Till Dawn Tames the Night (43 page)

She looked at him, her heart breaking in two. If she helped him, she would never see him again; if she didn't, this torture would continue until she was completely destroyed. Suddenly she felt as if she were faced with the decision of a quick death or a slow one.

She averted her eyes, too hurt even to answer him.

"Tell me, Aurora. Tell me what you know and you'll be going to St. George's this week."

"I—I'm not sure—" she said, her voice catching.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what you want. I don't know what I know."

"Then we'll go back to the house and talk. If you're honest with me, I'll know it. I'll take the information you can give and send you back with Flossie." He took her hand, his face as grave as she had ever seen it.

Woodenly she followed him out of the glittering turquoise surf, and in her grief, she forgot once more to ask him about the key.

An angel from heaven
came
tumbling down

And asked the way to
Aran

"I've come to find my long lost Star

Can you help me with my errand?"

Lizzy
Lizard sat and smiled

And stared across the sea

"I know the way

But cannot tell

So silly, silly me!"

She was finally in the dragon's lair.

Vashon's apartments were done in malachite, black, and gold, and were executed with a richness in which even the Regent would have found himself at home. The antechamber possessed the only fireplace in the entire household, and because it was hardly ever used, it was covered with an enormous Thomas Hope fire screen of swags, rams' heads, and arrows.

Vashon motioned her to a wicked-looking chair with chimera arm supports, and unmindful of her wet skirts, she sat on the chair's costly black silk squab cushion. She watched him as he went to a gilt-and-ebony desk and rolled out a detailed map of the world. It was obvious he planned for her to show him where the emerald was, as if she could just rise and point to the spot. She suddenly knew even if she could do that, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Here are the two verses." He handed her a book covered in salmon-and-gold Venetian paper. She looked down and read in his handwriting the verses of the rhyme she knew so well.

"Tell me what you know," he prompted.

She closed the book. "Really, I know so little."

"You know your father's name was Michael
Dayne
. How do you know that?"

"I remember some things."

"What things?" He forced her gaze to meet his. She quickly looked away.

"Stupid things.
All irrelevant.
I remember my father taking me once to a ball at Carlton House." She shook her head. "I don't mean we went to the actual ball, of course, but I remember him taking me there when the guests were arriving. We stood in the street and watched as carriage after carriage arrived. The ladies were so beautiful all in their satins, and I remember my father was quite enthralled with the display of jewels." Her voice lowered in shame. "That was when he first taught me the rhyme."

She stood and nervously began pacing.
"What might I remember, Vashon?
I was too young. These things have no significance."

"Perhaps if we talk enough, there'll be one thing that has significance. Come look at the map." He took her hand and guided her to the table.

She glanced at it,
then
turned away. "I can't see anything. The rhyme is nonsensical. Nothing signifies."

"Look." He forced her back.

She glanced again,
then
sighed in despair.

He turned her head. His eyes glittered like the emerald he sought. "For some reason, I seem to feel your heart isn't in this, Aurora. Don't you want to leave on the
Resolute!
"

"Yes, yes, of course I want to leave," she admitted too hastily. Turning back to the map, she made an effort to scan it again, but her gaze wandered.

"Look at the map, Aurora."

"I can't find it, I tell you!" she suddenly burst out. She walked from the table and looked out the louvers to Mount Soufriere. For the first time since she'd been on the island, the peak had lost its luxurious curtain of mist, and without it its jagged summit looked almost skeletal.

"I thought we'd agreed this was the best course. You would tell me all you knew, and I would accept it and find the Star without you." He walked up and stood behind her. "Why am I suddenly finding your cooperation gone?"

She closed her eyes. Why wasn't she cooperating? The
Resolute
was her last grasp at sanity. If she knew what was good for her, she should be doing everything she could to appease this man and be on the ship when it sailed. After all, why was helping Vashon still against her morals? She'd done worse things. That night on Grand
Talimen
had proved she was as subject to straying as John believed her to be. But now, because of that night, her desire for retaliation had turned as weak as her desire for Vashon had grown strong.

She took a deep breath and faced him. "It's futile, Vashon. I can't help you. I remember too little to help. You've held me all this time for nothing."

"I think not." His eyes narrowed. "In fact, I think you know a great deal more, but for some reason, you've decided not to tell me."

"Why would I do that?" She made an attempt to laugh, but it sounded false even to her.

"I don't know why, especially when you know I'm not a man who likes to play games." He grabbed her arm. In his anger he almost hurt her. "What is it, Aurora? Why are you suddenly silent?"

"I'm not!" She tried to pull away but couldn't.

"Then tell me about your past. Tell me everything."

"There's nothing to tell!"

He grabbed her to him. "Look at me," he demanded, forcing her to stare up at him. When their gazes clashed, he said, "Tell me you're speaking the truth. By all that you hold dear, tell me that you know nothing more."

"I—I—" She looked at him,
then
looked away, unable to answer.

Upon her refusal she expected a great burst of fury, but as usual Vashon was most dangerous when he was calm.

He dropped his hands. His arms crossed over his chest and he studied her. She didn't even need to see him to know how cold and hard his eyes were.

"Are we through?" she whispered, desperate to retire to her room and sort out all her terrible new feelings. She should have known Vashon wouldn't let her.

"You aren't leaving here until I know where Michael
Dayne
took the Star of
Aran
," he stated slowly.

He went to the massive mahogany doors of his apartments, and she flinched when she heard the click of the lock. He
turned,
his back to the door. She watched him, suddenly knowing what it felt like to be dragon's prey.

"What if there are no answers, Vashon?" she nearly begged.

"Have I ever told you the story of the
Leviathan?"
he said.

She shook her head. They faced each other across the room, but in his violent mood she felt as if he were right on top of her.

"The
Leviathan
was Isaac's ship." He stepped closer. "It was a beautiful ship, running the route from Southampton to Algiers. Isaac was one of the best captains I ever saw. He took care of that ship like it was his wife."

"What does the
Leviathan
have to do with now?"

He didn't let her continue.

"One day, she was broadsided by a ship that flew the Union Jack. Isaac couldn't believe it. Even pirates had the honor to display their true standard when they fired."

"The ship was Peterborough's?"

He smiled. "Ah, I forget how astute you are. Yes, of course the ship was Peterborough's."

"And he pirated it and Isaac has never forgiven him."

"Yes."

"So on your 'travels' you and Isaac never took a ship?" she asked sarcastically. "I think you're not the man to cast the first stone."

"There's more."

He took another step forward. "As a youth Peterborough studied surgery in Germany. When the crew of the
Leviathan
wouldn't surrender, he took Isaac and removed his fingers one by one until he folded. Some would say Isaac was not a brave man to give up his ship, but he endured having three fingers chopped off. Think of it, Aurora. Each knuckle, each bone, cut away . . ."

She closed her eyes, shuddering. She couldn't believe poor Isaac had had to endure such torture. It was truly horrifying.

He seemed pleased by her reaction. "Shall I have the men come in and tell you their individual stories? Cook, for instance. Shall I have him explain to you the manner in which he lost his eye?"

"No," she gasped.

"Ah, I see this sickens you."

"It would sicken any decent citizen."

"Then certainly you see their need to avenge themselves on Peterborough."

Hating herself, she remained silent.

"Two hundred men were on the
Leviathan,
Aurora. Only twenty-six survived."

She choked back a sob.

He looked at her, triumph in his eyes. "There you are
,
you can't ignore those souls, can you?
Those hundred men who scream from the grave for vengeance."

Shaking, she sat back down on the chimera armchair. There was no way she could hold back anything now. Not even if all her happiness depended on it.

When a moment passed and she had gathered herself, she asked, "What did Peterborough do to you, Vashon? You weren't on the
Leviathan.
I want to know what he did to
you."

He lifted her chin. "If I tell you what he did to me, will that spur you to action? I think not. You like to help innocents, Aurora. And you know better than anyone that my innocence has long since departed."

"Tell me what he did . . ."

"Help those wretched men who went down with their ship! They need you!"

She stared at him, in awe of his manipulations. He suspected there might be a chance her feelings for him would cloud her desire to avenge Peterborough. So he directed her empathy toward the victims of the
Leviathan.
And it was working brilliantly. She couldn't get the picture of those suffering, drowning men out of her mind.

"Help them, Aurora. Only you can make sure they didn't die in vain."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and began to speak, her words uttered in a hopeless monotone.

"My father's name was Michael. He was from just outside of Hugh Town on St. Mary's, but I grew up in London. I remember a flat where we lived. West End, I think it was. The Horse Guards passed every day, afraid of more corn riots."

"Can you remember anything else about your father?"

"My father—is difficult to recall. I just remember I lived there."

"Go on."

A part of her began dying while she spoke, for with every word, her hold on him was unraveling like a thread. "There's truly so little. I recall only fragments— the sunshine spilling onto my chipped little eggcup in the morning . . . being afraid of the darkness beneath my bed . . ." Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"My father reciting a nursery rhyme."

"Yes, let's discuss the rhyme." He pulled up the matching chimera chair. "Tell me everything about the rhyme."

"We rehearsed it every night, like prayers before bedtime. He made sure I'd never forget it."

"He wanted you to have the emerald."

"I suppose," she said bleakly.

Mistaking her mood, he pulled her hands into his and said, "I'm not going to cheat you out of your due, Aurora. I want you to know that. As far as I'm concerned, once I've got the emerald into my possession, it's yours. You may have it."

She laughed so bitterly, she nearly choked. "Ah, just what I've always dreamed of, an emerald as large as my fist. How warm that will keep me on those chill London nights."

He paused and looked at her. Slowly he withdrew his hands. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don't care about that cursed Star of
Aran
. When I return to London, I shall go back to the Home and pray I get my position back. I have no need for your ill-gotten riches."

"You'll need money to take care of yourself. You can't go back to the Home."

"Oh, can't I?"

"No, you cannot. Peterborough knows about the Home, so it's far too dangerous."

"There's no other place for me to go."

He took her ruby necklace and, balling it into his fist, he pulled her forward. "Listen to me, my beautiful girl, you are no match for Peterborough. He knows your father stole the Star from him and even if he gets his hands back on it again, he'll take great pleasure in finding you and making you pay for your father's crime,
comprends-tu
>.
xxx
You're not going back to that Home. Flossie will take you to St. George's, and there you'll stay until I say otherwise."