Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (43 page)

Lights exploded behind Silver’s eyes. Her throat felt crushed and there was a roaring in her ears. Dimly she heard Luc’s shout and then the muffled thump of falling bodies.

But everything seemed to come as if from a great distance, set far apart from her and the roaring that churned through her head.

Dizzily she saw the candle flicker on the table. Gritting her teeth, she managed a last burst of energy. She launched out with her foot and caught the edge of the candle, sending it spiraling to the floor.

Instantly the room was plunged in darkness.

Somehow Silver managed to stay upright, kicking and twisting at the lethal hands she could no longer see. Behind her came shouts and the sound of wild scuffling and she smiled, knowing the ferrets were about their work. She only prayed that they had been in time.

And then abruptly Silver was free, the fingers gone from her throat.

Hamid’s voice boomed out in the darkness. “You have no hope of escaping, Englishman. Cease your puny efforts and yield to me. Then perhaps I may show mercy to your woman by making her death swift and clean, rather than the slow agony I plan for you.”

Gritting her teeth against the pain in her throat, Silver moved on until she felt the wall. Orders boomed out in a harsh foreign tongue and boots hammered over wood. From somewhere to her right came a high-pitched squeak and a man’s sharp curse as one of the ferrets found its prey. Silver waited tensely, praying that Luc had somehow managed to work his way free.

A moment later she felt the warm brush of fur at her cheek and the weight of a small body. A soft tail brushed against her neck. Silver cradled the ferret and waited, her pulse hammering in her ears.

With every heartbeat the waiting grew harder. Each second became an agony. She was just about to take matters into her own hands and go in search of Luc, when callused fingers slid around her wrists. She started to cry out, but a hand blocked her mouth. Silver smelled the familiar scent of lemon and leather with just a hint of brandy.

Luc’s scent.

Warm lips brushed her ear. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

Abruptly a pistol barked in the darkness and a bullet whined past Silver’s left shoulder. She felt Luc tense behind her as he pulled her down toward the floor, another shot hissed by, only inches away.

Luc cursed. Another shot exploded past them.

“Stay close!” he whispered. “We’re going out.”

But before they could move, flint hissed and light filled the room. Silver blinked. Too late she saw the glint of a golden earring. Too late she saw hard lips curl into a cruel smile.

And then she was jerked backward, caught in hard fingers, while Hamid’s laughter rang in her ears.

“You’ve lost, Englishman. You cannot hope to win against me. And now I shall take your woman to my ship and teach her the reward for such betrayal. You will be able to hear her screams from here, I think.” He shouted an order to his subordinate, who moved toward Luc, a pistol trained on Luc’s head.

Silver fought and twisted to no avail. She was dragged down the stairway and shoved down into a waiting boat. And this time there was no hope of escape.

Two of Hamid’s well-armed sailors sat grinning in the bow.

“That should do it quite nicely, I think.” Ian Delamere looked down at the sailor sprawled on the deck of the Corsair sloop. Beside him India brushed the dust off her hands, having just dispatched another sailor to a similar fate.

The count of captives now ranged to twenty.

Ian smiled tightly in the dancing moonlight as he studied his ragged army. Connor MacKinnon had gone to look for rope. Bram and Tinker were just coming up from depositing two more bound and gagged captives in the hold.

All in all it had been a most successful raid. The foreign sloop, anchored in a bend of the river, was now theirs and all the crew dispatched to captivity.

Ian had not been entirely surprised when a rider had raced up the drive to Swallow Hill only an hour after Luc’s departure. Jonas Ferguson had been watching for Luc’s return and when Luc had not arrived, he had summoned Connor MacKinnon. Together they had gone looking for the headstrong Delamere.

Connor had picked up Luc’s prints not far from Waldon Hall, prints that showed one horse surrounded by a half dozen more. The tracks led north to an isolated stretch of river not far from where the Ouse spilled into the cold North Sea.

There they had found the Corsair ship rocking at anchor.

Connor had gone to Swallow Hill for help, but he hadn’t expected quite such an enthusiastic turn out. Even India and the duchess had demanded to join the rescue effort.

They had each played a part in the attack on the hidden sloop. The duchess had waited in a carriage on the bank with two primed pistols beside her, just in case any of the villains tried to make their way ashore.

“What do we do now?” Bram asked anxiously. “They should be coming out soon.”

Ian watched the tumbledown warehouse. His eyes narrowed as he saw two figures sway down the rickety rear steps toward a waiting rowboat. The shifting reflection of the moonlight on the water made it difficult to see clearly.

“That’s Silver!” Bram said sharply.

Ian frowned. “And I believe they are headed out here.”

Suddenly another figure burst onto the stairwell overlooking the river. A pistol rang out. Ian cursed as he saw his brother fall.

But there was no time. The boat was moving ever closer.

India’s fingers tensed on her rifle. “It’s under two hundred yards, Ian. I could pick the man off from here.”

“We dare not risk it, India, for all that you’re a crack shot. Unless I am mistaken the brute has a pistol trained on Miss St. Clair’s back.”

“But what about
Luc?”

“We’ll go for him as soon as Miss St. Clair is safe. You must know that he would expect that of us.”

India muttered angrily. “But we can’t just sit here and let that man escape!”

“Escape is not what I had in mind,” the tall cavalry officer said grimly. “We’ll give our nasty friend a surprise as he boards his boat.” He turned about quickly. “Help me secure the rest of these men below. Then this is what we’ll need to do next.”

~ ~ ~

Silver stared at her captor, fury flashing in her eyes. “You’ll never get away with this, you worm! You’ll have to turn away some time and the second you do, I’ll make you pay for what you did to Luc.”

“Cease your empty threats, Englishwoman.” Hamid gave Silver’s hair a savage twist. “You no longer amuse me. Once you are returned to my cabin, I will teach you proper respect for a man.”

Silver glowered at him.
Someone
would learn proper respect, but it bloody well wouldn’t be her!

She tried not to think about the gunshot and the sound of Luc’s body dropping. He would come to her somehow, she knew he would. Until then she had to concentrate on outwitting this cursed snake. To do that she needed time.

“What if my memory has returned?” she asked coolly. “Perhaps I have recalled where my father buried that gold after all.”

Her captor’s eyes narrowed. “Your timing is most unfortunate, Miss St. Clair. But none of this matters, for you will soon reveal everything I need. Then I will send my men to take control of the treasure. All your attempts at cleverness cannot change that.”

The little boat pulled alongside the sloop. Cursing darkly, Hamid seized Silver’s and shoved her up the narrow gangway in front of him. She stumbled forward, moving as slowly as she could, wincing when she felt his dagger prick her back.

The deck was silent. She glanced quickly about and saw only shadows.

No crew.

The thought cheered her vastly.

Behind her Hamid shouted a string of orders, but no answering voices came from the deck. Muttering savagely, the pirate pulled her across to the bow. Out of the corner of her eye Silver saw a hint of movement and for the briefest of instants she caught a glimpse of hair that appeared to be titian.

Her heart lurched. A wild stab of hope surged through her.

Again the faint movement came, and this time Silver was certain that she saw India Delamere crouched behind a row of thick wooden tea crates.

She gnawed on her lip, thinking furiously. If only she had her pistol! But the brutes had tossed it away and that meant she was left with only her wits.

Silver was just considering how best to provoke her captor into carelessness when a second boat slapped against the hull. A moment later Sir Charles Millbank labored up the gangplank, his round face red with exertion.

“I’ve come for my money, just as you promised, Hamid. You have your highwayman now, so I’ll take my payment and the girl and be on my way.”

Millbank was involved? Silver’s mouth went tight with fury. And the arrogant cur thought she was
his?

Hamid only laughed. “Did you truly think it would be so easy, Englishman? Alas, how very naive you are. You’ll have no money from me today — or ever. As for the girl, she is mine. We sail in one hour, with the change of the tide.”

Millbank cursed. “You can’t, damn it. You promised me!”

“What is a promise to a man such as you? Nothing — less than nothing. You were simply a second recourse if my own attempts failed. Then all would have been blamed on you, Englishman. Our activities here are far too important to be threatened by discovery. But as you can see, I did
not
fail. I have the St. Clair female and soon I shall have all the rest of what I came for — along with the Marquess of Dunwood.”

“Dunwood?” Millbank frowned. “You mean Luc Delamere? What’s
he
got to do with this? Disappeared five years ago, so I heard.”

“And returned too,” Hamid said curtly. “At which time he usurped the dashing role of the highwayman named Blackwood.”

“Impossible! I don’t believe it!”

“It is not necessary that you believe it, fool. It is not necessary that you do anything but
die
, for you cannot be allowed to speak of any of this.”

Millbank reached into his pocket, his eyes desperate. “I think not! And the woman is mine, do you hear? I wanted her first, before you or anyone else.” He pulled a pistol from his waistcoat and clutched it between his hands. “She’s coming with me or I’ll shoot you, do you hear?”

“How very troublesome you are,” Silver’s captor said softly.

His eyes hard with fury, Millbank circled the mainsail mast. He ducked beneath a swaying lantern and skirted the edge of a twelve-pounder cannon lashed down to the deck. “I’m entitled to the girl, damn you. And to that money.”

“The man’s quite right, you know, Hamid.” A new figure appeared at the gangplank. His smooth, slender fingers cradled a very fine mahogany-butted percussion rifle, and on his finger glinted a beaten silver ring in the shape of a fantastic animal. “And by rights that gold hidden at Lavender Close is
mine,
payment for services rendered. I mean to have it, you know. You can do with the girl what you want — after she’s told me where the gold is hidden, of course.”

Hamid smiled thinly. “That is your gravest fault, Englishman. You and the others have grown far too greedy. It has worried the Dey for some time now, since your greed makes you most unreliable — even to us, your own partners. I fear that means we must dispense with your services.”

“Say what you like, Hamid, but you and the rest of your thieving kind
need
me. And pay me you will, just as long as I continue to supply you with the names of your miserable victims. So you see, Millbank,” the thin-faced man said coolly, “the woman is mine, by right of prior claim. I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble over her and her father in the last seven years. He was surprisingly difficult and so was she. Not even when I sent six men to frighten her would she leave her dusty fields.”

Silver’s breath caught. So
this
was the man behind the attacks on Lavender Close!

But Millbank was already moving, his pistol trembling between his fingers. “Stay back! She is mine, only mine. I’ve waited and watched and damn you, I’ll not lose her now!”

“An interesting dilemma, to be sure,” the new arrival sneered, holding his rifle steady at Hamid’s head. “Millbank wants to auction off the woman’s lovely body to his intriguingly depraved little club. I imagine he also covets her father’s precious formula for Millefleurs. Hamid, meanwhile, yearns to teach her the joys of enslavement and utter submission in a Barbary harem. And I, you ask? I simply want some answers. Yes, a problem fit for Solomon himself.” The Englishman smiled faintly. “But I believe I have the solution. We shall simply divide her among us, as Solomon would have done with the contested child. I shall take Miss St. Clair’s head and you, Millbank, shall take her delectable body. Unfortunately, Hamid, that leaves very little left for you — even considering your rather loathsome fetishes.”

At this jeering speech Hamid’s eyes went flat with rage. “You are very quick with your insults, Renwick, and for this you will die. As you
should
have died five years ago when you bungled the capture of William St. Clair and took the Marquess of Dunwood instead!”

Renwick.

Silver’s eyes widened as she recognized the long, thin face and haughty, sneering lips — the features she had seen in the last sketch in Bram’s notebook.

Lord Damian Renwick, Ian had called him.

By whatever name he was called, he would always be but one thing to Silver: the man who had murdered her father and mother.

Bitter rage exploded through her. This man had harrowed her father through those long months, driving him to question his own sanity and then murdering him with cold-blooded deliberation.

He would pay for that and everything else.

Silver drove her elbow into her captor’s stomach and threw her body sideways. Rage gave her the power of three women as she flung off Hamid’s arm, grabbed up a glass-paned lantern, and hurled it into Renwick’s sneering face.

Around her the deck seemed to explode with movement. Flames shot out from the shattered lantern. India Delamere, crouched behind the tea crate, put a rifle ball into Millbank’s arm and sent him screaming to the deck. Ian Delamere launched himself upon Damian Renwick, who was already staggering from Silver’s well-aimed missile.

Silver backed toward the port railing, stalked by Hamid. The pirate held a pistol clenched in his fingers.

“You have many friends, Englishwoman. It has made my plans fare badly from the very start. How fortunate for us that your father did not have the same.” He moved in chilling silence, skirting a waist-high coil of rope and folded canvas, his eyes never leaving Silver’s face. “Renwick was a fool. So was Sir Charles Millbank. But you, I think, are not, and your bravery is most surprising. Which means, of course, that you must be brought to submission, for no mere woman can be allowed to thwart me.”

Torn sails flapped around them. Silver caught the smell of tar and salt and sodden timber.

And then she caught another smell.

Faint it was, but unmistakable.

The hint of citrus. The tang of tobacco and brandy and fine, aged leather.