Surrender

She had gone to Henri’s grave every day, bringing fresh flowers. Instead of missing him, she was angry.

But she was even angrier with Greystone.

Her pondering was interrupted. “So ye wish for me to run to France and bring back yer husband’s chest,” Ed Whyte said, grinning. He seemed to like the idea.

Evelyn inhaled and focused on the man she was seated with. It hadn’t taken her very long to decide to find another smuggler to hire—the fact that she could not count on the mine for revenues had made the choice for her—and John Trim had given her several names. But Trim hadn’t been thrilled to suggest either Whyte or his associates. “They’re a rough bunch, my lady,” he had said. “And no great lady should consort with the likes of Whyte and his cronies.”

Evelyn hadn’t explained why she needed to interview smugglers other than Greystone, nor had she explained that she had no choice. But now, she was almost regretting her decision. Whyte was so scurrilous in appearance, with his blackened teeth, foul odor and lewd gaze, that he made Greystone seem like a knight in shining armor in comparison.

Whyte had a very untrustworthy appearance, she thought grimly. He reminded her of a horse trader, or a weasel. And to make matters even worse, he kept staring through her veil, which was transparent, and he kept looking at her bust, even though the neckline of her dress was so high, she could not wear her pearls. He made her terribly uncomfortable. When Greystone had given her a male appraisal, it hadn’t been frightening like this.

“I realize it is a dangerous mission,” Evelyn said, adjusting the veil she wore attached to her hat. “But I am prepared to offer you a very fair share of my husband’s valuable heirlooms. And I am desperate.” But she kept her tone level. She could not plead with Whyte as she had pleaded her case with Greystone.

Whyte grinned at her. “An’ what is that fair share, lady?”

“Fifteen percent,” she said.

Evelyn looked down at her gloved hands, which she clasped tightly in her lap. She might still be hurt by Greystone’s rejection, never mind that she should not care, but she still had a problem—she was haunted by the kisses they had shared.

She had to forget her kiss—and his. Hers was humiliating. His was disturbing her at night. It was disturbing her during the day. It was disturbing her even now. It made her body hum with a fervor that was shameful.

She hadn’t even imagined that a man could kiss a woman with such intensity, such passion, or so thoroughly.

It was time to forget him. He was not a hero. She had been mistaken.

“An’ how much is fifteen percent?”

She looked up at Whyte. “I’m not certain.”

He laughed. “Is this a jest, my lady?” He stood, preparing to leave. “If you want me to go to France for ye, you’ll have to pay me very well—and not with some fair share.”

She leaped to her feet. “Please don’t go.” Her heart pounded. This had been the point in the negotiation when she had begun to think of using her female charms on Greystone. But fortunately, while Whyte kept leering, he seemed entirely interested in money.

Whyte sat down. “Fer such a job, I’d need a thousand pounds—in advance.”

Evelyn sat, inhaling. But she had come to this negotiation prepared. She laid her beaded black velvet purse on the table and opened it. She withdrew a wad of tissue, and unwrapped her sapphire-and-diamond ear bobs.

She had so little left to bargain with. There was the matching sapphire necklace, a sapphire ring, her pearls, a cameo and her magnificent diamond engagement ring.

His eyes widened and he seized the earrings, inspecting them. She winced when he bit into one. “What else do you have for me?”

She choked. “Those ear bobs were costly.”

“They didn’t cost you a thousand pounds. I don’t think they even cost you a penny.” He grinned, his black tooth making her look away.

He was right, if rude—the earrings hadn’t cost her a penny. “They were a gift from my beloved husband,” she whispered.

“An’ now yer in hard times. Yeah, I heard—everyone’s heard. So he must have left ye something valuable in that chest in France. But if ye want it, ye’ll have to pay with more than ear bobs.”

She felt like crying. Evelyn took the matching ring from her purse and laid it on the table. It was a five-carat sapphire, flanked by diamonds.

He took it and shoved everything into the tissue, and into his hip pocket. He stood and smiled. “I’ll be back in a week or two. We can speak some more then.”

Evelyn jumped up. “Wait a minute, Mr. Whyte, I’m expecting you to go to France—immediately.”

But he was sauntering away. He turned and grinned, saluting her with one finger to his temple. Incredulous, Evelyn seized the table as he walked through the crowd—and out the door.

He was leaving—with her jewels! Evelyn ran through the public room, comprehension hitting her—she had just given her sapphires to a stranger, a very untrustworthy stranger—but when she reached the inn’s front door, Ed Whyte was already galloping away.

She collapsed against the frame. Had he just stolen her jewels? Was he actually going to come back and plan the trip to France with her? Oh, she did not think so!

And suddenly she realized how utterly naive she had been, to give him payment in advance. It was one thing to have paid Greystone in advance for escorting her out of France—she had already been on his ship! And she still trusted Greystone, even if he had kissed her and refused her and walked out on her, he could be trusted with payment in advance, because he was, by birth and by nature, a gentleman. He would never steal from her—he would undertake the mission. But Whyte was a smuggler, an outlaw and now, a damned thief.

Damn it!

Evelyn quickly left the inn, before Trim might ask her in to a luncheon with his wife. Tears burned her eyes. Somehow, she must find a way to retrieve those sapphires, she thought, but even as determination filled her, the wiser part of her knew it was a lost cause. She had been taken, robbed.

And now what? She could not afford to lose those jewels; she had so little left. And Jack Greystone’s image loomed in her mind. She cursed, picking up the reins of her mare. This was his fault, she decided furiously. Evelyn knew she remained exhausted, not from lack of sleep, but from the fear over her daughter’s future, which gnawed at her constantly. She fought tears of sheer fatigue. She could not succumb to her desire to cry—she had to find the strength to solve this crisis.

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