Dark Before the Rising Sun (30 page)

“You!” she whispered hoarsely.

“Ah,
Lady
Bess, I thought ye smarter than that. 'Tis a pity.”

“Get out! How dare you set foot in my house!” She sounded sure of herself, though her body was shaking.

“Ah, Bessie, ye're a cruel woman, ye are, to be turnin' out a man who has been workin' hard all night long, and who's been makin' ye some money. Ye've disappointed me, ye have.”

Jack Shelby was standing in her bedchamber, drinking her brandy. Bess shook her head. That couldn't be happening to her! Oh, what a fool she had been to think she could double-cross Jack Shelby and get away with it. He and his cutthroats ruled the farms and villages lying along the nearby coastline. Nobody told Shelby what to do. He had defied the authorities for too long to know fear of the law.

Bess eyed the man who had broken into her home and who stood so boldly before her, gazing down at her with that sadistic smile. And as his narrow, catlike eyes moved slowly over her, she suddenly knew another kind of fear. Many women sought his favors, for there was a certain sensual attractiveness in his coarse-featured face and firmly muscled body, but he preferred taking women by force.

With a suddenness that caught him off guard, Bess jumped to her feet and flew to the door. She even managed to turn the knob and open the door before she felt herself being lifted off the floor. The door was kicked shut. He held her struggling body against him with one arm, the warm, brandy-scented breath of his laughter striking her on the face.

Roughly, Jack Shelby pressed his lips against the slender column of her throat.

“By God, but ye're still a beauty, Bess Seacombe,” he whispered against her mouth before his mouth covered hers, the hard pressure forcing her lips apart.

As if she were standing aside, watching, Bess felt his big hands moving across her hips to fondle her buttocks, the thin lawn nightdress giving little protection. His large fingers moved up her back, tracing her backbone in a way that told her he could as easily snap it in two as caress it.

An indistinct roar filled her ears and she felt faint when, his mouth moving away, she heard the ripping of material as he tore her nightdress from her.

His mouth was on her breasts, licking and biting at them like a wild animal gorging on its kill. Bess whimpered as she felt him pressing against her.

“I've often thought of takin' ye, Bess. I've watched as ye and that pretty little daughter of yours rode on the moors, and I've wanted to feel ye naked flesh against mine. Annie, that be your daughter's name, eh?” Shelby said thickly, his yellowish eyes staring hypnotically into her dark eyes. “She reminds me of ye at that age, when ye were goin' to marry the young lord of Merdraco. Did he ever get the chance to fondle ye like this, Bessie?” Shelby demanded as his hands moved sensuously along her bare thigh.

“Please let me go,” Bess cried, tears on her pale face.

“No, I don't reckon he did, 'cause he was too busy seducin' my Lettie. Meetin' her out on the moors, tellin' her lies. Strangled her, didn't he, Bessie?” Shelby demanded, his eyes glowing madly while the long fingers of one hand curved around Bess's neck, pressing against her throat.

“N-no, please. You're wrong. H-he didn't kill her. He was with—”

“Aaaah, shut up, woman!” Shelby spat. “Still in love with him, eh? After all these years, ye still defend him? Well, not to me, Bessie. I know who murdered my sweet Lettie, and now I think I'll enjoy what the young master of Merdraco was too busy for. Ah, Bessie, ye smell good,” he murmured, burying his hot face between her breasts.

He dropped her on her bed and feasted his eyes on her pale flesh while he unbuttoned his breeches. Bess closed her eyes against the sight, her scalding tears trickling beneath her dark lashes. She heard him mutter something, then felt the bed sag as he fell on top of her.

His heavy body covered hers, but he stopped moving. Opening a wary eye, Bess stared in amazement at the sight of her daughter standing over the unconscious form of Jack Shelby, a raised poker held in her shaking hands.

“Oh, my God, Anne!” she cried out.

“I killed him, didn't I?” Anne's voice sounded as if it was coming from a long way off.

“No, damn it. He is still alive. I can feel him breathing. Here, lift him and I'll slide out the other side of the bed. Hurry, we don't want to him to wake up.”

Anne braced herself. She didn't want to touch the man. Dropping the poker with a thud, she grasped one of Shelby's arms and pulled with all her strength. And although she couldn't move him much, it was enough to allow her mother to climb out of bed.

Anne glanced away while her mother searched frantically for a dressing gown. “Now, what the devil are we going to do with him?” Bess asked as she eyed the big man with distaste, and had she a sword in her hand, she most likely would have run him through.

Suddenly Anne started to weep, her shoulders shaking as her hysteria grew. “I'm so scared. He's an awful, horrible man.”

Bess put her arms around her daughter, holding her tight. “My child, 'tis all right now. You saved me,” she told her, the truth of it just sinking in. “How did you know he was here?”

Anne sniffed, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “I couldn't sleep very well, and when I heard the hall door squeak, I wondered who was awake. I thought, if it was you, I would come and talk with you. B-but then I saw
him
climbing the stairs. I don't think I have ever been so frightened.”

“Thank God Bickham never got around to oiling those hinges,” Bess breathed. “And you could have stayed in your room. You should have, too, you know. Jack Shelby is a dangerous man. He could have done you great harm, my dear.”

“I couldn't leave you alone with him. I found the poker and when I cracked open the door and saw him, I—I just ran in and hit him.”

“Wonderful child,” Bess said, then cast a disgusted glance at the unconscious form of the most feared criminal in Devonshire. “I would be doing everybody a favor if I finished him off now, but…” She continued to stare down at him, wondering what they could possibly do with him. She didn't want him anywhere nearby when he awoke.

“I wish we could just throw him out the window,” Anne said, eyeing the man from a safe distance behind her mother.

Bess remained thoughtfully quiet, but her eyes strayed to the window more than once. “A splendid idea, child. We could never get him down the stairs, or even to the door. He's too heavy. But we can get him to the window, and then send him on his way,” Bess mused.

“But, Mother, won't the fall kill him?” Anne exclaimed nervously, glancing again at the man. She thought she heard a groan.

“We can hope, but more's the pity he'll live. The roof of the kitchen wing is just beneath my window. When he rolls off that, he'll most likely land in the rhododendron bushes. Come along, Anne. You've shown more courage than I would have. Don't let me down now. I intend to have this swine out of my house and in the barnyard by the time he comes to,” Bess said breathlessly, having hurriedly opened the window and thrown back the shutters before hooking one of his limp arms over her shoulder.

Anne took a deep breath and grabbed hold of his other arm. Between them they managed to drag him backward a few steps, where, with a mighty push, they sent Jack Shelby sprawling backward through the window.

A heavy thud sounded, and then a scraping noise as he rolled off the steeply sloping roof. Then there was a final thump. Bess and Anne exchanged a glance, then looked out the window.

All was dark below, and quiet. For a heart-stopping moment, Bess thought he might not have survived the fall. But as she strained to see into the darkness, she heard mumbled cursing.

Drawing Anne back from the window, Bess quickly pulled it shut. Then without a word she hurried from her bedchamber and down the darkened stairs. She reached the hall door and rushed through it, not stopping to think that Shelby might already have reached the kitchen door. Breathing raggedly, she bolted it firmly from within, then ran back through the kitchen to the hall, bolting that door as well. Leaning against it, Bess stared up to the landing where Anne was standing.

“We're safe—for now,” Bess whispered. The clock was chiming the hour, and soon the sun would be rising.

Anne came hurrying down the stairs, throwing herself into her mother's arms. “Mama, what if he comes back? What will we do? Who is there to protect us? What if he brings those other smugglers with him?” Anne cried.

Bess rested her chin on top of her daughter's head. “I don't know what we are going to do, child,” she admitted slowly, her voice shaking with pent-up emotion. The past hour had seemed the longest of her life. “He's a vengeful, vicious man, and he will try to get even with me. Not you, Anne, for he doesn't know you were there. And he must never know that. Promise me?” she asked.

Anne nodded, her tears dampening the silk of Bess's dressing gown. “Can't we ask that officer who was here earlier to protect us, Mama?”

“No! That would be the worst thing possible. Although Captain Sir Morgan Lloyd would certainly like to see Jack Shelby hanging from the gibbets, for 'twas he who murdered the captain's brother. Everyone knows that. But I'm afraid Jack Shelby and his Sons of Belial are too strong. Sir Morgan Lloyd will surely end up dead long before Shelby does. No, I am afraid no one can help us. We must try to survive this on our own. We can only pray that someone comes along to distract Shelby's attention from us. Pray, child, that the person who does has the devil's own luck.”

As the ancients

Say wisely, have a care o' th' main chance,

And look before you ere you leap

For as you sow, ye are like to reap.

—Samuel Butler

“Betcha can't stay on his back this time, either,” Robin Dominick challenged Conny Brady. Conny had just picked himself up off the ground for the second time since climbing on the back of the gentle little mare.

“Ye be all right, then, Master Brady?” Butterick demanded, for he was responsible for the lad's safety. The task of teaching him to ride horseback had been placed in his hands, and he wanted no harm to befall the young ward of the Marquis of Jacqobi. That was not what certain other individuals were wishing, Butterick thought as he eyed young Lord Robin's grinning face. “Don't be despairin', Master Brady,” Butterick said bracingly. The lad was looking quite dejected as he tried to wipe some of the mud off his breeches.

“Why, I even managed to teach young Lord Robin how to ride,” Butterick said, grinning as Robin's mouth dropped open.

“Is it true that Robin landed on his head so many times it was nearly flattened?” Stuart Fletcher asked, and grinned. His smirk became a grimace as Robin's elbow connected with his ribs.

Butterick's appreciative laughter did little to ease the tension.

“Aye, we'll have the young gentleman riding with the best of them soon enough,” Butterick predicted as he gave the lad a hand up into the saddle again.

“Haven't you always said, Butterick, that you could tell a gentleman by the way he kept his seat?” Robin asked. “Does that mean, then, that if one isn't a good rider, that he is no gentleman?”

Conny's lips trembled. Holding the reins firmly, he gripped his courage. He was trying desperately not to slide off the horse's back and provide further entertainment for Lord Robin Dominick. He walked the horse around and around the stable yard, ignoring the remarks he couldn't help but overhear from the unsympathetic gallery of cousins watching him from the stone steps beside one of the stable buildings.

“Now ye be doin' better, lad, but don't be holdin' so tightly to the reins. Relax,” Butterick told the petrified lad. “There ye go, that's better, now,” he said, his booming voice reassuring Conny. The boy actually began to enjoy the feel of the horse beneath him. “Now give her a little nudge in the side and let's see ye trot some,” Butterick called.

“Aye, or you'll be until midnight tomorrow getting back into the stables,” Robin called, pleased by the loud guffaws that followed his joke.

Butterick sent the lad a disapproving glare. Young Lord Robin had become a bit of a troublemaker of late. He'd always been a high-spirited lad, indeed, a real little mischief-maker, but there had never been any harm done. Since Conny Brady had showed up, however, the childish horseplay had turned rough, and the good-natured banter had turned into ridicule. It had him worried, Butterick admitted. He liked young Lord Robin, and until just last year, when Lady Rhea Claire was kidnapped, he had been such a nice young gentleman. He wondered if the duchess realized how much her son had changed.

“Ye're doin' nicely, lad. Keep it up,” Butterick called to Conny, who was trotting the mare around the yard with more assurance now.

“I bet he'll be down before he comes around again,” Robin whispered, and with a quick glance around, he stretched out his leg and knocked out a pail which had been left on a step just beneath where the boys were sitting.

The sudden clattering of the pail against the stone as it rolled down the steps had the desired effect. The little mare was startled, and she unseated an unsuspecting Conny for the third time that day.

“Are ye all right, Master Brady?” Butterick cried again as he ran to help the young boy to his feet.

“Aye, and 'twill take more than a chickenhearted shonky who wouldn't know the difference 'tween a jack pin and a shackle crow to get the best of me. Well, that spouter's wet as a scrubber if he thinks he's tubbed Constantine Magnus Tyrone Brady,” the lad said, rubbing his aching elbow. “I may be shippin' it green right now, but I'll scupper that milksop yet, even if he is Lady Rhea Claire's brother,” Conny promised between gritted teeth.

Butterick, who'd never been aboard ship, much less to sea, shook his head in amazement, wishing the lad would speak proper English. If what he suspected was true, then young Lord Robin had better keep an eye out, for this young buck was out to even the score, and between the two, he thought Conny Brady might well be the toughest, and where this young lad learned to fight, there was no such thing as a gentleman.

“I reckon that be enough for today, Master Brady,” Butterick decided, thinking he'd better not set the lad up for any more of Lord Robin's pranks. He was about to say as much and he sent a warning glance toward the snickering group of cousins when several outriders in unfamiliar livery rode into the yard. Their arrival preceded that of their master's coach. The Grand Ball would be held that evening, and lords and ladies and fancy gentlemen and their wives had been arriving since the day before.

“Off with the lot of ye!” Butterick roared. The stable yard would be too busy and he couldn't have mischievous children underfoot.

“Don't s'pose we'd be seeing any more riding today anyway,” Robin commented, alluding to the fact that Conny had spent more time on the ground than on horseback.

Conny sniffed, unconsciously imitating Houston Kirby when the little steward was getting ready to fire one of the salvos which could be shattering. Conny walked past his nemesis and, casting him a sly glance, said, “Hey, dab toes, ye think ye're sittin' pretty tall when ye're on the back of that pony of yours, eh? Well, ye ain't seen anythin' until ye've ridden the riggin' or climbed to the topgallant mast. Reckon, though, ye landlubbers ain't got the guts. Aye, we'd probably have to stonnicky ye to get ye movin' up the mast,” Conny said, his expression insultingly disgusted. He sized up the violet-eyed, dark-curled son of the Duke of Camareigh with great disdain. “'Course, the cap'n, he did it all the time. And I bet His Grace could do it easily.
He's
a man, all right. I bet even your baby brother could do it. Lord Andy would be up there in no time,” Conny added as a final insult. Then with a challenging grin, he sauntered away.

“Better lift a leg, mates,” Conny advised over his shoulder, “or Mr. Butterick might have ye helpin' his boys clean out the stables.”

“I don't think he likes you, Robin,” Anna commented, her soft gray eyes full of admiration as she watched Conny's swaggering figure disappear around the side of the stables. “He certainly knows a lot. But then, none of us has traveled around the world like he has.”

“He hasn't traveled around the world. Just to the colonies and down to the Indies,” Robin corrected her, unable to hide his envy.

“Do you really think Andy could climb to the top of one of those tall masts?” Maggie wanted to know, her eyes looking her cousin Robin up and down as if now questioning his abilities.

Robin could stand no more. Jumping to his feet, he hurried after the braggart Conny Brady. Oddly, the boy hadn't gotten too far ahead, and Robin caught up with him near one of the tall, stately chestnuts lining the drive.

“You think you know everything, don't you?” Robin demanded as he reached out and spun Conny round to face him.

“I don't know everything, but I figure I know a lot more than you,” Conny baited.

“Like what?”

“Like this,” Conny said quickly, now that the bait had been taken.

Robin, surrounded by his cousins, watched in amazement as Conny pulled off his boots and scrambled beneath the overhanging branches of the big chestnut. He disappeared for a few minutes, then suddenly appeared overhead, his grinning face staring down at them from high above.

“Ooooh, how did you get up there so quickly?” Maggie demanded, her eyes round with disbelief.

“'Twas easy, if ye know how. Why, this isn't anythin' at all compared to climbin' the riggin' aboard the
Sea Dragon
,” Conny boasted. He disappeared again, only to reappear even higher up.

“I bet if I was to look hard, I could see all the way to the sea,” the onetime cabin boy stated, little realizing how much longing there was in his voice.

“If you were as smart as you think you are, then you'd know you couldn't. We're too far inland,” Robin called.

“Ye think not, eh? Well, at least I can see beyond Camareigh. Maybe, if I climb higher, I might even be able to see beyond those hills in the distance,” he speculated. And Conny climbed higher into the tree.

“Why don't you try to touch the sun while you're up there, Master Brady?” Robin called scathingly.

“Why don't you, Lord Robin? Or are ye afraid of heights? Ye may be quite the gentleman on horseback, but I don't reckon ye'd make much of a sailor, at least not on board the
Sea Dragon
. The cap'n would have ye scrubbin' the decks,” Conny called down to him.

Robin glared at his cousins. He didn't enjoy finding himself the laughingstock, especially because of a scrubby little guttersnipe who had connived his way into Rhea Claire's affections.

“Well?” Stuart asked.

“Well what?” Robin said, not meeting the challenging glance.

“Are you going to let him get away with calling you a coward?” Stuart demanded, quite put out about the matter, but then he could afford to be in high dudgeon, for he wasn't the one who was going to have to climb the tree.

“Hey, down there!” a faraway voice called. “Ye sure look little and insignificant to me from way up here on top o' the world,” Conny's triumphant voice drifted down.

“I'll take that puffed-up jack-pudding down a peg or two before I'm finished,” Robin promised as he disappeared into the tree.

His cousins backed away from the overhanging branches. Craning their necks, they stared up at the two boys climbing higher and higher into the tree. They were unaware of being observed by a rider who, having seen the little group, had halted his horse along the drive, curious.

Robin continued to climb higher, but he was definitely not enjoying the experience. His face flushed, his breathing coming quickly with anxiety, Robin glanced around, wondering what had happened to Conny Brady. He had been above him not a moment before. Thinking that he might have fallen and feeling a certain guilty concern, Robin quickly glanced down. He wished he hadn't, for the world swirled and spun, and the branches looked as if they were reaching out for him.

Robin closed his eyes, pressing his hot cheek against the rough bark of the tree trunk and gaining some comfort from the sturdy feel of it. With a sigh, Robin felt the sky and earth right themselves, steadying enough for him to regain his balance. He managed to keep his luncheon inside his churning stomach, but just barely.

“You all right, Robin?” a voice called from somewhere far below, reminding Robin of exactly how far aboveground he was. He stared out toward the hills in the distance, then closer, at the roof of his home. It was a view never seen before, and as he thought about it, he realized he really did not care to see Camareigh from this perspective again.

“Robin! Can you hear me?” Stuart called up. His cousin certainly had more courage than he did, climbing up into the top of that tree!

“Cat got your tongue?” Conny called, startling Stuart, for the voice came from right beside him.

“How did you get down? I thought you were even higher up than Robin,” he exclaimed.

Conny gave him an incredulous look. “Ye think I'm crazy enough to go that high?” he demanded, chuckling as he saw his enemy stuck at the top of the tree. Robin was apparently holding on for dear life. “Reckon some folk be dumber than they look.”

“And some people should know better, Master Brady,” said a deep voice from behind the children.

Conny spun around, blinking nervously. “Mr. Marlowe, sir!”

Alastair eyed the
Sea Dragon
's former cabin boy. “Now, Master Brady, who is the unfortunate lad you've made game of? And who,” he added with a worried glance upward, “now seems to be stuck?”

“That's my cousin Lord Robin Dominick,” Anna declared, her eyes full of tears as she imagined the funeral they most likely would be having to honor the recently deceased Robin Dominick.

“Lady Rhea Claire's little brother?” Alastair demanded incredulously. Conny must have lost his mind. He was, after all, a guest at Camareigh, and as such he shouldn't be putting one of the family in danger.

Conny hunched his shoulders, a defiant glint in his eye, and stood his ground. “Reckon he knows what he's doin'. Leastwise, so he's been braggin' to everyone. 'Course, he don't seem to be laughin' so hard now,” Conny couldn't help but add, and Alastair, dismounting, caught the satisfied smile.

“You going to leave him up there, Master Brady?” Alastair asked quietly.

Conny eyed his former shipmate carefully. Mr. Marlowe didn't seem overly concerned about Lord Robin's predicament. “He climbed up there without any help from me.”

“Aye, but then he probably wasn't thinking clearly, was he? You made him mad with your insults,” Alastair guessed.

Conny glanced at him, startled. How had he known? “Reckon Lord Robin can get down well enough,” Conny said confidently, but when he risked a glance to the top of the tree, Lord Robin Dominick was still clinging to the same place. “Reckon if he was in need of help, he'd call out.”

Alastair smiled. “You know he won't, Conny. You wouldn't, would you? You wouldn't lose face before your enemy,” he commented, correctly guessing the situation.

“Robin sure can be stubborn sometimes,” Stuart confided, confirming Alastair's thoughts. “Robin likes his own way. He always manages to get us in trouble, but he's not a bad fellow, really he isn't. I know if I needed help, he'd be right there,” Stuart continued, thinking of the time he'd gotten his hand stuck down the neck of a valuable vase and Robin had helped him get it loose. Of course, it
had
been Robin who'd hidden the shoe buckle in there in the first place. “Maybe I ought to go get Uncle Lucien?”