“Only to retrieve reinforcements,” Beth said decidedly.

  Well, she had not intended to come back, but she had to now. How had she allowed herself to give up on Matthew? Oh, it was this intoxication with Hugh that had done it. She had lost sight of why she had come here—why she needed to return.

  “Reinforcements?”

  Beth drew herself up. “It may come as a surprise to you, Your Grace, but you are not the only duke I know.”

  “Not the only—”

  “Yes, my sister married a duke last month,” she said, trying to channel her outrage into her voice. “I am certain the Duke of Sedley will provide me with—”

  “The Duke of Sedley?” Hugh had taken another step forward.

  Beth’s breath caught in her throat as she saw they were now only inches apart. What was the man playing at?

  “It appears I am not the only one keeping secrets.”

  Beth blanched. “My brother-in-law is a duke, but you never asked about—”

  “Please stay.”

  She blinked. “Stay?”

  “Here, in France, with me,” said Hugh in a rush. “I’ll marry you—please marry me, Beth, and we can—”

  And that was what did it. That made her decision for her.

  Beth stared at the man as he continued to bluster on about the life they could lead together, away from society, away from all the watching eyes.

  Did the man honestly think she could so easily break ties with her family? Abandon them, leave them behind? Ignore the fact that she had come all this way for her brother? That her sister was probably beside herself with worry?

  “—it’ll be like this argument never happened, you’ll know all about me—”

  “Last call for England!”

  “Goodbye, Your Grace,” Beth said quietly.

  She stepped around him and toward the captain who had just yelled across the docks, but not swiftly enough. As she approached the gangplank, Hugh grabbed her arm.

  “Beth—”

  “Let go of me,” Beth said darkly.

  Hugh met her gaze and immediately withdrew his hand. “I just—”

  “How much is passage?” she asked the captain.

  She paid his price, handing over the coins carefully, ensuring she was not overpaying. Oh, the man was overcharging her, but that was merely because she was an Englishwoman.

  Beth placed a foot on the gangplank.

  “Beth, we can talk on the crossing, but—”

  “I am so sorry,” she said with ice in her voice, turning to look at the stricken duke. “You cannot come up here; you do not appear to have paid for your passage.”

  Hugh stared. Then he laughed. “I—I beg your pardon?”

  “Has this man paid for his passage, Captain?” Beth asked the Frenchman still standing on the dock.

  The captain shook his head.

  “Well, there you have it,” said Beth briskly. “As I said. Goodbye, Your Grace.”

  “But you—you’re not going to leave me here, are you?” Hugh shouted, his voice almost caught by the wind.

  If Beth had taken more than the three steps she already had, she may not have heard him. As it was, the words sank into her chest and caused a chill.

  “But you—you’re not going to leave me here, are you?”

  “I—”

  “Beth, please, I love you,” pleaded Hugh.

  Beth’s heart skipped a beat. It was precisely what she had wanted to hear the moment they had first kissed. She may not have known it then, but she could see it now. She craved him, needed Hugh in a way she had never needed anyone else.

  But she also needed honesty. She needed truth. She had a price, everyone did, but it wasn’t this.

  “I have no reason to take you with me,” Beth said, hating every word but knowing them to be true. “I hope you enjoy your time in France, Your Grace. It may be a long one.”

  And without a second glance at the gentleman who had taken her innocence and to whom she had given her heart, Beth boarded the ship that would take her back to the people who truly loved her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  October 13, 1810

  “Another,” muttered Hugh, slamming the empty glass onto the table.

  He looked blearily around him. He could have sworn there was someone serving drinks—or at the very least, pouring this disgusting ale from a pitcher into his glass.

  It was unpalatable stuff, yet he had managed, now that he came to think of it, to drink a great deal.

  Perhaps that was why the table was tilted. Or was that him?

  Hugh shook his head, attempting to see whether it was the world, the table, or his own head which had this very strange angle. The trouble was, when he shook his head, the whole world spun for a moment. The effect was dizzying and most unconducive to rational thought.

  “Oh, hell,” Hugh mumbled, lifting his empty hand to his head. “I need another drink.”

  “And how, precisely, are you going to pay for that?” sneered the barman in French, shouting from across the room.

  Hugh scowled. He’d never had to worry about this sort of nonsense before. When in London, the Dulverton Club had a tab open for him all the time. He paid it off, too, he thought muzzily. Regularly. Or at least, his steward probably did. Or was it his butler?

  The point was he’d never been denied a drink due to lack of funds before.

  But that was before. This was now. Hugh could not understand how he had managed to lose so swiftly everything he had somehow gained.

  “I have no reason to take you with me. I hope you enjoy your time in France, Your Grace. It may be a long one.”

  “I’ll play for it,” Hugh said.

  He spoke partly to reply to the barman, who was shaking his head. Partly to push aside painful memories. Memories not willing to let him go.

  All he had wanted was to be with her. Beth. She was so beautiful, so elegant, so raucous. There was a boldness in her which had appealed to him, to his very heart and soul.

  And he had lost her.

  “You won’t be winning anything,” sniggered a Frenchman at the next table. “You’ve been in here for days and I’ve never seen you win.”

  Hugh tried to smile. That was because he never played cards where he drank. Never a good idea in England, and certainly not something to do in France. He wasn’t a cheat. Not precisely. Now that he had nothing else to lose, there was no point in trying.

  Jingling the coins in his pocket, he fixed the man with a stare. “I’ve already done my winning. Another drink!”

  It appeared the mere sound of coins was enough to convince the serving maid. She stepped over with a scowl. The ale poured from her pitcher and then she was gone.

  “Afraid you’ve got wandering hands,” leered the Frenchman. “English scum.”

  Hugh allowed it to pass. Perhaps a few days ago, his pride in his country would have forced him to argue with the man. Perhaps his own personal pride would have prompted him to defend himself, if not the rest of his countrymen.

  But not now. How could he defend himself when he had done the indefensible? How could he fight for his honor when he had none left?

  “Be quiet,” was all he could manage.

  Hugh hung his head as the drinkers in the inn guffawed.

  Well, they had every right to. Here he was, a duke, a nobleman of England. Drinking. Alone. In a French inn. With no way home.

  Hugh’s heart contracted.

  Well, she was quite within her right to leave him here. In a way, Hugh was proud of her. It took real strength of character to do that, stand against a man once you knew him to be a duke.

  It was perhaps why he liked her so much. Beth Mead had been unimpressed with him before she had known of his title, and been just as unimpressed when she had discovered it. He had tried to fool himself into thinking that she would be enthralled.

  Enthralled!

  He snorted, shaking his head as he raised his glass to drink once again. No, Beth was a stronger character than that. With stronger morals. With greater standards than he’d ever had.

  Hugh’s heart sank as he swiftly reached the end of his drink.

  Well, what was he supposed to do now?

  He could try to win enough coin to return to England, though that would take time. For a moment, Hugh considered it. Spending the next, oh, several weeks trying to trick men out of their money through cards. It had an appealing quality, but at any moment, he would he found out. Caught, in France. As an Englishman, that wouldn’t bode particularly well.

  And that left the option of…nothing. There was no other option. Other than staying here, wallowing in his own misery.

  Hugh’s jaw tightened. That hardly seemed to matter anymore. Getting to England was important, but only because Beth was there. He’d lost his chance to return home, but that didn’t matter. He had lost something of far more importance, something far more precious.

  Hugh forced back tears threatening to fall. He was not going to allow himself to weep openly anywhere, let alone in a French inn.

  But it was difficult. The agony of losing her, of risking her affections when he could have told her the truth at any moment…

  He would never cease regretting it. Never stop wondering just how close he had been to true happiness. Never stop thinking about the woman who had claimed his heart completely.

  “—and I told them, you’ll never hold him, he’s a madman!” someone was muttering at a table two over from his own. “The man’s a monster!”

  Hugh chuckled darkly. They could be talking about him. A monster.

  He had certainly acted monstrously to Beth. She had trusted him, he thought, pain coursing through his chest. And what had he done? Utterly betrayed that trust.

  Hugh had never considered himself to be a man easily bought, but he had sold himself out at the first opportunity.

  “They captured him weeks ago, thinking he was a higher ranking officer, but the blaggard is just a foot solider! They’re going to feel rather stupid when—”

  And the worst of it all, Hugh knew, was that he’d not gotten his wits about him when it had mattered. When Beth had been standing there before him, asking him why he had done this…Hugh had just prevaricated, hadn’t he?

  Perhaps he deserved to lose her. He certainly didn’t deserve to have her. There would be someone else for her, someone in England who didn’t pretend to be someone they weren’t.

  He had tried to pretend he was a good man. How swiftly that charade had fallen apart.

  “—and when are they going to make a decision about this Matthew Mead?”

  Hugh almost dropped his glass.

  Thankfully, it was almost empty and only an inch from his table. The clatter went unnoticed in an inn full of noise.

  Hugh could hardly think, his mind whirring as he tried desperately to pick up the conversation from the other table. Surely it wasn’t possible—a trick of his mind, that was it. He had been thinking so much about Beth—

  “This Mead is more trouble than he’s worth,” spat one of the men. “I heard they’re going to make the brute disappear before he makes any more of a nuisance of himself.”

  Hugh’s heart went cold.

  It sounded as though Beth’s brother was being held captive. That did not bode well.

  Hugh swallowed, trying to keep his face calm. As though he had not just heard the name of a person he had spent the last few weeks trying to find.

  “—church will be locked until then,” one of the brutes at the table was saying. “He won’t cause any trouble until…”

  Hugh rose to his feet. The church. That was all the information he needed.

  Striding toward the door, heart pounding and knowing he could be making one of the biggest mistakes of his life, he reached for the door and—

  “Oi! You there!”

  Hugh froze. How was it possible they had divined his intentions? Had he been too swift? How could they know he planned to free the Englishman?

  Turning slowly on his heels, he tried to count the number of men in the place. Eight—no, nine? Did he count the barman?

  The barman in question was glaring. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Hugh swallowed. He had to lie. Lying had always been so natural to him, so why were the words sticking in his throat? They could hear his heart pounding, couldn’t they?

  “Just leaving,” he said, as nonchalantly as possible.

  The barman frowned. “Without paying?”

  Relief swept across Hugh’s shoulders. He was a fool. He hadn’t paid for his drinks.

  Stepping forward, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what he had to assume was sufficient to pay for the ale he had consumed and put it on the counter. The barman nodded.

  For a moment, Hugh just stood there. Then he realized he could go. He had to go. Matthew Mead needed him. Something terrible was about to happen to him.

  The church was easy to find. The spire stood out in the bright moonlight, and Hugh had a vague memory of passing by the building on the way into the town. It was hard to recall; it had been such a blur. His mind had been consumed with reliving the last conversation he and Beth had shared.

  “I thought if you knew the real reason why I had come to France in the first place, you would not wish to know me. That I would lose all chance to get to know you, for you to get to know me, the real me…”

  There was a light on inside the church as Hugh crept toward it. There did not appear to be anyone else out at this late hour. That still meant, however, there could be guards inside.

  Hugh’s chest was so tight it was a wonder he was still able to breathe. What did he think he was doing? He was no spy, no soldier. He had absolutely no experience of these sorts of things. No one else alongside him. No plan.

  But the thought of walking away after knowing, almost beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was Beth’s brother in there…

  “This Mead is more trouble than he’s worth. I heard they’re going to make the brute disappear before he makes a nuisance of himself.”

  Hugh’s hands had tightened into fists. He didn’t have to be a solider to know what that meant. Matthew Mead was proving too irritating to his captors and would soon be disposed of.

  He couldn’t wait a single moment.

  The church door under the porch was locked, but Hugh did not give up. He strode quickly around the side of the building, looking for another way in. There had to be. His rescue attempt couldn’t be over before it had even begun!

  After a few minutes struggling in the dark, Hugh exclaimed under his breath. “Aha!”

  There was a small door at the back of the church, so small he had almost missed it. There was a key still within the lock.

  Hugh hesitated. He told himself it was so he could catch his breath—he would be utterly useless if he couldn’t think. But really, it was cowardice.

  This was not the sort of thing a duke did! Dukes…they duked. They dined, hosted, hunted, drank. Hugh was not the best duke, but he at least knew what was expected of him.

  This? This was the sort of thing a spy should be doing.

  But he couldn’t risk leaving, could he? It could be days before he came across some English troops. Even then, he would have to try to persuade them to aid him. In that time…

  Hugh’s stomach lurched. In that time, Matthew Mead could be dead.

  The key barely made a sound in the lock as it turned. Pushing open the small door, Hugh took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  The church was lit as he had spotted through the stained glass windows, but now that he was inside, he could see only a glow of a single candle. It stood on a pew on the right from where he had entered. And sitting beside it, head hanging in despair, was a man.

  A man with the same dark hair as someone very dear to him.

  “Matthew Mead?”

  The man’s head jerked up. “Who’s there?”

  “We don’t have the time—are you bound?” Hugh hissed as he crept over to him.

  The man was wearing the uniform of an English soldier, stained and torn. “What’s it to you?”

  His suspicion was palpable, but Hugh almost laughed. The scowl on the man’s face was so familiar, he would have known him even if he had not overheard his name.

  “I’ve been sent by—that doesn’t matter, I can explain later,” Hugh said hastily.

  The last thing he needed was a long conversation about just why he knew Beth. That conversation could come later. Much, much later.

  “We need to get you out of here—I’m an Englishman, I’m here to…well, rescue you,” said Hugh lamely.

  It did sound rather ridiculous, now that he said it aloud. But it was the truth—and if they didn’t move soon—

  “I am not bound, merely locked inside the church,” said Matthew, rising to his feet, eagerness lighting up his face. “And it appears you have a key.”

  Hugh nodded. He had taken the key with him, horrible visions of the open door being discovered and locked once more flashing through his mind as he had let himself in.

  “Come on,” said Hugh in a low voice, conscious that at any moment, the men from the inn could come to end the life of the English soldier who had so irritated them. “This way.”

  Matthew Mead had to bow his head low to step through the door. Hugh’s heart was thundering as he followed. Had he left too late? Was there already a contingent of Frenchmen waiting outside, expecting to go in and murder their captive? Were they walking right back into the arms of the French?

  But as he straightened and looked around him, Hugh could see no one in the dark gloom. Only Matthew, who looked exhausted and more than a little starved.

  “How can I ever—”

  “Run,” ordered Hugh. He could hear footsteps—voices. They could be perfectly innocent townspeople, but he wasn’t ready to take that chance. “Follow me!”

  He was rather surprised to see Matthew obey him—but then, he was a soldier.

  Hugh ran behind the church toward some woodland. Every step was painful, lungs complaining swiftly. The cold night air rid him of all the clamminess and confusion of the ale he had drunk. By the time they reached the trees, Hugh had never felt more awake nor alive.