Intimate Betrayal Read online

  Obtaining information for the French was laughably easy. The so-called British nobility were entirely too well informed and too loose lipped for their own good. A few drinks, a few rounds of cards, and it was easy to discover who was currently working with sensitive information at the War Ministry.

  Once a mark had been identified, it was a relatively simple task getting someone on the inside; the ton changed household servants as often as they changed clothes. After the informant located where the information was kept, the Falcon went to work. Even after all these months of working together, Henri was still in awe of the Falcon’s talent. Cunning, ruthless, and light-fingered, the Falcon never failed to produce the documents. Although Henri had originally trained the spy, he admitted the Falcon’s talents now rivaled his own.

  Madeline Duponce entered the sitting room, interrupting Henri at his work. She was clad in a thin, transparent dressing gown, loosely belted at the waist. She crossed the room and came to rest at Henri’s side, running her fingers gingerly through his hair. She rubbed her lithe body provocatively against him, trying to gain his attention. They had spent an exhausting hour in bed together, but her actions, coupled with the memories of himself thrusting deeply inside her willing body, made him harden again.

  “Come back to bed, Henri.” Madeline pouted, pushing her breasts forward tantalizingly. “I grow lonely for your company.”

  “You are an insatiable slut.” He snorted with disgust. “You know I must copy this information and return it to the Falcon before six o’clock this evening. These documents must be returned to their owner before they are missed.”

  “But you have been in here for hours,” Madeline whined. “Why is it taking so long?”

  “I am using a new code,” Henri admitted. “It is very complicated and requires my complete attention.”

  “A different code? Again? Why does the Falcon insist on changing codes constantly?”

  “Because we have changed couriers and the Falcon does not wish to be placed in jeopardy if this man is caught. Very clever, no?”

  Madeline made a face at him, showing her opinion of the matter.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would say you are jealous of my admiration for the Falcon,” Henri baited her.

  “Ha,” she retorted with a flip of her long brown hair. “What a ridiculous notion.”

  Madeline was not, as everyone thought, his blood sister. She was his accomplice and lover and was as possessive of him in private as he pretended to be of her in public. They had been two ragged urchins, barely surviving on the revolutionary streets of Paris, when Phillipe Lobeur had discovered them. He was fleeing the country and had been handsomely paid to bring his sister’s two children with him. He did not properly care for the youngsters and they took ill and died. Phillipe was devastated by the loss, knowing he needed the children to obtain the guardianship necessary to access the vast Duponce fortune.

  Since the true Duponce children were now dead, Phillipe picked up young Henri and Madeline from the streets, substituting them for his niece and nephew. When his sister and her husband were guillotined, Phillipe, guardian to the heirs, successfully gained control of the Duponce money banked outside of France. The trio settled in England and were promptly embraced by British society: the two young orphans and their “uncle,” a noble emigre, who had managed to snatch his two young charges from the very jaws of death.

  Appearances and manners were of paramount importance in society, and Phillipe made certain his wards possessed both. Phillipe was a ruthless, unscrupulous man, totally lacking in moral character, and he passed these traits on to Henri and Madeline. The pair learned their lessons well, and were endowed with a natural gift for deception that made them well suited for their current occupation.

  “What are these?” Madeline questioned, sorting through the papers on Henri’s desk. She held up two white envelopes from Westgate Manor.

  “Oh, those,” Henri said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. “I picked them up by mistake. They are correspondence meant for the Duke of Gillingham. They were marked Personal and looked important. They are nothing. Some silly woman wants the duke to advise her on a wedding gift for Tristan and Caroline.”

  “Shall I put them in the pile to be returned with the other documents?”

  “Don’t bother. The seals have already been broken, and I don’t want to waste the time it will take to repair them.” Henri scribbled on his paper for a few more minutes, then put his writing quill down. “There. I have finally finished,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “Now come over here and show me how much you really missed me.”

  Alyssa spent the time she waited for Morgan to respond to her letter in utter misery. Her nausea increased, becoming more unpredictable. She never knew when it would overtake her and she would have to race from the room, gagging and heaving. It made her life very difficult. She felt certain Mr. Walsh thought she must be seriously ill, when she had to stop him twice in the same day, both times in midsentence, to rush from the room and throw up her meal.

  At Mavis’s suggestion, Alyssa started carrying hard, dry biscuits in the pockets of her gown, nibbling on them the moment she felt the queasiness in her stomach. They helped a bit, and Alyssa was thankful Mavis possessed a considerable knowledge of what was best for expectant mothers. Alyssa came to rely heavily on her advice.

  If Mrs. Stratton was curious about Alyssa’s sudden demand for the unappetizing toasts, she made no comment. Alyssa was grateful the cook was too preoccupied with the remodeling of the kitchen to be concerned with anything else. The very last thing Alyssa needed was a lot of attention focused on her. Her nerves were frayed, and her pregnancy made her moods too unpredictable to stand up to any scrutiny.

  The size of the work crew nearly doubled as Mr. Walsh, already behind schedule, became determined to complete the renovations on the house by the fall. The additional work load kept Alyssa occupied during the day, but at night her thoughts shifted. First to the tiny life growing inside her body and then to the infuriating man who planted it there.

  Her thoughts shifted from joy to terror as she tried predicting Morgan’s reaction to their unborn child. She would lie awake in her bed at night, fretfully wondering what arrangements Morgan would make for her and the baby.

  She supposed he would set up some kind of living allowance for them. Maybe he would even offer to buy a house for them somewhere. She wouldn’t object, as long as the residence was located someplace where no one knew her. Several years ago, Mrs. Stratton had told her of Lady Harmon’s youngest daughter Anne, who had been ruined, according to reliable sources, by the very married Lord Albert Johnson.

  Apparently Anne had been sent to Italy to have her baby and was never seen again. Alyssa knew, however, with Europe in such an upheaval, leaving the country was not a realistic alternative.

  The thought of marriage often stole into her mind, but given Morgan’s strong resistance to the institution, she held no romantic notions that he would insist she become his wife. Yet a tiny portion of her heart clung stubbornly to the notion that the duke would marry her out of genuine regard and affection rather than obligation. Deep within her heart, it was her most treasured fantasy.

  Whatever the final solution, Alyssa knew she would have to put her pride aside, remain calm, and accept what Morgan dictated. Despite their differences, she believed that Morgan would be generous and do anything within his considerable power to aid her and the child.

  Paramount in her mind was the protection of this small life fluttering within her body that she at first feared, then resented, but now had grown to love. For the first time in her entire life there would be someone totally hers to love. She would shelter her child and protect him with her very life, making sure he never came to harm.

  No matter where she eventually settled, Alyssa had every intention of passing herself off as a widow, hoping to ensure the baby would not carry the label of bastard. She shuddered at the thought of her innocent child being cruelly taunte
d by others and ostracized by society.

  The scars from the pain of her own isolated childhood ran deep, and Alyssa was determined that her child grow up in a secure environment, never being allowed to feel shame over his origins or parents. It might not be possible to give this child his proper birthright, but he would grow up surrounded by all the love she could muster. This baby would always know how much she loved and wanted him and there would never be any doubt the child’s needs would be placed above her own.

  All the windows and the doors were open in an effort to allow the warm July breeze to circulate through the kitchen. It was Sunday, and Westgate Manor was strangely silent without the sawing and hammering. Alyssa sat quietly in her chair, taking tea with Perkins, Mrs. Stratton, Mavis, Ned, and Lucy. Everyone’s attention was focused on Perkins as the butler read aloud from the London Times the glowing account of Tristan and Caroline’s wedding. Even though the paper was several weeks old, the splendid details of the glorious event were brought to life by the elegant prose, and the servants enjoyed sharing this intimate moment of their future employers’ lives.

  Despite her resolve to ignore the details, Alyssa listened along with the others, picturing the beautiful event in her mind. “The bride’s dress, an enchanting creation of white silk and taffeta, was accented with delicate hand-stitched Brussels lace sewn into the neckline and sleeves. Tiny seed pearls decorated the bodice, and the bride carried a bouquet of orange blossoms.”

  Perkins paused a moment and took a sip of tea before continuing. “The vows were exchanged at St. George’s in Hanover Square, with the prince regent himself in attendance. The groom’s brother, Morgan Ashton, Duke of Gillingham, stood up with him and, likewise, the bride’s sister, Lady Priscilla Ogden, supported her. The evasive duke was himself an object of interest in the choice of his wedding companion, one Madeline Duponce, sister to the Comte Henri Duponce. Speculation was rampant if another wedding would soon be occurring.”

  Alyssa nearly choked on her tea picturing Morgan with another woman as Perkins read that line. Alyssa left the kitchen abruptly, refusing to subject herself to any more pain. She stood alone at her bedroom window, wondering gloomily if Madeline was his mistress. As the tears fell freely down her face, Alyssa was momentarily distracted by the movement she felt in her belly. At first she was not certain what it was, the movement was so slight, but it happened a second time, and her tears fell harder. The baby had moved! It was so miraculous, and yet so frightening.

  Alyssa cradled her belly protectively. I love you, little stranger, her heart cried. Even if your father cares nothing for us. Alyssa’s tears started again as she thought of Morgan escorting Madeline Duponce to the wedding.

  A knock at the door interrupted her tears.

  “It’s Mavis,” the voice on the other side spoke. “I’ve come to see if you are all right.”

  Alyssa took a deep breath to compose herself. She wiped her eyes and let Mavis into the room. After closing the door, she turned to the older woman.

  “Time is running short, Mavis,” Alyssa said in a flat tone. “I have to start making some plans.”

  “Don’t you think it would be best if you wait until the duke arrives?” Mavis asked tentatively.

  Alyssa gave her a hard stare. “He is not coming, Mavis.”

  “Now you can’t be sure about that,” Mavis began.

  “Stop it, Mavis,” Alyssa interrupted. “It has been over six weeks since I sent those letters. I have heard nothing from him in all that time. ’Tis high time I faced the truth. The duke is finished with me.”

  “I feel certain you are wrong. You must write to him again.”

  “No!” Alyssa was vehement in her objection. “I refuse to humiliate myself further. You heard the newspaper report. The duke has found other, more pleasant things to occupy his time. I am on my own.”

  “You know that was just idle gossip in the newspaper,” Mavis continued, still trying to convince Alyssa not to give up hope.

  “I’ve already spent far too many sleepless nights trying to determine the duke’s attitude toward becoming a father,” Alyssa said sadly. “His silence has given me the answer.”

  “Oh my poor girl,” Mavis said with genuine sympathy.

  “I felt the baby move,” Alyssa whispered softly in awe. She clasped Mavis’s hands tightly in her own. “There is no time for pity, Mavis. This child needs me: I am all that he has. For the sake of my baby, I must put away false hopes.”

  “What will we do?”

  “First we must find a place to live. I intend to pass myself off as a widow, so we cannot settle too near Hampshire.”

  “What about money?” Mavis asked. “Will there be enough?”

  “I have saved all my wages thus far. It isn’t much, but it will help buy food for a while. How long do you think it will be before the babe begins to show?” Alyssa stood in front of the mirror, running her hands over her belly and critically examining her body. Her waist had thickened and her breasts were heavier, but so far her old, faded gowns still fit. She didn’t think anyone noticed her body’s physical changes, but if they had, she highly doubted pregnancy would be considered a possible explanation.

  Mavis eyed her speculatively. “No more than another month or two before your belly begins to stick out,” the old nurse predicted.

  “Mr. Walsh will be leaving in three weeks’ time. He expects the remainder of the work to be done under my supervision. If we stay until the renovations are complete, it will be the middle of September. Will my condition be obvious?”

  Mavis shook her head. “Yes. I’m sure you’ll be showing the babe by then.”

  Alyssa’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “We need the extra time.” She paced the room, thinking out loud. “I always inspect each day’s work in the evening. If I wait until everyone has gone for the day before making my inspections, none of the workers will see me. Perkins can relay any problems I have uncovered to the appropriate workers the following morning. Mr. Walsh is leaving on holiday, and Lucy, Molly, and Hawkins will be visiting with their families. The servants won’t return until Tristan and Caroline take up residence. Perkins will be here, and Ned of course, but somehow I will find the courage to tell them the truth about my condition.”

  “What about Mrs. Stratton?”

  Alyssa groaned in frustration. “It will be embarrassing for Perkins and Ned to be told, but I know they will keep my secret. Mrs. Stratton has a deep regard for me, yet I fear her tongue would get the better of her good intentions. It is simply too risky taking her into my confidence.”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” Mavis interrupted, warming to the plan. “Mrs. Stratton always talks about how much she wants to visit her cousin in Plymouth. If we can persuade her to leave within a few weeks, she won’t return until Tristan and Caroline move in, and we shall be long gone.”

  “We would have additional time to find a place to live, and the extra weeks’ salary will be most welcomed,” Alyssa added.

  “I have my pension from the duke, and we can stay in Cornwall with my sister Louise until we locate a cottage of our own to rent.”

  Alyssa had almost forgotten about Mavis’s pension, so generously provided by the duke. How could he be so kind to a woman he hardly knew, and yet abandon his unborn child? His bastard child, she reminded herself sharply.

  “Do you think we could do it?” Mavis asked.

  “The only problem I foresee is Tristan and Caroline,” Alyssa concluded. “Tristan’s last letter stated they are not even considering a move to Westgate Manor until Christmas. The house won’t be ready before the new season starts, and Caroline plans to be in London attending all the social gatherings. I’m sure he will be busy with her and not able to visit here as often. I can write him more frequently about the workmen’s progress, and when Tris does come, I shall be indisposed.”

  “Don’t you think he will become suspicious?”

  “Perhaps. If he does, we will leave. I only pray he is too interested in his new
bride to care much about me or this house.”

  “Then it is settled,” Mavis concluded with a sigh.

  “Yes,” Alyssa agreed slowly, her mind still occupied with the problem of money. She thought about all the extra furniture nearly overflowing in the attic. “I have some ideas about how we can raise a bit of extra money before we leave.”

  “Well, that’s enough planning for now,” Mavis admonished, not liking how tired Alyssa looked. “You lie down and take a nice long nap. I’ll wake you when dinner is ready.”

  Alyssa was about to protest before realizing how drained she felt. Now, more than ever, it was important she take care of herself. There was a lot to be done. September would arrive all too soon and she needed to be prepared to leave Westgate Manor. Forever.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tristan strolled into the duke’s study, seating himself in front of the desk where Morgan was working. He made himself comfortable in the leather chair, and then casually propped his feet up on the desktop.

  “Caroline wants to know if there will be room in your coach for us tonight. Grandmother has begged off from the evening’s festivities, and Caroline insists you and Madeline will need a chaperon to the opera.”

  Morgan gave Tristan a disgruntled stare. “And just how does Caroline know I am taking Madeline to the opera this evening?”

  Tristan stretched his arms up over his head and yawned. “They both attended Lady Jersey’s little soiree this afternoon. Although it would hardly take a genius to know you will be escorting Madeline. You have been practically glued to that woman’s side for the past few months.”

  Morgan’s ears detected the hint of sarcasm in Tristan’s voice.

  “You don’t approve, little brother?” Morgan asked, with a raised eyebrow.

  “Don’t get your dander up, Morgan,” Tristan remarked. “I was merely making an observation. But since you have asked my opinion, well, it’s not exactly that I don’t approve, I simply don’t understand the attraction.”