Isabella's Secret Summer Read online

“He is more than an asset to the Crown,” Logan returned smoothly. “We have reason to believe that he’s been playing both sides of the coin.”

  Of course, that was completely false, but it was the most compelling argument that Lord Liverpool had decided they should go with. It certainly wouldn’t do to let the French Army know that Rutherford was particularly valuable, as well as responsible for the bringing about negotiations for the Sixth Coalition, which saw Prussia, Sweden, Austria, and Germany re-enter the war, causing Napoleon to work on building up his forces for defense.

  “Ah, I see.” The captain appeared to consider their request, but in the end, he took the pouch of coins and tucked it away in his jacket. “I fear, gentlemen, that your request shall be denied. Rutherford has become rather useful in easing strife among the British soldiers that have been captured on the battlefield. He will have to remain.”

  As he rose to his feet, he settled his hat back on his head and prepared to depart. Ridge stood up as well. “What of the coin?”

  Capitaine Caron patted his jacket. “It will be well taken care of.” He grinned. “Consider it safe passage back to your ship.”

  As he exited, Logan bent over to Ridge and murmured, “I suppose it’s time for Plan B.”

  “Indeed.” Ridge ground his teeth as two soldiers returned to escort them away. He sized up his opponents and said. “I think the one on the left looks to be your size.”

  With that, Ridge withdrew the knife in his boot and held it up to the soldier’s neck before he had a chance to bat an eyelash. Logan didn’t hesitate to do the same to the other man. “Now, listen very carefully,” Ridge said quietly, deadly. “Your commanding officer might not have given us what we came after, but you are.” He glanced down between them. “Strip.”

  The man’s eyes bulged, but when he started to utter a string of curses rather than do what he was told, Ridge cuffed him on the side of the head. He fell to the ground in an unconscious heap. The other man opened his mouth, but before any sound emerged, he met the same fate as his comrade.

  Ridge looked over at Logan. “Can’t anyone just do as they’re told?”

  Logan shook his head as he bent down and began removing the man’s boots. “You should know by now that we always have to do things the hard way.”

  ***

  Isabella stayed closed to Pierce, when it became apparent that he was on her side. But when he would have led them away from the safety of their current cover, she tugged on his sleeve. “I can’t leave here without...” She paused, realizing that it wasn’t a good idea to say Ridge’s true name, even if this man seemed to be a friend. Until she knew for certain, she had to be on her guard, so she offered Ridge’s pseudonym, “One-Eye.”

  Her companion glanced at her in surprise. “You know him?”

  She gasped, feeling her hopes surge. “Yes! I came here on board the Malice.”

  “It doesn’t seem like him to put a woman in danger.” He frowned.

  “It’s not as if he had much of a choice,” Isabella returned. “I sort of became a stowaway on his ship.”

  One eyebrow quirked upward. “Indeed.”

  She might have imagined it, but she thought his lips twitched as well. “Have you seen him?” she prompted. “He came here with another man, his first mate. He’s tall with black hair—”

  “Not as yet.” He hesitated, as if unsure how much to reveal to her as well. “I was looking for them when I stumbled across you.”

  This time it was Isabella’s turn to frown. “How is it that you are able to move about freely, when the rest of the British prisoners are forced to remain in guarded camps?”

  “I was allowed out on good behavior,” he said evasively, which made Isabella shake her head.

  “You escaped, didn’t you?”

  This time Pierce stared outright at her, and then he tilted his head back and laughed. “You miss nothing, do you? I can certainly understand how One-Eye has tolerated your presence on board his vessel.” But then he turned serious, “Don’t forget what I told you. If anyone asks, you are undertaking a prisoner transport. But let me do most of the talking. I have a certain rapport with most of the soldiers. Keep your head down and out of the light when possible. You need to hide that hair of yours.” He glanced at her backside. “I’m still not sure anyone would mistake you for anything but a female, but you could try for a bit of a swagger.”

  Isabella nodded as he led them out into the open while she tightened her grip on the fallen soldier’s rifle. “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  “To the captain’s quarters. If someone is wishing to offer a parley, they are taken there first to speak with Capitaine Francois Caron.”

  Isabella’s heart was pounding the entire time they made their way across the yard, sure that at any moment someone would see through their ruse. While she had to comport herself a certain way in London, it was a far cry from strolling through enemy territory where the sight of so many French uniforms and weapons was enough to make it difficult to swallow.

  Pierce informed her in low tones that they were nearing the office of the captain, but about that time, two soldiers came around the corner.

  As they stopped just short of colliding with each other, with years of polite decorum screaming in her head, Isabella spoke before she could tell herself that it was the wrong thing to do. “Pardon me.”

  She cringed as one of the soldiers stopped and whipped his head around. “Excuse moi?”

  Time itself seemed to stop as the man who spoke up walked back to her. Her lungs were robbed of breath, and her heart lodged against her ribs. Dear God, this is it. She never thought she would die so young, and in France of all places, but it appeared that her end was nigh.

  When the soldier grabbed hold of her arm and put his face right in front of hers, Isabella’s knees weakened and she slumped in relief. Gone was the eye-patch, but even if he had still been wearing it, she would have known those stormy, dark eyes anywhere.

  Stormy, as in not pleased to see her.

  “Isabella?” he hissed.

  She swallowed. “Hallo?”

  “I don’t believe this!” he snapped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “She came to rescue me.”

  Ridge whipped his head around again, this time pinning Isabella’s escort with a firm look, although his jaw went slack. “Rutherford?”

  “Indeed,” Pierce returned with a grin that Isabella was quite sure Ridge didn’t appreciate. “I daresay the Home Office has recruited some rather lovely agents in my absence.”

  Isabella was more than a little puzzled, but before she could ask anything more, Logan interjected, “I daresay I hate to interrupt this little… reunion, but perhaps we could continue this discussion in the safety of being aboard the Malice?”

  With the hot glare Ridge shot Isabella, it was clear that there was going to be more than a mere “discussion” taking place when they returned. At the moment, he looked angry enough to throttle her. “Lead the way, Montgomery,” he ordered.

  With Ridge taking up the rear of their little quartet, the tension began to mount even higher as they made their way toward the entrance of the compound. But even then, Isabella was well aware that they were far from freedom. The entire harbor was swarming with French soldiers who would like nothing more than to send a few British spies to their maker.

  But while their presence was noted, no one seemed to pay them any heed.

  Except one man — and he could easily destroy everything.

  “Where are you going with that prisoner?” Simon barked.

  Isabella might have just imagined it, but it was as if a silence fell across the entire encampment. She hastened to lower her head, praying that the hat she wore would conceal her true identity. Even so, she clutched the rifle in her hands until her knuckles turned white.

  Logan replied in perfect French, “We received the order to transport him to Paris immediately.”

  “Is that so?” Lord Wistenberry snar
led. “In that case, perhaps I should go with you. I have a sensitive message that needs to be delivered. It’s my way of atoning for my—” He broke off abruptly and Isabella dared to sneak a glance at him, although his attention was fixed on Ridge. “What’s your name, soldier?”

  With a flawless accent, Ridge replied, “Major Hugh Berger.” He took a step forward. “Although when it comes to addressing your superiors, I would be a bit more respectful.”

  Instead of appearing chastised, Simon scoffed and put his face right up next to Ridge. “I’m a viscount, you imbecile.”

  Isabella was afraid that they might come to blows, so she turned to Logan with a silent plea in her eyes. “That’s enough, children,” the agent drawled. “We had best get a move on if we are to make it to Paris by nightfall. Dawn is already upon us.”

  Until that point, Isabella hadn’t realized how long they had been there, but true enough, the sun was beginning to tint the horizon with a fiery orange glow.

  As they started to march off once more, Isabella abruptly lost her footing on a stray stone. Pierce was quick enough to reach out and catch her before she fell, but not hasty enough to fix her hat which fell to the ground — and freed her long copper braid.

  With a gasp, she bent down and pick up the hat, but as she did, she risked a glance behind her to see if Simon had noticed.

  He had.

  His complexion turned a mottled shade of red, his dark eyes bulging as his focus locked on her. “What the bloody—?” He didn’t even finish his sentence as he took a threatening step toward her. “You evaded me once, you bitch, but it won’t happen a second time!”

  Simon stopped as the muzzle of Ridge’s rifle was placed directly beneath his chin. “Touch one hair on her head and you won’t have to worry about the consequences of the French. You’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”

  The viscount stiffened and glared at him. “You’ll regret this.”

  Ridge didn’t even blink. “I regret many things, but your death won’t be one of them.”

  Emotion flickered in Simon’s eyes as he appeared to weigh his options, then he took a cautious step back. With one last deadly glare at Isabella, he whirled about and shouted, “Guards!”

  “Time to go.” Ridge grabbed hold of Isabella’s left hand, and they started running.

  Logan and Pierce weren’t far behind, but the moment they cleared the encampment’s barrier, the sound of curses and thunderous footsteps reached her ears, just before the Frenchmen began discharging their weapons.

  “They’re shooting at us!” she cried, not even bothering to hide her distress. She ducked her head as a bullet whizzed past.

  “You don’t say,” Ridge returned in a mocking tone. “Then again, it’s not as if this hasn’t happened to me before.”

  Isabella stared at Ridge in shocking horror. “And you’re… fine with this?” Two more stray shots interrupted her.

  “Not particularly, no,” he retorted. “But especially not with you.”

  She fell silent after that, the fear she might end up in enemy hands overrode any further argument.

  Thankfully, the harbor wasn’t as far away as she’d imagined. But considering she’d been praying furtively in the back of a cart full of smuggled supplies on the way to the compound, she’d been a little preoccupied when it came to judging distance.

  At least, without her stays, she could breathe a little easier, which made running for her life a bit less challenging, even though her lungs were starting to burn from her exertions.

  “We’re going to need to get out of the harbor the moment our feet touch that deck,” Ridge yelled over his shoulder.

  Isabella watched as he yanked his hat off and tossed it to the side, and then withdrew the patch from the inner pocket of his jacket and settled it over his left eye, all without releasing her hand from his grip.

  Sounds of pursuit continued behind them as the cutter came into view, hostile French demands being called out that they ignored. If there was one small mercy, it was that the stunned faces they passed decided it was best to stay out of the fight, pirates and British soldiers alike turning their backs on the uproar and tending to their own illicit business.

  The moment they reached the gangplank, Isabella could have wept with relief, but until they reached English shores, she knew that the threat could follow them out to sea. At least they would be able to see who followed them, now that the sun had fully risen as a bright, yellow orb in the cloudless, blue sky.

  They hadn’t even boarded when Ridge began shouting orders to his crew. “Lift anchor and get this ship out to sea!”

  The men leaped into action, releasing the sails, and getting everything ready to depart. Ridge didn’t release Isabella’s hand until they were on deck.

  From the rail, Isabella watched in horror as several Frenchmen began to rush upward toward the ship. She wasn’t surprised to find that Simon was among their number, his distorted face full of hatred as he locked eyes with her.

  Fortunately, Ridge kicked the gangplank out of the way, sending several men crashing into the water, their own momentum propelling them forward, as the Malice began her laborious pull away from the docks.

  More shots rang out as the cutter was bombarded with enemy gunfire, but then Logan and Pierce began to return with a volley of their own. Isabella crouched low and covered her head with her hands as pieces of the wooden ship splintered around her, deadly lead balls missing their mark by mere inches.

  A cease in the discharge allowed her to breathe, as Ridge bellowed, “Get below decks!” When she turned her head, she realized that he was speaking to her from the helm where he was focused on steering them out to sea.

  Isabella nodded and rose at the same time another shot rent the air. But where all the others had missed, this one hit its mark, ripping through Isabella’s heavy wool coat with all the heat of a fireplace poker. She hissed as she gripped her right thigh. She glanced at Ridge, but since he didn’t appear to notice the incident, she certainly didn’t want to alarm him, so she limped back to the cabin she’d left just a few hours before.

  Perspiration was starting to dot her forehead, the pain from her injury starting to break through the shock that she had actually been shot. She went inside and sat on the cot, glancing down at the coat, to find that there was a crimson stain starting to appear. She exhaled steadily and, while she didn’t know much about the perils of battle, she knew she had to find a way to stop it from bleeding further.

  Removing the coat, she tossed it aside and closed her eyes upon finding the dark trousers that Ridge had given her were soaked with the sticky dampness of her blood. She closed her eyes and prayed that the bullet wasn’t lodged in her thigh, and after she peeled back the fabric, she realized with a bit of relief that it was just a rather nasty gash, the bullet appearing to have just grazed her.

  She tore off one of the sleeves of her shirt and tied it around the wound for a temporary fix. Hopefully, Ridge would be able to find something better when he arrived to check on her later.

  Exhausted, she lay back against the cot and shut her eyes. She needed but a brief moment to collect herself. Her limbs ached and her eyes grew heavy. Then weariness crept in that was just too much to ignore.

  Perhaps a nap then, and when she awoke, she could convince herself that this had all been nothing more than a bad dream. So she gave in to the blessed relief of oblivion.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ridge wanted to collapse against the wheel of the ship, but he wouldn’t give in to the impulse and allow his body the rest it required until he’d checked on Isabella. He’d wanted to go to her earlier, but until the danger had passed, his place had been at the helm to guide them into open waters.

  God knows what she must be thinking. As a gently bred woman, she was likely pacing her chamber and ready to lash out at anyone who entered, or else burst into tears. At least, that had been his experience with females when it came to such a traumatic experience as the one she’d just bee
n through.

  As Ridge called for Logan, he noted the other man’s face was about as weary as his own. “Can you take over for a few minutes?”

  His first mate took the wheel and murmured, “That’s quite a woman you’ve got there, Claymoore. I wouldn’t let that one get away.”

  Ridge regarded his friend with an even stare, Liverpool’s warning weighing heavily on his mind. “If it were so simple.”

  He turned away, but before he could go below deck, one of his crewmen intercepted him. “Cap’n.”

  Ridge spun around reluctantly and saw the man twisting his hat in his hands. “Whatever it is will have to wait, Marley.”

  When he would have continued on his way, the man blurted out, “It’s about Lawson.”

  Ridge paused this time. With his hands on his hips, he glared at his companion. Now that he considered it, he hadn’t noticed the man’s presence when they’d returned. “Out with it, then,” he said curtly, although his patience was starting to wear thin.

  Marley swallowed visibly. “’E was murdered.”

  Ridge took a step closer. “Pardon me?”

  The man’s eyes widened. “It’s just wha’ I said, Cap’n. I ’eard ’im an’ a Frenchman talkin’ earlier about th’ lady we pulled from th’ water, an’ then th’ soldier slit ’is throat.”

  Ridge narrowed his eyes. “Just what did they say about the lady?”

  “That she was supposed t’ be th’ payment for someone named Wistenberry.”

  “I see.” Ridge digested this information. While it wasn’t a surprise, it did prove that he’d underestimated the viscount’s reach when it came to persuasion and the temptation of coin. He was apparently more resourceful than he’d given him credit for, but Ridge wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Until Simon was captured, Isabella wasn’t safe. “Thank you, Marley.” About to turn away, he paused and held up his hand. “Er, what did you do with the body?”

  His crewmember shrugged. “Tipped ’im into the harbor.”

  “I see. Carry on.”

  He headed downstairs, the need to see Isabella, to hold her in his arms even stronger than before.