Lord of Fire (49 page)

“But, Lucien, Caro’s not going to listen to me!”

“Make her listen! Now, go!”

Frightened into obedience, she ran up to the nursery to get Harry. Her hands shook as she put his shoes and coat on him and told Peg Tate that she must come with them to Knight House. With an outward show of calm while her heart pounded with fright, Alice shepherded the old woman, the child, Nellie, and the rest of the household staff to the back of the house and gave them Lucien’s instructions, hushing them; then she went back up to get Caro. She braced herself as she knocked briskly on the door of Caro’s bedchamber, because she knew her sister-in-law was going to give her trouble. She could hear the baroness humming to herself in her room.

“Caro!”
Alice opened the door.

She was clad only in her negligee with a velvet dressing gown over it, harrying her beleaguered maid as the longsuffering servant carried an armful of the baroness’s gowns from the armoire to the bed.

“What do you want,
Alice?” Caro asked in a lofty tone. “You can see I’m very busy. Von Dannecker will be here in a few minutes.”

“That’s what I have come to talk to you about. Alone.”

With an irked look, Caro dismissed her maid.
Alice cast about for words. God, she did not want to be the one to have to tell Caro this. “Caro, von Dannecker is not what he appears. He is some sort of criminal,” she said, being purposely vague. “Lucien Knight is downstairs—”

“Lucien?” she exclaimed, straightening up from smoothing the gowns on the bed. She braced her hands on her waist and looked at
Alice in confusion.

“Lucien is going to take von Dannecker into custody.”

She wrinkled her nose in confusion.
“What?”

“Caro, there may be shooting. We have to get out of here right now. This is very serious. We are all in danger. Hurry up and put something on. Lucien is sending us to Knight House until it’s over.”

Caro stared at her uncertainly for a moment, then burst out laughing. “That devil! He never tires of his little pranks, does he? Well, you just run along and tell that silver-eyed fiend to wait for me downstairs. I will talk to him in a moment, and we shall see what mischief he is up to now; but first I have to get dressed.”

“Caro, this is no prank,”
Alice exclaimed in exasperation. “Lucien is not what you think.” She hesitated, for she had promised never to tell anyone his true occupation, but under the circumstances, he would understand. “Lucien is a secret agent for the Crown, and von Dannecker is a French spy. His real name is Claude Bardou.”

“A spy?” she scoffed.

“Even if you don’t believe me, we can discuss it later. Just throw on some clothes and come with me and Harry to Knight House. I am begging you.”

“Knight House! Well, I am not about to go to the duke of Hawkscliffe’s mansion in my dressing gown,” she snapped, but her face had turned white and her movements were jerky as she pulled off her banyan and quickly began to dress.

Alice
let out a private sigh of relief. “Come down to the kitchen as soon as you are dressed. I have Harry and the staff already gathered there. The grooms are readying the carriage for us even now.”

Caro gave her an insolent nod, simmering fury in her dark eyes. As she withdrew from her sumptuous chamber,
Alice heard the baroness muttering indignantly under her breath. “This is absurd! That devil—thinks he can come into my house and start ordering everyone around. . . .”

Alice
rolled her eyes at her sister-in-law’s temperamental ways, but at least she had succeeded in getting her cooperation. She picked the hem of her skirts up and ran back down the steps. She saw Lucien standing in the entrance hall. He cocked his pistol and looked up as
Alice came hurrying down the stairs.

“Where’s Caro?” he asked in a grim tone. The brooding wrath in his eyes sent a shudder of dread through her.

“Coming. She’s not happy, but she’ll cooperate.”

“Good.”

Before leaving the entrance hall,
Alice ran over to Lucien and embraced him. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. When their gazes met, she made no effort to conceal the tenderness and worry in her eyes. “Be careful,” she whispered.

He nodded tautly and looked away, his jaw clenched. “
Alice, I’m so sorry for everything. If I’m killed . . .”

She captured his chiseled face between her hands and stared fiercely into his eyes. “Don’t you dare say that to me. You come home to me. I will be waiting.” She swallowed hard. “I love you.”

A flicker of anguish passed fleetingly through the crystalline depths of his soulful eyes. He lowered his lashes, turned his face, and kissed her palm. “Go and hide with the others,” he murmured roughly.

She nodded and released him, striding back to the kitchen while he returned to his men. Before closing the kitchen door behind her, she looked down the hallway at him one last time. His face was beautiful, savage, and as wrathfully remote as an avenging archangel’s. His eyes gleamed like diamonds set in burnished silver. The sun flashed on the pistol that he pulled out from under his waistcoat as he moved with a predator’s grace through the entrance hall, ordering the younger men into position.

He took his place beside the door, pressing his back up against the wall.

Oh, God, this could not be happening,
she thought. Spies and arrests in her very home! Shaken, she shut the door and took her place with the others. Each minute dragged interminably. Where was Caro? What was taking her so long? she thought. Just then, Mr. Hattersley slipped into the kitchen through the garden door.

“Mitchell is harnessing the team, miss. It will be ready in just a few minutes.”

“Good.”

Marc suddenly strode into the kitchen where they all were gathered. He put his finger to his lips and waved
Alice down behind the heavy wooden worktable, which the men had turned onto its side to serve as a barricade.

“Are we leaving?”
Alice whispered.

“Too late,” Marc replied.

“Silent, now. He and Ethan Stafford just pulled up.”

“But Caro—!”

“It’s too late. She’s still upstairs. She should be fine as long as she stays up there.”

“Perhaps I should get the door,” Mr. Hattersley said in distress.

“They’ll answer it,” Marc said grimly.

Peg met
Alice’s eyes grimly. The bewildered old woman was huddled with Nellie and the terrified young scullery maid behind the chopping block. Marc drew his pistol and positioned his body protectively in front of Alice and Harry.

Harry began fussing, disliking the atmosphere of tension. “Where my mama?”

“Keep him quiet,” Marc murmured.

Alice
cupped the baby’s downy head against her chest. “Shh.”

“We play hide-and-seek?” Harry whispered.

“Yes, now hush. Put your head down, lambkin.”

He giggled and nestled his head under the crook of her chin. She wondered if the child could hear her heart pounding, but he grew quiet and still in her arms, playing the game. She closed her eyes and shielded him in fierce protectiveness, only wishing she could shield Lucien as well. All too vividly, she remembered the wound on his side, which she had stitched up that last night at

She flicked her eyes open at the sound of a hard knock that came from the direction of the entrance hall. Then she held her breath at the creaking sound of the front door opening.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

The day had come at last.

A moment earlier, Claude Bardou had jumped down from the carriage while Ethan held the reins. Bardou walked up to Caro’s front door, feeling strong. The previous night, he had slept peacefully after rutting with the baroness for the last time. Today he was taking her to the cottage where he would use her as the bait to lure Lucien Knight away from
London. She had no idea, of course. She thought he was taking her away for a romantic escape, just the two of them.

Fool,
he thought. After leaving her this morning, he had checked on his gun crew one last time and had made sure that his fieldpiece was ready for action, that the kegs of gunpowder were of the proper mixture, that there was plenty of coal and wood to fuel the portable stove. The ammunition would have to sit in the blazing furnace for hours in advance to make it hot enough to wield its full destructive power. Napoleon would have been proud of him, he mused. His planning had been meticulous, he had not allowed his small-minded American moneymen to deter him, and everything was in order. By this time tomorrow, he would be on a ship bound for the Italian coast to see what he could do to help Fouché get the emperor out of captivity on
Elba.

In his buoyant mood, he started to whistle a few notes of the “Marseillese” as he lifted his hand to knock on the door, but quickly caught himself before his patriotism showed through. Lord, he would be glad to be done playing the tedious von Dannecker.

When the door opened, Bardou instantly went on his guard. A different butler. Young. Blond hair slicked back, well-turned cravat, smooth and neat.

“Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”

“Where is the usual butler?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s Mr. Hattersley’s day off, sir. I am Talbert, the underbutler. May I be of assistance?”

“I am Lord von Dannecker. I am here to fetch Lady Glenwood.”

“Ah, yes, of course, my lord. Would you care to wait inside for Her Ladyship?” He opened the door wider and stood aside with a smile of bland politeness.

Bardou gave him a wary look and stepped into the entrance hall; then the world exploded into fireworks before his eyes as a shattering blow hit him in the side of the head. He crashed against the door, falling, too stunned to reach for his weapon, completely ambushed; then Lucien Knight was standing over him, pointing a loaded pistol right between his eyes.

Bardou’s dizzied gaze zigzagged from the muzzle of the gun to the murderous silver eyes pinning him in a stare full of white-hot hatred. “
Bonjour
, Monsieur Bardou,” Knight said, his lips curving into a bitter smile. “What a pleasant surprise to see you again.”

He started to get up, but Knight punched him across the face, just as Bardou had so often punched him. Bardou cursed after the thunderous blow, which was followed by a kick in the ribs. He balled up on the floor, sprawled against the door. He looked up at his former captive, suddenly afraid. His heart pounded; his chest heaved. He touched the blood that he felt trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Get up,” Knight ground out.

Bardou realized the restraint his enemy was using. He climbed cautiously to his feet and looked around at Knight’s men, all of whom tracked him with their pistols.

“Step away from the door,” Knight ordered.

Bardou gritted his teeth, hatred churning in his belly and flaming in his eyes, but he obeyed. The young “butler” slammed the door behind him, and Knight stepped closer, resting the muzzle of his gun against Bardou’s temple.

“Jenkins, shackle him. Don’t move, Bardou, or this bullet is going into your brain.”

Bardou’s mind swam. He could not let them put shackles on him or he was doomed. As the seconds ticked by and the young man cautiously came toward him with the wrist irons in his grasp, Bardou struggled to decide which of them to attack. There were four besides Knight. Even the “butler” was holding a gun on him. Bardou stood there fuming, his chest heaving. He refused to accept that he was caught. He glared in warning at the young man who had been ordered to shackle him, when suddenly, his salvation came walking down the staircase.