Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (20 page)

“So you say, my lord. Me, I think I’ll bide my time and see.”

“Your confidence warms my heart.”

The old servant sniffed. “Crazy, that’s what it is. It’s a damned close game you’re playing, my lord, and I don’t like it.”

Luc offered him an elegant bow. “So little trust, my friend?”

“Aye, clever you always were, I won’t deny you that. But cleverness won’t carry you through this time. I wish we’d never come back here!”

“There was no choice, Jonas. This is where the trail led. I will find the owner of that ring, I assure you. And when I do—” He bit back an oath and turned toward the door.

“What if you
don’t
find him? What if all this talk of rings is just a hoax?”

“Then I’ll soon know that too,” Luc said grimly. “My criminal role affords me the perfect opportunity to find all I need to know.”

“Ought to be better ways,” Jonas said gruffly.

“But there aren’t, old friend.” Luc touched the sprig of lavender hidden inside his shirt next to his chest.

“Maybe cleverness is all I have left, Jonas. Maybe when hope and trust are gone, cleverness is all that anyone has.”

“Then go home, boy. Go back to Swallow Hill. Your ma would have you back in a second, if only you’d—”

“Out of the question. And we’ve had our very last discussion on this subject.”

“Damn it, boy, when will you listen to reason? Your arm and shoulder are fresh wounded, you stand the risk of being captured any moment, and still you insist on this harebrained notion of revenge?”

Luc raised his arm, flexing the muscles gingerly. “My arm will mend soon enough. But I will not go back to Swallow Hill, Jonas. I
cannot
after what has happened to me. I am not the same man who was dragged away. The Dey of Algiers saw to that.” He hefted the rapier and made a swift, angry thrust through the air. “Never, Jonas. Do not bring up the subject again.”

~ ~ ~

Tinker caught the first of them behind the drying shed armed with flint and cotton wadding, trying to set it ablaze. A neat right hook and a bruising crosscut sent the man spinning down onto a mound of verbena and drying violets, knocked out cold.

Bram, meanwhile, was keeping guard in a ledge above the workroom. When the door creaked open and a man in a coarse brown hood crept inside, Bram pushed a forty-pound sack of oats over his head.

That unwanted visitor went down instantly too.

But Silver wasn’t so lucky.

As she crouched in the shadows behind the conservatory, grimy fingers wrapped about her neck. “What’s this?” a hard voice growled.

Though her heart was hammering like church bells, she swung her foot toward the man’s shin.

The blow had absolutely no effect. Her captor only laughed as his beefy fingers tightened. The next minute Silver’s hands were jerked behind her. Even as she twisted, tough fingers gripped her throat.

Spots danced before her eyes. She tried to scream, but no sound came. Her lungs burned as her air was cut off.
Hold on,
she told herself desperately. Someone would come.

“Not like yer weren’t warned, woman.” As if from a great distance Silver heard the harsh voice drone on. “Only yerself t’ blame, ye bloody little fool.”

The earth began to spin.
Too late,
Silver thought dimly, her throat burning. Blindly, she scratched at her captor’s face.

He jerked her sideways and hurled her into a corner.

When she looked up, it was into the flat gray muzzle of a pistol.

“Aye, a real shame. Yer be a right tasty-looking piece an’ no mistake. Shoulda listened to my advice that first day I warned ye to leave.”

Silver backed toward the wall. Silently, she searched behind her, feeling a broken barrel stave, the coarse weave of an herb sack, and finally the thick handle of her mallet. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it would have to do.

Fingers trembling, she gripped the wood.

She was wondering how in heaven she would distract the brute long enough to club him when she heard shrill barking up the hill. A moment later a heavy body crashed through the dense underbrush.

Dear, stupid Cromwell.

Her attacker cursed. “What in the—”

It was all the time Silver needed. She lurched forward as ninety pounds of quivering muscle and dusty yellow fur exploded against her dumbstruck attacker. Then Bram appeared carrying a wooden casket, which he flung at the intruder’s knees.

Silver chopped down on the man’s gun hand with her mallet and sent his pistol flying.

Cromwell finished the job, knocking his prey to the ground and sinking his teeth into the wool at the man’s chest.

“Get ‘im off! Get the bleedin’ monster away from me afore he tears out my throat!”

It was all an act, of course. Cromwell would never do more than make a furious fuss, but Silver wasn’t about to tell her attacker that.

As she dusted off her hands and came shakily to her feet, she heard a rumble of appreciative laughter. A tall figure in black slid from the shadows between two hawthorn trees and lowered the pistol clutched in his gloved fingers.

“What a merciless trio you make, to be sure. When I heard the dog barking, I thought you might need some help.” He studied the terrified man shuddering beneath Cromwell’s paws. “It appears I was wrong.”

Silver blinked, watching the black mask dance and sway. “We can manage p-perfectly, thank you.”

“Oh, you can, can you?” The voice tensed. “Sunbeam?”

Silver shoved a cloud of auburn hair from her eyes as the ground swayed beneath her. She studied the black-clad face with fierce concentration. For some reason it wouldn’t stop dancing up and down.

And there was
such
a peculiar feeling in her knees.

“We’re fine, as you can see. There’s no need at all for you to involve yourself in
our …
in our” — she blinked and gave her head a shake—”concerns,” she finished unsteadily.

Then she pitched forward in a swirl of white linen and scattered lavender buds, right into the highwayman’s arms.

It was
not
going to be a good night, Luc decided, looking down at the woman in his arms.

Just then a lanky figure with wild white hair lurched toward them. On his back was slung a heavy, rusted Brown Bess rifle twenty years out of date and an iron war flail that looked as if William of Normandy might have carried it at Hastings.

The rifle fell, leveled dead on Luc’s head. “Put her down, damn you!”

No, not a good night at all, Luc thought grimly.

The man strode closer. He had to be all of sixty years old, Luc saw.

“Drop that pistol and let go o’ the girl.”

“I think not.”

Cromwell barked.

Brandon blinked.

“Now,
I tell ye! I just ran off three blackguards and I don’t mind shooting another!”

Luc had no intention of complying. But negotiation seemed advisable. “Perhaps we should talk about this.”

The rifle shook with fury. “Are ye deaf, man! Put the girl down!”

Luc eyed his wild-eyed adversary, wondering where the man had come by such an ill-chosen set of weapons. “No,” he said flatly.

“Then prepare to find yer head shot in two.”

At this point Bram shoved up his spectacles and peered at Luc. “I think you’re making a mistake. He’s not—”

“Just you stay away from him, Master Bram. He’s as deadly as he is clever. You get yourself over here and out of my range of fire.”

Bram.
That meant he was Silver’s brother. Luc saw the same honesty and innocence in the boy’s eyes. Frowning, he turned back to the man with the rifle. “I doubt you’ll have any range of fire at all with that thing. The priming pan’s not closed and you’ve probably lost most of your powder. Besides that, you’ve forgotten to set your lock to full cock.”

“
I
knew that,” Tinker snapped. Muttering, he flipped the firing-pan cover closed, then cocked the lock.

“Stop, Tinker. He’s not one of
them.”

“Who says?”

“I think he came to help.” Brandon stared at Luc, his eyes wide. “By Jupiter, you’re Blackwood, aren’t you? You’re the famous highwayman!”

“Infamous
is more the word,” Tinker said crossly. “And what’s this about helping? Miss Silver told me you sent her about her business.”

Luc lowered his pistol. “I would be happy to explain everything, of course, but before we talk, I suggest we make certain there are no more of those swine at work!”

Tinker frowned, his shoulders stiff with suspicion. “No need. I ran ‘em all off — the ones these young ‘uns didn’t knock out cold, at least.”

In Luc’s arms Silver sighed and began to stir. Her hand sought Luc’s neck. Her thigh slid against his.

It felt good.
Too
good, Luc decided a moment later, feeling muscles clinch that ought not to. Feeling a hot swift ache that he hadn’t felt in weeks.

Maybe forever.

Silver sighed sleepily and snuggled closer, her cheek at his chest.

Luc tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t listening.

When she slid her fingers across his chest, it didn’t make the pain in his groin feel any better.

“Tinker? Is that you?” Silver’s head rose sleepily.

“Bloody right it is, miss. But what you’re doing in
that
scoundrel’s arms is what
I
want to know!”

She tried to sit up, but Luc held her still, cradled with hard fingers against his chest. She gave an unsteady laugh. “Scoundrel? This
scoundrel
saved my life. Bram’s too.”

“Not at all,” Luc said lazily, smiling down at her. “As I recall, you and your brother did that very nicely all by yourselves.”

“Well, you
would
have saved us. If you’d arrived a few minutes earlier, that is.”

“A thousand pardons. I shall try to be more punctual next time.”

“There ain’t going to
be
no next time!” Tinker roared.

Silver smiled and curved her fingers over Luc’s cheek.

A simple touch. The sort of touch he’d felt a hundred times before. But
this
one slammed down his spine bone by bone and left his legs wobbling.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we’d better get you someplace more comfortable, Sunbeam.”

Silver sighed, resting her head in the warm V of skin at his neck. “Oh, but I’m entirely comfortable right here, I assure you.”

“Sunbeam?”
Exasperated, Tinker dropped rifle and flail. “What in the devil?” He glared at the smiling pair. “Will one of you kindly tell me what is going on?”

Cromwell chose this moment to lumber off his captive, who lapsed into blessed unconsciousness. The great yellow sheepdog stared up at Luc and barked happily, thumping his tail against his captive’s face.

“You see, Tinker?” Silver said. “Even Cromwell likes him.”

“Allays said that dog had no brains.”

Luc couldn’t keep back a smile. “I mean you no harm. It’s, er, rather a long story,” he explained, trying to peel Silver away from his chest.

It didn’t work. She only nuzzled closer.

“Well, that’s just fine. ‘Cause I reckon I got all evening,” Tinker snapped. “And you, Miss Silver, just you get down and walk over here to me!”

“Don’t want to. If I do, I shall fall. Or turn dreadfully unwell. That horrible man threw me down and made me strike my head, you know.”

“I
knew
it! Let go of her, villain, before I—”

“Not
him,
Tinker,” Bram said quickly.
“That
one. The one Cromwell just scared senseless.”

“But what’s
he
doing here?” Tinker glowered at the highwayman.

Bram studied Luc’s black-clad form with obvious relish. “He heard all the noise and came to help.”

“Hmmmph. Came to rob us, more like. Or something even worse.”

“Not him.” Silver’s voice was muffled against Luc’s chest. “Always a gentleman.” Rather obscurely, she ended this comment with a sigh of regret.

“Now just you see here, Susannah St. Clair!”

“I much prefer Silver,” Luc said softly.

“I won’t have it, not a bit of it!” Tinker’s face was growing mottled. “First it’s highwaymen and then it’s ruffians of every sort. What mad scheme will you take into that head of yours next, girl?”

Silver gave a dramatic moan. “Oh, yes, I’m feeling vastly unwell.”

Luc grinned at Tinker. “Don’t mind her. She’s just feigning.”

“And how would the likes of yourself know that?”

Silver’s head rose. She studied Luc’s masked face with interest. “Yes, how
would
you? I thought I was doing a creditable job of it.”

“It was the moan.” Luc’s eyes twinkled, amber and gold behind the mask. “I believe it’s called protesting too much. And you’ve far too much color for someone who’s about to become, er, vastly unwell.”

Silver’s nose wrinkled. “Damn and blast.” She gave a shrug. “Still, it’s true enough that the ruffian threw me down into the corner. And now my head
is
pounding rather violently. Besides, I must be dreadfully heavy. You’d better put me down.”

Luc had no inclination to put his slender burden anywhere. Frowning, he brushed a curl from Silver’s cheek. Beneath it lay a long red welt where her head had struck a piece of wood.

He cursed harshly and had to fight a raw urge to run a blade through the man lying unconscious on the floor. A very sharp blade. After he’d kicked him maybe a dozen or so times first.

“Blast it, woman, why didn’t you tell me? It must hurt like the very devil, and here we are talking.” He looked at Tinker. “Where can I take her?”

The old servant’s mouth settled in a thin line. “Nowhere, if I can help it.”

“Good God, man, the woman’s hurt! I’d hardly make an attempt on her virtue now.”

Bram’s eyes opened with interest. “What’s ‘attempt on her virtue’ mean, Tinker?”

“None of your business, boy,” Tinker muttered darkly. “And there’s many as would try just that. How do I know you ain’t one of them, highwayman?”

Silver’s head appeared. “Yes, how
do
we know that?”