Lady Vixen (26 page)

His
green eyes narrowed in concentration, Jason finally commented, "Very well,
I'll have to take your word for it. And as you've never failed me in the past
five years, I suspect you know what you're talking about."

"Damn
right! I ain't called Jake the cat for nothing!"

Jason
smiled at the vehement words, and dipping into his waistcoat, he placed several
gold coins in the slightly dirty hand eagerly extended. "I think this will
keep you a while, and I would suggest that you leave tonight for Terre du Coeur
. . . just in case anyone has tumbled to you. I want you out of harm's
way."

"I
ain't frightened!" Jake said belligerently.

His
smile fading just a little, Jason acknowledged, "I realize that! But, my
petit
friend, I didn't rescue you from having your head bashed in by that enraged
flatboatman at 'Natchez under the hill' only to have you lose it now. Go to
Terre du Coeur!"

Gruffly,
Jake mumbled, "If'n I'd a known you was such a bloody, bossy bastard, I
would a let my head be bashed in!"

"I'm
sure you're stubborn enough to have done so!" Jason retorted crisply as he
started for the doorway. "Do as you wish," he threw back over his
shoulder.

"I'm
leaving. I'm leaving," came the resigned grumble.

Smiling
to himself, Jason quickly made his way back to the Governor's Ball. He saw
Christopher Saxon once more before the evening ended and observed the young
man's ease and grace as he moved throughout the ballroom. Yes, he thought, Christopher
Saxon would fit the role planned for him very nicely.

Following
dinner the next evening Christopher had adjourned to his study and was relaxing
before the fire when his butler came into the room.

"Sir,
a Mister Jason Savage is here to see you."

A
moment later, surprised and more than a little intrigued, Christopher rose as
Jason Savage entered the room.

"How
fortunate that you are in this evening!" Jason said as he shook
Christopher's hand. "I meant to call earlier in the day but circumstances
conspired against it."

Christopher
smiled politely, extremely watchful. "That happens to one occasionally.
May I offer you something to drink? Sherry, port, or perhaps some brandy?"

"Brandy
will be fine."

The
refreshments taken care of, the two men settled in chairs before the fire.

Savage
glanced around the elegant room with its green damask curtains, closed just now
against the winter chill, the fine Brussels carpet, the impressive mahogany
bookcases, and he commented, "I see you've changed little in this room
since it was owned by the Thibodaux family."

Wary
now, Christopher raised an eyebrow and took a sip of brandy. "Is that why
you've come to call," he said dryly. "To see what renovations I have
made?"

Jason
smiled. "No, and I'm certain you realize it."

"Then
why are you here? I do not mean to sound inhospitable, but I do not believe
that you are here for polite conversation. Is there something I can do for
you?"

His
directness left Jason in a quandary. How was he going to approach the subject
of his visit? Certainly he had hoped for more time, and he hadn't been sure he
would discuss it at his first meeting with Saxon. Unfortunately Saxon didn't
appear to be in the mood for exchanging pleasantries, nor for being fobbed off
with polite nonsense. And as Jason preferred a direct manner himself, he said
bluntly, "I'd like you to go to England for me!"

Christopher
looked at him with astonishment. "I beg your pardon! Have you gone insane?
We're at war with England!"

"Very
true, but it is possible for someone such as yourself to go there."

"And
why the devil should I?"

Jason
gave Christopher a considering stare. Then softly he said, "Because I want
to know exactly how serious the British are about attacking New Orleans!"

Christopher,
his gold eyes suddenly thoughtful, sank slowly back against his chair, his mind
flying in a dozen directions. Whatever he had expected from Savage's visit, it
certainly hadn't been this!

"Why
me?" he asked after several seconds.

Jason
appeared to study the liquor in his glass. "Why not you?"

Impatiently
Christopher stood up, and with his back to the fire he faced Jason. "One
doesn't go up to a complete stranger with the kind of proposition you've just
laid before me! I'm not a fool! I would like to know what game you're playing,
Savage."

The
emerald eyes bright between the thick black lashes, Jason regarded the hostile
man before him. Almost indifferently he admitted, "I'm playing no game. It
has been in my mind for some months to send someone to England—the thought was
there before any hint of a British attack on New Orleans."

Still
puzzled, Christopher demanded again, "Why me for such a task? I'm no
diplomat, nor, might I add, have I ever displayed any tendency toward
politics—and we're strangers. Good God!" he exploded at last. "I
could very well be a spy for the British!"

"Are
you?" Jason asked mildly.

Throwing
him a look of dislike, Christopher snapped, "Of course not! But you don't
know it, you only have my word that I'm not,"

Jason
smiled thinly. "But I do know, my friend. As I said a moment ago, I'm
playing no game. And since the idea of sending someone to England occurred to
me several months ago, I have been searching for a man I thought could handle
the task." Smoothly he went on, "I didn't consider you at first—I'll
admit it. But you aroused my curiosity, and for some months now I have had you
closely watched." Jason stopped, then said deliberately,
"Captain
Saber!"

Christopher
stiffened but gave no other sign that Savage's words affected him. Exposure was
a risk he had always run, but it was not a fatal risk. He would have preferred
to keep his two lives separate, but there was no reason to panic because his
secret had been discovered. It depended on what Savage intended to do with the
knowledge. And somehow Christopher didn't think he meant to turn him over to
the authorities. Shrugging his shoulders, he murmured, "So, I admit to
you, I am Captain Saber—but I am no infamous pirate! Less honorable men than
myself have taken to the high seas and called themselves privateers. What
difference does it make?"

Jason
smiled with deep appreciation for Saxon's blatant arrogance.
"Mon ami,
you
misunderstand me—I like a man of action. Your being Captain Saber interests me
hardly at all. If I had discovered you were preying on American ships and were
in fact a spy, as I first suspected, then this visit would never have occurred.
May I be blunt?"

A
snort from Christopher preceded his exasperated, "Haven't you been?"

"Perhaps.
You asked why I have approached you, and I will be honest. There is no one
else. I have your measure, thanks to a very adept spy of my own. I know you
have played at privateering, but that does not make me think less of you. I
know also that you have no love of the British—despite the fact that you are
British yourself."

"Savage,
I think we had better get one thing straight— I am
not
British and
haven't been since I was press-ganged into the British Navy almost fifteen
years ago. I am American by choice." Christopher spat the last words,
almost ashamed of his ferocious pride.

"Very
well, then. We agree. If you are as American as you say, I believe you would
want to do something for her." Jason paused, but seeing, he had Saxon's
undivided attention, he continued briskly, "This war of Mr. Madison's is
not going as was fondly foreseen, as you well know. If we are not careful, we
shall end up being humiliatingly and very soundly beaten. The great conquest of
Canada that started this damned business is a disaster. The United States will
be lucky if she can hold her own borders, much less gain an inch of Canadian
land. How Madison could have been swayed by such war hawks as Henry Clay and
John Calhoun, I cannot conceive! And anyone who thinks this damned war is being
fought over the impressment of our seamen into the British Navy needs his head
examined! It makes for a nice emotional issue, but it isn't accomplishing a
damned thing—it was an excuse to hide behind for the invasion of Canada. I wish
to God—" Jason stopped in midsentence, aware that he had become
unnecessarily impassioned. "Forgive me! I did not mean to treat you to my
own personal views on this war. But what I have said is true and brings me to
my point—this damnable action must be stopped as soon as possible! And I do not
want to see New Orleans dragged into it."

Christopher,
frowning in concentration and with one arm resting casually on the mantel,
asked, "Do you really believe the British will attack us? Granted they
have a fairly effective fleet harassing us in the Gulf, but the bulk of their
troops, ships, and men are in the north."

"True.
But please remember, Napoleon suffered a shattering defeat at Leipzig in
Germany in October and is retreating now from Moscow and suffering even further
losses. From what reports I have received, he is in a very unenviable position.
The British field marshall, Wellington, crossed the Pyrenees into France months
ago, and though the fighting is heavy, I have no doubt Wellington will carry
the day. Once all of Napoleon's forces have had their teeth pulled, nothing
will stop the British from turning on us! The capture of New Orleans would
strengthen their hand, and possibly strike a fatal blow to our country."

Jason
ran one hand through his heavy black hair. "All my reports indicate that
the British are preparing for a large attack, what they hope will be a surprise
attack, somewhere in the southern United States. New Orleans has not been
positively identified as that site, but logic tells me that our Creole Queen is
indeed the city that the English hope to take."

Somewhat
thoughtfully, Christopher picked up his brandy glass, having already decided he
would go to England. Jason's words and ideas about the present war coincided
with his own, and he was convinced of the gravity of the situation. The
Americans were being forced out of Fort George at the mouth of the Niagara; the
British had burned the town of Newark and were continuing their advance on Fort
Niagara, while their Indian allies were intent on plundering the town of
Lewiston, New York. The news was all bad, despite Lieutenant—now Captain
—Perry's victory in gaining control of Lake Erie. Granted Tecumseh had been
killed in September, and that had ended the Indians' hopes of a strong
confederacy, and General Andrew Jackson had taken command in the Creek War, but
the picture was not a happy one. There were too many fronts in this war. It was
scattered from Canada to Florida, with skirmishes fought in a dozen places and
no clear-cut victories or losses. The War of 1812 was turning into a seemingly
purposeless and unrewarding fiasco.

The
news about a possible attack on New Orleans, though, jerked Christopher out of
his almost-blind acceptance of the war. And he found that he very much wished
to do everything in his power to prevent such a happening. "If you want me
to go to England, I will," he said abruptly. "But I must admit I do
not see how I can be of any great help to you. I was a boy when last there, and
I have few if any sources that would be of use."

"I
do not expect a miracle, my friend. I know you may discover nothing. I'm aware
of the situation, and I will not be able to open many doors for you—for obvious
reasons."

Grimly
Christopher inquired, "Your uncle?"

Jason
nodded and asked dryly, "You know my background? Or did you, as I
suspected, overhear the conversation last night at the Governor's Ball?"

A
grin passed over Christopher's face. "Certainly! You want a man with ears
and wits about him, do you not?"

"You
see," Jason said with some amusement, "you are the man I need! But
remember, you will be entirely on your own. There are certain people I can
recommend that you see—but only between ourselves. My letters of introduction
would do you more harm than good. If it were known we are acquainted, your
every move would be suspect. As it is, you will have a very difficult time of
it!"

Christopher
shrugged. "I'll do what I can. But you must be more precise. What good
will it do for me to discover that an attack is imminent without proof? And how
much proof do you need?"

His
fingers making a steeple, Jason stared at him for some seconds. He replied very
slowly, "Your word alone will suffice."

At
Christopher's start of disbelief, Jason said, "All I need is something
more tangible than rumors to lay before the military. I will vouch for you, and
without conceit I can assure you that they will take my word." With a
grimace Jason added, "And if a man of my choosing comes direct from
England with word of an attack on the city, and they do not send us troops and
supplies, I shall be at my wits' end." His voice hardening, he continued,
"Governor Claiborne writes constantly requesting reinforcements but is
ignored. That situation, in view of a probable attack, cannot be permitted to
continue—hence, my proposition."