Dark Before the Rising Sun (53 page)

“Reckon she might even be lonely
now
, seein' ye've got yourself a mistress. Wonder what she'd be thinkin' if she knew where ye was tonight?” He turned back to Bess. “I'll be back to teach ye another lesson, Bessie. Ye and I ain't finished yet,” Shelby told her with a leering grin as he stared at her naked body.

“No, not that way,” Dante said when Shelby started for the door.

“What?”

“'Tis rather stuffy in here. Why don't you open the window?” Dante said, much to Shelby's dismay. “Don't bother closing it on your way out,” Dante finished softly.

Shelby's eyes narrowed with hatred. With an obscenity thrown over his shoulder, he went to the window. Opening it and the shutters, he climbed onto the sill. It was farther than he had hoped for, but the pistol gave him little choice. He jumped.

There was a thud, then a scraping sound, and then another thud. Shelby hit the ground in about the same spot he had landed before.

Dante hurried to the window and stood watching until he saw a horse and rider galloping away from the house. With a grim smile, Dante left the shutters open and closed the window, drawing the draperies securely shut. Suddenly he became aware that Bess was laughing.

Her midnight black hair tumbling across one shoulder and swinging around her hips, Bess was shaking with laughter.

“Thump, thump, thump. Poor Jack, 'tis the only way he knows how to leave Seawyck.” Bess gasped.

“Everything is all right now, Bess. You are safe,” Dante told her gently. That gentleness broke Bess's control, and she started to weep, cupping her face in her hands.

Dante hurried to her side and took her in his arms, rocking her, his hands smoothing her hair as she sobbed, her tears soaking into his coat.

It was this scene that Sir Morgan Lloyd walked in on, his eyes widening as he saw Dante holding the naked Lady Bess Seacombe, her pale skin so startlingly white against the blackness of her long hair.

“I beg your pardon,” he said harshly, the image of Lady Rhea Claire crowding his mind.

Dante glanced up and when Sir Morgan met those pale gray eyes, he saw no lust in them, only pity and concern, and he realized he had come to the wrong conclusion. His eye was caught by the ripped nightdress and he cursed under his breath.

“He didn't—” he began, leaving the rest of the sentence unfinished.

“No, she became hysterical. She's shaking with fear now, but in a moment, unless you get that coverlet around her, she'll be shaking with cold,” Dante suggested to the suddenly flustered Sir Morgan, watching as he carefully placed the coverlet around and holding her close.

“H-he has been threatening me ever since I wouldn't let him have my h-horses. H-Harry would be turning over in his grave if h-he could see h-how the smugglers have abused them,” Bess was saying between gulps of air. “I-I didn't want to help, but I needed the money. I h-have a family to raise. What was I to do? I couldn't let my children starve, could I?” she asked, gazing up into Sir Morgan's compassionate blue eyes, her fingers locked on the lapels of his naval uniform.

Dante walked back to the window and pulled the heavy draperies aside. He stared out on the lightening skies. Dawn was breaking, and the shadows which had seemed so ominous were fading, but he felt no lightening of spirit. He wondered where Shelby was and what would happen if they failed to catch him when he next tried to run his goods ashore; for Shelby was hell-bent on revenge.

Sits the wind in that corner?

—Shakespeare

Esma Samples hadn't been a coward. She put up a valiant struggle before she died. Her body was discovered the next morning by some workmen from Merleigh as they followed the narrow path across the moors to Merdraco.

It was ironic that one of the men who came across her battered body had, as a boy of fifteen, discovered the body of Lettie Shelby years earlier, and in exactly the same place. That might even have been why he looked in that direction, for he had never been able to pass the spot without thinking about the grisly find he had made that day while hunting rabbit.

He had known Lettie Shelby, and he had also known the widow of Ted Samples, who had disappeared while crossing the moors and was never seen again.

It was only human nature that the frightened villager from Merleigh would remember who had been suspected of the murder of Lettie Shelby. The Marquis of Jacqobi had just returned to Merdraco after a long absence. There hadn't been a murder like this one since he'd been gone, he realized.

* * *

Dressed in the rose brocade with the white silk stomacher embroidered in a pale green leaf pattern with small satin rosebuds which Dante had purchased for her in London, the jeweled replica of the
Sea Dragon
adorning it, Rhea looked as lovely as the flowers she was arranging in a crystal vase on the hall table.

“Oh, that is pretty, m'lady,” Betsie said, eyeing the golden daffodils with pleasure. “Why, even Saunders would approve of these,” she said, the head gardener at Camareigh springing to her mind. “What d'ye think of that, Kit?” she cooed, cradling the baby. Kit's mother smiled as she went about arranging the colorful spring blooms throughout the lodge.

“There, that should do for now,” Rhea finally said, satisfied. “Take the rest of these flowers and put them in a vase for your room, Betsie. I'll take Kit,” Rhea said.

“Oh, m'lady, thank you. 'Twill be like sleepin' in the garden for sure.” Betsie giggled as she handed the chuckling baby over to his mother. She gathered up the bundle of flowers. “M'lady?”

“Yes?” Rhea glanced up, smiling. Kit's tiny hand was wrapped round her thumb with surprising strength.

“I just wanted to tell ye that we, well, the others and me, we're real pleased to be here at Merdraco with ye. 'Tis kind of nice livin' by the sea. And although the lodge isn't Camareigh, it's very nice. And one day soon we'll be movin' into the great house, and that'll be like a palace, I'm sure,” Betsie rushed on. “Well, we just wanted to thank ye for bringin' us with ye to Merdraco. We are all real proud to be servin' ye and his lordship,” Betsie said. “And we're real glad ye married him and not the Earl of Rendale.”

“Why, thank you, Betsie,” a deep voice commented, surprising the women. They turned around to see Leighton standing at the head of the stairs. Betsie's young heart fluttered, so handsome he was with his dark chestnut curls brushed back from that bronzed face, and his pale gray eyes smiling down. And dressed in a stylish blue frock coat and fawn-colored breeches, his waistcoat cinnamon, his stock elegantly folded, he was every maid's desire.

“Oh, m'lord!” Betsie squeaked nervously, worrying that she had been indiscreet. Curtsying hastily, she hurried off with her armful of flowers.

“I do believe that is one of the nicest compliments I have ever received, being considered preferable to the good Earl of Rendale,” Dante said with a grin. “You and our son are up early.”

“'Tis getting well into the summer now, and we have many things to do before winter,” Rhea told him. She did not look forward to the howling storms she knew would blow in off the sea and isolate Merdraco. But as she glanced around the cozy lodge, she realized that she wouldn't mind too much. She had come to think of it as home. And with her family around her, Rhea decided she could outlast the storms.

In that special way of lovers, Dante guessed her thoughts and said softly, “So you wouldn't mind being stranded here with me during the long, cold months of winter?”

“Not if every night could be spent like last night,” she said without any pretense of coyness. “Well,
most
of the night,” she amended, for she had spent a few uncomfortable hours curled up in a chair, waiting for Dante. It wasn't until nearly dawn that she had finally heard him on the stairs.

Dante reached out and captured one of the golden curls dangling over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“It won't be much longer, Rhea. It will be all over soon, and then we can begin to live here at Merdraco as I have long dreamed of doing. After tomorrow night, there will no longer be any shadows. We and our family will be able to live out our lives in happiness at Merdraco, our home. I swear to you that our children will have a life different from mine. I ask no more than for our children to know the happiness that was your life at Camareigh,” he said quietly, his fingers caressing the nape of her neck.

Their son cradled between them, they stared into one another's eyes, and each felt a new kind of belonging which strengthened their love.

The spell was broken by the sound of running feet as Conny and Robin charged down the stairs, excitement shining in their eyes. Each day presented new adventures for them.

“I'm hungry,” Conny called as he landed on the bottom step with a thud. He was nearly knocked off his feet by Robin, who slid off the waxed balustrade.

“And a good morning to you too,” Rhea said firmly, thinking that her mother would wonder what she had let Robin get up to recently.

“Top o' the mornin' to ye,” Conny mimicked the former quartermaster of the
Sea Dragon
. “I wonder what Mr. Fitzsimmons is up to,” he asked Dante.

“Probably no good,” Kirby replied as he came out of the kitchens carrying a silver teapot. He placed it alongside several other silver pots of varying sizes and shapes, the aromatic steam rising from them drawing Conny and Robin to the table. There were dishes of freshly baked bread; scones and buns still warm from the ovens; muffins and crumpets; jams, jellies, and preserves; and thick cream for the coffee and sweet chocolate.

Cooking odors have a way of sneaking through a house, and soon Francis was making his way down the stairs, politely shielding a yawn. It was apparent that he had dressed in a hurry.

“I am beginning to see why sailors seem so hearty. I swear I haven't had an appetite like this since I was Robin's age. It must be the sea air,” Francis commented as he reached the last step. He nodded a good morning to everyone, then paused to grin down at his young nephew and tickle his tiny pink foot. Kit giggled, delighted.

“Good morning!” Alastair called from the top of the stairs, a wide grin of pleasure on his handsome face. He started down the steps. “Looks like a fine day. I think I might take a ride over the countryside. Might even pay a call on Sir Jacob. Perhaps he can advise me about some land around here.” Alastair had decided to let his intentions be known.

Dante met Alastair's rather hesitant gaze, then smiled. “I am very pleased to hear that. I was hoping you would decide to settle near here,” he said. “I may be able to help, since I have been buying up most of the land around here for the past few years,” Dante said with an apologetic look at the younger man.

“Are you quite certain you wish to remain in this wild countryside?” Francis asked with a serious look. Rhea was experienced enough not to trust that look, but poor Alastair fell for it every time. “I happen to know of some rather good land over toward Buckinghamshire way. Maybe we should have a look at it before you decide on Devonshire. I should be more than pleased to show you around that area.”

“Well, that is generous of you, but I wouldn't wish to waste your time, Francis,” Alastair began.

“Not at all. We can even stay at Winterhall while we are looking around. I am sure that Sir Jeremy and Caroline would be pleased to see us,” Francis added innocently, but he had put the broad width of the table between them by the time he said it.

Alastair looked like he had been broadsided, then his laughter blended in with Francis's as they found places at the table, still laughing. But before anyone could sit down, an imperious knock sounded.

“Now who on earth could be calling at this hour?” Francis demanded, not pleased at the prospect of his coffee growing cold.

But Francis, and even Conny and Robin stopped thinking about their stomachs when the footman escorted three grim-faced gentlemen into the lodge.

Sir Morgan Lloyd was about to speak when the elegantly clad man in plum-colored silk who was at his side stepped forward and demanded arrogantly, “I demand that you arrest this murderer at once.” His gaze fastened on Dante.

To say that Sir Miles Sandbourne's statement had caused a deathly silence to fall over the room might have been exaggerating a bit, but it certainly caught everyone by surprise, especially the man he had pointed to and demanded the arrest of, and that was Dante Leighton.

“Did you hear me, Captain?” Sir Miles repeated, his eyes not missing one detail of the spotless and comfortable appearance of the lodge, the table set for breakfast, or the friendly atmosphere which his entrance had disturbed.

“Yes, I heard you, but I shall use my own judgment in this matter,” Sir Morgan said quietly. His tanned face was pale as he faced the residents of the lodge. It was especially hard for him to meet the violet eyes that had smiled at him so warmly once, long ago.

“What is the meaning of this, Captain? This is my home, and I will not stand here being accused. This man has dared to trespass onto Leighton land despite the fact that he was warned against doing so,” Dante spoke coldly, his contemptuous glance flicking Sir Miles like a whip. “Please tell me what this is about.”

“There has been a murder,” Sir Morgan began, signaling to the third man in his party. “Esma Samples, Mr. Lascombe's sister-in-law, was found strangled out on the moors this morning. She was last seen in Merleigh sometime last night. Apparently she was hurrying to some assignation, and it ended in her death.”

Dante, his eyes narrowed into slits, looked more like the captain of the
Sea Dragon
than the master of Merdraco. “And why should I be under suspicion? No! Let me guess,” he said, holding up his hand. “This woman's body was found in about the same place Lettie was found. Perhaps there were other similarities between the two murders. And since I was suspected of the first murder, I am now suspected of this one. Is that correct?”

“You are the
only
suspect, my lord,” Sir Miles corrected.

“This is absolutely outrageous. How dare you come into my home and accuse my husband of killing?” Rhea cried, her eyes sparkling with anger as she moved between Dante and Sir Miles.

Sir Morgan looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “I am sorry, Lady Jacqobi, but I have to carry out my duty regardless of the circumstances.”

“Even if outright lies are involved?” she demanded incredulously. “Oh, Sir Morgan, I was so mistaken in you. You are not a friend to us. You never have been,” Rhea charged. A single tear fell down her cheek.

“Rhea, please don't,” Dante said, but he could not say anything further without revealing the secret of his partnership with Sir Morgan. And as Dante thought of their night together, it suddenly came to him what a dilemma Sir Morgan found himself in. He was Dante's only alibi, but he could not say anything without jeopardizing their plans.

“I can understand why you are here, Sir Morgan,” Dante said. “I respect you for doing your duty. But what I fail to understand is why you are here, Sir Miles. Is it to satisfy your curiosity about the lodge?” Dante inquired softly.

Sir Morgan looked most uncomfortable as Sir Miles declared grandiloquently, “I happen to have every right to be here. In fact, I have a greater right than Sir Morgan, except for his having been granted certain powers over civilian authorities,” he complained. “I am the local magistrate. As such, I have the authority to apprehend anyone I suspect of wrongdoing.”

“What proof have you that I murdered this woman?” Dante asked.

“It does indeed seem strange, and perhaps 'twill be convincing enough to a judge, that there was a murder years ago. You were suspected then. Indeed, your watch was found clutched in the young woman's hand. Now you return and, lo and behold, there is another murder, identical to the first one!” Sir Miles sounded as if he were already the prosecutor.

“That is ridiculous!” Alastair exploded, but Sir Miles was unruffled. “I am sure any judge would find it hard to believe that a murderer other than you would be so patient as to wait so long to commit murder simply to implicate you,” he sneered. Sir Miles's arguments, as presented by a smooth-talking prosecutor, would be believed by judge and jury, for Dante would be a stranger to the court.

Sam Lascombe was shuffling his feet back and forth. “I just dunno if that's the truth,” he finally said, much to Sir Miles's irritation. “Reckon it looks bad for his lordship, true, and reckon 'tis strange that another murder should take place just when his lordship returns. But…” He paused, not knowing how to continue.

“But?” Sir Miles urged, making a great show of containing his impatience. He pulled out his watch and sighed.

“Well, she was my sister-in-law. Married to my wife's late brother, she was, and, well, Dora and me think the smugglers killed them both. Yes, we do.”

“That is ridiculous!” Sir Miles snorted derisively. “Why should smugglers harm a village woman? What is Lord Jacqobi paying you to buy your silence? If you're perjuring yourself, I'll see that you're hanged for standing in the way of justice,” Sir Miles threatened, and Sam, deeply frightened, kept silent.

“Please, let the man finish,” Sir Morgan said, and Sam began again, though reluctantly. “We figure, Dora and me, that the same ones who killed her brother Ted also killed Esma. She probably knew too much about the smugglers. See, Ted threatened to leave the group, and then he disappeared. Well, reckon they thought Esma could cause them trouble too. Ted would have told her whatever he suspected. She was mad enough to do some talkin' 'cause they murdered him and left her with them fatherless children. We'll be takin' the children into the Bishop, I guess,” Sam finished, looking down at his big gnarled hands. “Never thought when she and her boy stopped t'other day at the Bishop, on their way to Westlea Abbot, that it'd be the last time we'd see her alive.”