The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) (22 page)

Katherine nodded and walked on by his side. With her arm looped in his, she was very conscious of the muscled strength of him, of his easy, confident stride. Just being physically close to him, as well as hearing his indefatigably positive private thoughts—positive even when he wasn’t trying to carry his men with him—gave her heart.

Gave her heart enough to think of the future—of home. Of Stonehaven. Of Banchory-Devenick. Of Aberdeen.

She felt his gaze touch—and caress—her face.

“A penny for your thoughts.” When she looked at him, he grinned, rueful and inviting. “Yet even that penny will have to be on tick, for I haven’t even one farthing on me.”

They’d reached the back of the cleaning shed, out of sight of the mercenaries in the tower, and the patrolling guards had passed them minutes before. She halted in the deeper shadows, drew her arm from his, and faced him. “I was thinking of home.”
And you.

“Ah.” He studied her face, but she doubted he could make out much of her expression in the dark. “And?”

Was it madness to hope? So soon? To leap so far ahead? Yet life was for living. She tipped up her chin fractionally. “When we get back”—not if, but when; he’d infected her with his confidence—“our homes are so near, we’ll no doubt see each other. In Aberdeen, if nowhere else.”

He gazed at her, then, his voice deeper, huskier, he said, “I was hoping for somewhere else.” When she waited, he went on, “For instance, your home—and perhaps Fortescue Hall, if your grandmother’s still alive. I believe I’d like to meet her. And at Frobisher Manor, too—for I’m sure my parents would love to meet you.”

She blinked at him. What he was saying—what she wanted to hear...she stared into his eyes. “We can’t talk about this—not yet.”

He compressed his lips, then nodded. “It feels too much like tempting Fate.”

Thank God, he understood. She stared at him for an instant more—then she reached for him.

In the same heartbeat, he reached for her.

Their lips met—not tentatively this time but in the confident expectation of welcome. His fingers firmed about her waist, and he drew her closer, until her hips met his thighs. She released the folds of his shirt that she’d gripped and slid her hands up the acres of his chest, clasped his nape, and held him to her as she parted her lips and clung tight as he accepted her wordless invitation.

And her senses giddily spun.

Then they resettled and realigned, yet it seemed on a different plane of reality, one where only they existed—him and her in each other’s arms—communing in the warm dark.

She might have been a relative novice in this sphere, yet every long, drawn-out exchange had meaning. Each kiss, each slow and utterly absorbing caressing stroke of their tongues, each shift in pressure, took them both on a journey of exploration. His lips were firm and seemed cooler than hers, but then hers seemed so hot, so flushed and swollen. As if the realization had triggered a spreading of the sensation through all her nerves, over all her senses, her breasts caught the fever, then the heated sensation washed in a wave all the way through her. All the way to her toes.

She felt alive, radiant, heated and buoyed on a cresting tide of need. Of wanting.

Desire whispered softly through her mind, trailing seductive tendrils of hunger over her wits, before wreathing through her senses.

The strength of him, latent in his tall frame, in the lean, taut, steely muscles sheathing his heavy bones, should have made her wary. Any other man and she would have shied from being this close—from allowing him to tighten his hold about her waist and urge her closer still.

Any other man and she wouldn’t have gone, would never have let him draw her flush against him.

Would never have thrilled to the feel of her breasts compressing against the iron muscles of his chest. Would never have gloried in the heady delight of feeling his erection, rampant and solid, press against her stomach.

She might be a virgin, but she was no wilting flower. Yet with no other man had she ever felt this wanton—no other man had ever made her crave the sensation of his hands caressing every inch of her skin.

All with just a kiss.

A heady, hungry, greedy, wanton, shockingly heated kiss.

He couldn’t indulge her—shouldn’t, not here, not now—but the fire had been kindled and now smoldered beneath her skin.

Caleb knew it—knew that she was his, and that, somehow, he was and always would be hers. He’d indulged with more women than he could count—his easygoing nature and physical stature had always made attracting the fairer sex a simple matter—but this was different.

So very different he felt as if he was embarking on some voyage—one vital to his future life—with no effective compass.

But the needy sound she made, trapped in her throat, was one sign he recognized. That, and the way she pressed against him, so open in her burgeoning ardor that he couldn’t mistake her hunger. Her rising passion.

He wanted to claim it, and her—wanted to gorge and satisfy the hunger she evoked. For one instant, that need threatened to overwhelm him—to take control and drive him. But then he realized the danger and, on a mental oath, wrestled his libido into submission.

Not now. And certainly not here.

How long had they been kissing?

Too long, the tactical part of his brain drily informed him.

Too dangerous.

That thought gave him the strength to ease back—to ease them both back from the exchange. Yet her mouth was a haven of delicious delight, honey sweet and tempting; it required serious effort to haul his senses from their absorption, to convince them to relinquish the heady taste of her.

To draw back from an exchange that spoke so convincingly to the man he was, that lured the daredevil and tamed him.

Claimed him.

Irrevocably ensnared him.

Another minute ticked by.

Finally, he drew breath and raised his head, and their lips parted—reluctantly, overtly so on both their parts.

Through the darkness, lips still parted, their mingling breaths not at all steady, they looked into each other’s eyes—as if, despite the darkness, they could see into the other’s soul.

He filled his lungs, then, gently, set her on her feet.

He steadied her. Then he breathed deep again and quietly stated, “Just to be clear, my interest in you—this”—with one hand, he waved between them—“has nothing to do with being here—with us being trapped here together. There’s nothing incidental, much less casual, about how I feel about you. Had I met you anywhere else—in a ballroom, in some drawing room—the result would have been the same. I would have come after you. I would have sought you out.”

She tipped her head, her gaze steady on his eyes, then she equally quietly replied, “I could say the same. I could point out that I’ve been here for months, yet I’ve felt no need to kiss any other man. Yet with you...from the first, you were different in my eyes.” She paused, then went on, “I don’t know where this will lead—this connection between us—but I know I want to find out. With you—together with you.”

He held her gaze for a moment more, then he held out a hand.

She placed her hand in his.

As one, they twined their fingers, then they turned and, side by side, walked on through the night.

CHAPTER 13

Three days later, and they knew they would have to do something to slow production down if they wanted to live until September.

“You have to admit,” Dixon said as the captives sat around the fire pit that evening, “that if we weren’t in such a bind...well, it’s an amazing sight.”

All who had ventured into the second tunnel—and most of the captives now had—had to agree. All now knew how to spot the rough diamonds peppering the rock, and the second deposit was nothing short of spectacular. Hundreds if not thousands of diamonds, a huge number readily visible and for all intents and purposes ripe for the taking.

And all too easily mined.

Dixon had placed the tunnel perfectly, skimming the edge of the gradually downward-angling pipe. The tunnel, therefore, gave access to a long stretch of the deposit. With all the men working extended hours—as they had feared, Dubois had never allowed them to retreat to their previous shorter working day—Dixon estimated that they’d have the bulk out within two weeks.

And then Dubois would start killing the men, and then the children.

Jed looked at Annie. “Won’t Dubois wait until everything’s finished before he starts...culling us?”

Caleb exchanged a look with Lascelle, then glanced at Hillsythe, who also looked grim. When no one else spoke up, Caleb quietly stated, “No intelligent commander—or captain of mercenaries—would want to have a large group of captive men idle, just waiting for execution. That’s a recipe for an uprising, and everything we know about Dubois says he’s far too smart to do that. He’ll keep the six women to the last”—Caleb paused to draw breath, his mind shying from what, if Dubois’s men had their way, would ultimately happen to the women—“but the men and children? He’ll start eliminating us the instant we’re no longer needed.”

The group fell silent as all digested that. No one argued.

“We”—Katherine gestured to the women—“won’t be able to process the rock that fast, but that won’t stop Dubois or the backers from...”

“Starting to tidy up loose ends,” Caleb supplied. “He won’t care what you—those left—think. The instant he—and his backers—judge that they no longer require our services, they’ll move to eliminate us.”

“Because regardless of all appearances, just by existing, we pose a threat to them,” Lascelle said. “We would be foolish to think otherwise.”

Dixon grimaced. “I haven’t had a chance to explore a lower level. It’s possible we might be able to extend along the pipe and thus extend the mining—”

“For long enough?” Hillsythe asked.

Dixon stared at the mine, then, slowly, shook his head. “I doubt it. Experience tells me the part of the second deposit we’ve already got open will be the better part of it. We might get another week, but that still won’t be long enough.”

Caleb looked around the circle, took in the expressions—and lightly shrugged. “So as we’d planned, we’ll start slowing things down.” He was sitting beside Katherine. Across the circle, he caught Hillsythe’s gaze. “Starting from now. There’s no sense in waiting—we need to keep as many of the diamonds in the rock, unmined, as we can.”

Hillsythe nodded. “We’ve got quite a bit of stretching to do, so we need to start as soon as possible.” He paused, then said, “We’ve worked hard to keep Dubois reasonably happy—there’s no reason for him to imagine that any hiccup in production is deliberately caused by us. We need to preserve that fiction.”

Fervent murmurs of agreement came from all around.

“So,” Fanshawe said, “what’s it to be? The oil?”

Everyone, including all the children who were huddled in groups on the logs around the pit, was listening, waiting. The acknowledged leaders of the men—Dixon, Hillsythe, Caleb, Lascelle, Fanshawe, and Hopkins—all exchanged inquiring looks.

Then Caleb shifted on his log and looked at Katherine. “It might be preferable to open our campaign with a hiccup that isn’t in the mine itself.” He arched his brows at her, then shifted his gaze to Harriet, seated beyond her. “What about the problems with the women’s tools?” He glanced around the circle. “Bad cleaning tools will leave the rocks too encrusted for easy transport—more or less blocking getting them to the ship.” Caleb looked at Hillsythe. “And having Dubois focus on the cleaning shed and a blockage in production of the final raw diamonds means he won’t be focusing on the output of the mine itself, which means we can appear to keep working, but manage how much we do and hold back as much of the ore as we can to replenish the stockpile we’ve run down.”

“Another buffer against the future.” Hillsythe nodded. “That will, at least, give us a few days up our sleeve.”

When the diamonds eventually ran out.

Caleb looked around the circle, brows raised, inviting further discussion, but apparently everyone agreed. “Right, then,” he said. “As we’ve touched on many times, the problems have to look realistic and not staged—nothing to make Dubois suspicious.”

Katherine and Harriet exchanged a glance, then Katherine addressed the circle. “We think we can be ready by the middle of the morning tomorrow.” She glanced at Caleb. “Will that be soon enough?”

He met her gaze. “I believe I speak for us all in saying: Take your time. It has to look good—good enough to fool Dubois.”

Later, much later, when he was escorting her back to the women’s hut through the darkness, she tightened her fingers on his and murmured, “I just hope this works and that nothing goes wrong.”

He gripped her fingers back, then raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Courage, my love. I have confidence in you.”

* * *

The following morning, Katherine collected Harriet’s hammer—now with its head so loose it spun on the handle—and Mary’s and Ellen’s chisels, which now had edges that were brittle, cracked, and chipped; the women had worked with the two erstwhile blacksmith’s apprentices to make the damage look authentic, as just wear and tear. Tools in hand, she drew a breath, mentally girded her loins, and left the cleaning shed; summoning a bothered frown, she strode swiftly—purposefully—to the barracks.

With Caleb’s words of encouragement from the night before repeating like a mantra in her mind, she climbed the porch steps and headed for Dubois’s office.

He was sitting behind his desk. He looked up when she knocked on the door frame, then beckoned her in. “What is it?”

Clinging to her façade of feminine aggravation—as if beset by some unforeseen irritation—she walked to the desk and plunked the tools down before him. “These.” She waved at them in exasperation. “We’ve used them for as long as we can, but they’re now close to useless.” Looking up, she met his gaze. “You cannot expect us to clean the stones with these. We asked Dixon for replacements, but he said there aren’t any in the supply hut.”

She folded her arms and all but glared at Dubois. “So what do you want us to do?”

Dubois looked down at the tools, and a faint frown appeared on his rarely expressive face. He reached for the hammer.

She drew in a breath and stated, “We can carry on with the tools we have, but obviously not at the same pace. Of course, the other tools are also showing signs of wear, but they’re not as bad—yet.”

Dubois studied the loose hammerhead, then looked at the chisels. “It would have been useful to know this earlier.”

Katherine suspected he was speaking to himself, but nevertheless, she frowned as if perplexed. “Earlier when? No one’s asked us about the tools. If they had, we would have said.”

His gaze still on the worn tools, Dubois muttered something under his breath. Then he set down the hammer and pushed back his chair. “Show me.”

Katherine inwardly sniffed at the brusque order, but swung on her heel and led the way to the cleaning shed. As she entered, she cast a swift glance down the room; four of the other women were working diligently using those tools still fit for the task, while Harriet sat and watched. Katherine caught Harriet’s eye, then stepped aside and let Dubois stride past.

He immediately went to the table. He stopped beside Annie, closest to the door, and demandingly held out his hand. When she gave him her tools, he examined both closely. Eventually, he dumped Annie’s tools on the table and moved on to examine Gemma’s. Gradually, he circled the table. His expression increasingly hard and forbidding, he grunted several times, but remained unnervingly silent.

After he’d scrutinized each tool, he walked back to where Katherine waited by the door, her hands clasped before her. He met her gaze, then turned and looked back at the women, who were now all watching him. He grunted. “I will get you more tools. Meanwhile, do the best you can with what you have.”

With that, he strode out of the door.

Katherine exchanged a look of burgeoning hope with the other women, then moved to shut the door.

Before she did, they all heard Dubois bellow, “Arsene!”

Katherine and the other women grinned.

* * *

They had to wait until the afternoon to verify their success.

The women had reported on Dubois’s reaction over the short break the captives were allowed at midday. Later, while fetching more nails from the supply hut, Caleb noticed several of the mercenaries who had previously accompanied Arsene to the settlement sitting on the barracks’ porch and checking their weapons, traveling packs ready at their feet; after delivering the nails into the mine, Caleb opted to take a short break and go for a walk.

He went first to the cleaning shed to suggest Katherine join him.

They were now an accepted sight ambling together about the camp. This time, they took advantage of a temporary absence of guards in that particular section of the compound and ambled to a halt by the east side of the barracks, near Dubois’s window and out of sight of anyone inside the hut or in the tower.

Leaning back against the rough planking, through it, they heard Arsene say, “Perhaps they damaged the tools themselves.”

“I don’t think so.” Dubois’s accents were clipped, his tone impatient. “We’ve had no difficulties with the women to date, and I examined the tools myself—the damage is variable in type and also in degree. If they’d done it themselves, deliberately, the damage would have been more uniform.”

Caleb and Katherine exchanged a smug look. They’d worked hard to ensure the damage was sufficiently variable to appear innocent.

Dubois continued, “More, the good Miss Fortescue did not suggest they halt their work, but rather she came to point out that, due to the failing tools, they would be unable to work at full pace. As we’ve all seen the large amount of diamonds that will be coming out of the second tunnel, she was right to call attention to what will, ultimately, cause a bottleneck and restrict our deliveries of raw diamonds to the ship.” Dubois paused, then went on, “If you think it through, in this, she behaved as I would wish her to. She and the women might have continued working, increasingly slowly, until the tools gave out altogether, thus more gravely impacting our ability to send diamonds to the backers.”

Arsene grunted, apparently in grudging agreement. “We’ve had a few pickaxes and shovels break. I suppose it’s only reasonable the women’s tools, which are constantly in use, might also become damaged.”

“Indeed. So I suggest we don’t borrow trouble and doubt the women in this. Instead”—Dubois’s tone turned calculating—“let’s see if we can bend your trip to the settlement to our advantage.” He paused, then said, “Make sure you get double the number of tools the women need. And call Dixon in.”

Caleb and Katherine exchanged another glance, then they pushed away from the wall—Arsene or whoever went to fetch Dixon might see them—and wandered over to where the older girls were busily sorting through the piles of ore.

From the corners of their eyes, Caleb and Katherine watched the guard who, seconds later, crossed to the mine, presumably to fetch Dixon. While they waited for the guard and Dixon to emerge, Katherine crouched and chatted to the girls.

Caleb stood beside them; his hands in his pockets, he pretended to listen while his mind ranged over the visit Dubois had paid to the mine the day before. Neither Dubois nor his lieutenants entered the mine often. Once or twice a day, one of the guards would randomly wander in unannounced and stroll through the tunnels, but their interest was transparently perfunctory; evidently, Dubois and his crew had long ago decided that the only thing they cared about was what came out of the mine, and they didn’t need to concern themselves with what went on inside.

Yesterday, however, their curiosity no doubt piqued by Dixon’s report on the second deposit as revealed via the second tunnel, Cripps, then Arsene, and finally Dubois had come to see the sight with their own eyes.

Playing his role of excited engineer to the hilt, Dixon had proudly shown off the diamonds. The other men had paused in their labors and stood back against the opposite wall of the tunnel. The temptation to use his pickaxe on Dubois had gripped Caleb—and he suspected most of the men there—but the presence of several guards with muskets, and the certainty of more outside with the children in full view and, no doubt, orders to shoot should there be any sign of riot, effectively quashed the impulse.

But then while watching Dubois, Caleb had noticed sweat pop out on the man’s forehead. He’d looked more closely—and had seen the slow clenching and unclenching of Dubois’s fists, and his increasing pallor.

Caleb had glanced at Phillipe, just as Phillipe—having noted the same signs—had glanced in dawning wonder at him.

They’d both looked down the tunnel at Hillsythe; he, too, had been looking at Dubois, a faint frown forming on his face. Hillsythe had felt their gazes; he’d shifted his own to meet them and had nodded almost imperceptibly.

They’d all gone back to observing Dubois.

Later, they’d conferred, and all had agreed it was very likely Dubois suffered from a fear of enclosed spaces or some similar condition, enough to make him panic over being in the mine. His lieutenants might also be affected, which would account for all three rarely entering the mine.

What use such knowledge might be, no one could guess, but it was a weakness—especially in Dubois, who had thus far demonstrated very little by way of vulnerability.