Dark Before the Rising Sun (52 page)

“It struck me that Anne Seacombe seemed a very sensible girl. Rather subdued, yet I suspect there is a bit of Bess lying beneath that gentle exterior,” Dante said, guessing that one day Anne would possess the same dark sensuality that her mother did.

“Yes, I thought much the same myself,” Alastair agreed readily, although wondered if the captain had intended that as a compliment. “She appears less high-strung, certainly,” Alastair said quickly.

Rhea stared at her friend in amazement, realizing for the first time that Alastair Marlowe was interested in Anne Seacombe.

“Hmmmm, Anne Seacombe. Yes, she is quite a beauty, isn't she?” Francis said, a speculative look in his blue-gray eyes. “Next time you call on the Seacombes, perhaps I shall accompany you,” Francis said, much to Alastair's dismay. Francis was a handsome young man, and Alastair knew he could never compete against a duke's son for a woman's hand.

Seeing Alastair's uneasy look, Francis took pity on him and added, “But, of course, I shall probably be returning to Camareigh before I have a chance to pursue that friendship.”

Francis nearly laughed aloud, for Alastair quite visibly relaxed. “I shall be sorry to leave here, for I have enjoyed your company, Alastair,” Francis said, and Rhea could have hit him. Poor Alastair was no match for Francis's jesting.

Alastair looked ashamed. He truly liked Francis, who seemed at times far older than his years. “I shall miss our conversations too. But, of course, you will be returning often.”

“Yes, but will you be here when I do?” Francis asked.

Alastair remained silent, as if that thought had never occurred to him. Suddenly it caused him concern, for he had come to think of this as his home, and the thought that he might have overstayed his welcome caused him great consternation.

Reading his mind, Rhea said, “I hope you are not planning to leave while we are in the midst of rebuilding. You have been so much help to us. I really don't know what we should do without you. Why, Dante was telling me just the other day how much easier he is, knowing that if he isn't at Merdraco supervising the work, then you are. He trusts you to see that his wishes are carried out. Of course, we cannot be selfish and expect you to stay here forever. I do know you are interested in finding an estate, and we shouldn't wish to keep you from doing that. But since you haven't found anything suitable yet, why not stay here with us? Unless, of course, you
must
leave us,” Rhea concluded sadly, not meeting either Francis's or Dante's eyes.

“Oh, no, I wouldn't abandon you! Especially if I can be of service to you,” Alastair reassured Rhea, suddenly feeling much lighter of heart. It seemed he'd just been given an open invitation to stay at the lodge until he wished to leave, as if he were a member of the family. The captain apparently agreed, and he was even smiling.

Dante was eyeing his wife in wonder. He had always known how very charming she could be, but he hadn't realized exactly how conniving she could be until he listened to her adroit maneuvering of Alastair. The gentlemanly Alastair had never had a chance against Rhea.

“Oh, I'd almost forgotten,” Alastair said suddenly, looking sheepish. “When I was returning from Seawyck, someone came up to me and gave me this note for you. I am sorry I forgot about it until now,” Alastair apologized.

With apparent lack of concern, Dante took the note from Alastair and pocketed it without a glance, and also without satisfying the curiosity of the others.

Alastair's future was still in Rhea's mind later in the evening while she sat before her mirror and brushed out the tangles from her unbound hair. Crowded across the surface of the small rosewood and gilt dressing table which had survived the journey from Camareigh were crystal and porcelain bottles of delicate scents, a silver patch box inlaid with precious stones, the silver comb that matched the brush in Rhea's hands, a pastille burner filling the room with a fragrant blend of honeysuckle and roses, and other things necessary for a lady's proper toilette.

While she brushed the long, golden strands of hair, Rhea hummed the melody coming from the tinkling music box which occupied some of that precious space on her dressing table. Humming, she smiled at Dante's reflection in the mirror. He was taking of his shirt and stretching his tired muscles.

“We shall have to make certain that Alastair and Anne Seacombe come to regard one another as more than friends during the next few years and when she's older. 'Twould be a good way of making certain that Alastair stays here in Devonshire. I would miss him terribly if he were to leave and go to live in York, or some other out of the way place.”

“Many consider Devonshire a wild, unsettled place,” Dante reminded her.

“That is because they are not here with us. Why, if we were in York with Alastair, then I shouldn't think it an inhospitable place at all, because I would be there,” Rhea stated with a last long brush.

“To my dismay, I am actually beginning to understand you at times,” Dante complained. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he began to remove his shoes while watching Rhea, who left the dressing table and began tucking in the blankets round their son. The baby's hands were reaching out to her and he chuckled, gazing up at her with big wondering eyes.

“I cannot believe how fast he is growing. Every day he seems an inch or two taller,” Rhea said, pressing a kiss into each tiny hand.

As she moved away from his cradle, she passed in front of the fire and paused a moment to warm herself. In the glowing light, Dante could see the contours of her body outlined through her thin lawn nightdress. His gaze traveled along the slender line of calf and thigh to the womanly curving of hips, to the small waist. Once again he could encircle it with his hands. The uptilted outline of her small breasts caught his eye, and he felt that tightening in his loins that would find relief only in a slow, sensual exploration of every scented inch of that body, the body he had come to know better than his own.

His expression must have given him away, for when Rhea met his gaze, she blushed. But she didn't look away. She came toward him, pausing just before she reached him to drop her nightdress from her shoulders, leaving it rumpled at her feet.

Dante stared at Rhea, thinking she had never seemed quite so stunningly beautiful as she did just then, standing before him, revealing all her womanly secrets, giving of herself so naturally and so completely.

“You are so lovely,” he whispered, his hands reaching out to pull her close, his lips caressing hers with lingering sweetness as he sought to taste of what she offered so temptingly.

Rhea wound her arms around his neck, moving against him, the heat of his bare chest burning her breasts as they pressed against him. When his hands moved along her spine, she felt a melting pleasure inside her. He caressed her soft buttocks while he held her closer against his hips, and soon the physical needs of his love for her could no longer be controlled.

Picking her up in his arms, he gently put her down on the bed. She seemed to disappear into the soft folds of the silken comforter. Within minutes he had joined her, his body covering hers while he buried his face in her golden tresses and breathed deeply of her scented flesh.

“Little daffadilly,” he spoke against the softness of her mouth, “I love you so.”

Rhea cradled his head against her breasts, feeling his tongue against the hardening nipples, and then his mouth was against hers, robbing her of her breath, and then the hardness of him was against her, driving deep inside her, and she gave herself to him without restraint of heart or soul. Dante was a part of her, and she knew that she could never exist without him.

The fires of their consuming passion left Rhea weak but contented, and she dozed off. But she awakened with a start, feeling the bed moving beneath Dante's weight. She opened her eyes to see him sitting beside her, fully dressed.

“Dante?” she asked in sleepy confusion. “What is amiss? Kit?” she demanded instinctively.

“No, nothing is wrong. I have to go out, Rhea,” Dante said quietly. “But since you are such a light sleeper, I thought you might awaken while I was gone and I did not wish you to concern yourself. I shall not be long,” he told her, pressing a kiss against her troubled brow.

“But why? Where are you going?” Rhea demanded. Despite his wishes, she was most concerned. “It has to do with that note Alastair gave you, doesn't it?”

“I cannot tell you, but will you trust me?” he asked, his fingers caressing her sleep-warmed shoulder.

Rhea remained silent. In the darkness he could not see the indecision crossing her face. He must have sensed it nonetheless, for he found her lips in the darkness and kissed her deeply.

“Trust me, Rhea. You can, you know. I would never do anything to hurt you,” Dante said, his breath hot against her face.

Rhea put her arms around his neck, as if she were seeking desperately to hold him to her. Her lips clung to his. “I do trust you, Dante. I do, but that does not keep me from worrying. This has to do with those smugglers, doesn't it? Must you go? Can't you leave everything as it is?” she pleaded, but he shook his head and, moving her arms from his neck, kissed the palm of each hand, as she had kissed Kit's hands earlier.

“Go back to sleep now and dream of me, little daffadilly,” he told her. Then she heard the sound of his boot heels against the floorboards, and then there was silence.

Rhea hugged her arms around her shoulders. “Dream of you? That is the problem. I can do nothing but dream of you—even during my waking hours,” Rhea whispered. Throwing back the coverlet, she climbed from bed. Finding a shawl from the big chest at the foot of the bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders and curled up in the big winged chair beside the fireplace and prepared to wait until Dante had returned safely.

Bait the hook well: This fish will bite.

—Shakespeare

“Your informer keeps late hours,” Dante commented, shifting his weight from his left leg, which had gone to sleep.

“He can afford to,” Sir Morgan Lloyd responded, his voice not much above a whisper. He carefully parted the prickly holly leaves and peered through the hedge they were hiding behind. He was looking at the lone man standing impatiently by his horse underneath the overhanging branches of an ancient oak.

“What makes you so certain there will be a meeting tonight?”

“I made certain that there would be by baiting the hook well. I often tried to do that with you, but you were never hungry enough to bite,” Sir Morgan said wryly.

“Or, perhaps, greedy enough?” Dante retorted.

“Perhaps. I let it be known that I would be in Bristol day after tomorrow, and—”

“—that happens to be the first night of no moon. And who will be in charge of your command while you are away, Sir Morgan?” Dante inquired.

“Why, Lieutenant Handley, of course,” Sir Morgan commented casually. “In fact, I have left him in command quite often over the past few weeks. He has done an exemplary job. He has not apprehended any smugglers, but he's managed to confiscate a hidden cache of several casks of brandy and bolts of velvet. He and his men discovered the caches hidden in an abandoned farm cottage on what is, I believe, Leighton land. It does look bad for you, Captain,” Sir Morgan murmured, but he sounded unconcerned.

“It was not black velvet by any chance, was it?” Dante asked, smiling in the darkness.

“Thank God we don't have Bertie Mackay to worry about,” Sir Morgan responded after a moment of silence. He had finally remembered the story about that jovial smuggler's fondness for velvet.

Dante rested his head against the rough bark of the tree trunk he was leaning against and stared up at the pale sliver of moon. “'Tis rather ironic, wouldn't you say, that we should be standing here together waiting to catch a traitor working with smugglers. After all, I am a former smuggler and was once an enemy of yours.”

“The irony of it had crossed my mind,” Sir Morgan said smoothly.

“I have, in the past, paid well for such information, Captain,” Dante admitted.

“I know, but you never plotted the murder of an officer of the Crown, no matter how close he might have come to catching you. You couldn't have or I would probably be long dead.”

Dante was silent for a long moment. “You have taken rather a risk in trusting me. I gather that precious few people are aware of your plans. Should you be mistaken about me, you could very easily end this night with a knife in your back.”

“A minute ago you spoke of irony. 'Tis strange, Lord Jacqobi, but you are the only person I truly do trust. In part that's because I know what happened to Merdraco at the hands of the smugglers, and I imagine that you are as anxious to catch them as I am. But as I told you before, I came to know you as an opponent, and sometimes a man comes to admire and respect an enemy more than he would a friend. I would turn my back on you without hesitation, and there are few other men I would trust that far. Why do you think I walked so calmly out of White Horses Tavern in Charles Town the night we drank rum together? I knew that, if you had seen anything dangerous in that scurvy bunch of smugglers, you would have warned me.”

His admission startled Dante as few others things had ever done. “I am honored,” he said quietly.

“Then you do not mind if I call you by your given name? Titles become rather cumbersome after a while,” Sir Morgan suggested.

“Indeed, if you had not suggested it, I certainly would have, Morgan.” Dante's smile matched the smile curving Sir Morgan Lloyd's mouth at that very instant.

But their smiles faded quickly at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. They stared through the hedge and, in a few minutes, saw two men engaged in earnest conversation.

The two were Jack Shelby, whom Sir Morgan and Dante had followed from Merleigh, and Lieutenant Handley, whom Sir Morgan had been expecting. Sir Morgan would have been surprised if the lieutenant had not shown up. The two were arguing, so their voices carried clearly.

“…and not a farthing more!”

“…or you'll not be receiving any more information.”

“Don't be threatening me, you—”

“…a cold day in hell before I deal with you again,
Mister
Shelby,” the lieutenant spoke up bravely, surprising both Dante and Sir Morgan. Neither had thought the baby-faced blackguard had it in him.

“One of these days, laddie…just ye wait…” came the threat, and then there was the jingling of coins as Shelby tossed a small leather pouch at Lieutenant Handley's outstretched hand. “He won't be likin' this.”

“…your problem…Bristol…Thursday night…and where shouldn't I patrol?” was all the spies heard of that exchange.

Dante felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he heard Shelby's low laughter and saw the lieutenant take a step backward. Just then Dante heard the words that chilled him. “Dragon's Cove.”

He heard Sir Morgan's gasp, and Dante knew that Sir Morgan was thinking of savoring his revenge against Shelby and the smugglers who had wrecked HMS
Hindrance
and killed his brother.

“You must be crazed. Why there?…too dangerous.”

“D'ye care now that ye've got your blood money? Watch it! I've got me knife handy, and I've got me reasons for wantin' to land in Dragon's Cove,” Shelby growled.

There was silence except for the jangle of that money pouch, and then there was a harsh laugh.

“Countin' it? Aye, reckon ye shouldn't be trustin' anybody if ye expects to live very long.”

Suddenly the lieutenant turned on his heel and stalked away into the trees. There were the sounds of hoofbeats and then silence.

“Fool!” Shelby spat. “Wouldn't live long if I was in charge. Reckon that highborn whore might want some company tonight, seein' how her lover has such a pretty little wife. 'Twill be a long, lonely trip,” he went on, raving aloud. “Teach her a lesson. Let him know I've had her too, just in case he cares.” Shelby was muttering as he disappeared into the trees, unaware that his display of bad temper had been a great boon to two men hiding nearby.

“Well. I've got my traitor. And soon I shall have my smugglers,” Sir Morgan said softly after a long silence. “And then I shall have their leader, for this rabble won't keep silent when their necks are so close to being stretched.”

“Have you any ideas?” Dante asked absently, his thoughts elsewhere.

“Some, but I haven't any proof,” Sir Morgan admitted. “What do you know of Sir Jacob Weare?”

Dante nearly laughed. “Jacob? You can't seriously believe he is the leader of the smugglers. I think you've got your man, and that's Jack Shelby.”

“You know Sir Jacob well?” Sir Morgan asked.

“Quite well. Besides, he is too old to go gallivanting around the countryside hiding contraband.”

“The leader of these Sons of Belial needn't dirty his hands with the actual smuggling. I have discovered that Sir Jacob is quite well off, whereas many of his neighbors have suffered losses. He seems to have enough income that he warrants close investigation. I also understand that he is the grandfather of Lady Bess Seacombe and that your engagement to her was broken off because of him. You must have had bitter words. Perhaps he bears a grudge against you and ordered the smugglers to ransack Merdraco?” Sir Morgan was saying until he heard Dante's low laughter and stopped, surprised.

“Although it has been a secret, Sir Jacob Weare has been my confidant almost since I left Merdraco. If it hadn't been for his tireless help and his belief in me, I would not be in possession of my family's lands and heirlooms. Sir Jacob Weare, contrary to what people have been led to believe, has been my eyes and ears here in Devonshire for years. Believe me, he is not the man you are looking for,” Dante assured Sir Morgan.

“Thank you. That helps considerably. And I shall keep your secret,” promised Sir Morgan. Then he said, “I shall see you day after tomorrow?” They made their way back through the woods to their horses.

“Naturally,” Dante replied.

“I thought as much.”

“How will you clip the lieutenant's wings so he doesn't fly the coop?” Dante asked.

“I shall put him aboard ship. I believe he cannot swim. And with a troop of marines, all of whom I can trust, I shall be waiting for our smugglers when they land. I shall have a ship stationed just outside the cove so that when the smugglers flee, they will be apprehended.”

“Just make certain that the captain of your revenue cutter doesn't come into the cove,” Dante reminded him.

“He will have orders to stay at sea no matter what happens,” Sir Morgan said. A bit later, becoming aware of the other man's silence, he asked, “What is wrong? Is someone coming?” he demanded. They had ridden back to the road and were about to part when Dante suddenly halted.

“I was thinking of something I heard Shelby say just before he left, about visiting a certain woman. I think the woman is Bess Seacombe, and I doubt she is expecting him,” Dante shocked Sir Morgan by saying.

“Lady Bess and Jack Shelby?” he asked incredulously.

“I do not think it an association she desires. What if she has had no choice but to lend her horses to this gang, or let them store their contraband at Seawyck?” Dante asked. Already he was guiding his horse across the lane and toward the path he knew cut across the moors to Seawyck Manor. He had spied a lone rider on that path minutes before but had said nothing.

“I warned her that I expected cooperation from anyone who knew anything about the smuggling gang,” Sir Morgan said, following Dante along the winding path.

“Bess will do as Bess sees fit. She's hardheaded. She has fallen on hard times too, although she would not admit that to anyone, not even to her grandfather, who would help her if only she would ask.” They moved more swiftly across the moors, their horses becoming accustomed to the path.

“I noticed the threadbare appearance of Seawyck Manor,” confided Sir Morgan.

“If I know Bess,” Dante worried, “she will not have spared Shelby's feelings if he made any overtures to her. And Shelby is a man who enjoys carrying a grudge.” They were close enough to see the solitary stone house squatting on the distant rise.

When they entered the yard, everything was quiet. “I think you ought to wait here,” said Dante. “If Shelby is in there, we don't want him to see us together. He might cancel the smuggling run if he becomes suspicious of you. Most likely he thinks you a fool, like most of the King's men, so let's just let him keep on believing that,” Dante suggested as they dismounted behind the shelter of the stables, out of sight of the house.

“Very well,” Sir Morgan agreed. “But if you're not back within fifteen minutes, or if I hear anything suspicious, I shall not hesitate to come in.” Sir Morgan would not hide while Dante faced danger.

Dante moved slowly along the side of the stables, keeping an eye on the main part of the house as he slid from shadow to shadow. As he approached one of the outbuildings, he spied a horse. Coming up alongside, he patted the big bay's rump. It was covered with sweat.

Dante moved closer to the windows of the house which overlooked the entrance. But they were dark.

He moved onto the steps leading to the front door, but the door was firmly locked. Moving around the side of the house, he made his way toward the kitchens, passing through the garden full of spicy herbs and ripening vegetables. There he discovered how Shelby had gotten into Seawyck Manor. The door leading into the kitchen wing of the house had been splintered at the lock and it stood ajar.

Dante had made his way through the dark rooms into the hall when he heard Bess's scream, followed by a man's laughter. He bolted up the stairs just in time to see Anne Seacombe come running out of another room farther down the hall, a poker raised high above her head. She sank against the wall, shivering, when Dante silently waved her back.

The door to Bess's bedchamber stood open, and as Dante approached it, he heard Shelby muttering with pain. Dante reached the door in time to see Bess's teeth biting down hard on Shelby's thumb.

With little effort, he jerked his hand free and, with the other hand, ripped her nightdress away. Bess, dazed, couldn't believe the horrible nightmare was actually happening all over again. She might have remembered her recent wish that someone would come along whom Shelby wanted revenge against and who had the devil's own luck. Had she opened her eyes to glance behind the broad-shouldered form leaning over her, she would have seen her wish enter the room.

Dante's voice nearly caused both Shelby's and Bess's hearts to stop. Shelby spun around, looking as though he had just been shot. And that would have been his fate had he taken a step closer to the pistol barrel leveled at his chest. “M'lord!” he spat, yellow eyes glowing like the eyes of a trapped wild animal.

“I think you had better take your leave now before I thrash you to within an inch of your life,” Dante said so calmly that it took Shelby a moment to realize what had been said. He was about to snarl a retort when the expression in those pale gray eyes made him think better of both the remark as well as the sudden move he was planning. Death was written in those eyes, his death. He knew, as he had known that night in Bishop's Grave Inn, that it wouldn't take much to persuade his enemy to pull the trigger.

“Reckon ye got the pistol
and
the woman tonight,
m'lord
. But there will be other nights, and other meetin's between us, and soon I'll be takin' a great deal of pleasure in makin' ye beg me to put an end to your life. Ye'll be pleadin' with me, beggin' for mercy, and I'll laugh in your face,” Shelby promised. “Ye won't be lucky next time. And then I reckon I might have to pay a visit to that sweet little wife of yours. Reckon she'll be mighty lonely with ye lyin' cold in yer grave.