The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online

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.
    “Your cousin, Lord Rathmore, has just arrived, my lord. He said I wasn’t to disturb you but one simply doesn’t disregard His Lordship’s presence, you know.”
    “That is certainly true. To ask Tony to remain in a quiet corner to await someone’s pleasure would never do. I’ll come directly. I wonder what His Lordship wants? Surely not to press me about marriage.”
    “Probably not, my lord. If I may speak plainly, His Lordship looks a bit downpin, a bit tight about the mouth. Perhaps ill, although not of the body, you understand, but of the spirit. Were I to hazard a guess, knowing His Lordship’s penchants, I dare say it would involve the fair sex.” He looked off into the distance, adding, “It usually does, regardless of penchants.”
    “Damnation,” said Douglas, rising from his desk. “I’ll see him.” He stared down again at the two letters. The messenger could wait a bit longer. He had to think, had to weigh all the alternatives open to him, he had to have more time. Besides, Anthony Colin St. John Parrish, Viscount Rathmore, was the son of his mother’s first cousin, and a favorite of his. It had been six months since they’d been in each other’s company.
    His first view of his cousin did not gladden his heart. He looked depressed as the devil, just as Hollis had said. Douglas strode into the small estate room, closed the door firmly behind him, and locked it. “All right, Tony,” he said without preamble, “out with it. What is wrong?”
    Tony Parrish, Viscount Rathmore, turned about from his perusal of nothing in particular outside the window to look at his cousin. He straightened his shoulders automatically and tried for a smile. It wasn’t much of a smile, but Douglas appreciated the effort, and repeated mildly, “Tell me, Tony. What’s happened?”
    “Hollis, I gather?”
    “Yes. Tell me.”
    “That man should have been a bloody priest.”
    “Oh no, it’s just that he isn’t blind. Also he’s rather fond of you. Now, talk to me, Tony.”
    “All right, curse you, if you must know, I am no longer engaged. I am now without a fiancée. I have been betrayed. I am alone and adrift. I am here.”
    Was Hollis never wrong? Still, Douglas was incredulous. “You mean to say that Teresa Carleton broke it off?”
    “Of course she didn’t. Don’t be a simpleton. No, I did. I found out she was sleeping with one of my friends. Friend, ha! The bloody sod! Can you believe it, Douglas? The woman was to marry me— me! —she was to be my bloody wife. I had selected her with great care, I had nurtured her as I would the most precious of blossoms, treated her with consideration and