Paxton and the Gypsy Blade (35 page)

The crisis came late that night. Adriana had awakened from a short nap and Carlotta had just fallen asleep when Bliss's fever started climbing. Within a half-hour, his forehead felt blisteringly hot. He tossed wildly and moaned in delirium. He ranted and cursed in his madness. Occasionally, a word or phrase was intelligible. Adriana recognized the governor's name during one long, incoherent speech. In another rambling, mumbled monologue he spoke of shipments to France, of treason and vast sums of money, and of a man named, she thought, LeBusque, who he was afraid would cheat him. Over and over again, he referred to a journal, which he seemed to fear losing.

The fever broke early the next morning, and as Bliss's temperature plummeted and the sweat poured from him, Adriana knew she had won. The damage to the muscles of his chest was significant and his strength on that side would be diminished, but he would live. From then on, it was a matter of time and Bliss's own recuperative powers. Revitalized, Adriana worked silently. She replaced the bandages, bathed her sleeping patient, and changed his bed linens. And at last, weary but ebullient from her accomplishment, she sat by the bed for a well-earned rest.

Bliss slept peacefully. Across the room, Carlotta snored lightly as she, too, slept. For the first time in two days Adriana had time to think beyond the immediate problem at hand. And for the first time, too, she realized that she wasn't altogether sure she wanted to take Bliss's life anymore. Everything was so confusing. It was as if Bliss's life had taken on a separate identity from Bliss himself. Bliss had killed her brother and deserved to die. Yet she had saved the life that belonged to Bliss, and—having fought so hard and expended so much energy—she couldn't imagine now taking it.

It isn't fair, damn it
. If there was justice … but how ridiculous even to think of justice. There was a time when Adriana would gladly have given her life to avenge Giuseppe's death—would have let Bliss die in the most gruesome manner possible. But things had changed so much. There was Tom, and the boys … Bliss's death had become a matter to be resolved in the future. Adriana's immediate problem was how to survive long enough for Tom to rescue her. Even after he regained his strength, Bliss would never trust her—as well he should not, she admitted to herself. With the typically cavalier attitude of the high-born, he considered her life inconsequential in comparison with his own. If only she had some hold over him.…

Journal
. The word, repeated so often in his delirium, hung in her mind.
Shipments to France. LeBusque
.

A Gypsy who couldn't smell graft—or worse—from a mile away didn't deserve the name. Adriana moved away from the bed and to the desk in utter silence. The drawers were closed, but unlocked. Her movements measured, her eyes constantly shifting from the desk to Carlotta to Bliss, she began her search. The center drawer held paper, sealing wax, ink, and extra blotters and quills. The three drawers on the left held nothing resembling a journal. At last, in the bottom drawer on the right, her fingers traced the rectangular shape of a book. Hands trembling, she removed it from its hiding place, closed the drawer, and returned to her seat at Bliss's side, where there was enough light to read by.

The journal was perhaps eight inches by ten, and looked more like a lady's diary or a religious text than the journal of a naval officer. The binding was of finegrained leather, the pages gilt-edged. Adriana easily opened the delicate brass catch and lock and began to skim through the beginning pages. Bliss had written about his arrival and early impressions of the island. He described the island's geography and people. He discussed his duties. The first hint of anything untoward came on the thirteenth page. The French plantation owner, LeBusque, along with two other planters, had approached him with a scheme that involved illegal shipments to French ports. Bliss's predecessor had evidently been happy to oblige. Twenty pages later, in a shaking hand, he recorded a conversation in which LeBusque revealed his true colors: as an agent of Napoleon Bonaparte, he was prepared to offer Bliss fifty thousand pounds sterling and a percentage of the profits from the island's trade with France at such time as, with Bliss's connivance, the island of San Sebastian fell into French hands and a French flag flew over the governor's mansion. Less than a week later, Bliss became a traitor.

Adriana had scarcely slept in the last two hectic, nerve-racking days. The neatly penned tiny letters blurred, but she had seen enough: the journal was damning evidence of high treason and, were its contents revealed, would lead Bliss to a gibbet and the hangman's noose.
If
they were revealed. But how? Bliss would be bedridden for at least a week. If, during that time, she could contrive an escape and, once free, seek an audience with the governor, she could present him with the journal and beg his protection. And as a bonus, she'd then be in a better position to help Tom when he arrived.

But again, the nagging question: how? Escape was an iffy business at best. And if she stole the journal and Bliss missed it before she escaped, he'd soon discover that she was the thief and would have no alternative but to kill her.

Both Carlotta and Bliss slept on.
Of course!
Congratulating herself on her cleverness, Adriana moved stealthily to the table at the foot of Bliss's bed. The blade she had used to open and debride his wound was razor-sharp. Cutting as close to the binding as possible, she excised three of the most damning pages.

Surely he doesn't check every page every day. Surely
.… She replaced the journal and quietly slid the drawer closed. She folded the pages and bound them to her thigh with a strip of linen bandage. And then, ebullient but reeling with fatigue, Adriana woke Carlotta and took her place on the cot. The last thing she remembered before she slept was the glow of a candle that became, in her exhaustion, an amulet in the shape of an oak tree wound about with brambles.
Hurry, my love
, she thought as her eyes closed and sleep overtook her.
Hurry
.…

CHAPTER XVIII

Bliss and gratitude were strangers. Adriana was called to his room the afternoon after he weathered his crisis, but not to receive thanks. Closemouthed, she cleaned the rapidly healing wound, pulled the ragged edges together with a row of neat stitches, and ordered him to remain on clear liquids, plenty of them, for at least another day. The next afternoon she was back to check his progress, and acquiesced to his demand for something more substantial to eat. The third day she found him still weak but restlessly prowling his room. He allowed her to change the bandages and then ordered her to return to her room. He made no mention of her promised release.

Adriana could do little but bide her time—and worry that Bliss would discover that someone had tampered with his journal. That night, she stared into the candlelight and sent herself into a deep trance, but her dreams failed her.
Because I couldn't concentrate properly
she thought the next morning as she checked the tightly rolled cylinder of stolen pages tied out of sight behind one of the wrought-iron vines choking her window. The slanting rays of the sun spilling over the summit of The Sleeping Giant brightened the room. A breeze kissed her naked skin as she stretched.
When, Thomas? When shall I expect you? I ache to be free, to walk in sunshine with you and your sons.…

The bar on the door rasped as it was lifted and Adriana hurried back to the bed, wrapping herself in the coverlet. “Is that you, Carlotta?”

The servant stepped in the door and looked disapprovingly at Adriana. “Not dressed yet?”

“I couldn't get to sleep until late. And now I'm starved. What's—” Realizing that Carlotta wasn't carrying the usual breakfast tray, she stopped in mid-sentence. “I don't understand,” she said, tensing. “Is something wrong?”

Carlotta's laugh was soft and dusky as she picked up Adriana's skirt from the chair and tossed it to her. “Nothing,” she answered. “The master's in a good mood, and wishes to see you.”

“To let me go?” Adriana asked, taking hope.

“I do not question the master. He tells me to bring you to him, and that is what I do. So hurry, girl, and get dressed.”

Adriana pulled on the ruffled blouse given her the day after her arrival, stepped into her flowered skirt and calfskin slippers, and dashed water on her face. “He didn't say anything?” she asked, following Carlotta along the familiar route to Bliss's room. “Not even a hint?” she persisted, as Carlotta knocked on the door.

Carlotta pushed open the door and gestured for Adriana to precede her. “Do as master says,” she whispered. “All will be good.”

“Come in, come in,” Bliss called cheerfully from behind his desk. “Good morning. If you'd wait outside, Carlotta?”

Adriana's knees turned to jelly as the door closed behind Carlotta.
He knows! He's missed them and knows I took them. Dear God.…

“You're well, I trust?” Bliss asked politely.

His color was good and his voice had regained its strength. More important, he didn't look angry or out of sorts, and Adriana could detect no hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Don't antagonize him. Act civilly
. “I am, thank you, sir,” she said with a shallow curtsy. “You're looking much better today.”

“You think so, eh?” Bliss said with a chuckle. The chuckle stopped abruptly as he closed his eyes and winced in pain. “I'm not so sure,” he gasped.

“The pain is part of the healing process. You're well enough to be up and about. And to give me my freedom, as you promised,” Adriana pointed out.

Bliss's pain receded with the memory of the promise he'd made. “All in good time,” he quipped with a wave. His eyes played over Adriana's body and his lips curved in a lustful smile. “I need you here to oversee my recuperation. You are, after all, the angel of mercy who saved my life.”

Adriana shuddered under his stare and remembered another time when he had looked at her that way. “Then you should be grateful and release me,” she said, feeling naked and vulnerable.

Bliss started as if awakened. “Soon enough for that, my dear. Tonight, though, I'm having guests. Some friends of mine, planters from the other end of the island. Quite well off, I might add.”

Friends like LeBusque? Adriana wondered, hiding her fear. “What have your guests to do with me?” she asked.

“I have never forgotten the Mumford fair and how you looked as you danced in the firelight,” Bliss said, folding his hands below the bandage on his chest.

Red flames of insane rage burned before Adriana's eyes. For herself that night would always represent pain—the cruel destruction of one life, and the warping of another. “How flattering,” she said with poisonous sincerity.

Bliss chuckled. “Tut, tut, my dear. Sarcasm doesn't become you.” His voice hardened. “In any case, I should like you to dance for them, after which you shall have your freedom, as promised.”

Adriana wasn't fooled for an instant. Bliss would find another reason to keep her, and then another, until he was strong enough to take what he really wanted from her. But there was no point in arguing with him. “Very well,” she agreed, already planning how she might turn the performance to her advantage. “I will dance.”

Bliss clapped his hands. “Excellent! There'll be musicians, of course, and I'll have Carlotta see to some new clothes for you. We should have quite an evening. Carlotta!” He rose as Carlotta entered and went to his bed. “Let's get this dressing changed. And then there's work to be done. You've seen to the beef, I trust. And Ramon to the musicians? There's no time to be lost, no time …”

Adriana spent a dark and gloomy afternoon altering the new clothes Carlotta brought her. Twice, the earth shook, and the air was thick with the stench of the sulfurous smoke that spilled from The Sleeping Giant.

Carlotta came for her long after night fell. “For you,” she said, handing Adriana a small dark-blue bottle and a large sweet-smelling white flower. “The master likes you, I think,” she volunteered.

“The only person in this world Trevor Bliss likes is himself,” Adriana answered. She pinned the flower in her hair, opened the bottle, and discovered it held a rich perfume that smelled of musk and jungle flowers. “At least I'll smell nice,” she said, dabbing some on her neck and wrists and between her breasts. “But I have no mirror.” She turned slowly. “How do I look?”

Carlotta held the lantern high and stepped back. Adriana's hair fell in gentle deep-auburn waves past her shoulders. Her blouse was of white silk embroidered with tiny, delicate flowers of red, blue, and yellow. It was cut low in front, revealing much of her breasts, and was thin enough for her nipples and the dark circles of her areolae to show through provocatively. Her skirt was the bright blue of the Caribbean on a sunny day, and swirled around her legs as she turned. She wore soft slippers of brushed deerskin. If her skin had been a shade darker, she might have passed as a native girl. “You do not have to dance good,” Carlotta said with a smile. “I think maybe they be happy only looking. But now they ask for you, and you must come.”

Even Ramon, who had waited in the hall, was impressed, for he actually smiled and, Adriana thought, almost said something more than his usual noncommittal grunt. The sound of rattling dishes floated up the stairs to meet them as they descended. “Have they been drinking much?” Adriana asked.

“Wine,” Carlotta said. “You be nice,” she added by way of a friendly warning. “Master sometimes gets mean when drinking too much.”

No one knew that better than Adriana. “I'll be careful,” she promised, and then steeled herself for the task that lay ahead.

The foyer was empty. To the left lay the corridor that led to Bliss's bedchamber, to the right a set of double doors that Ramon threw open with a flourish.