Betrayal

‘Hush, darling,’ she said. ‘All that matters is that you are alive. I love you no matter what.’

Using the only hand he had left, the soldier gathered his love’s fingers to his lips. Moisture blurred Pippa’s vision. Another couple weathering the horror of war.

Without another thought, Pippa crammed a pound note into the basket and edged toward them. Unobtrusively, she set the wicker container beside the woman and slipped away.

Outside, the August heat quickly evaporated the moisture from Pippa’s eyes. The sunshine was golden and warm on her skin, easing the tightness in her chest. The brisk walk to the town house lifted her spirits.

‘Master Pippen,’ the butler said, bowing her into the house. ‘Her Grace wishes your presence in the morning room.’

Pippa grinned at Michaels. Since moving here, she and the old retainer had become fast friends. Michaels had taken her under his wing and endeavoured to remind her of the proper behavior for a young man of Quality, as he did the Duchess when she failed to do the proper thing. Pippa would be sorry to leave him.

She gave the butler her hat. ‘Thank you. I suppose that means I must go there immediately.’

‘It is customary.’

Pippa’s too large Hessians, which she padded with socks in the toes, clumped on the polished black marble floor as she made her way. A footman opened the door and announced, ‘Master Pippen, your Grace.’

‘Fustian, Jones,’ Her Grace said. ‘There is no need to introduce Pippen.’ The footman nearly smiled before catching himself and closing the door. ‘Come here, child.’

Pippa nearly shook her head. The staff was completely devoted to their mistress, but her lack of formality was often a burden they did their best to correct.

‘Good afternoon, your Grace,’ Pippa said, making a leg before taking the outstretched hand the Duchess held to her.

‘Call me Alicia. How many times must I tell you that? You saved my son’s life, we won’t stand on formality.’

‘Yes, your Grace.’ Alicia was too familiar. When Dev’s mother frowned, Pippa said, ‘I am sorry, milady, but as much as I know you would like it, I cannot bring myself to be so familiar with you as to call you by your Christian name.’

Michaels might often think Pippa lacked correct manners, but ‘twas not so. Her grandfather had drilled her and Philip in the behavior required by their stations. They did not call duchesses by their first names. Not unless they had run tame all their lives in the lady’s household, which was not the case here.

‘Child, I shall surely lose my temper with you if you persist in this stubborn adherence to polite manners that is not necessary between us.’ She pulled Pippa down to sit beside her on the pale blue silk-covered settee. ‘Why, I begin to feel like a mother to you. And the first thing we need to do is get you some evening clothes. I am having a small dinner party tomorrow to let our close friends know that Dev is fine.’

Pippa’s face blanched. The very last thing she needed was a male tailor taking her measurements.

‘Thank you, your Gr—Alicia.’ Using the Duchess’s given name was a desperate attempt to make Dev’s mother more accepting of the following refusal. ‘But I cannot put you to the trouble. Besides—’ she brightened ‘—I won’t be here much longer. Right this moment, Dev is making arrangements for me to meet Wellington. When I find out where my brother was last seen, I will head there.’

‘Nonsense. No matter what you learn from the Duke, you won’t be leaving here in the next couple of days.’

The door slammed open before Pippa could remonstrate. Dev strode into the room, his brown hair awry and his hazel eyes wild.

‘Bloody swine!’

‘Dev!’ Pippa jumped up without thought and ran to him. ‘What is wrong? Are you hurt? Sit down and let me see.’

She wrapped one arm around his waist and urged him to the nearest chair. As soon as he sat, she fell to her knees in front of him.

‘Is it your leg? Help me get this boot off so I can examine it.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Dev snarled. ‘I deserve to feel this pain.’

Pippa rocked back on her heels and stared up at him. The wild look was still in his eyes, but the skin around them was dark and bruised looking. His full lips were thin. He looked in pain.

‘What is this all about?’ the Duchess demanded, coming over and taking her son’s hand. ‘There is no excuse for your rudeness to Pippen.’

Pippa watched the emotions battle across Dev’s face: anger, hurt, contrition and back to anger. Something was terribly wrong.

‘That damned Napoleon. May he rot in hell. May the ship taking him to St Helena sink and take his carcass to the bottom of the sea for fish bait.’

Pippa reached up and smoothed the tumbled lock of hair from his brow before she realized what she was doing. The motion was so revealing, she dropped her hand, stood and paced away. The more distance between them, the harder it would be for her to do another action so unlike what one man would do to another.

The Duchess cast her a quick, appraising glance before turning her attention back to her son. ‘Calm down, Dev, and tell us what has happened.’

“Tis Patrick.’ The words were torn from his throat and sounded like a raw wound. ‘He’s…damn it. He’s dead.’

Patrick was the friend whose whereabouts had been the first thing Dev wanted to know when he regained consciousness. All Pippa’s resolutions fled. She rushed to him and gathered him close. His head fell to her shoulder.

‘I’m so sorry. So sorry,’ she crooned.

For long minutes she rocked him, trying to absorb his anguish. She could give him a sleeping draught, but that would do nothing for the grief. She knew. This was the ripped-apart feeling she’d first had when the letter had arrived saying Philip was dead. Nothing but time would ease what Dev was going through now.

Finally, Dev pushed away. ‘I’m all right. You can stop coddling me.’

‘Of course,’ she muttered.

Pippa released him immediately and stepped away. Her face flamed at what she had done. The best interpretation anyone could put on her action would be that she cared for Dev as a brother would. The worst was that she was a woman in disguise. Best that she get away and let his mother comfort him.

‘Please excuse me.’ Without waiting for a reply, Pippa rushed from the room.

Alicia, Duchess of Rundell, watched the slim figure of her guest fly out before turning a worried look on her son. ‘I am sorry about Patrick. He was a good man and a good friend.’

Dev stood and limped to the wall of windows that overlooked an extensive garden that was in full bloom. Rosebushes mingled with iris and sweet alyssum. The beauty did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest or the urge to smash his hand through the glass.

‘His death was a waste. I was glad before that we defeated Napoleon. I am ten times gladder now.’

Alicia followed him and put a comforting hand on his arm. ‘You are right.’

Dev gripped her hand. ‘And what am I to do with young Pippen, Mother? You saw the way he comforted me. It was more intimate than I would have expected.’

Alicia met his troubled gaze squarely. ‘What are you going to do? You are the one who laid his head on the…lad’s shoulder.’

Dev sighed. ‘So much sorrow and so much confusion. The boy is too soft and too compassionate for his own good.’

‘Perhaps,’ the Duchess said with a strange smile. ‘But right now, you need rest.’ When his mouth opened on what she knew would be a protest, she put one finger over his lips. ‘Don’t argue with me. Do as I say for once. You will feel better for the sleep.’

To her surprise, Dev did as she urged. That, more than anything else, told her how devastated he was.

And what was he going to do about ‘Pippen’?

Nearly three months after arriving in Brussels, Pippa finally stood outside the door to the Duke of Wellington’s office. She owed this meeting to Deverell who lounged in a chair along the wall, his wounded leg straight out in front. A brass-handled cane leaned against his thigh.

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