Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (39 page)

The world swam back around Silver.

It came slowly, in little flashes and jolts that left her head feeling like the inside of a hammered drum. When she slid open one eye, she saw she was propped against an upturned ale barrel at the edge of the street. Bram knelt next to her, looking very worried.

Silver tried to smile at him and didn’t quite succeed. “Did you see him? Did you — get his likeness?”

Bram smiled, though the smile did not extend to his anxious eyes. “Every detail, Syl. Thin face, haughty nose, and stubborn mouth. I’ve got rather a skill at portraits, I think.”

As he spoke, Bram held up his notebook. Two mangled eagle feathers, a dried piece of moss, and a mouse tail fell out of the book onto Silver’s lap. Just as Bram had promised, a man’s face had been quickly sketched on the well-worn pages, every detail clear and precise.

Silver squeezed her brother’s hand, inordinately pleased with their success in spite of the bells that were clanging painfully inside her head. “Capital job, my love. And the street boys, did they manage their tasks as well?”

Bram glanced around at the milling crowd and lowered his voice. “Well enough. Now lie still and be quiet, Syl. You’ve taken a fearful drubbing. That monster would have run you down, I’m sure of it, but the Prince Regent was in a furious taking and said he meant to call the militia out.”

“And — the man riding? What of him?”

“In all the uproar the bounder managed to escape, blast his foul heart.”

Silver frowned, trying to listen, but his voice suddenly seemed high pitched and ragged. There was a fearful aching in her chest that extended down to her side. “And the — the documents, Bram? What about them?”

“Right here in my pocket,” her brother whispered. “But we can’t talk now. The duchess is coming back and the Prince Regent is with her. They seem fascinated by the boys from the river.”

With a sigh Silver sat back. “Give — extra crown — to each of them,” she muttered. Then her eyes closed and she slipped back into the darkness.

~ ~ ~

When next she woke, Silver found herself braced against a mound of pillows with the sound of hoofbeats ringing in her ears. At least she
thought
it was hoofbeats and not the drumming of her heart. She opened her eyes and felt warm fingers press hers.

“Finally awake, my dear?” It was the imperious voice of the Duchess of Cranford. “You gave us quite a turn out there on the street. I don’t ever think I’ve seen Prinny half so worried. But I don’t mean to be wearying you with chitchat. It’s rest you need, gel, and it’s rest you’re going to get.”

“But—” Silver tried to sit up. “Bram! Where is my brother?”

“Safe with India and Ian, her brother. I’ve kidnapped the two of you, you see. We’re bound for our estate, where you are going to rest until I’m sure you’ve recovered.”

Silver wavered between fury at the old woman’s high-handedness and tears at her concern. She suspected the feeling wasn’t unusual. Anyone in the path of the Duchess of Cranford probably felt like a target for a runaway carriage.

Silver gave a slightly unsteady smile. “Most abominably high handed, Your Grace, although I can’t say I relished lying in that dusty street with a hundred curious faces peering down at me.”

The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “And that business you spoke of?”

Silver thought of the documents hidden in her pocket. “Satisfactorily concluded. But we really must not—”

“Hush. It’s all been decided.”

“I
cannot
stay. There are … matters my brother and I must attend to. And Bram—”

The duchess maneuvered Silver back against the soft pillows. “ — is fine. He’s riding ahead and at this very moment is no doubt busy regaling Ian and India with stories of the curious wildlife of Norfolk and the feeding habits of gray rats.”

Silver smiled faintly. “A repellant child, I’m afraid. He was always collecting shells or grass or some animal or other. But he has become a seasoned naturalist.”

“He’s also kept us well entertained. India, most of all, and I’m very thankful for it. She hasn’t been herself lately, not since—” The duchess’s voice broke off. She looked out at the passing landscape. For a moment sadness darkened her face. “But I am rambling again, my dear. You must excuse me. It is the one prerogative of old age. Lie back now and close your eyes. We shall be at Swallow Hill in less than an hour.”

~ ~ ~

As the duchess had surmised, at that moment Bram was comfortably mounted on a gentle-tempered roan, where he was entertaining his two companions with an embroidered account of the encounter at King’s Lynn. “A real group of bruisers, so they were. Only half my age and better fighters, every one of them.”

“Thank heaven for it,” India Delamere said worriedly. “If that young boy hadn’t managed to distract the villain at the reins, your sister might not be alive right now. You’ll think me unforgivably inquisitive, but whatever possessed her to stand in front of that carriage in such a way? She seems a most stubborn and independent woman, but I confess I don’t understand it.”

Bram coughed uncomfortably. “The fact is — I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

The rider on Bram’s left gave a low laugh. Ian Delamere, Viscount Dunwood, had just returned from Spain, where he served as one of Wellington’s aides. He looked at his sister. “Give over, India. The boy has warned us off the subject and it won’t do to be prying.”

Bram flushed. “No, it’s nothing like that. Blast, how rude you must think me after all your kindness.”

“Not kindness. Not a bit of it,” the tall soldier said easily. “Grandmama has an insatiable appetite for matchmaking and in your sister she has discovered a prize candidate. It’s brutal self-interest with her, I assure you.”

India shook her head, laughing. “You are the most dreadful cad, Ian! What will young Brandon think of us?”

The boy in question shot an admiring glance at the beautiful woman riding beside him. “I expect he’ll think that he’s vastly lucky to have made your acquaintance,” he mumbled, his flush growing more pronounced by the second.

Seeing his embarrassment, India kindly looked away, giving the boy time to recover. Ian helpfully launched into a complicated account of the night that the regimental mascot, a large and rather bad-tempered bear, managed to make his way into Wellington’s tent while the great man was fast asleep. The countryside slipped by, lush and green and beautiful.

The three were fast friends by the time Ian reached his rousing conclusion, which reflected none too happily on his
own
part in the affair.

~ ~ ~

“What manner of chaos has erupted
here?”

Luc stood in the middle of King Street, staring at the ale barrels scattered around a now-empty farm wagon. Under Connor’s expert eye they had followed the trail of fresh prints into the center of King’s Lynn.

Connor looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard any number of wild tales, everything from talk of a French invasion to an assassin attempting to kill the Prince Regent. Damned if I can make heads or tails of it, Luc. The only consistent thread seems to be the slip of a country girl who stood in the street with a pistol in her hand and foiled the attack.”

At those words Luc felt a queer sinking sensation in his chest.

A slip of a country girl with a pistol in her hand?
Luc knew only one female to whom those words could apply. But surely it couldn’t be. He would find her admiring shop windows down the street, or taking tea beside the elegant Guildhall.

Certainly not foiling an assassin’s bullet.

At least Luc hoped so.

~ ~ ~

Something was bothering Bram.

In fact, it had been bothering him all afternoon. It had to do with the man beside him, broad shouldered and strong handed, with eyes of coolest gray. Frowning, Bram darted another searching glance at India’s brother.

The tall, sleepy-eyed soldier, however, was a man who missed very little. “You look troubled, Brandon. Have I done something to give you a disgust of me already?”

“Not a bit of it. It’s just — well, you’ve the look of someone I know. Or at least I think you have. But I can’t for the life of me say who it is.”

Ian Delamere shrugged his broad shoulders. “It seems that I have that sort of face. It happened often in Spain. It can be a deucedly unpleasant experience.”

“Oh, Ian,” India cried, “never tell me you were mistaken for a horse thief or a traitor!”

For a moment there was a hardness in her brother’s eyes, but it disappeared so fast that Bram thought he might have imagined it.

Except for the tension in the man’s hands at his reins.

“No, not a horse thief, India. Acquit me of that, if you please. And do stop being so troublesome. There is nothing a fellow hates more than an inquisitive female, I assure you.”

“Oh, you’ve wounded me mortally!” India’s hands clutched dramatically at her chest, even as her shining eyes showed that she was in no way wounded. “A hit, a palpable hit. I daresay I shall languish in a swoon and never recover.”

Her brother looked across at her, tenderness in his eyes. “Harridan.”

“Scoundrel,” his sister answered promptly.

Riding between them, Bram hid a smile, wondering about this most unusual family that he’d crossed paths with.

~ ~ ~

Silver opened her eyes and made a slight, tentative movement. She was heartened to discover that the pounding in her head had abated. Now there was only a faint ache at her temples. As she struggled to sit up, the duchess moved to help her.

“Feeling more the thing, are you, my dear? In good time, too, for Swallow Hill is just over the hill.”

“You are very kind, Your Grace. We are complete strangers, after all. I cannot think this proper somehow.”

“Poppycock,” the duchess snapped. “I haven’t had so much fun in months, not since the day I…” Her eyes took on a speculative gleam. “But
that’s
a story for another day. Now come and look. You can see the top of the house from here.”

Pulling back the curtain at the window, Silver looked out onto a shining emerald valley crisscrossed by darker lines of oaks and hedgerows.

Then her breath caught.

Swallow Hill was not a house one would soon forget — or perhaps
ever
forget. It rose from the green curve of the hillside, a tangle of turrets and wildly twisting chimneys worked in warm pink granite. Large oriel windows dominated the south face and a topiary garden marched along the west. There was nothing regular about the house, no symmetry or order in its clustered wings.

And yet in its very vitality there was a matchless beauty to the house, the clear expression of a vigorous family who had flourished here for generations.

“Well, what do you think? Not to the current Palladian taste. Perhaps you’ll find it ugly.”

“Ugly?” Silver said breathlessly. “Why, I think it the most
beautiful
house I have ever seen.”

The duchess’s eyes twinkled. She sat back, clutching her silver cane between her fragile fingers. “You’ve a quick wit about you. I’ll say that for you.”

“But it’s true. The house is not at all orderly. The windows are of different sizes and the wings lack symmetry. But somehow it all works. One doesn’t notice the differences because of the overwhelming
power
of the place.”

The duchess nodded, looking out at the lush green hills and the magnificent stone house set within them. “Very well said, Miss St. Clair. You’ve an understanding that goes much beyond your age, I think.” Her eyes seemed to glitter with moisture as she patted Silver’s hand. Then she straightened her shoulders. “The first thing we’ll do is pack you off to rest. After that I must have that old quack, Sir Reginald, look in upon you.”