An Accidental Seduction (19 page)

Savaana shook her head and inched backward, bumping into Clarette. “Stay away,” she warned.

“All will soon be made clear.”

“Why not make it clear now?”

“There’s no time. It is enough to say that your lives are in danger.”

“That I believe.”

“But if you cooperate, this will be simpler.”

“Your pardon,” Savaana said. “But I don’t care to make your life simpler.”

He chuckled, but something touched her hand. She twisted her wrist, felt the rock in her sister’s fingers, and took it surreptitiously in her own.

“Come along now,” said Top Hat, and stepped toward them. “I’ll not—”

Savaana loosed the stone, but it was darker than sin in the shadows. The missile bounced off his shoulder, but it was enough of an advantage.

“Run!” she rasped, and spinning about, pushed Clarette away from her.

The giant appeared without warning. Big as a mountain, he caught them both by the fronts of their gowns and hoisted them from their feet.

They fought like cornered badgers. Clarette landed a kick to his groin. He grunted, but his grip didn’t loosen a whit.

Then a shot exploded from behind. Their captor jerked
and dropped to his knees. The women lurched away, scrambling for footing.

The giant rolled his eyes upward, meeting Savaana’s terrified gaze.

“Iara-ma, cea dulce
,” he said, and toppled face first into the undergrowth.

C
larette spun about. Their savior was there, not fifty feet away. His brass buttons gleamed dully in the pale moonlight.

“Thank God you came!” she rasped. But as she stared in his direction, he raised a pistol. Another bullet whistled through the darkness. It grazed her arm and sung into the distance.

She shrieked.

“Go!” Savaana’s voice was breathy, barely audible, but Clarette was already running. Skirts gathered in both hands, she sprinted past the giant’s fallen form. Two men appeared in the darkness ahead. She careened to a halt. Savaana skidded, almost sliding into her. They changed directions like hunted hare, darting uphill.

“Hurry!” Savaana gasped.

“I am hurrying!” Clarette said, but someone yelled from above.

“There!”

The sisters jerked their attention upward, and then, as
a duo, dashed to the left, cutting downhill, slipping and sliding. But the men were already giving chase.

It was a nightmare of terror. They ran blindly, crashing through the woods. Branches whipped their faces. Another bullet sang past, lodging in a nearby tree.

Clarette jerked, caught her foot on something and tumbled downhill.

Savaana gasped and slid after. She jolted to a halt next to her sister’s still form. “Clarette…”

“We’re on a road.” The baroness lifted her head, sounding dazed.

“Holy hell, I thought you were dead.”

“A road,” she repeated, and jerked to a sitting position. “Someone will find us.”

“That’s what I fear, too.” Savaana grabbed her arm, tugging her to her feet as she glanced frantically down the pale, twisted trail. There was less than ten feet of clearing from one side to the next, but the road shone like a beacon in the darkness.

“I’d say you were needlessly worried, but—” Clarette began. Another bullet shot into the pebbles at their feet.

Without a word they skittered into the woods on the far side of the road.

“Who are they?” Clarette rasped.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, guess!”

“I—” A snap of noise interrupted her. “They’re close.
Hurry!” she ordered, but their pursuers were catching up, bearing down on them like swooping birds of prey. “How can they see—” she began, then caught a glimpse of Clarette’s ensemble. Her bonnet was long gone, but her gown gleamed in the darkness. “Go!” she ordered. They ran again, but only a short distance now. Just out of sight of their pursuers, Savaana leapt. She hit Clarette square in the back. Her sister went down with an audible grunt, rolling as she did so. Savaana clasped her hand over the other’s mouth.

Clarette thrashed wildly, but Savaana held tight.

“Quiet!” she hissed.

“Let me—”

“They can see your gown!”

The thrashing stopped. Their gazes met.

“Cover up!” Savaana ordered.

It barely took an instant for Clarette to begin burrowing into the rotten leaves.

Allowing herself one quick glance behind, Savaana draped her dark skirt over the two of them.

Footsteps scrambled nearer. Voices scattered around them. Savaana pulled her feet beneath her wide skirt and dropped her head against her sister’s face, letting her hair cover everything.

“Where are they?” The man who spoke had a strong, indistinguishable accent. He was nearly upon them.

Savaana felt Clarette jerk, but she held her down, hand tight over her mouth.

“They are close,” someone else growled.

“Then kill them,” snarled another.
“Acum!”

Clarette whimpered. Savaana shook.

Heavy footfalls hurried past.

The sisters remained still, barely breathing until the sound of the men’s movement was only a whisper of twigs in the distance.

Savaana eased onto her knees.

“Are they gone?” Clarette sat up carefully.

Savaana shook her head, rising shakily to her feet, squatting beside a nearby tree.

“Let’s go,” Clarette hissed, and eased back the way they had come. Savaana slunk after.

But someone yelled from above.

The women jerked their attention to the left. Three men were sliding toward them.

“Nandy!” someone shouted from behind.

“Le va esti aici!”
said another, but the women were already racing away, darting through trees, trying to bisect the enemies in a desperate bid to make it back to the road. It was their only hope now. But the trio from above was slicing off their angle of escape.

Pivoting wildly, the girls skittered downward, scrambling, falling, only to rise and rush on, but the slope was becoming steeper, and they could no longer hear their pursuers. Blood pounded in Savaana’s ears. Terror tore at her heart. It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t possibly have found
her sister only to lose her now. To lose her because of her own efforts.

“Dammit!” Clarette said, and skidded to a halt, arms windmilling as she tried to keep herself from tumbling downward. Savaana grabbed a sapling to prevent careening into her. And then she realized the truth; it wasn’t the sound of her own terror that was pounding in her ears. It was the river. Glancing down, she saw it tumble and roll thirty yards beneath their feet.

“Holy mother!” Clarette’s face looked as pale as the moon, a round sickle of fear, eyes wide with terror. She was holding onto a branch with white-knuckled panic.

But Savaana felt hope bloom like a wild blossom in her soul. “This is our chance.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“That tree,” Savaana said, motioning toward a fallen trunk before snapping her gaze behind her. No sinister shapes shone in the darkness, but it was only a matter of time. “We’ll crawl out on it. Hide. They’ll never expect us there.”

“You’re mad.”

“No time to debate that. Go.”

“No.”

“Clarette.” She caught her sister’s eyes. “You’re the princess of Delvania. Wealthier than you’ve ever imagined.”

There was a moment of absolute silence, then: “I can imagine quite a lot.”

“Surely you don’t want to give it all up now.”

Clarette closed her eyes, swallowed, then dropped to her knees and shimmied onto the log by slow degrees. Savaana slipped out of her shoes, then followed her, crouched in her wake, watching behind, praying in silence. The tree gave a little beneath them, jerking under their weight.

Clarette whimpered, hugging a branch to her chest. Below them the river raced along its wild path to the sea.

From above Savaana heard a murmur of voices.

“Clarette?”

Her sister turned panicked eyes on her.

“You’re going to have to jump.”

“You said we were hiding here.” The words were no more than a hissed accusation.

“We only have a few minutes before they find us. Maybe not that much,”

Clarette glanced down. She closed her eyes. “You lied to me.”

Savaana glanced behind again. “You and everyone else. Are you ready?” she asked, and skimmed her bare foot forward a few inches.

“What happened to your shoes?”

“Is that really what you want to concentrate on at this precise moment?” Savaana asked, and reaching for her sister’s shoes, pulled them off one after the other “Or do you want to think about surviving?”

Clarette’s face contorted. “Are they really diamonds?”

“Would I lie to you?” Savaana asked, and grinned.

“If I survive this I’m going to beat the hell out of you,” Clarette said, and Savaana almost laughed as she dropped the shoes into the water below. It seemed a lifetime before they splashed.

Clarette tightened her grip on the tree and pressed her face to a branch.

“They’re diamonds,” Savaana said. “I swear it. More valuable than—”

Voices sounded from the hill above.

“It’s time,” Savaana said.

Clarette closed her eyes, hugging harder. “I can’t do it.”

“Then you won’t live to see the diamonds cut.”

She didn’t respond.

“You’ll die,” Savaana added. “And I’ll die with you.”

Their gazes met. Then, with painful slowness, Clarette released her right hand and reached for Savaana. “I’ve never had a sister,” she said.

Savaana clasped her hand, steady as a rock. Just another performance. Just another unlikely feat of derring-do. She stretched out her other hand, and Clarette gave it.

“You’ve always had a sister,” she said, and leaping, pulled them both toward the rushing waters below.

“M
r. Gallagher?”

Sean turned toward Lord Tilmont, brow furrowed, mind churning.

“What are you doing here? And…” The baron paused in the arched door of Reardon’s ostentatious manor. “What the devil are you wearing?” he asked, but Sean didn’t acknowledge Tilmont’s questions.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“What?”

Worry gnawed him like a starving hound. He should have gone with her. Should have ignored her request for solitude and followed her into the dark garden. “Your wife. Where is she?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern,” Tilmont said, but Sean’s patience had evaporated.

Taking the one stride that remained between them, he lowered his voice to a growl. “What the hell have you done with her?”

The baron’s brows rose in unison with one corner of
his mouth, and suddenly he didn’t look so dissipated, so innocuous. “So I was right, then. You’re in love with her.”

“I’m not…” Feelings swirled like fireflies in Gallagher’s tortured soul. Terror and hope soaring on the wings of something rather akin to love. “There’s no time for that.” He scanned the milling crowd. “I can’t find her in this damned circus.”

Tilmont scowled a little. “Perhaps she returned home.”

Gallagher snapped his gaze back to the baron. “To Knollcrest? Why would she leave—”

“That’s not her home,” Tilmont said. The words
you dolt
seemed to be implied. “Don’t you know anything about her, man?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her
real
home.”

Gallagher scowled. “Which is where?”

“How the devil am I supposed to know?” he asked. “I’ve only just met her.”

The world had gone mad. There seemed little reason to be the only sane person there. So Gallagher took a wild stab at the truth. “You know she’s not your wife?”

“Good God, man, I’m a lush not an imbecile. My wife’s a sharp-tongued shrew.”

Gallagher shook his head, trying to rid it of the confusion. But there was little hope of that. “You’ve known all along she was someone else?”

“Since I stepped into her room at the inn.”

“How—” he began, but there was no time. “Where has she gone?”

“My wife or the other…” Tilmont paused. “What’s her name, by the by?”

Frustration made Sean want to shake the baron till his teeth rattled. “I’ve no idea.”

“Well, what the hell have you been doing with all your bloody time?”

“I’ve—She—” What indeed? “How was I to know she wasn’t who you said her to be?”

“I told you she was a bitch at the outset. You didn’t seem to care a whit. You still wished to meet her. Hell, you were frothing to meet her. Why is that, by the by?”

“I thought she was Clarette!”

“Even after you spoke to her? Are you a damned idiot or—” He stopped himself. “My apologies,” he said, and held out his right hand. It shook like a tambourine.

Gallagher scowled. “You need a drink.”

“More than you know.”

“I’ll get—” he began, but Tilmont caught his arm.

“Who were the men who accosted her?”

“I have no idea.”

“But we can assume her life is in danger.”

Sean felt his stomach twist, felt his face go pale.

Tilmont watched, an expression of near pity crossing his face. “You’re that far gone, are you, lad?”

“You’ve met her,” Gallagher said, thinking that enough of an explanation as he scanned the crowd again.

Tilmont grinned, expression wry. “Just briefly,” he said. “What part did my wife have to play in this, do you think?”

“I’ve no idea.” Frustration bubbled like hot tar in his soul. Half of London must be in that damned ballroom.

“So you don’t know her name, where she’s from, or why she’s here.”

Sean suddenly felt like popping the cocky baron in the face, but he gritted his jaw and manfully refrained. “That sums it up.”

“Maybe she’s avoiding you.”

“Why would she—” Gallagher began, then remembered painful pieces of their past.

Tilmont raised his brows.

“I never intended to seduce her.” Gallagher’s voice sounded sulky to his own ears. “Not once I suspected she wasn’t who I thought her to be.”

“What
was
your intent exactly?”

Gallagher watched Tilmont for a moment. Impatience gnawed at him, but there were things to be learned. Necessary things. “My brother was to wed. He said she was beauty itself.” He clenched his jaw. “Father had been unwell since Mother’s death, but the hope of grandchildren rejuvenated him. He smiled for the first time in
months when he gave Alastar Mother’s ring. ‘A symbol of faithfulness and joy,’” he said.

Tilmont’s expression was somber.

“She never showed up for the wedding, and the ring hasn’t been seen since. I never met this paragon. But Alastar had commissioned a cameo.”

“And when I showed you Clarette’s portrait you assumed it was she.”

“I thought she was one and the same for some days after I reached your estate.”

“So the two women must be working together somehow,” Tilmont said.

“That’s my guess.”

“But why?”

“That question has crossed my mind.”

“And mine,” Tilmont said. “Let us go voice it.”

They glanced about, then made a circuit around the ballroom, going in opposite directions before meeting in the middle.

Gallagher’s stomach was cranked up tight.

“She seemed unaccountably attached to horses.” Tilmont’s tone sounded strained, but whether it was nerves or abstinence, ’twas impossible to say.

“I’ll check the carriages. You have a look around the garden.” Gallagher turned abruptly away. The crowds dissipated in his mind. Worry gnawed at his nerve endings. What had he been thinking? He should have never
let her out of his sight. Should have known better than to upset her, then leave her.

The night air felt cool against his face.

Tilmont’s rented vis-à-vis stood in a long queue some distance down the yard. Gallagher glanced toward it, but another row of vehicles blocked it from view. Stepping between a shiny phaeton and the cob that carried the brougham behind it, he emerged into the moonlit night. In that moment he realized someone was bending inside their rented vehicle.

“Clarette.” Relief sloughed through him, but suddenly the shadowy personage jerked from the carriage. It was a man, garbed in a short jacket with brass buttons. “Who the hell are you?” rasped the Irishman, but the stranger pivoted away.

Gallagher leapt forward, eating up the distance. “Stop!” he ordered, and snagged the man’s arm. “What the devil do you think—” he began, but even as the other turned, his dagger gleamed in the moonlight.

Pain stabbed Gallagher, but worry was even sharper. Tightening his grip on the other’s jacket, he pulled him closer, gritting his teeth against the agony.

“What have you done with her?” His voice was guttural, his worry all consuming.

The man uttered something foreign and yanked the knife free to thrust again, but this time Gallagher caught his wrist.

The blade shook between them as they struggled.

“Where is she?” Gallagher could barely force out the words. Blackness loomed, but he pushed it back, fighting for lucidness.

“Where none will find her,” the man snarled.

“Why?”

“For Delvania,” he said, and slammed his free fist into Gallagher’s knife wound.

Gallagher staggered backward as the Delvanian turned to flee, but desperation roared inside the Irishman. Gathering all his strength, he leapt. His fingers just brushed the man’s coat. But it was enough. He closed his hands and hung on. The villain stumbled to his knees. Grasping his legs, Gallagher clawed his way up the fallen body. The Delvanian kicked. The momentum threw Gallagher aside as the other twisted around, but even as he did so, the Irishman slammed a fist into his face, then climbed atop him. Groping for the hand that now held a gun, he pinned the man’s wrist to the ground.

“Where is she?” he rasped.

“Dead! Dead already.”

Insanity roared through Gallagher. He struck with all his strength. The man’s head snapped to the side, but then he smiled.

“The bitch is dead. The Ludricks will rule again,” he said, and squeezed the trigger.

The gun exploded. Gallagher braced for impact, but
the bullet hadn’t been meant for him. Instead, the body beneath him jerked and went limp.

Tilmont rushed to a halt beside them, but Gallagher barely noticed. He struggled to his feet. There was something sticky on his hands. Sticky and warm.

“Someone you knew?” Tilmont asked, and bending, calmly took the pistol from the dead man’s hand.

Gallagher lurched back a step. The world was beginning to reel around him like a child’s whirligig. “I’ve got to find her.” He was never certain if he said the words aloud or just thought them in the depths of his soul. “Got to—” he said, and scrambling for coherence, tumbled into dark oblivion.