Intimate Betrayal (30 page)
Authors: Adrienne Basso
“What!” she shouted in disbelief. She pulled back from the security of Morgan’s arms to look again at Henri’s inert form. “He is not moving, Morgan.”
“True,” Morgan confirmed with a rascal’s grin, relief spreading through his aching body. “But he is breathing.” He hugged Alyssa tightly against him, thankful they were both still alive. “I must admit, madam, you never fail to astound me. I never knew what an excellent shot you were.”
Alyssa stiffened in his arms, almost afraid to reveal the truth. “Actually, Morgan, I have never fired a pistol before in my life.”
“Bloody hell!” Morgan cried in amazement. “Your shot might have gone anywhere. It could have even hit me instead.”
“A risk I was forced to take,” she told him philosophically. “I suppose it was a miracle my bullet did find the right mark.”
“Unfortunately I recall all too well a time when you might have preferred your shot to strike me,” Morgan retorted, lifting her chin.
“Probably,” she admitted, tears forming in her eyes as she realized for the first time the dire consequences her actions could have had.
“I love you, Alyssa,” Morgan said solemnly. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek.
“I love you too, Morgan,” she responded. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes, trying to regain command of the whole nightmare of events. “What shall we do with Henri?”
“I know of several willing officials here tonight who will gladly take him off our hands.” Morgan grimaced with pain as he tried to move his bleeding shoulder.
“You’re wounded, Morgan,” Alyssa exclaimed when she saw his expression. “It is still bleeding. Come and sit down while I find someone to help us.”
“Stop fussing, Alyssa,” Morgan replied. He continued to protest, but he sank gratefully down in the chair she provided for him, suddenly feeling lightheaded from the loss of blood.
“I shall go and fetch Baron Welles at once,” she decided. “Will you be all right until I return?”
“I am fine,” he told her in a quiet voice. “I strongly doubt he will be going anywhere.” Morgan inclined his head toward the unconscious comte.
Alyssa reached down and tenderly pushed back the stray lock of dark hair from Morgan’s forehead, worried by his pale color and obviously diminishing strength. “I’ll be back in a few moments,” she told him. She quickly ran from the room. He heard her light footsteps grow faint as she raced down the stairway.
Finally succumbing to exhaustion, Morgan leaned his head back against the wall and drew a deep breath. His mind was in a confused state as he tried to piece together the evening’s events. He had left the ballroom with Madeline after observing Gilbert entering his private study. At Madeline’s insistence they had entered the room together to investigate. Morgan suspected a trap, but instead had caught Gilbert leaving the room through the French doors. He had given chase, but was struck on the head from behind before catching up with Gilbert. The next thing Morgan remembered was Alyssa’s concerned face as she shook him awake in the estate room. He had no recollection of how he had come to be there in the first place.
A sudden commotion at the door interrupted his thoughts. Alyssa came rushing through the door with Baron Welles, Tristan, and several footmen trailing close behind.
“Carry him to his bedchamber,” Morgan ordered the servants, pointing to Henri. “And post a guard out front. Baron Welles will attend to him shortly.”
“I swear, good brother”—Tristan chuckled as he supervised Henri’s removal from the room—“you will go to any lengths to avoid attending a ball.”
“Let me examine your wound, Your Grace,” Baron Welles demanded, placing a basin of warm water and a roll of bandages on the table beside Morgan’s chair.
“Allow me,” Tristan said. He pulled out a blade and cut away the blood-soaked evening coat and fine linen shirt surrounding the wound. It was an angry red gash, but the wound was clean and not too deep. The blood barely flowed.
“There doesn’t appear to be much damage,” Baron Welles reported. He quickly and expertly bandaged the shoulder. “I’m sure it will cause you a bit of stiffness for a few days, but you will recover.” Baron Welles addressed his last comments to the worried Alyssa.
“Thank you,” Morgan said to the doctor, gingerly moving his arm and testing its strength. “Tristan, I need your help.”
“Of course.” Tristan responded immediately to the urgency in Morgan’s tone. Before Morgan had an opportunity to voice his commands, Burke entered the room in obvious distress.
“You must come quickly, Your Grace,” Burke said to the duke. “There is a loud commotion on the beach.”
“Morgan, wait,” Alyssa cried as the duke bounded out of the room. “You’ll catch your death in the cold night air.” Her warning went unheeded. She huffed in annoyance, but followed resolutely behind Tristan and Morgan.
Flaming torches of fire cast an unreal illumination on the scene at the beach. Upon their arrival, Morgan quickly received a report from one of his security men.
“We surprised the trio before they had a chance to reach their boat,” the man informed him. “They refused to come with us, and we were afraid to rush them. We await your orders, Your Grace.”
The events near the shore appeared to be at a stalemate. Several of Morgan’s security men had formed a semicircle a fair distance away from three cloaked figures who stood on the enormous gray rocks that edged the beach. The three were poised on the edge of one of the steep cliffs, away from the winding path that led to the sand below, effectively trapped.
“What is going on here?” a voice behind them cried. Alyssa shrieked loudly as she turned around and faced Gilbert Grantham.
Tristan placed a reassuring arm on Alyssa’s shoulder. “It is only Gilbert, Alyssa,” he said in a calm voice.
At his words, Morgan turned sharply and faced Gilbert. “I’ll be damned,” the duke muttered in amazement. Gilbert ignored the rather unorthodox greeting and called out to the trio on the cliff, recognizing Madeline’s cloaked figure.
“Madeline, are you hurt?”
“No,” came the reply. “Tell these men to back away, Gilbert. We want no trouble.”
“Gilbert, go find Tristan,” a second voice cried out in distress.
“Caroline?” Tris exclaimed in wonder, squinting in the darkness. Morgan and Alyssa exchanged worried looks.
“Let her go, Priscilla,” Morgan shouted. “There is no means of escape. It is over.”
“So you are still alive, Morgan,” Priscilla screeched. “I must assume, then, that Henri is dead. What a pity.”
At her words, Madeline screamed with grief and nearly fell to the dirt. “Stand up straight, you fool,” Priscilla commanded. “Your idiot lover might be dead, but I have no intention of sharing his fate. Not when our escape lies only a few feet away.”
Sobbing, Madeline regained her balance and took the pistol Priscilla handed her. She turned it on Caroline.
“Priscilla, there is nothing more to be gained by this,” Morgan shouted. At his signal, the men moved closer to the women.
“Stop them, Morgan,” Priscilla shouted when she saw the men advancing. “Stop them now or Caroline dies.”
“Good God,” Tristan swore. “What the devil is going on? Did Priscilla just say she was going to kill her sister?”
“Morgan,” Caroline cried out in fear. “Please, you must do what Priscilla asks.”
“No,” Morgan responded sternly, but he held his hand up, effectively halting the further advance of his security men. “I have not tracked the Falcon this far to have her escape.”
“Ha,” Priscilla laughed hauntingly. “Don’t act so smug, Morgan. You did not discover my true identity until this very moment. I’m sure you thought Gilbert or even your dear brother Tristan was the culprit.” “You are right of course, Priscilla,” Morgan responded. He turned and whispered to Tristan. “I’ll try to distract her. If you can reach the beach, do you think you can scale the rocks on the side of the cliff and disarm her?”
“Yes,” Tristan replied. “Even though I don’t have the damnedest idea what is going on.”
“I will accompany you,” Gilbert interjected, and at Morgan’s nod of approval the two men began to make their way to the path on the far side leading to the sandy beach below.
Morgan again turned his attention to the women. “You have been far too clever for me, Priscilla,” he yelled. “That is why I know you are intelligent enough to realize you are captured. Surrender now, before someone else gets hurt.”
“Never,” she exclaimed with passion. “We both know I am as good as dead if I surrender to the authorities. Spying is, after all, a treasonable offense. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Now move these men out of my way at once.”
Morgan signaled the men to drop back, hoping Tristan and Gilbert had reached the shore and were at this moment scaling the rocks. Seeing that Morgan was at a loss for words, Alyssa spoke up.
“Lady Ogden, please,” she said beseechingly. “It is fruitless to continue.”
When Priscilla opened her mouth to reply, Tristan leapt up from behind the cliff and knocked her to the ground. Gilbert swiftly followed him, and the waiting men on the ridge rushed the women. In a moment it was all over.
Madeline began sobbing and cursing loudly in French while Priscilla remained silent, her body defiantly rigid as she was led away by two men. Caroline collapsed with relief against Tristan, clinging tightly to him, while Gilbert awkwardly patted her arm, trying to offer his sister whatever comfort he could.
Alyssa shivered as the wind swirled, her arms numb from the cold. She tugged on Morgan’s sleeve and he put his arm around her, suddenly feeling the biting wind. “Come, love,” he whispered. “The Falcon is finally unmasked. Let us return to the house before we freeze.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Alyssa sat in a chair before the fireplace in Morgan’s bedchamber, wrapped in a soft quilt. Absently she sipped the mulled wine Mavis had prepared for her, wondering if she would ever feel warm again. Off in the distance she heard a clock chime, and she decided if Morgan did not appear soon she would go and fetch him herself, despite the late hour.
The door opened and Alyssa raised her head expectantly, but it was only Dickinson. “Aren’t they finished yet?” she questioned Morgan’s valet as he walked over to the heavy mahogany armoire and began methodically rearranging Morgan’s clothes.
“The duke is still in conference with several government officials,” Dickinson explained. “And Mrs. Keenly has just completed serving a second late-night buffet. It appears the guests do not wish the ball to end.”
Alyssa smiled at the censure in Dickinson’s voice when he spoke of the party. “I suppose I haven’t been a very congenial hostess, have I, Dickinson?”
“No, Your Grace,” he answered. “But fortunately I don’t believe the guests have noticed.”
Alyssa’s response was interrupted by Morgan’s sudden entrance.
“At last,” she exclaimed, jumping up from her perch. The quilt fell to the ground and she ran to Morgan, her silk nightgown glimmering in the firelight.
“Brandy, Dickinson,” Morgan instructed his valet in a tired voice. He gathered Alyssa into his arms and held her tight. “I am exhausted.”
“How is your shoulder?” Alyssa asked with concern. “I promised Baron Welles I would change the bandage and put this bascilicum powder on it. He also gave me some laudanum if you need it. Are you in pain?”
Morgan’s shoulder felt on fire, but he preferred not to drug himself until he had spoken to Alyssa. “I’ll take some laudanum before we go to sleep tonight,” he told her.
“Come lie down on the bed and let me tend your wound, Morgan,” Alyssa coaxed.
Morgan allowed Alyssa to help him off with his coat. Underneath, he still wore his ripped and bloody shirt. She removed that also, and then gently cleaned and rewrapped the wound. She left his side to rummage through his dresser drawer, finally finding what she sought. She returned just as he was taking off his breeches. He reached out automatically for the garment she handed him, thinking it was his dressing gown. Amused, he held up the garment for inspection.
“What is this?”
“A nightshirt,” Alyssa responded in a firm voice. “Now hurry up and put it on before you catch cold.”
“But I never wear . . .” Morgan began protesting, but he stopped when he saw her determined face. He donned the garment, too tired to argue.
Morgan sat up comfortably in the bed and patted the empty place beside him. Alyssa scrambled up next to him and snuggled close. Dickinson entered the room with Morgan’s brandy, his face expressionless.
“Do you require anything further, Your Grace?”
“Not tonight, Dickinson,” Morgan answered.
“Oh, Dickinson,” Alyssa called out as the valet reached the bedchamber door. “Please remind Baron Welles to pay a visit to the duke tomorrow morning to check on his condition. I want to be certain his wound is healing properly.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Dickinson replied in a bland voice. Then he shut the door firmly behind him.
“I do believe Dickinson is beginning to like me, Morgan,” Alyssa said brightly. “Don’t you agree?”
Morgan laughed, stopping abruptly at the slice of pain tearing through his shoulder. Alyssa lightly touched his arm. “Please let me pour you some laudanum, Morgan.”
“In a moment,” he agreed. He downed his brandy and settled back against the pillows. “I know you are curious about what has transpired in my study tonight. If I drink that stuff, I know I will be too lightheaded to make much sense.”
“Well, if you feel up to it,” Alyssa commented, her curiosity eating away at her. “Is Priscilla really the notorious Falcon?”
“She is indeed.” Morgan snorted. “She certainly had everyone fooled, myself included.”
“What could have possibly possessed her to do such a horrendous thing?” Alyssa could not keep the amazement out of her voice.
“Money,” Morgan stated simply. “It appears she was furious with Lord Ogden’s family for cutting her off, and hated having to depend on her tightfisted father for her keep. She met Henri Duponce shortly after her husband’s death and was recruited by him to spy for the French. She became so adept she was soon directing the operations.”
Alyssa shook her head with disbelief. “How could she become a traitor to her own country, Morgan?”
“Priscilla’s conception of loyalty is nonexistent, Alyssa. She discovered a hidden talent within herself and decided to exploit it. She had absolutely no conscience concerning who was injured in the process. Even members of her own family.”
“Is that why she falsely implicated Gilbert?” Alyssa asked.
“When the couriers were first discovered to be using the beach here at Ramsgate, she tried to implicate me. When that failed, she turned the evidence on Tristan and Gilbert.” Morgan ran his fingers through his hair.
“Was Gilbert ever involved?”
Morgan gave a small grunt of laughter. “It seems Gilbert discovered the evidence implicating me and decided to investigate the matter on his own. It turns out he was never really interested in Madeline Duponce, but merely using her to obtain information.”
“Were you able to determine who discovered the papers at Westgate Manor?”
“Priscilla found them. That was how she knew I was persuing the Falcon. She sold the information anyway, knowing it was genuine. Then she decided to plant evidence against Tris and Gilbert in an effort to throw me off her trail.”
“But what happened tonight, Morgan? I saw you leave the ball with Madeline, and then you disappeared. How did you end up in the estate room?”
“I saw Gilbert enter my private study. Since I was still under the false impression he was the Falcon, I followed him. I had been glued to Madeline’s side all evening, so naturally she came with me. We saw Gilbert leave through the French doors as we entered, and I gave chase, but was hit from behind before I could catch up to him.”
“Who hit you?” Alyssa questioned.
“Madeline.” Morgan grinned sheepishly. “Gilbert, who was merely going outside for some fresh air, reentered the house without seeing me. Then Priscilla came outside in search of Madeline. She had already successfully retrieved the information I planted and decided it was time to make her escape. The two women dragged me back into the house and left me for Henri to finish off. And he probably would have succeeded if my independent wife had not thankfully decided to intervene.”
Alyssa shivered at the memory of the vicious sword fight and held Morgan closer, grateful he had survived with only a shoulder wound. “How did Caroline get involved?”
“Innocently, it appears. Caroline noticed Priscilla and Madeline heading down toward the shore and followed them, thinking something was wrong. She caught up to them just before my men tried to apprehend the women. Priscilla decided to try to use her sister as a shield so she could escape. A small boat was anchored offshore waiting to take Priscilla, Madeline, and Henri away. Presumably to France.”
“What will happen to them now?” Alyssa whispered.
“Henri and Madeline know a great deal about the workings of the French intelligence system. If they can provide enough useful information to the War Ministry, their lives may be spared for a time. After that. . .” Morgan’s voice trailed off.
“Oh, Morgan,” Alyssa whispered, the horror evident in her voice.
“They will be given a fair trial,” he insisted. “Several operatives have been killed, not to mention the damage done to our troops by the military information that was sold. Someone must be held accountable.”
“And Priscilla?”
“Baron Grantham is a very influential man. He was successful in dissuading Lord Castlereagh from putting his daughter on trial.” Morgan sighed heavily. “I have also promised Tristan I will try to persuade the ministry to deport Priscilla to America once the war has ended. Even though a deportation sentence is extremely harsh, at least her life will be spared.”
Alyssa shuddered. Although Priscilla’s crime was reprehensible, Alyssa could not stomach the idea of having her put to death for it.
“How is Caroline taking all of this?”
“She is truly devastated. Tristan said they would return to Westgate Manor in the morning. He hopes spending time alone together will help her recovery.”
“Speaking of recovery,” Alyssa prompted. “You had better get some rest yourself.” She got up from the bed and poured a substantial dose of laudanum in a glass of water for Morgan. “Drink it,” she instructed. “I want to go and check on Katherine. Mavis is sitting with her tonight. I’ll be back in a little while.”
When Alyssa returned later, Morgan was fast asleep. She watched him as he slept, lightly stroking her fingertips over his jaw. She remembered with fearful clarity how close she had come to losing him tonight, and her eyes filled with tears. Shaking her head, she chased the horror from her mind and slipped between the sheets. She cuddled close to Morgan’s warmth, resting her head against his uninjured arm. In minutes she too was sleeping.
The next morning, Alyssa bid good-bye to a tearful Caroline and an uncharacteristically subdued Tristan.
“Promise you will write,” Alyssa instructed as she stood alone in the hall with Tristan while Caroline waited in the carriage. “I want you both to return to visit us as soon as Caroline is ready.”
“We will,” Tristan agreed. “It will take a bit of time for Caroline to accept everything. I believe she is still in shock.”
Alyssa felt a lump rise in her throat at his solemn, concerned expression. “I am so sorry, Tris.”
“Don’t worry, Alyssa. Caroline and I will be fine. Truthfully, I am more concerned about you. Your endurance will be sorely tested in the next few days taking care of my brother. I was with him this morning during Baron Welles’s examination. The doctor has prescribed complete bed rest for the next five days. Morgan was most displeased with the idea.”
“I can cope with my obstinate duke,” she responded. Stepping forward Alyssa opened her arms for Tristan’s affectionate hug of farewell. “Godspeed, Tris,” she whispered.
Alyssa stood on the front stone steps for a few moments, watching the carriage disappear down the long drive. When the carriage was gone from view she went in search of Mrs. Keenly to compliment the housekeeper on making last night’s ball an outstanding success.
Alyssa spent the remainder of the morning bidding her guests farewell, the dowager duchess standing supportively by her side, boldly lying to anyone who inquired about the whereabouts of her two grandsons. Alyssa could tell by the strain in the older woman’s eyes she was fully aware of everything that had occurred, but was putting on a marvelous front. Alyssa was fairly amazed that a society that so prized juicy gossip had thus far learned nothing of the tumultuous events of the previous evening. She hoped for Caroline’s sake it would remain unknown for a while longer.
After the last of the guests had finally been packed off, the two women went together to check on Morgan. They discovered him propped up in bed, baby Katherine leaning comfortably against his muscular thigh. Morgan was calmly reading a newspaper while the baby chewed furiously on a teething ring. Mavis sat in a nearby chair, keeping an eye on both of them.
“It is about time, madam,” Morgan said in a mocking tone. “Our poor child must be starving. She has been gnawing on that ring for the past half hour.”
Alyssa merely smiled at her husband and picked up the gurgling baby. As she retreated to a warm corner of the room to nurse her daughter, the dowager duchess sat near the bed, engaging her grandson in earnest conversation.
Katherine’s loud belch broke the gentle calm of the room, and the dowager duchess broke off in midsentence to smile at the baby’s hearty appetite.
“Now that Katherine is finished, I will accompany her to the nursery,” the dowager duchess declared. She rose majestically from her chair and took the baby from Alyssa. Mavis followed them out of the room, clucking something about the proper way to carry a baby.
Alyssa turned her grinning face to Morgan. “You realize, of course, it is just a matter of time before they come to blows over Katherine.”
“I am putting my money on Mavis,” Morgan declared. “You should have seen the vile stuff she brought for my breakfast this morning. Called it gruel. She refused to bring me a proper meal, insisting I needed to regain my strength.”
“How was it?” Alyssa inquired casually, not doubting for a moment Mavis had managed to get her obstinate husband to eat every bite of the porridge.
“Not too bad,” Morgan admitted. He scowled suddenly, his face intently studying Alyssa’s as she approached the bed. “I’m not going soft, am I? First letting you make me wear this ridiculous nightshirt, next allowing an old woman to bully me into eating invalid food.”
“No, Morgan,” Alyssa assured him gently, kicking off her shoes and joining him on the bed. “You are merely exercising good judgment in allowing those who love you to care for you properly.”
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