Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (37 page)

She looked like a frightened little girl, lying there with her
arms outstretched, her dark hair straying in wild strands from beneath
that ridiculous stocking cap. Struck to the heart, he threw the pistol
aside and clawed his way to her, holding her close as she flung herself
into his arms and clung to him, weeping hysterically.

He cradled her clumsily in his right arm and pulled off the
stocking cap, stroking back her hair and murmuring soothingly that it
was "all right now," while she sobbed and gulped out tearful little
incoherencies.

In a little while her panic eased, and she was quieter.
Montclair's befuddled head was beginning to function, and inevitably
and inexorably came the questions.

"Val," gulped Susan. "What w-was it? That—that
awful
thing?"

Inestimably relieved that his first question had been answered
without the need to have asked it, he managed to give her his
handkerchief and she dabbed at her tears. "I think," he said, "it was
the same man who threw me into the Folly."

She gave a gasp and pulled back to look up at him. A cut on
his cheekbone had sent a crimson trail down to his chin and stained his
cravat; his hair was wildly dishevelled, and the shoulder of his coat
was ripped.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, wiping the blood from his
cheek. "Did it—he—come inside the house searching for you, then?"

"I don't know. I thought— Sue—what are you doing down here at
this hour, and wearing those—those breeches?"

She realized belatedly how absurd she must look. "I sometimes
disguise myself as a man, if I sail with Andy. I can't help with the
boat otherwise. And today he needed help with the cargo, so—" She saw
shock in his face and changed the subject hurriedly. "Oh, never mind
all that. Val, your leg isn't—"

"Broken again? No, I thank God." Remembering how the intruder
had hurled him across the steps, he could only marvel that he hadn't
broken his neck. "I thought you'd gone up to bed. Have you been down
here working all these hours?"

"I stayed to lock up. Andy and the men were absolutely
exhausted. And—and I thought I heard Welcome in the lower cellar. I
went down there, but couldn't find him, and—and I began to have the
most ghastly feeling that there was someone—something else down there…
in the dark… w-with me!" She put her hands over her face, and Valentine
pulled her to him again. Shuddering, she gulped, "And then I—I heard
someone creeping down the steps, and I was terribly… frightened. So I
blew out my candle and waited.

"Poor girl. Don't think about it. Come"—he smiled down into
her grubby, tearful face—"can you stand?"

Susan peered tremblingly into the shadows. "You— you don't
think it—he—is still—"

"No, no. I heard him run off."

She stood, retrieved the crutch, and helped him up. He moved
with slow caution, and she said with ready sympathy, "I wonder you were
not killed. Valentine! Whatever were
you
doing
down here?"

The sudden suspicion in her voice reminded him of just why he
had ventured those cellar steps. "I heard someone creeping about," he
said in a half truth. "I'd a notion your prized vagrants were down here
robbing you blind, so I decided to catch them in the act." He gave a
wry smile. "I got rather more than I bargained for."

"Do you say that—with only one usable arm and your leg
broken—you came down here all alone—to fight for our sake?"

The look of awed wonderment in her eyes was making him feel
about an inch tall. He said gruffly, "Not—entirely. You see… I thought…
Well, I was afraid—" And in a rush he said, "Monteil's a very slippery
customer, Susan. I feared he was very likely using you to store cargo
that—well, that wasn't what you believed it to be."

Susan's heart sank, but she still thought it the most
courageous act she'd ever heard of, and thus her voice was kinder than
it might have been when she said, "So you came down in the middle of
the night, when you thought we were all asleep, to find out—is that it?"

"Yes. I'm sorry if that sounds deplorable. At all events, I
didn't have time to spy. That great brute came roaring and snuffling
after me, and I was too dashed busy to—"

Susan closed her eyes, shuddering. "Don't! Don't!"

"You are overwrought—small wonder. And your poor face is so
bruised! Gad, what a villain I am! But I'd never have done it had I
known it was—"

She jerked her eyes open and stared at him. "
You
struck me?"

"I didn't mean to. It was so dark. And I thought you were some
rascally smuggler."

She shrank away from him, her expression one of pure horror.

And suddenly, he knew. He gasped, "My God! You
are
a smuggler!"

How appalled he looked; how stunned. Perversely, she felt as
if a weight was gone from her shoulders, and with a small sigh, she
said, "Yes. I can imagine how that must appall you. But it is one of
the reasons why we wanted Highperch. The proximity to the river, our
own private dock, and so far from prying eyes." She smiled tremulously.
"Or so we thought."

Valentine's physical distress was as nothing to the searing
rage that possessed him. '"So you thought,' is it?" he snarled. "Say
rather, 'So you did
not
think'! Good Lord above!
Where were Lyddford's wits gone jauntering that he would involve you in
such—"

"My brother only went into this for my sake!" she said
defensively. "We were left all but destitute after my husband's death.
Andy loves Priscilla and me, and—"

"And his love for you sanctions that you should lower yourself
to wear breeches? He sees no objection to putting you in danger of
being exposed to fire from a Revenue cutter? Or have you already had a
Navy sloop put a shot across your bows? Dammitall! The man must be mad
to—"

"To try to keep us from going hungry? To be without a roof
over our heads? Much
you
know of such horrors,
Mr. Montclair, coddled and pampered all your days and—"

"Don't attack me, so as to defend
him!
Did
neither of you idiots give a thought to Priscilla? What the devil do
you think would become of her if you were thrown in Newgate? Did you
plan to take her with you into that hellhole?"

The very thought made her feel sick. Tears came into her eyes
again, and she began to shake inside. "I— We— She would be—provided
for," she gulped.

"Would she now?" he said jeeringly. "By whom? Your devoted
admirer, Monteil? Is that the hold he has over you? Is that why you let
him paw you and—"

Wrath blazed through her. Before she could stop herself her
hand shot out and slapped his face hard.

Taken off balance, Valentine staggered.

With a sob of remorse, Susan flew to put her own dirty hand
over his gripping fingers, and look tearfully up into his strained
face. "Oh, Val! Why must we always quarrel? I am so sorry!"

Looking down into her woebegone face, his frown faded. "And
I'm a proper fool," he groaned. "Of all the times to take you to task
when you've had such a dreadful time and are likely feeling poorly."

Her lips trembled. "Only that—my head does ache so," she
quavered.

"Of course it does, poor sweet. Gad, what a brute I am!"
Bracing himself, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips not onto the
fingers but into the warm palm.

A tremor raced through Susan. Her headache was forgotten and
her heart began to thunder. What a magic this man wielded over her,
even at a moment like this. Mesmerized, she gazed up into his lean
bruised face, the dark eyes, now as soft as velvet, the smile of such
tenderness that hovered about his lips. He bent to her, and she made no
attempt to evade his questing mouth, but raised her face eagerly. Her
eyes closed as their lips touched. A flame seemed to enfold her. He
pulled her closer. Who would dream the invalid still had such power?
Who would dream a kiss could be so sweet, so fiery, so all-consuming?
He kissed her again, and again, and joying in his caresses she felt
dazed and weak and enraptured, and saw the same emotions in his eyes.
But she saw also how pale he was, and when he tried to kiss her again,
she pulled back and said breathlessly, "No, sir. You think
me—shameless, I do not doubt, but—I'd not have you think me heartless
as well. Come. You must get to your bed."

Valentine took a deep, steadying breath. "No. Susan, my lovely
Free Trader, so long as we're down here, there's something I must do."

"But you are so very tired."

"And what of you?" He touched her cheek. "How indomitable you
are, my dearest. Humour me on this one last point. What do you
really
ship for Imre Monteil?"

At once she stiffened again. "What would you expect?"

"No—pray do not go into the boughs. I don't ask out of
jealousy or vindictiveness. I've told you my feelings where he is
concerned. I'd trust him as far as I could throw this house. Have you
ever
seen
what is inside his bales and boxes?"

Frowning and reluctant, she said a curt "No."

"Where are they stored?"

"Mostly in the lower cellar. But some"—she gestured to the far
wall—"over there." She caught Valentine's arm as he started toward the
piled boxes. "What do you mean to do?"

"Have a look."

"No! You must not! Val—he has been so kind. So helpful. It
would be very wrong to interfere with his goods."

"It was very wrong for him to store 'em in my house!"

She argued, but he was adamant, and at length she watched
helplessly while he sat on one box and began to struggle with the ropes
that contained another. She was sure he wouldn't be able to manage with
just one hand, and refused him any aid in what she said was a
"dishonourable enterprise." Welcome had no such compunction and came to
pounce with great ferocity at the jerking ropes and generally impede
Valentine's progress. The strength of his long fingers stood him in
good stead, however, and after a tussle he at last pulled the rope
away, the cat dangling determinedly from the end.

Despite her aversion to this, Susan's curiosity got the best
of her, and she stepped closer. Montclair gave an astounded exclamation
when he opened the lid. For a moment Susan thought the dimness deceived
her, but then she gave a little cry of astonishment.

"
Bricks
!" gasped Montclair. "Nothing
but—bricks and old sacking! What the deuce… ? Sue—let's have a look in
another."

This time she did not refuse him, and together they opened two
more boxes, one of which was nailed shut so that she had to search
around for a suitable tool, finally locating a screwdriver with which
to pry the top up. The result was the same.

On her knees, Susan stared in bewilderment into the third box.
"Small wonder they were so heavy."

"But why on earth would he hire you to haul such a nonsensical
cargo? Unless…" He took the screwdriver and chipped off a corner of one
of the bricks, then scowled at it.

"No gold?" said Susan with a tired smile. "Does it not strike
you that there might be a perfectly simple answer to all this,
Valentine?"

His scowl deepened. "I am very dense, I fear. What is your
simple answer? That the Swiss gentleman is a philanthropist and invents
cargoes only to throw some income in Lyddford's way?"

She nodded. "I can think of nothing else. And how very kind
that he would—"

"Kind, my Aunt Maria! If Imre Monteil ever did one thing in
his life but what there was some ulterior motive, I wish I may learn of
it!"

He looked so fierce. She smiled a faint inner smile and,
infuriatingly, did not argue.

"No, I do not understand," said Lyddford angrily, turning from
the sunny withdrawing room windows to face his sister. "You should have
awoken me at once! A fine thing to have murderers popping in and out of
the house at all hours of the night! And furthermore, I'd like to know—"

"But I
did
waken Starry. And she and
Deemer searched the whole house and secured all the locks. You were so
tired, and—"

"And I suppose you were not!" He eyed her pale face and
shadowed eyes, inwardly amazed by her courage, but fuming none the
less. "A fine night you had, and me snoring like any dullard through
the whole! Dammit! If I lay my hands on the man who dared put that
bruise on your face, I'll—"

"I reckon as we all feel the same, Mr. Andy," Bo'sun Dodman
put in, his ruddy face grim and set. "When we find him there'll be one
less murderer roving England's by-ways. The thing is—what was he doing
here?"

"Looking for Montclair, I suppose," said Mrs. Starr, seated
beside Susan at this morning council of war.

Lyddford ran an impatient hand through his dark locks. "I
don't see that. If he meant to put a period to Montclair, why was he
lurking about in the cellar? He certainly didn't expect to find him
sleeping down there!"

"I thought the same," said Susan. "Unless perhaps he broke
into the house and then decided to steal something from the cargo."

"He'd have had to know we've been off-loading cargo," said the
Bo'sun thoughtfully. "Could have, I suppose. But why would anyone want
to steal a brick?"

Mrs. Starr observed, "Now
there's
something makes no sense whatsoever."

"Chess," Angelo de Ferdinand agreed from the windowseat.
"Monsieur theses bricks he's is wantings, whys it?"

Susan said, "I believe he may have done it out of kindness."

"The devil!" snapped her brother, a flush staining his cheeks.
"D'you mean 'charity' by any chance? I comprehend he has a
tendre
for you, but I'll not stand still for that sort of flummery! You may be
sure I'll tax him with it!"

"Can't do that, Mr. Andy," the Bo'sun pointed out gravely.
"Not unless you're willing to own that we poked our noses in his boxes."

There was a chorus of agreement, and Lyddford muttered that
he'd have to think about how to broach the matter. "Meanwhile," he
added, "what I'd like to know, Mrs. H., is how you and Valentine
Montclair came to be down in the cellar together in the first place."