Surrender (12 page)

“Will you deliver this letter to him?” Evelyn finally asked, hoping she did not appear anxious. “I do not mind if you even wish to read it.”

She started. “I would never do such a thing!” Then, she said, “When was the last time that you saw Jack?”

Evelyn was startled. Why would Lady Paget ask such a question? “I saw him last week,” she replied.

Julianne Paget’s gaze widened. “I see. I hope it does not seem as if I am prying, Countess, but I am also wondering, was that the only time you have seen him since you left France?”

My God—what was Lady Paget thinking! That they were having a love affair? What else could she be thinking! “Yes,” she managed. “Lady Paget, I am in mourning.”

“My questions were rude, and I apologize. But you must admit, this entire story is a bit bizarre. I am sensing that there is more here than you are revealing. And I am not accusing you of deceit, my dear. It is just that I know Jack so well, and I only wish to help.” To make her point, she patted Evelyn’s arm.

“So you will forward my letter, then?”

Lady Paget stared closely. When she did not speak, Evelyn felt her tension increase. Julianne said softly, “Jack made advances, didn’t he?”

Evelyn choked.

Julianne now sighed. “My brother undoubtedly owes you the apology. I know him so well, Lady D’Orsay.” She took Evelyn’s hand. “He is a gentleman when he wishes to be one, and he would know better than to pursue you when you are in mourning, but he probably was undone by your appearance! You surely set him back on his ear—and of course, he must have left in some anger.” She sighed again. “Now, this entire misunderstanding makes sense. He simply has a weakness for women. I am certain he will apologize to you profusely when he next sees you.” She smiled then—as if she intended to make certain of it.

Evelyn knew she was in dangerous waters now. Her mind raced frantically. This was a terrible conclusion for her hostess to draw. If Jack Greystone heard of it, he would certainly become angry. “He did not make advances, Lady Paget. He was—” she hesitated, breathing hard “—the perfect gentleman.”

Julianne squeezed her hand. “You are being so lenient, so kind. How old is your daughter, my dear?”

Evelyn started. “She is eight.”

“My daughter will be two years old in March. She is such a joy for both me and my husband.”

Evelyn could not believe it—but Lady Paget was changing the subject! “I feel the same way about Aimee. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she managed, relieved.

“She must miss her father,” Lady Paget said.

“Of course she does,” Evelyn said.

“Why are you so worried?” Lady Paget asked sympathetically. “Why are you dismayed?”

Evelyn took a deep breath. “Your brother does not owe me an apology. Please. You have drawn the wrong conclusion!”

Lady Paget stared, very skeptically. “I take it you do not wish for me to interfere?”

“No, I do not. I wish to make amends, and I believe my letter might do so.”

“Are you defending him because you still have a desire for him to go to France and retrieve your husband’s possessions?”

This woman was so clever! “If he said it was too dangerous—” Evelyn began, but Lady Paget interrupted her.

“It is not too dangerous. It would be easy enough for Jack to sail to Nantes—or Quiberon Bay—and journey inland. How far is your home from the beachhead at Nantes?”

Evelyn started. “It is a forty-five-minute carriage ride, if the roads are good.”

“As I said, this would not be a difficult mission for him—not that there isn’t danger, of course. I think he will come around, Lady D’Orsay. As I said, he is very appreciative of the ladies.... You must send your letter, bide your time and then approach him again.”

Evelyn could not believe that Julianne had seen through her plan—or that she was so optimistic. And was she on Evelyn’s side? “You have been so kind.”

“I am kind by nature,” Lady Paget said. “And although we have only just become acquainted, your story is intriguing—and I like you already. My dear, when you are ready for a confidante, I am here.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn said. “But there really isn’t much more to say.”

Julianne smiled, her gaze openly skeptical. “Somehow, I doubt that.” She went to a silver bell and rang it.

Lady Paget obviously knew that there was more to the affair than Evelyn was letting on. “Will you get my letter to him?”

Julianne smiled. “Of course I will. Now, Gerard said you have just arrived in town. Where are you staying?”

“I have yet to take an accommodation,” Evelyn said, relieved that Julianne would deliver her letter to Jack and that she had survived the strenuous interview—for that was precisely what it had been.

Julianne sat down beside her and patted her hand. “How perfect! For you must stay here at Bedford House, so we can become better acquainted.”

Evelyn started. “That is even kinder,” she began. “But I cannot possibly impose.”

“Nonsense. For Jack makes surprise visits—and don’t you want to be here when he does so next?”

* * *

E
VELYN
LAY
IN
the luxurious four-poster bed, staring up at the pink pleats in the canopy over her head, as bright morning sunlight spilled into her bedroom. She could barely believe she was awakening in the Earl of Bedford’s home.

As she huddled under the down covers, she thought about how Julianne Paget had invited her into her home. Now that she was a guest, Lady Paget had been nothing but kind, and she hadn’t mentioned her brother or Evelyn’s letter again. It was as if the awkward interview of the day before had never taken place. But Evelyn knew better than to fool herself. Lady Paget was very interested in Evelyn’s relationship with Jack, and she would probably continue to pry.

But last night had been so pleasant. She had taken such an elegant supper with Lady Paget, her husband and the Dowager Countess. A fantastic table had been laid out for the four of them, and half a dozen delicious courses had been served. Lady Paget had been resplendent in crimson satin, and the Dowager Countess had worn dark green silk with emeralds. A large staff had danced attendance upon them. The conversation had ranged from the comings and goings amongst the ton, an impending engagement, a recent political appointment, to the war.

And no one had seemed the least surprised by her sudden appearance in town—or at Bedford House. Her relationship with Jack had not been discussed, and Evelyn did not even know if Julianne had mentioned it to her husband or her mother-in-law. She had been welcomed at every turn. And, as it turned out, the Dowager Countess had known Henri very well, once upon a time. She spoke of him fondly, wished she had been able to attend the wedding, which a friend had described in great detail, and was distraught to have learned of his passing.

Dominic Paget had been more reserved, though exceedingly polite, and by the time supper had ended, Evelyn realized that her host and hostess were madly in love with one another. It was not just the shared glances and smiles. It was the absolute ease with which they coexisted, as if they were of the same heart, soul and mind.

It had most definitely been a love match, Evelyn thought, intrigued.

She sighed, reluctant to get out of the warm bed. If she were at Roselynd, Aimee would be waking her up as she crawled into bed with her. A pang went through her. She missed her daughter terribly. She could not linger in town.

But what if Jack showed up at Bedford House? She became aware of so much tension within her. How would they ever have a chance to discuss her letter—how would she apologize—without alarming and alerting Julianne? They would need some privacy if she was to successfully persuade Jack to help her now. And she hoped that Julianne had not written to Jack—accusing him of impropriety and inflaming the situation!

A knock sounded on her door. Evelyn quickly got up, putting on a wrapper, and went to answer it. A maid stood there with a breakfast tray, and Julianne Paget was behind her.

“Good morning,” Lady Paget said. “You have slept in, and I imagine you were exhausted. Did you sleep well?”

As the maid deposited the tray on a beautiful rosewood table, Evelyn smiled. “I confess that I fell asleep the moment I lay down. I doubt I moved even once the entire night. Lady Paget, do come in.” She wondered at the intrusion.

Julianne smiled. “You may call me Julianne, if you wish, but then I will call you Evelyn, so be forewarned.”

Evelyn smiled as Julianne thanked the maid and poured two cups of tea. “Besides,” she said, “I am an early riser, and I have been hoping to spend some more time with you.” She handed her a cup.

Evelyn accepted it with some apprehension. She felt certain another interview was about to occur. However, she sipped the tea and sighed—the brew was strong and delicious. “I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me into your home as you have.”

“It is my pleasure,” Julianne said, taking a seat at the table. “You should spend a few days in town, now that you are here. I can introduce you around.”

Evelyn sat down across from her. “I really can’t linger, although I so appreciate the invitation,” she said. “It has been a difficult month, with Henri so recently passing. I miss Aimee and I am not comfortable leaving her alone.”

“I cannot imagine what you are going through,” Julianne said. “I love Dominic so. If he passed, I would not survive.”

Evelyn met her gray gaze and thought about how she was adjusting to Henri’s death. But she had not had the kind of relationship that Julianne and her husband apparently had. Otherwise, she would have never allowed—and enjoyed—Jack Greystone’s kiss. “Henri was a good husband—and he was my friend,” she said. “But now, I must think of my daughter and her future.”

“You are a very strong woman. There was a time when I was afraid I would never see Dom again. He was in France during the first La Vendée rebellion. But thank God, he came home.”

Evelyn started, realizing that some of the rumors she had heard were, apparently, true. And she did not know why she confided in her, but she did. “Henri was a wonderful man, and I was so fortunate to be his wife. But he was ailing for the past few years, even before we left France.” She hesitated. “He was a great deal older than I was. He would have been fifty, this July, had he lived. I have known since the fall that he was dying. It was not a surprise.”

Julianne’s gaze was wide. “I am so sorry. But you mentioned this somewhat, yesterday. How difficult this past year must have been.”

Evelyn nodded. “Now I am imposing upon you.”

“You are not imposing, and it is obvious that you cared a great deal for your husband.”

“I was an orphan when we met. My aunt and uncle raised me—somewhat reluctantly. I had no future to look forward to, not really—I had no dowry. But Henri gave me every opportunity when he gave me his name. I was so very fortunate, and then he gave me Aimee.”

“He loved you,” Julianne said, and it was not a question. “I imagine he loved you very much.”

Evelyn nodded. “He loved me very much.”

“I am sorry for your loss, but you are young, and you have your daughter to care for, as you have said.” Julianne smiled, but her regard was searching. “You must bring her, the next time you come to London. She can meet Jacquelyn, my daughter, and maybe my sister will have had her child by the time you return. She is due in May.”

Evelyn smiled and sipped her tea, realizing that she liked Julianne Paget—she seemed like a genuinely kind woman. It would be so lovely to bring Aimee to London with her for another visit. But an image of Jack Greystone invaded her mind. He had to agree to help her, otherwise, she would not be able to care for her daughter, much less take an expensive trip to town. “How exciting for your sister.”

“She wishes to meet you,” Julianne said. “I sent her a note yesterday.”

Evelyn was alarmed.

Julianne set her teacup down. “My dear, I am hoping to become friends. You appear so worried. You will like Amelia, I am certain.”

“You are being so kind again,” Evelyn said, not wanting to reopen the debate of yesterday. “Yet you know I am in the midst of a vast misunderstanding with your brother.”

“I imagine it will soon be resolved. I sent your letter by messenger yesterday, Evelyn. Jack should receive it tonight—if he is at home.”

Her heart exploded. Evelyn took a lump of sugar that she did not need and put it in her tea. As she stirred it, she said, very casually, “I heard he lives on an island.”

“Yes, he does.”

Evelyn looked up, setting her spoon down. “And if he is not in residence?”

“Then I imagine he will receive your letter within the next few days, as he cannot stay at sea indefinitely.” Julianne stood up. “He is rarely gone for more than a week at a time.”

Evelyn stared. “You are being even kinder than you were yesterday.”

“I wasn’t all that kind yesterday. I was rather rude. However, that is all in the past, and I do hope we are truly friends now.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn managed. Julianne seemed entirely sincere. Did it really matter why she was being so kind? Jack was going to receive her letter any day now. “I hope so, too,” she said.

“You must get dressed, Evelyn. Amelia is joining us for lunch. You will adore her. But be forewarned. She will be as curious as I am about your interest in Jack.”

Evelyn straightened. Julianne was smiling, but it was too serene—and too knowing. “But I already explained,” she began.

“Of course you did. But the more I think about it, the more I think that you must have made a lasting impression upon my brother.” She started for the door, smiling as if she knew a secret. There, she paused. “I feel confident that you will hear from Jack very soon, knowing him as I do.”

Evelyn filled with tension as Julianne smiled and left.

CHAPTER SIX

E
VELYN
CAREFULLY
FOLDED
her undergarments and placed them in the valise that was open upon her bed. She added her nightgown and wrapper, oddly reluctant to leave Bedford House. She had so enjoyed her time in London, and she had become so very fond of Julianne and Amelia. She had spent three entire days in town, rather frivolously. There had been teas and luncheons, strolls in Hyde Park amongst other gentlewomen and browsing the extravagant shops on Oxford Street. She had enjoyed another magnificent supper at Bedford House, this time with Amelia’s husband St Just joining them, and she had even attended the opera with her hosts. But she missed Aimee terribly. It was time to go home.

And there had been no word from Jack.

Julianne had been right. Amelia had been curious about their relationship—and she had asked far too many questions. A small, no-nonsense woman, she had seemed as pleased as her sister by the fact that Evelyn wished to engage Jack’s services as a smuggler. Evelyn could not comprehend it.

By now, Jack had surely received her letter. Was he ignoring it? Or had he received it after all? Earlier that morning Julianne had pointed out that once in a while, his affairs might truly delay him. Evelyn could sense that she was a bit worried about him. After all, there was a bounty on his head.

Her heart lurched—as if she, Evelyn, were also worried about him.

There was another possibility, of course. Jack might ignore her missive, no matter how she wished to apologize, no matter how she tried to ingratiate herself.

Evelyn feared that might be the case. Julianne still believed that Jack had made improper advances, and that was the cause of their argument. Evelyn had no intention of telling her what had actually happened, even if she needed a confidante. But Jack might be so set against her, especially if Julianne had interfered, that perhaps he had dismissed her apology outright.

She was rather grim. If Jack meant to ignore her, so be it—there wasn’t anything more she could do.

As she began to close the valise, a knock sounded on her door. Certain a maid was bringing up refreshments before she set out on the long journey back to Cornwall, Evelyn hurried to the door.

Jack Greystone stood there. “Hello, Countess.”

Her shock was immediate.

His gray gaze seared hers. And before she could breathe—before she could even comprehend that he was at her door—he smiled ever so slightly and moved past her into the bedroom. Evelyn jumped, still shocked. He smiled again, this time as he shoved the door closed behind them. “You are certainly determined, Countess,” he said. “And I am uncertain whether I admire such a stubborn bent, or not.”

She gasped as their gazes held. And her heart thrilled, against all better judgment. He had come to London. Did that mean he had read her letter and that her apology had been accepted? Did that mean that they could forget their previous encounter, and start over?

Somehow, she had forgotten how magnificent he was. Her pulse rioting now, she took a good long look at him. He had clearly just come from his ship. She could smell the salt from the sea on his clothes. His jacket was unbuttoned, revealing the dagger at his waist and the pistol hanging from the shoulder strap, at his hip—he would hardly walk about town with such arms. The sight of them made her shiver. His hair was coming loose from its queue, and there was a bit of growth on his jaw, a shade darker than his tawny hair. It only made him appear more dangerous and disreputable. His lawn shirt was open at the neck, revealing the gold cross he wore, with its ruby stones. His breeches seemed damp, straining across his powerful thighs. There was dirt on his high boots and on his iron spurs.

He was a fatally attractive man. “You have given me a fright,” she managed.

He smiled slowly at her. “But you did expect me to come rushing to your aid?”

Evelyn clutched her hands and backed up against the bedroom door. “I was praying for a response to my letter. I was uncertain as to what that response might be.”

“Apparently, your prayers have been answered.”

His stare was unwavering, and Evelyn realized she did not want to look away. She had truly forgotten how dangerously handsome and terribly masculine he was, how small and petite she felt, standing beside him—and how utterly feminine he made her feel. But mostly, she had forgotten the dangerous urge to leap into his arms.

She swallowed. “I did not expect you to come to London,” she whispered. “Never mind that Julianne thought I would hear from you. Forgive me—I am in some shock.”

“Then we are even—as I was in some shock to learn that you were at Bedford House with
Julianne.
”

She trembled, wondering at his wry tone, and now aware of another fact. He was in her
bedroom.
They were behind closed doors. “Mr. Greystone—we should go downstairs. We cannot possibly converse here.” His mouth curled. His glance strayed to her mouth. “Of course we can, Countess.”

She tensed—instantly recalling the torrid kiss they had shared—and certain he was recalling it, too. “I cannot entertain you here.” She managed to think of Julianne, who was already suspicious of their relationship.

“Why not?” He seemed amused. “You did not mind entertaining me alone in your salon at the midnight hour. Our actions then were far more damning.”

She knew she flushed. “It wasn’t midnight,” she exclaimed, searching his gaze, “and I did mind! I had no choice—as you simply showed up there with no warning—as you have done now.”

“I am not going downstairs.”

She started as his meaning struck her. “You fear being apprehended—in your own sister’s home?” she cried.

“I must avoid scrutiny—even here. From time to time this house is watched.” He walked over to a window and glanced outside at the gardens below. His movements were so casual, belying the danger he might be in. Then he faced her. “And while I did not notice any soldiers lurking about today, Julianne and Paget have a large staff. I have no intention of openly coming and going—I trust no one.”

She hugged herself, finding it difficult to breathe normally. She hoped that she was not included in the circle of those he would not trust, but she was fairly certain that might be the case. And he could not even move freely in his sister’s own home. Compassion arose. How could he live with such a bounty on his head? In constant fear of discovery—of arrest? She found herself staring closely at him, for some sign of vulnerability, but he instantly looked away.

If he was fearful of discovery, she could find no sign. “I am sorry,” she heard herself whisper. And she meant it—yet she had to remind herself that he was running the British blockade. He was aiding her enemies. Yet he had saved her family by evacuating them from France. She would never indict him casually.

He lifted a brow. “So you are feeling sorry for
me,
Countess? I thought this was
your
tragedy.”

She bit her lip, confused by his odd statement. Was he mocking her? “I am sorry you must remain in hiding. It must be terribly difficult, having to stay away from one’s family. It is possible,” she added, “to have sympathy for someone else’s plight.”

His expression tightened. “I do not need your sympathy. I am not in any plight. I suggest that you save your compassion for someone else. We have matters to discuss.”

She trembled, taken aback by the hard look in his eyes. She had mistaken his mood. It wasn’t light, not at all. He was grim, but then, he feared discovery and arrest. “Does your presence mean that you have read my letter…and can you accept my apology?”

His thick lashes lowered. “It means—” he paused, glancing up through them “—that you are in my
sister’s
house.”

She studied him, alarmed. He was distinctly unhappy that she had called on Julianne. “I was invited,” she began.

He cut her off. “I have read your letter,” he said flatly. “And I have also read Julianne’s.”

Julianne had written him. What had she said? “She has been very kind. She invited me to stay when I called, asking her to forward my letter to you.”

His stare was sharp and searching. “I told you that I was not interested in your proposition. Yet you write me a letter—to attract my attention. And now, I find you at my sister’s, her cherished houseguest.”

“I pray you are not accusing me of manipulating your sister!” Evelyn cried, meaning it.

“Your prayers may be falling on deaf ears,” he said bluntly. “What else am I to think?”

“Do you not know your own sister, sir?” Evelyn cried. “She is a very strong and intelligent woman. She can hardly be bandied about.”

He stepped forward—Evelyn shrank. “I happen to know my sister very well. She is hopelessly naive. She believes in saving every lost soul. Undoubtedly she would even believe in saving yours.”

“My soul isn’t lost,” she managed, pressing against the spiny bedpost. He almost loomed over her.

His large hands found his slim hips. “I can imagine the encounter now. You appeared on her doorstep, looking for me, with your tale of woe—while on the verge of destitution. Of course she offered to let you stay here.” His gray gaze flashed, but it dropped to her mouth.

He
was
angry, she thought with dread. He did not like her new friendship with Julianne! “I did not expect her to invite me into her home.”

“Somehow I doubt that!”

“It was more economical for me to stay here—and await your reply.” She gave him a hard look. “And she does not have a clue that I am destitute.”

“Is that true?” His hands relaxed.

She lifted her hand, showing him her large and expensive diamond ring. “I came here only to ask her to forward my letter to you, and I believe I must appear to be in ordinary straits. As you can see, I am wearing my finest clothes—and my only diamond ring.”

He stared closely at her now, and it was a moment before he spoke. He said, softly, “Another man might feel as if he is being hunted, Countess—or pursued, rather boldly.”

She realized his meaning and felt herself blush. “If you are suggesting that I am pursuing you for personal reasons, you are wrong!”

“Am I? Perhaps you cannot forget a scorching kiss.”

She knew her color increased wildly—she felt the fire in her cheeks. “Did we kiss?” she managed. “I have forgotten!”

He laughed. “You damn well know we kissed, Countess. I doubt you have forgotten it! But I am relieved that you are not pursuing me for personal reasons.” He was definitely mocking.

She trembled, absolutely breathless. “I am in mourning!”

“Of course you are.” He studied her. Evelyn wished she could stop flushing. She hadn’t behaved like a widow in mourning that night in her salon and they both knew it. “So tell me. What did you say to her? How did you get her to rally to your cause?”

She fought for composure. It was a moment before she could gather her wits and return to the subject of Julianne. “I told her that the letter I wished for her to forward was one of apology. I explained how I knew you, and I told her that we had had a misunderstanding, one I wished to resolve.”

He continued to stare at her. “Did we have a misunderstanding?” He was wry.

Damn it, she felt certain he was referring to that kiss! “I believe so,” she said, tilting up her chin. “I explained that I needed to hire a smuggler, and that as you had helped me escape France four years ago, I wished to hire you. She was very interested in my efforts to attain your services. She asked me a great many questions. I was stunned when she finally invited me to stay here.”

“Stunned—or delighted?”

“I was pleased to stay here for matters of economy—which I imagine you must know. We have become friends, Mr. Greystone. Genuinely so.”

“I do not like your involving my sister in your affairs,” he said harshly, turning aside slightly. This was her cue, so she slipped away from the bedpost and past him, rushing to the window. She had felt trapped by the bed, but now, she felt trapped by the window.

He turned to gaze at her. “I was stunned to receive your letter, but not as stunned as I was to receive Julianne’s.” He made a mirthless sound. “But nothing has surprised me as much as learning that my sister thinks I have mistreated you!”

She shrank. “Is that what she said?” she asked carefully.

He slowly smiled and approached. Evelyn gasped and backed into the windowsill. “I think you know exactly what she wrote.”

“She guessed what happened! Yet I told her, several times, that you did not make improper advances,” she said quickly. “I defended you! I claimed you need not apologize to me!”

His gaze widened with utter surprise. Too late, Evelyn realized that Julianne hadn’t told him her theory that she believed Jack owed Evelyn the apology, and not the other way around. “She thinks I made advances?” He flushed. “Of course she does! And you are the tragic heroine in all of this. While I am the villain!”

She stiffened. “I told her, several times, that you were the perfect gentleman!”

He laughed. “And did she finally believe you?”

“No.”

He came close and leaned over her. Evelyn went still. He looked at her mouth again, and this time, he did not look away. Her heart thundered. Was he going to kiss her now? Like this?

But he jerked away. “You have courage, I will give you that. For a tiny woman, you have enough courage for a dozen men.”

She shook her head. “I am not all that brave.”

He started. “I don’t believe it.”

“I am afraid—I am afraid of the future, and what it holds for Aimee.”

He stared. “Of course you are.” He moved away and began to slowly pace. “My sister is now your champion. She thinks that, as a man of honor, I must rush to your aid.”

Evelyn was afraid to move even if the windowsill was digging into her hip. “I don’t know why she wishes for you to help me,” she said truthfully. “I did not try to persuade her to my cause.”

“Didn’t you?”

“She is intrigued by our relationship.”

His silver gaze shot to hers. “Of course she is. Julianne is a romantic, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.”