Redeeming Jack Read Free Page B

a waltz filtered through Jack’s consciousness. Was Carys dancing with her tall companion? Jack imagined so. She loved to dance.
    The duke cleared his throat and Jack’s attention snapped back to the warm, fire-lit room. “Did you say you had a job for me, or are we just going to discuss the inconsistencies of women?”
    “Don’t attempt to class my wife with your own. You owe a lot to Her Grace.”
    Jack held the duke’s icy stare for as long as he could manage and then gave up the effort. He couldn’t imagine the duchess abandoning the duke. “I apologize. Your wife is a pearl beyond price. Now can we get back to the matter in hand?”
    “Do you remember that Mrs. Forester, Elizabeth’s mother, was implicated in the failed assassination attempt on the Prince Regent last June?”
    “Implicated?” Jack laughed. “I heard Mrs. Forester was in such a rage when her husband misfired that she whipped out her pistol and tried to finish the job herself.”
    The duke compressed his lips. “Exactly, but that is not the story she came out with at the trial. She insisted, whilst weeping into her handkerchief, that Sir John Harrington and her husband forced her to take part in the scheme and that she was innocent.
    “You and I know she lied, but for Elizabeth and her family’s sake, I allowed the lie to stand. I could not allow my prospective bride’s mother to hang by the neck or be transported for life.”
    The duke offered Jack a cigarillo from the silver box on his desk. “Of course, now I regret that decision with every fiber of my being. Mrs. Forester has escaped. From information we have gathered, we suspect she will try and join up with La Fleur, the mastermind behind the assassination attempt.”
    Jack lit the cigarillo and blew out a cloud of smoke. “And what does your duchess think about that?”
    The duke’s expression grew cold. “She doesn’t know. And if you do your job properly, she’ll never have to. I need you to find Mrs. Forester and bring her back.”
    Jack stared at the duke as a thousand questions flooded his brain. He decided to start with the obvious. “Do you have any idea where she might be heading?”
    The duke stood up and walked across to the window, cigar in hand. “Yes, we believe she is in Wales, where we expect her either to rendezvous with La Fleur or seek passage to France.”
    Jack nodded. It made sense. French ships had been avoiding the British blockade of the English Channel for years by sailing around to safer harbors on the Irish Sea. The Welsh were not known for their love of the English. Knowing his countrymen, Jack could certainly imagine them allowing the occasional French ship to dock and unload cargo when nobody in authority was looking.
    “Do you speak any Welsh, Llewelyn? I have been told by the authorities that the Welsh are a closed-mouthed, resentful race who might respond better to one of their own.”
    Jack remembered growing up in the Welsh countryside and the smiling, joyful, open faces of his companions. He pictured Carys at fifteen, her hair hanging down her back, begging him to help her down from a tree she climbed to impress him and then lost her nerve. He’d encouraged her to jump from the lowest bough into his arms. The feel of her maturing body against his changed everything…
    “Yes, I speak Welsh, although my father and school masters at Harrow tried to beat it out of me.”
    The duke raised an eyebrow.
    “It wasn’t considered a suitable accomplishment for a duke’s son. All my father’s children spoke it, of course. It meant that we could shut him out.”
    The duke stubbed out his cigar. “If you are agreeable then, would you care to accompany me to the Foreign Office? There are people there who have a far better grasp of the situation than I do.”
    Jack doubted that, but he got to his feet, helped himself to another glass of brandy and looked regretfully at the expensive Spanish cigarillos.
    As if he’d caught Jack’s thought, the