The Duchess and the Spy
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Authors: Marly Mathews
The Duchess and the Spy
By Marly Mathews
Agents of the Crown, Book One
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2006, 2015 by Marly Mathews
Cover Design by Melody Simmons from Ebookindiecovers
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book has been previously published, under the title of The Witch’s Wolf. It has been extensively revised and edited for this version.
Contents
France, 1794
“Find the De Clermont brat!” Pierre Dubois bellowed. His horse let out a long whiny. Pulling back on the reins, he surveyed the medieval fortress that passed for a castle. Narrowing his eyes, he struggled to control the rage pulsating through him.
Château fort
De Clermont had been built in the 12th century. The De Clermont's had tried to give it an elegant beauty through countless renovations and additions. It had been an attempt to make it look more like a palace, however, it still looked like a fortress. Pierre fed on the feeling of doom permeating the air. The castle grounds crawled with his fellow members of the revolution. They were out for blood…and he had set the stage for his stab at vengeance.
He hated the duke and loved the duchess. If he couldn’t have her as his own, Madame La Guillotine could have her. Or would he take her before the guillotine did? Only, time would tell.
Some said Sandrine De Clermont hailed from a long line of Scottish Witches. Others said the only magical powers she held were her powers of allure. Her beauty preceded her amongst the noble families of Europe. Witch or not, Pierre only knew he had an obsession for her unlike any other woman. Tonight, he would finally claim his prize, and gain his victory against the De Clermont Family once and for all.
*****
Sandrine De Clermont, Duchess of St. Malo, dashed through the castle. She had to make her way to the secret passageway that led out of the castle away from the revolutionaries. Her husband would provide a distraction while she escaped with their daughter. But she feared she would not make it on time. Even though help was coming from England, her time had come to an end. Pierre would continue the search until he finally found her. Many people thought she possessed the powers of a witch.
Alas, she’d only been blessed with the power of premonition—a power that had not saved her. Perhaps, her death had been written in stone. She could not see that far, and indeed, the fate of most of her loved ones were shrouded in mist. The mist usually cleared when it was too late for her to do anything to stop fate from working its blessed or damning magic.
Struggling for breath, she strengthened her hold on her daughter. Their journey was near the end. Isabella would make it back to England and then onward to Scotland. She would grow into a beautiful young woman. She had caught glimpses of her daughter’s future within the last few hours, and it filled her with hope. She would not die in France, she would not die a premature death. Knowing that gave her immense comfort.
Her husband would meet his demise at the guillotine. She had foreseen that yesterday. How they had managed to avoid such a fate for so long still baffled her. She had begged her husband many times to leave all that he had in France and return with her to England, and he had refused. She still didn’t know why she had remained with him. She could only attribute it to her blinding love for the foolish man…a love that was only trumped by her love for their daughter.
The truth of his gruesome fate chilled her to her heart. But her visions were sudden and fleeting. If only she’d had more warning. As it was, time had become her worst enemy.
Dragging in a shaky breath, she came to an abrupt halt. She had made it to her destination. The sound of gunshots, and men shouting pierced the air. The enemy drew near. Had they already captured Robert? She could not give it a thought. They had already said their farewell. If she saw her husband again…it would be at the Pearly Gates.
Robert’s sister and her husband would take Isabella back to England, and God willing, Isabella would be raised in Scotland. All would be well, as long as Isabella survived.
“Daphne, no matter what, you must whisk Isabella off to our little cottage by the sea where Claudette and Duncan will find you. Do you understand?”
Her tiny maid looked at her in surprise. Daphne Trudeau’s father had been French and her mother was English. With her petite stature, she would be able to walk through the passageway. The passageway was small, and if Sandrine went, she’d have to walk hunched over. Daphne was short enough that she’d probably be able to walk upright. “You were supposed to come with us, Your Grace.”
“I cannot. I fear Pierre will find me before we make it off the grounds. Pray, do not argue with me. Our time is running out.”
She kissed the top of Isabella’s head. At that precise moment, Isabella’s eyes fluttered open.
Reflecting back at her were pools the shade of the greenest emerald. Her daughter tightened her hold on the front of her gown. Isabella had been gifted with many more talents than she had been blessed with. In one startling instant, her daughter and she connected in a soul shattering deluge of images. She spiraled into her daughter’s mind. The visions that met her jarred her to her soul.
Wrenching her gaze away from Isabella, Sandrine shattered the spell that had been cast.
“The fates it would seem, laugh at us, my darling. They mock us in a most cruel fashion.” Her voice trembled. “Always remember that I love you, Isabella.”
At seven years of age, Sandrine knew her daughter would carry this day with her to her grave. Fortunately, Isabella was small for her age. She’d always looked younger than what she was, and if she were lucky, it was a trait she would carry for the rest of her life.
She reflected back on her life. She had led a full and happy, albeit short one, and had no regrets.
“Mama?” Isabella’s eyes sparkled with tears.
“Don’t cry, Isabella. Never deny the call of your heart, dearest. Always remember to give the key to the one who is worthy.”
She knew Isabella understood. Wisdom beyond her tender years, shone in her eyes.
“Don’t leave me, Mama, please. Don’t let the bad men take you away.”
Sandrine sighed. She placed Isabella down on her feet, and looked at the secret passage. She reflected for a moment. Peeling back the 14th century tapestry of a knight and his lady, she activated the secret panel. A small doorway opened.
“Daphne, you take the lead.”
Reaching for a torch, the short maid stepped into the damp corridor. At her diminutive height, she hardly had to stoop to walk through it. Turning around, Daphne looked at her in expectation.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the hall. The hourglass trickled out its last bit of sand. Sandrine’s time of reckoning was at hand.
“Go! Now…so I can cover the doorway and get to another room.”
“No.” Isabella’s whisper had the strength of steel.
“Daphne, you do as I say. Take Isabella to safety.” She quickly unlatched the emerald amulet that hung around her neck. Lifting her daughter’s blazing red curls, she fastened the necklace around her small neck. The ancient magic contained within it, would protect her until she reached safe haven. Now her powers were greatly diminished, and at her current strength, she’d be no match for Pierre, but it was either her or Isabella, and she gladly sacrificed herself so her child would live.
“Don’t be afraid of your future, dearest heart.” She hugged Isabella to her breast, and rained kisses over her cherubic face. “Your destiny awaits you. Embrace it with welcome arms—whatever you do, do not forget how to love and live life to its fullest. You must carry the love that your Papa and I have for you in your heart. Guardian angels shall watch over you. Never forget…to remember!” She urged her daughter to take Daphne’s outstretched hand. “May God watch over you both until you reach England.”
She closed the hidden door, and carefully repositioned the tapestry. She ran down the hall away from where her daughter and Daphne fled.
Pierre waited for her. Dread formed in the pit of her stomach. The only way she could keep him from going after Isabella would be to give herself to him. Her blood curdled.
“Where is your beautiful little brat, Sandrine?” Pierre sneered. He crossed the short distance to where she stood.
“I haven’t the slightest inkling.” She forced out a dismissive laugh. She drowned in the hatred that permeated off of him. The waves nearly brought her to her knees. But she would not look weak in front of this man, no matter how much he sickened her.
Fury shone in his eyes. “No matter. Your little bitch can go to hell for all I care. I want you. Only, you.” He grabbed her chin and pulled her face toward him. She spat at him. Whipping his hand back, he slapped her. “You shouldn’t have done that, my darling Duchess. I heard of your witch blood, and defiant attitude. We shall see if it serves you well in the coming days, or if you shall bow to me!”
Isabella wanted to run back to her mother. Fear clutched at her being. Why had she left her?
“Come along, my little miss,” Daphne said softly.
A vision clouded Isabella’s sight. She fell to her knees clapping her hands over her ears. She could hear the angry mob. They chanted. Sickness boiled in her stomach.
Their triumphant shouts of Vive la France! Echoed through her mind and caused her world to spin. Daphne tried to pull her to her feet, but a weakness consumed her. Isabella could not move.
“My dearest little lady,” Daphne crouched down to her level. “I can’t carry you with the torch in my other hand. You must find the strength to go on.”
And somehow, someway Isabella did.
France, 1808
“Oh, my little miss, you are playing with fire.”
Isabella swept into her dressing room. “This gown just doesn’t suit the occasion. Let us opt for something a little more daring…a trifle more risqué.”
“Risqué? You are inviting disaster. Why draw attention to yourself? You already stand out in a crowd. The guest of honour tonight shouldn’t notice you.”
Isabella laughed. “Dearest, Daphne. That is the point. I want…no, I need him to notice me. It’s my only way of escaping back to England.”
“Escaping? Why do you persist in that foolish notion? Rescue has not come in four years! I imagine they think you are dead. They have probably given up hope.”
“Why would my family abandon me? My Aunt and Uncle would not give up on me, and my Grandmamma, she would never abandon hope. I feel quite certain that they know I am still alive. They just cannot reach me. That is all. With war raging between France and England, it isn’t a wonder they haven’t been able to find me.” She tossed her hair off of her shoulder.
Daphne looked at her worry shining in her eyes. “You are too reckless for your own good, Mademoiselle.”
“Pierre kidnapped me. He has no right to me. He only wants me because…” Isabella couldn’t force herself to finish the sentence. She couldn’t quite decide why Pierre wanted her. He went between treating her like a niece and looking at her as if he wanted to ravish her. She played a dangerous game with him, and one of these days she would lose that game.
“I suppose you are right. Somehow, we must remove you from Pierre’s nefarious clutches. I shall do whatever is necessary to see that happen, Isabella.” Daphne and she were so close that Daphne called her Isabella when they were in private.
“I know, Daphne, dear, but I shan’t leave without you.” Pierre had used Daphne to abduct her, and Isabella had no doubt that he would use her again, should she attempt to escape.
“And you do not wish to use your other abilities?”
“I can’t expose myself, as a witch, and while I could use them to dispose of Pierre…”
“No. I forbid you to have that on your conscience. We will find another way, dearest. I do not wish you to use your powers for harm. Do you think your mother still lives?”
Isabella sighed heavily. “I do not know. If only that would become clear to me…we would know exactly what we had to lose in this little game of cat and mouse we play with Pierre.”
“Indeed. If there is any hope that Her Grace still lives…we must free her from Pierre. He is a most wicked man.”
“Aye, and I have no doubt that he would try to hurt you to make me stay in line.”
“I do not fear him, Isabella. If you ever have a chance to leave this place, I wish you to do it. Promise me you will.”
“I…”
“Give me your solemn vow, Isabella.”
“I promise,” she said reluctantly.
“What gown strikes your fancy for tonight, Isabella?”
Haunting images of her mother dashed through her mind. If she were still alive, she would find her, no matter the cost.
“I think the new gold one should do. I hear he has a certain fondness for gold.”
“He has a certain fondness for beautiful ladies, no matter what colour of gown they wear. I imagine he would prefer you stark naked.”
“Daphne!”
“Well, I am only saying what you already know. You had better be ready for the consequences, if you invite his attention. You have been fighting off the sick advances of Pierre with your power of projection for four years now…a miracle has already happened. I don’t know how you expect to deflect the little Corsican’s carnal appetite.”
“Oh, I have a few ideas.” Isabella caressed the emerald amulet she wore. “Besides, I just need to have the Emperor agree to give me back my lands and my title. If I am to remain here in France, I want everything that Pierre stole, returned to me.”
“If he gives you safe passage back to England, he shall have you become his spy, and perhaps his partner in bed.”
“He already has enough partners…I doubt he requires another mistress.”
“Never say never.” Daphne looked horrified. “I still don’t think you realize your own allure. You will cast a spell over the Emperor!”
“That is my intent. I don’t need to cast a lasting spell, I just want to mesmerize him until I get what I want.”
“I am being serious, Isabella.”
“So am I, Daphne. I can be quite enchanting when I put my mind and heart into the task.” She smiled.
“I pray he is a man of his word.”
“I shall wager my life on it.” Isabella waited while Daphne set out the exquisite gown. “I will soon have that randy little bugger eating out of my hand. Men are only interested in one thing when they are around me. I only have to make sure they never get me in the truest sense of the word.”
“You’ve already had one too many close calls in my opinion.” Her friend snorted.
“Trust me, Daphne. Soon, we shall be gazing at the white cliffs of Dover.”
“I hope you are right…”
“I am.” Isabella reached for her Italian Violet Perfume, and dabbed it liberally across her body. “You need only place your faith in me. I shan’t ever let you down.”
“I know.”
Once the perfume dried, she pulled on her silk stockings. Next, she donned the fine dress, as she already wore her other undergarments. And since, less was more these days in fashion…that was precious little in the way of undergarments.
“Just answer this one last question. What will you do if he does demand favours of the more intimate sort? Do not think I am innocent to his lascivious ways. I have heard of his prowess with the ladies, and I shall not allow you to become yet another conquest. For such a little man, he is quite renowned for his rather formidable sword, if you think he shall fall prey to your magic—I wouldn’t bet on it, he has a keen and cunning mind, he doesn’t always think with his little man.”
“Oh, Daphne, don’t speak with such vulgarity! It doesn’t become you. If he comes near me with his sword as you say…I shall do my worst on him. You needn’t fear. I am a witch, remember?” she laughed despite the thundering of her heart.
Daphne hesitated. “If I didn’t believe in you…I would be dying on the inside right now. I promised your mother I would take care of you…and now I’m sending you out to a pack of hungry wolves.”
“I have dealt with worse, dearest. Come now. Do wish me luck.” She held Daphne’s hand once her hair had been arranged. “Don’t be sore at me. I’m doing what I have to do! Take heart, dearest, for Boney shall lavish me with everything I have ever desired. Most importantly, the De Clermont dynasty will live again!” Hugging Daphne quickly, she pulled away, dashed to her bedchamber door.
“Wait!”
Isabella stopped and looked back at Daphne.
“You forgot your mask! Don’t you know you’re going to a bal masque?”
She laughed. “Of course, of course, all the more reason to wear this revealing dress. If he can’t see the full effect of my facial features, he must be impressed with my other more tantalizing charms.”
Napoleon tempted fate by allowing a bal masque to be held in his honour because many believed they were events that begged a tragedy. They feared he would be the victim of an assassination. She held the glittering gold mask up to her face.
“How do I look?”
“You look as if you’re going to find trouble,” Daphne lamented.
She chuckled. “Never fear. I am rather good at finding and getting into trouble. Fortunately, I am also rather adept at getting out of that trouble.” She swept out of her chambers, and immediately tensed.
The sound of fervent whispers met her keen ears. She held her breath. A shiver washed over her. The shadows beckoned to her. The shadows always chased her. She was lucky to have enough light within her to force them into submission.
“Who goes there? Show yourself!” A man barked in a husky voice that told her he was deepening it to conceal his true accent.
A large silhouette cast a long shadow along the length of the opposite wall. The second figure shifted, and then ran as if the very hounds of Hades chased him. Warm sensations rushed through her.
Whomever the person was that had fled, posed no imminent danger to her…but they had fled for a reason. Perhaps, they had done so to avoid her recognition? She shook her head. It suddenly felt cloudy, and she became almost sleepy—she had to snap herself out of it!
“You shouldn’t tarry long, Isabella,” the remaining man said, with a familiarity that made an electric tingle sweep through her.
She narrowed her gaze.
How had he known her name?
“Who are you?”
“You ask too many questions, my dear. I am someone from your past. I have been watching you for quite some time, Duchess.”
Apprehension tickled along her scalp. Her hair nearly stood on end. “I do not recognize your voice,” she said, her insides went soft as his voice continued to lull her into a state of near submission. If his voice had power over her, what would she do if he attempted to make physical contact? She narrowed her eyes, as she tried to make out his facial features. He struck a stunning profile. Power emanated off him.
What’s more, his height impressed her. He towered over her. And since she stood at a stately five feet eight inches, he was well over six feet. His hair blended in with the darkness. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. This man stood on the path of her true destiny. The question was, what role would he play?
“Becoming the little Corsican’s courtesan…wouldn’t be a good idea, Isabella.” His smooth velvety rich husky voice rattled her already strained nerves.
Why couldn’t she summon her power of projection? She should have been able to tame the beast that stood near her. Using her empathic abilities, she tried to gain control on manipulating his emotions. His chilling coldness toward her made her uneasy, even though she could feel something altogether different emanating off of him. She clung to her belief that this man was meant to cross paths with her tonight. Something about him made her want to throw herself at him. The practical side of her warred with the fun-loving side of her.
“Your words, sir, are a mystery to me.”
“Ah, of course, the old avoid and distract tactic. I think I like your style, Mademoiselle.” He moved toward her. She backed away.
He closed in on her. Despite her attempts to affect him with her talents, she continued to fail. Damnation. What form of protection cloaked him from her magic?
His breath smelt of chocolate. She drew in a sharp breath. Why was the lighting in the corridors so dim? She needed to see him. But even if the lighting were better, she still would not be able to see him fully. As he drew near, she finally noticed the sparkly emerald green mask he wore. He matched her in every way. Wit for wit, and barb for barb.
“You needn’t fear, Mademoiselle. I have no intentions of ravishing you. I am sure we shall meet again, and when we do, I shall ravish you.” His last two words seemed like a promise to her, and it made her blood warm. She would love to be taken by a man like him. Passion and emotion the likes of which she never encountered, boiled beneath the carefully erected stone cold armour he wore.
“More’s the pity….I rather think I would be delighted to have a man like you ravish me tonight,” she whispered, shocking him with her scandalous retort. “If you don’t take care…my Uncle Pierre might discover you. He shall have your head in a basket if he does.”
“Why do you call him uncle?”
“I call him Uncle because he is related to me. He is a bastard. Both in name, and accident of birth.”
“Damnation. You’re actually related to that bloody prick? I pity you, Duchess.”
“I ask again. Who the bloody hell, are you, sir?”
“Ah, naughty, naughty. A lady of your fine breeding shouldn’t swear. It makes you sound like a common tart. But then, I imagine you and the common tart share a lot of things in common.” His galling insinuation hit her like a cannonball in the stomach. How dare he insinuate that her honour had been sullied in such a damning way?
“You, Monsieur, may go straight to hell.” He bore down upon her, and made her inch away from him until she was pressed against the wall. Somehow he had gained the advantage, and now looked down at her in the way a hungry wolf most likely perused their prey. Why hadn’t Daphne heard the ruckus and come to investigate?
“I am someone you only need to know as The Wolf.”
His admission made another jolt roll through her. He truly was her wolf. His breath made her cheeks tingle, and she every ounce of willpower she possessed to stop herself from throwing herself into his arms. Oh, how she would love to be held by a man such as he.
“I can help you get back to England.”
She shook her head. Here he was speaking perfect French, and he wanted to entice her with promises of whisking her back to England? He was so full of it—unless…
“I shall have to decline. Respectfully, of course.”
He sighed. Planting hands on either side of her, he closed in. She sighed. She couldn’t take this much longer. She would submit if he pressed much harder. Never in her life had a man bewitched her so completely. “You are quite stubborn, even more so, than what I’ve been told by a few trustworthy sources. But then, I do so love a challenge.” His dark blue eyes sparkled. His eyes captured the full allure of his soul. If they truly were the gateway to the soul, she had nothing to fear from this man. However, he was an obstacle that needed to be overcome, posthaste.
