A Belated Bride (20 page)

shoulder at Rosemont.

The house was shuttered in darkness, one solitary win- dow gleaming with light.

Lucien
. Arabella stared at the light and murmured, “I wonder what you are into now.”

Every day, he received mysterious letters, and on one occasion had left the house immediately, setting out on Satan and returning well after dark. She knew where he spent his days, for he was invariably by her side. But his evenings remained shrouded in mystery.

She kicked at a loose rock in the garden path, huddling deeper into her coat. She’d wanted to follow him, but Sebastian was simply no match for Satan.

The wind lifted, cold and unrelenting, and Arabella

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began to look longingly at the flicker of the fire she could see reflected on the walls of Lucien’s room. Not that she wanted to actually be in
his
room, of course. Any room with a warm fire would do. Still . . . she could just imag- ine how warm and toasty it would be: the fire flickering in the grate, the huge curtained bed nestled in the corner, the faint scent of candle wax in the air, and Lucien . . . She closed her eyes and imagined him sleeping in the great oak bed, his hair tousled, his jaw dark with the faintest hint of a shadow, his long lashes covering his remarkable eyes.

Asleep, he would look younger and more boyish, though nothing could detract from the air of latent sensu- ality that hung about him like the heady scent of sandal- wood. Even sound asleep, he would have the power to make any warm-blooded woman yearn to touch him, and trail her lips across the line of his jaw.

Stop it,
she silently admonished herself. She sank onto the hard, cracked marble bench beneath the oak tree and shook her head. Obviously, the days of working side by side with Lucien were taking their toll. She shivered as a gust of wind rushed across her, bathing her in icy cold and rattling the branches over her head.

She hugged the coat closer and sank her numb chin into the voluminous folds. Here, on the cliff edge, the wind blew stronger than anywhere else. Even on a calm day, a steady current of air sliced up the cliff face and pummeled the oak tree in a constant struggle to see which was stronger. It was a wonder that the old gnarled oak still stood, but it did, huge and craggy, with thick limbs that stretched out to the sea, defiant to the end.

Restless, she stood just as the crunch of gravel alerted her to Wilson’s arrival, and she turned to see him emerge

from the gate. His face was barely discernible in the dim light.

“Are ye ready, missus?”

“Yes.” She took the lantern he proffered and turned to lead the way down the path. The trail was stiff and rocky, filled with treacherous dips and stones, but she walked with the ease of familiarity. The path followed along the cliff face, one side solid rock, the other thin air and deep blackness, filled with the smell and taste of the sea.

As she rounded the last curve, the path angled down a rocky, grass-faced ledge. The wind rose, buffeting the rock face until she thought she could feel it tremble beneath her boots. The moon appeared only periodically between huge black clouds that roiled uneasily over the dark sea.

After what seemed an interminable time, they turned the last bend. They were now almost to the bottom of the cliff and approaching a large boulder. In the light from the lamp, it appeared that the trail went directly to the rock, then stopped. But as they came closer, one could just dis- cern where the path took a sharp left turn and disappeared into a narrow crack in the cliff wall.

Arabella lifted the lantern as she stepped into the crevice. A sudden gust threatened to extinguish the light, but two more swift steps brought her into the damp, still air of a cave.

From behind her came Wilson’s heavy-booted feet. “If’n we don’t hurry, we’ll be caught in the tide. ’Tis harsh tonight.”

“Then we’ll hurry.”

“ ’Tain’t always that easy when yer dealin’ with two numbskulls like my nephews.” Still grumbling, he took the lantern from her and led the way. The narrow tunnel

was treacherous with low ceilings and broken ground, but to Arabella and Wilson, it was as familiar and unremark- able as the entryway at Rosemont.

They rounded a corner and stepped out into a large cav- ern. There, the hollow dampness rose bold and bleak. The cavern was only half the size of Rosemont’s great hall, but since the lantern shed only a pale circle of light, the black- ness left the impression that they had just found the edge of eternity.

She and Robert had found the cave long, long ago. Robert had been certain that this was where the Captain’s lost treasure was hidden. They had searched for weeks with the wholehearted zeal of children, but they’d found only a few markings on the wall and some broken pottery. Wilson took a step into the cavern, bumping his head on the low ceiling of the entryway. He cursed, his rusty voice echoing hollowly. Large black puddles stretched out before them, the edges white with sea foam. When the tide came in, water overflowed the cavern wall, filling the cave

with brackish salt water until it resembled a lake.

Right now the lake was only partially filled, barely touching the bottom lip of the ledge. But when the tide was high, both entrances were completely submerged. Then, only one corner of the cave remained dry—a ledge high to the right.

On the ledge were signs of habitation: several lanterns hung on pegs, the remains of a small peat fire, and a cot that had been shoved against the back wall. The rest of the high ledge was covered with barrel after barrel of the new shipment.

Arabella clambered up the broken rocks that made steps to the ledge, Wilson behind her. He went to light the other lanterns as she silently counted the barrels.

She frowned. “I count only eleven. I thought we paid for fourteen.”

“We did. Where are those blasted nephews of mine?” growled Wilson, looking around. Nothing met his gaze. Yet before he turned the lantern back to the shipment, a longboat came into view through the opening to the sea.

“Late as usual,” muttered Wilson sourly. He lifted his voice to call, “Where have ye been, ye clot-headed shal- lypin?”

The longboat slipped into the circle of light and Ara- bella could see the huge, lumbering sailor who rowed. The man was as thick as an oak, every limb seeming wider around than a cask. He nodded a greeting and pulled the boat to the little ledge.

Twekes and his brother Lem were Wilson’s only flesh and blood. Huge and simpleminded, they were amiable and good-natured.

Seeing Arabella beside Wilson, Twekes grabbed his cap and gave a respectful dip of his head.

Arabella nodded pleasantly. “Where’s Lem?” “Comin’ behind me.”

“Why?” Her brow cleared. “Ah, the other barrels.” Twekes nodded.

“Excellent. Did you see Mr. Bolder?”

“Aye,” Twekes said. He used his paddle to hook a rope threaded through an iron ring and secured the boat against the ledge. “Smarmy bastard,” he added without rancor.

“Twekes!” Wilson sent an uneasy glance at Arabella. “Watch yer mouth!”

The giant pursed his lips, a deep crease in his brow. “I cain’t think of no better name fer him.”

“Then don’t call him nothin’ at all,” Wilson snapped. Twekes shook his shaggy head. “Ye’d call him that or

worse if ye knew what he was about. The blighter refused to give us the last three barrels.” The huge man gave a sly grin. “Lem and I waited till most of his men were on shore and then we rowed out and took a peek fer ourselves.”

“What did ye find?” Wilson asked.

“That smarmy bastard standin’ there on his ship, casks stacked as high as his head. When I told him we’d just take the ones he owed us, he refused. Said he had more important people to see to than us and ordered us off his ship.”

Wilson’s face turned bright red. “We’ve already paid fer that shipment!”

Twekes nodded. “So we loaded our boat wif what he owed us. He didn’t like that none and he ordered his men to shoot us.”

“Heavens!” Arabella said, alarm tightening her chest.

Twekes shrugged. “There were only four men on board and they been samplin’ the merchandise.” His grin widened. “They shot holes in their own sails.”

“Good fer them,” Wilson said. “That good-for-nothing, cheatin’ bast—” He clamped his mouth shut. “Wisht I could get my hands on him. I’d clean his bones and toss him into the ocean fer the fish to nibble.”

“Weel, now,” said Twekes, “that’s a good thing to be sure.”

“
What’s
a good thing?” Wilson asked.

“That ye want to see him. Once we had all of his men trussed up and our barrels in the skiff, the fool jumped in and wrapped hisself about one of the barrels and refused to leave. At first we were goin’ to toss him to the fishes. But then Lem decided that maybe ye’d want a word with him.” Twekes nodded slowly. “So we jus’ left him in the boat. Lem is bringing him here.”

Wilson blinked.
“Here?”

Twekes nodded, evidently pleased with himself.

Arabella closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead.

Wilson’s reaction was louder. “Ye idiot! Ye fool! Now he’ll know all about our secret hideaway!”

Twekes rubbed a sausage-thick finger across his nose. “That’s what I said to Lem. But he said he’d fix it all right and no one’d be the wiser.”

As if summoned, the sound of another boat made its way into the small cave. A skiff cut through the water, three barrels proudly resting in the center. Lem steadily pulled at the oars, while in the bow seat sat a plump man, his greasy hair slicked back from a small, cruel face, a wide muffler tied over his eyes. He gripped the sides of the boat as if terrified of falling over, his throat moving convulsively with each wave.

“Damn idiots,” breathed Wilson.

Arabella bit back an agreement. “I’m sure they felt they had to do something. We’ve four months’ profit tied up in this shipment.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Perhaps. Best ye cover yer face, missus. Don’t want anyone to be able to identify ye.”

Arabella pulled her muffler free and covered her head and most of her face, leaving only a small sliver to see out of.

The skiff pulled up to the ledge and Lem obligingly stepped out. “Ye can take off yer blindfold.”

The fat man grabbed the cloth and yanked, sending a furious glare at Wilson before scrambling out of the boat, no small feat for a man of his girth. Neither Lem nor Twekes made a move to assist him, but watched with appreciative grins.

Wilson stepped forward. “Mr. Bolt, ye—”

“That’s ‘Bolder,’ ” the man corrected with a black scowl, his shifty gaze darting around the cavern as if try- ing to memorize every nook and cranny. “I warn ye, if I’m not back with me ship within the hour, me men will come fer me, make no mistake.”

Wilson spat into the tide. “How? They don’t even know where ye are.”

The smuggler’s face reddened. “Ye’re makin’ a mis- take, I tell ye! Jus’ wait.”

Arabella made an impatient gestured toward the bar- rels. “All we want is our cognac.” She nodded to Lem and Twekes and they began to unload the boat.

“Wait!” Bolder started forward, his face flushed a furi- ous red. “Some of that is fer me other customers.”

“Nonsense,” Arabella said. “We paid for three more barrels. Those belong to us.”

“Not these barrels. They are promised to someone else.” “Mr. Bolder, you will either give us those casks or

return our money this very instant.”

“I don’t haf yer money wif me.” A nasty smile curved his mouth. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to ye.”

“Tell me, Mr. Bolder. How long can you tread water?”

His brows drawn, he shot an uneasy glance at the skiff where it rocked gently.

Arabella continued. “Lem will not return you to your ship until we’ve settled our differences. And this cavern has a most unfortunate tendency to fill with water when the tide is high.” She pointed to where the water was already beginning to rise. “With the exception of this ledge, the entire room fills with water.”

His face darkened. “Then I will stay on this ledge.” “Lem and Twekes wouldn’t like that. There is only one

cot, you see.”

Lem nodded solemnly while Twekes grinned and flexed his big hands.

The smuggler pointed to the cave entrance that led to the cliff path to Rosemont. “Then I’ll jus’ find me way out through there.”

“You are a very brave man,” said Arabella admiringly. “I think that would be an even worse way to die.”

“Die?”

“Wandering about the caves with no food, no water, no light, for days on end. Thinking each corner will bring you to the surface, only to find that you’ve been going ever deeper with each step.”

Bolder tugged at his collar. “I’d find me way out if’n I had to.”

Wilson snorted. “Ye’d be starved afore ye found the way out. That or the snakes’ll get ye.”

“There are . . . snakes?”

Twekes nodded. “Bigger than my arm.” He flexed his impressive arm for emphasis.

Mr. Bolder seemed unable to look away from the mas- sive sinew. He wiped a hand over his damp face. “I—I’ll let ye haf two of the barrels, but no more.”

“We paid for three.”

Muttering darkly, Bolder grabbed the nearest cask, set it at his feet, and placed his fat rump on it. “I’ll let ye have all but this one,” he said with a belligerent scowl. “It’s me last offer.”

Thump
. A knife landed blade-down, biting into the hard wood of the barrel beside Bolder’s plump thigh. The man jumped up, turning a furious face to Twekes. “What was that fer, ye poxy whoreson?”

Twekes rubbed his jaw, the rough scrape of whiskers loud against his callused hand. “It slipped,” he said finally.

“Ye idiot! Ye could have killed me!” “Now, Mr. Badger—” began Wilson.

“That’s ‘Bolder.’ B-O-L-D-E— Oh!” he broke off, his face dark red. “I’m wastin’ me breath on the likes of ye.”

Wilson stiffened. “I know my letters, I do. And my numbers, which is more than most can say.”

Arabella hurried to intercede. “I’m sure our guest is willing to leave all three of the barrels he owes us. Aren’t you, Mr. Bolder?”

Twekes pried his knife loose from the barrel and began paring his fingernails, the innocent expression on his face making even Arabella wary.