A Daughter's Destiny (12 page)

She sank back to the ground. He meant exactly what he said. When he grabbed the bag from where she had dropped it in the scuffle, her protest was muffled by the cloth.

Squatting next to her, he smiled. “One more sound, darlin', and I'll silence ye fer good.” When her eyes widened in horror, he nodded. “Yer learnin'. Now, let's see what ye 'ave in 'ere.”

He dumped the contents onto the wet ground and pushed aside the few personal items she had packed in the small bag. His smile broadened when he lifted the box, but vanished when he discovered it was locked. “Give me the key.”

She shook her head.

“I want it, darlin'. Don't make me do ye 'arm, Miss Clark. Ye wouldn't be likin' it a bit if—” Suddenly he glanced over his shoulder.

Brienne heard what he had. Someone was coming. Marksen stuffed her things back into the bag and lifted her off the ground, holding her under one arm as if she were a barrel on his ship. At an awkward lope, he carried her into the shadows of some trees. He tied a second handkerchief over her eyes, crushing her borrowed bonnet, then placed her in a saddle. When her bag was pressed into her fingers, she held it tightly. The saddle rocked with a squeak of leather as he climbed on behind her.

He gave her no warning when he urged the horse out of the yard. She nearly fell, but his arm encircled her waist. She shrank away from his repulsive touch.

Sometime later—she had no idea how long—Captain Marksen slowed the horse and jumped down. She shrieked when he hauled her to the ground. She fell to her knees.

“C'mon, darlin',” he ordered as he pulled her to her feet. “Me boys'll be glad to meet a real lady like ye.” He chortled and steered her across the uneven ground.

When she tripped, he did not catch her. He let her tumble to the ground before he forced her upright again. She heard a set of hinges protest. Knowing there might be a sill on the door, she lifted her feet and managed not to fall. Several men had been talking, but as she entered, they became silent.

Fumbling fingers loosened the handkerchiefs. As soon as her hands were untied, she whirled away, undid the cloth gagging her, and tossed the soiled material at Captain Marksen.

At laughter that echoed Marksen's smile, Brienne looked around her. Unplaned boards along the walls were broken by a single door. The ceiling was low, for the captain's head brushed it. In the middle of the small room was a table with a pair of benches. More than a dozen men crowded around it, and a lone candle burned. She recognized the two men who had been with Marksen this afternoon.

“Sit down!” ordered Marksen.

Gingerly she edged to an empty spot on one bench. She did not expect any of the men to move aside, and none of them did. Their eyes followed every motion she made. She adjusted the broken brim of her bonnet, pulling it forward so she did not have to see their leers.

Captain Marksen began telling his men about what they could expect during this voyage. Not once was she mentioned, and she wondered how often they had passengers on their nameless ship. She folded her hands in her lap, keeping the bag close to her. When the captain paused in mid-word, she saw the men tense.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Shut up,” Marksen growled. He motioned, and several men stood, edging to either side of the door.

Brienne swallowed her gasp when she saw the sailors held guns. Then she heard a horse slowing outside the hut.

The door of the hut opened. When she started to hide beneath the table, a pistol appeared directly in front of her eyes. She followed its glint to Marksen's hand and on up his arm to his rigid face. She froze. Even breathing took more courage than she could muster.

When a man stepped into the hut, the others welcomed him with laughs and rambunctious shouts.

“Evan!” she gasped. Her gaze moved from his elegant riding coat along the dark riding breeches which followed the firm lines of his legs. Polished boots reached to his knees, but did not shine as brightly as the pistol in his hand.

“Ye know 'er, Somerset?” asked Marksen.

Smiling, Evan put out a single finger and lowered Marksen's gun toward the table. “Brienne is not dangerous. Deluded, mayhap, but not dangerous.”

“Brienne?” Marksen glared at her. “Told me 'er name be Bridget.”

“You know women. They never tell the same story twice.”

“Cheap doxy. Offers me Ł25 to take 'er 'cross. Yer type, Somerset. Yer always lookin' fer a cheap one.” He grasped Brienne by the arm. Jerking her to her feet, he propelled her toward Evan.

Torn between delight at seeing Evan and outrage that he had followed her, she pulled away. “Don't touch me, Mr. Somerset!”

Evan took her arm again as the men jeered, mocking her words in high-pitched voices. He twirled her, entangling her skirt with his legs. “I shall do whatever the hell I want with you, honey.” He caught her other hand as she raised it. When she moaned as he twisted it behind her, he looked past her to Marksen. “I want to talk to her alone.”

“Go ahead.” Pointing to the corner opposite the door, he said, “Me and the boys will iron out a few things while ye deal with yer doxy.”

Brienne refused to be dragged about the hut. She had to get to France. If Evan's intrusion persuaded Marksen to leave her behind.… She shook her head when Evan repeated the captain's order.

He caught her face in one hand and said so softly only she could hear, “I do not want to hurt you, honey, so do what I tell you.”

“You would not dare. You—” She saw the truth in his crystal blue eyes.

He smiled, but with no humor as she let him lead her to a darkened corner.

Not wanting to be overheard by the others, she spat in a whisper, “I should have guessed you would be involved with smugglers.”

“Me? You are the one negotiating with Marksen for passage across the Channel.” He laughed. “I must admit that I did not think that you would be so calm when I caught up with you.”

“Did you think I would throw myself on you, sobbing out my joy at seeing you?”

“Hardly, but I did anticipate a little curiosity about how I found you.”

“You obviously are following me. Is Captain Marksen one of your many friends?”

“We have done business in the past.”

“We are doing business now! Why don't you leave?”

He gripped her arm and pushed her against the wall. “Brienne, your sarcasm is tiresome. Keep it up, and I shall give you to Marksen and his crew to deal with as they see fit.”

Although she doubted he would do as he threatened, she knew she must not embarrass him before Marksen's crew. She nodded.

“That is better,” he said. Leaning forward so his face was close to hers, he added, “How in hell did you get involved with Marksen?”

“On my way from London, I asked for the name of a captain who was interested in making some money. His name was mentioned more than once.”

“Dammit, honey, how can you be so stupid?” His hand settled on her shoulder to keep her from edging away, and she glared at him. “Running off like this was crazy. You need protection now, and I am going to give it to you whether you want it or not. Do you understand?”

“But—”

His finger on her lips silenced her. “Do you understand?” When she nodded, he smiled with satisfaction. “Good. Now, to make
them
understand. Cooperate, Brienne, if you value our lives.”

Waiting for him to reveal some great plan, she stiffened when his arm slipped around her and brought her tight to him. His fingers framed her cheeks, keeping her from averting her face as his lips captured hers. The gentle stroke of his mouth belied his angry words. When her arms eased up around his back, his strong sinews moved smoothly beneath his skin. He pressed her to the wall, warning her that his desire for her was very real.

When the tip of his tongue teased the curve of her lips, they softened. Boldly, he sought within her mouth for the pleasure waiting there. The heat of his breath caressed her as it mingled with hers. Her fingers crushed the wool of his coat as she tried not to be swept into the eddy of passion.

He raised his head and whispered, “Very good, honey. Every man in the room is watching. I knew I could depend on you to put on a good act for them.”

Rage seared her, but her anger was not aimed at him. She was furious with herself for believing yet again that he was wooing her because he found her enticing. He had never wanted her, as much as he wanted what he thought she could bring him.

With a chuckle, Evan kept his arm around Brienne's stiff waist as he steered her back to the table. He had seen her scowl, but he ignored it. Now was not the time for her ruffled sensibilities. Nor was now the time to imagine holding her much more intimately. The longing to explore every curve that had brushed him sent a tightening through him. He pushed those tempting thoughts from his mind as Marksen stepped in front of him.

“Where're ye goin', Somerset?”

“You are busy, so I shall come back for a call some other time.” He glanced at Brienne. “I have what I came for.”

Marksen's cadaverous face appeared more skeletal in the candlelight. “Then, get the 'ell out of 'ere. Ye've 'ad yer chance to say farewell to Miss Clark or whatever 'er name be.” His cold gaze settled on Brienne, and he licked his lips. “Say goodbye to 'im, darlin'. It be time fer us to be leavin'.”

“Leaving?” asked Evan with studied serenity. He would not let Marksen know how the smuggler's leer infuriated him.

“She be payin' me to take 'er to France.”

“She is not going to France.”

Brienne cried, “Evan—”

“Look, Somerset,” Marksen said with a sneer, “she be payin' me fer takin' 'er there.” His thin lips stretched as he stared at Evan's clothes. “Of course, if ye've enough gold to make it worth me while to forget m'deal with yer Miss Clark, I be glad to listen to yer offer.”

“I am going!” she insisted.

Ignoring her protests—had Brienne lost every bit of sense she had ever had?—Evan said, “You are forgetting that small debt you owe me, Marksen. April of 1807. Or have you forgotten you told me that you would be willing to repay me whenever I wish?” He smiled as Marksen's shoulders sagged. “This is it.”

Evan knew Marksen did not want to remember the night when Evan and his partner had saved Marksen's ship, cargo, and life. It was an obligation that had never been mentioned again until tonight.

“Get out,” Marksen snapped. “Take 'er, and get out.”

“No!” cried Brienne. “Captain Marksen, you promised to take me to France! I shall pay you—”

With a laugh, Evan muffled her by putting his hand over her mouth. He shook his head when Marksen offered him a filthy handkerchief to gag her. Drawing a clean one from his pocket, he released her long enough to move behind her. She could not flee, for Marksen caught her.

She kept her lips closed tightly when he held up the cloth.

Quietly Evan ordered, “Cooperate, honey.” When she shook her head vehemently, he bent to whisper, “Marksen will not let you leave alive if he suspects you could find this place again. Either cooperate, or I shall knock you senseless.”

“You would not dare!” The rest of her objection was silenced by the cloth.

Brienne relented, knowing it was useless, as Marksen bound her hands behind her again. When a second handkerchief was held in front of her eyes, she saw Evan's smile. He was enjoying this! If he thought he had gotten the better of her, he would learn he was wrong. She was not sure how she would best this man who had too many connections throughout England, but she would.

Soon, she promised herself. Soon Evan Somerset would watch her exult in triumph. Soon.

Chapter Eight

Evan slowed the horse as he reached the marsh road and settled Brienne more securely on his lap. When her face turned toward him, she radiated rage. She could not see anything. He swallowed his chuckle. If she discovered his amusement with her circumstances, she would be even more impossible to deal with.

And she usually was incredibly difficult! Never had he met anyone who was so eager to disbelieve him when he was telling the truth and accept his lies as fact. He had no one to blame for that but himself. If he had gone to L'Enfant de la Patrie with a story of a wife or lover who desired the vase, Brienne's generous heart would have been touched, and she would have sold the vase to him.

Instead he had allowed her impoverished gentility to touch
his
heart, and he had made her suspicious with his ridiculous offer for the vase. He gazed down into her face which was nearly hidden by the two handkerchiefs and asked himself, yet again, what it was about Brienne that had made him forget his well-whetted instincts.

Holding her with one arm, he untied the cloth gagging her. He tossed it into the underbrush edging the road. “Be quiet,” he warned.

“I shall do what I want, Evan Somerset! I shall—”

He silenced her by capturing her mouth. The soft promise of untapped passion on her lips maddened him with a desire he found hard to control. He sighed when she jerked away. He loosened the cloth covering her eyes.

“How about my hands?” she demanded, but in a whisper.

In the darkness which was broken only by the cold fog concealing the countryside, he could see the glitter of fury in her eyes. “Can you be better behaved?”

“Can you be less insulting?”

“Honey, we are not going to get anywhere tonight if you are a shrew.”

“
I
was going somewhere until you interfered!”

From beneath his coat, he pulled a knife. Her eyes widened as she drew back. He cursed as he slit the bonds on her wrists and made the blade disappear. “Did you think I was going to slay you?”

Hating the breathlessness in her voice, Brienne whispered, “I never know what you will do.”

His hand on her shoulders tilted her beneath his lips. She wanted to pull away, but any motion could cause her to lose her precarious balance on his lap.