GypsyDukeEpub (33 page)

The door opened, and a man walked inside.

Robert turned his back to the door. "Decide quickly. Newport just entered."

Kitty raised her fan so that only her eyes showed. That was the suspected traitor? It did make him appear guilty to show up at the exchange of a coded message. What would they do now?

John's first concern, now that Kitty had served her purpose by appearing as his wife, was to move her to a safer location. The coach seemed ideal. She would be out of the way and ready for a speedy departure.

He held out his hand. "Come, you should wait in the coach while our man sees to the bill. You have spent enough time in this place."

Kitty rose with a flourish, every inch a gilded lady, swishing her skirts as if she despised every second they touched the bare floors. He smiled to himself. She was having the time of her life, in fact, appeared well-suited to this pretense. In the future, he'd be sorely pressed to fill her life with such excitement.

Though he'd discovered several ways to keep his new wife occupied, perhaps a house-full of children would help even more. Yes, he would like a house-full of their children, especially if they resembled their beautiful mother.

Robert left them at the door to go and settle the account with the innkeeper. He'd join them as quickly as possible, taking great care to avoid being identified by Newport.

A duo of dusty-looking men stood to the side of the stable. One, the chap with the suspect message.

John watched from the corner of his eye for any sign that the man recognized him but saw nothing. The traitor never glanced at the aristocratic couple as they entered the coach.

This affair should end easily when they obtained their objective.

Robert exited the inn with Newport dogging his heels. In fact, Newport stayed much too close to Robert's back. Was that a pistol he held against his spine?

John had no time to react, for the duo at the side of the stable apparently recognized Newport.

"Hey now, what brings you here?"

Were they genuinely surprised or faking for all those around them? The pistol at Robert's back gave John definite reservations about the honesty of Newport's endeavors.

Newport continued toward the two derelicts.

Robert never once looked at John. What a professional. Not in thought or deed would he reveal the others with him.

Those others, even now, circled the tableau in front of the inn.

John shoved Kitty to the floor of the coach.

"Stay down," he muttered, glaring at her with intent as she lifted wide eyes to his.

The willful woman was likely to jump to his aid at the wrong moment. He closed the door of the coach. She was as safe as he could make her. He turned his attention to the other participants in this dangerous play.

Michel was climbing down from the driver's seat. Ardaix held the reins of two horses, which he pulled discreetly closer to the two spies, as they regarded Newport with increasing distrust.

When John saw Rasvan leave the stable, he knew he could delay no longer. His companions stood in wait to stop the transfer of Wellington's position to enemy hands. If he had to shoot every one of the suspects, he would.

The situation deteriorated at that point. His previous contact in England pulled a pistol, leading Newport to raise his weapon to Robert's head, where the others could clearly see it.

John recognized the problem in an instant. Though Newport clearly suspected Robert of something, the other two men had no clue as to his identity and couldn't care less if Newport shot him.

John raised his own pistol. He would have to shoot Newport's weapon out of his hand, trusting the three gypsies to take out the other two men.

"Westley, drop!" he yelled, as he fired.

Robert obediently rolled to the ground, away from the action.

Newport dropped his pistol as John had intended. The shot brought the attention of the two in the corner, both of whom raised their pistols to shoot.

John locked eyes with the man to whom he'd passed the coded message. His malevolent expression showed he now recognized John and the trap where he found himself. He fired.

John jumped for the ground, watching with utter dismay as Ardaix
stepped into the path of the bullet.

The horses, frightened at the sound of two shots in close succession and freed from the restraint of the reins, galloped out of the yard, nearly running Rasvan to the ground as he tried to get a jump on the remaining culprit.

Michel felled the man, though not in time to prevent his pistol from erupting. The shot came perilously close to the coach horses, and they bolted after the other two riderless horses.

John rolled over in the dirt. His Kitty was in that runaway coach! And danged if that interfering Newport hadn't jumped on the back, his legs dangling in the air as he tried to find purchase.

He pulled his other pistol, but they were already out of range and the thought of hitting Kitty stayed his hand. He ran for the stable to obtain a horse.

It proved a more vexing undertaking than he would have assumed. By this time, the proprietor of the inn and several others had rushed outside. The stable boy, who had cowered in the corner at the sight of John, ran his mouth incessantly when the proprietor joined them.

With many people in attendance and the imminent threat of the gendarmes' arrival, John saw no way to follow the coach.

As he considered the chaotic scene in the courtyard, Robert joined him in the stable.

"How is Ardaix?"

"Just a flesh wound...straight through the arm. Newport left with Kitty."

"Yes," John nodded grimly. "Did you retrieve the message from the conspirators?"

Robert held it up, but his expression held no victory. They had lost Kitty, and both well knew the ramifications.

"We have a further problem," he whispered, his glance traveling to the distraught owner of the inn.

"I know. He's screaming for the authorities. Offer him an absurd amount of money for his silence and tell him we'll take the prisoners to the authorities, since it is we who are inconvenienced by the thieves."

Robert strode across the yard and proffered a thick purse to the portly owner of the inn.

John didn't wait for the results of this transaction. He left the stable to join the three gypsies.

Ardaix leaned against the side of the inn, his dangling arm the only evidence of his injury. Michel and Rasvan had bound and gagged the
conspirators. One word from them, and every Frenchman present would know John was an English spy.

If they wanted to get away from this alive, it had to appear the bound men were thieves.

He approached Ardaix. If not for the blood on his sleeve, he would have doubted the shot found a target. Still, other than the strip of cloth tied around his arm, he appeared as vigorous as usual.

John studied his face, knowing the gypsy would never reveal his thoughts, but Ardaix surprised him. "You did well. There is nothing you could have done differently."

John shook his head, unwilling to accept the praise though he'd longed for such from this man for years. "I lost my wife, and you've been shot. How can you say I've done well?"

"We are all alive, and you have what you came for."

"I'd rather have my wife."

"You will have her." Ardaix gave him the closest thing to a smile John had ever seen.

In the next few minutes, precious moments were lost, arranging for new horses and settling their account with the inn owner.

By silent consent, no one discussed what they would do when they left the inn. Obviously, they would have to make a choice. Kitty or Wellington. Then there was the added problem of Ardaix' wound.

They rode ten minutes without speaking before John pulled to the side of the road. He glanced at the prisoners thrown on the back of two horses. He'd like to see them dead for what they'd cost him, but he held his temper at bay. They might yet know where Newport would ride.

He indicated with a gesture that Michel should pull them from the horses then he ripped off their gags.

One of the men spat at John, and Rasvan gave him the harsh backside of his hand. Bloody spittle showed in the corner of the man's mouth. The other glared, but made no move to fight.

"Where has Newport gone?" John asked.

Neither appeared inclined to answer.

At one nod from John, Rasvan slapped their heads together then knelt before them. "Open your mouth and speak, or I will cut your tongue from your mouth."

Obviously, he neared the end of his patience.

John and Robert exchanged a glance, prompting Robert to take a hand. "I doubt they can understand you, old boy. Perhaps we should try French."

One of them knew English, because John had conversed with him at length when he'd gotten the man drunk, but he let Robert have his way.

"So," said Robert in French, "open your mouth and speak or your mistress will never again have use for you!"

This was punctuated by the sound of a knife thud, hitting the ground at the crotch of the Frenchman. John looked at Ardaix with a raised brow. He was the only one of the three gypsies who could have understood Robert's statement.

Ardaix shrugged and added in French. "Sorry, I missed. It won't happen again."

Missed? He had very nearly made the man a eunuch! If John hadn't been so worried about Kitty, he would have laughed when a torrent of French and English came from both men.

He listened for several seconds until Robert raised a hand for silence. "Did you hear that?"

John sighed. He'd heard several things. None of which gave the location of Newport.

"What?" he asked testily.

"You always wanted to know why Dago got involved with them." He shot a glance at Ardaix. "He's telling you." Robert bent before the Frenchman. "Tell us again about the gypsy."

The man nodded with a wary glance at Ardaix, who scowled as if he had murder in his heart. "Conciergerie. He's in the Paris prison."

What gypsy was in Conciergerie? The man made no sense, and they were yet again wasting time Kitty might not have.

"Who?" John demanded.

He rattled off a name. No one John knew. He flashed a questioning glance at Michel, then Rasvan, and when both his friends shrugged, he confronted Ardaix.

"He speaks of my half-brother. Nicolai Lovell disappeared long ago here in France. Dago heard he'd been imprisoned in the Conciergerie and agreed to carry messages for the French in exchange for his freedom."

John took several threatening steps toward Ardaix. "You wait until now to tell me this?"

Surprisingly enough, it was Robert who halted his progress. "I believe for once, Somerset, you are missing the point."

John put both hands on his hips, facing Robert. Rage flared inside of him, and he was tempted to shove Robert out of his way to get to the one person that could have made everything clear.

"What bloody point is that, Westley? That I risked the life of my bride for some gypsies who've been lying to me?"

"No, John." The realization that Robert had called him by name took John's belligerent attention off Ardaix for a moment. "The facts are staring you in the face. You said yourself there was only one person who could have known about every facet of this business...your uncle."

"What has my uncle got to do with the gypsies?"

"I believe they're related."

Nothing could have struck John as more ludicrous. His dandified uncle wouldn't be caught dead near a gypsy.

"Explain."

Ardaix took a step closer. "Perhaps I should."

John couldn't yet bring himself to look at Ardaix, for an inkling of Robert's meaning had trickled into his conscious mind, but he refused to acknowledge it. He turned instead to Michel and Rasvan, but they seemed even more mystified than he, staring at their father as if he'd lost his mind. Not only had he admitted to having a brother in a French prison, but now he claimed intimate knowledge of a man who was John's sworn enemy.

John averted his face to Robert's.

"Listen to him," Robert pleaded.

John stepped rigidly in front of Ardaix. "Tell me quickly. Kitty is waiting."

"Your uncle is my half-brother. The man in the prison is my half-brother. The late duke was also my half-brother."

John took a step back. "Then you are…my…"

It wasn't Ardaix who answered, but Robert. "He's your father."

No, that was too much. They were asking him to believe he'd spent his entire life with the wrong impression. His father was a duke.

But it all made sense. Bartholomew's unreasoning resentment of him. If not for John, his uncle would have become the next duke. No wonder the man hated him and wanted him dead! John wasn't the son of a duke. He was the son of a gypsy.

John turned helplessly to Rasvan and Michel, wondering how they would take the news.

Michel, ever the optimist, attempted a grin that came off more as a grimace. "I always said you were my brother."