Rake Beyond Redemption (19 page)

Zan struggled up on to his elbows, and frowned at her.

‘Madame Mermaid…!’ He flinched, eyes closed for a moment, as if even the effort of speech was painful. ‘I thought you’d gone from here.’

‘I know you did.’ She gave him a brilliant smile. ‘But I hadn’t. And now you’re my prisoner.’

Zan raised himself up on to one elbow, cautiously pressing his fingers against the back of his head where the pain was centred, spreading out in dark waves enough to rob him of any sensible thought. He winced, closing his eyes again. Even the candlelight made his head throb. Then he struggled to focus on his fingers that were smeared with blood. What in God’s name…!

Opening his eyes again, he took in the pair of neat shoes and the frilled edging of a blue silk skirt. He lifted his gaze with difficulty to the face of the woman who stood over him.

She was holding his pistol. And it was pointed at the centre of his chest. He found a need to pray that she would keep calm, but he had little hope of it. Her lovely face was alight with fury, her eyes flashed fire. Her fingers around the pistol were white with tension. She looked as if she would like nothing better than to put a bullet through him.

‘You hit me!’ he said. And how ridiculous that sounded. How obvious. It was the one astonished thought that came into his head. As well as reluctant admiration that she could display such presence of mind when faced with an intruder who had broken into her home and might not wish her well.

‘Yes, I did.’ Despite the tension in the hand that held the pistol, her voice was remarkably calm, poised. ‘You broke into my house.’

‘I did not break in. I used a key.’ He took a breath against the pain, wondering at the idiocy of that statement.

‘So that makes it any better? Wiggins, I suppose, bribed by a bottle!’ Her voice changed, now raw with contempt; she held his gaze in a challenge. ‘You frightened me. And you were masked—how was I to know it was you? Besides, you are as much a criminal as the rest of them and deserve no better treatment. I would do it again without a second thought.’

Yes. She would. He had no doubt about it. Carefully he sat up, freezing for a little on an intake of breath as nausea struck. When it ebbed, all he was conscious of was the insistent throb in his head that seemed capable of breaking his skull.

Zan tried to force his mind into action, away from the problem of Marie-Claude looming over him with a lethal weapon. He must pull himself together. Time was passing and here was an unlooked-for complication. He marshalled his wits as much as he was able. Marie-Claude was still here and the conclusion of the run was imminent. If nothing else he must get her out to safety, away from the Fly-By-Nights. As for his own future at their hands—he would face that as and when. If there was ever a time for acting out a charade, this was it. He only hoped his abused wits were up to it…

‘Don’t move. If you do, I’ll shoot you.’

Which forced him to give his wayward attention back to her, ridiculously struck by her beauty, her fragility. Except that she was holding a pistol to his head! There
she stood, like an avenging angel in celestial blue silk, daring him to make a move.

Zan sat up, rubbed his hands over his face as if he might bring some clarity of thought. And then it struck him. He lifted his head, turning sharply, then wishing he hadn’t, and saw his worst fears confirmed.

‘The lamp…it’s not lit.’

‘I know. I put it out.’

‘By God!’ He couldn’t think of what the repercussions of that single fact might be. The Smugglers’ Lamp plunged into darkness, leaving D’Acre’s contraband to find its own way into the bay, unsure of its route or its welcome. What would D’Acre think? What would D’Acre do? If the viciously single-minded Captain decided on a quick retribution against anyone within his reach who might have hindered his plans, there was no way Zan could prevent it. He would be the first object of D’Acre’s fury, since the responsibility for lighting the lamp had been his, but he might not be the only target for D’Acre’s notoriously unpredictable ire…

He must get Marie-Claude out of here.

‘I’ll not have you signalling from this room. Not for D’Acre. Not for anyone,’ she informed him conversationally, breaking into his uneasy thoughts.

‘You don’t know what you’ve done,’ he snapped back.

‘Oh, I do. I’ve stopped your little venture, Mr Ellerdine. If the smugglers try to bring the contraband here, they’ll not succeed. I should tell you I’ve locked and barred the kitchen door. I suppose that’s how you got in. And I’ve relocked the front door—which I found was inexplicably
unlocked.
There’ll be no access for D’Acre to make use of the Pride’s cellars tonight. And I should tell you—’ she raised the pistol threateningly ‘—I’m
quite prepared to shoot the first man who tries to get through the door.’

Worse and worse. Zan cast about for a new direction. The whole intricately constructed plan had been torn to shreds by this woman’s determination to thwart D’Acre. Hell and damnation. At last he pushed himself upright to his feet, even though the result was a shaming experience. He almost staggered. Forced to stand, head bent, arms braced on the back of the chair as his surroundings heaved, he could do nothing but allow the waves of darkness to flood through him, until his surroundings settled back on a stable level. Only then did he let himself take a deep breath, snatching at the train of thought that had scattered once more. He dragged it back and forced himself to concentrate.

Marie-Claude was in danger. They were both in danger. For him it could mean death at the hands of D’Acre’s bullies. For Marie-Claude…His jaw clenched as he buried the thought deep. If he allowed himself to consider how she might be used by a gang of smugglers, how she might be made to suffer, they would both be lost. Carefully he stood to his full height, relieved when the floor level remained steady beneath his feet even though the beat of pain in his head was almost unbearable.

‘How long was I out?’ he asked.

‘Why? Of what importance is that?’

‘It just is. Trust me, Marie. How long?’

‘Fifteen minutes, I suppose.’

‘Too long…I have to get you out of here. Now.’

‘I’m not leaving. And neither are you. I’ve locked the door.’

‘Ha!’ It was a harsh sound in the room, a laugh
without humour despite his appreciation of the situation. ‘What a joy you are to me, Marie-Claude. I must remember to give you a few lessons for the future. If you’re to tangle with smugglers, it’s not sensible to lock yourself in the room with the prisoner!’

Colour rose in her cheeks as she realised what she’d done.

‘I…’

‘No, you didn’t think, did you? Now give me the key.’

‘I will not. I won’t let you help D’Acre.’

Zan advanced, keeping a wary eye on the pistol. He didn’t think she would shoot him, but in a moment of panic—anything was possible. Nor did she look amenable to persuasion.

‘Give me the pistol.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘I don’t want to be shot by D’Acre, but by God I don’t want to end my life at your pretty hands.’

He saw the moment his careless words made an impression.

‘Why would D’Acre shoot you?’

‘I should have lit the lamp.’ He tried a shrug. ‘The Captain doesn’t like to be disobeyed.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re not hand in glove with him!’ she sneered.

‘I won’t tell you any such thing.’ Another step. ‘Now hand over the key.’

‘No!’ She retreated one step.

‘Marie-Claude! In God’s name—just do as I ask.’ He stepped forwards again.

‘I don’t trust you.’ Her back was against the door, the pistol clutched hard.

‘You’ve no choice.’ Frustration, impatience, began to war with a need not to frighten her any further—although
perhaps a good dose of fear might have the desired effect, as long as she did not put a bullet through him first. He had to try it. He put a threat into his voice. ‘Enough to say, madam, it’s either me or the Fly-By-Nights. Who do you prefer to negotiate with?’ He was so close to her that he could see the fear creep into her eyes and the leap of a pulse at the base of her throat, and prayed for a swift resolution. He kept up the pressure. ‘We can’t stay locked in here together. D’Acre will be on your doorstep any time soon to discover why the lamp is out. And if he finds that
you
are the culprit…’ He let it hang in the air between them.

‘And you would tell him that, of course,’ she whispered. ‘You would betray me to him!’

‘Undoubtedly! You put out the lamp. Now unless you want me to strip that very pretty dress from you to find the key…’ He saw her eyes widen in shock and pressed on. ‘I’ve no time for niceties. Thanks to you my head aches far too much for me to be sensitive. So give me the key before I lose my patience.’

‘You have no patience to lose!’

Zan held out his hand. ‘And unless you really intend to pull that trigger—hand over the pistol.’ On the edge of his consciousness, a faint sound registered. He lifted his head, ears pricked—but nothing more. He breathed again. ‘Wiggins won’t come to your rescue. And I took the precaution of locking Venmore’s man into his rooms. As I said, you really have no choice. Unless you’d really rather take your chances with D’Acre or Rackham?’ He raised a brow.

‘I…’

Zan waited no longer as her eyes darkened with fear of the fate that might await her. A sudden swoop. A hand
around her wrist, pulling her towards him. He’d have to risk the pistol to force her to see sense.

‘What’s it to be, Marie-Claude?’ he whispered against her mouth, snatching a hard, fast kiss. Again a faint noise, a scrape, perhaps the closing of a door, from somewhere distant in the house. He had not been mistaken. Zan tightened his grip in the urgency of it, until he felt her wince.

Whatever she read in his face had the desired effect. Marie-Claude handed over the pistol with distinct lack of grace.

‘Take it! I think I’m too much of a coward to use it. Even against someone I detest.’

If his head did not ache so, if ruin did not stare him in the face, he would have laughed. As it was the bitterness twisted in his gut. He slid the weapon into his pocket. Success, but he’d only won half the battle.

‘And now the key.’

He pinioned her against the wall with the weight of his body, one hand on either side so that she could not move. When she flinched from him, it twisted the knife even more. Couldn’t be helped, he thought, steeling himself. He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him.

‘Marie-Claude…We’ve no time for this.’ He allowed the back of his fingers to slide down her throat to the lace edging of her gown. An unpleasantly overt threat that impugned his honour.

‘Very well!’ she hissed at him with true venom. ‘I’ll give it to you! Give me some space.’

He sighed with relief. And when he eased his body back, she stooped and took the key from inside her shoe.

‘Ingenious! I must remember that! Now, listen to
me. You carry the candle and no tricks. If you strike me again, you’ll be at D’Acre’s mercy. And he has far less than I might be willing to show you. We’re going to go downstairs and, if I can, I’ll find a horse for you in the stables. Otherwise you’ll take my mare. You’ll ride and join Meggie or Mistress Gadie. I’ll tell you the route to take through the village. If it’s too late for that…’

If it was too late, he had no idea.

Zan unlocked the Tower room door, stepped out on to the landing, pulling Marie-Claude with him.

They had expected to be engulfed by the darkness of the staircase. Instead the landing outside the Tower room was already illuminated by a sailor’s unshuttered lamp.

‘Good evening, Mr Ellerdine. And the Hallaston lady.’ A feral grin in a dark, seamed face half-hidden by a grizzled red beard. ‘Now I wouldn’t have expected to see you two here together, but this, I think, is becoming a night of unexpected—and unsettling—surprises.’

The grating accents of Captain D’Acre. Full of disbelief. Full of suspicion. Not at all friendly, despite his choice of greeting. Would she wish to be at the mercy of either of them? Zan or D’Acre? Marie-Claude instinctively moved one step closer to Zan.

He won’t save you!
she admonished.
He’ll put the blame for the Smugglers’ Lamp on you and throw you to the dogs, to save his own worthless skin.
But still she felt an inexplicable comfort from his solid proximity. Still firm and warm around her wrist, his hand astonishingly gave her some comfort.

‘D’Acre.’ Zan inclined his head, as if they were in an elegant London withdrawing room. ‘I did not expect you here yet.’

‘No? Perhaps your attentions were fixed elsewhere.’ An unpleasant leer. ‘I can understand that. A tasty handful, no doubt.’ The tone changed. Became biting. As D’Acre leaned towards Zan, Marie-Claude could see his hand clench into a fist. ‘But not on my time. Not on one of my runs! You’ll keep your mind on the job, Ellerdine.’

‘Nothing has been overlooked, D’Acre,’ Zan replied, magnificently unruffled. But Marie-Claude was aware of the tension in the fingers that held her still against his side. The hot grip did not mirror the confident delivery. ‘To my knowledge everything’s running smoothly. A fine night for a landing. I’ve arranged enough men and ponies to carry the goods from two vessels up the cliff path. All can safely be stowed in the double cellar until such time as you want to move such a large consignment further on. That’s what you wanted. That’s what I’ve provided for you.’ Zan laughed softly. ‘I see no problems. And what if I found time to snatch a few delightful minutes with the lady of the house? Your operation won’t suffer for it.’

‘Hmm!’ There was no answering laugh. Rather a scowl. ‘Then explain to me why the lamp’s not lit, Ellerdine. I had to bring the cutters into the bay by firebeacon on the cliff, and a poor show we made of it, given the time at our disposal when we saw there was no lamp in the Tower. Our crews don’t know this coast as well as Rottingdean. They could’ve been aground on the headland.’

‘Unlikely, if the captains are worth their pay. The visibility’s good enough, even without a moon.’ Zan clapped a friendly blow to D’Acre’s shoulder. ‘There was no danger, Captain, admit it, merely a minor inconvenience.
As for the lamp here…’ Zan gestured back into the room ‘…a problem lighting it after so many months—years, in fact—of disuse. A faulty wick. I admit I should have taken more care.’ A lazy shrug. ‘But the cutters are safe, I presume.’ Zan turned as if he would usher D’Acre back down the staircase and Marie-Claude found herself shielded from D’Acre’s direct gaze. A subtle little move on Zan’s part, but she read it clearly despite the sudden confusion of her thoughts. He had protected her. He had shielded her from blame.