A Summons From His Grace (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 4) Read online

  He nodded and walked away. A moment later he returned. She paid for the bread and left the café with Claude.

  “You need to go alone, like you always do. I promise to follow close behind.” She pressed the croissant into his hand.

  He nodded and turned away from her. Lisette tore off a piece of the baguette and followed, remaining almost a block behind until Claude stopped before the door of Pasquel’s home. She had only met the man twice but knew him on sight when he opened the door. He took the note, turned, and saw her. He paused for a moment, his brows furrowed. Lisette gave a slight shake of her head, and he disappeared inside. The moment he read the word falcon, he would be packed and gone.

  The boy continued on to Etienne’s. A servant came to the door this time and as much as Lisette wished to explain, she feared getting too close. If they already knew Etienne’s involvement, someone could be watching him now. It was the same reason she remained across the street from Pasquel’s door and traveled opposite of Claude.

  Still, she was confident he would understand they had been compromised and needed to leave Paris immediately.

  As much as she hated for Claude to return home, she knew he must. If he didn’t, the soldiers would become suspicious. The boy began his way back up the streets, the croissant long gone. Lisette followed, her heart heavy with fear of what they might find.

  She watched as Claude turned onto the street in front of his house before she ducked into the narrow street and made her way to the back of the Vaux home. She silently opened the back door, expecting to find Jean Pierre where she left him, but the spot was vacant. Shots rang out from the front of the house as she stepped into the kitchen.

  ~ * ~

  Lisette rushed into the parlor, knife clutched in her hand. Vaux’s head lay on his desk. Crimson blood stained the parchment and a gun remained clasped in his hand. A soldier lay on the floor in front of the desk, hand over his bloody chest with eyes unseeing towards the ceiling.

  Two other soldiers were on the rug in front of a settee. She assumed they were dead as well. Jean Pierre fought with the fourth man, his gun on the floor by the door. It was a matter of strength between the two, with the other man bending Jean Pierre backwards, hands clasped around his throat. Lisette didn’t hesitate. She rushed forwards. Before she could reach Jean Pierre, the soldier paused, gasped, and collapsed at Jean Pierre’s feet, a knife protruding out of his belly. Her stomach revolted at the carnage. She had been trained for this and was prepared to take a life, or so she had thought. This was the first time her skills had been tested or she witnessed death.

  Jean Pierre straightened and rolled the man out of the way.

  “Papa,” Claude called from the foyer. Lisette panicked. She couldn’t let the little boy see the dead soldiers, and most certainly not his father. What would become of the child? His mother died a few years ago, and essentially he was now alone in the room.

  She rushed past Jean Pierre to stop Claude.

  “Stay where you are, Claude,” Vaux called from behind her.

  Lisette turned to find Vaux sitting, a hand to his forehead. Blood still ran through his fingers, but she was relieved just the same to know he wasn’t dead. She continued until she came to Claude and kept him from the entry of the parlor. “Your papa would like you to wait here while his business is concluded.”

  The boy nodded solemnly.

  “Burn everything,” Jean Pierre order while pages rustled beyond her sight.

  “I’ll gather a few belongings and meet you by the back door.” Vaux entered the foyer. He had found a handkerchief and pressed it against his forehead, though it was quickly turning red. He smiled gently at his son. “My head is harder than they anticipated.” He tousled his son’s hair. “Wait here with Lisette, and I will be back in a moment.”

  She gestured to Claude to sit on a bench away from the front door where he still could not see further into the house and placed herself by a window where she could watch the street. No other soldiers were about, and the soldiers’ horses remained tied to a post outside. They needed to get out of here in the event anyone came to check on the men, though they probably didn’t expect them to return anytime soon.

  Vaux vaulted down the stairs, two traveling bags in his hands, as Jean Pierre came to the door. Flames crackled behind him.

  “You are burning the house?” Alarm rose in her breast.

  “I told him to. We can’t risk anything being discovered.” Vaux stopped by Claude and focused on Lisette. “You warned Etienne and Pasquel?”

  “Yes.”

  “They will let the others know. Now, we need to get out of Paris before it is too late.” He held his hand out to Claude, who hopped down from his seat and took it. The party turned down the hall and made their way to the back door. After checking to make sure the back of the house and narrow street were still empty, they made their way into the shadows. Vaux headed north with his son. Lisette and Jean Pierre turned towards the river. Her arm linked with his, looking as if they were doing nothing more than going out for a morning stroll. Her heart still beat a mad tattoo, and she fought to keep from checking over her shoulder.

  The streets were more crowded with people, carriages, and horses. It was easier to blend in and disappear. They wove southwest along streets and avenues until they came to the Seine. A cold wind whipped around them. Jean Pierre turned up the collar of his coat. They continued west along the river, and the further they traveled, the more the crowds thinned. Lisette cast glances in many directions as they walked. She wished she knew where Jean Pierre was headed, but he hadn’t bothered to say a word to her after they left the house. Her contact for getting out of the country was in the opposite direction. She hoped they were walking towards his, because it was unsafe to be wandering the streets for Paris without a plan.

  When they reached another of the many stone bridges, Jean Pierre directed her down the steps leading towards the water edge. At least below they were out of the direct wind, though they weren’t completely sheltered. The blue sky and bright sun were deceiving, as one would think it would be a bit warmer.

  Several fishermen sat along the walls, casting their lines into the water. Ahead was a cluster of small fishing boats mixed in with larger boast. “Some of the men who don’t have families choose to live on their boat,” Jean Pierre explained.

  She stopped. “Would your contact own a boat?” The words were a whisper, but she didn’t take her eyes off the soldiers.

  ~ * ~

  Bloody hell. Soldiers stood at Maurice’s boat. He turned Lisette under the bridge. John glanced down at the woman who clutched his arm. To anyone observing, she looked like a serene young woman, her arm linked with his, enjoying a stroll along the river. But he could feel the tension in her grip. It radiated from her being. He suspected she could feel the same from him.

  As soon as they were on that boat, if that were even possible now, he and Lisette would leave Paris behind. He wasn’t sure he was ready to leave this city. Of course staying would see him killed, so it was not an option, but he had come to love it here. He wondered if Lisette felt the same. Maybe they could return together someday, when Napoleon had been dealt with and they didn’t have to pretend to be who they were not.

  John quickly stifled that thought. Once they were safely on English soil, they would part ways and never see one another again. He had no doubt the Home Office would continue to use her, as they would him. Their being in this position, hiding and running from soldiers, had not been due to any mistakes on their part. But would he and Lisette ever work together again?

  The chance was unlikely. She could never work in England. Had she been poor without family, perhaps, but he was certain there were enough who already knew her as Danby’s granddaughter that subterfuge would be impossible. More than it was for him. Where would the Home Office assign her next? What would they call her? She may have been christened Elizabeth, but to him she was Lisette.

  John glanced back. Two soldiers stood at Maurice
’s boat. Three more were on the deck. How had the man been caught?

  “I tell you, I don’t know what you are talking about.” Maurice’s voice carried on the wind towards them. “I fish, I sleep, I eat, I fish some more.”

  “We’ve been told you deliver messages, and people, for England.”

  Maurice spit on the ground. “I am an old man. Why would I do such a thing?”

  “I hear the money is good.”

  Maurice laughed. “As you can see, I am a very rich man.” He gestured to the boat that needed a good coat of paint. It was far from the opulent yacht his family owned in England.

  “We can’t find anything,” a soldier called from the deck of the boat.

  “Search again,” another called from the shore.

  The three on the boat shrugged and disappeared below.

  Maurice shook his head, turned and waved the soldier away in disgust before he took a seat on the bench along the wall. John wasn’t sure what to do. It would be too obvious if they returned up the steps, but they couldn’t walk towards Maurice either. Of course, most Parisians did turn away from the military police, whether they were guilty of anything or not.

  Elizabeth pulled on his arm and John broke his focus. It was stupid of him to have stood and stared. Thank goodness the soldiers didn’t notice. Elizabeth turned, and they continue further under the bridge but were stopped by a wall halfway through. Bloody hell, now they couldn’t go anywhere.

  “Can they still see us?”

  John bent forwards and glanced towards the boats. The soldiers who had been below deck had once again emerged. They shrugged and John wished he could hear what was being said. “If they come this way, yes. But not from the boat.”

  If it was darker, or the sun at a different angle they would be in the shade, but such was not their luck.

  They stood there for a few moments looking out at the river. “We can’t just stand here. It looks odd. Let’s go back up to the street and wait to see what happens.”

  John nodded his head and tugged her hand. They emerged at the foot of the stairs just as the soldiers turned in their direction. Maurice remained safely by his boat and John knew he noticed him. Elizabeth sucked in her breath, and John acted. He put Elizabeth against the wall and did what any other healthy Parisian man would do when taking a walk along the Seine with a lady. He kissed her.

  ~ 4 ~

  The impact of Jean Pierre’s lips on hers stole Elizabeth’s breath. His arms tightened around her, and his body pushed hers against the cold, stone wall. The soldier’s voices grew louder. Elizabeth knew this was a ploy on his part, but it didn’t make the heat of his body any less warm. She tilted her head and wove her arms around his shoulders.

  Jean Pierre groaned and pulled her closer than she thought possible, and she clutched him just as tightly. Goodness, she had no idea kissing could be so delightful. She didn’t even know how to describe it. All she could do was allow Jean Pierre his way and mimic him the best she could.

  Her head spun when she touched her tongue to his, and her knees almost gave way. Perhaps all of the bragging he had done about his gifts as a lover was more fact than fiction. She was certainly starting to believe the possibility.

  Soldiers laughed and directed a few crude comments towards them, but Elizabeth didn’t care. All she wanted was to continue kissing Jean Pierre. To think she had kept refusing him this while they were still at the palace. Of course, that was all a game and the part they played. Now she wished she would have challenged him.

  Silence surrounded them. Jean Pierre was gone as quickly has he had come. The cold wind smacked at her face, and she reminded herself they were still playing a part, no different than being actress. One he was a master at. She needed to remember that kiss meant nothing to him, just as it shouldn't mean anything to her. It would be easier if it hadn’t been her first kiss.

  Jean Pierre stepped away, looked up the stairs, and turned towards Maurice’s boat. “They are gone.” He was a bit breathless.

  She took a step towards the boat but Jean Pierre pulled her back under the bridge. “Wait.”

  She stood still in the shadows beside Jean Pierre. Soon Maurice’s boat approached and pulled up to where they stood. “Hurry,” the older man ordered.

  They clambered onto the deck, and Jean Pierre pointed for her to go below.

  “Halt,” a voice called out from the opposite shore. Elizabeth glanced up. Four soldiers who had recently been with Maurice’s boat raised their guns and aimed. Jean Pierre fell to the deck as the shots rang out, and Elizabeth hastened below, but not quickly enough. Pain seared at her side as if someone had stabbed her with a hot poker, and she allowed herself to fall below deck. Had Jean Pierre been hit? Was Maurice injured?

  She struggled to stand, but waves of dizziness washed over her. She couldn’t tell if the boat was moving away from the soldiers or if it was the simple movement of the waves along the Seine. Were they stuck here waiting to be arrested? Elizabeth tried to find the will to care, to get up off of the floor and help, but darkness descended.

  ~ * ~

  “Lisette!” Why wasn’t she responding? He needed her help. He glanced to his left. Maurice, ducked low, unfurled another sail. The winter wind blew and their speed finally picked up. Unless they moved quicker, the soldiers would catch up to them. As it was, they could run along the shore, taking as many shots as their guns would allow while he was left alone on deck. “Lisette!”

  She didn’t even bother to answer. She had to have heard him. John glanced towards the stairs and his heart seized for a moment. There was blood on the deck and more on the top step. John fought the urge to go to her to see how badly she was wounded, but he couldn’t leave his post or he would be an open target. He had long run out of ammunition, but inch by agonizing inch, their vessel was pulling away from the soldiers. Ahead was an island, and Maurice navigated along the right side, successfully blocking the soldier from view.

  John scrambled below deck to find Elizabeth crumpled on the floor. He lit the lantern and hung it on a peg above for better light. He could not see an injury through her dark cloak, so he pushed it aside. Her black dress didn’t make the task any easier. He moved his hands along her arms, then torso, until he touched warm liquid. Blood smeared his palm. He leaned in closer for a better look. There was a small tear in the material of her dress on her left side. John tore it wider. The bullet had entered just above her hipbone. He rolled Lisette to her side and she moaned. As much as he hated to hurt her, he needed to see if it had gone through or not.

  There was no exit wound. He gently laid Lisette on her back. He pulled up her skirt and tore her chemise before he brought the material up and pressed it against her wound. She needed a doctor now, but it was too dangerous to stop. All he could do was see to her comfort until they could find help.

  John stared down at the pale face, the light brown lashes brushed against her cheeks, the lips without color. Just moments ago he had been kissing those full lips. It was the only thing he could think of at the time that the soldiers would not think suspicious. He never dreamed a jolt of desire would strike, heating his blood in a way it had not been heated in a very long time. Had they not been in such dire straits, who knew how long he would have stood there kissing her? Or what else he would have attempted.

  From the moment he met Lisette, he had been attracted to her. Any healthy man would be upon looking into those clear blue eyes and soft face with a complexion of cream. But, until a short while ago, he’d kept his attraction at bay and his heart shielded, not allowing himself to consider her anything more than his partner working to stop Napoleon. They had a job to do, which did not include any form of intimacy. And given how that one kiss had affected him, he was glad he’d never attempted it before. Lisette would have been too much of a distraction. Men had gotten killed because of beautiful women. He now knew how easily it could happen.

  He studied her lips. Was the kiss exceptional because of the danger, or was it exceptional
because it was Lisette? He needed to see that she recovered so he could determine the truth, one way or another. Had this been anyone else, John would still have done anything and everything in his power to see that they didn’t die. But the lady before him was the granddaughter of the Duke of Danby—a man he did not want to anger. Nor did he want to have to face Edgeworth just yet. Not only would Edgeworth want to beat him to a bloody pulp for allowing Elizabeth to be injured, but for kissing her as well.

  No, that was a reunion he wanted no part of.

  ~ * ~

  Elizabeth woke to the gentle rocking of a boat and tried to focus on how she came to be here. A lantern gently swayed in the door leading to the upper deck. Not that this was a ship, or even a large boat for that matter, but the small cabin beneath allowed for a narrow bed and small dresser.

  Had they gotten away? They must have or she would be in prison—not in Maurice’s bed.

  Where was Jean Pierre and how did she get in bed, anyhow? After reaching for the blanket, she pushed it aside to sit up and fell back onto the pillows with a groan. Now she remembered.

  “Ah, you should not move, Lisette.” Jean Pierre was leaning down into the cabin, a wide grin on his face.

  “I just determined that myself.” Heat rushed to her face. She was clothed only in her chemise, and she yanked the covers back up to her chin.

  He took the three steps down and entered the room. “How are you feeling?” he asked before he placed a hand on her forehead, then her cheek.

  “Tired and thirsty.” She attempted to lick her lips, but there was no moisture in her mouth.

  He grinned wider. “The fever is gone. I was worried for a while.”

  “Fever?”

  His eyebrows wrinkled in worry. “Don’t you remember being shot?”

  The moment came back to her in a flash. “Vaguely. We escaped?”

  “Barely.” Jean Pierre settled on the side of the bed, reached to the table, and poured her a glass of water. He assisted her in sitting up. “Drink slowly. You haven’t had anything for two days.”