Surrender. Brenda Joyce
families flee France without receiving any kind of compensation from them at all. These Frenchmen and women had left everything they had behind; he hadn’t considered turning them away. But with the Countess D’Orsay, it was different. He knew he must never come to her rescue in a personal way. Their relationship must remain a strictly impersonal one—he was sure of it.
She was simply too enticing and too intriguing. She stirred up too many feelings, and he could very easily become attached. And he had no use for attachments outside of those to his family. He was a rogue, a smuggler and a spy—and he liked his life exactly as it was—he liked living outside society, he liked being on the run.
As for the kiss they had shared, he had to stop thinking about it. Thus far, that had proven impossible. He could not recall ever being so aroused, but when he had kissed her, it had also felt as if he were holding an innocent debutante in his arms.
Yet he knew better—she was a countess, a grown woman, a widow and a mother. She was not innocent and inexperienced. And if he believed, even for a moment, that he could enjoy her bed without becoming entangled with her, he would do so immediately. But he did not think it would be easy to leave her after a single night, so he would stay away—far away.
Therefore, no matter what she offered, no matter how she offered it, he was not going to France for her. He had never been more resolved.
“You have made it—and you are in one piece,” his brother said, cutting into his dark thoughts. He was embraced, hard, by a tall golden-haired man, more politely dressed than Jack was. No one could mistake them for anything other than what they were—brothers. “We are in the back,” Lucas added unnecessarily.
Jack was thrilled to see his older brother. Their father had been an irresponsible rogue, and he had abandoned their mother when Jack was six years old. Lucas had been almost ten at the time. Their uncle, Sebastian Warlock, had managed the estate for them for several years, mostly from afar, as an absentee landlord. Lucas had stepped into the breach by the age of twelve or so, taking over the reins at an early age. Now the brothers were as close as brothers could be, although as different in nature as night and day.
For Lucas managed not just the estate, but the family. Jack knew that a great burden had been lifted from his brother’s shoulders when their sisters had fallen in love and married. Now Lucas spent most of his time in London—or on the continent.
“How are you?” Lucas asked.
Jack smiled. “Do you need to even ask?”
“Now that is the brother I know so well. Why were you glowering at the crowd?” Lucas led him across the room and into a private back room.
Jack debated telling him a bit about the Countess D’Orsay, but then he saw Sebastian Warlock standing facing the fireplace, his back to them. As usual, their uncle wore a black velvet coat and dark brown breeches. As Lucas closed the door, the prime minister’s spymaster turned. “You are rarely late.” His glance was skewering.
“Yes, I am fine, thank you for asking,” Jack returned.
“I imagine that he is late because it is difficult traveling about the country with a bounty on one’s head,” Lucas said, pulling out a chair from the table, which seated four. A fire blazed in the hearth. Bread, cheese, ale and whiskey were on the table.
“Your brother harps like a woman when he is concerned,” Warlock said. “And he is always concerned about you. However, that bounty is the perfect cover.”
“It is the perfect cover,” Jack agreed. Lucas specialized in extracting émigrés and agents from the enemy’s hands and lands. He was a patriot and a Tory, so his having become involved in the war was perfectly natural and Warlock had known it when he recruited him.
Jack had been a different story. For while Jack occasionally moved such human cargo for his brother or another one of Warlock’s agents, Warlock was more interested in receiving the information Jack ferried across the Channel. A great many smugglers moved information along with their cargo across the Channel. Most Cornish smugglers were French spies, however. Jack found it amusing to play such games, and he knew Warlock had known he would think so when he had first approached him some years ago.
“I may have been briefly deluded by such an argument nine or ten months ago,” Lucas said, “but I am not deluded now. It is a very dangerous game. I do not like it. Sebastian, you are going to get my brother killed.”
“You know I did not place that bounty on his head. However, my first rule is to exploit opportunity, and that bounty has provided us with vast opportunity. Were you delayed?” Warlock asked Jack.
Jack took the proffered seat. “I was delayed—but not by the bounty.” He decided to smirk, as if he had spent the night in Evelyn’s arms. And he sobered. He could have seduced her, and maybe, he should have done so. But then he would probably be halfway to France as her errand boy.
Lucas rolled his eyes and poured Jack a scotch before sitting down with him. Warlock smiled and took a seat. He was an attractive man, but unlike his nephews, he was dark, with a somewhat brooding air. In his late thirties or early forties, he had the reputation of being a recluse. The world thought him a rather impoverished and boorish nobleman. It was wrong. In spite of his reputation, he did not lack for the ladies’ attentions.
“What do you have for me?” Warlock asked bluntly.
“I have it on very good authority that Spain intends to leave the Coalition,” Jack said.
A shocked silence greeted his words. But the war had not been going well for Britain and her Allies; France had recently conquered Amsterdam and annexed the Netherlands. Holland was now the Batavian Republic. There had been a number of French victories since the Allies’ terrible defeat at Fleurus, last June.
“You are confirming a rumor that I have already heard,” Warlock said grimly. “Now Pitt will have to seriously press Spain, before we lose her.”
Jack shrugged. He was not interested in the politics of war.
“What of La Vendée?” Lucas asked.
Jack looked at Lucas, meeting his glance. Their sister Julianne had married the Earl of Bedford in 1793. He had been a royalist supporter, and actively involved in the La Vendée uprising against the revolution. Unfortunately, the rebels had been crushed that summer, but fortunately, Dominic Paget had made his way home to Julianne, surviving a great massacre. But La Vendée had been rising again. The Loire countryside was filled with peasants, clergy and noblemen who remained furious over the execution of the king, and the forced secularization of the church.
In the Loire, the rebels were led by a young aristocrat, Georges Cadoudal. “He claims he now has twelve thousand troops, and that there will be more by summer. And once again, his question is, when? When will Britain invade Brittanny?” Jack said calmly. But as he spoke, he recalled Cadoudal’s desperation and fury.
“Windham has yet to finalize the plans,” Warlock said. “We only have a thousand émigré troops amassed for an invasion of Brittany, but someone has suggested we use our French prisoners of war, and if we do, we will have about four thousand troops in sum.”
“At least we know they can fight,” Jack joked.
Lucas smiled a little, the tension inherent in such a discussion relieved.
“There must be a timeline, Sebastian,” Lucas said. “We all know that General Hoche has already sent a great number of rebels into hiding. We lost La Vendée once. Surely we will not fail the rebels there again.” Lucas was grim.
Jack knew he was thinking of their sister Julianne. When La Vendée had gone down in flames, her husband had lost his mother’s family estates. His heart had been broken—and so had hers.
“There are many issues, but I am trying to convince Windham and Pitt to invade Quiberon Bay in June,” Warlock said. “And you may relay that to Cadoudal.”
Jack was glad he had some news to convey, and news that might reassure the rebel. Warlock stood and