Ransomed Jewels (24 page)

“Want me, Sam. Please, want me.”

His only answer was an earthy growl that echoed in the shadows and settled deep in her belly. He threw off his clothes with alarming speed then carried her to the bed. She opened her arms and held him to her.

This time was more wondrous than before. He took her with a desperation that carried her far away from the dangers connected with this world. To a place that made her forget all the reasons she’d vowed she would never give in to him again. The reasons she had for never trusting him with her heart.

“Who, Claire?” he asked, his voice strained with passion.

“Sam. Oh . . .”

“Who?”

“You. Oh, Sam.”

With his name on her lips, Claire spiraled through the stars. Her release, when it came, was alarming. She shuddered in its wake for what seemed an eternity before she spun back to earth. Sam thrust inside her once more; then, on a loud moan, he found his release and collapsed against her.

Claire lay silent and still for several long minutes, loathe to move. She’d almost admitted that she loved him. Almost said the words she’d vowed never to say. But she hadn’t. She sighed with relief because saying them would have exposed her heart and left her too vulnerable.

Claire squeezed shut her eyes and listened while the quiet house echoed her thoughts. She’d already lived in a fairy-tale world where she’d imagined it would be possible for a man to love her. She’d had seven years of disappointment as her lesson that it couldn’t happen. How could she take such a risk again?

“Would saying the words have been so difficult, Claire?” he asked, rolling to the side.

“Yes,” she whispered, and suddenly realized it truly would. “The cost is too great.”

“What are you afraid of?”

Claire couldn’t give him an answer. How could she when she didn’t understand the answer herself? “It doesn’t matter, Major. Please, leave now so I can dress.”

The mattress sagged and she knew he sat on the edge of the bed. But he didn’t leave her.

“What do you mean, the cost is too great? What cost, Claire?”

Claire jerked her gaze to where he sat. He wasn’t going to give up until he’d totally humiliated her. Wasn’t going to give her any peace until he’d forced her to admit every fear that kept her from giving her heart away. But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“What would you like me to admit, Major? That I care for you? That I’m foolish enough to make the same mistakes I made with Hunt? Would you like me to give myself over to you so you can remember my surrender as your crowning achievement? So you can have a hearty laugh when my name comes up and you recall what a fool I was? You’ll have to excuse me, Major, but I’m not as young and naïve as I was when I married Hunt.”

“Are you comparing me to Hunt?”

“I’m comparing you to no one. What I’m comparing is my experience with love. I was married seven years to a man who made a mockery of the emotion.”

The mattress sagged when he moved closer to her.

“Claire, look at me.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

“I haven’t had a lot of experience with love. With lust, yes. But never with love. Perhaps that’s why it took me so long to recognize the emotion. But you have to believe me when I say—”

“Don’t. I don’t need kind words. I don’t need lies.”

“These are no lies. I love you, Claire. I’ve loved you from the night I cradled you in my arms and prayed I could keep you safe from harm. Loved you even though I thought you had the necklace and intended to give it to Roseneau because you were lovers. Loved you even more when I found out you didn’t have it. Your bravery is unmatched by anyone I’ve ever known.”

He placed his finger to the side of her face and turned her head to look at him. “For whatever his reasons, Hunt put you through an unimaginable hell. I know you carry the scars from what he did. But know this, too—I love you, Claire. And someday I pray you can trust me with your heart, just as I’m trusting you with mine.”

Claire stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. How could she risk giving away her heart again? Where was the guarantee that loving him would be any different than loving Hunt?

The emptiness she felt when the major rose from the edge of the bed was like taking away the warmth of the sunshine on a summer day. Claire wrapped a quilt around herself and sat in the middle of the bed. She tucked her legs to her chest and fought to find enough air to fill her lungs. Sam loved her. The man to whom she’d given her heart wanted it. He loved her.

Claire watched him pull on his trousers and boots, then slip on his shirt and shrug into his waistcoat and jacket. When he was dressed, he walked back to the side of the bed.

“I’m not going to take my words back, Claire. I’m not going to change my mind. When this is over, I’m going to say them again and again and again. Until you’re so used to hearing me tell you I love you it won’t frighten you any longer. Until you’re so accustomed to hearing the words you’ll be able to tell me you love me without being afraid I’ll trample your heart in the process.”

Claire stared at him with a longing that grew stronger with each passing second. He loved her.

“Get some rest now. I’ll be below if you need anything.”

He walked to the door and stopped with his hand on the knob. “I love you, Claire. More than my life. More than words can express. It’s a wondrous feeling, Claire. When you’re brave enough to look for it, you’ll know what I mean.”

She didn’t need to give him an answer, and he didn’t wait for one. It was as if he knew she needed more time. As if he knew it would take her a little longer to realize what he already knew—that only love could make her whole again.

She watched as he opened the door and left her alone with her thoughts. Every word he spoke assured her that he wasn’t going to let her give up on the love they had.

Claire stared at the closed door long after he left and swiped at the tears that dared to spill from her eyes.

The pain and loneliness she’d lived with the last seven years bubbled to the surface, then slowly evaporated. Sam was giving her another chance to know love. Now, all she had to do was find the courage to open her heart and accept what he was offering.

Except, she wasn’t sure she could.

Chapter 32

The light from the lantern on the corner of the desk flickered with erratic inconsistency as Sam stared at the papers laid out in front of him. It was nearly ten o’clock, hours since they’d returned with the papers and necklace. Hours since Sam had left Claire and opened the message to study the numerical code in front of him.

Hours since he’d realized his world had changed forever.

He fought the jarring disbelief as he stared at the coded message, praying the configurations on the page would change. But they didn’t. Recognition sucked the air from his body. Ice flowed through his veins, paralyzing him so he couldn’t move. He looked at the formula for the hundredth time only to realize he hadn’t made a mistake. He knew the code, understood the formula. He should. He’d created it.

Sam swiped his hand down his face. There was no doubt as to the identity of the traitor.

On unsteady legs, he walked to the study door and opened it. Watkins stood at the front, watching the street from a window. An eerie silence converged on Hunt’s town house. It had seeped into every corner and crevice the minute Barnaby had returned and set up guards around the perimeter of Claire’s land. The laying of a trap, the waylaying of the traitor. Even though he could not hear or see them, Sam knew the guards were there. Claire would be protected.

“Watkins, inform Lord Barnaby and Lieutenant Honeywell that I am expecting a guest. Be sure they let him pass when he comes. Then show him to the study.”

“Yes, Major.”

Sam turned around and went back into the room. He sank down in the chair that had been Hunt’s and waited.

The clock struck eleven, then twelve. Before the last chime of the midnight hour, Sam heard muffled voices from the hallway and sat with his eyes focused on the door.

“The Earl of Cardmall to see you, Major.”

Sam rose to his feet. “Show him in, Watkins.”

Watkins stepped back and Sam’s cousin entered. His cheeks were flushed, his hair plastered to his head, no doubt from riding bareheaded in the drizzling mist that had been falling since late evening. His clothes were askew on his body, as if he’d come in from a night of wild revelry as Ross was known to enjoy, never expecting to have to leave the house again. But it was the frantic look in his eyes that gave Sam the first warning. The wild desperation Sam saw on his cousin’s face that sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. “Come in, Ross. You look like you could use a drink.”

The Earl of Cardmall walked unsteadily across the room, then stopped while Sam poured them both a drink. Cardmall watched him as if in a daze, then took the glass Sam held out to him with trembling hands. Sam pointed to the nearest chair. “Would you like to sit?”

Ross tipped the glass back and downed the whole of it in one swallow. “You know why I’m here,” he said, bracing his hand against the back of the wing chair facing the desk. “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?”

Sam shook his head. “I prayed I was wrong, Ross. But I’m not, am I?”

Ross swiped the perspiration from his forehead. His face held a deathly pallor Sam associated with fear. A fear that would prompt a sane man to act with irrational behavior. A fear that would push a desperate man past the boundaries of sanity. Sam stepped behind the desk and slowly opened the top drawer where he’d placed the gun.

“Just give me the papers, Sam, and we’ll forget this whole thing.”

Sam shook his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Sam! We’re family!”

“In all but this, Ross. I’m a loyal British citizen first. I’m an officer in Her Majesty’s Army next. And I’m family last. Don’t ask me to betray everything I stand for. Don’t ask me to step aside and let you betray principles you’ll never survive if you abandon.”

“I have to. I don’t have a choice. I just overheard Father and Roseneau.” Ross staggered, then focused his gaze on Sam. His look contained even more desperation than before. “Hell, Sam. Do you know what they’ve done? I’m begging you—” He took an unsteady step forward, as if looking for a place to run and not finding one.

A jarring terror slammed through Sam’s chest as he watched his cousin’s frantic pacing. “Who, Ross? What
who’s
done?”

“Father! What he’s done! We’ll never survive this.
He’ll
never survive this.”

Sam struggled to make sense of what Ross was saying. How could it be his uncle? How could it be the Marquess of Rainforth?

“What are you saying, Ross?”

“You’ve got to help me, Sam. We have to get Father out of England. We have to—”

“Ross! Tell me what you heard.”

“We’re ruined, Sam. Ruined! Do you know what he’s done? Oh, God, Sam. Do you know the lives he’s destroyed? He’ll hang!”

The door burst open, and the Marquess of Rainforth stepped into the room. “Enough, Ross!”

Sam’s gaze spun to where his uncle stood. The expression on his face was hard, the look in his eyes lethal. But more terrifying was that in one hand he had a gun cocked and ready to fire. In his other, he held Claire hostage, his fingers clamped tightly around her arm.

“Look who I found coming down the stairs.” He pushed her forward without releasing her. “Now, Major. Tell the men who followed me to leave.” He shoved the gun against the side of Claire’s head. “Or I’ll kill her.”

Sam looked to where Barnaby stood in the open doorway. “Close the door, Barnaby.”

Barnaby hesitated, the look on his face filled with uncertainty.

“Leave!” Rainforth bellowed, jerking Claire toward him. “Or I’ll kill her!”

“Father! No!”

A small cry escaped from Claire, and Sam’s heart skipped a beat. His blood thundered inside his head. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t dare. One look at the fear in her eyes and he’d go mad.

Barnaby looked at him again, searching for any sign that would indicate what Sam wanted him to do. If Sam were the one Rainforth had the gun aimed at, he’d want them to take the risk. But not Claire. He couldn’t chance anything happening to her.

Sam gave Barnaby a dismissive nod, and he backed out of the room and closed the door.

They were alone. Sam felt a fear unlike anything he’d ever known. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. He couldn’t survive if it did. “Let her go, Rainforth. Don’t make this any worse than it already is.”

“You are hardly in a position to bargain, Samuel. Now, step back from the desk.”

Sam’s gaze slowly moved to Claire’s, and he fought the urge to leap over the desk and take her in his arms.

“Now!”

Rainforth lifted the gun and pointed it at Sam’s chest.

“Father! No!”

“Now, Major!”

Sam stepped back, enough to placate his uncle, yet not so much he couldn’t reach for the pistol in the desk drawer.

Rainforth nodded as if satisfied. “Go home, Ross. Or better yet, go to your club and await news of Major Bennett’s unfortunate accident.”

“No! No one has to be hurt.”

The Marquess of Rainforth smiled. “Oh, Ross. You poor fool. You don’t understand any of this.” He placed the pistol beneath Claire’s chin and pushed her head back. “You understand why it has to be like this, though, don’t you, Major?”

Sam felt the air leave his chest. He’d assumed the traitor was his cousin. Not his uncle. Assumed because of Ross’s flagrant spending and extravagant lifestyle, he’d done the unthinkable so he could continue living as he was accustomed. He hadn’t thought for a moment it was the man who’d taken him in when he’d been orphaned; who’d raised him when he had no one else. Not the man who’d been a father to him—who’d instilled in him a love of country and been the example of integrity and unfailing loyalty. Every part of Sam screamed it wasn’t possible for his uncle to be the one. But it was true. There was no doubting that the man Sam had looked up to his whole life had sold his soul as well as his country for a few pieces of silver.

Sam inched forward and placed his hand on the top of the desk. “I understand that unless you give yourself over to me, one of us will not survive the night.”

“How astute, Samuel. You are right, though. One of us will not survive this night regardless of what happens. I prefer to be the one left to see the sun rise.”

“Then let the lady go and there’s a possibility you will be.”

“Oh, no, Samuel. I would be a fool to think there is more than one way out of this, and I have not reached my advanced years by being a fool. Now, keep your hands where I can see them and step away from the desk.”

Rainforth leveled the gun at Sam’s chest and squeezed his finger slightly against the trigger.

Sam stepped back from the desk and lifted his hands in the air. He tried again. “The papers are here. Take them. Just let Lady Huntingdon go.”

Rainforth shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. She’s my safe passage out of this.”

Fear grew inside Sam, and he lowered his hands, praying he could reach the gun in the drawer. “Why, Rainforth? Why did you do it?”

“Why do you think, Samuel? For the money. For my son.”

Ross reacted to his father’s admission with abhorrent shock. “Me! You sold government secrets—for me! God help us! No!”

“How else could I support the life you led, Ross? How else could I amass enough to secure the Rainforth holdings after I was gone? The bills I covered to pay for your lavish lifestyle every month were more than all of the Rainforth profits. How was I to leave enough so you’d never have to go without after I was gone? So you wouldn’t lose everything that would someday be yours?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask me to curb my spending? Why didn’t you just once talk to me?”

“You’re my son. My only son. It’s my responsibility to provide everything you needed.”

“I
had
everything I needed.
More
than I needed. I would have done with less.”

Rainforth shook his head then looked back at Sam. “If only you would have given the papers to Roseneau, Samuel. Then the lady wouldn’t be in danger, and you wouldn’t have to die.”

“But you know I have them,” Sam said, lowering his hand inside the desk drawer.

Rainforth laughed. “Yes. Roseneau convinced me you had. But I knew you wouldn’t think of me first. I knew you’d think Ross was the traitor.”

“Me?”

Rainforth’s gaze turned to his son, the look in his eyes one of unadulterated love. “Do you remember the code you and Samuel devised when you were young?”

“That was a game, Father! A code Sam made up so we could pass notes Master Graham, our tutor, couldn’t read.”

“The code was brilliant. If you hadn’t deciphered it for me, Ross, I wouldn’t have been able to figure it out, either. No one could. That’s what made it so safe. But when Huntingdon stole the papers from Roseneau’s safe, I knew it was only a matter of time until he showed them to Samuel.”

Ross reached out a hand and braced himself against a chair. “And you knew once Sam saw the coded messages, he’d think I was the traitor.”

Rainforth smiled. “And that’s what you thought, wasn’t it, Samuel?”

Rainforth turned his glazed look in Sam’s direction, and Sam saw the demented ruthlessness in his eyes.

“Yes. That’s what I thought.”

Sam waited, then let his gaze move to Claire’s. What he saw tore at his heart. Her face was pale and her lips were pinched tight, but her eyes darted from him to Rainforth, then to the door Barnaby was behind, as if she was planning the best way to save him.

Sam’s heart raced in his chest. He already knew the risks she was willing to take. Facing Roseneau on her own had taken more courage than most men he knew could gather.

He clamped his hand over the gun and positioned his finger around the trigger. “Where is Roseneau?” Sam asked, praying to distract his uncle just enough to gain an advantage. Praying Claire would wait a second longer before she made a move.

Rainforth laughed. “He fled England the minute he discovered the lady had somehow switched the real necklace with a fake. Quite like the proverbial rat on a sinking ship. He was squeamish about killing from the start.”

“But you weren’t?”

“Perhaps I was the first time. One accustoms oneself to it. Self-preservation puts killing on a different level. Don’t you find that to be true, Samuel? You’ve taken more than your share of lives, haven’t you?”

“Yes. More than my share. But I never thought I’d be forced to kill the man who raised me.”

“How sentimental, Samuel. But we’ve wasted enough time. Ross, leave.”

“No, Father. You can’t—”

“Leave!”

The Marquess of Rainforth turned his gaze to his son for a fraction of a second, but it gave Sam the time he needed to raise his gun. Rainforth had his pistol focused on Sam, and Sam knew he wouldn’t get a shot off before Rainforth fired. He only prayed it would give Claire the chance to escape before his uncle turned the gun on her.

Rainforth caught Sam’s movement and fired. Sam felt a burning sting in his side as his gun flew from his hand and slid across the floor. The force of the bullet being fired from such a short distance pulled him off balance. He heard Claire’s scream as he spun to the side. He struggled to stay on his feet so he could get to Claire, but couldn’t.

Everything after that moved in slow motion. He watched Claire shove Rainforth away from her. Rainforth stumbled and reached out to right himself. Then lifted his hand and pointed the gun at Claire.

“No!”

Sam yelled and pushed himself toward Rainforth. If he could only step between them he could . . .

A loud explosion rent the air and Sam watched Claire dive to the floor. Rainforth’s eyes opened wide, and he stood unmoving for a moment before the front of his pristine white shirt turned a dark red. He staggered, then sank to his knees before crumpling to the floor.

Sam jerked his gaze to the side where the bullet had been fired from and sucked in a harsh breath. Ross stood with his arm still outstretched while smoke spiraled from a pistol clutched in his hand. His face was deathly pale, his gasps of air coming in short, jagged gulps. There was an expression of horror in his eyes.

“Ross,” Sam said through the pain. “It’s over now. Put the gun down.”