Too Dangerous to Desire (22 page)

“You remember Mama—she was exceedingly sweet, but she was afraid of her own shadow.” A grimace pulled at his lips. “I sometimes wonder if that is why I was born with enough recklessness for two people.”

Sophie allowed a fleeting smile.

“It was partly her background, I suppose. She was from a poor family,” Cameron went on, the explanation seeming to be as much for himself as for her. “And she feared that she would never have been believed by highborn Society. They had left the ship in Madeira and had taken up residence there, for my father had found the climate eased the inflammation in his lungs. His death was rather sudden, and so when Mama first returned to England, alone and pregnant, she went to live with her uncle, who warned her she might be prosecuted for false claims if she raised a ruckus. So she lived quietly as a widow with an infant son, content with a modest life until her uncle passed away, leaving us penniless.”

Cameron’s lips thinned to a momentary pinch. “It’s then, when I was seven, that we moved to Terrington, where she threw herself on my half brother’s mercy. It seems he wanted to send her away with a flea in her ear, but Griggs intervened and forced him to provide a cottage and a small stipend. Word was put out that we were poor relations—which is what I, too, believed.” A quiver of a pause. “As you know, it wasn’t until I was fifteen that she let slip the truth. If only she had…”

“Let us not dwell on all the past mistakes,” said Sophie decisively. “Whatever the old wrongs, you can make them right.” The lantern’s lone flame caught a momentary flutter of emotion beneath her downcast lashes. “Better late than never.”

Could that possibly be an oblique hint that not all was lost between them?
He dared not let hope flare to life. A sidelong glance at the present surroundings was enough to dampen any romantic notions.

At least there were no rats…so far.

“Speaking of timing, once we remove the manacles from your wrists and open this dreadful door, have you a plan for escape?”

Wrenched back from his musings, Cameron flexed his shoulders. “In situations like this, it’s a waste of time to bother making much of a plan. Things never go as you expect, so it’s best to simply improvise.”

“Improvise,” said Sophie. “I’m becoming rather familiar with that word.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve turned your whole steady, sensible world on its ear.”

“Or some other, more intimate part of my anatomy,” she responded, a sweetly pink blush suffusing her cheeks. “Don’t say you are sorry, Cam—I’m not. Yes, my life has been tumbling in topsy-turvy somersaults of late. But it’s been exhilarating. I feel so…alive.”

“I’d like to keep it that way,” he said, feeling his chest clench as he watched the oily flame illuminate her smile.
Sophie—she had always been the light of his life.
“Forget about my leg and let’s get to work on the dratted manacles. This particular model requires a hard push upward once you insert the tip of the picklock between the first two levers.”

She inserted the steel tip into the keyhole and gave a little jiggle. “You appear awfully familiar with metal restraints.”

“Having escaped from the gaols of six different European principalities, I consider myself somewhat of an authority on the subject…Yes, yes, that’s the spot, Sunbeam, but you have to press down harder.” Cameron cocked an ear. “Harder.”

The manacle finally released with a reluctant rasp.

“Hand me the picklock.”

Sophie passed it over, but rather than remove the other iron bracelet, he tucked the tool into his undamaged boot.

“Why?” she asked.

“Options, Sunbeam, it gives us options. There is a crafty Chinese fellow who has written a book on the art of warfare, and in it, he stresses that the element of surprise is a very effective weapon.”

The echo of the assertion was suddenly amplified by the tramp of footsteps descending the spiraling cellar stairs.

Cameron quickly eased the manacle back in place around his wrist as a key rattled in the door’s lock.

“Stand back,” ordered Morton, before kicking the portal open. He entered the space, a pistol in each hand, followed by Dudley and Neddy.

Three opponents, two weapons, and little room to maneuver.
He decided to wait and see what his captors had in mind. A slight shift of his body allowed him to press his knee to Sophie’s thigh.

She gave a tiny nod, acknowledging the subtle signal.

“What a touching tableau,” sneered Dudley. “The loyal maiden comforting her lover’s last hours of life.” Darting a malicious glance at Neddy, he let out a nasty cackle. “See, what did I tell you, Wadsworth? Women aren’t worth mooning over. At heart they are naught but sluts.”

Neddy wheeled around, his big head down and swinging from side to side as if he were a bull who had just been prodded with a red-hot iron. “Sophie isn’t a slut.”

“Of course she is,” taunted Dudley. “Slut. Wagtail. Slattern. Ha, ha, ha.”

“Quiet—both of you!” ordered Morton.

Seeing the cooperation between the co-conspirators was beginning to unravel, Cameron was quick to add his own razored words. “You don’t really think that these two toffs ever intended for you to live happily ever after with Sophie, do you, Neddy? More likely they’re setting up a scenario where you will take the blame for their crimes.”

“Shut your mouth, Daggett!” cried Morton, his voice perilously close to a shout. “Get up.” The dual shadows of the pistols shimmied across the waterstained wall. “You, too, Miss Lawrance.”

“Actually, I’m quite comfortable where I am,” drawled Cameron. “Though an extra blanket or two would be welcome. And perhaps a bottle of champagne, seeing as the water tastes a trifle foul.”

“Let us shoot him now,” growled Dudley, shifting his hand to his coat pocket. “And be done with it.”

“Silence!” roared Morton as he cocked both of his weapons. “The next one to make a sound will get a bullet in the brain.”

Seeing the wavering of the gun barrels was growing even more erratic, Cameron decided that he had pushed his captors far enough. Bowing his head in submission, he kept quiet.

To her credit, Sophie had not panicked during the exchange. No tears, no wailing. Just like their childhood adventures, where she had always been brave, resourceful. Intrepid to the bone.

I will get her out of this mortal peril
, he promised himself.

And then…

“Get up, Daggett.” Satisfied that he had reasserted his command over the situation, Morton relaxed his grip on the pistols. “Slowly. Any trouble and Miss Lawrance will be the one to suffer.”

Levering to his feet, Cameron nodded in submission. “Meek as a mouse, that’s me.”

“Now you, too, Miss Lawrance.”

“I still say we should put a bullet in his mangy hide,” muttered Dudley. “The sea swallows a body without leaving a trace.”

“That is why you should leave the thinking to me,” snapped Morton. “It does no good for him to simply disappear—the Wolcott title and fortune could be wrapped up in legalities for years.” His pale lips stretched to a humorless smile. “No, no, I’ve got a better plan.”

“Do you?” murmured Cameron, as he slowly limped past him. “You had better pray so. For so far, your efforts haven’t been overly impressive.”

A shove propelled him through the doorway. “Keep moving,” snarled Dudley.

“Take them to the coach, Wadsworth,” ordered Morton. “Dudley and I will be along in a moment.”

“So this is where our fellow Hellhound cut his teeth?” Shading his eyes from the bright sun, Connor reined his mount to a halt and slowly surveyed the craggy hills and wind-ruffled meadows that tumbled down to the sea.

“Yes, the town of Terrington lies over the next rise,” replied Gryff.

“I confess, I’m a bit disappointed. I rather liked thinking of Cam as some exotic changeling, a puff of colorful smoke rather than an ordinary flesh-and-blood member of the human race.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” chuckled Gryff. “I daresay that he’ll be forced to make a great many transformations in the coming days, though it’s highly doubtful that he’ll ever turn into a bland, boring shade of gray.”

“Cam a lord? It still boggles the mind,” said Connor. “God help the peerage.”

“It’s survived us, so I imagine that it can tolerate Cam’s eccentricities. Besides, I think Miss Lawrance will be a steadying influence on him.”

“It’s hard to picture him putting his paw in the parson’s mousetrap.”

Another chuckle. “Stranger things have happened.”

Connor allowed a small smile. “Actually, I take umbrage at that. Cam’s foibles are far stranger than mine.”

“Let’s just say that none of us can claim to be a paragon of propriety.”

Gryff shifted in his saddle. “According to the innkeeper at our last stop, the Lawrance cottage is nestled in a small hamlet about a half mile ahead. Let’s pay a call and see if there is any word of what our friend is up to.”

A short ride brought them to a narrow road, its high hedgerows twined with wild roses. Taking a turn down its winding way, they continued on at a leisurely trot until they spotted a rambling whitewashed cottage tucked behind a stand of apple trees.

“Good day, Miss Georgiana,” called Gryff, immediately recognizing the willowy young lady who had just come through the garden gate and was hurrying toward the lane. “We were passing through the area…”

She was now close enough for him to see her face.

“Is something amiss?” he asked tersely.

“I…I…” She hesitated, her eyes clouding with confusion. “I am not certain that I should say anything until my uncle and aunt arrive, milord.” Her lips trembled. “God willing, they should be arriving this afternoon.”

Her words drew a frown to Gryff’s face. “I applaud your caution, Miss Georgiana. But if there is any sort of trouble, you must trust that we can help.”

“The fact is,” added Connor, “we are in the area because we think Mr. Daggett may have got himself in a dangerous situation. If perchance, your sister has also become involved—”

At the mention of Sophie, her resolve suddenly crumbled. “Shesbeenabducted.”

“Slow down, Miss Georgiana,” counseled Connor, “Take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”

Several quick inhales seemed to calm her nerves. “Sophie has been abducted.”

“When?” demanded Connor.

“Y-yesterday.”

“Did you see who did it?” asked Gryff quickly.

Georgiana bit her lip. “Not precisely. That is, I saw a large traveling coach stop—it was mostly black, with claret-colored wheels and trim—and a man with a pistol ordered her to get inside.” Another ragged breath. “I had followed her because I knew she was going to leave a signal for Cam—we had discovered something important—”

“Miss Georgiana,” began Gryff.

“But that’s not all,” she peltered on. “The coach then stopped at Neddy Wadsworth’s cottage and Neddy got in, too.”

Connor frowned. “Who, pray tell, is Neddy?”

“He’s the local blacksmith and…and he’s been sweet on Sophie for years, though she turned down his proposal of marriage.”

“I think,” said Gryff to his friend, “that we had better ride like the wind to Holbeach. I know—”

The thud of fast-approaching hoofbeats caused him to cut off. Easing a hand to the satchel tied at the back of his saddle, he drew a cavalry pistol and slipped it inside his coat.

Connor did the same.

“Aunt Hermione! Uncle Edward!” Georgiana let out a sigh of relief as a carriage rumbled into view. “I sent immediate word to my aunt and uncle of what happened,” she explained. “But until they arrived, I thought it best not to tell anyone else. Sophie warned me to be careful.”

“That was very sensible, Miss Georgiana,” said Gryff. He and Connor remained silent while Georgiana rushed through a tearful greeting and a more detailed account of all that had happened. It was only when her uncle looked around, face grim with worry, that he introduced himself and offered his own explanation.

“We’re here because we have reason to suspect that our friend Daggett may be in trouble, too.”

“And we’ve an idea of where to look—for both him and your niece,” added Connor. “Never fear, we shall find them and bring them back unharmed.”

“While you wait here, we will head to the Wash,” began Gryff.

“With all due respect, milord, we’re coming with you,” interrupted Hermione. “And that’s flat.”

“Indeed,” echoed her husband.

Gryff frowned. “But…”

“Really, sir. You might have need of a traveling coach,” argued Georgiana. “Or someone to coordinate messages, or to handle…any number of useful tasks.”

“We shall not get in your way,” promised Edward. “Sophie and her sisters are as dear to us as daughters. Surely you must understand why we feel compelled to be close to the action.”

“There is an inn near Holbeach,” murmured Connor. “Spotted Dick and his ring of smugglers have used it on occasion.”

“Ah well—the more, the merrier, I suppose,” quipped Gryff, giving in with a wry grimace. “I can see that arguing will only waste precious time. We’ll ride on ahead, and rendezvous with you at the inn after we have had a chance to look around. With luck, we shall be returning with Miss Lawrance.”

Gathering his reins, he turned his stallion to the road. “Come, Connor. Let us show these miscreants that the Hellhounds still have some teeth.”

S
ophie gratefully accepted a slab of bread and cheese from Neddy as they waited inside the coach.

“I ought to let
you
starve, you miserable bastard,” he muttered before grudgingly handing Cameron a share.

“I shall remember your kindness when I am lord of the manor,” replied Cameron cheerfully. “That is, if Morton lets you live.” Metal rasped against metal as he lifted his manacled hands to take a bite of cheddar. “Which is highly doubtful. Now that you’ve helped them with their dirty deeds, you are of no further use to them.”

“Cam is right,” said Sophie. “These men have used you cruelly, Neddy, and made you carry out a horrible act.” Seeing his face pinch, she pressed on. “An innocent woman and innocent child were on that yacht.”

“I—I didn’t know that,” he whispered. “I swear.”

“When the authorities hear of how you have been manipulated, they will show some leniency,” she replied. “Won’t they, Cam?”

“I will do what I can for you, Wadsworth,” he answered. “I have some influential friends who will help as well.” He swallowed the last bite of his food. “And unlike your present cohorts, I honor my promises.”

The coach gave a slight lurch as the driver climbed up to his perch.

“Think about it,” murmured Cameron, amid the creak of harness leather and stomping of hooves.

A moment later, Morton and Dudley climbed inside. Shoving Cameron to the middle of the seat, they each took a place on either side of him.

“You can sit next to your slut,” said Dudley to Neddy.

Glowering, the blacksmith did as he was told.

“Well, well, isn’t this a jolly little group,” remarked Cameron as a crack of the whip set the team in motion. “Perhaps we can stop and enjoy a picnic overlooking the sea?”

“Only if I can serve your head on a platter,” retorted Dudley.

Sophie tried to catch Cameron’s eye, worried that his sarcasm might push one of their captors over the edge. As it was, he was dancing on a razorblade. One small slip and he might find himself sliced into mincemeat.

Her gaze could not penetrate the deep gloom. All she could see was the dark tangle of his hair and a tiny glimmer of pearl-white light. He was wearing the replica of her mother’s earring, she realized.
A talisman?
A beacon of hope, even though things looked awfully black?

Clinging to the remembered warmth of Cameron’s smile when he called her “Sunbeam,” Sophie leaned back against the squabs.
Patience, patience
. And perseverance. Cameron would likely leap into action when she least expected it, and she must be ready to move with him.

The rocking motion of the coach, however, made it difficult to stay alert. She found herself drifting in and out of fitful dreams…
Georgiana and Penelope frantic with worry…Sara Hawkins of The Wolf’s Lair wagging a chiding finger…the Devil chortling and beckoning her to join him in eternal hellfire…

She awoke with a start as the coach jolted to a halt.

“Keep watch on the prisoners,” said Morton to Dudley and Neddy. “We won’t be stopping long. I need to retrieve something from the boathouse, then we’ll be on our way.”

She saw Cameron crane his neck to dart a look through the narrow gap in the window draperies.

“By the by,” Morton added as he reached for the door latch. “Do you wish to know how you are going to meet your demise?”

Dudley gave a nasty laugh.

“Let us just say that carriage accidents are not uncommon on the steep northern roads heading to Scotland.”

“Good drivers are rare as hen’s teeth,” said Cameron. “That is why I prefer other modes of transportation.”

“What a pity for you that the choice is not yours to make.” With that parting shot, Morton climbed out and let the door fall shut behind him.

Cameron waited a few long moments before half-turning in his seat. “Actually, I’ve decided that it is.” A quick flick freed his wrist from the unlocked manacle. A second swift motion of his other hand whipped the dangling iron hard into Dudley’s forehead. Stunned, he slumped back on his spine, his pistol slipping away and falling to the floorboards.

Sophie kicked it out of Neddy’s reach.

“Come, Sunbeam. It’s time to take our leave.” He looked at Neddy, who had not yet moved a muscle. “Don’t make me fight you, too, Wadsworth. I’ll crack your skull, but I would rather not have to waste the time.”

Neddy dropped his gaze to the floorboards.

“Thank you—I won’t forget it.”

“Nor will I,” added Sophie, pausing for a last look at her old friend’s downcast face before following Cameron out the door.

“I don’t think that we can outrun them,” she warned, stumbling over the rocky ground.

“Agreed.” He ducked low and took shelter behind one of the storage sheds. “Follow me.”

Sophie sucked in a sharp breath as he set off in the direction of the sea. “I hope you aren’t planning for us to
swim
,” she muttered. “My blood still runs cold thinking of the time you had us dive into the River Ouse to escape Squire Coxe’s wrath.”

“The stolen apples were well worth it.” Cameron paused for a peek around the corner of the building.

“Speak for yourself,” she muttered.

“Swimming won’t be necessary—save as a last resort.” He gestured at the dock. “We’re simply going to sail out of trouble.”

Two dauntingly tall masts were silhouetted against the gray-clouded sky. “You know how to handle such a large vessel?” she asked, thinking of the small rowing skiffs they had rigged with old sheets when they were children.

Cameron winked. “But of course. I’m a pirate, remember?” Taking her hand, he zigzagged through the trees and cut across to the salt-streaked pilings. “And you, my love, are a hard-won treasure I don’t intend to part with.”

Love?
Screeching gulls, thrumming rigging, gusting wind—the sound had surely not come from Cameron’s lips, thought Sophie as he lowered her into the cockpit of the racing sloop.
Love?
Love was too soft a sentiment for a swashbuckling pirate. He had most likely dallied with exotic princesses, danced with alluring beauties, dined with luscious courtesans.

How could she hold a candle to such excitement?
I am simply Sophie.

“Sophie!” A heavy manila rope, slimy with smelly seaweed, landed in her lap. “Stop woolgathering and untie the stern line!” called Cameron. “And be ready to hoist the mainsail when I give the word.” After swearing like a stevedore as the swinging manacle clipped his jaw, he added, “I’ll take the tiller once I push us free of the dock.”

The sharp
crack
of a gunshot scattered the flock of seabirds. Sophie cringed, but kept working at the knotted lines. “Please hurry,” she called to Cameron, fearful that in the next instant a pelter of footsteps would come pounding along the slatted walkway.

Barnacles scraped against the sloop’s side as he maneuvered the bow out into the ebbing tide. A last mighty push, and he leapt onto the stern, just as the vessel floated away from the pilings.

Grasping the tiller, he gave a jaunty salute. “Haul up the sail, Sunbeam and let us set a course for wherever the wind will take us.”

With the waves rising and the gusts growing stronger, Sophie had no time for reflection as she scrambled to carry out Cameron’s barked order. An ominous line of stormclouds was hovering on the horizon, their dark, pewter-gray color smothering the slanting light of the setting sun.

“It looks like a squall is heading this way,” she called, feeling the salt spray sting her face as she turned.

Cameron nodded grimly. “Worse than a squall, I fear.” He, too, cast a glance over his shoulder. “But don’t worry. I wasn’t jesting when I said I was a pirate. After leaving Terrington, I spent quite a bit of time sailing the seven seas with a band of smugglers, so I know how to handle a ship in a storm.”

Grasping the shrouds for support, Sophie stood for a moment and squinted into the gloom. Fog was drifting in wispy tendrils over the white-capped waters, blurring the fast-receding shoreline. At least the only enemy they faced now was the weather, she mused. “We are safe from pursuit…” A pale flicker in the scudding shadows made her pause. “Aren’t we?”

He didn’t answer.

“Cam?”

“Go below,” he said calmly, “and see if you can find the sloop’s charts. They will likely be stowed near the binnacled table.”

Sophie hurried to do his bidding. Locating the oilskin bag, she quickly returned to the cockpit.

“Can you find one with the town ‘Wrangle’ marked on it and spread it out on the bench?” Cameron had to raise his voice to be heard over the whistle of the wind through the rigging.

“Here.” Sophie smoothed out the chart. Venturing a look past him, she saw the unmistakable shape of a sail looming out of the fog.

“Is it them?” she asked.

He nodded. “The chase is on.” As he lifted his arm, the iron manacle swung in a wild circle. “Help me get rid of this. Then I shall show you that a pirate always has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“Will he live?” asked Connor, turning from his surveillance as Gryff came out of the boathouse shed.

“No. The bullet was lodged too close to his heart. He’s already stuck his spoon in the wall.” Wiping the blood from his hands with an old piece of sailcloth, Gryff swiveled his gaze to the angry sea. “Mr. Wadsworth remained conscious long enough to confess his role in sinking Wolcott’s yacht, and finger Morton and Dudley as the masterminds of the crime.”

“No great revelation,” muttered Connor.

“Agreed. However he did pass on some useful information. Cameron and Miss Lawrance apparently slipped away from their captors and fled in one of Morton’s sailboats.

“Cam knows how to sail?” asked Connor.

“Our friend could most likely steer Charon’s ferry across the River Styx if need be,” answered Gryff dryly. “God only knows where he acquired such a skill, but I hope it was somewhere other than a duck pond. Dirty weather is coming on, and my guess is that it will get even dirtier as the night goes on.”

“Damnation,” swore Connor.

“Bloody hell is more like it,” replied Gryff, “for Morton and Dudley set off in pursuit.”

“Now what?”

“It appears that Miss Georgiana was right in suggesting that we might have need of a traveling coach. The wind is blowing like a banshee, so with these rough seas, they can’t be headed in any other direction but north.” Raindrops began to patter on the overhanging leaves. “So, I suggest that we should ride to the inn, and prepare to follow the same course along the coast.”

In the hide-and-seek moonlight, Cameron studied the chart. In his experience, knowing the lay of the land—or sea—was always an advantage in battle. For now, the tide and wind would not allow them to seek refuge in one of the harbors that dotted the coastline. But the sleek design of the racing sloop should allow him to pull away from their pursuers.
As long as the
weather didn’t get much worse.
In rough seas, the bigger, heavier yacht would gain the advantage.

He glanced up at the scudding clouds and felt the first spit of rain.

“I found some oilskin coats below,” said Sophie, coming up through the hatchway and handing him one of the hooded garments. She crouched down in the shelter of the cockpit. “Is it my imagination, or are they getting closer?”

“They are gaining on us,” confirmed Cameron. He edged the tiller over a touch. “We are the lighter and faster vessel, but in a storm, the advantage shifts to the yacht. Because of its weight, it can cut through the waves better than we can.”

“What will they do if they catch us? They aren’t carrying cannons, are they?”

“No, they’ll not be firing a broadside at us, but most likely they will have muskets or hunting rifles,” he replied. “My guess is that they mean to board us.”

“Won’t that be difficult in this storm?”

“Morton is an expert sailor.”

Sophie lowered her rain-spattered lashes, trying to hide the worry in her eyes.

“But so am I, Sunbeam.”

“You need not try to cast a bright light on a dark situation,” she replied with a watery smile. “I can see that our situation is not good.”

“Trust me, I’ve been in far worse.” He tapped at his chin. “There was the time off the coast of Tripoli that my friends and I ran into a pair of heavily armed corsair ships cruising for plunder. We were carrying a cargo of smuggled silks, spices, and oils from Venice to the English coast.”

“Good heavens, what did you do?”

“We used our wits as weapons. With our load, we couldn’t outsail them, and as they came closer, their cannon fire began to hit home.”

Her eyes widened. “
And?
”

“And then, I thought of emptying all of the oil we were carrying onto the water.”

“In hoping of slowing them down?”

“No, in hoping of blowing them to Kingdom Come.” Cameron grinned, deliberately distracting her from their own dire troubles. “We waited until they were smack in the middle of the slick and then Jem, our bosun from Yorkshire and a former poacher, took his bow and with a few well-aimed flaming arrows set the oil ablaze. Whoosh—their sails caught fire, and several of their cannons exploded.”

“You,” she said, “are exceedingly resourceful. Not to speak of exceedingly mad.”

“I am,” he agreed, gratified to see that she was no longer looking so deathly pale. “This is just another one of our daring little adventures. And I must say, I much prefer it to the bats.”

Her laugh stirred a swirl of warmth in his chest.

“I daresay that Georgiana and Penelope will find this story far more thrilling,” said Sophie. “Perhaps you can convince your friend Lord Haddan to write a horrid novel, once he’s done with his essays.”

“Perhaps. Gryff is a very imaginative fellow.” As a shaft of moonlight cut through the clouds, Cameron took another peek at the chart and then at the compass set in the middle of the cockpit. “Interesting,” he murmured after a moment of gauging the wind and the currents.

Sophie scooted a little closer. “What?”

“See this?” He pointed to a line of black dots curling up toward the town of Skegness. “It’s a reef, located some distance offshore. According to the notation here, at high tide, it’s well under water. But with the sea ebbing, as it is now, the rocks are a hazard to some larger vessels.”