Kitabı oku: «Betrayal», sayfa 4

Resisting the urge to smooth the hair back from his forehead, Pippa stepped away from the bed and packed her herbal bag. ‘He should be fine now.’

‘Thank you, Pippen,’ the Duchess of Rundell said, coming over and taking Pippa’s hands. ‘I will never be able to thank you enough.’

Pippa felt awkward and embarrassed. She didn’t want anyone’s gratitude. She just wanted…She glanced at Dev and saw his roguish grin. She just wanted things she had never wanted before, things she couldn’t have. Not now.

‘You don’t need to thank me.’ Pippa gently pulled her fingers from the Duchess’s grasp. ‘I am glad I could help Dev.’ She stepped back. ‘If you will excuse me, I am very tired.’

‘Of course, child,’ the Duchess said. ‘Sleep as late as you need.’

‘Sweet dreams,’ Dev added, his hazel eyes twinkling with devilry.

And what type of dreams did he expect her to have? Pippa thought sourly as she made her way back to her room. As far as Dev was concerned, she was a young man who couldn’t even grow a beard. She knew from living with her twin that not being able to grow facial hair was tantamount to being a baby.

Pippa closed her door behind herself and looked around the room she had been given. It was masculine in its simplicity. A large oak four-poster bed took up the centre while a matching armoire hogged one entire wall. A Turkey rug covered most of the wood floor, and blue drapes that echoed one of the rug’s colours hung from the high ceiling to puddle fashionably.

What would Dev do if he knew she was a girl, and her room at home was done in peaches and soft greens? He would be scandalized. If she was unmasked, she would be beyond redemption. Dev’s liking would turn into loathing. It was a thought she could not bear to contemplate for long.

Deverell St Simon’s admiration and friendship meant too much. To lose them would be unbearable.

Chapter Four

Pippa shifted the very fashionable hat she had just bought to cover her too short hair. Then, with a determined tread, she pushed open the bank’s door and entered the cool interior. The sprig muslin morning gown that would have been better for a good ironing left her arms and much of her neck bare to gooseflesh.

She had packed the gown, reticule and kid slippers in her portmanteau for just this occasion, and had had a devilish time of it keeping the women’s clothes hidden. The Duchess of Rundell had assigned a maid to put her clothes up, and Pippa had had to shoo the girl out any number of times, telling her she had already unpacked.

Her letter of introduction that would allow her to draw funds on her father’s account was in her reticule. Nearly all the money she had brought with her from England was spent and tomorrow Dev was taking her to meet Wellington. From there she would continue her search for her brother, and that would require more blunt.

The use of blunt, a cant word Philip had taught her, brought a smile to her lips. She would find her brother. She would.

‘Pardon—’ a French-accented woman’s voice intruded on Pippa’s vow ‘—but have we met before?’

Wariness tightened the muscles between Pippa’s shoulders as she turned to face the speaker. The Marchioness of Witherspoon stood not less than two feet away, studying Pippa like a naturalist studies a bug pinned to a specimen tray. The Frenchwoman must have noticed the similarity between Pippa and Pippen from the hospital.

A shiver skated down Pippa’s spine as she forced a smile. ‘I don’t believe so. I would have surely remembered if we had.’ She made a slight curtsy and tried to edge around the woman. The sooner she was away, the sooner the Marchioness would forget the memory.

‘Non, non,’ the Marchioness said, her small white hand shooting out and coming to rest on Pippa’s arm. ‘Do not run, chérie. I mean you no harm, only…’ Her head cocked to one side and her blue eyes studied Pippa. ‘I could swear I have seen you before. In Brussels, perhaps?’

Pippa shook her head. ‘No, milady. We have never met.’ She moved her arm so that the woman’s hand fell away. It was like having a chain opened. ‘Excuse me, but I have an appointment.’ That was not the truth, but she hoped to soon have an appointment.

Before the Marchioness could detain her further, Pippa spurted forward. The last thing she needed was for someone to penetrate her disguise.

Even as her palms turned clammy at the possible ruin, an image of Dev as she had left him formed in her mind. Her step slowed and her gaze saw nothing in the bank. For the first time since she’d met him, Dev had been dressed to go out, his tall, lean form shown to advantage by buff-coloured buckskins that fit his legs to perfection and a bottle-green coat of superfine that showed his broad shoulders to advantage. Smudge-free Hessians had hidden the scars on his right leg—not that they mattered to her. She sighed.

Would he find her attractive dressed as a woman? She berated herself immediately.

Whether Dev would be interested in her was not an issue. Deverell St Simon was not her reason for being here. Nor would he want to be, considering how she was flaunting the conventions of their society. Best to put all thought of him from her mind.

Suiting action to thought, Pippa presented her letter of introduction to a clerk. While she waited, she watched the people around her. To her surprise, the Marchioness was still on the premises. She seemed to be depositing a large sum of money which was causing a stir with the young man taking it.

Briefly, Pippa wondered why the woman would be depositing money when the normal course of action for an Englishman or woman while in a foreign country was to draw on their British bank. Before she could dwell long on the problem, she was approached by another clerk and escorted to a large desk where the bank manager smiled benignly at her.

The Marchioness’s actions quickly slipped her mind as she concentrated on her transaction.

Her task done, Pippa retraced her footsteps to the small closet in the hospital where she had stashed her boy’s clothing. It was a matter of minutes before Pippen emerged, carrying a wicker basket, the letter of introduction safe in the breast pocket of the jacket. Her first instinct was to dump the basket and revealing clothes in the nearest heap of trash.

It had been safe to bring the dress with her and keep it in her portmanteau until she had moved into the Duchess of Rundell’s town house, where servants were constantly cleaning and straightening her belongings. The dress would have to go. The letter of introduction was much easier to hide and irreplaceable. She could always buy another dress.

On her way out of the hospital, she saw a woman kneeling by one of the patients. From the threadbare look of the woman’s dress it was obvious she didn’t have much money. Yet love shone from her eyes as she gazed at the man whose head lay in the pillow of her lap. Tears tracked down the woman’s cheeks even as happiness made her face glow.

‘Hush, darling,’ she said. ‘All that matters is that you are alive. I love you no matter what.’

Using the only hand he had left, the soldier gathered his love’s fingers to his lips. Moisture blurred Pippa’s vision. Another couple weathering the horror of war.

Without another thought, Pippa crammed a pound note into the basket and edged toward them. Unobtrusively, she set the wicker container beside the woman and slipped away.

Outside, the August heat quickly evaporated the moisture from Pippa’s eyes. The sunshine was golden and warm on her skin, easing the tightness in her chest. The brisk walk to the town house lifted her spirits.

‘Master Pippen,’ the butler said, bowing her into the house. ‘Her Grace wishes your presence in the morning room.’

Pippa grinned at Michaels. Since moving here, she and the old retainer had become fast friends. Michaels had taken her under his wing and endeavoured to remind her of the proper behavior for a young man of Quality, as he did the Duchess when she failed to do the proper thing. Pippa would be sorry to leave him.

She gave the butler her hat. ‘Thank you. I suppose that means I must go there immediately.’

‘It is customary.’

Pippa’s too large Hessians, which she padded with socks in the toes, clumped on the polished black marble floor as she made her way. A footman opened the door and announced, ‘Master Pippen, your Grace.’

‘Fustian, Jones,’ Her Grace said. ‘There is no need to introduce Pippen.’ The footman nearly smiled before catching himself and closing the door. ‘Come here, child.’

Pippa nearly shook her head. The staff was completely devoted to their mistress, but her lack of formality was often a burden they did their best to correct.

‘Good afternoon, your Grace,’ Pippa said, making a leg before taking the outstretched hand the Duchess held to her.

‘Call me Alicia. How many times must I tell you that? You saved my son’s life, we won’t stand on formality.’

‘Yes, your Grace.’ Alicia was too familiar. When Dev’s mother frowned, Pippa said, ‘I am sorry, milady, but as much as I know you would like it, I cannot bring myself to be so familiar with you as to call you by your Christian name.’

Michaels might often think Pippa lacked correct manners, but ‘twas not so. Her grandfather had drilled her and Philip in the behavior required by their stations. They did not call duchesses by their first names. Not unless they had run tame all their lives in the lady’s household, which was not the case here.

‘Child, I shall surely lose my temper with you if you persist in this stubborn adherence to polite manners that is not necessary between us.’ She pulled Pippa down to sit beside her on the pale blue silk-covered settee. ‘Why, I begin to feel like a mother to you. And the first thing we need to do is get you some evening clothes. I am having a small dinner party tomorrow to let our close friends know that Dev is fine.’

Pippa’s face blanched. The very last thing she needed was a male tailor taking her measurements.

‘Thank you, your Gr—Alicia.’ Using the Duchess’s given name was a desperate attempt to make Dev’s mother more accepting of the following refusal. ‘But I cannot put you to the trouble. Besides—’ she brightened ‘—I won’t be here much longer. Right this moment, Dev is making arrangements for me to meet Wellington. When I find out where my brother was last seen, I will head there.’

‘Nonsense. No matter what you learn from the Duke, you won’t be leaving here in the next couple of days.’

The door slammed open before Pippa could remonstrate. Dev strode into the room, his brown hair awry and his hazel eyes wild.

‘Bloody swine!’

‘Dev!’ Pippa jumped up without thought and ran to him. ‘What is wrong? Are you hurt? Sit down and let me see.’

She wrapped one arm around his waist and urged him to the nearest chair. As soon as he sat, she fell to her knees in front of him.

‘Is it your leg? Help me get this boot off so I can examine it.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Dev snarled. ‘I deserve to feel this pain.’

Pippa rocked back on her heels and stared up at him. The wild look was still in his eyes, but the skin around them was dark and bruised looking. His full lips were thin. He looked in pain.

‘What is this all about?’ the Duchess demanded, coming over and taking her son’s hand. ‘There is no excuse for your rudeness to Pippen.’

Pippa watched the emotions battle across Dev’s face: anger, hurt, contrition and back to anger. Something was terribly wrong.

‘That damned Napoleon. May he rot in hell. May the ship taking him to St Helena sink and take his carcass to the bottom of the sea for fish bait.’

Pippa reached up and smoothed the tumbled lock of hair from his brow before she realized what she was doing. The motion was so revealing, she dropped her hand, stood and paced away. The more distance between them, the harder it would be for her to do another action so unlike what one man would do to another.

The Duchess cast her a quick, appraising glance before turning her attention back to her son. ‘Calm down, Dev, and tell us what has happened.’

“Tis Patrick.’ The words were torn from his throat and sounded like a raw wound. ‘He’s…damn it. He’s dead.’

Patrick was the friend whose whereabouts had been the first thing Dev wanted to know when he regained consciousness. All Pippa’s resolutions fled. She rushed to him and gathered him close. His head fell to her shoulder.

‘I’m so sorry. So sorry,’ she crooned.

For long minutes she rocked him, trying to absorb his anguish. She could give him a sleeping draught, but that would do nothing for the grief. She knew. This was the ripped-apart feeling she’d first had when the letter had arrived saying Philip was dead. Nothing but time would ease what Dev was going through now.

Finally, Dev pushed away. ‘I’m all right. You can stop coddling me.’

‘Of course,’ she muttered.

Pippa released him immediately and stepped away. Her face flamed at what she had done. The best interpretation anyone could put on her action would be that she cared for Dev as a brother would. The worst was that she was a woman in disguise. Best that she get away and let his mother comfort him.

‘Please excuse me.’ Without waiting for a reply, Pippa rushed from the room.

Alicia, Duchess of Rundell, watched the slim figure of her guest fly out before turning a worried look on her son. ‘I am sorry about Patrick. He was a good man and a good friend.’

Dev stood and limped to the wall of windows that overlooked an extensive garden that was in full bloom. Rosebushes mingled with iris and sweet alyssum. The beauty did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest or the urge to smash his hand through the glass.

‘His death was a waste. I was glad before that we defeated Napoleon. I am ten times gladder now.’

Alicia followed him and put a comforting hand on his arm. ‘You are right.’

Dev gripped her hand. ‘And what am I to do with young Pippen, Mother? You saw the way he comforted me. It was more intimate than I would have expected.’

Alicia met his troubled gaze squarely. ‘What are you going to do? You are the one who laid his head on the…lad’s shoulder.’

Dev sighed. ‘So much sorrow and so much confusion. The boy is too soft and too compassionate for his own good.’

‘Perhaps,’ the Duchess said with a strange smile. ‘But right now, you need rest.’ When his mouth opened on what she knew would be a protest, she put one finger over his lips. ‘Don’t argue with me. Do as I say for once. You will feel better for the sleep.’

To her surprise, Dev did as she urged. That, more than anything else, told her how devastated he was.

And what was he going to do about ‘Pippen’?

Nearly three months after arriving in Brussels, Pippa finally stood outside the door to the Duke of Wellington’s office. She owed this meeting to Deverell who lounged in a chair along the wall, his wounded leg straight out in front. A brass-handled cane leaned against his thigh.

His mouth was a thin line, the residue of yesterday’s news about his friend. He had not come down to dinner last night, and her heart had ached for him.

Outside the day was hot and humid, a storm moving in. Every once in a while, Pippa caught Dev frowning and she knew the weather change was causing his leg to ache—although it could as easily be the grief over Patrick. This was something he didn’t need right now. He was not fully healed. But then, none of the people suffering from the battle of Waterloo needed the pain.

‘When we return home, I’ll get you some laudanum. Just a little to ease the pain.’ She was mildly surprised that she had called the Duchess’s town house home, but it felt that way.

He looked at her and forced a smile. ‘My leg is nothing, Pippen. I will be fine. I don’t like waiting, that’s all.’

She nodded even though she knew that was only a small part of his discomfort. In the last weeks, she’d learned that Deverell St Simon was impatient but he was also kind to others. He’d had his outburst yesterday, and now he was not going to subject anyone to his feelings. He was protecting her the same way he protected his mother.

A lightheartedness that was out of place in the current situation suffused her. The emotion was scary. As soon as she found out where Philip had last been seen, she would leave. She had to. It was better that way. For everyone.

Dev was so handsome. His brown hair had grown longer in the past weeks and brushed the bottom of his jacket collar. One shank of it fell attractively over his high forehead. Pippa had long since lost count of the number of times she’d wanted to smooth it back, but the gesture was too intimate for a lad to do to another man or a maiden to do to anyone. Yet, she had lost control yesterday and done exactly that. The emotions she felt for Deverell St Simon were overwhelming.

She sighed and looked away.

‘A penny for your thoughts?’ Dev asked, bringing her gaze back to him.

‘Nothing that would interest you,’ she muttered.

‘Lord Deverell,’ a young, eager aide to Wellington said as he stepped into the room, ‘the Duke will see you now.’

Dev grabbed the cane in his right hand and used it to lever himself up from the seat. Pippa bit her bottom lip and resisted the urge to rush to him and help. That was the last thing a proud man like Deverell would want.

‘Your companion, too,’ the aide added.

‘Thank you, Peter,’ Dev said, motioning Pippa to precede him.

The office was as spare as the man it housed. The Iron Duke, the hero of Waterloo, sat behind a large desk, all his papers in neat piles. His dark hair was cut short, his dark eyes drooped at the corners and his long nose was the epitome of the aristocratic British ideal. He was neatly dressed with no creases visible.

Dev went to attention. Pippa stood several steps behind, studying the most famous man in the world.

‘Lord Deverell,’ the Duke said, ‘take a seat. You, too, boy,’ he added without glancing at Pippa.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Dev said, sinking into one of several plain wooden chairs. He stretched his hurt leg out and hooked his cane on the back of the chair where it would not be in the way or seen.

Pippa took another seat, sitting on the edge. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to stop their shaking.

‘What do you need?’ Wellington asked in his abrupt, down-to-business manner.

‘Sir, I’d like to introduce Pippen LeClaire, a relative of Earl LeClaire. He’s in Brussels looking for the Earl’s grandson, Viscount Staunton. Supposedly, the Earl received a letter from the Home Office saying the Viscount was dead. The news nearly killed the Earl, and he sent Pippen here to find out what was going on.’ Dev cleared his throat as though what he intended to say next made him uncomfortable. ‘It seems the Viscount has a twin sister who does not believe he is dead.’

Wellington looked at Pippen. His gaze was so penetrating, she felt pinned to her seat. For a brief moment she even thought he could see through her disguise.

‘What precisely is your relationship to Philip LeClaire?’

She held his disconcerting gaze without flinching. ‘I am a distant cousin. The closest male relative besides the Earl, his grandfather.’

Wellington asked several more questions in an effort to establish her connection. ‘Do you have a letter of introduction?’

Pippa gulped. She did, but it gave her real name and said she was accompanied by her aunt Tabitha. ‘No, sir. The Earl was too upset to think about such a thing. All he wanted was for me to sail immediately.’

Wellington studied her for several more long minutes. ‘Major St Simon, do you vouch for this person?’

Dev sat straighter. ‘I owe Pippen my life, as do many of your men. The lad has worked in the hospital for the last five weeks. Ask Major Smythe, the surgeon.’

Wellington looked from one to the other. ‘The Home Office sent that letter because Viscount Staunton is believed dead. We don’t know that for sure, but he dropped from sight two months ago. He was last seen in a Paris tavern.’

No one had actually seen Philip die. The tension that had built in Pippa burst. She jumped to her feet. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you. If you will tell me the name of the tavern, I’ll go there immediately.’

A slight smile curved the Duke’s thin lips before disappearing and leaving his face grim. Wellington was not known for his friendliness or social abilities. He was a general.

‘I need to speak with Major St Simon now. I will tell him the information you need.’

The urge to fall into a curtsy, as though leaving royalty, was strong. Instead, Pippa bowed deeply. This man had given her a place to start her search and renewed her hope.

With a spring that hadn’t been in her step for weeks, Pippa left. She would wait for Dev outside in the sunshine that matched the sudden lifting of her spirits. Nothing could mar her optimism now.

Dev watched Pippen leave. The lad had a lift to his walk and a smile on his face that had not been there before. Once more, the boy looked almost feminine with that glow in his eyes. He shook his head. This constant thinking that Pippen was too much like a woman was not good. He had been too long without female companionship, something he would remedy shortly.

‘Major,’ Wellington said, breaking into Dev’s thoughts, ‘you have been promoted to lieutenant colonel for your bravery at the Battle of Hougoumont.’

Dev suppressed the shout that came to his lips. Even though his father had provided for him, initially buying him a captaincy and setting up a trust fund, and his maternal grandmother had left him a small inheritance which allowed him to live like a man about town, he was still a younger son whose future was the military. This advance before he was thirty put him well on the road to success in his chosen career.

‘That is great news. But I didn’t do anything unusual. Every man there showed bravery.’

‘True. But you lived. The others who survived have also been rewarded.’

Dev sobered. Yes, he was still alive. Unlike Patrick. The memory, so recent and so raw, felt as though someone had grabbed his wounded leg and squeezed. It was an effort of will over heart to keep his sight from blurring. His head bowed.

‘Damn Napoleon,’ he swore softly. ‘Damn that Corsican to hell.’

‘We have,’ Wellington said. ‘For a man of Napoleon’s ilk, St Helena will be like hell on earth. He won’t escape again.’

‘Thank God, and all our men who died.’

‘Quite right,’ Wellington said. ‘And because of this, I have a mission for you.’

Dev’s head snapped up. He grasped at something to do that would keep his mind from Patrick.

‘I want you to go with Pippen LeClaire and find Viscount Staunton. I believe Staunton is a traitor.’

Dev stared, his mind a riot of conflicting thoughts. ‘Why?’

‘We thought Staunton was spying for us, but he was last seen by one of our men talking to a known French agent. Later that evening, another one of our men was found dead. Someone had to reveal his identity. I think that person was Philip LeClaire.’

Anger boiled in Dev. ‘A British peer betraying his country. That is the worst type of treason. The man should be shot.’

‘Precisely. We want Staunton found and brought to London, but…’ a thin smile stretched Wellington’s mouth ‘…to be tried and hung as a traitor to the crown. Had we caught him during the battle I would have had him shot.’

‘I will find the scoundrel, sir,’ Dev said, his earlier anger still roiling and making his gut twist.

‘I know you will. Because Staunton is the grandson of a respected and liked Earl, not to forget a very powerful man, you will report directly to me. While I am nearly a hundred per cent sure that Staunton is the traitor, his family is too influential for this type of action to be bandied about. No one—and I repeat, no one—is to know what you are doing.’

Wellington picked up a sheet of paper and began reading what was written on it. Dev knew he was dismissed. He eased himself up and resisted the urge to rub the ache in his leg. His disgust and fury over a British peer betraying the country that had made him everything he was gave him the strength to walk out of the room without limping.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Dev used the cane. One look at Pippen’s radiant face told Dev the upcoming journey was not going to be easy. In fact, it was going to be the hardest thing Dev had ever done. He was going to betray Pippen’s trust in him, and he owed Pippen his life.

Sudden exhaustion made Dev’s shoulders slump and his leg hurt even more. Using the cane, he made his way to the chair he had used earlier and nearly fell into it.

Pippen did a jig on his way to stand in front of Dev. ‘Is this not exciting? ‘Tis the best news I’ve had in over a month. I am leaving tomorrow for Paris. I won’t be coming back to Brussels.’ The words babbled out of the boy’s smiling mouth. ‘Oh, yes. I must send a message to Grand—Philip’s grandfather to tell him the latest information.’

Dev groaned.

Pippen fell to his knees in front of Dev, concern wrinkling his brow as he began to gently massage Dev’s lower leg through the thick leather of the Hessian boot. ‘Oh, you are in pain. Let us go home and I will give you something.’

Dev stared at the boy, his gaze going from the black hair to clear green eyes and on to lips that were too full and too pink and finally to Pippen’s slim fingers that were surprisingly strong. They eased the discomfort of his wound. Lying was not going to be easy.

‘I am going with you,’ he said. ‘Wellington promoted me to lieutenant colonel and told me to take some time to heal my leg. I am going to use that time to help you, as I promised I would.’

Joy filled Pippen’s face to be instantly followed by another emotion Dev could not name. ‘Don’t feel that you have to do that, Dev. I know you’re trying to help me as payment for the care I have given you. You don’t need to. I am a healer, and I would have done the same for anyone.’

‘But you didn’t,’ Dev said quietly. No, Pippen had saved his life, and now he would use Pippen to do what must be done. Patrick and others were dead because of men like Viscount Staunton. A jolt of remorse shot through Dev, quickly followed by sorrow over Patrick and renewed determination to find the traitor.

If there was one thing Dev had learned in the past six months, it was that life is never easy.