The Duchess and the Spy Read online

  The Duchess and the Spy

  By Marly Mathews

  Agents of the Crown, Book One

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2006, 2015 by Marly Mathews

  www.marlymathews.com

  Cover Design by Melody Simmons from Ebookindiecovers

  http://ebookindiecovers.com/

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book has been previously published, under the title of The Witch’s Wolf. It has been extensively revised and edited for this version.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  France, 1794

  “Find the De Clermont brat!” Pierre Dubois bellowed. His horse let out a long whiny. Pulling back on the reins, he surveyed the medieval fortress that passed for a castle. Narrowing his eyes, he struggled to control the rage pulsating through him.

  Château fort De Clermont had been built in the 12th century. The De Clermont's had tried to give it an elegant beauty through countless renovations and additions. It had been an attempt to make it look more like a palace, however, it still looked like a fortress. Pierre fed on the feeling of doom permeating the air. The castle grounds crawled with his fellow members of the revolution. They were out for blood…and he had set the stage for his stab at vengeance.

  He hated the duke and loved the duchess. If he couldn’t have her as his own, Madame La Guillotine could have her. Or would he take her before the guillotine did? Only, time would tell.

  Some said Sandrine De Clermont hailed from a long line of Scottish Witches. Others said the only magical powers she held were her powers of allure. Her beauty preceded her amongst the noble families of Europe. Witch or not, Pierre only knew he had an obsession for her unlike any other woman. Tonight, he would finally claim his prize, and gain his victory against the De Clermont Family once and for all.

  *****

  Sandrine De Clermont, Duchess of St. Malo, dashed through the castle. She had to make her way to the secret passageway that led out of the castle away from the revolutionaries. Her husband would provide a distraction while she escaped with their daughter. But she feared she would not make it on time. Even though help was coming from England, her time had come to an end. Pierre would continue the search until he finally found her. Many people thought she possessed the powers of a witch.

  Alas, she’d only been blessed with the power of premonition—a power that had not saved her. Perhaps, her death had been written in stone. She could not see that far, and indeed, the fate of most of her loved ones were shrouded in mist. The mist usually cleared when it was too late for her to do anything to stop fate from working its blessed or damning magic.

  Struggling for breath, she strengthened her hold on her daughter. Their journey was near the end. Isabella would make it back to England and then onward to Scotland. She would grow into a beautiful young woman. She had caught glimpses of her daughter’s future within the last few hours, and it filled her with hope. She would not die in France, she would not die a premature death. Knowing that gave her immense comfort.

  Her husband would meet his demise at the guillotine. She had foreseen that yesterday. How they had managed to avoid such a fate for so long still baffled her. She had begged her husband many times to leave all that he had in France and return with her to England, and he had refused. She still didn’t know why she had remained with him. She could only attribute it to her blinding love for the foolish man…a love that was only trumped by her love for their daughter.

  The truth of his gruesome fate chilled her to her heart. But her visions were sudden and fleeting. If only she’d had more warning. As it was, time had become her worst enemy.

  Dragging in a shaky breath, she came to an abrupt halt. She had made it to her destination. The sound of gunshots, and men shouting pierced the air. The enemy drew near. Had they already captured Robert? She could not give it a thought. They had already said their farewell. If she saw her husband again…it would be at the Pearly Gates.

  Robert’s sister and her husband would take Isabella back to England, and God willing, Isabella would be raised in Scotland. All would be well, as long as Isabella survived.

  “Daphne, no matter what, you must whisk Isabella off to our little cottage by the sea where Claudette and Duncan will find you. Do you understand?”

  Her tiny maid looked at her in surprise. Daphne Trudeau’s father had been French and her mother was English. With her petite stature, she would be able to walk through the passageway. The passageway was small, and if Sandrine went, she’d have to walk hunched over. Daphne was short enough that she’d probably be able to walk upright. “You were supposed to come with us, Your Grace.”

  “I cannot. I fear Pierre will find me before we make it off the grounds. Pray, do not argue with me. Our time is running out.”

  She kissed the top of Isabella’s head. At that precise moment, Isabella’s eyes fluttered open.

  Reflecting back at her were pools the shade of the greenest emerald. Her daughter tightened her hold on the front of her gown. Isabella had been gifted with many more talents than she had been blessed with. In one startling instant, her daughter and she connected in a soul shattering deluge of images. She spiraled into her daughter’s mind. The visions that met her jarred her to her soul.

  Wrenching her gaze away from Isabella, Sandrine shattered the spell that had been cast.

  “The fates it would seem, laugh at us, my darling. They mock us in a most cruel fashion.” Her voice trembled. “Always remember that I love you, Isabella.”

  At seven years of age, Sandrine knew her daughter would carry this day with her to her grave. Fortunately, Isabella was small for her age. She’d always looked younger than what she was, and if she were lucky, it was a trait she would carry for the rest of her life.

  She reflected back on her life. She had led a full and happy, albeit short one, and had no regrets.

  “Mama?” Isabella’s eyes sparkled with tea
rs.

  “Don’t cry, Isabella. Never deny the call of your heart, dearest. Always remember to give the key to the one who is worthy.”

  She knew Isabella understood. Wisdom beyond her tender years, shone in her eyes.

  “Don’t leave me, Mama, please. Don’t let the bad men take you away.”

  Sandrine sighed. She placed Isabella down on her feet, and looked at the secret passage. She reflected for a moment. Peeling back the 14th century tapestry of a knight and his lady, she activated the secret panel. A small doorway opened.

  “Daphne, you take the lead.”

  Reaching for a torch, the short maid stepped into the damp corridor. At her diminutive height, she hardly had to stoop to walk through it. Turning around, Daphne looked at her in expectation.

  The sound of shattering glass echoed through the hall. The hourglass trickled out its last bit of sand. Sandrine’s time of reckoning was at hand.

  “Go! Now…so I can cover the doorway and get to another room.”

  “No.” Isabella’s whisper had the strength of steel.

  “Daphne, you do as I say. Take Isabella to safety.” She quickly unlatched the emerald amulet that hung around her neck. Lifting her daughter’s blazing red curls, she fastened the necklace around her small neck. The ancient magic contained within it, would protect her until she reached safe haven. Now her powers were greatly diminished, and at her current strength, she’d be no match for Pierre, but it was either her or Isabella, and she gladly sacrificed herself so her child would live.

  “Don’t be afraid of your future, dearest heart.” She hugged Isabella to her breast, and rained kisses over her cherubic face. “Your destiny awaits you. Embrace it with welcome arms—whatever you do, do not forget how to love and live life to its fullest. You must carry the love that your Papa and I have for you in your heart. Guardian angels shall watch over you. Never forget…to remember!” She urged her daughter to take Daphne’s outstretched hand. “May God watch over you both until you reach England.”

  She closed the hidden door, and carefully repositioned the tapestry. She ran down the hall away from where her daughter and Daphne fled.

  Pierre waited for her. Dread formed in the pit of her stomach. The only way she could keep him from going after Isabella would be to give herself to him. Her blood curdled.

  “Where is your beautiful little brat, Sandrine?” Pierre sneered. He crossed the short distance to where she stood.

  “I haven’t the slightest inkling.” She forced out a dismissive laugh. She drowned in the hatred that permeated off of him. The waves nearly brought her to her knees. But she would not look weak in front of this man, no matter how much he sickened her.

  Fury shone in his eyes. “No matter. Your little bitch can go to hell for all I care. I want you. Only, you.” He grabbed her chin and pulled her face toward him. She spat at him. Whipping his hand back, he slapped her. “You shouldn’t have done that, my darling Duchess. I heard of your witch blood, and defiant attitude. We shall see if it serves you well in the coming days, or if you shall bow to me!”

  Isabella wanted to run back to her mother. Fear clutched at her being. Why had she left her?

  “Come along, my little miss,” Daphne said softly.

  A vision clouded Isabella’s sight. She fell to her knees clapping her hands over her ears. She could hear the angry mob. They chanted. Sickness boiled in her stomach.

  Their triumphant shouts of Vive la France! Echoed through her mind and caused her world to spin. Daphne tried to pull her to her feet, but a weakness consumed her. Isabella could not move.

  “My dearest little lady,” Daphne crouched down to her level. “I can’t carry you with the torch in my other hand. You must find the strength to go on.”

  And somehow, someway Isabella did.

  Chapter One

  France, 1808

  “Oh, my little miss, you are playing with fire.”

  Isabella swept into her dressing room. “This gown just doesn’t suit the occasion. Let us opt for something a little more daring…a trifle more risqué.”

  “Risqué? You are inviting disaster. Why draw attention to yourself? You already stand out in a crowd. The guest of honour tonight shouldn’t notice you.”

  Isabella laughed. “Dearest, Daphne. That is the point. I want…no, I need him to notice me. It’s my only way of escaping back to England.”

  “Escaping? Why do you persist in that foolish notion? Rescue has not come in four years! I imagine they think you are dead. They have probably given up hope.”

  “Why would my family abandon me? My Aunt and Uncle would not give up on me, and my Grandmamma, she would never abandon hope. I feel quite certain that they know I am still alive. They just cannot reach me. That is all. With war raging between France and England, it isn’t a wonder they haven’t been able to find me.” She tossed her hair off of her shoulder.

  Daphne looked at her worry shining in her eyes. “You are too reckless for your own good, Mademoiselle.”

  “Pierre kidnapped me. He has no right to me. He only wants me because…” Isabella couldn’t force herself to finish the sentence. She couldn’t quite decide why Pierre wanted her. He went between treating her like a niece and looking at her as if he wanted to ravish her. She played a dangerous game with him, and one of these days she would lose that game.

  “I suppose you are right. Somehow, we must remove you from Pierre’s nefarious clutches. I shall do whatever is necessary to see that happen, Isabella.” Daphne and she were so close that Daphne called her Isabella when they were in private.

  “I know, Daphne, dear, but I shan’t leave without you.” Pierre had used Daphne to abduct her, and Isabella had no doubt that he would use her again, should she attempt to escape.

  “And you do not wish to use your other abilities?”

  “I can’t expose myself, as a witch, and while I could use them to dispose of Pierre…”

  “No. I forbid you to have that on your conscience. We will find another way, dearest. I do not wish you to use your powers for harm. Do you think your mother still lives?”

  Isabella sighed heavily. “I do not know. If only that would become clear to me…we would know exactly what we had to lose in this little game of cat and mouse we play with Pierre.”

  “Indeed. If there is any hope that Her Grace still lives…we must free her from Pierre. He is a most wicked man.”

  “Aye, and I have no doubt that he would try to hurt you to make me stay in line.”

  “I do not fear him, Isabella. If you ever have a chance to leave this place, I wish you to do it. Promise me you will.”

  “I…”

  “Give me your solemn vow, Isabella.”

  “I promise,” she said reluctantly.

  “What gown strikes your fancy for tonight, Isabella?”

  Haunting images of her mother dashed through her mind. If she were still alive, she would find her, no matter the cost.

  “I think the new gold one should do. I hear he has a certain fondness for gold.”

  “He has a certain fondness for beautiful ladies, no matter what colour of gown they wear. I imagine he would prefer you stark naked.”

  “Daphne!”

  “Well, I am only saying what you already know. You had better be ready for the consequences, if you invite his attention. You have been fighting off the sick advances of Pierre with your power of projection for four years now…a miracle has already happened. I don’t know how you expect to deflect the little Corsican’s carnal appetite.”

  “Oh, I have a few ideas.” Isabella caressed the emerald amulet she wore. “Besides, I just need to have the Emperor agree to give me back my lands and my title. If I am to remain here in France, I want everything that Pierre stole, returned to me.”

  “If he gives you safe passage back to England, he shall have you become his spy, and perhaps his partner in bed.”

  “He already has enough partners…I doubt he requires another mistress.”

&nbs
p; “Never say never.” Daphne looked horrified. “I still don’t think you realize your own allure. You will cast a spell over the Emperor!”

  “That is my intent. I don’t need to cast a lasting spell, I just want to mesmerize him until I get what I want.”

  “I am being serious, Isabella.”

  “So am I, Daphne. I can be quite enchanting when I put my mind and heart into the task.” She smiled.

  “I pray he is a man of his word.”

  “I shall wager my life on it.” Isabella waited while Daphne set out the exquisite gown. “I will soon have that randy little bugger eating out of my hand. Men are only interested in one thing when they are around me. I only have to make sure they never get me in the truest sense of the word.”

  “You’ve already had one too many close calls in my opinion.” Her friend snorted.

  “Trust me, Daphne. Soon, we shall be gazing at the white cliffs of Dover.”

  “I hope you are right…”

  “I am.” Isabella reached for her Italian Violet Perfume, and dabbed it liberally across her body. “You need only place your faith in me. I shan’t ever let you down.”

  “I know.”

  Once the perfume dried, she pulled on her silk stockings. Next, she donned the fine dress, as she already wore her other undergarments. And since, less was more these days in fashion…that was precious little in the way of undergarments.

  “Just answer this one last question. What will you do if he does demand favours of the more intimate sort? Do not think I am innocent to his lascivious ways. I have heard of his prowess with the ladies, and I shall not allow you to become yet another conquest. For such a little man, he is quite renowned for his rather formidable sword, if you think he shall fall prey to your magic—I wouldn’t bet on it, he has a keen and cunning mind, he doesn’t always think with his little man.”

  “Oh, Daphne, don’t speak with such vulgarity! It doesn’t become you. If he comes near me with his sword as you say…I shall do my worst on him. You needn’t fear. I am a witch, remember?” she laughed despite the thundering of her heart.