Ransomed Jewels (4 page)

She labored for air, and he held her hand until her breathing returned to normal. And wished her small hand didn’t fit so perfectly in his.

Chapter 4

The sun was high in the sky, the day nearly half gone. Sam had watched her toss and turn in restless slumber for hours. More than once he’d had to pin her to the mattress to keep her from tearing her stitches open or injuring herself further. More than once he’d had to assure her that she was safe. That her attacker was gone.

Twice he’d tried to feed her more of the broth, with little success.

He looked at the half-full bowl and decided to try again in a little while, when she was more awake.

Sam relaxed against the cushions, then bolted forward when she moved. Her chest rose with a gasp of air, and her hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets covering her. Sam reached for her hands and held her tight while he whispered in her ear.

“It’s all right. You’re safe now. He’s gone.”

“No!”

“Yes, my lady. You’re safe.”

She struggled once more, then opened her eyes and stared at him. He knew the moment recognition dawned. She took a sharp breath, then released it.

He paused with her hand still in his. “Lie still. You don’t want to tear your stitches open.”

She relaxed, then turned her head toward the open window. “What time is it?”

“The middle of the afternoon.”

She closed her eyes. “Where’s Maude?”

“She went belowstairs to get you some hot broth.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That hardly matters. You have to eat.”

“I want you to leave.”

She tried to pull away from him, but the pain from moving stole her breath. Instead, she clutched her fingers tighter around his hand and held on to him. “Go,” she finally managed.

“Not a chance.”

Her reaction was obvious, and she forced her pain-filled gaze to lock with his. “I want you . . . gone.”

Sam felt a hitch in his breathing as he pulled his chair closer, still keeping her hand anchored in his. “Not until I have the necklace,” he said without releasing her gaze.

“I can’t give it to you.”

A rush of anger and fury exploded like fireworks of bright light behind his eyes. Sam took several harsh breaths, waiting for his temper to abate. He searched for any conceivable reason she might have to keep the necklace. But all that came to mind was greed. The thought that Hunt had been so desperate to keep this woman’s love that he’d risked his honor and integrity made Sam ill.

When he felt he at least had a small hold on his temper, he leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. “Do you know what you have, Lady Huntingdon? Do you know the value of the necklace you refuse to give up?” He took a deep breath as another wave of anger exploded inside him. “And I don’t mean in monetary worth. I mean in human terms.”

She closed her eyes as if she didn’t want to hear what he was going to tell her. Well, too bloody damn bad! He wanted her to know what was at stake. What power she held in her hands. “The necklace your husband gave you is the tool we need to bring about a quicker end to the war. Having it will save thousands of lives. If you refuse to give the necklace over, you’re as much as executing countless innocent young men.”

She took a painful gasp of air, and the terror Sam saw in her eyes gave him reason to hope. Her next words killed it. “If I gave you the necklace . . . would you give it to Roseneau?”

Sam felt his temper rise. “Hardly, my lady. England has greater need of it. Roseneau is in part responsible for funding Russia’s role in the Crimean War.”

She turned her face from him, then pulled her hand from his grasp. The movement cost her much. She paled as she pressed her lips together in what he assumed was an effort to keep from crying out in pain.

Sam felt the rein on his temper slip. “The necklace doesn’t belong to you. Your husband may have stolen it to buy your love, but once he knew what he had, he didn’t intend for you to keep it. And he certainly didn’t intend for Roseneau to have it back. He realized how important it was as a political tool. Both the necklace and the papers are invaluable.”

Her bruised features froze. “Papers?”

“Yes. Papers he took along with the necklace. Surely you don’t intend to withhold those?”

“I don’t know . . . about any papers.”

“Yes, you do. And I want them.”

When she didn’t answer, he bolted from his chair. “Your husband paid the ultimate sacrifice for those papers. He took a monumental risk and gave his life because he knew how valuable they were. I’ll not let you destroy what he did.”

Her face turned more ashen than before.

Sam braced his hands on either side of her and leaned close. “It is too late to undo all that has been done. Too late to bring Hunt back, but I want you to know this much. I will have that necklace. And when I have it in my possession, I will hand it over to the British government. Perhaps something can be salvaged from the damage your association with Roseneau has already done. Perhaps some good can be realized from the noble deed Hunt tried to accomplish. But most of all, perhaps I will be able to understand how Hunt could love someone whose greed would allow her to betray every principle he stood for. Although I sincerely doubt it.”

Sam pushed himself away from her and raked his fingers through his hair. Then he made the mistake of looking down at the bed. The Marchioness of Huntingdon—the object of his scorn and ridicule—had her eyes shut tight. But in the warm light from the sun filtering through the window, he saw her skin glisten as one tear after another streamed from the corners of her eyes.

Guilt assaulted him like a heavy weight pressing against his chest. Yet, he refused to take back his words. She, more than anyone, deserved his wrath and anger. By her refusal to help, she’d reduced Hunt’s honor, and made his death a meaningless sacrifice.

Sam walked to the window and stared out at nothing. Hunt’s face appeared as a reflection in the glass, so real and lifelike Sam had to hold back his hand to keep from reaching out to touch him. Instead, he looked over his shoulder toward the bed and stared at the marchioness’s pain-ravaged face. When he could bear his guilt no longer, he made his way back to her bedside and reached for the laudanum-laced wine. “Here, drink one more swallow of this wine. It will help you sleep.”

He tipped the glass before she had a chance to turn away from him. A small amount of the liquid made its way down her throat before she coughed, her body arching in pain. He laid her back on the pillows and wiped her face with a cool, wet cloth. When her breathing had slowed, he sat down beside the bed and waited for the drug to take effect.

Eventually, her features relaxed.

For a long time, he kept his vigil, watching her chest slowly rise and fall. He held her still when she thrashed in her delirium, and whispered comforting words when she moaned in her sleep. And when she cried out for help, he assured her he would keep her safe.

Finally, she fell into a deep sleep, where even her nightmares couldn’t reach her.

Sam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Praying he could keep his own nightmares at bay.

Hunt may have taken the necklace because he loved his wife, but he’d also thrown himself in front of the assassin’s bullets to save Sam’s life. With Hunt still cradled in his arms, Sam had vowed he wouldn’t let his friend’s death be for naught. He had four weeks to find the necklace and hand it over to the Foreign Office. Four weeks to discover the traitor’s identity.

He owed Hunt for what he’d done. Owed him for saving his life.

One woman’s greed was not going to destroy everything Hunt had stood for.

Chapter 5

“You’re finally awake.”

The concern she heard in his voice washed over her like a soft, gentle breeze. A breeze she knew could become a violent thunderstorm without warning. She closed her eyes and listened as he moved closer.

“Here. Drink this,” he said. “It’s just water.” He lifted her head and pressed a glass to her lips.

Claire wasn’t brave enough to look into his eyes. Instead, she stared at the long, muscular fingers that held the glass. She took a sip. The water was cool and felt wonderful going down her parched throat. She’d been so dry for so long. She drank greedily.

“That’s enough for now.” He took the glass from her mouth. “You can have more later.”

He lowered her head and no longer touched her, but even without looking, Claire knew he hadn’t moved. Knew he towered over her, waiting for her to look at him. She did, and it was the biggest mistake she could have made.

She looked over his shoulder. “How long has it . . . been?”

“Three days.”

A rush of panic raced through her. Three wasted days she could have used to search for the necklace that would save her brother. His voice pulled her from her turmoil and back to the present.

“I thought perhaps you’d decided never to wake up.”

“Are you . . . disappointed?”

His features hardened. “No.”

“Where’s . . . Maude?”

“She’s resting. She hasn’t gotten much sleep lately. I had a difficult time making her leave you even this long. I don’t want to disturb her yet.”

Claire closed her eyes.

“You don’t have to worry, Lady Huntingdon. You’re safe now.”

Safe.
Claire couldn’t remember what being safe felt like. She couldn’t remember her life before Hunt died and the threats started.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“I helped Maude.”

She sighed heavily. She could tell by the dark circles rimming his eyes he’d done more than help. She knew he’d left her side very little the past three days. That he’d gotten even less sleep. “Thank you.”

“Here,” he said, holding a bowl of soup close to her mouth. “Bronnely said to feed you the minute you woke up. You need to eat.”

Her stomach rolled at the thought of putting anything in it. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s hardly the point.” He set the bowl back on the table and placed his arm beneath her shoulder. A sharp ache sucked the air from her, and she held her breath until he’d propped another pillow behind her.

“Just take a few deep breaths. It’ll distract you from the pain.”

“Is that . . . experience . . . talking?” she gasped.

He ignored her question and reached for the bowl of soup, then sat on the edge of the bed. “If I hold the bowl, can you feed yourself?”

“Yes, but I’m not—”

“Eat.” He pushed a spoon into her hand and held the bowl closer.

Claire lifted the first spoonful, but her hand shook so that she barely got any of the broth into her mouth. The second spoonful wasn’t much better. By the time she lifted the third spoonful, she was exhausted, and the spoon fell from her fingers into the bowl.

“Here. Let me.”

“No. I’ve had—”

He ignored her again and filled the spoon and put it to her mouth. She had no choice but to eat what he forced into her mouth.

The soup was delicious and still warm, but it had been so long since she’d eaten anything, her stomach soon rebelled. “That’s enough,” she said and turned her head away from him.

He gave up and set the bowl back on the table. “Bronnely said you haven’t been eating.”

Claire wanted to laugh. Eating had been the furthest thing from her mind. Searching for the necklace had consumed her every minute since Hunt had died. She’d begun the second she’d received the first threat.

“Why? And don’t tell me it was grief over losing your husband.”

Her eyes snapped open and locked with his. The steel gray in his gaze was hard and calculating. His icy stare penetrated her like a rapier sword and ignited her anger. “How dare you.”

He was too close. The heat from his body burned through the covers where he sat next to her. She wished he’d move. Wished he’d go far away and leave her alone.

For an eternity, neither of them spoke. But there were too many questions to which Claire needed answers. Too many contradictions between the man she knew Hunt was, the man she’d lived with for seven years, and what everyone assumed their relationship had been. Maybe, just maybe, the man who’d rescued her knew the truth. Maybe he’d known Hunt better than she had. Knew why everyone assumed she had the necklace. It was more than possible.

“Did you know my husband well, Major?”

A hollow smile crossed his face. “About as well as anyone, I imagine. Did you?”

His boldness stole her breath. “Obviously, not as well as I thought. How was it . . . we never met?”

“That was Hunt’s idea. Being a spy for Her Majesty isn’t the most respected occupation in England. Though I tried to keep my role with the government a secret, I wasn’t always successful. Certain members of society knew I was a military advisor. I am a major, after all. As to any other role I play in the government, there is speculation, of course. But nothing that has been proven. Hunt thought if we were seen together overly much, people might link him to any covert operations of which I was a part. We couldn’t afford to risk the exposure.”

Claire closed her eyes and struggled to keep herself from crashing under the weight of this information. She’d lived with a spy for seven years, all the while pretending it had no consequences. But she could no longer ignore what he’d been.

The major turned on her as if he’d read her thoughts. “You have no right to judge him. He was invaluable to his country. His title gave him access to people and places the rest of us couldn’t begin to infiltrate. He was a master when it came to living a dual role.”

Claire wanted to laugh. Oh, he was a master at living a dual role, all right. As was she. Their public life had been totally opposite from the life they led behind closed doors.

“Tell me about France,” she said, wanting to forget the way things had been. “How did Hunt get the necklace from Roseneau?”

Claire could see the frown deepen on his features. Could see the agitation in his movements. He rose from the side of the bed and stood by the window.

“I’m not sure it’s necessary for you to know.”

“Don’t you? I was nearly killed because of . . . what happened there. I’d like to know . . . exactly what it is I’m . . . risking my life for.”

The major clenched his teeth, then turned to face her. “Hunt and I were sent to France to retrieve jewels the Russian government intended to further fund the war. Roseneau was the middleman. The exchange was to take place sometime during the ball Roseneau was hosting.”

A sense of disbelief washed over her. “The ball that Hunt and I attended?”

“Yes.”

“You were there, too?”

“I was your driver.”

She didn’t want to believe him. She didn’t want to know that Hunt would involve her in his work, would risk her safety along with his own. But he had. She’d been there with him. No wonder Roseneau was convinced she had the necklace.

“The jewels were locked in Roseneau’s safe. We couldn’t let the exchange take place. With the money the Russians would receive in exchange for the jewels, they could continue the war indefinitely. The cost in British lives would be unimaginable.”

“And Hunt took the jewels?”

“Yes. As well as a necklace no one knew would be there. The Queen’s Blood. An icon in Russian history. I believe Roseneau realized the war was close to ending and that this exchange would be one of his last. He must have taken the Queen’s Blood either to ransom back to Russia, or to sell on the black market.”

“Didn’t he realize how dangerous that would be?”

Sam wanted to smile. “People involved in the ransom of jewels know the risks. And are willing to take them.”

“But why did Hunt take the necklace if it wasn’t one of the pieces you were supposed to steal?” she asked, her voice a weak entreaty.

He lifted his gaze and leveled her a piercing stare. “Why do you think he took it, my lady?”

The look in his eyes grew darker. More menacing. For the first time, Claire was frightened of more than the domineering powers he possessed. “I have no idea. I was hoping . . . you could . . . tell me.”

“What if I told you he took the necklace for you?”

Claire felt the air leave her body. Nothing he could say would have shocked her more. “I’d call you a liar.”

“Well, he did.”

The major spat out the words with more vehemence than she was prepared to hear. His tone dripped with a bitterness that sank like a lead ball to the pit of her stomach.

“He took the necklace for you. Because he thought you were worth it.” He swiped his hand down his stubbled face. “And for spite. Taking it out from beneath Roseneau’s nose was a masterful coup. Considering.”

Claire’s breath caught while she tried to absorb what he was saying. What he was implying. “Considering what, Major? Are you assuming I withheld my love so my husband would lavish me with gifts? Is that what you think?”

“Perhaps. Or he was afraid he’d already lost your love and wanted to buy it back.”

“You can’t believe that.”

“Can’t I?” The major leveled her a harsher glare. “What if I told you I witnessed the display of affection you and Roseneau shared in the darkened corridor the night of his ball?”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. He’d seen her and thought . . . “That wasn’t—”

“I know what I saw, Lady Huntingdon.”

An ominous silence nearly choked her.

“Well, my conscience is clear, Major Bennett,” Claire answered angrily. Why couldn’t he just go away and leave her alone? “I’m surprised, given your opinion of me, you didn’t let me die.”

“I could hardly risk you dying before I had the necklace.”

Claire fought the pounding in her head. What kind of person did he think she was? She saw the muscles in his jaw clench in anger. Watched as he rose menacingly from his chair and towered over her. She wanted to look away but couldn’t. Wanted to be anywhere but in the same room with him, in the same city. In the same world. His next words frightened her.

“Roseneau will not give up until he has the necklace. You will never be safe as long as you have it.”

“How foolish of me, then, not to give it to his henchman when he came for it.”

The glare in the major’s eyes was swift, his anger unmistakable.

“I see,” she said, watching him through pain-clouded eyes. “You’re trying to tell me I’d be safer if I gave it to
you
instead.”

“That would be best for everyone.”

She wanted to laugh. “It would have been best if my husband hadn’t taken it in the first place.”

She saw regret in his eyes even though the rest of his face revealed nothing.

“Why did you wait until now to come for the necklace?” She sighed through the pain. “Hunt’s been dead for four months.”

He hesitated. “I was detained.”

He avoided any further explanation and busied himself by placing another cool cloth against her burning skin. His touch was gentle, but the tight clench of his jaw hinted at another emotion. When he spoke, his words caught her off guard.

“I know about your involvement with Roseneau, my lady. You may have fooled your husband, but I’m not so blind as Hunt.”

“I don’t know what display of affection you believe you saw,” she said, unable to control her anger. “Nor am I involved with Roseneau in any manner. I do not know the man. Nor do I even like the man. He came upon me the night of the ball and tried to force his attentions on me. If you would have watched, as you say you did, you would have seen me push him away, then leave him.” She stopped to catch her breath. “But you are obviously more interested in believing the worst of me.”

The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her.

“Roseneau’s not going to win,” he said. “I don’t intend to leave your side until I have the necklace.”

She sighed. “And if I refuse to give it to you?”

His hand lifted from the cut at her shoulder, and he leveled her a look so blinding it sent chills down her spine.

“I won’t allow you to keep it,” he said, his voice soft, deadly. “Representatives from Her Majesty will meet with French and Russian emissaries in in less than a month. I intend to see our government has the crown jewels.”

“And the papers?”

“The papers will reveal the traitor. They’ll give us the identity of the man receiving the jewels for military secrets, lead us to the British citizen who would trade our soldiers’ lives for his own gain.”

His gaze burned through her, his unrelenting hostility and determination a formidable force. She refused to be cowed by it. “What if you do not have the necklace?”

“I will have it.”

Claire dropped her head deeper into the pillows and closed her eyes. She could never trust him. No matter how much she might want to give the necklace to him, or how desperate he was to take it away from her, she couldn’t consider handing it over. Even if she had it. The major would never give it to Roseneau, and Alex would pay with his life. The British government had the other jewels to bargain with. The necklace was the only leverage she had to free Alex.

And she didn’t even have that. Yet.

He walked to the window and braced his hand against the wood frame. “Have you considered, Lady Huntingdon, how you intend to live with yourself knowing you caused the deaths of thousands of innocent young men?”

Claire bristled. She fought the overwhelming pain slicing through her and the weakness sapping her. “I did not ask to be tossed into this game you and my husband were playing, Major. I was given no choice. Just as I have no choice now . . . but to play it out as I see fit.”

He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed, making his threatening frown even more daunting. “I think not,” he said, his voice soft and menacing. “Roseneau is not worth even one man’s life.
You
are not worth one man’s life.”

“It must be wonderful to be so self-righteous.”