Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (10 page)

“In that case,” Blackwood said, smiling darkly as she walked right into his trap, “how do you know I won’t follow those dark inclinations and ruin you in truth?”

For the merest instant something sad and haunted slipped through her eyes. “I don’t know, not for certain. But last night on the heath, you could have hurt me or robbed me and yet you didn’t.”

Blackwood’s throat tightened. She had no idea what she was dealing with. He was cold and ruthless and the sooner she knew it the better. “And you think that makes me reliable or kind?” Blackwood’s face was hard and shadowed in the light of the dancing candles. “You’ve known a lot of men, have you?”

“Oh, hundreds of them,” Silver said airily.

“And I suppose you allowed them free rein.” His face was going harder by the second. “To kiss you — and take other kinds of liberties…”

“Only the ones I liked,” she said scrupulously.

“What about me?”

“Oh, I don’t like you,” Silver said frankly. “I simply
need
you.”

“There’s plain speaking.” The highwayman strode closer, his lips hard. “But you’ve asked me to ruin you. To do that a man needs—”

Those damnably luminous eyes widened. “A man needs what?”

It was too much.

The next moment she was crushed against him, and his hands were buried in her burnished hair. Blackwood thought she would stiffen or scream or pull away. Hell, he was
praying
that she would.

But she didn’t. She just stared up at him, her eyes questioning, her lips parted. Soft with wonder.

It was a devastating combination for a man who hadn’t known softness or wonder in a very long time.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he growled.

“But I owe you my life. I believe I would accord you anything you asked of me,” the woman in his arms said softly.

There was a frankness about her that robbed him of breath. Sweet Lord, she really meant it. The door was locked. They were in a place where no one would question her screams. In short, he could do anything he cared to with her.

And there she stood, offering him just that. Blackwood could think of roughly a hundred places where he’d like to start.

For one, he’d strip off that ugly black gown so he could see the skin he knew would be as soft as her scent. Then he’d taste the dimple at her cheek. After that, he’d slide lower, running his tongue over the full breasts that thrust against the black fabric and made him so hot that he—

He pulled back, his jaw tense. “It’s impossible. Forget it.”

“I’m sorry I kicked you. Damnable temper, y’ see. Got it from my father,” Silver whispered.

“I daresay I’ll survive.”

She swayed slightly and gave a faint hiccup. “I’m sorry about your accident with the musket too. Must have been terrible. I can understand how it would make you lose your trust in people.”

She
meant
it, the innocent fool.

Blackwood stared down at her, a pulse hammering at his jaw. She was standing in the most notorious house of vice in Kingsdon Cross, captive in the arms of the county’s most nefarious criminal, and she was worrying about
him!
Hadn’t the woman any idea what risks she was running?

She blinked. “Feel … strange.”

Before Blackwood could start hammering the sense she needed into that lovely, stubborn head of hers, Silver gave a little sigh and collapsed. Straight into his arms. The brandy she’d drunk had finally taken effect.

Cursing, Blackwood caught her up and carried her toward the door. At least now he knew what had been in that glass of hers.

He surveyed the hall, which was blessedly empty for once. There was nothing for it but to take her back to her farm. He certainly couldn’t leave her here. She’d be perfect prey for some drunken sot on the prowl for a night’s pleasure.

Like you?
a cynical voice whispered.

“Hell no, not like me!” Blackwood muttered guiltily.

This was the end, the absolute
end
of his involvement with the woman. He’d dump her at the foot of her lane and wash his hands of her. And after that he was going to put Silver St. Clair out of his mind forever.

Silver awoke with a lurch.

Cold air washed over her face, making her head spin. She sat up groggily, wondering why her throat felt like it was full of Cromwell’s hair.

Cracking one eye open, she saw the outline of a carriage. Dark earth raced past beneath the wheels.

With a groan she shut her eyes. If feeling like this was part of a life of ill fame, she wanted none of it!

Blackwood must have carried her out to her gig. Silver knew she ought to thank him, but she refused to. She didn’t
want
to be beholden to him or to anyone else!

“Stop this minute! Where are you taking me?”

“Home,” Blackwood growled. “Where you belong. Maybe someone will have sense enough to make you stay there.”

“I can’t go home. Not yet.” Silver winced as the sound of her voice made her head throb. “Ohhh…”

“Sit back,” Blackwood said gruffly. “You drank nearly half a bottle of brandy. Your head is going to hurt like the very devil in the morning.”

“It already
does,”
Silver said irritably.

“Serves you right.” Blackwood turned around from the front seat. His eyes were measuring as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

A queer heat invaded Silver’s chest. When he looked at her that way, when he touched her so carefully…

She frowned, belatedly realizing what he’d said. “Brandy? That was brandy I drank?” Her eyes narrowed. “Just how long was I out? And what did you do while I slept?”

“You can’t remember?” Blackwood gave a silken laugh. “I thought you were looking for a man to ruin you, Sunbeam. Wasn’t that the job you offered me?”

Silver felt her face go crimson. “Of course it was. But it was only to be an act!”

“An act? Not many men would hear an offer like that and take it for anything but the truth. Yes, I’d say with an offer like that, it would be real or nothing.”

Hardness filled his voice. And with it came the same hunger Silver had heard the night before upon the heath. It had left her breathless and uncertain then.

It did the same thing to her now.

Blast the man! She wasn’t about to fall for his tricks or his damnable charm. Not that he
had
so very much charm, so far as she could see. Oh, last night she’d thought him bold and cool and — well, wonderful.

But no more.

Tonight she’d seen his arrogance and his highhandedness. She wasn’t about to turn craven and take orders just because he was a
man
and thought he knew best.

It was business and nothing more between them. But before she could speak, the highwayman turned away and laughed harshly. “There’s a lesson for you, my love. Be more careful what you wish for or you just might get it.”

The insolent man! Silver fingered the pistol in her boot. She thought longingly about sending a bullet through his back.

But she couldn’t, of course. Uncle Archibald had taught her to observe proper sporting behavior. It simply wasn’t done to shoot an unarmed man — certainly not in the back.

Not even if he was a highwayman.

Silver contented herself with maintaining an imperious silence. Blackwood didn’t seem irritated by her behavior. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice her at all.

Which only made Silver angrier.

She tugged at her skirts, which were tightly tangled beneath her, and wondered again just what he had done during the time she was unconscious. Frowning, she checked the ribbons and laces on her gown.

All intact, thank heavens. Of course he had been joking with all that talk about ruining her.

Hadn’t
he?

They finally reached the little lane over the hill near Lavender Close. Silver wasn’t about to let him drive right up to the house. “Well, it’s been a wonderful evening,” she said curtly. “A pure delight. So you can stop right here.”

She jumped down from the back of the gig and turned to stalk up the hill, shoving down her rumpled skirts.

Blackwood’s low laugh brought her around.

“Just what’s so funny, felon?”

He shook his head, unable to speak. When he did, his voice was all rum and sugar. “Haven’t you overlooked something, Sunbeam?”

She might hate him, but Silver had to admit that the man had a voice to make stones sing. The sound of it sent goose bumps racing all over her skin. “If you’re waiting for a good-night kiss, you’re going to be out here till hell freezes over!”

His low chuckle halted her tirade.

Frowning, Silver looked down.

And gasped.

Her heavy black skirts were all askew, hitched up around her waist, revealing the threadbare riding breeches she’d worn beneath her dress. Only now one leg was split, displaying ivory skin all the way from her waist down past the curve of one naked hip.

Her face flamed. Her hands shook as she clutched at the ripped cloth.

“Let me help you,” he said gruffly, jumping down.

“No!”
He was making it too easy for her to let down her guard and forget that it was only business between them. “I don’t
need
your help. I can’t afford to
need
anyone! And I’m certainly not about to start with an arrogant, detestable highwayman who is three sheets to the wind!”

Her voice broke.

Blackwood frowned, his face intent. He made no attempt to stop her as she stalked off into the night.

~ ~ ~

She should have done a thousand things.

The great copper distilling vat needed to be cleaned and the oils needed to be set out for tomorrow’s tests. Her week’s accounts had yet to be tallied and there were fragrance orders to be recorded.

But she did none of those things.

She sank down into her father’s soft old chair and lowered her face to her hands.

She hated Blackwood. She wished he were dead. She—

Didn’t. Not at all.

She hated
herself,
because he made her feel so reckless, so curious, so hungry for all the things she could never have. Her responsibility was to Bram and Lavender Close; she could
never
forget that.

Of course, the attraction was only because she met so few people in this secluded area of Norfolk. It was only because he’d shown her an unexpected kindness at a moment of terror.

And, oh, how hard she tried to believe that.

But as she sat on in the darkness, shredding a lavender leaf into tiny, fragrant pieces, Silver began to understand just how great a lie it was.

~ ~ ~

“
What I’m wanting to know is where you’ve been and what you’ve been
doing
there?”

His eyes blazing, Tinker stood in the center of the conservatory, scowling. His hands were still dusty from the dried flowers he’d been sorting in the storeroom down the hill.

Silver blinked in the light of his lantern, wondering how long she’d been sitting in the darkness.

Wondering.

Denying.

Hoping. Yes, dear God, hoping with all her heart…

She ran tired fingers over her aching head. Outside the glass the moon was nearly gone. “I told you, Tinker. I went to find Blackwood. It was our only hope, and I don’t care if you don’t like it. We have to do something, don’t we? Even if that arrogant, impossible man thinks he can—”

A ragged sob tore from Silver’s throat.

Gnarled, work-roughened hands caught her shoulders.
“Don’t,
Silver, girl. It’s me you’re raging at. Your old Tinker, remember?”

A moment later she was in his arms, her body shuddering, and the old man was wise enough to let her have her cry without interruption.

Only when the low, racked sobs fell away to hiccups did Tinker shove a crumpled handkerchief before her face. “Now then, let’s have the whole of it.”

“There was another note. I — I cleaned up most of the glass and pushed a pot in front of the hole, but you can still see where the brick came through.”

Tinker cursed. “Why didn’t you tell me, girl?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could handle it myself. I thought that
he
would see how perfect my idea was.”

“He? You mean Blackwood?”

Silver gave a stiff nod.

“By all the saints above, don’t tell me you went looking for that highwayman!”

“Of course I did.”

“At a cockfight?”

She nodded defiantly.

“At that gaming house?”

Another nod.

“Sweet heaven, not at—”

“Exactly. And I found him there too. Only, he wouldn’t help me. He — he only laughed at my idea!”

“A damned good thing.”

Silver tugged angrily at the soggy handkerchief in her fingers. “That cur Millbank was there too. He nearly saw me, but Blackwood pulled me against his chest just in time.”

Tinker scowled. “He did
what?”

“Oh, not in the way you think,” Silver said impatiently. “In fact, the bloody man couldn’t
wait
to get me out of there. He wasn’t a
bit
interested. Not even when Millbank said he wanted me — he wanted us to—” She stopped, flushing.

Tinker went stiff with rage. “I’ll kill that braying ass! I’ve had enough of his lecherous ways!”

An unsteady chuckle came from the head turned against his chest. “Such language, my dear old friend. Whatever would Mama say?”

“Nothing, more’s the pity, because your sainted mother’s not on this earth to say anything. And that’s not
half
of what I’d like to say to you right now, girl. What was you thinking of, going down there alone? I’ve told you again and again, you’re not to go nowhere without me. Especially not at night.”

“I know, I know,” Silver murmured. She gave him a wavering smile. “Only, it’s far too late for scruples now. I’m quite beyond redemption.”

“Nay, and so you’re not, miss! I’ll hear none of that kind of talk.”

Silver gave a watery sniff. “Very well, Tinker.”

“Humph. It had better be. Because if you sneak off that way again, girl, I’ll see you can’t sit down for a week!”

Silver dropped a light kiss on his weathered cheek. “I truly am sorry. I know that Bram and I have been nothing but a bother to you since father died.”

“Bother? You’ve been that aplenty, Miss Silver.” The old man’s eyes glinted with sudden moisture and he cleared his throat abruptly. “But I’d change nothing, do you hear? Oh, aye, we’ve had our share of scrapes and then some, but we’ll get through, just wait and see.”

“We always do, don’t we?” Silver gave him a bright smile, which wavered only slightly.

“Of course we will. Now off to bed with you, minx. We have a heap of plans to make on the morrow. I’m going to fetch some men from town to help us. Meanwhile, I don’t plan to sit around and wait for those brutes to return.”

But after Silver left, the white-haired man sank down onto the workroom’s only chair. His shoulders drooped.

And there was no trace of humor on his weathered face then.

~ ~ ~

The moon was setting when Blackwood pushed through a secret opening in the yew hedge and nudged Diablo over the lawn toward Waldon Hall. Behind him the elegant manor house rose from a bank of elm trees, its broad windows lit only by the moon.

Roses and jasmine spilled their perfume through the night air.

And every hint of sweetness reminded the highwayman of a woman with green-gold eyes and a life he would never know again.

Frowning, the eldest son of the eighth duke of Devonham pushed open a door that led to a quiet garden. His chest burned. His shoulder was aching.