggler’s name
is Jack Greystone.”

She wanted to cry. Of course, she would do no such thing. She
pulled up her hood and gave her sleeping daughter one last look.

Evelyn knew she would find Greystone, and convince him to
transport them across the Channel, because Aimee’s future depended on it.

She hurried from the room, and waited to hear Laurent slide the
bolt on the door’s other side, before she rushed down the narrow, dark corridor.
One taper burned from a wall sconce at the far end of the hall, above the
stairs. She stumbled down the single flight, thinking of Aimee, of Henri and a
smuggler with a ship named the
Sea Wolf.

The landing below let onto the inn’s foyer, and just to her
right was the public room. A dozen men were within, drinking spirits, the
conversation boisterous. She rushed outside, hoping no one had noticed her.

Clouds raced across the moon, allowing some illumination. One
torch lamp was lit on the street. Evelyn ran down the block, but saw no one
ahead and no one lurking in the shadows. Relieved, she glanced back over her
shoulder. Her heart seemed to stop.

Two dark figures were behind her now.

She began to run, seeing several masts in the sky ahead, pale
canvas furled tightly against them. Another glance over her shoulder showed her
that the men were also running—they were most definitely following her.

“Arrêtez-vous!”
one of the men
called, laughing. “Are we frightening you? We only wish to speak with you!”

Fear slammed through her. Evelyn lifted her skirts and ran
toward the docks, which were now in front of her. And she instantly saw that
cargo was being loaded onto one of the vessels—a cask the size of several men
had been winched up and was being directed toward the deck of a large cutter
with a black hull and black sails. Five men stood on the deck, reaching for the
cask as it was lowered toward them.

She had found the
Sea Wolf.

She halted, panting and out of breath. Two men were operating
the winch. A third stood a bit apart, watching the activity. Moonlight played
over his pale hair.

And she was seized from behind.

“Nous voulons seulement vous parler.” We
only want to speak to you.

Evelyn whirled to face the two men who had been following her.
They were her own age, dirty, unkempt and poorly clothed—they were probably
farmworkers and thugs.
“Libérez-moi,”
she responded
in perfect French.

“A lady! A lady dressed as a maid!” the first man said, but he
did not speak with relish now. He spoke with suspicion.

Too late, she knew she was in more danger than the threat of
being accosted—she was about to be unmasked as a noblewoman and, perhaps, as the
Countess D’Orsay. But before she could respond, a stranger said, very quietly,
in English, “Do as the lady has asked.”

The farmers turned, as did Evelyn. The clouds chose that moment
to pass completely by the moon, and the night became momentarily brighter.
Evelyn looked into a pair of ice-cold gray eyes and she froze.

This man was dangerous.

His stare was cold and hard. He was tall, his hair golden. He
wore both a dagger and a pistol. Clearly, he was not a man to be crossed.

His cool glance left her and focused on the two men. He
repeated his edict, this time in French.
“Faites comme la
dame a demandé.”

She was instantly released, and both men whirled and hurried
off. Evelyn inhaled, stunned, and turned to the tall Englishman again. He might
be dangerous, but he had just rescued her—and he might be Jack Greystone. “Thank
you.”

His direct gaze did not waver. It was a moment before he said,
“It was my pleasure. You’re English.”

She wet her lips, aware that their gazes were locked. “Yes. I
am looking for Jack Greystone.”

His eyes never changed. “If he is in port, I am not aware of
it. What do you want of him?”

Her heart sank with dismay—for surely, this imposing man, with
his air of authority and casual power, was the smuggler. Who else would be
watching the black ship as it was being loaded? “He has come recommended to me.
I am desperate, sir.”

His mouth curled, but there was no humor in his eyes. “Are you
attempting to return home?”

She nodded, still staring at him. “We had arrangements to leave
at dawn. But those plans have fallen by the wayside. I was told Greystone is
here. I was told to seek him out. I cannot linger in town, sir.”

“We?”

She hugged herself now, still helplessly gazing into his stare.
“My husband and my daughter, sir, and three friends.”

“And who gave you such information?”

“Monsieur Gigot—of the Abelard Inn.”

“Come with me,” he said abruptly, turning.

Evelyn hesitated as he started toward the ship. Her mind raced
wildly. She did not know if the stranger was Greystone, and she wasn’t certain
it was safe to go with him now. But he was heading for the ship with black
sails.

He glanced back at her, without pausing. And he shrugged,
clearly indifferent as to whether she came or not.

There was no choice. Either he was Greystone, or he was taking
her to him. Evelyn ran after him, following him up the gangplank. He didn’t look
at her, crossing the deck rapidly, and Evelyn rushed to fall into step behind
him. The five men who were loading the cask all turned to stare openly at
her.

Her hood had slipped. She pulled it up more tightly as he went
to a cabin door. He opened it and vanished inside. She faltered. She had just
noticed the guns lining the sides of the ship. She had seen smuggling ships as a
child; this ship seemed ready to do battle.

She was even more dismayed and full of dread, but she had made
her decision. Evelyn followed him inside.

He was lighting lanterns. Not looking up, he said, “Close the
door.”

It crossed her mind that she was very much alone with a
complete stranger now. Shoving her trepidation aside, she did as he asked. Very
breathless now, she slowly faced him.

He was standing at a large desk covered with charts. For one
moment, all she saw was a tall, broad-shouldered man with golden hair tied
carelessly in a queue, a pistol clipped to his shoulder belt, a dagger sheathed
on his belt.

Then she realized that he was also staring at her.

She inhaled, trembling. He was shockingly attractive, she now
realized, in both a masculine and a beautiful way. His eyes were gray, his
features even, his cheekbones high and cutting. A gold cross winked from the
widely open neck of his white lawn shirt. He was wearing doeskin breeches and
high boots, and now she realized how powerful and lean his tall, muscular build
was. His shirt clung to his broad chest and flat torso, and his breeches fit
like a second skin. He did not have an ounce of fat on his hard frame.

She wasn’t certain she had ever come into contact with such an
inherently masculine man—and it was unnerving somehow.

She was also the object of intense scrutiny. He was leaning his
hip against the desk and staring back at her, as openly as she was regarding
him. Evelyn felt herself flush. He was, she thought, trying to see her features,
which were partially concealed by her hood.

She now saw the small, narrow bed on the opposite wall. She
realized that this was where he slept. There was a handsome rug on the planked
floor, a handful of books on a small table. Otherwise, the cabin was sparsely
appointed and completely utilitarian.

“Do you have a name?”

She jerked, realizing that her heart was racing. How should she
answer? For she knew she must never reveal who she was. “Will you help me?”

“I haven’t decided. My services are expensive, and you are a
large group.”

“I am desperate to return home. And my husband is in desperate
need of a physician.”

“So the plot thickens. How ill is he?”

“Does it matter?”

“Can he reach my ship?”

She hesitated. “Not without help.”

“I see.”

He did not seem moved by her plight. How could she convince him
to help them? “Please,” she whispered, stepping away from the door. “I have a
four-year-old daughter. I must get her to Britain.”

He suddenly launched himself off the desk and strode
slowly—indolently—toward her. “Just how desperate are you?” His tone was
flat.

He had paused before her, inches separating them. She froze,
but her heart thundered. What was he suggesting? Because while his tone was
brisk, there was a speculative gleam in his eyes. Or was she imagining it?

She realized that she was mesmerized, and unbalanced. “I could
not be more desperate,” she managed, with a stutter.

He suddenly reached for her hood and tugged it down before she
knew what he meant to do. His eyes immediately widened.

Her tension knew no bounds. She meant to protest. If she had
wanted to reveal her face, she would have done so! As his gaze moved over her
features, very slowly, one by one, her resistance died.

“Now I understand,” he said softly, “why you would hide your
features.”

Her heart slammed. Was he complimenting her? Did he think her
attractive—or even beautiful? “Obviously we are in some jeopardy,” she
whispered. “I’m afraid of being recognized.”

“Obviously. Is your husband French?”

“Yes,” she said, “and I have never been as afraid.”

He studied her. “I take it you were followed?”

“I don’t know—perhaps.”

Suddenly he reached toward her. Evelyn lost her ability to
breathe as he tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her heart went wild.
His fingers had grazed her cheek—and she almost wanted to leap into his arms.
How could he do such a thing? They were strangers.

“Was your husband accused of crimes against the state?”

She flinched. “No…but we were told not to leave Paris.”

He stared.

She wet her lips, wishing she could decipher his thoughts, but
his expression was bland. “Sir—will you help us—please?”

She could not believe how plaintive she sounded. But he was
still crowding her. Worse, she now realized she could feel his body’s warmth and
heat. And while she was a woman of medium height, he made her feel small and
fragile.

“I am considering it.” He finally paced slowly away. Evelyn
gulped air, ignoring the wild urge she had to fan herself with the closest
object at hand. Was he going to reject her plea?

“Sir! We must leave the country—immediately. I am afraid for my
daughter!” she cried.

He glanced at her, apparently unmoved. Evelyn had no idea what
he was thinking, as an odd silence ensued. He finally said, “I will need to know
who I am transporting.”

She bit her lip. She hated deception, but she had no choice.
“The Vicomte LeClerc,” she lied.

His gaze moved over her face another time. “I will take payment
in advance. My fee is a thousand pounds for each passenger.”

Evelyn cried out. “Sir! I hardly have six thousand pounds!”

He studied her. “If you have been followed, there will be
trouble.”

“And if we haven’t been followed?”

“My fee is six thousand pounds, madam.”

She closed her eyes briefly, then reached into her bodice and
handed him the assignats.

He made a disparaging sound. “That is worthless to me.” But he
laid them on his desk.

Evelyn grimly reached into her bodice. He did not look away,
and she flushed as she removed the diamond-and-ruby necklace. His impassive
expression did not change. Evelyn walked over to him and handed him the
necklace.

He took the necklace, carried it to his desk and sat down
there. She watched him take a jeweler’s glass from a drawer and inspect the
gems. “It is real,” she managed. “That is the most I can offer you, sir, and it
is not worth six thousand pounds.”

He gave her a skeptical glance, his gaze suddenly sliding to
her mouth, before he continued to study the rubies with great care. Her tension
was impossible now. He finally set the necklace and glass down. “We have a
bargain, Vicomtesse. Although it is against my better judgment.”

She was so relieved she gasped. Tears formed. “Thank you! I
cannot thank you enough!”

He gave her another odd look. “I imagine you could, if you
wished to.” Abruptly he stood. “Tell me where your husband is and I will get him
and your daughter and the others. We will disembark at dawn.”

Evelyn had no idea what that strange comment had meant—or, she
hoped she did not. And she could not believe it—he was going to help them flee
the country, even if he did not seem overly enthused about it.

Relief began. Somehow, she felt certain that this man would get
them safely out of France and across the Channel. “They are at the Abelard Inn.
But I am coming with you.”

“Oh, ho!” His gaze hardened. “You are hardly coming, as God
only knows what might arise between the docks and the inn. You can wait
here.”

She breathed hard. “I have already been separated from my
daughter for an hour! I cannot remain apart from her. It is too dangerous.” And
she was worried that, if someone discovered her party, they might take Henri
prisoner—and Aimee, as well.

“You will wait here. I am not escorting you back to that inn,
and if you do not do as I say, you may take back your necklace, and we will
cancel our agreement.”

His gaze had become as sharp as knives. Evelyn was taken
aback.

“Madam, I will guard your daughter with my life, and I intend
to be back on my ship in a matter of minutes.”