Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (34 page)

A guard stood behind him in the shadows of the gathering twilight. She could just make out a hint of blue uniform in the triangle of golden light from the window, and the barrel of a rifle in the soldier's hand.

"My lord del Amico," Chloe said, her voice trembling as she realized she looked just as unkempt and ill-used as he did. She knew her hair was askew, tumbling down her shoulders in a tangled mess and she had a terrible bruise forming on her brow. Her lip was swollen and cut. She didn't know what to say, so she bobbed a curtsey, a wobbly and ill executed one.

"Miguel," Mortier's voice was light and jovial behind her. "This contemptible creature before you calls herself Mrs. O'Donovan. She claims to be your relation, but I can scarce believe her tale of being the daughter of your brother, not when her maid has given us such a detailed account of her illicit origins."

The words chilled Chloe.
Marta!
Marta had told them about her life in the Indies?

How could she betray me to these wretches? I'm finished making excuses for that little snot. She'll pay for this.

Chloe's hands were tight fists, and her breath was quick and sparse. Her heart ached. She had come so far, so far----and the hope of starting her life fresh in Spain where no one knew her scandalous past had fed her hopes and dreams for so many weeks. It was her reason for being, her goal. Now it was crushed.

"Ah, you see, she is angry now. Observe her reaction. She's fairly frothing at the mouth, Miguel. And her hands are fists---
fists
, I tell you," Mortier said, grabbing her wrist and lifting it into the air as evidence of his claim. "No well bred Spanish lady would react so. Her masquerade as a gentlewoman is at an end." Mortier dropped her arm. "Shall I give you a stick, my dear, so you might beat your maid? That would make good sport, eh, Miguel?"

The fact that the captain kept calling her uncle by his first name was not lost on Chloe. It was a calculated attempt to remove any and all respect due the Spanish noble as their prisoner.

"Leave my niece alone. She is innocent of any subversive activities." The statue in the chair finally deigned to speak. "Let her go, Mortier. You have me, that is enough."

"I scarce can believe you would still call her kin. But you won't, not after you have heard her true history." Mortier continued in his game, obviously relishing crushing the life out of her dream.

It was all Chloe could do to control the urge to strike him and claw out his eyes.

"She is a bastard, Miguel. Her mother was never married to your brother." Mortier's voice continued with glee. "And not just an illegitimate child, but a
darkie's
child. Her skin may be pale as the lilies of the field, but she is the bastard child of an African slave."

Chloe's breath caught in her throat. She looked down at the floor and waited for a gasp of horror from her noble kinsman. Her lip quivered, and she feared she would cry.

"Enough," Miguel Ramirez hissed. "Stop this senseless torment."

"Torment? Why, Miguel, I only wish to reveal the truth. Do you want to claim this wretched creature, this pale African slut with not one shred of honor to recommend her? She isn't just a descendant of slaves. No! It goes farther--she
was a slave
at that plantation in the Indies!"

She heard a sharp intake of breath from the direction of the marquis. Chloe didn't dare look at him, nor would she be able to claim him as family ever again as the list of her shortcomings continued.

"And when she was set free, what did she do? Why she married another darkie bastard--the plantation owner's leavings, I'm told. Mr. O'Donovan was African on his mother's side, as ill conceived as she. These two wretched creatures had a child together. Can you imagine how ugly and deformed it must have been with polluted blood on both sides? It is a mercy the babe died, or I supposed you'd be presented with that monstrosity as well as this little base born whore."

Chloe's heart burned at the mention of her precious, perfect baby in such crude terms. She reached up and slapped the captain's cheek. The satisfying smack echoed across the room. "How dare you speak of my son so!"

The silence in the room was oppressive.

"You will pay for that, my dear. I promise. Now then, Miguel, I will leave you to deal with this wretched creature in privacy." The French captain left the room, his military boots clanking along the tiles to the door. The guards at the door followed him, leaving them with only the one guard behind her uncle's chair.

Chloe sank to the floor in a puddle of road-worn despair. She had nothing to say, no voice, no argument against the horrible truth she was trying so hard to run away from.

It was all ashes. She had suffered humiliation after humiliation during her time in the slave compound, and after she was freed her reputation as a love child lingered, and then mingled with her husband's. She turned her back on the marquis, unable to endure the rejection that must follow these disturbing revelations. She had nothing to recommend her to him. The letters she had from the count, the countess, and Lady Greystowe were worthless in the glaring and ugly light of the truth.

Her uncle was a man of honor, a Spanish noble. He had no reason to welcome her into his family, no reason to recognize her as his brother's child. He had many reasons to denounce her and send her away forever.

Odd thumping noises were coming from beyond the door. It sounded like shouts, and the clanging of swords. Chloe remained on the floor, dejected, unable to move. They were locked in this room, what did it matter what was happening outside the door when her world inside this room was crumbling around her.

The tears came, a mortifying flood of them. She couldn't stop the flow. She bracketed her hands over her eyes. Her humiliation was complete. Her illegitimacy and that of her spouse were things she thought could be hidden in a foreign land. But having her uncle know her secret shame, of being a slave, forced to endure the vileness of men simply because of an accident of birth was the secret she was determined to take with her to the grave.

The noises outside their room had ceased. She heard the grating of the key in the lock, as someone from outside the door seemed to be trying to open it.

"Captain Rawlings, take care of my niece." Her uncle's voice cut through her with sharp precision. Footsteps sounded out her doom as the lone soldier still in the room emerged from the shadows behind her uncle's chair.

Jack had been hiding there, listening to every vile accusation against her character.

She looked up into Jack's grim face and wailed with fresh agony.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jack crouched on the floor in front of her. "Come Chloe, we must away."

"No, no . . ." She couldn't stop sobbing. She'd come so far, only to be met with humiliation and rejection by her only living kin.

The door was opened abruptly. "Captain," Mr. Jinx called out from the hall. "The house is secure. We will light the powder as soon as the women and his lordship are safely away."

Chloe stuffed her fist in her mouth and bit hard as fresh tears overwhelmed her. 

"Give us a moment, Jinx." Jack's arms engulfed her, drawing her near. He hugged her. "Come, Ramirez, you heard him, we cannot tarry." The feel of his steady shoulder beneath her aching cheek brought Chloe's awareness back from the precipice of horror.

He was hugging her? Jack was holding her close. He was
holding her
, comforting her.

The stinging of her cheek where the Frenchman had hit her earlier brought her up from the hard shoulder cradling her head. She sniffled and looked up. Lt. Morgan stalked in. He was wearing a uniform, a French uniform. The front door was open. They were free to go.

"What is happening?" She asked, her voice shaky from so much weeping.

"We're rescuing you, my sweet." Jack's blond head moved left, blocking her view of Mr. Jinx. "At least, we're trying to, if you let us. We have a boat waiting nearby."

"Yes, yes." She sniffled, and wiped away her tears with her fingertips. "Please take me away from this wretched place. I will go back to the Indies. I will be Elizabeth's companion and be glad of it." The sobs came again. She lifted her hand to her mouth and tried to suppress them.

"Morgan, help Jinx with the marquis," Jack directed. He lifted Chloe in his arms as he stood. "And find Marta. We can't leave her behind."

"Done, sir. She's already safe with the padre in the wagon." Jinx and another man carried her uncle from the room. Jack carried Chloe out the front door.

Outside, they were surrounded by village men. There was a wagon hitched to horses near the church, and Marta was sitting in it, a blanket wrapped about her bent form. The house servant who had let them in stood with the village men around the wagon. Anger flared as Chloe was handed up into the wagon to sit next to the girl who had obviously betrayed all her secrets. The terrible groaning of the marquis as he was lifted up into the bed of the wagon stole her attention from the girl she longed to murder.

"Uncle--I mean--my lord del Amico." She faltered, as she struggled to move to the back of the wagon and help him be settled into a more comfortable position. "Let me help you."

"I am fine." The almond eyes of her uncle matched those of her father, perfectly. He was an exact image of her dear papa, an older variation. "Your girl needs your attention."  His hand rose from his wounded leg and pointed toward Marta.

The last thing Chloe wanted to do at the moment was attend to Marta. The girl had ruined any chance for happiness she might have had with her uncle or with Jack. The wagon started, and Chloe sat down near her uncle and ignored Marta. At least the girl wasn't crying--that was a relief. The nervous chit cried and whined continually.

"Hold on to something," Jack shouted. Chloe looked at the road and saw him standing in the middle of it watching the wagon race away from the square.  "Get down, Chloe! Put your head down and hold on."

She glanced with incomprehension to her uncle. He leaned forward, an awkward move with his injured leg, and his hand pulled her head down. He tucked her head under his arm and pulled the blanket on his shoulders over both their heads as the horses sped away.

They waited. Nothing happened. All she heard was the echo of horse's hooves on the cobblestones as they made their escape.

And then the sound of thunder shook the wagon box. A mighty whoosh of hot wind surrounded them. She was jostled about in the wagon, but her uncle kept a firm arm about her, keeping her close to him. She gasped for air and scrabbled to be free of the blanket.

As she gazed up at the sky above them, she saw a roiling cloud of orange flame and black smoke rolling up into the heavens. The world seemed to be on fire, at least the world she left behind, her uncle's home and the village church nearby. Flaming debris was falling from the skies. The thick black smoke made it hard to breathe. Her uncle's hand shoved her head down onto his shoulder as he covered their heads once more with the blanket.

The wagon ride was rough as they moved through the steep, cobbled streets. Chloe was relieved when the heat and smoke seemed to disappear, making it easier to breathe. She removed the blanket again and looked behind them, wondering where Jack and the men were.

"Chloe." Jack's rough voice could be heard shouting from ahead of her. He was dismounting from his horse and had tossed the reins to a man she didn't recognize.

They were at the sea, but there was no harbor there, only sand. She looked up on the hill, where her uncle's home had been, and saw rushing flames where the tall church towers should be. The men had blown up the marquis' home, and the church as well.

"They destroyed your home?" she whispered, looking at her uncle.

He looked blandly up at the furious orange plume on the hill. "One of many." He said, shrugging. "It was necessary to destroy the French column who made my home into a secret camp in order to free us all from those wretched barbarians. They killed all the women in my home, the serving girls, four of them, after they forced themselves on them."

"What of the townspeople?" she asked. "What of their homes . . ."

"Buildings can be rebuilt, my child. I have money to help them. Lives cannot be returned once taken by the tides of war. The sea does not give up her dead, nor does a devouring army."

"Chloe!" Jack was at the wagon, reaching for her, trying to pull her out from behind. His arm circled her waist and he lifted her easily from the box. "Come, you'll ride with me. I'm not letting you out of my sight again until we safe aboard the
Pegasus
."

She was on the ground, standing before Jack. He was gazing down at her with a strange expression she couldn't fathom. His eyes were so hard; his smoke streaked face was carved of stone. He had ashes in his hair. His hands remained on her waist after lifting her down.

"Where is the boat?" she asked, searching at the shallow shoreline and seeing nothing but water for miles and miles. She couldn't bear to meet his determined gaze.

He didn't answer. His hand slipped beneath her chin and tilted her head so she was forced to look up at him. He just kept staring down at her with that stony sapphire determination. "I thought I failed you--" He whispered. "I feared I'd lost--"

"Rawlings, we must get away quickly." A man Chloe did not recognize came running up and slapped Jack on the arm. He was wearing a French uniform, like Jack was, but appeared to be Spanish. He was a handsome man with a bit of swagger about him. He smiled at Chloe and then at Jack. "Your
precious cargo
, Captain?"

"Yes, my precious cargo." Jack smiled down at her. His arms tightened about Chloe. He was holding on to her as if he thought she might slip away from him. His eyes closed, his head dipped, and his lips captured hers with a passion that made her forget their circumstances and all the worries about her quest.

Chloe surrendered to his embrace. She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him with all of her being.
He knew her secret shame and he was willing to kiss her
?