Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (28 page)

“Looking at your side. It’s nearly time for those dressings to be changed.”

Her fingers locked tight over the white fabric. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

“But surely, that is, couldn’t you wait? Just this once?”

She couldn’t face him. Her cheeks were on fire and her breath was blocked.

“No, Sunbeam, I can’t,” Luc said very softly, moving her hands aside. “I’ve spent too much effort bringing you this far to see you backslide now.”

Swallowing, Silver looked away, out the window toward the woods.

But she felt his every movement, felt a knot pull free, felt the quick brush of his fingers and then the linen falling away.

Most of all she felt his strong hands gliding over her skin. Naked skin that trembled and ached, but not with her wound.

The ache Silver felt now was a blinding desire such as she had never known. She locked her lips, but still a little moan escaped.

“Did I hurt you? Damn, I’ll try to be more careful.” Luc’s voice was hoarse.

“No, it’s not — I’m perfectly—” She caught a ragged breath, her eyes fixed desperately on the curtains swaying in the dawn wind. Her skin was on fire where he touched her. Sweet heaven, her whole
body
was on fire. And in places she couldn’t begin to think about.

His arm tightened on her waist. “Don’t apologize,” Luc said harshly. “I expect I’m clumsy at this.” He muttered something beneath his breath, then jerked the coverlet up from her other side, covering her chest and unbound breasts.

Silver went very still as realization struck.
He
was just as overset by his feelings as she was. He, the Black Lord, hardened felon and seducer of females in three counties, found this intimate contact as unnerving as
she
did!

Somehow that thought restored some of Silver’s confidence. She took a long breath and turned to look at him.

His eyes were burning and his jaw was locked. He was concentrating fiercely, his movements quick and jerky.

She flinched as he brushed her rib.

“Sorry.” He swore softly, then tugged away the coverlet, unable to work around it.

A muscle flashed at his jaw when her body lay bared to him.

Mesmerized, Silver looked up, feeling the blaze of his eyes, feeling the hot tension of his fingers and the harshness of his breath. “Where am I?”

“My estate. You’ll be safe here.”

Silver looked about her, bothered by something about the room, but her head was spinning and she couldn’t quite concentrate. “Luc?”

He pulled away, his body stiff. “That’s — good enough, I think. Just one end left. You can tuck it up yourself. That way I won’t — hurt you.”

He shoved his fists behind his back and strode to the window.

Silver watched, wonder filling her face. “I’d rather
you
did it.”

“No, you don’t, Silver,” he said grimly.

“I trust you.”

“Then you’re a damned fool! Blackwood doesn’t start things he can’t finish.”

“But you’re
not
Blackwood. You’re Luc. A man of honor. A man who saved me from dying.”

She saw his shoulders tense. “Some people would say there are worse fates than dying, Sunbeam.”

“Some people are fools.”

He turned at that, his eyes unreadable. “Is there pain? I’ve laudanum if you need it.”

Silver shook her head. She wanted no more oblivion. All she wanted was to be here with him, awake and aware. Pain was a small price to pay for that. Her hand brushed his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About the scars.”

He went very still. “What scars?”

“On your face. I repeated that wretched tale about your gun exploding. It was all a silly lie, of course. You — you’re beautiful. How you must have laughed at me.”

“I didn’t laugh, Sunbeam. And I’m hardly beautiful.” Luc caught her hand and turned her palm to his lips. His mouth slid over her, hot and persuasive, until Silver felt her stomach pitch.

“Oh, dear. I do wish you would not touch me like that.”

“If I can’t touch other places, then I’ll have to settle for this,” he muttered darkly.

Silver straightened her shoulders, trying to ignore the insidious heat his lips kindled. “I want to know why you’ve brought me here.”

“Here? You mean, to my bed?” He laughed harshly. “The perfect scenario for seduction, is it not?”

“Where are you sleeping?”

Luc gestured to a Louis XIV settee near the window. “Right over there.”

Silver bit her lip. “It doesn’t look very comfortable.”

“It serves me well enough,” Luc said grimly, thinking of all the other places he’d slept in the last five years, from the grimy hammock on a French ship of war to the filth of the slave quarters in Algiers. “Oh, yes, the settee will be fine.”

“But it’s far too small for you.” Silver shoved away the covers. “I should sleep there. It will be much more suitable for me than—”

He was at her side in a second, his face thunderous. “Oh, no, you don’t, hellion. You will stay right in that bed until you’re well again!” Luc forced her back against the soft bedding. “Sparring with a half-delirious weakling is no fair sort of challenge.”

“Weakling?” Then Silver’s eyes took on an appreciative gleam. “You’re just trying to goad me. You’re insufferable, do you know that?”

“So I have been told.”

Silver’s head cocked. “Besides, I already knew this was
your
bed. It has your scent.” She sniffed delicately. “There is some sort of lemon soap here on the pillow, with just a hint of clove.” She smiled. “From a very
expensive
shop in Norwich, I believe. I wonder if they know they have a highwayman among their patrons? Ah, here’s a trace of tobacco.” She ran her hand over the pillow and scrunched it slightly. “A touch of brandy.” She drew the coverlet to her face. “Leather too. I expect that in your typical untidy male fashion you tossed a pair of breeches over the bed when you were changing. Am I right?”

Luc’s face told her it was just as she said. He shook his head and laughed ruefully. “A hundred years ago you’d have been burned at the stake for that kind of trick.”

“Pooh,” Silver scoffed. “That’s nothing compared to what Bram could do. He has the true St. Clair nose, you see. He could have told you a dozen more things than I did. But now it’s your turn.”

“My
turn?”

“That’s what I said. Open the window.” When Luc didn’t move, she added, “Window. It’s that clear square thing on the wall.”

“I know perfectly
well
what a window is.”

“Then go and open it.”

Muttering, Luc crossed the room and threw open the glass. Silver closed her eyes. “Breathe,” she ordered. “Then tell me what you smell.” She heard the rush of his indrawn breath.

“I smell rain soon to come. A linden tree. Lilacs. And I expect that my servant’s been burning pine needles again, for I can smell the pine smoke on the wind.”

“Excellent.” Silver nodded. “What else?”

Luc frowned. “Roses from the gardens beyond the window, I think. A bit of honeysuckle. That’s all.”

“Oh, far from it,” Silver said, laughing softly. “That’s just the beginning. There are hyacinths. We use them often in our perfumes. Also you’ve violets growing near the wall, and I venture to say that down the hill you’ll find lilies of the valley just come into bloom.”

Luc looked out the window and shook his head in amazement. “You’re right. A witch and no mistake.”

“But I mustn’t forget the most important thing of all. I smell lavender. Oh, yes, very clearly lavender. Which means, highwayman, that this house of yours is near my own Lavender Close.”

“We have our own lavender bushes down in the garden.”

“Not
that
kind of lavender, you don’t. That particular species of lavender is grown in only two places. One is high on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean in southern Spain. The other is here in England at Lavender Close Farm, where my father brought the cuttings fifteen years ago.”

Luc shook his head. “I’m not sure anyone
ought
to have a nose that keen.”

“It can be a nuisance at times, I admit. Especially for Bram, whose sense is much sharper than mine.” Silver’s eyes narrowed. “And also at times like this when one smells a very wet sheepdog nearby.”

A hammering came below them, followed by a burst of anxious voices. Sharp barking echoed up the stairwell.

A moment later Cromwell, very wet and very muddy and very happy, dashed into the room and launched himself feet first upon the bed.

In moments the room was filled with hectic noise. Cromwell barked, Tinker roared, and Bram blurted out a dozen eager questions.

Luc surveyed the chaos, watching Silver struggle to answer the hail of questions. When he saw her wince, he crossed his arms, frowning. “Silence!” he shouted.

Calm descended.

“You will speak slowly and in turn. Miss St. Clair has been wounded and she must not be disturbed.” Luc turned to the big yellow dog lolling at Silver’s side. “Down, you great hulking creature.” Cromwell barked, then fell to the carpet and thumped his tail happily against the rug.

“Bram, draw up a chair. You may speak to Silver first, but I shall only allow you five minutes. After that your sister must rest.”

Shoving his spectacles up on his nose, Bram slid into a chair next to the bed. “Oh, Syl, who’d have guessed that this old place would—”

Silver cut him off with a quick shake of her head.

Luc, meanwhile, felt Tinker’s worried gaze and motioned the old servant outside.

Once there, Luc pulled the door nearly closed and waited for Tinker to ask the questions that were deviling him.

“You found her at the Green Man, did you?”

Luc nodded grimly. “She was facing off a crew of ruffians. If I hadn’t come in when I did…” His voice trailed away.

“The girl’s got a St. Clair’s pride and a St. Clair’s stubbornness.” Tinker sighed. “You’ve my undying thanks for intervening when you did.”

Luc caught the man’s shoulder for a moment, then turned away to study the woman lying in his bed. He thought how very right she looked there. He thought about how wonderful it would be to wake and find her burnished hair spread across his pillow and her arms reaching out to him every morning.

His jaw hardened. “She’ll be going home as soon as this business is cleared up and not before, Tinker. Bram is staying too. Her wound isn’t very deep, thank God, but I’m not letting her take any more chances.”

It was a flat order. Luc desperately wanted this time with Silver. It was so little to last him the rest of his life. “I’ll take care of her. I’m familiar with this kind of surface wound.”

“But—”

“She’s staying
here,”
Luc said hoarsely, in a tone that brooked no argument. His hand tightened, then fell. He moved back into the room without a sound, his eyes on Silver’s face.

~ ~ ~

Tinker watched Luc go, his face hard with worry.

He was wondering if he should try to take Silver away when he heard a step behind him. A reed-slim man with a thatch of unruly black hair and keen dark eyes was coming up the stairs.

“So you’re the lady’s manservant, are you?”

Tinker nodded wordlessly.

“That’s one hell of a lot of muddy dog you brought bounding in here.”

“Oh, Cromwell’s no
dog.
He’s family, so he is.”

“Aye, they have that trick about them, don’t they?” Ferguson nodded. “Raised a few sheepdogs myself.” Abruptly he thrust his callused hand out to Tinker.

Tinker stared at the man for long moments before taking the outstretched hand. “James Tinker’s my name. And who would I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Jonas Ferguson. Been with his lordsh — er, here at the manor — for some fair time.”

“There’s no need to hide it. I saw through the boy from the first minute he took off that mask. Spitting image of his father, the Duke of Devonham, so he is. No one could mistake those Delamere cheekbones.”

“Delamere?” Jonas said sharply. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stow it, man,” Tinker said flatly. “I
know.
He told me all about it last night.”

Jonas’s eyebrows rose. “He did? He’s never told anyone, not that I know of. What makes you so special?”

“Not me that’s special,” Tinker said meaningfully. “Her, more like. Aye, they’ve made a proper mess of things, those two young ‘uns. It’ll be up to us to bail them out, I’m thinking.”

The two men turned, their heads close together. They were already hatching their first scheme as they moved back down the stairs to the kitchen and the fine bottle of whisky Jonas had been saving for just such an occasion.

~ ~ ~

Luc stared at the two St. Clairs in silence. The boy could use some filling food and exercise. Luc decided fencing would be the very thing. He’d take the boy down that afternoon and show him a few basic paces.

Abruptly, Luc caught himself up short. What in heaven was he doing? The boy was not his concern. The St. Clairs’ problems were not
his
problems. It was all too easy to let himself believe they were, but in a few days their paths would separate for good.

Luc tried to tell himself he wanted it that way.

Bram swung around eagerly. “By Jove, it was all a hum, then! Not a single mark on that face, after all. I don’t know what fool put the tale about that he’s disfigured. The man’s features are as fine as any I’ve yet to see.”

“Yes, he does have a striking set of cheekbones, doesn’t he, Bram? And just look at the line of his nose.”

“Fearfully aquiline, if you ask me.”

Luc crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.

“Oh, pray, does our plain speaking disturb you?” Silver was all innocence.

“Not at all. Do go right ahead. I positively relish being treated like a piece of horseflesh at Tattersall’s.”

Bram smiled gravely. “You are joking. Deuced difficult to tell.”

Noticing the boy’s sudden flush, Luc realized that Bram hadn’t been teased enough — or not by the right people — in his young, bookish life. “True enough, stripling. It’s a bad habit of mine. But I think you’d better leave us. Your sister’s been plagued enough for one morning. Go find that dour-faced manservant of mine and see that he makes you two something to eat. After that I’ll teach you how to hold a foil, if you’ve a mind to try. I think it would do you good to put some muscle on those bones.”

“You would?” Bram’s eyes went huge with excitement. “With a real foil?”

Luc nodded. “Off with you. And take that filthy creature who passes for a dog with you.”

Cromwell gave a happy bark, aware that he was being spoken of, then padded off behind Bram.

“Tired?” Luc stood staring down at Silver.

“A little. It was wonderful to see them.”

“You should rest now. I’ll let them up again in a few hours.”

Silver’s lips curved. She ran her hand gently over Luc’s jaw. “What a dragon you are.”

At her touch Luc felt muscles harden throughout his body. “It takes a dragon to keep a hellion like
you
in line.”

“My poor dragon. How is your arm?”

“My arm is fine,” Luc said curtly. It was the touch of her fingers that was driving him mad.

“Truly? I could have Tinker bring some lavender oil and gentian water. It is wonderful for surface wounds.”

“My wound is fine, woman! Just close your mouth and rest.”

“Truly, oil of lavender would be the perfect thing. Or perhaps oil of thyme. It is a trifle strong, however, and—”

“Enough! Will you kindly cease this morbid fascination with my wounds?”

He looked genuinely angry, Silver thought. Probably it had been so long since someone had worried about him that he was uncomfortable. Still, the man
needed
looking after. He winced every time he sat down, a sure sign that his wound was far from healed. She decided to speak to that nice manservant she’d seen peeking into the room earlier. Perhaps between the two of them they could arrange something. “Very well, brigand. Whatever you say.”

“What, no arguments?”

“None at all.”

“I don’t trust you, Sunbeam. Not for a second. You gave in far too easily. What scheme are you planning now?”

Silver gave a dramatic sigh. “I fear that I am indeed a sore travail to you.”

“Rubbish.” Luc glared down at her. “And if I
ever
hear you speak such nonsense again, I’ll — I’ll do something drastic!”

“Very well,” Silver said, not the least bit frightened by this thundered threat. She settled herself back against Luc’s pillow, savoring the hint of citrus soap that clung to the cloth.

Yes, it was a lovely room. And it was furnished far more elegantly than she would have imagined.

She did not tell Luc why the room had seemed familiar. Instead, she closed her eyes, envisioning the walls without their fine new paper and furnishings. In her mind Silver saw how the room had looked the last time she had been here, dark with mildew, windowsills cracked and floors bare of rugs.

Then Waldon Hall had belonged to the St. Clair family. It had stood bare and skeletal, the furniture all sold, along with the paintings and silver, to meet the bills that had come to light after her father’s death.

No, there was no need to mention any of this to Luc. Silver decided it would only make him uncomfortable. And he shouldn’t be. He had restored the old house to all its former beauty.

Silver sighed as a wave of weariness swept over her. If only her father hadn’t died when he did. If only he had left a record of Millefleurs’ ingredients.

If only. If only…

She barely felt the fingers that smoothed the covers at her neck.

“Cold. Need to cover the lavender. Tell Tinker…”

But sleep took her before she could finish. And as she slipped away, Silver could have sworn she felt a hard hand brush her forehead.

~ ~ ~

“No, not that way, stripling. Like
this.
Keep your wrist steady.” Dressed in a white shirt and dove-gray breeches, Luc paced, foil in hand, at the center of Waldon Hall’s candlelit ballroom. “Let the foil rest lightly. Then breathe deep and feel its balance.”

Bram frowned, fingering the smooth metal hilt. His hand rose, and slashed the air experimentally.

“That’s it. Now again.” Luc watched the boy move, nodding. He was quick and agile, an apt pupil. In a few months he would be able to…

Luc bit back a curse. It was a fantasy.

Soon they would be gone.

Then Luc would dedicate himself to hardness once more, to anger and to the plan of revenge that had kept him alive for the last agonizing five years.

“Keep your eyes open. Lunge. Step, step, lunge. Damned good!” Luc finally pronounced as the sweaty but beaming boy fell back and mopped his brow. “No more today, I think. You’ve an aptness for the sport, young fellow. Your sister must engage you an instructor in town.”

Bram frowned; something wistful crossed his face. He looked away, settling the foil carefully back in its case. “Of course. I’m sure there must be someone,” he said softly.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. You are very kind to bother about a silly boy. It must be a damnable nuisance.”

Luc strode to the boy’s side and dropped beside him. His hand cupped Bram’s shoulder. “Not a nuisance. It’s just that — well, I’m no sort of a teacher. You’ll do much better with a professional. Someone trained in these things.”

Bram stared at him, his eyes dark. “Of course.”

But the disappointment in the boy’s face hit Luc squarely in the stomach. He wasn’t ready for the wave of guilt that came with it. Damn it, he was a highwayman. A notorious cutthroat! What business had the boy looking up at him with such patent hero worship in his eyes?

How soon it begins,
Luc thought.
How soon I start hurting them.

“Damn it, Bram, it’s not what you think. I — I can’t, don’t you see? It’s better for you not to be involved with me.
Anything
could happen. One night I might go out that door and never come back, do you understand? And if anyone connected me with you, it would go hard for all of you. After everything your sister’s been through, I don’t want to see her made unhappy.”