Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (23 page)

“I’ll take the boy,” Tinker said softly. He looked back at Luc, then at Silver. “You two better get some rest.”

Silver didn’t move. Her hands were white fists against her brown breeches. Though she didn’t realize it, they were shaking.

Luc wanted to kneel before her and take those trembling fingers in his own, to touch her and kiss her and smooth her tumbled hair. But he didn’t.

He knew if he started touching her, he might not be able to
stop.

So instead, he braced his shoulder against an elegant cast-iron column and started talking. There were things the stubborn woman needed to hear even if she didn’t
want
to hear them.

“Someone hired them to drive you away. They didn’t know who it was. But it’s serious, Sunbeam. And it’s not over yet.”

She raised her chin, a look of determination in her eyes. “We’re
not
leaving.”

“Tonight we succeeded, but there’ll be other men and other nights.” He studied her, his lips tight beneath the black mask. “Leave now. You and Bram. Tinker, too, if he’ll agree. I have a place, a safe place. With you out of danger I can concentrate on—”

“No.” It was a flat, hard sound.

“You
have
to. They’re serious, these men. There’s no way you and Tinker can possibly hold out here. Not without a small army, and that you don’t have. Come with me. Tonight.”

“No.”
The word came more desperately now, as if it cost her a great deal to say.

“Blast it, woman, you have no other choice!”

“I do have a choice. And I’m not leaving.”

Something snapped inside Luc then. Maybe it was her white face or maybe it was the angry red welt on her forehead that pushed him over the edge. He strode over the polished floor, seized her hands, and pulled her to her feet, hard.

“You
are
going.”

“I am not. I am staying —
we’re
staying.” She spoke slowly and precisely, the way an adult speaks to a child.

“How can you? The whole idea is mad! It’s stubborn and reckless and — and impossible.” His fingers snagged a coil of auburn hair. “I should turn you over my knee, hellion. I should pick you up and haul you away here and now.”

Her eyes were dark with defiance. “Just t-try it.”

Luc felt a tremor go through her. By God, the woman was terrified and trying not to show it. With a curse he caught her shoulders. In spite of all his fine intentions he found himself leaning into her.

One touch and he was lost. He groaned as her soft thighs cradled his granite ones. Her scent drifted around him, all lavender and roses.

Damn it, he wanted her. Right there, pinned down against a sack of sun-dried herbs. With her eyes alight with passion as he eased all the way to forever inside her and made her moan his name.

But Luc wouldn’t give in to that lust. He’d ignored his desires before.

But never for a woman so rare as this,
a voice whispered.

“You’re going.” Desire made his voice harsher than he had intended. “Get your things.”

“No. It will always be no. This is our land and our lavender and we are
not
leaving.”

Luc cursed harshly. “You’ve got to go, Sunbeam. I can’t protect you here.”

“That’s fine, because I don’t recall asking you to.” Silver tried to twist free. Her breast brushed his chest and sent a whole new set of muscles pounding in agonized awareness. Luc fought to keep his head clear.

Anger, that was the way. If he focused on that, maybe he wouldn’t want her so much. Ignoring the pain at his shoulder, he caught her up in his arms. “I’m taking you upstairs. There you are going to undress and get into bed. And in the morning you are going to leave this place. Do you understand?”

“No.” This time her eyes were luminous with what would soon be tears. “It’s all I have. It’s all
we
have. We can’t leave, don’t you see that? And if you try to make me go up there I’ll just come back down. Again and again and again.”

“What
do
you want to do, blast it?”

She took a little steadying breath. “I want to be out there.” She nodded toward the porch that ran along the front of the cottage with a commanding view of the whole valley. “I want to watch in case they come back. I want to
help.”

She surely was one hell of a woman, Luc thought. Her eyes were heavy with sleep and she looked on the edge of exhaustion, but he knew she meant it. She probably
would
come right back down if he took her upstairs. And all he would have to show for his trouble would be a sore arm — and sorer ears.

Yes, she was a truly rare woman.

“Fine.” The word surprised Luc as much as it did Silver. He knew he was going to regret it. The only way he could let her stay was with him nearby to keep an eye on things, and that meant his own business wasn’t going to be completed tonight.

But looking into her sleepy green-gold eyes, Luc found he didn’t mind.

“I must be a sore travail to you,” Silver said softly, her face turned against his chest.

Sore travail?
He could think of a lot of words for Silver St. Clair, but not those two. “You do have a thorough knack for being stubborn and irritating.” Luc smiled faintly.
And damnably attractive.
“But sore travail? No, I think not.”

“Truly? I’m very glad to hear it. Jessica — she was my older sister — always said I was Mama and Papa’s Cross to Bear. She said I’d drive them to an early grave.
Maybe …
I did.”

Luc felt a stab of anger at such cruelty, but decided now wasn’t the time for questions. “At the moment, I happen to be bearing you, cross and all. You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

“It must be because you’re so amazingly strong.” Her head cocked. “Are all highwaymen this strong? It’s really quite … overwhelming.”

“I couldn’t say.” Luc decided she was never going to find out. No other highwayman was ever going to get
near
enough for her to find out.

“But I must be terribly heavy. And your arm — oh, dear, you shouldn’t be—”

“Be quiet, virago.”

“I shouldn’t. I absolutely shouldn’t.” Gently she touched his mask and the little scar above his lip. “How I wish you didn’t have to wear this.”

“So do I, Sunbeam.” Luc’s voice hardened. “So do
I.”

Silver sighed as her head settled against his chest. It felt amazingly good there, Luc decided.

“You understand, don’t you? About why Lavender Close means so much to me. It’s Bram’s future and the only home that Tinker has. For me it’s — oh, it’s richness and memories. All I have left of my parents. Can you see why I have to stay?”

“I understand. But I still don’t like it,” he said grimly, carrying her out to the porch.

He started to argue, to say she’d have to leave at dawn, that he was a sheet short even to consider giving in on this.

And then Luc looked down.

Her auburn lashes fringed her pale cheeks. He realized she was already fast asleep, her hand tucked beneath his arm.

Women,
he thought. But there was the hint of a grin on his lips as he sat down and eased her against his shoulder.

On the porch. Exactly as she’d wanted.

The moon was a pale disk hanging over cut-paper trees when Tinker emerged from the cottage, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He took one look at Luc and shook his head. “Ah, to be young and reckless again. Has she wakened?”

“Quiet as a kitten, though I fancy her rib’s bothering her more than she admitted. She’s been rubbing it in her sleep.” Luc pointed to a damp strip of gauze at his side. “I cleaned her forehead, but — well, the other wound needs to be looked at.”

“And what about
yours?”

“It’s of no importance.” Luc’s tone did not invite further questions.

“Ought to be tended, nevertheless.”

“Later.”

Tinker, used to the company of the two strong-willed St. Clairs and their father before them, snorted and went off in search of medical salves and fresh bandages. When he returned, his eyes carried a cool challenge.

Luc met it squarely. “Unnecessary, I assure you. I’ll be off soon enough. With dawn I expect your dangers here will end.” He smiled faintly. “And mine will increase.”

Tinker frowned down at the tall, black-clad figure, not about to be deterred. “Which arm is it?”

Luc gave a reluctant chuckle. “Damned hard-headed, aren’t you?”

“Aye, so I been told,” came the laconic answer. “Which arm?”

Without waking Silver, Luc sat forward and eased out of his jacket. He was not entirely surprised to see his forearm dark with blood.

“Oh, aye, a mere scratch indeed.” When Tinker worked Luc’s sleeve free, his breath caught. “Bloody fool!” Scowling, he began to unwrap the bloodstained length of gauze. Underneath, the skin was raised in a jagged wound. “Pistol ball?”

“So it was.”

“Sir Charles Millbank’s, by any chance?”

Luc studied the velvet sky and the stars blinking down like diamonds. His mother had worn diamonds like that once, set in golden clasps that gleamed against a blue satin gown.

He told himself not to think about that.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I doubt his aim is steady enough. More likely it was Lord Carlisle.”

Tinker harrumphed as he applied a liberal amount of cleansing rosemary vinegar, followed by a lavender oil liniment. “Don’t underestimate Millbank. He’s a scoundrel and a bully, and he finishes what he starts.” He studied his handiwork with satisfaction, then began to pack fresh gauze around the wound. “Don’t happen that you ever lived in London, did you?”

Luc frowned, wondering what the wily old fellow was getting at now. “Not for any length of time. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Coulda sworn I knew a man who had the look of you.” Tinker’s keen dark eyes probed Luc’s face. “Lived in Berkeley Square, so he did.”

Luc stiffened. Damn it, the man knew.
He knew.

The knowledge went in sharp and cold just below his ribs. He fought to sound casual. “No relatives in London that I know of. Must have been a case of bad eyesight. Either that or some relative of mine left a by-blow behind.”

Tinker finished wrapping the gauze, then sat back to stare at Luc. “Oh, I reckon it was no mistake. You see, I knew the man well. Worked for him for several months, so I did, when William St. Clair and I had a falling out. He insisted on firing me when he couldn’t pay me any more wages. Went down to London and a friend found me a place in Berkeley Square.” Tinker’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’d hardly forget my employer’s face, though I wasn’t in London very long. And the Duke of Devonham has a face that
few
would forget,” Tinker said softly, administering the coup de grace. “As few would forget his eldest son’s.”

“Damned coincidence,” Luc muttered, sitting forward stiffly and shoving his sleeve down into place. “Nothing more.”

Tinker went on as if Luc hadn’t spoken. “Aye, worked for the duke for three months, I did. A fair man with a heap of friends and a ready laugh. Right up to the day he shut himself up in his study, that is. I reckon it happened when his eldest son strolled out for an evening’s gaming and disappeared from the face of the earth. Fair to broke the old man’s heart, so it did.”

Luc’s hands froze, still and taut on the white cuff. “A touching tale, indeed. And now if you don’t mind, I’d better be—”

Rough hands caught his shoulder, holding him still. “Do you think I wouldn’t recognize a Delamere when I saw one?” Tinker said harshly. “Do you think I don’t know your father’s jaw and mouth when I set eyes on them? Lord, boy, you’re the very image of old Andrew!”

Luc’s head rose. He met Tinker’s look with hard eyes. “A mistake, my friend,” he said darkly. “A
dangerous
mistake best forgotten.”

Tinker looked down at the sleeping woman whose auburn hair spilled across Luc’s chest. “And what about
her
? What about the innocent heart you’re bound to break when you leave? What about her pain when she tries to tell herself it’s all for the best, that your worlds are too far apart to hope for anything more?”

Something raw and savage came and went in Luc’s face. He tried to tear his eyes from the silky curls, from the gently parted lips, from the streak of white at Silver’s brow.

And found he couldn’t.

The old man was right. Dear God, what about
her?
What would happen when he left, as he knew he must? Because if he stayed, it would be only a matter of time before his will broke and he came to her, desperate and reckless, with all the heat and fire that a man ever felt for a woman.

But Luc couldn’t let that happen. She was not for such as he, not for a man who had seen and done the things he had. Oh, he might permit himself the forbidden pleasure of a kiss or two, even a stolen touch, but nothing more. Once she was safe and Lavender Close was secure, then Luc would fade back into the night and out of her life like the heartless brigand that everyone said he was.

He had no other choice.

But somehow Luc had to convince this sharp-eyed, unbearably decent old man of that fact.

He angled his head back against the wall and studied the night sky. “The sky is different east of Gibraltar, did you know that? I grew to know that eastern sky well. For months it was my only companion. Beneath that sky I saw things I don’t care to remember — things I try daily to forget, but I must not. They are part of me now, and because of that there can never be anything between this woman and me. For that same reason the Duke of Devonham can never know that his eldest child did
not
die that night after being seized by four ruffians on a secluded street corner. Do you hear me?” The Marquess of Dunwood and Hartingdale, heir to the one of the oldest titles in England, stared at Tinker, his hands closed to fists.

“I’m surprised it didn’t take more than four of them to hold you,” the old man said softly. “Afterward your father sent men the length and breadth of England looking for you. Day after day he sent off letters, offering rewards to anyone could produce any sort of clue. And your mother, the duchess—”

“Stop it! I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to
know,
damn you! It’s all over. They may as well be dead to me!”

“But they aren’t dead. You can waste all your breath lying to me and to Silver and to everyone else, boy, but it won’t make a whit of difference where it counts — and that’s in your own heart.”

Luc’s mouth locked. A muscle stood sharply defined against his jaw. “You don’t know anything about it! You can’t even
begin
to know.”

“Why don’t you tell me?” came the soft answer.

Luc’s eyes closed. His fingers moved soft and slow through the warm satin of Silver’s hair.

Heaven.
Right here and now.

Feeling her against him like this, soft and still. Hearing her smooth, even breathing. Waiting for her to wake up and blink, then flash that devastatingly beautiful smile at him.

But it was a heaven he could never enter.

Without a word, without opening his eyes, Luc eased his other arm from beneath Silver’s head and pushed back wool sleeve and white cuff.

The skin was stretched taut over rippling muscle. Two scars ran diagonal the whole width of his arm. Between them crouched a rampant figure, part lion and part eagle, worked in precious cinnabar dye. “Tell me what you see,” Luc said harshly.

“A strong arm. An arm with wounds. Some sort of tattoo.” Tinker bent closer. “Never seen the like of it before.”

Luc gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t expect you have. Not the sort of thing you see in a Norfolk market town.” Luc’s voice hardened. “Yes, that’s a very special mark. A mark used only in the palace at Algiers. Only a member of the Dey’s personal guard may wear such a mark.” His fingers closed to fists. “And you have to kill a man to earn the honor.” He spat out the word
honor
from between gritted teeth.

“Sweet God above. You was in Algiers? In the Barbary Coast?” Tinker stared. “No wonder no one ever found you.”

“Not many Bow Street runners east of Gibraltar,” Luc said bitterly.

“But how — who—”

Luc sat looking down at Silver, his eyes hooded and unreadable. “You’ll have no more from me tonight, James Tinker,” he said softly. “I must go, for dawn will soon be upon us. No safe time for a highwayman to be abroad, as you well know.” He gave a reckless laugh, his eyes fixed on a strand of auburn hair that curled over his wrist. Then his face hardened. “Where shall I settle her?”