The Sherbrooke Bride by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online

him look at Melissande as he spoke the words that would make her his wife.
    Alexandra had come to realize in her eighteen years that life could concoct many lavishly inedible dishes to serve on one’s plate.
Northcliffe Hall
    Douglas couldn’t believe it, couldn’t at first take it all in. He stared from the Duke of Beresford’s letter to the other short, urgent scrawl dispatched by Lord Avery himself just that morning, brought to him by a messenger who awaited his reply in the kitchen, doubtless downing ale.
    He picked up the duke’s letter again. It was jovial to the eyebrows, filled with jubilation and relief and congratulations. Douglas was to marry Melissande next week at Claybourn Hall in the ancient Norman church in the village of Wetherby. The duke would become his proud papa-in-law in seven days. His new papa-in-law would also shove quite a few guineas into the needy ducal pocket once the marriage had taken place.
    He picked up Lord Avery’s letter. He was also to go to Etaples, France, as soon as possible, disguised as a bloody French soldier. He was to await Georges Cadoudal’s instructions, then follow them. He was to rescue a French girl who was being held against her will by one of Napoleon’s generals. There was nothing more, absolutely no detail, no names, no specifics. If Douglas didn’t do this, England would lose its best chance at eliminating Napoleon, for Georges Cadoudal was the brain behind the entire operation. Lord Avery was counting on Douglas. England was counting on Douglas. To hammer the final nail in the coffin, Lord Avery wrote in closing, “If you do not rescue this wretched girl, Cadoudal says he won’t continue with the plan. He insists upon you, Douglas, but he refuses to say why. Perhaps you know the answer. I know you have met him in the past. You must do this and succeed, Northcliffe, you must. England’s fate lies in your hands.”
    Douglas sat back in his chair and laughed. “I must wed and I must go to France.” He laughed louder.
    Would he sail to France to rescue Cadoudal’s lover, as doubtless this female was, or travel to Claybourn Hall as a bridegroom?
    Douglas stopped laughing. The frown returned to his forehead. Why couldn’t life be simple, just once? He was responsible for England’s fate? Well, hell.
    He thought about Georges Cadoudal, the radical leader of the Royalist Chouans. His last attempt to eliminate Napoleon had been in December 1800, his followers using explosives in Paris that had killed twenty-two people and wounded well over fifty, but not harming any of Napoleon’s entourage. Georges Cadoudal was a dangerous man, a passionate man who despised Napoleon to the depths of his soul,a man who sought the return of the Bourbons to the French throne; he counted no cost, be it lives or money. But evidently this girl’s life he counted high, so high that he would renege on his plans with England if she weren’t rescued.
    Cadoudal knew Douglas, that was true, had seen him play the Frenchman several years before and succeed in a mission, but why he would insist upon Douglas and no other to rescue his lover would remain a mystery until and unless Douglas went to Etaples, France. And now the English government was backing Cadoudal in another plot. And the plot was in jeopardy because Georges’s lover was being held prisoner.
    When Hollis, the Sherbrooke butler for thirty years, who looked remarkably like a quite respectable peer of the realm himself, walked soundlessly into the library, Douglas at first paid him no heed. Once, many years before, when Douglas was young and prideful as a cock and equally jealous of his own worth, a friend had joked that Douglas resembled the Sherbrooke butler more than he did his own father. Douglas had flattened him.
    Hollis cleared his throat gently.
    Douglas looked up, and a black eyebrow went up as well in silent question.
    â€œYour cousin, Lord Rathmore,