Dreaming (9 page)

“I’m not certain how I should take that comment.”

“It was a compliment. Surely you don’t think I would insult you after you saved my life, do you?”

“I’m not some hero, hellion.”

There was a gleam in her eyes. Trouble was coming. He’d seen it often enough.

“Did you know there are cultures that believe that if someone saves a person’s life, then the person saved must devote their entire life to the one who saved them?”

He stood rooted to the floor. Trouble was here.

“It’s a matter of honor.” She gave him a devoted smile. “Have you heard of this before?” She paused for a thoughtful second, then her face brightened with understanding. “Oh, perhaps you don’t remember. You are having those memory problems. Do you suppose one fall on your head could cause such trouble? Now don’t glare at me. I’ll be more than pleased to help you remember things. After all, Richard, you saved my life.”

Gus growled.

She reached out to scratch the hellhound’s ears. “And Gus’s life too.”

He stared at the dog and had the absurd thought that perhaps he should have just let them burn.

The beast’s growl had faded into a gurgle, and the dog closed his eyes in ecstasy, tilting his head so
Letty
could scratch the other floppy ear. After a second, the dog opened his bloodshot eyes and gave Richard a smug stare that held nothing akin to devotion. It said
This is wonderful and I am smarter than you
.

Richard wondered briefly if the dog was right.

He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He couldn’t. He stared at the smoking cloak in hand, his head already in a state of utter confusion. He tried to fathom his situation, only to find himself taking long, slow breaths, smoky breaths.

Until a moment before he was only stuck with her and that beast of a dog, in a twenty-by-twenty-foot space—with no escape. In the smoke. On a smugglers’ ship.

The wicked and wild Earl of
Downe
and his recompense.

Now the hellion had some bacon-brained idea that she and that obnoxious hound of hers were honor bound to him. No one, he thought—not fate, destiny, even God—could possibly be that cruel.

“I realize that our past encounters have been . . . rather, uh, awkward,” she admitted honestly.

“Rather awkward?” He was on the verge of shouting. He didn’t care. He shook the cloak at her, ignoring the new cloud of smoke that swirled around him in favor of anticipating the pure pleasure of bellowing at her.

She winced, then looked down. “Sometimes . . . things just seem to go wrong.”

Now there was an understatement. The woman was bound to be the death of him. Black eyes, broken bones, hot fires. God only knew what other delights awaited him. And yes . . . she was a woman, which irritated him even more.

Ready to bellow the bloody ship down, he opened his mouth, but a shout in the distance silenced him. There was the sound of running, as the wooden rafters above them suddenly rattled and thundered.

These were the first sounds of life he’d heard above deck. Before he could move, the door flew open and slammed hard against its jamb.

“Fire! Fire in the hold!”

A wall of icy salt water hit him. He staggered backward, coughing.

“Oh, dear,” she said.

With the smoking cloak still in his hand, he turned.

“Stop!” she shouted.

Another ocean of water hit him. The cloak sizzled. He slowly swiped the water from his face, trying to see through a burning blur of sea water.

Two scruffy-looking smugglers with empty buckets stepped away from the doorway, and another older man in a bright yellow shirt stepped inside. He pointed an ominous-looking pistol directly at Richard’s chest.

The hellhound barked a greeting, then jumped up and trotted cheerfully over to the smugglers, where he sniffed their shoes and legs, his tail wagging, his canine face filled with the joyful, panting welcome of man’s best friend.

Water dripped from Richard’s cloak, from his head, from his clothing, to plop loudly onto his sandy boots. He turned slowly, intending to tell the hellion what he thought about the honor and loyalty of her pet.

He froze.

She and her dog wore the same expression.

“For God’s sake woman, what the devil are you smiling at?”

She gave a huge sigh. “You look just as you did on the first day we met.”

“Stand where ye be!”

Letty
reluctantly tore her gaze away from Richard and looked toward the smuggler who had shouted. He raised the gun slightly before he glanced down at Gus.

“There, there, ye hearty fellow. Took a liking to old
Phelim
, did ye?”

Gus, who had taken an instant dislike to Richard, was licking the smuggler’s free hand as if they’d been friends for life.

Letty
cast a quick glance at Richard and blanched. Never taking his eyes off Gus, he gripped his dripping cloak in a white-knuckled hand, then raised his other hand and began to slowly, methodically, wring and twist the garment. Water pattered onto the wooden floor.

“
Psssst
! Gus! Come over here!”
Letty
patted her skirt.

Gus ignored both her and Richard, preferring the flavor of old
Phelim’s
hand.

“Gus!” she whispered more loudly, then heard Richard make a comment about the effectiveness of whispering when a roomful of people were looking at you.

She glanced up.

His expression said he thought her wits had walked to Wiltshire. Then she scanned the room. All the smugglers were staring at her in the same foreign way.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right.” She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle and patted her skirt again. “Heel, Gus!”

Gus finally looked at her through drooping hazel eyes, then he gave
Phelim’s
hand a last long swipe of his tongue before trotting happily back over to her side.

He sat, haunches pronounced, tail battering the wet floor with a
sloshy
thump, thump, thump
, while he eyed everyone. A second later he showed what he thought of them by yawning loudly, then shifted his head to the side and began to vigorously scratch his ear with a damp back paw.

Out of the corner of her eye
Letty
saw Richard take a step.

“Don’t move!”
Phelim
aimed the pistol directly at Richard’s head.

Richard froze, his eyes locked on
Phelim
for a moment so tense
Letty
didn’t dare breathe, let alone speak. Then Richard’s expression became curiously hooded, his body stance relaxed, and he leaned back, resting an elbow on the crate behind him. “I take it that you’re in charge?”

“Seeing as how I have the gun and ye don’t, I’d say so.”
Phelim
grinned and preened when the men chuckled.

“Ah, a man with a sense of humor,” Richard said, smiling companionably. “I take it we’re prisoners aboard a smuggling
lugger
. Such a foolish move.”

The men stopped laughing.

“I suppose you’ll also find it increasing humorous that you have kidnapped two innocents. What do we care if you indulge in a bit of contraband?” Richard looked at her. “Do you care, my dear?”

“No.”

“There, see?” He gave them all a rather bored look. “Why, I purchase French brandy myself.”

“Everyone knows of Richard and his brandy,”
Letty
added, trying to be helpful.

His gaze flashed to hers. He looked as if he wanted very badly to say something, but he turned back to the men and continued. “But of course, all can be rectified easily. You need to but weigh into the nearest port and release us. We’ll go on our merry way and so shall you.”

She imagined that perhaps his quick look to her had been instinctive. He most likely wanted to thank her for helping. She smiled, rather proud that she’d thought so quickly and jumped right in to help him.

“We are no threat to you,” Richard went on. “An innocent lady and a country earl. Isn’t that correct, my dear? We could care less about smuggling.”

“Yes.” She nodded, seeing her opening, then improvising, “Richard is a rake. Rakes have better things to do.”

Something flickered in Richard’s eyes, but he continued coolly. “Kidnapping a peer of the realm is punishable by a much stiffer sentence than smuggling.”

Phelim
glanced at the other men.

“I wonder if it is worth it.” Richard slowly eyed each of the men. “All those years in prison for, say . . . a few kegs of brandy?”

He paused for so long she decided to help. “And some bolts of silk,” she volunteered.

Richard frowned at her, shaking his head ever so slightly, then said, “We’ll say nothing—”

“About the gun locks,” she finished for him.

He stiffened to his full and intimidating height. His face quickly turned a deep red. His jaw clamped tight. His eyes glittered, disarmingly so.

And her stomach sank. With a sudden and sick feeling of dread, she realized that if those eyes had been arrows, she’d be the bull’s eye.

The smugglers were all smiling, and the smiles weren’t friendly.
Letty
turned back to Richard. One look at his face and she felt like running. “You’re upset with me again, aren’t you?”

His eyes gave her the answer she needed.

“But you said the smugglers knew—” She clamped her mouth shut at the sight of Richard’s livid look.

Phelim
grinned, a smile that held not a whit of humor.

Before she could say another thing, Richard had spun in a flash and snapped out the wet cloak.

It covered
Phelim’s
head.

Letty
gasped.

Phelim
dropped the gun.

Caught as off guard as the smugglers,
Letty
took a step backward, her eyes locked on Richard, who stood with his arm clamped around the smuggler’s neck. The man struggled beneath the cloak that held him prisoner, his curses muffled.

“Now it’s your turn not to move.” Richard looked at the others and warned, “Any of you.” He tightened his arm around
Phelim’s
neck, making him cough. “Or I’ll break his neck.”

He turned his harsh features toward her and gritted slowly, “Pick up the pistol.”

She glanced down. The gun was at her feet. She bent and picked it up. She’d never held a pistol before. It was much heavier than she would have thought, and cold, very cold.

“Bring it here.”

She glanced up.

Richard gave a quick nod of his head. “Quickly!”

She took a step.

Gus shifted and stretched.

She tripped.

And the gun went off.

Chapter 5

Someone was calling his name.

“Richard?”