LITMIR.BIZ

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rose. He kept his face blank and glared at his uncle. ‘You know nothing of my activities.’

      ‘No? I heard secrets exchanged hands. I sold a few myself. Had to recoup my losses somehow. Not that the bastards paid me very much.’

      Ellie leaned against the back of a sofa, her free hand fussing with the cloak’s folds, which looked strangely stiff. A long, dark object fell to the floor. Oh, no. She couldn’t have.

      ‘I, on the other hand, made a fortune,’ Garrick said, watching his wife from the corner of his eye.

      The old man leered. ‘And it will all be mine.’

      As Ellie shifted, Garrick blinked at the flash of steel she let him see. Blood buzzed in his ears. Damn her. If she missed, someone was going to die.

      There was no stopping her, he could see it in her face. And she trusted him to follow her lead. He glared at Le Clere and made as if to rise.

      The old man tightened his grip on the pistol. ‘Are you so ready to die?’

      Ellie let the cloak drop, the blade clutched in her fist behind the sofa. A sword against a pistol. Utter madness. But she’d done it before.

      He needed to keep Le Clere looking his way. ‘You whoreson. You won’t get away with this.’

      Le Clere took aim. ‘Now then, Garrick, such language in the presence of a lady.’ He sounded almost jocular.

      Garrick got a firm grip on the chair. ‘She is not the lady you think her.’ His voice was hoarse, hating the thought of the pain she’d endure.

      Le Clere grinned. ‘I guessed as much.’

      One quick step. Her arm came up. The hilt arced. The pistol discharged into the ceiling with a puff of smoke, a deafening roar and a rain of plaster. She threw the sword, hilt first, to Garrick.

      He plucked the weapon from the air. ‘She’s Lady Moonlight.’ He pricked Le Clere’s throat before he could so much as blink, watching the trickle of blood run down his neck with supreme satisfaction.

      The door sprang open. His men charged through. Ellie looked terrified. She backed against the wall, her gaze fixed on him. She must think they were Le Clere’s men.

      Dan clambered in through the window, pistol at the ready, his expression furious. He pointed his pistol at Le Clere and the old man put up an arm to shield his face.

      ‘Why the hell didn’t you wait?’ Dan said.

      ‘Give me a moment.’ Garrick crossed the room to where Ellie stood rigid, unsure whether to kiss her or to shake her for taking such a risk. Neither seemed appropriate from the fearful expression on her face.

      ‘You idiot,’ he said instead. He lifted her hand, pulled off her cotton glove and looked at her bloody palm. ‘You were lucky. I don’t think you will need stitches.’ He tied it up with his handkerchief.

      ‘I’m all right, or I will be, when you tell me what is going on,’ she croaked. ‘Who are these men?’

      Some of the men were speaking French. After what his uncle had said, no wonder she looked horrified.

      ‘Not all Frenchmen are loyal to Napoleon. I’m sorry, chérie, I can’t talk now. Some of Le Clere’s henchmen are still on the loose. Captain Smith will see you get home.’

      He turned to survey the room. Le Clere was already handcuffed. Matthews had been dragged in. But until he saw Le Clere safely to prison he would not feel easy.

      ‘Dan,’ he called out, ‘take Lady Beauworth home.’

      And that was it. Numb, reeling, not sure what to make of what was happening, Eleanor watched him stride coldly away. It was as if what was happening in the room gave him the excuse he needed to pull away, to keep her at a distance.

      A moment later, Dan was at her side. ‘I have a carriage waiting outside, my lady.’

      Eleanor glanced across the room to where Garrick was issuing orders in French.

      Not Napoleon’s men. Was this the truth, or had Le Clere been right? Was it simply a smokescreen to ensure her compliance? And how did Captain Smith come to be involved?

      The captain urged her forwards, supporting her around her shoulders, leading her to the waiting carriage. One of the recent additions to her stables jumped down from the box and opened the door. Now Garrick had accomplished his goal, heard Le Clere’s admission of guilt, would he regret being trapped into marriage? He must have known about their child and yet he’d stayed away.

      Which would be worse? Finding out he was a traitor, or losing him?

      Captain Smith handed her into the coach and gave orders to the driver in a low voice, then he returned to speak to her through the window.

      ‘You are quite safe now, my lady. You will be taken home.’

      ‘But what about Garrick?’ She sounded pathetic, she knew she did, but she did not care.

      ‘He will come to you as soon as he can, he gives his word.’

      His word. He gives his word. It was all that sustained her on the long drive home.

       Chapter Thirteen

      The case clock announced five in the morning and Eleanor pulled back the edge of the drawing-room drapes. No word from Garrick. She rubbed her arms, trying to maintain some warmth in her limbs. The fire in the hearth had died long ago.

      If he was not a traitor to England, he would have revealed his presence instead of skulking in her stables for weeks on end. Or would he? She still found it hard to believe he would betray his country. Nevertheless, she had sent the scullery maid back to bed when she had come to light the fire just a few minutes ago. She didn’t want the servants seeing him and talking.

      If he came.

      She heard a noise in the entrance hall and ran to see. Garrick was already climbing the stairs. He turned when he heard the drawing-room door open.

      He had changed his clothes. His hair was still impossibly short, but the scruffy beard was gone and she had no trouble recognising her husband.

      ‘Ellie, I didn’t expect to find you awake.’ He spoke softly and came back down to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

      ‘You expected me to sleep?’ She pushed him away.

      ‘I thought we would talk tomorrow.’ A gentle smile curved his lips, his gaze dropping to her stomach. ‘You need your rest.’

      ‘Will you be here tomorrow? For months, you let me think you were dead.’ Her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. ‘I have to know why.’

      His expression filled with doubt, then he nodded. He took her hand and led her back into the drawing room.

      ‘It’s cold in here,’ he said, looking at the empty grate. ‘No wonder your hands are like ice.’ He sat opposite her and leaned back negligently. ‘What would you like to know?’

      There it was again, the withdrawal. The feeling he didn’t want her involved in his life. ‘Everything. Start with tonight.’

      He made a sound of disgust. ‘Tonight was almost a disaster. I had sworn to bring Le Clere to justice for his part in what he did to you. He admitted it all to the magistrate just now. How he made me believe I killed my mother. How he drained the estate year by year after her death.’

      ‘The man was evil.’

      He looked up as if surprised at her vehemence, then returned his gaze to the empty fire.

      ‘I knew Le Clere would never give up, not once he heard you were with child and I was dead. I used you as bait.’ He paused, as if expecting a reaction. When she said nothing, he

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