Too Dangerous to Desire (21 page)

Then we are in hot water.

Or perhaps boiling oil, she added with an inward grimace. Thank God she had a few moments of warning to think…to think…

“Move.” Dudley punctuated his growled order by pressing the steel gun barrel against her spine.

Up ahead, at the end of the corridor, she saw a stirring of sunlight through the half-open French doors. The sound of the sea—or was it just the thrumming of her pulse—rose up in a wave to fill her ears, drowning out all but a faint buzz of voices.

Sophie closed her eyes for an instant, willing herself to stay calm.

“What the devil is this?” An unfamiliar voice, most likely that of Morton. “Damnation, explain yourself, Dudley.”

“Actually why don’t we let that guttersnipe Daggett and his slut do the talking.”

Improvise, improvise.
It was important to let Cameron know as much as possible about what Dudley knew.

She turned to face Dudley, needing to draw little on acting ability to appear agitated. “I am not, as you put it, his slut. Yes, I was forced to endure his advances at The Wolf’s Lair, but only because he, too, was blackmailing me.”

Darting a daggered look at Cameron, who was puffing nonchalantly on a vile-smelling cheroot, she added. “Men! To the Devil with the lot of you! I’m being bullied and threatened for information that I don’t possess. Nor, for that matter, is there any certainty that it actually exists.”

Neddy was first to speak up. “I believe her!” he said, leaping to her defense. “Sophie is no slut.”

“Shut up,” snapped Dudley. The pistol pointed for a moment at Neddy’s chest before drawing a bead on Cameron. “So, what do you have to say for yourself, Daggett?”

“About what?” drawled Cameron, though his mouth had gone dry as dust on seeing Sophie shoved out onto the terrace.

“They are diddling us, Morton,” snarled Dudley. “After you left The Wolf’s Lair, I went upstairs for a tup and who did I happen to spot in one of the rooms?” The pistol cut an obscene little gesture. “This Hellhound and his she-bitch engaged in a bit of slap and tickle. So I can’t help but wonder—what game are they playing?”

Morton’s jaw tightened. “Well, Daggett?”

“Lord Dudley isn’t the only one who likes to peep at private encounters in the Lair,” he replied. “I spied on an earlier encounter between him and Miss Lawrance, and decided there was money to be made from whatever trouble was afoot.” He flicked a bit of ash from the glowing tip of his cheroot. “Alas, Miss Lawrance had nothing of value to trade, save for her rather charming body. And as I am not averse to pleasures of the flesh—especially when they come for free—I took my pound of flesh, so to speak.”

A growl rumbled in Neddy’s throat.

“I must say there is something rather titillating about deflowering an Innocent in a brothel.” Cameron waggled a wolfish grin at Sophie. “And seeing as you appeared to enjoy the experience, perhaps we can do it again—”

Emitting an inarticulate roar, Neddy launched his beefy bulk forward, his huge hands grabbing for Cameron’s throat.

Sidestepping the charge with a deft spin, he smashed his knee into Neddy’s groin. “It seems that you have another admirer, Miss Lawrance,” he remarked as the blacksmith dropped to the slates, his voice now pitched to a whimpering moan. “But apparently he was more of a gentleman than I.”

Morton’s face relaxed slightly. “You are a right bastard, aren’t you, Daggett?”

“A fact that ought to please you,” responded Cameron coolly. He offered a hand to the still-groaning Neddy. “No hard feelings, Wadsworth. Had I known you had a tendre for the gel, I would have tempered my tongue.”

“Bastard,” hissed Neddy through his teeth as he took the proffered help and hauled himself to his feet. Arms locked together, the two of them stood face to face for a long moment.

A tactical mistake
, realized Cameron, watching the other man’s eyes narrow to a slitted stare.

“Bastard,” repeated Neddy, recognition dawning on his blunt-cut features. “Why, it’s Cam Fanning—who we all speculated was the old Wolcott’s by-blow.” Letting out a grim laugh, he turned to Morton and Dudley. “His name isn’t Daggett, it’s Fanning. He’s Sophie’s old sweetheart—and the man you are hunting.”

Cameron didn’t wait for the pair’s reaction. Shoving Neddy hard into Dudley, he darted forward and clipped Morton with a solid punch to the jaw.

Seeing the three men down and dazed, he seized Sophie’s hand and hustled her to the terrace railing.

“Hold on tight, Sunbeam,” he murmured, swinging her up into his arms. “Time to fly.”

S
ophie clung to Cameron’s shoulders, and for a moment, the solid shape and strength of him melted the ice-cold terror from her bones.

He was alive and well—nothing else mattered, she thought as they hit the ground with a jarring thud.

Rolling to his feet, he grabbed her hand and set off at a dead run.

Safety—safety lay just a few swift, sure strides ahead.

But an instant later, that illusion was shattered by the crack of a pistol shot.

“Cam!” Sophie screamed as he stumbled and nearly lost his footing on the steep path leading down the wooded slope. She ducked, branches whipping against her cheeks, and spotted an ugly gash in his right boot just below the knee, the torn leather stained with crimson.

“Cam!”

“It’s just a scratch, sweeting,” he said through gritted teeth. Keeping hold of her hand, he lurched into the cover of the trees. “This way—if we can make our way over the top of the hill, we can circle back to the stables.”

Briars snagged at her skirts, roots tripped up her heavy walking shoes. Gasping for breath, Sophie tried to shake off his grip. She hadn’t eaten since dawn and with her limbs still badly cramped from the coach ride, she found that her strength was fast ebbing.

“Go!” she pleaded. “Go on without me.”

He answered with an oath.

“Please, Cam. They will kill you if they catch you. But I—I won’t come to any harm.”

“Leave you to their mercy?” He let out a mirthless laugh as he swung her around a fallen tree. “You’ve far too sunny a view of human nature, Sophie. These men are utterly ruthless and will stop at nothing—
nothing
—to achieve their goals.”

Another shot rang out.

“Keep moving,” urged Cameron, slowing his pace to push and pull her through the tangled brush.

Sophie scrambled to keep up with him. Her lungs were burning, her legs were aching.

“Cam…” Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to make herself move any faster.

Twisting around, he murmured another encouragement. “That’s it, Sunbeam. I’ve got your hand, and I won’t let go.”

Her breath now coming in ragged gasps, Sophie looked up to argue.

“
Cam!
”

Her warning scream came a split second too late.

The oak branch smashed into the side of Cameron’s head with a sickening thud.

“Serves him bloody right.” Neddy dropped the makeshift weapon and stared down in grim satisfaction at Cameron’s crumpled form. “The impudent whelp. Even when we were bantlings, Fanning was always clinging to your skirts, looking to pull himself above his station in life.” Lifting his gaze, her erstwhile friend smiled. “Surely you see now that he’s naught but a vile weasel. He used you! Ruined you!”

Sinking to her knees, Sophie gently cradled Cameron’s head in her lap. “Lord have mercy.”

“Oh, don’t despair, Sophie—your fall from grace hasn’t changed my feelings!” assured Neddy. “I’ll have you anyway, and with the money I earn from my work here, we’ll have enough for a cozy, comfortable life together.”

Had thwarted desire had twisted his mind free from the linchpins of sanity?

“Lord have mercy not on
my
soul, Neddy, but on yours!” she rasped. Tears were trickling down her cheeks. “I thought you were a friend, but in truth, you’ve turned into a monster.”

“Sophie!”

Ignoring the plea, she touched the purpling bruise, and expelled a sigh on feeling Cameron stir beneath her trembling fingertips. “Oh, thank God. He’s alive.”

“But not for long.” Dead leaves crackling under his boots, Morton slithered down the slope from the shortcut trail hidden by the trees. “Well done, Wadsworth. Get him to his feet and drag him back to the house.” He twined his fingers roughly in Sophie’s loosely coiled hair. “While you—you’ll come with me.”

“W-what are you planning to do?” asked Neddy.

“Figure out the best way to dispose of these two troublemakers.” A sneering smile. “Actually I owe Dudley an apology. It was a brilliant idea to bring Miss Lawrance here. There is an old adage about killing two birds with one stone.”

“Just as there is one about he who laughs last laughs best,” whispered Sophie.

He tightened his grip and yanked back, sending a jolt of pain through her scalp. “Shut your mouth.”

“I won’t allow you to hurt Sophie,” said Neddy, glowering at Morton. “Lord Dudley promised that she would be safe from harm.”

Dudley, who had been trailing the flight from the terrace, pushed through the brush and came to an out-of-breath halt. “So I did, so I did. And be assured that my friend will be bound by my word.”

Morton locked eyes with his cohort for a moment and then gave a shrug. “Yes, of course, you’re right. A promise is a promise.”

Looking mollified, Neddy heaved Cameron to his feet and staggered off.

Promises, promises.

Sophie was not so easily deceived. She had seen the flicker of a smirk tug at Morton’s lips just before he had spoken. Well, vipers weren’t the only ones who could speak with forked tongues. Cameron claimed that the key to survival was staying alone and aloof.
Every man for himself
. However, she had a different strategy—she was going to fight with every weapon she had in order to keep him alive.

Pray God that my new sleight of hand has rubbed off on my tongue.

“You know, Cameron is not without high-placed friends. Lord Killingworth and Lord Haddan are aware of his plans to come here,” she warned. “They will not allow his murder to be swept under the rug, as it were.”

Forcing her up, Morton released his hold and stepped back a pace. “They would have to prove it murder,” he retorted, but the tiny spasm in his sneer did not echo the same bravado.

“Three bodies will be rather difficult to explain as an accident,” she replied, sure that they intended to add Neddy to any unmarked grave. “Especially after what happened to the marquess and his family.”

“Perhaps,” countered Dudley. “But considering the stakes, it’s well worth taking a gamble.”

“And yet,” said Sophie coolly, “Cameron tells me you aren’t very good at playing games of chance.”

Dudley raised a hand to strike her, but Morton held him back. “Daggett—or Fanning—hasn’t played his cards very well, either. I can’t help but wonder why he bothered coming here. The dangers are obvious and I cannot see what he hoped to gain.”

“The answer is simple. He came to find the paper you have that implicates my father in a crime,” said Sophie.

“You expect us to believe that he’s acting out of the goodness of his heart?” exclaimed Dudley. “Ha! You have no money.”

“No.” She smiled. “But I had a rather valuable paper to offer him in exchange.”

Dudley’s pistol reappeared from inside his coat pocket. “Where—”

“Don’t bother with threats.” Sophie took a tiny steadying breath and launched into her bluff. “It’s too late for that. I’ve already given the document to him, and he’s passed it to his friend Lord Haddan, to hold for safekeeping until our bargain is complete.”

Her claim caused the two men to lock eyes.

“She may be telling the truth,” muttered Dudley. “Rumors were floating around the clubs that Wolcott’s heir was about to step forward.”

Sophie hurried to press her advantage. “You’re a clever man, Morton—surely you see that you can’t win,” she said. “Why not cut your losses and save your skin? Let us go, and flee to the Continent before any questions can be raised about Wolcott’s death. Given the lack of evidence, you’ll likely get away with that crime.” She paused to let the suggestion sink in. “However, if the new marquess is found dead, too, do you really think you will escape justice?”

She saw Dudley’s brows momentarily pinch together. “Perhaps—”

“Quiet!” Morton’s face tightened, his cheekbones looking sharp as knifeblades beneath the pale skin.

Sophie waited, feeling the tension crackling through the air.

“Move,” he said abruptly, giving her a hard shove. To Dudley he added, “They have been clever. But all is not lost. I’ve got an idea.”

“Ouch.” Cameron winced as Sophie dabbed the wet scrap of fabric to his lacerated temple.

“Lie still. This cut has to be cleaned.” She tore another strip from her skirts. “Then I must tend to your leg. Thank God it’s only a nick. Once it’s bandaged, you should feel better.”

“Yes, well, why don’t we order up some lobster patties and champagne so we can be truly comfortable,” he quipped.

She looked down at his iron-shackled wrists and chuffed a sigh. “At least I convinced them not to put manacles on your ankles.”

“You were,” he conceded, “very persuasive.”

“Would that I could have persuaded
you
to do my bidding. You should have run when you had the chance.”

“And leave a damsel to the mercy of vile villains and their clanking chains and dark dungeons?” They were, in fact, locked in a dank cellar room with only a single guttering lantern for light. “God forbid. Georgiana and Penelope would never have let me hear the last of it.” He winced again. “Not that my attempt at nobility did much good. Neddy Wadsworth always was a hulking brute, but he’s now even more like a Highland bull—a flea-sized brain and a elephant-sized wallop.”

“This is no jesting matter, Cam,” said Sophie.

“I know, Sunbeam.” His gut had been twisted in knots since seeing her in Dudley’s clutches. “But as soon as you reach in my boot and retrieve my lockpick, I’ll have myself out of these irons and our prison door open.”

She felt gingerly at the torn leather. “It’s not here—it must have fallen out during the chase.”

“Damn.” His gaze skimmed over the stone floor and walls. Nothing, save for the puddles of brackish water left by the constant
drip, drip, drip
from the ceiling.

“But no harm done.” Flipping up her skirts, Sophie began to feel along one of the seams. “I brought along a spare.”

Torn between amusement and guilt, Cameron watched as she started to ease a slim length of steel from the hidden pocket. “I’ve introduced you to a number of shockingly evil habits.”

“Indeed. You’ve been a
very
bad influence on me,” answered Sophie, not looking up from the task. “Just a few months ago, I would never have dreamed of kissing a mysterious pirate, or breaking into a lordly estate, or drinking fire-kissed brandy.”

He wished he could see her eyes.

“And I never,
ever
would have made wild, passionate love in an exotic pleasure room of London’s most notorious brothel.”

Yet another sin on my slate.
Cameron gave an inward wince. The Almighty must be running out of room to record the litany of his misdeeds.

“This is no jesting matter, Sophie.” He found himself throwing her earlier reproof back at her. “Not only have I corrupted you, but I’ve put your life in danger.” His voice tightened in self-disgust “If I were truly a gentleman—”

“Actually, you are.”

“I beg your pardon?” The wet stone and uneven angles of the roughhewn space were beginning to impart an oddly distorted echo to their words.

“Actually you are,” repeated Sophie. “A gentleman, that is.” Shadows yawed and pitched over the rough stone. “I found the proof.”

Cameron opened his mouth, but found he couldn’t think of anything suitably sardonic to say. “Oh” seemed to be the only sound he could muster.

Struggling up to a sitting position, he tried to discern her expression through the harshly drawn patterns of murk and glare.

“It was in an old cabinet in Papa’s study,” she went on. “One that hadn’t been opened in years because the key had been lost. I suppose it was the lesson on locks that stirred a vague memory, and then the other evening, I happened to be in the room…” The corners of her mouth tweaked up. “So my recently acquired bad habits have actually resulted in some good.”

He still could not find his voice. Strange, but having lived his whole life in doubt, the sudden certainty felt oddly unreal.

“There was a rather rambling note from your father to mine attached to the document.” Sophie paused to rinse her rag in the small bowl that their captors had provided. “It wasn’t very clear in explaining the details of his marriage to your mother, save to say it took place on the isle of Madeira.”

“You actually found the proof?” Cameron was feeling a little stunned by the revelation.

“Yes. Ironically enough, I was going to place a signal at the hut that I needed to see you when Dudley abducted me.”

“Irony seems to have played a great role in my life.” He drew in a harsh breath. “Or perhaps I should call it farce.”

Sophie shook her head. “It was an unfortunate twist of fate that had such an important exchange take place between two men whose minds were not quite razor-sharp.” She exhaled a sigh. “I remember my mother saying that father’s attention was already wandering in those days—he was always unworldly and never remembered the important things. And the letter that your father wrote makes it clear that illness had fuzzed his thoughts. Apparently, he was concerned about your half brother’s reaction to the marriage, and worried about your mother’s reception. But I wonder why he did not send the document to Mr. Griggs.”

“I don’t know,” said Cameron softly. “Griggs was equally puzzled as to why he never had any word from my father. He did say he always wondered whether your father had received any missive. It seems they were friends and met often to talk about Greek art and philosophy.” He made a wry face. “If only they had both not become lost in abstraction.”

“If only my mother had come across the correspondence, she would have known to forward it on to the marquess’s man of affairs,” mused Sophie. “But instead, Papa put it away in his cabinet, along with a stack of mundane bookkeeping records—and there it lay forgotten.”

“There are so many ‘if only’ moments in this whole cursed affair,” said Cameron. “If only my father had not been so ill. If only my half brother had not been so proud. If only my mother had not been so timid…”

“I confess, I have always wondered why your mother did not speak out and demand that you be acknowledged as the old marquess’s rightful child.”