What a Hero Dares

“No need for climbing,” Richard told him. “Follow me.”

Zoé didn’t resist as Richard let go of her arm and took hold of her hand instead as he walked her toward the jetty, grateful for his assistance over the slippery mix of sand and shingle as she attempted yet again to marshal her thoughts. Max was in some sort of trouble? His beloved family was in some sort of trouble? If he wasn’t going to immediately turn her over to the authorities in Dover to be measured for her hanging chains, perhaps she could convince him to let her help, prove she could be trusted.

No. Thanks to Anton, it was too late for that.

“Give me a minute, if you please. It’s here somewhere,” Richard said, letting go of Zoé as he used his fingertips to probe at the edges of the solid rock wall now in front of them while Tariq took hold of her shoulders, anchoring her gently but firmly where she stood. “There’s one on either side. I don’t know how he discovered them, but I watched carefully as Simon showed me. Perhaps it’s too dark to— Ah, there’s the handholds.”

He stepped back as Zoé heard the scrape of rock against rock and a section of the stone in front of her somehow turned into a door that swung open as the man called Richard held out one arm in a flourish and took a bow. “Metal hinges replacing brittle, ancient leather, and liberally greased. Repeated at the other end. Amazing, isn’t it, considering it’s probably old as Caesar’s war horse.”

“A passageway through the rocks? I’ll be damned,” Max said from behind her. “I’ve fished from these beaches all of my life.... Where does it lead?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Zoé said, taking the initiative, pushing her fear of dark places behind her determination to save herself. After all, what did she have to lose? And once Max was surrounded by his family, she might find a way to gain a pistol and make her escape. She hadn’t precisely given her word she wouldn’t try.

As Tariq released his grip and she stepped through the narrow opening, she deftly gathered up her mane of betraying blond hair and twisted it into a knot, then slipped a black toque out of her trouser pocket and covered her head with it. There was a small torch burning against the wall to her right as she moved forward in what must be a cave hollowed out of the mass of jumbled rocks by the tides. The cave seemed to be heading uphill. If she just kept her head, became as inconspicuous as possible, and then slowly melted away from the others and back into the tunnel...

“Ah, I think not, Zoé,” Max growled, grabbing her arm. “For some strange reason, I’d prefer you alive for the moment, and the best way to accomplish that is for you to let me go first.”

“Perhaps I want to die, because you hate me so,” she said, shrugging her shoulders in a purely Gallic gesture she already knew would bounce off him like a dried pea dropped on a drumhead. She needed to keep him more angry than interested.

“While you love me so,” he bit out, proving her point, and then rudely shoved her behind him while Richard and Tariq forged ahead.

“You don’t know the meaning of love. And neither did I. Young and reckless, the pair of us, believing ourselves invincible. But no longer. Have you ever been in a Paris cell, Max? Have you ever been so cold and hungry you’d do most anything for a blanket and a crust of stale bread? Most anything.”

Max very nearly winced, but he’d never so betray himself, she knew that. “You knew what you were doing. That things didn’t work out the way you’d planned isn’t any concern of mine.”

“How very English of you.”

“Now’s not the time or place for this conversation.”

“Yet I’ll dare one thing more. Until I stepped on that blasted boat and saw you, I believed you dead.”

Now he was forced to look at her. “Boucher? You were following Anton? Why?”

She’d said enough to, hopefully, make him suspicious. Keep him alive. “That’s a question you might want to ask him, while you let me be on my way, which would probably bother your conscience less than turning me over to the Crown. Now, as it would seem whatever battle was raging is over, it’s time your family gets to welcome the prodigal home. Do you think they’ll all be there? Gideon, Valentine and perhaps even your darling, daring Kate? Yes, I remember all their names. How delighted they will be. Or are we to stay here in this strange damp passageway until we all drown?”

Max looked down at his booted feet and the seawater sloshing around his ankles. “Damn. Tide’s coming in. The whole other side of the beach will be underwater in an hour. Let’s go.”

“Brilliant suggestion. Do you perhaps have a white handkerchief hidden in that mass of rags you’re wearing? It would be highly embarrassing, wouldn’t it, if one of your own brothers mistook you for the enemy and shot you.”

“That won’t happen.” As if to prove his point, Max took a few more steps, and then put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. The sound seemed to bounce off the stone walls.

The same melancholy birdsong of a whistle he’d taught her, the one the two of them had employed many times in the past. She instantly remembered the lessons in whistling, and the kisses they’d shared as he showed her how to pucker her lips just so.

Maybe she did want to die. Seeing him again, knowing what she’d gambled and lost, was so bloody hard.

There was a short silence, and then an answering whistle, closely followed by a shout. “Max? Max, you son of a hound! Where are you? Everyone—weapons down. My brother’s out here somewhere, damn him!”

“That’s big brother Gideon. This could prove interesting. He’ll either hug me or knock me down. Perhaps both. Richard, Tariq—you two watch her if you please, until I call the all clear. She’s rather anxious to leave us,” Max warned before running a hand through his wet, unkempt hair, and then sloshing off downhill against the rising tide, toward the end of the tunnel.

“Forgive me for overhearing, but it was rather impossible not to catch at least a few words. Echos, you understand. More than a lovers’ spat between the two of you, clearly,” Richard said, stepping forward to pull Zoé’s arm through his.

“Nonsense, sir, we’re the best of good chums, as you English say it,” she responded dully.

Behind her, Tariq chuckled softly.

“Much more than that at one time, I would think. I’m an observant man. Part of him wanted to throttle you, while part of him wanted to pull you close to his heart and cover your face with kisses, if I might be so romantical. Men can be difficult, especially where their hearts are involved.”

“His head is the problem. It’s very hard. A pig’s head.”

“I think you mean he’s pigheaded, stubborn. But you love him. You nearly maimed me to get to him when you though he’d drowned, remember?”

“We should all forget that. It was but an aberration. My mind was temporarily muddled at the shock of seeing him again.”

“I won’t argue with you. Tell me, did he ever mention Trixie to you?”

Zoé turned to peer at the man inquisitively. She’d yet to attempt to place this Richard person with Max, let alone with the rest of the Redgraves. She could easily have looked at him and dismissed him; just another pudgy white-haired old man. Except for his physical strength. Except for his quick, incisive mind. That second look made it easier for her to believe this man had survived on his wits more than once. “His grandmother? Yes, he did. Several times. To hear him tell it, she’s quite extraordinary.”

“She’s considerably more than simply extraordinary. I do believe the two of you should have a small talk. In fact, I’m quite certain she’ll demand it.”

“Why?”

“Because even on such short acquaintance, I dare to say you two may be very much alike. Just don’t lie to her, because she’ll know.”

“I may be an exemplary liar,” Zoé said, one ear open to the sounds from beyond the cave, but hearing nothing more than muffled voices.

“The ability to lie convincingly is only a minor talent. Eleanor of Aquitaine could have taken lessons in family intrigue from the dowager countess. You’d have to live another forty years for even the hope of being a patch on Trixie Redgrave, young lady. Only remember this, as the dowager countess goes, so go the Redgraves.”

She turned back to face the man, studying his features in the flickering light from the small torch. “Why are you telling me this? For all you know, I could use such information against Max, against all of you.”

“I’m not quite certain why. Perhaps it was the way you reached out your hand as if to touch him and then turned away before he might see you. Or it might have been the tears in your eyes that blinded you to my approach. You’ve both been quite interesting to watch these past minutes. When you stand at a distance, see only the gestures, without hearing the words? Sometimes, young lady, that’s when the heart hears more clearly than the ears ever will.”

Zoé looked at Richard levelly. “Your heart and eyes deceive you, sir. Max has no heart, and neither do I. We’re cold, fairly terrible people, intent only on survival.”

“And the game,” Richard added, raising one eyebrow. “I lived by my wits at the card tables for the majority of my life, young lady, traveling all of England and the Continent. Always in search of the next adventure. To win, yes, winning is always important, as one can become accustomed to regular meals and a dry bed. But it isn’t paramount for people like us. We’re different from most of the world, aren’t we? For people like us, it’s the thrill of the hunt, the chances you take. The risks that make your blood pump hot in your veins, always skating on the thin ice of detection and even death—and feeding off that danger. That’s what I see in you, in Max. Together, you must have been pure beauty to watch in action.”

A hundred memories came crashing unbidden into Zoé’s mind. “Yes, we were both quite good at what we did. Thank you, Richard, for reminding me,” she said simply before heading toward the end of the tunnel, eager to get out from beneath the crushing confinement of the boulders overhead. “I’d say it’s time to go meet the family.”

CHAPTER TWO

MAX LAY BACK in his bath, his injured head propped against a thick, soft length of toweling. He’d vowed never to see her again, never ask about her, never think about her. He’d willed his heart and mind to forget her.

And then, there she was. Here she is. Under his brother’s roof and his grandmother’s at least temporary protection thanks to Richard Borders, and disturbingly back in his life. Clearly not forgotten.

Zoé. Blonde, beautiful, courageous, passionate, daring, clever. Lying, cold-hearted, devious, deadly Zoé Charbonneau.

From the beginning they’d been inseparable, paired together by the Crown and sent off to the Continent. First as wary partners, then as friends, then as lovers; they’d variously played the parts of siblings, husband and wife, priest and holy sister.

They’d even been so daring as to attend one of Bonaparte’s luxurious fetes as minor Flemish royalty, Max standing guard outside Boney’s private office after midnight while Zoé rifled through the drawers of his desk. She’d committed two dispatches from his field marshals to memory and then pocketed a small crystal paperweight bearing a gold eagle, just so the man would know someone had breeched his supposed impenetrable security—yet have no idea what information had been compromised.

Max’s contribution, a week later, had been to wrap up the paperweight and post it back to Paris, even as Zoé scolded him that such an action might be considered rubbing salt into an open wound.

And then she’d laughed, and he’d laughed, and they’d made love in the hayloft of a barn just outside Marseilles.

They’d been so good together. In every way.

They’d come together in passion in more than a dozen countries, sometimes in rainy meadows, sometimes on silken sheets, at times in leisure and other times in haste, to rejoice, or to conquer unspoken fear after near disaster.

They were two. They were one. They thought alike, anticipated each other’s every move, guarded each other’s back.

How many times had Max begged her to give up the game and allow him to take her to Redgrave Manor? Where she’d be safe, where he would visit her when he could, where he wouldn’t have to worry about her.

And how many times had she told him no, she couldn’t live not knowing where he was, the dangers he faced. They’d begun together and they would finish together, only when Bonaparte accepted true terms of truce, and proved his word. Until then, with war formally declared or not, they would live out their oath to the king.

Besides, if they’d only admit it, they were having themselves the adventure of a lifetime. Existing on the edge of danger and heart-pounding tension, loving freely and fiercely, relishing each new challenge, each victory, applauding each other for their combined brilliance. Were any other two people ever so alive?

Was any one fool ever so badly hoodwinked and betrayed?

“Dozing, or fading into unconsciousness again?”

Max opened his eyes, grateful to be rescued from his thoughts. “Gideon,” he said flatly. “If you’re referring to that moment climbing the hill to the horses, I did not swoon. I stumbled.”

“And quite gracefully at that. In either event, it’s a good thing your new friend was behind you. You’ll have to tell me more about him.”

“I’ll do that, just as soon as I know more than that I woke on the beach with him looming over me with that extraordinary grin of his, as if I’d just mightily delighted him. Now, can I safely assume you’re it as far as unwanted company tonight, or is Trixie close on your heels?”

“She’s otherwise occupied, welcoming home her new husband,” Gideon said as he shifted Max’s clothing from chair to floor and sat down. “You’ve missed a lot, Max, but you can hear it all tomorrow, after Jessica and I have departed for London.”

“You have a meeting with Perceval?”

“No, not this time. In fact, we’re rather avoiding each other, the prime minster and I. He nearly had Valentine clapped in irons, a sentiment I’ve shared more than once, but that also is another story, and I won’t deny our youngest brother the delight I’m sure he’ll bathe in as he tells it. Only then should you allow Kate to corner you and tell you all about how wonderful love with her marquis is, which can be damned embarrassing when we’re more used to her challenging us to races.”

“Kate and Simon Ravenhill. Kate with anybody for that matter. It will be a while until I get used to that, although Val being conked on the head by Cupid’s shovel, as he explained the thing to me, probably is the news that really bears off the palm. I’m on the Continent, risking my life, and all anyone here has been doing is billing and cooing.”

“You underestimate your siblings. I’d say we’ve been doing a trifle more than that since last you and I spoke. As have you.”

Gideon’s tone told Max that, athough there would be questions to come concerning how and why he’d been on the smuggling craft, he and Zoé would be the only topic of discussion tonight. “Just ask your questions and then leave me to my misery. My head’s pounding as it is.”

“And you look like hell, there’s also that.”

“While you’re always impeccable,” Max said, “even when running about on a moonlit beach like some revenue officer, rounding up smugglers.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do manage to shave.”

“I shave,” Max protested, rubbing his face. Zoé used to shave him. He’d actually trusted her with a straight razor.

“If you say so, although I’d be interested in hearing how you do that, and yet always look as if you haven’t. Although I will admit you look less the too-pretty young Greek god with half your face fuzzy. Is that your hope?”

“I won’t deny that. But as I said, I do shave. Every three or four days.”

“Such a pity I’ve yet to be in your company on any of those glorious days.”

“Are you finished now? Or is this leading us somewhere?”

“No,” Gideon said, tugging lightly at his shirt cuffs. “I’d just realized we hadn’t yet welcomed you home in our usual loving, brotherly way.” He smiled at his brother. “Welcome home, Max.”

His older brother bore the closest resemblance to their Spanish mother. Dark, smoldering, his bearing both aristocratic and intimidating. Max had visited the bullring while in Spain, and had no trouble visualizing Gideon dressed all in gold and black, standing with his long legs tightly together, his spine bent gracefully back as he swirled the red-lined cape daringly, encouraging the bull to charge. With Gideon, however, it was the ton he dared, the ton he ruled, seemingly with no effort on his part. If Max had a hero when he was growing up, it had been Gideon.

Now he wished he’d just go away. But he’d really like to hear more about Richard Borders, the man Max knew only as a friend of Jessica, Gideon’s recent bride.

“Before you launch your inquisition—tell me about Richard Borders and Trixie. That’s going to take some getting used to, as well, you know. I thought she hated men...on general principles, I mean, which had nothing to do with bedding every last man in England.” Max had already stepped out of the tub and wrapped the toweling sheet around his waist. “Here, give me those,” he said, motioning toward the clothes on the floor. “They may be two years away from the latest style, but that doesn’t mean they deserve such shabby treatment.”

“Four years, at the least. It’s been a long time since you’ve graced Redgrave Manor with your presence.” Gideon handed over the clothes. “Oh, and not every last man. Only those she thought useful, trainable, biddable, and—is this a word? Blackmailable?”

“Probably more of a description.” Having drawn on a pair of tan breeches, Max shoved his damp arms into a white shirt with flowing sleeves, the unturned cuffs sliding down to his fingertips, the shirttails hanging. He didn’t bother to close more than a few of the buttons before adding a red and black paisley waistcoat, also left open.

“Always the epitome of style and precise grooming. It still amazes me why women are so drawn to you,” Gideon said, shaking his head. “All that’s missing, other than hose and shoes—and underdrawers—are those damn blue-lens spectacles you were wearing last I saw you in London. For which, may I say, you have my enormous gratitude. The scruffy facial hair is more than sufficient.”

“Don’t be too grateful. They’re around here somewhere, not cracked or even slightly bent. What do you want to know, Gideon? I’ve still got business tonight.”

“Yes, and that’s why I’m here. I’ve never before had a guest—allow me to clarify that, a female guest at the Manor locked up for the night. And we haven’t even been formally introduced.”

“You make it sound as if we keep a dungeon.” Max grabbed up his brushes and began working his way through his damp, faintly shaggy black hair that fell from a slight center part to below his ears, swearing under his breath as one of the brushes hit the now barely scabbed-over bump on the side of his head. “I told you her name. Zoé. Zoé Charbonneau.”

He then headed for his bedchamber, knowing Gideon would follow him, which he did.

Gideon turned around a straight chair and straddled it as Max looked toward the door to the hallway. His brother was demonstrating how this was all just a friendly chat. That was one way of seeing the thing. But what the move really meant was sit down, Max, because you’re going nowhere until I know all I want to know. Sit down, now. “Lovely name. French, although her English is perfect, not that you allowed for more than three words before having her sent off to the Manor. But that does nothing but spur more questions.”

Max sat down. “She’s just as proficient in Spanish, Italian, German—harsh language except when she speaks it—and with enough Russian and several other languages to get us by.”

“Us. Impressive young lady. You never managed more than French, and when you speak it I’m afraid that melodious language turns harsh. So I take it from the little you’ve said thus far that you two once worked together on the Continent. And now you don’t. Interesting.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“How long?

“Damn, you’re like a terrier after a bone. I last saw her eight or nine months ago, all right, long before I last visited you in London. And since you aren’t going to give up until I tell you more, allow me to get through this as quickly as possible. It’s imperative I see her yet tonight.”

“I don’t know if that’s wise. She’s under my roof now.”

“God’s teeth but the Earl of Saltwood loves to give orders. If it eases your lordship’s mind, I swear on Trixie’s painted toenails I won’t harm her, but I doubt Zoé believes that. She’s probably already fashioning a rope out of the bed sheets and sharpening a letter opener into a knife she can then strap to her thigh with a bit of curtain cord. Unless nobody thought to relieve her of the sticker she carries in her boot. Perhaps she’s managed to remove one of the bedposts and plans to use it as a jousting lance aimed at the first person to dare entering her room.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.”

“Yes, of course. I’m exaggerating, but only that last bit about the bedpost,” Max said, his tone more than a tad sarcastic. “All right, let’s do this, as Trixie would just ferret it all out of me in any case. Zoé was born in France, where her father was fairly wealthy, thanks to the reputation of the knives, swords and other blades produced in his foundries. Many of the royal family and peers were his loyal clients. During the Revolution his foundries were taken over, and her family escaped to Austria. He had managed to take some money with him, but not enough to establish another foundry, so he played himself off as a comte until their luck ran out or, since he took power, Bonaparte’s army could be seen on the horizon, and they were off again. Finally, he and Zoé—the mother had died somewhere along the way—ended up here in England.”

“That explains her ability with languages, if not her father’s insistence on being tied to the French noble class.”

“They existed on that lie, Gideon. Lies and sympathy and quiet loans to the dear comte who would repay them threefold when the Bourbons were back on the throne. You know how mad our society matrons are for émigrés. He was invited to social events, even week-long parties in some of the best country houses—Zoé always invited along to be with the other children in attendance. When particularly pressed for funds, a few jewels found their way into the man’s pocket after some of those parties, sometimes with her help.”

“Wonderful. I’ve installed a thief in my household.”

“Not the least of her talents. At any rate, the ploy worked well enough until another émigré recognized him for who he was. He then fixed his mind on returning to France and retaking possession of his various business enterprises. In order to do that, the French royalty had to be reinstalled on the throne. Zoé decided to help him by volunteering to work for the Crown.”

“A woman? And so young? That’s insane.”

Max crossed one long leg over his knee. “Yes, thank you. I totally agree. Except for one thing—she’s damn good at what she does, especially with languages, which was how she managed to be taken on in the first place. But they soon knew the treasure they had. She’d already been active for over a year before I was paired with her, very much against my wishes I might add, as I was considered to be the student, and her the mentor.”

“I can see the reasoning, however,” Gideon interrupted. “A man and woman, traveling together, don’t raise as much suspicion as a man, or men, traveling together.”

Max nodded his agreement. “She’s a piece of work, brother, and raised to the blade, I suppose you’d say. Fences, shoots better than most men, the way she handles a knife should make any prudent man nervous and she’s killed more than once when the situation called for violence. She can play the lady with the best of them, probably ten times better than Kate, but she’s solid steel beneath that fetching exterior. Cold, hard steel. And she’s deadly smart.”