The Wicked One (37 page)

Lord's face went even darker; another boom sounded from the fort, and a storm of hot iron screamed overhead, sending spars and rigging down about them.

"I'll deal with
you
,
after
we get out of range!"

"You will deal with me
now
!" Lucien blazed, and headed for the boats.

Just then, Andrew, lugging a leaden box, came charging back on deck.  "Captain!" he shouted, trying to be heard over the roar of the guns, the muskets, the barrage of orders that flew all around.  "I'm an inventor — this is an explosive I've developed!  It's far superior to gunpowder . . . if we put it in the cannon, you'll have range enough to hit not only the fort, but those ships coming in from windward!  It'll buy us enough time to get Lucien to shore so he can save Charles and Eva!"

"
What!
"

Lucien, with Gareth on his heels, was already at the jolly boat as the crew prepared to swing it out over the side.

"I implore you, just try it!" Andrew persisted, racing after the irate captain.

Lord waved a lieutenant forward.  "Teach, summon a dozen marines and send them off with the duke — he'll need all the damned help he can get."

"Aye, sir!"

"But my explosive!"

Another crashing roar from the leading French ship sent iron splashing into the sea just yards off
Arundel
's bow.

"Fort's preparing to fire again, sir!" cried the lookout in the top above.

And then it came, in a murderous salvo so brutal that
Arundel
rocked on her beams with the impact.  Andrew saw one of the cannon spin and then flip like a top, pinning men, screaming, beneath it.  Spars and rigging came crashing down from above, bouncing off the rigged nets, falling into the sea.  And now the big French warship was running out her own guns even as Lucien, Gareth, and the marines, all vulnerable, were lowered down in the jolly boat.

"Sir, I beg of you to at least
try
my explosive!" Andrew cried, desperately.

Captain Lord halted, turned, and looked at him flatly.  "Very well, then," he said.  "The carronades have the most range.  If you can buy time for the duke, then I'll eat my goddamned hat."

~~~~

The jolly boat hit the water, the single sail was raised, and the craft veered toward shore, shielded, for the moment, from the guns of the incoming French ships by
Arundel
herself.

Lucien sat watching the two horses streaking across the ever-nearing countryside.  "We're never going to make it.  We're too late."

"It's not over yet," said Gareth, loading his own pistol.  "By God, I'm glad I didn't enter the Navy.  Don't think I could take too much of this sort of thing."

But Lucien was staring toward shore.  He could see Charles in the lead, one arm around Perry as he urged speed out of the tiring horse.  Just behind him was Eva, her hair flying behind her like a red banner.  Their pursuers were gaining on them.  Raising muskets.  The pop of gunfire came from across the water.

Charles had seen them.  He was sharply reining his horse, sending it flying off the road and down a muddy slope toward the shore.  Lucien gripped the gunwale.  Never had he felt so helpless.

"Head for the beach," he snapped to the man at the tiller.

Thank God the wind was in their favor, driving them toward shore.  Thank God he had Gareth with him, thank God Eva and Charles had each other.  Thank God —

And then
Arundel
's guns flashed and the world exploded.

Metal screamed overhead in a sound so unnatural that the man at the tiller dropped the bar, two marines hurled themselves down into the hull, and for a moment the boat careened madly in the draft left by the wave of iron.

"God and the devil save us!  What the bleedin' 'ell was
that
?" cried the nearest marine, his eyes wide with fright.

But Lucien was finally smiling.

"Andrew's explosive."

~~~~

"There they are!" Charles shouted, holding desperately on to Perry as he sent his exhausted horse plunging down the muddy slope toward the beach.  "Hurry, we've not a moment to spare!"  Behind him, Eva was hot on his heels, the gaol guards rapidly gaining on them.

Shots whizzed past.

They were never going to make it.

Eva, too, saw the jolly boat driving forward to meet them, and farther off, the huge
Arundel
running her guns out, pointing them toward shore.  The range was too great.  Powerful as the British warship was, she could never land her iron this far, could do nothing to help them.  She, Charles, and Perry were on their own.

"Well, it was a valiant effort," she cried, as the two hit the beach and thundered down the sand toward the incoming boat.

"Can't say we didn't try," shouted Charles, hurtling along beside her.

"If we're taken, I'm sure Franklin will negotiate for our release."

Gunfire banged behind them, and Charles winced as a ball sliced through the top of his sleeve, leaving an arrow of blood.  "Taken?" he yelled back, as the French began to send their own horses down the muddy slope in pursuit.  "At this point I'd be happy just to survive."

"Look!  Lucien and Gareth are in the boat!"

And it was nearly to shore; already, the marines were on their feet, muskets raised to their shoulders; oh, God help them, thought Eva, six marines to hold back the entire guard from the gaol?  They were all going to be cut down like grouse at a hunt!

But at that moment
Arundel
coughed two puffs of smoke from her bow, and an unholy roar screamed across the water with a sound like all the demons of hell being unleashed at once.  Eva's horse shied sideways, nearly unseating her; Charles's own mount reared in terror, spilling him and Perry to the sand; a moment later, it was bolting off down the beach, Charles was on his feet with Perry over his shoulder, and Eva was throwing herself off her own mount and running alongside him, both fighting to reach the incoming jolly boat before the guard was on them.

"What in God's name was that?" she shouted.

"Don't know — never heard anything like it in all my years of being in the army!"

She glanced over her shoulder.  "Charles, look!"

He did — and saw what she had seen.

Half the guard lay smashed and dead on the beach behind them, and the rest were milling about in confusion, pointing out to sea toward
Arundel
and yelling madly in French.

"Andrew's explosive — it had to be!" Charles cried.  "Hurry, they won't be long after us now!"

More shots banged out from behind them as what remained of the guard rallied.  And now the jolly boat was through the surf, the marines already firing upon the guard to try and hold them off as Lucien and Gareth leaped out and ran forward to meet them.

Lucien saw that it was going to be a close thing.  He threw himself in front of the three fugitives, took aim, and fired his own pistol at the Frenchmen charging down the beach.

"Get in the boat!" he yelled.

Lead whined all around.  He saw Charles leap for the gunwales.  Saw Eva turn to fire at their attackers.  Reached for her —

And felt his side catch on fire.  He clapped a hand to the wound, hot blood gushing from between his fingers, but it was too late.  Through a graying haze, he saw Charles's stricken face, heard Gareth's sharp cry of denial, saw Eva — his beloved, precious Eva — rushing forward to catch him.

Charles and Gareth hauled him into the boat, shots echoing all around.

And the last thing he felt was Eva's arms going around him.

Chapter 32

From far off came the sound of voices.  Cries of pain.  The distant, lingering boom of cannon.  A rocking sensation . . . like being in his mother's arms.

"He's coming around," someone said.

Groggily, Lucien opened his eyes.  For a moment he lay still, trying to discern his whereabouts.  Trying to remember what had happened to him.  He lay on a hard table.  There was still that rocking sensation, and as he focused on the dark beams just overhead, a lantern swinging gently with motion, he realized that he was aboard a ship, and his cradle was the sea.

"Lucien?"

He turned his head and smiled weakly.  "Eva."

"You had us all very frightened there," she said, stroking the hair at his temple.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"And the others?"

"Right here," said Charles, moving into his field of view.  His arm was bandaged, but he was intact.

And so was Gareth.  "Welcome back, Luce," he murmured, joining Charles.

"Where is Andrew?"

"Right here."

"Your brother saved the day with his explosive," said someone else, and turning his head, Lucien saw the stern face of Captain Lord.  "If it weren't for him, I dread to think of what might have happened."

"Yes, you've never seen three ships flee as fast as those Frenchies did when we put some of it in the guns and let fly," crowed Andrew, beaming.

Captain Lord gave a dry smile and then returned his attention to Lucien.  "You've got a piece of lead lodged just under your lowest rib," he said gravely.  "The surgeon is currently attending to the other wounded, but he'll be with you shortly."

Ah, then, so that explained it.  They were in the ship's orlop.  The surrounding cries, the stench of blood and death, were not just a nightmare — they was real.

"How is Lord Brookhampton?"

"Resting comfortably.  He suffered a nasty head wound, but he's growing more and more lucid and seems most desperate to return to England."

"Can't wait to get back to Nerissa," Gareth explained.

Lucien smiled.  Eva, Charles, Gareth, Andrew, and yes, even Perry, safe . . .   All was right in his world, then.  He turned his head once more and stared up into the foggy gray eyes of the ship's captain.  "No hard feelings, eh, Lord?"

"None."  The other man smiled dryly.  "But that's the last time I'm ever allowing a duke aboard my command.  I'd sooner resign, first."

Lucien laughed, but the pain was too much.  He shut his eyes and willed his body to relax as the captain moved off to comfort his own men.  He could sense his family hovering around, could feel their love for him, their concern.  He was thankful that he was so blessed.  But it was Eva's presence that was most precious.  Eva, who stood by his head, stroking his hair, resting her other hand soothingly on his shoulder.  Eva, whose bravery and determination had cost him his heart.

Eva.  His duchess.

His love.

"The surgeon's coming," she said.

Lucien smiled weakly.  It hurt too much to move.  To breathe, even.

He felt someone slicing off what remained of his shirt.  Competent hands, probing, palpating.  Fingers pressed against his ribs, moved lower, pressed
there
; he sucked in his breath, his head swimming with the pain of it.

"Get him some brandy," said a gruff voice.  "Lots of it."

Lucien, breathing shallowly through his chest in order to escape the daggerlike agony, opened his eyes.  "I need my wife, not brandy."

"And I need
you
to be perfectly still as I'm cutting into you.  One move, even a slight one, and it could cost you your lung, if not your life."

"I won't move."

"He won't move," echoed his brothers, who knew him well.

The surgeon only raised a brow and cleaned his scalpel.  Gareth, Andrew, and Charles gathered close.  Eva stood near his head, one hand still on his shoulder, her beautiful face close enough to touch.  Lucien wanted nothing more than to do just that, but he had said he would not move, and he would not.  Instead, he gazed up into her slanting green eyes, at the long lashes veiling the worry she could not hide.  He focused on her lips, the lower one caught between her teeth as she watched the surgeon prepare to make the first cut.  On the pale clarity of her skin, the purity of her complexion, the —

His breath stopped as the knife went in.

"I can't have you moving, Your Grace," said the surgeon, withdrawing.

"I'm not moving.  I'm not even breathing," Lucien muttered, but he felt the dampness breaking out all along his brow and knew that he would be unable to keep his word.

The surgeon drew back, shaking his head.  "I can't do it, then.  It's too great a risk."

There was silence as everyone looked to each other for a solution.  The surgeon prepared to move on to someone else.  Again, Lucien tried to breathe, and felt searing pain where the ball rested under his rib.  There had to be a way to do this.  Had to be.

And then he felt Eva's hand, still lightly stroking his hair, his cheek.

Wordlessly, he reached up and caught it, his grip persistent enough to claim her attention.  He stared up into her beautiful green eyes.  She gazed back, trying to understand what he wanted of her.  And then he placed her hand against the side of his neck, keeping it there, pushing it gently, firmly down.  Their gazes locked.

She smiled, then.

She understood.

"Doctor?" she called, as the surgeon began to move away.

The man paused, frowning.

"He'll give you no trouble," Eva assured the man.  "Just give him a moment."

"One moment, then."

"All of you, give him one moment," Eva murmured to the anxious party that surrounded the table.

Lucien saw the exchange of puzzled looks, his brothers' worried frowns before they, too, reluctantly stepped a few feet back from the table, revealing the darkened overhead beams, the lanternlight flickering against a bulkhead, once more.

"What a clever girl I've married," he breathed, holding his own hand over her fingers as she expertly found the proper place on his neck.  His gaze sought hers.  "I love you, Eva.  I've loved you from the moment you first thwarted me, I think."

"And do you know something, my beloved Blackheath?"

"What is that, dearest?"

"I love you, too."  Her eyes grew luminous, and he saw her soul in them.  A soul that was trusting where it had been suspicious.  Open where it had been closed.  Full of hope when it had been poisoned with cynicism.  "I love you, Lucien, and nothing on God's earth means more to me than you do."