Sandra Heath (29 page)

With a grunt of disbelief, Old Nick sat forward. How could this be? How could the sloop escape what was meant to be the inevitable? Too late the Master of Hades remembered the small matter of the
Avalon’s
shallow draft.

Chapter Thirty

Everyone on the
Avalon
cheered ecstatically as the sloop glided on unharmed. Caps were tossed into the air and no one felt any sorrow at the demise of a privateer that had wrought such terror on the seas. Henrietta gave a sob of relief. She gazed back at the other vessels, two phantoms and one that was only too real. The
Légère
had struck fast upon the sandbar and was already beginning to break her back.

Marcus’ arms tightened around Henrietta. “Don’t be anxious, my love, for the tide is falling apace now, and the sands will soon be exposed. Everyone on the
Légère
will escape.”

“And be rescued?”

“Of course.”

She raised her eyes to gaze at him. “Oh, Marcus, I love you so very, very much,” she whispered.

“It’s St. Valentine’s Day, my darling, so what better occasion could there be to ask you to marry me? Become my marchioness, Henrietta, and make me the happiest man on this earth!”

Old Nick almost choked.

She stared at him. “Oh, Marcus ...”

“Just say yes.”

Hell’s overlord leaped to his feet. No, don’t say yes! Don’t!

“Of course I will marry you,” she whispered.

Old Nick gave a howl of anguish.

Rowley suddenly jumped from Henrietta’s arms. Barking and wagging his plumy tail, he dashed along the deck. Henrietta turned from Marcus’ arms to see Jane and Kit hurrying toward her across the deck. Jane was laughing out of sheer happiness, and Kit caught one of Henrietta’s hands to draw it dashingly to his lips.

Jane gazed gratefully at her. “You’ve saved us,” she said. “We had to bring two of our descendants together in love, and now that love has been properly declared, we can go to heaven, instead of to hell.”

“Is
that
what this haunting has been about?”

“Yes.” Jane quickly explained about St. Peter’s error and Old Nick’s annoyance. “But we were forbidden to confide anything in you,” she went on. “We did our best to bring you and Marcus together, and we waited and waited for you to realize how much you loved each other, but you both were so stubbornly determined to nurse grudges that we quite despaired. Then we thought we were doomed anyway, because Old Nick imprisoned us on the
Wessex....
”

As Jane shivered, Kit put his arm around her. “It’s all over now, my darling. Our hundred years of haunting is at an end. Look up at the sky.”

Jane did as she was told, and saw the glittering portals of heaven shimmering in the sky. Henrietta looked up as well but saw nothing, and when she looked at the ghosts again, they were more indistinct than before. In fact they were fading before her eyes.

Jane bent to take Rowley, but the spaniel shrank back. Jane’s joy was checked. “Rowley?”

Kit caught her arm. “There’s no time, beloved, we must go now.”

Rowley looked around at Henrietta, and she knew he wanted to stay with her. She smiled at Jane. “I’ll look after him, Jane, truly I will.”

Jane hesitated, but then hastened forward to brush a ghostly kiss to Henrietta’s cheek before she and Kit faded completely. Henrietta gazed at the spot where they had been, and bit her lip to stop herself from crying. She knew she would never see them again.

Old Nick, already beside himself with spluttering fury, now became positively apoplectic. He hurled his pitchfork to the ground, and vented his spleen by jumping on it. His temper was not improved by the sound of holy laughter, and he shook a fist aloft. Truth to tell, he put St. Peter very much in mind of a very large, very angry bogle.

The saint closed the gates of heaven, and then drew a satisfied breath. What was the old adage? Better late than never? Well, maybe a lack of concentration in previous times had led to this sorry business in the first place, and more recently disputing angels had caused a lengthy and tiresome distraction, but all was now satisfactorily concluded! Two very good, long-suffering souls were now where they should have been all along, and Old Nick would have to swallow the bitter pill of defeat. And of sly whispers in the ranks of his underlings.

All these goings-on, both heavenly and hellish, remained unknown to Marcus, who saw only Henrietta’s unshed tears. He put a gentle arm around her shoulders. “What has happened?”

“Jane and Kit have gone to heaven at last. I’ve seen them for the last time.” Mastering her mixed emotions, she explained what Jane had told her.

“You mean, it’s been down to us all along?”

Henrietta managed a smile. “Not all along, for it’s been going on for a hundred years! Just since New Year’s Day, when it began to snow.” She glanced toward the Kentish coast, where the land was still white.

Rowley whined and pawed at her hem. Marcus gave a start. “Don’t tell me we still have the dog!”

“I fear so. He didn’t want to go with them.” Henrietta gathered the spaniel into her arms again.

Rowley snuggled contentedly. Now that he had discovered he could still eat sugared almonds, he had no desire whatsoever to go to heaven, where he was sure such things would not exist. He glanced slyly at Marcus, just as he had once looked at Kit. Certain rules would have to be established, not the least being that a lady’s pet dog, ghostly or not, came before her gentleman. Now, if that gentleman were to provide a constant supply of sugared almonds, no doubt a satisfactory compromise could be reached.

* * * *

Marcus was proved correct in his prediction that everyone on board the
Légère
would be rescued. As the tide fell and the Goodwins were exposed, to a man—and woman—they scrambled onto the sands. One of the patrol frigates then took them safely off. After that, when the water was its lowest, the
Légère
broke up on the bar and the good men of Kent plundered her most thoroughly. The privateer’s crew and captain were flung ignominiously into Deal jail, and as soon as the thaw was sufficient to make the roads passable, Amabel was taken to London. There she too was imprisoned while the authorities considered what to do with her.

Henrietta’s reputation remained intact when she and Marcus let it be known that a maid had indeed been with her during the voyage, but had left immediately on landing. A new maid was taken on without delay, and no one in society ever realized anything had been amiss. When George, Lord Sutherton, was confronted with his unfaithfulness with Amabel and his lies about Marcus, he could think of nothing to say in his own defense. He was so alarmed about Amabel’s espionage, fearing he might in some way become implicated, that it was some time before he realized the extent to which his financial dilemma had worsened. He’d been spending lavishly on the promise of the Courtenay fortune, and now his need for an heiress was greater than ever. Like the conscienceless rat he was, he set about lying his way into another poor creature’s life, but he came sadly unstuck when on his wedding night he discovered that his bride was a schemer like himself, and had married
him
in the hope of solving her own financial problems! They unrichly deserved each other, which was perhaps as it should be.

Another wedding, that of the Marquess of Rothwell and Miss Henrietta Courtenay, was one of the social highlights of spring 1814. The beau monde flocked to the ceremony at St. George’s, Hanover Square, and at long last the bride and groom’s respective families deigned to be agreeable toward each other. In fact, the feud was all but set aside, except in the case of a few stalwarts like Uncle Thomas, who to the end of his hidebound days would find it hard to forgive his niece for marrying a Fitzpaine!

But then, very little in this world mattered to Uncle Thomas, except perhaps when the next Tattersall’s sale would be held.

Henrietta and Marcus spent their wedding night at Bramnells. When the April sun set at the end of the most wonderful day of her life, she stood at the tall window of the principal bedroom. All she was wearing was a flimsy pink muslin robe that frothed with lace at the throat and cuffs, and her dark hair was brushed loose about her shoulders. She gazed out toward the distant Goodwins, exposed now, and pale and mysterious beneath the crimson of the dying sun. Of the
Légère
there was no sign, for the sands had long since claimed every trace of her, sucking her down into their mysterious depths as if she had never been.

As Henrietta watched, the tide began to turn. The sea came in at a fearsome rate, and in only minutes, the miles of sand had become a maelstrom of crashing surf. She glanced up at the sky, wondering about Jane and Kit, and then turned back into the room, where Marcus lay watching her.

He was dressed in a blue brocade dressing gown, which was open to reveal the unexpectedly dark hairs on his chest. He wasn’t alone on the bed, for Rowley sat determinedly at the bottom. The ghostly spaniel’s gaze was fixed upon the man with whom he was competing for Henrietta’s attentions. Marcus couldn’t see the dog, but he knew he was there. Indeed, Rowley was
always
there these days!

Henrietta knelt on the bed beside her new husband and put warm fingertips on his chest. “We are alone together at last, my lord,” she said softly.

“So we are, my lady,” he replied, his gaze moving over her. The delicate muslin did not conceal her figure, and his blood was already stirring with his overwhelming desire for her. He put a hand up to touch her breast.

Rowley growled. They ignored him as Marcus caught her hand to pull her down into his arms, but Rowley growled again, louder this time. The spaniel was past master at this game; he’d done it enough times to Kit to know exactly how to put a damper on proceedings. But Marcus wasn’t Kit. After drawing Henrietta’s hand to his lips, he got up from the bed.

Henrietta looked at him in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to deal with Master Rowley.”

Henrietta’s eyes widened. “Deal with him? Oh, Marcus, I’m sure he’s only looking after my honor.”

“Is he indeed? We’ll soon see. He is about to be faced with a dilemma, and I’m pretty certain your honor won’t figure in his decision.” Going to a drawer, Marcus took out a large dish of sugared almonds, which he placed on the floor. Then he returned to the bed and lay down once more.

Rowley gazed at the sugared almonds, then at the bed, then back at the sugared almonds. His mouth watered and with a sigh he jumped down. As the almonds began to rattle, Marcus gave a sleek smile. “So much for your honor, my love,” he said softly, pulling her down into his arms.

“But my lord, I was going to surrender my honor anyway.”

“Oh, you were, my lady, you were,” he breathed, and drew her lips to his.

The sweetest of ecstasies consumed her as he made her his at last. Never had any woman enjoyed a sweeter initiation, or known more pleasure. She sighed when he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, and she cried out when he entered her. She had not dreamed it could be like this, and she knew she would never spurn him again, or misunderstand him, never doubt or question him, never turn from his kisses. He was part of her now, and they would never part again.

Afterward, when they lay in each other’s arms, their love consummated at last, the only sound in the room was the crunching of ghostly canine teeth upon another sugared almond.

Copyright © 1998 by Sandra Heath

Originally published by Signet (0451186508)

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are

fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is

coincidental.