What a Hero Dares (18 page)

Besides, clearly tonight was for Anton to display his brilliance, to take a bow for producing her father...and then make his demands. He didn’t want her dead, not yet. He wanted her at his mercy.

She looked at the mantel clock. Forty-five minutes left, and by her rough judgment, she had to cover nearly a quarter mile of scythed lawn to reach the gate. She had to get out of the house. She wanted time to better reconnoiter the grounds, and she may have to deal with any guards at the gate.

“Calm, what you most need is to be calm,” she ordered as she sat at the dressing table and tied up her hair before pulling on the black knit toque. She’d be nearly undetectable in the darkness once she donned her thin, black kid gloves, if it weren’t for her pale-as-death face, which looked as if all the blood had drained from it. Steadying breaths didn’t help. Attempting to slow her pounding heart didn’t help.

Her father was out there somewhere, with Anton. He’d been a prisoner of the Society, all these long months. They’d hurt him.

Her hands drew into tight fists.
They’d hurt him.

And she had no plan except to show up at the appointed time, and listen. None. She’d have to take her cues from Anton.

She made it down the servant stairs without being detected, and the footman guarding the fire was still asleep. If the banked fire died, and it appeared close to doing just that, he’d be in considerable trouble when the cook discovered it—what was his name? Jacko? One of the pirates and probably the meanest in the bunch if her one glimpse of him meant anything. She needed to avoid him, at all costs.

Zoé crept to the door, balancing on her toes so that her boot heels wouldn’t betray her, only to find it locked.
Idiot!
Of course it was locked! Every door and window in Redgrave Manor was locked or otherwise barred against the enemy. There might even be a pirate guard standing on the other side of the door, one who probably wouldn’t care for her explanation of why she was sneaking about dressed all in black like a thief attempting to escape the house.

There had to be another way out. As it was, the West Gate was on the other side of the huge building. The moon would be of some help, but the ground was unfamiliar and she couldn’t dare be late.

If only Anton had given her more time, but that would be the last thing he’d do. He wanted her reacting, not plotting some sort of strategy.

Think, Zoé! Think!

“Good evening,
mademoiselle
.”

She froze where she stood.

The voice was almost directly behind her. Soft, cultured. “Leaving us, are you?”

“Tariq.” Zoé turned about to face him, her mind racing once again.
Friend or foe, friend or foe?
She chose
friend
. “Goodness, you nearly frightened me to death.”

“If I may be so bold, I believe someone had already accomplished that before I spied you in the upstairs hallway.”

“What were you doing in the— Never mind that. Are you going to try to stop me? Because fair warning, Tariq, I won’t be stopped.”

“Yes, that is also obvious. Miss Rose suffers from cruel nightmares, and I offered to prepare a calming draught, as her sister didn’t feel comfortable leaving her. Simply some warmed milk and a few drops of laudanum.”

Zoé didn’t believe him. “You’ve been assigned to watch me. Trixie’s orders. Did you see who gave Magret the note earlier?”

“I’m sorry, but I did not. Miss Rose called out for me in her distress, and her sister sent Mr. Valentine Redgrave to summon me. I have trained as a physician in Beirut. Do you wish to question me further, or do you perhaps have more pressing matters to pursue?”

“You’re not going to attempt to stop me? You’ll notice I don’t believe you’d succeed.”

Tariq smiled, his even white teeth flashing against his honey-colored skin in the light from the fire. “I believe I was warned not to, quite sternly at that, by another determined lady.”

“But...but you work for Trixie.”

“I
oblige
the dowager countess to honor my father, and as a friend. Clearly you are set on whatever it is you need to do. How do you plan to circumvent the guards?”

“Guards,” she repeated. “Are there many?”

“I believe it would be safe to assume that, yes. May I brook a suggestion?”

Time was running out. “I don’t have much choice, do I? Nor do I have much time.”

An uncomfortable minute later, with one of her boots only slightly singed, Zoé was free of the rear clean-out grate of the massive fireplace, somersaulting out onto the ground, covered head to foot in wood ash. At least she wouldn’t have to worry anymore about her pale face betraying her.

She’d have to stir the fire when she returned, as well as remember to tell Max about this unconventional but effective way to avoid the guards.

She spared another moment to pray the posted guards were superstitious, because if any of them were to spy her out now, they might believe they’d just seen a ghost.

She crouched against the wall until her eyes became more adjusted to the faint moonlight, and then took off at a dead run. By the time anyone could believe what they were seeing, she’d be just a fading shadow, glimpsed, then gone from their sight.

At last, near-breathless from the run and the ashes that seemed to clog her throat, she could see the darker outline of the gates and their flanking stone guardhouses. She slowed, remembering the ha-ha. That’s all she’d need to do, fall into the damn thing.

She saw no guards patrolling inside the gates, and quickly assumed the worst before nearly tripping over a pair of long legs splayed out on the gravel drive.

“Merely sleeping, the pair of them.”

Zoé’s every muscle tightened.
Anton
. Where was he, out there in the dark? Still on the other side of the gates, ignoring the fact that a tall ladder and a tough length of leather placed over the sharp glass were all it would take to conquer the ha-ha? But he didn’t need to put himself to that trouble, did he? He’d known she’d come to him.

“Seems the earl’s hired henchmen aren’t averse to bribes, or to taking a sip or two from the bottles conveniently left inside their certainly uncomfortable posts. They’ll wake, too ashamed to report their failing. In other words, my reluctant dupe, if you can manage not to be discovered, it will be as if you never left your room tonight. I had worried, knowing how you and Max loved to
rut
. How did you manage to slip away?”

She went to the gate, grabbing onto the wrought iron bars with both hands. “
Cochon
. Enough! Where’s my father?”

“Why, right here. Standing just in front of me.” A shuttered lantern was opened slightly, and her father’s beloved face came into view. His silver hair was disheveled, his clothing nearly in tatters. He’d always been so proud of his appearance, so meticulous in his grooming. Having his daughter see him this way had to be worse than hell to him.

In his obvious agitation, Charbonneau abandoned his careful English for a rush of his native French. “Zoé. Is that you? Why do you dress like a lad? I can scarce recognize my sweet angel. Have you been playing in the ashes? Run away. Don’t linger to hear this man’s empty promises. He will kill me no matter what you do. Already his knife presses into my back. I welcome it, once I know you’re safe with the people in this house. Cling to them, and I die happy and go to be with your mother, having seen your face one last time.”

He managed a small smile. “Although I will tell you I think a bath and a more suitable ensemble wouldn’t come amiss for the daughter of a man of my stature. Now go, and may the saints go with you.”

He was being so brave! Zoé could barely remain on her feet.
You know I can’t simply turn my back and walk away, Papa. You’re not going to die. I’m not going to lose you twice.
She wanted to scream, to cry, somehow open the gates and throw herself in her father’s arms.

She wouldn’t give Anton Boucher that satisfaction. Her father wouldn’t approve.

The bastard was smiling, standing behind her father; hiding there, the coward. “Anton, enough of this farce—make me your offer.”

“My
offer,
Zoé? There is no
offer
. Even a simple mind like yours surely can grasp that much. You do what I tell you to do or your father dies.”

“No, no!” her father shouted, his spirit at last breaking, even as two large men in masks grabbed him by the arms and wrestled him away into the darkness. “Don’t listen, don’t listen—”

“I almost like him, you know, save for his foolishness in attempting to martyr himself to save his whore daughter. We’ve had to keep him bound and constantly watched since bringing him here, or else I do believe he might have found a way to take his own life. Again, to save you. Just as you threatened me in that Paris cell, if you’ll recall. You should have stayed away from all of this, Zoé. I think you and Monsieur Charbonneau could have become disgustingly wealthy if you’d both just taken to the stage.”

Where were they taking him? She hadn’t even had the chance to tell him she loved him.

The stiletto was in her boot. She could have it out in an instant. Even through the bars of the gate, she knew her aim would be true. Anton knew it, as well, but also knew she couldn’t chance such a move, not when her father would pay the penalty. “He’s an old man, Anton. If he is not allowed to grow older yet, I will find you and slowly slice you into very small pieces.”

He reacted to her words by stepping back a few paces, although he laughed as he did so. “As I said...the stage.” Then his voice turned hard. “No woman is the equal of a man, let alone his better. You’re inferior in both mind and spirit, meant only for pleasuring a man, attending to his needs and bearing his sons. Yet you all will insist upon believing that isn’t true, that you are as brave and capable as any man. That you’re here tonight, groveling, threatening, weeping like a puling infant, only proves the truth of what I say.”

“While you know the true face of bravery. Does that include putting a pistol to your nephew’s head even as he believed you were about to save him?”

“Georges made the necessary sacrifice and would have understood why what I did was necessary. He’s a hero!”

Zoé could feel bile rising in her throat. “And what does that make you, Anton?”

He let out a long string of obscenities aimed at her, and she smiled, knowing she’d hit her target full-center. When he’d finished, he said, “It’s as you yourself demanded,
enough
. I have some small chores for you.”

As Anton began to speak, for the first time since Magret handed her the note, Zoé was certain she’d done the right thing.

Now all she had to do was avoid the guards once again, brave the fireplace, rouse Max, apologize, listen to him call her a fool, explain, listen to
him
apologize (in his own way, which some might defer from terming an apology at all) and then they’d figure out some way to take what she’d learned and turn it all to their advantage.

She’d begin slowly, with the fireplace....

CHAPTER TEN

“T
HIS
HAD
BLOODY
well better be important, even earthshaking,” Valentine Redgrave complained as he made his way into Trixie’s elaborate dressing room, followed by Simon Ravenbill and, because their love was still young, and Simon hadn’t quite mastered saying
no
to her, Lady Katherine, as well. “And why is it so blasted dark in here?”

That was true enough, it was dark. The only two windows had been covered over in black velvet mourning draperies Dearborn had hastily unearthed from the attics at Max’s request.

“Oh, sit down, Valentine,” his grandmother implored, barely visible in the shadows. “All of you, sit down. Dearborn provided enough chairs. Obviously we’ve been reduced to holding clandestine meetings in our own house.”

“So that’s why we all had to stumble through the near dark? Because the house is being watched, even in the middle of the night? That’s fairly disgusting, I must say,” Val said. “Trixie, I’ll sit next to you, if that’s all right.”

There was a slight rustling in Trixie’s general direction. “As long as you promise to sit down and stop asking questions. I’ll make room on the chaise. Max, scoot. And get on with it, please. As Valentine said, we’re hoping for earthshaking.”

“Then never mind. Earthshaking, I think, should be faced while standing. Where’s your bridegroom?”

“You’d have to ask your brother, since he sent him off somewhere.”

The door opened one last time and Zoé slipped in, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. In her leathers and toque, she was nearly invisible, although the smell of smoke and ashes still somewhat clung to her.

Max was proud of her for being so brave, angry with her for being so foolish and madly in love with her because—well, because he was, damn it. Whether she believed that yet or not.

“Now that we’re all here and the door is closed, I think we can light more candles,” he said as he rose from the end of the chaise and stepped into the center of the room.

“Well, and would you look at you two, all dressed in black,” Val said a few moments later, as he leaned against the dressing table and lifted the crystal stopper from one of Trixie’s vials, sniffed at its contents. “Are you planning to be chief mourners at somebody’s funeral? Not any of us, I hope. And may I say, Mademoiselle Charbonneau, my sister has been longing to have a rig-out similar to yours ever since I told her about it. Haven’t you, Kate? Not Daisy, though. I’m having enough trouble just convincing her to stop wearing
brown
. Oh, don’t scowl, Max. I’m finished now. But you did wake me only minutes after I’d finally returned to bed after poor Rose’s nightmare. Happily, Tariq seems to have a calming effect on her. Do you suppose—?”

“Yes,” Trixie interrupted testily. “Anyone with eyes and half a brain would
suppose
. We can only keep our mouths shut and our fingers crossed, and in time we may be delighted. Lord knows the child deserves some happiness. A new country, a new life, a new love and her bad memories all left behind her. I vow, Valentine, you’ve been playing the fop in society too long. Thank God you had the good sense to convince Daisy you’re salvageable. Max, remind me again why you wanted him here?”

“When I remember, yes,” he said, standing in front of the mantel, where he could see everyone and everyone could see him. “We’ve had a development tonight. Zoé was approached by fellow agent and now known traitor, Anton Boucher, the man who sailed here with us the other night. It would appear he’s got her father—yes, Zoé saw him—and is using him for leverage, commanding her to do what he wants or her father dies. And before anyone asks, again yes, we both believe he’d do just that.”

“I didn’t mean that sort of earthshaking,” Val said quietly, all trace of the fop gone in an instant. “How do we help?”

The rest joined in immediately.

“You saw your father. That means you saw Boucher. Tonight?”

“Yes, of course tonight. And here, at the Manor.”

“No, not in the Manor. Somewhere close to the Manor?”

“He couldn’t have gotten far. In the dark, in unfamiliar countryside.”

“Dragging an unwilling man along with him.”

“The horses will have left tracks.”

Max clapped his hands for silence. “Just wait before you all go running for the stables, because that’s not the whole of it. Ah, Valentine, now I remember why you’re here. Do you recall telling me what you’d concluded while infiltrating the Society? That, in the end, it would turn on itself, destroy itself? Congratulations, brother. You were right.”

Valentine grinned. “You did hear that, Trixie, didn’t you? But if your hearing is beginning to fail you, I can repeat it.”

Kate giggled. “That’s one for your side of the board, Val.” The two were the closest in age, delighted in each other’s company, and between them had been behind more mischief as they were growing up than a regiment of hooligans.

Max looked at Zoé, raising his upturned hands and shrugging, hopefully to remind her that Redgraves weren’t your usual sort. They might appear frivolous, but the more Redgraves relaxed, the more dangerous they became.

Simon spoke for the first time. “Do we yet know Boucher’s part in all of this? Is he the Society’s connection to Bonaparte, or Bonaparte’s connection to the Society?”

“Not a simple question, and without a simple answer.” Zoé stepped forward. One thing about Zoé, Max thought proudly, she wasn’t shy. If she had what she believed to be a valid opinion, everyone was going to know it. “I believe the man must pin notes to his smallclothes each morning to remember who he’s supposedly loyal to that day. Mostly, we believe Anton is loyal to Anton. He’s cruel, ruthless, totally lacking in morals and conscience, and highly ambitious.”

She moved her gaze around the small chamber, pausing for a moment as she looked at every occupant, to bring her point home. “And he’s got my father, has been holding on to him for months, just as he hoped to do with me. Just in case he needed me. He wins, or I lose everything.”

Yes, that was one reason he loved her. Although she had to be longing to scream out her frustrations to the heavens, Max knew she would stick to business. Sympathy, at this point, would probably destroy her, so she simply wouldn’t allow it. She would keep her emotions in check, her mind clear, until she had succeeded or died. And for Zoé, just as it was with him, failure was not to be considered.

“Obviously we can’t let either of those things happen.” Max motioned for her to join him in front of the fire. Together. Whatever they were about to face, to dare, they’d do it together. “We’ve heard about your prisoner in the attics, Val, planned to see him, but haven’t yet had a chance to talk to him. Tell us what you know about him.”

“Harold Charfield?
Burn,
as he’s known in the Society. He’s one of Perceval’s many undersecretaries. Captured and sent here—someday I’ll tell you how I managed that—just in case we might need him. I suppose you’d say that, in some ways, the Frenchman and I think alike. But not to that degree, and that’s not what you want to know in any case, is it? Thinks very highly of himself, old Burn does, but he’s mostly bluster with a weak bladder. It wouldn’t take much to break him. So far, however, he doesn’t seem to know much. The Society is careful to limit information only to what each member must know to perform his assigned job. The Frenchman’s interested in him? I don’t know why. The only names he could tell us were ones we already knew. A prize of war, or some such thing and no longer able to make mischief in London, but as I said, so far, useless to us as a bag of warm spit.”

“Not anymore, Val. He may have been feeling safe as long as the Coopers were here, probably passing him notes from the Exalted Leader promising him rescue was close at hand or some such rot, but now he has to be concerned for his safety.”

“What are you supposed to do, Zoé?” Kate asked. “Kill him? He couldn’t want you to— Oh, my God, he does, doesn’t he? To save your father.”

“No, he doesn’t seem concerned about Charfield, and we’re hoping he’s made a mistake. It may be he doesn’t even know we have the man. It certainly isn’t a failure I’d share, were I the Exalted Leader.” Max looked to Zoé, who only nodded, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, allowing him to continue answering for her. “Whatever their plans in the past, and whatever they planned to do with me, it’s now Zoé they want, and Anton convinced them he knew how to get her. After all, she’d already proved she’d do anything to save someone she—”

Max paused, to allow the pain that stabbed in his chest to pass as he remembered how much Zoé had sacrificed for him. “It’s important to know this is a recent development, and that Anton hasn’t shared the fact that he has Monsieur Charbonneau. He has him hidden somewhere.”

“A man with that many balls in the air is bound to drop one of them, sooner or later,” Val interjected. “Now, and only for a moment, Max, where do you fit in all of this? I seem to have lost my place.”

“What the Society originally had planned for me, we might never know, although they may believe they still might need at least one legitimate Redgrave male alive after the French land in England.”

“An intriguing thought, that last bit. Perhaps you were halfway on your way to a wedding as you crossed the Channel?” Simon was leaning forward now, his tone soft, concerned. “And now to the heart of this strange new development. What are you to do for the Society, Zoé?”

“Assassinate Lord Spencer Perceval,” Zoé told him, sighing. “You tell them, Max.”

“Let me preface this by saying the idea belongs to the Exalted Leader, not Boucher. A Frenchwoman, penetrating Perceval’s inner sanctum, delivering the fatal blow. Successful or not, managing to escape or not, and already a known traitor, the result would be the same. The Exalted Leader—damn, how I hate saying that, over and over—believes Perceval’s death would provide the killing stroke to England, perhaps even double her and France’s chances of success. Zoé?”

“Anton was quite forthcoming about the remainder of the French plan, a sure sign he believes they still hold the winning hand. Yes, it’s everything you all thought it was, and thank God for your pirates. Vain men brag when they think they’re winning, long to explain their brilliance to the losers—always one of Anton’s failings, and I admit to encouraging it tonight.”

“Indeed, huzzah for the failings of men,” Trixie said fervently, lifting a glass of wine in salute. “I’ve traded on them all my life. My apologies, pets, I certainly don’t include my own family in that statement.” She smiled reassuringly at Zoé. “Go on, dear.”

“The Society is well aware of the broadsides in London, the newspaper articles, the essays, all condemning the monarchy and praising Bonaparte as a far-thinking man of the people. Hot-heads, scholars, wits—all of them stirring the pot. I’ve seen them, I imagine we’ve all seen them.”

“I’ve read more than enough of them,” Simon said. “If any of those blowhards was ever called on for more than words, they’d run to cower beneath their beds.”

“I agree,” Max told them, “but think about the thing before shaking your heads in dismissal and consider the matter from the Society’s perspective, the people most likely to agree with those broadsides. Perceval suddenly dead and Parliament thrown into disarray. King George mad as a hatter, his son and heir a wastrel and spendthrift, as unsuitable for the throne in his way as the king is in his. In many ways, just as Charles, and then Barry after him, designed for their own plans to fall out. The Society truly believes our countrymen will first panic, but then rise, turn on the monarchy, the greedy aristocrats who have kept their foot on the collective English neck for far too long. The French march in, to be met by showers of rose petals, and as their reward, the Coopers are awarded ownership of Redgrave Manor and all the considerable family wealth.”

“And perhaps Max’s hand in marriage for the ambitious Exalted Leader. Fools believe differently, but it remains the ambition of every Englishwoman to obtain a title, preferably with a male heir within the year and their husband in the ground shortly thereafter. Yes, it’s all far-fetched, pets, but possible,” Trixie told them. “These past years haven’t been easy for the populace, always with the threat of war over their heads. Costs and taxes rising to pay for the wars, new laws passed to better control our citizens. Unhappy people look for a villain to blame, as well as a hero who might save them. Remember, the Society has worked its members into positions in several levels of the government, and they’re presumably ready to act. How many times have you heard that England is ripe for a revolution of its own?”

“In recent years? Too many,” Simon said, nodding. “But it sounds as if Boucher has grown disenchanted with this plan?”

“Not Anton, as I doubt he cares either way as long as he’s well paid,” Zoé corrected. “Your answer is Bonaparte. Which probably best answers your other question. Yes, while pretending to work for the Crown, Boucher in fact works for Bonaparte...or at least fears him more than he admires the Society. And if anyone needs another reason that he told me all of this, I believe he wanted me to know how desperate for success he is, how serious he is about killing my father. In any case, when the emperor was made aware of this new part of the Society’s plan, he balked. A clever strategy, even if it failed, was to be commended, but he would not be remembered by history as a petty assassin. Anton came here, was ordered here, to deliver that message, and to... How do I best say this?
Nettoyer son gâchis?
”

Valentine smiled. “Clean up his mess? And how is he to do that?”

“It would seem he’s been told to take charge, personal charge, of the Society,” Max told them, taking Zoé’s hand. “He doesn’t want Zoé to go after Spencer, as the Society believes he came here tonight to order her to do, but only pretend to do so. In reality, he wants Zoé to kill the Exalted One, the leader. The woman.”

“So it was
her
plan, this assassination of Perceval. All right, I’ve found my place again.”

“Very good, Val. She’s begun acting on her own. Supposedly this isn’t the first alteration she’s made to the agreement with France. She’s become too enamored of her power, and too attached to the more tawdry
activities
of the Society.”