"Indeed, but you must hear me out first." Eva poured a cup of tea for herself. "As Charles has said, the political situation in France is dangerously volatile at the moment. I know this is going to be hard for you to hear, Nerissa, but you would serve Perry best by remaining here in England and preparing a loving homecoming for him — while I go to France and negotiate for his release."

  "You? But Eva, you've been dreadfully unwell . . . Why don't you let one of my brothers go?"

  "Because this is something I must do," she said firmly. "I have much to atone for where your family is concerned, Nerissa. My conscience is burdened. Please, let me do this — for you, for Perry, for Charles." Her face grew shadowed for a moment. "And, for Lucien."

  "Lucien? He will never let you go by yourself."

  "Lucien" — Eva affected a superior look — "will do as he's told."

  An amused male voice cut through their conversation: "Lucien will do what?"

  Both women jerked their heads up; there was the duke standing in the open doorway, one brow raised, his eyes gleaming as he took in the two startled faces. He strolled into the room, seated himself beside Eva, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  "I understand that a letter from Charles came for me this morning," he said conversationally. "Perhaps you'd like to share it, my dear?"

  "How did you know that?"

  "I know a lot of things, my love. Do hand it over."

  Eva rolled her eyes, grinned, and relinquished the letter. She watched as Lucien quickly scanned it, his face going grave. "I must leave for France at once."

  "I am going with you."

  "No, Eva, I forbid it. You have been ill. I would not have you accompany me on such a perilous mission —"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "It is too dangerous —"

  "Now, look here, husband —"

  Nerissa wisely chose that moment to intervene.

  "Really, Lucien . . . you did tell us all that you're turning over a new leaf. That you're no longer going to control our lives. If Eva wants to go, I think you owe it to her to submit without argument."

  Lucien's jaw tightened as Eva rose to her feet.

  "Your sister's correct," she said. "Besides, I know my way around French diplomacy far better than you do. You would be well advised to let me handle this."

  "But —"

  "Lucien," Nerissa warned.

  He thinned his lips. Took a deep, slow breath as he reined in his protests, and sought the calm both women were both denying him. Oh, this letting go, this relinquishment of control . . . it was going to kill him, he just knew it. But Eva was right. She was capable. She knew her way around this situation far better than he did, and having her along in Perry's rescue would be an asset, not a detriment.

  He exhaled, and looked bleakly at his wife. "I can't win," he murmured, shaking his head. "I just can't win."

  "No," she said, grinning as she got to her feet. Linking her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his, kissing him until the bleakness left his eyes and they began to simmer with building heat. "You can't win, so you might as well stop trying."

  Chapter 29

  War was declared between France and England the following day.

  While Eva, Gareth and Andrew went to Portsmouth and prepared for the crossing to France, Lucien hurried to London, where he was granted an audience with yet another hapless soul who owed him a favor: the First Lord of the Admiralty. Within hours, he was on his way back to Portsmouth, where he informed his wife and siblings that they were to journey to France as guests of a certain Captain Christian Lord aboard the 74-gun warship, Arundel.

  Predictably, the captain — a tall, austere man with pale gold hair and foggy gray eyes — was not at all pleased to have civilians aboard his ship, and even more irate when he learned that one of them was a powerful and famous duke. Still, Captain Lord graciously gave over his own cabin to the Duke and Duchess of Blackheath, ordered his first and second lieutenants to relinquish theirs to Lords Andrew and Gareth de Montforte, and made his quarters elsewhere.

  It began to rain shortly after the ship weighed anchor and headed out into the foamy chop of the Channel. Captain Lord, directing activities from the quarterdeck with an eagle eye, waited until his command, and the little brig Magic that accompanied them, was well clear of the vessels anchored around Spithead, then invited the duke and duchess to join him in his quarters for a conference.

  There, the two men granted each other a wary respect, each well aware of the other's power and influence in his given domain. Captain Lord had already been briefed by his admiral about their mission: to bring the Earl of Brookhampton safely — and quietly — out of France. Though Lucien was accustomed to taking matters into his own hands, he conceded that this was a military operation, and thus prepared to grudgingly defer to Captain Lord's judgement.

  The officer ensured that his guests had tea, coffee, and some light refreshment before unrolling a map of Calais. Spreading it out on his table, and using a sextant to point out various parts of the coast, he began to outline his plan to get Earl Brookhampton out of the French gaol.

  "My orders are to secure His Lordship's release under terms as peaceable as we can manage, given the circumstances. I hope we will not be forced to rely upon Arundel's guns to effect our mission, but if it comes to it, we may have no choice."

  He took a sip of coffee. "Admiralty has already made contact with Lord Charles in Calais, who has been briefed of our plan." The captain's gray eyes assessed his guests and the lieutenants who surrounded him. "Obviously, with war now declared, it would be unwise to take our ships in within sight of the French coast. Therefore, we must fool the Frogs into thinking that this is an American, not an English venture. One glimpse of Arundel and that plan will be laid to waste."

  Lucien saw Eva straighten in her chair. "I'm of the same mind, Captain. As I know the French coast well, and have contacts near Calais, I propose that I be the one to go ashore and, as part of the American contingent in Paris, negotiate for Lord Brookhampton's release."

  "No," said Lucien flatly. "I will go."

  "You can't go," Eva countered. "One look at you and the French will know immediately that you're English. Then we'll have to rescue you from gaol as well as Perry."

  "I forbid it," Lucien said firmly. "It is unsafe. Besides, if Charles can fool them into thinking he's American, so can I."

  "Charles served in Boston. He's married to an American. He can effect a passable enough Yankee accent if he so chooses, which is the only reason he's been able to deceive the French into thinking he's something he's not. I'm sorry, Lucien, but I don't think you're capable of pulling off the same deception."

  "You have only just recovered from your injury, Eva. This is too dangerous!"

  "And you," she said sweetly, nudging his ankle beneath the table with her foot, "have only recently recovered from yours."

  Captain Lord just looked at the two of them, his cool gray eyes giving away nothing. At last he cleared his throat.

  "With all due respect, Your Grace, I am in favor of the duchess's plan. With appropriate support from my own men, I would prefer that she go in your stead." He smiled dryly. "Besides, if I were to allow you — a duke — to go, and something happened to you, Admiralty would have my head."

  Lucien's eyes went cold. "Are you trying to tell me that I can not go?"

  Again, that hard, uncompromising smile. "Yes."

  Lucien stared at the other man. Nobody — nobody — had ever tried to thwart him, let alone challenge his authority. Who the bloody hell did this fellow think he was? He turned his most chilling stare on the captain. "And you think your head won't roll if something happens to my wife?" His voice was dangerously soft. "Trust me, Captain, should one hair of her head be harmed, I will ensure that you — and your precious career — are ruined."

  Eva rolled her eyes. "Boys —"

  But Captain Lord was not finished. "I have my orders, and I will carry them out as I see fit."

  "My wife is not going ashore."

  "Oh, yes, I am," said Eva.

  Lucien, jaw tensed, got to his feet. He knew the captain's word overrode his own here aboard ship, but he could not accept it. He knew Eva's reasoning was sound, but he could not condone it. And he knew that if he did not immediately remove himself from this cabin, somebody — he directed his blackest stare on the unflappable officer — was going to get hurt.

  Very hurt.

  He glanced at Eva. "I will see you at supper, my dear," he snapped, and bowing, turned on his heel and stalked out.

  Eva waited until the door shut behind him, then smiled at the unruffled captain. "Well, then," she murmured. "Shall we continue?"

  ~~~~

  Gareth and Andrew, fascinated by the workings of a warship, had stayed topside until they were well out into the Channel, watching the seamen running up the ratlines to set the sails, admiring the smart orderliness with which everything was carried out, enjoying the feel of the mighty vessel under their feet — and speculating on the reasons for why Lucien, alone at the weather rail, looked about as furious as they'd ever seen him. But as the rain worsened and the ship settled on her course, Andrew retreated belowdecks, leaving Gareth still topside. Some time later, he joined Andrew in his brother's borrowed cabin.

  "I say, Lucien's in one hell of a temper," he announced, as he went to the stern windows and watched the coast of England fading into the mist far astern. "I just met Eva going topside to try and console him." He grinned. "'Twould appear that he and the captain didn't quite hit it off on the best of terms."

  "Well, no surprises there." Andrew was scribbling in a notebook, a lead box resting near his elbow. "Two men used to absolute control are bound to clash."

  "I was talking to one of the crew . . . a lieutenant named Teach. 'Sdeath, the bloke looks just like Blackbeard. Said the captain is one of the Royal Navy's finest and served for a time in Boston, so he must have a good understanding of the Yankees. Probably would get on well with Charles, if he were here."

  "Yes, well, speaking of Charles, what I want to know is how we're going to get close enough to Calais to bring him and Perry out without the French sending their own warships down on us. One glance at Arundel here and they'll know she's British. And there was that fort the captain pointed out on the map, too. I'd hate like hell to get too close to that . . ."

  "Eva explained everything to me. The plan is to keep Arundel just out of sight of the coast and send Magic in, flying American colors, to report on things and land Eva and our men; that way, the Frogs won't catch on that this is an English operation."

  Andrew never looked up from his notes. "Sounds good, but we all know that in wartime, anything could happen" — he curled his arm around the lead box — "which is why I've come prepared."

  Gareth didn't pick up on Andrew's veiled implication. "Eva will go ashore tonight under cover of darkness. She'll rendezvous with Charles, who'll be waiting there with horses. Then they'll both go to the gaol tomorrow morning as representatives of the American contingent in Paris, obtain Perry's release — peacefully, it is hoped, but if not, that's why Admiralty sent this ship and its complement of marines — and meet us back at the landing point tomorrow evening." He shook his head. "No wonder Luce looked angry enough to commit murder when we saw him earlier!"

  Andrew glanced up. "What, is he not going with her?"

  "Captain forbids it. Says if anything happens to a duke, his own head will roll, so Luce stays here with us."

  Now Andrew was grinning, too. "By God, that does explain Lucien's foul mood. He'll not follow anyone's orders but his own. I predict fireworks, Gareth."

  "So do I. But really, I'm sure Eva is more than capable of getting Perry out. Unless Luce and the captain kill each other, we'll be back in England by tomorrow night, no shots fired, no blood shed, everything done quite peacefully." Gareth suddenly noticed the lead box at his brother's elbow. "I say, Andrew, what do you have there?"

  "My explosive."

  Gareth went bug-eyed. "Good God, man, you'll get us all thrown off the ship if the captain hears of it!"

  "The captain won't hear of it. Besides, it's wartime" — Andrew was all innocence — "and one never knows when a new, extra-potent explosive might prove useful, eh?"

  ~~~~

  Night fell.

  As Arundel prepared to rendezvous with Magic, the Duchess of Blackheath stood on the lonely, wind-tossed deck, her hair hooded, a cloak protecting her against the harsh winter sea wind. Beneath her feet, the mighty ship rose and fell on the waves, its lanterns doused, its crew working in total darkness. In the ever-nearing distance, she could see the dark coast of France.

  It was nearly time. She thought of Nerissa so many miles away, probably awake and praying for the safety of her loved ones. She thought of how she had struck Charles down and humiliated Andrew during the robbery. And she thought, too, of how she had hurt Lucien and forever denied him an heir, all because of her own damned pride. Sorrow filled her, and she raised her face to the wind. The time had come to make amends. To repay her debt to the de Montfortes. And yes, to prove herself worthy of that which she valued more than anything in this world — Lucien's love.

  Suddenly she knew she was no longer alone. Knew that he had come.

  "Lucien," she murmured.

  He came silently up beside her, sliding an arm around her shoulders. She turned into his embrace, feeling his heartache, his anxiety for her safety.

  "Forgive me, dearest," she said. "I know it's hard for you to let me do this, but please, Lucien, understand that I must."

  "I don't understand. But I am also trying to tell myself that that doesn't give me the right to prevent you from going." He reached down and tilted her face up to his, blocking the wind and spray with his back so she would not suffer the full brunt of the elements. He cradled her jaw within his palms and gazed steadily into her eyes. "Will you not change your mind, Eva?"

  She shook her head. "I cannot, Lucien. This is something I must do. For you. For your family. But mostly for myself."

  His own eyes darkened and she saw the desperate ache and worry there before he concealed it behind a mask of pained resolve. Then he pushed her hood back and bent his head to hers, his mouth claiming hers with a desperate hunger. Wind lashed her hair across their faces. The timeless sound of the waves faded, and she heard only his breathing, felt only his hard, powerful body, sensed only his fear that this might be their last embrace. Trust me, trust me, she thought. And gave herself up to this sweet good-bye, pressing her body up against his, feeling the evidence of his desire against her pelvis and wishing, wishing, wishing she could have him inside her, because she wanted more. So much more.

  "When I return, Lucien —"

  "No promises, my love. Just come back to me, safe and sound."

  "When I return, there is something I must tell you."

  "Tell me now." Because there might never be another chance.

  Eva pulled a deep breath into her chest — even as she heard someone coming up behind her. It would be so easy not to say it until she got back. So easy to put it off until she felt she had the right to its reciprocation. So easy to —

  "Your Grace, the boat is ready; it is time to leave."

  — just wait until she returned.

  For once she would not be a coward when it came to matters of the heart.

  She reached up and laid her hand against Lucien's cheek, her gaze meeting his, her heart constricting. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself from saying them.

  "I love you."

  He swallowed. His lashes came down, and he reached once more for her . . . but she knew that if she went into his arms, she would never leave. Steeling herself, Eva stepped back and turned away, head high as, swallowing the lump in her throat, she followed the lieutenant toward the waiting boat. She could feel her husband's anguished stare on her back. Could feel his love, his worry, his agony. Leaving him was the hardest thing she had ever done — but she had a job to do. The most important job she had ever undertaken. They would have a lifetime to spend in each other's arms.

  Shunning the lieutenant's assistance, she climbed down into the boat . . . and looked toward the dark, menacing coast of France, trying to shake off the feeling of premonition that had nagged her all evening.

  Of dread.

  A lifetime.

  She could only hope.

  Chapter 30

  Charles, wearing a black greatcoat and pacing fretfully, was waiting for her on the darkened beach. He stepped forward and helped her from the boat as it nosed against the sand, eyeing her in concern.

  "You're sure you're up to this, Eva? We have a bit of a ride ahead of us."

  She turned and gave the seamen the signal to depart. "Never felt better," she said, following Charles toward the three horses tied and waiting nearby. "Bodies heal. But other wounds take a little more effort."

  "Meaning?"

  "That this is something I must do — for you, for your family . . . for myself."

  He nodded, understanding. Then a smile softened his taciturn face. "In that case, I'm honored to have you at my side. I must confess, it's good to have a real Yankee here, as I don't know how long I can carry on with this false American accent. It is only by virtue of the fact that English is not the primary language of those with whom I've dealt that I have managed to fool any of them."

  "Have you seen Lord Brookhampton yet?"

  "I have."

  "And you're certain that this man we're about to rescue is indeed your friend?"

  "I am certain."

  "Did he recognize you?"

  "No. He was asleep. I hadn't the heart to disturb him, to raise his hopes of rescue. Ah, here are the horses. I've brought an extra along for Perry — providing we are successful in bringing him out."

  Eva tossed her head. "We will be."

  Moments later, they were cantering along the road to Calais, the reins of the spare horse in Charles's capable hands. Trees, pastures, distant villages were becoming faintly visible in the gloom. It would be dawn soon.