Page 68 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
She jerked forward, her heart pounding in her chest. “Bonaparte will have to fight on two fronts. A nightmare to be pincered between Britain and the Austrians and Russians, too.”
“London is pleased that he will have to divide his army and navy.”
She caught the note of caution in his voice. “But…what?”
“If he wishes to attack us, we think he will come now. Momentarily.”
She squeezed his hand. Remorse had her sagging against her pillows. “Oh, disaster. My drawings of Brighton will never go to him.”
“No, but—”
“I did not complete my mission.” She clamped both hands to her lips.
He took down her hands. “Listen to me!”
Tears burned her eyes. “After all this, I did no good.”
“Stop this! They have your other drawings.”
“Not Brighton.”
“No. But that town does not have the best aspects for a beach landing. I doubt the French would consider attacking there. It would certainly not be among the first locations.”
She sagged amid her pillows. “I wonder if they have my Hastings drawings.”
He expression fell as he stared at her. “What?”
“The French agent who works Hastings has been lax, not picking up my papers. The Ashleys and Ramseys told me that. As of a few weeks ago, before I was abducted, no one had picked up the drawings in a dead drop in a bookstore in Hastings.”
His hesitancy gave way to a glorious smile. “Halsey and Langley and I know that, too.”
“You know? You…checked?”
“We saw those drawings weeks ago. We left them there as lure for a French agent to pick them up, just as the maps of other cities had been. Since you were abducted, we’ve been working with Lord Ashley’s and Scarlett Hawthorne’s agents, so we know all this. Please know your work was a godsend.”
“Oh, Clive.” All she felt was misery. “We have no proof.”
“But we do. Hawthorne’s agent in Boulogne confirms that the landing flaps on the amphibious boats are all the same dimensions.”
Hawthorne’s agent in Boulogne had gotten word to Scarlett of this success?
“If the French come, wherever they come, my darling”—he took both her hands again and grinned—“they will not land.”
“But drown.”
He stood and bent to put his lips to hers. His kiss was brief and bold. “Rest and recover, my sweetheart. I want to take you home with me to London.”
His declaration filled her with a joy she’d rarely felt. “I do prefer your Richmond house,” she said with whimsy and a coy tip of her head.
“You knew of me there?” His brows went high.
“Not by name. But by aspect. I saw you a few times in town when I went to buy supplies. I thought to myself then,What a glorious man. To what lucky woman does he belong?”
He kissed her again. “I belong to you, Giselle Laurant. I saw you painting, drawing along the river.”
“When I lived in the old saddler’s house,” she reminisced. “After that, I went to Hastings to begin my drawings of there.”
Clive would not have her fretting over her work. “My telescope told me how lovely you were, how dedicated to your art. And my heart was captured then as it is now.”
