Valentine (52 page)

So the secret he’d been so desperately trying to keep had been no secret at ail. Fairfax had known all along and never given him the slightest indication. And Theo had known for days, and it hadn’t mattered one iota to her. She simply hadn’t believed it. He should have known, of course. He just hadn’t trusted enough.

A joy of such piercing intensity almost took his breath
away; then he said briskly, “So tell me how she got herself into this mess.”

He listened to Edward’s tale in growing incredulity and then wondered why he was incredulous. It had Theo’s mark all over it. She’d asked the right people the right questions and drawn her own correct conclusions, then simply plunged headlong into a situation that he already had well under control.

“What am I going to do?” he demanded, almost a cry of despair, when Edward fell silent. “Just what the devil am I going to do?”

Edward stared at him, clearly wondering if he was in the grip of temporary insanity. “Why, we must go in and rescue her.”

“Yes … yes,” Sylvester said impatiently. “That’s the least of my problems. I mean, what in God’s good grace am I to do about Theo?”

“Oh.” Edward nodded his comprehension. “Well, people who know Theo well, sir, tend to do what she thinks best. Rather in the manner of Mohammed and the mountain, if you follow me.”

“Oh, I follow you, Edward,” he said. “And just look what letting her do what she thinks best leads to.”

Edward shook his head and said tentatively, “As to that, sir, I think you’re mistaken, if you’ll forgive my saying so. Theo wanted to prove to you that she’s capable of helping you and that she deserves your confidence. If you had taken her into your confidence, she wouldn’t have gone off on her own like this. She would have expected you to involve her, and she would have followed your lead.”

Sylvester glared into the shadows of the court, wrestling with what he recognized as the truth. If he’d trusted in her responses from the beginning, they would all have been spared a mountain of grief and trouble. It was time to throw in the towel. If he didn’t involve Theo, she would involve herself; she would find out whatever she wanted to discover, and
it seemed as if he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. God knows, he’d given it his best shot.

She wanted a damn partnership, and it looked as if he’d acquired a partner whether he wanted one or not.

A tiny smile touched his eyes. Of all the possible repositories of his confidences, he couldn’t think of any more honest and reliable than his forthright gypsy. And at least, if he was directing operations, she wouldn’t shoot off on lethal tangents with only half the facts.

“How shall we get in, sir?” Edward’s urgent voice brought him back to the reality of Ludgate Hill, where behind them ordinary life continued in the busy thoroughfare, and in front of them lay the dank court and a world of shadows.

“Knock on the door, of course,” Sylvester said calmly. “Do you prefer a sword stick or a pistol?”

“Sword stick,” Edward said promptly. “I find I can fence one-handed with little difficulty, and I won’t have to worry about reloading.”

“Right.” Sylvester handed him the stick and drew the two dueling pistols from his belt. “I’ve a knife and pocket pistol as well, so I think we’re armed to the teeth, my friend.”

His tone was light, but it didn’t conceal the murderous fury in his eyes. He didn’t believe Gerard intended serious harm to Theo; it would benefit him nothing. But he had hurt her already, if Edward was right, and he was going to pay in blood.

“I’ll knock first. You keep behind me so they don’t see you,” he said in a low voice as they approached the door. “When I step forward, jump in behind me.”

Upstairs, in the room with the skylight, Theo was lying very still on the cot, breathing evenly and deeply, waiting for the moment when Gerard would come back. The door had opened once in the five or ten minutes since he’d been gone, and she’d felt someone’s eyes on her, but whoever it was hadn’t come close. How long would it take Gerard to finish with the girl in the front room? Not long, she thought. The
exchange with the other man had given the impression that he was after a swift, unceremonious satisfaction of an immediate need.

Her muscles surged with energy now; her mind, despite the continued pounding of her head, was crystal clear; and it was very hard to feign unconsciousness. She went over the moves in her head. Which ones she used would depend on Gerard’s position when he came close enough.

Then the door opened. She felt her eyelids flutter and forced herself into total immobility, although her muscles ached with the effort.

Gerard approached the bed. She was lying exactly as he’d left her, the hem of her skirt pushed up above her knee, high enough to show the frilled leg of her drawers. Five minutes with the scrawny maidservant had slaked his immediate hunger, but excitement still stirred at the image of the Countess of Stoneridge, chained to the bed, available.

What kind of woman was it who went for a drive to Hampton Court bearing a pistol? The same woman, of course, who ventured alone into the twilight world of London’s dockland. Had she suspected him in some way?

Not that it mattered now. He had her exactly as he wanted her, and he was going to keep her here for two days, after which her reputation would be ruined if he chose to make it so. If Stoneridge chose to make it so, he corrected himself with a satisfied smile. If the lady’s husband refused to toe the line—an unthinkable possibility.

But while he had her here, why shouldn’t he enjoy her anyway—make the scandal a true one? His tongue darted, moistening his lips. Stoneridge wouldn’t be able to retaliate, not when Gerard held his written confession of cowardice over his head. But the Countess of Stoneridge wouldn’t tell her husband what had occurred anyway. No woman, even one as foolhardy as this one, would voluntarily admit to her husband that she’d had carnal knowledge of another man, even if it was coerced. It would give any man a disgust of his wife.

He stood at the foot of the cot, looking up her body.

Come closer. For
pity’s sake come closer.
The chant went round and around in Theo’s head. If she weren’t hampered by the chain, she could use her legs, but she daren’t risk missing the only chance she would have.

She shifted slightly on the rough ticking, moving one leg restlessly so that her thighs were slightly parted.

She heard Gerard’s breathing grow heavier. Then she sensed the warmth of his flesh. It was as if every pore and cell of her skin was acutely sensitized. She could feel rather than see the shadow of his body behind her closed eyelids.
Wait. Wait
.

Then she knew he was close enough. Her fingers went for his eyes as she lunged forward in one smooth movement. Gerard screamed, falling back on the bed, fingers blindly worrying at his eyes, and Theo swung her body up and over him bringing the slack of the chain across his throat as she maneuvered herself onto her feet at the foot of the bed.

The sounds of violent banging filled the narrow house. Feet thudded. Gerard lay half-strangled by the weight of the chain across his Adam’s apple, one hand still covering his eyes that miraculously remained in their sockets.

Theo was breathing heavily, her face damp with perspiration, but exhilaration surged through her veins. She listened to the commotion and guessed it was Edward. Not alone, of course. Which meant Stoneridge, who would discover that she’d rescued herself. Or at least partially. Whether that would count in her favor remained to be seen. Her grand scheme lay in ruins, bungled by her own incompetence and impulsiveness. Stoneridge was entitled to take what reprisals he chose.

“Give me the key,” she demanded, jerking her leg so the chain tightened.

Gerard gasped, choked, scrabbled wildly at his coat, trying to find the inside pocket. A pistol shot cracked from downstairs and someone cried out, a shrill, high-pitched screech.

“Hurry,” she said coldly, contempt mingling with the icy rage in her eyes. “Or I’ll begin to take a little walk around this pretty chamber. I certainly owe you some grief … although I doubt you’re worth the effort.”

His fingers closed over the key and he dragged it forth, waving it at her.

“Thank you.” Theo took the key, then reflected that when her husband found her, she was going to need all the help she could get, and she presented a very arresting picture with her captor held by the chain in this way, immobilized for whatever Sylvester might decide to do with him. “Perhaps I won’t use it just yet.” She folded her arms and faced the door as it burst open.

Sylvester took in the scene in one swift glance. Sweet relief seeped through his pores. Whatever they’d done to Theo, she was none the worse for wear. A glint of laughter appeared in his gray eyes as Theo put her head on one side in her habitual unspoken challenge, although he could detect a slightly apprehensive question mark in her gaze.

“Well, well, my dear,” he drawled. “It seems you had no need of knights errant after all.”

“I haven’t exactly managed to get out of the house,” Theo pointed out, anxious he shouldn’t feel his efforts were unappreciated. Matters were tricky enough as it was.

“No, but perhaps you haven’t had sufficient time,” he said smoothly. “I can’t imagine another reason.”

Edward’s chortle turned into a violent coughing fit.

“How did he hurt you?” Sylvester asked, and there was no amused drawl in his voice now.

Theo gingerly touched the back of her head. “Somebody hit me … but it wasn’t that slimy piece of flotsam.”

Sylvester nodded. “I’ll still add it to the account. Secure the door, would you, Edward? I have some business to conclude, and I would hate to be interrupted.”

He snapped his fingers for the key to the chain, and Theo handed it over. She wasn’t at all sure how to read her husband
in this mood. There was something infinitely dangerous about him, but she didn’t feel threatened herself Wisdom, however, dictated a course of passive compliance for the next minutes.

Edward bolted the door and stood with his back to it, the sword stick held lightly in his hand. There was blood on its tip, Theo noticed absently as the key turned in the shackle and her ankle was released.

Sylvester took the freed end of the chain and jerked it.

“Time for a little chat, Gerard,” he observed pleasantly. “Edward, would you take note of everything that is said in this room?”

“That was my plan,” Theo said, forgetting her resolution of a minute ago in this opportunity to salvage something of her grand design. “It’s a good one, I believe.”

“I’ll deal with you later, gypsy. If you wish to minimize what’s coming your way, you’ll hold your tongue.”

That was rather more along expected lines, but Sylvester never called her gypsy when he was truly displeased. Thoughtfully, Theo went to stand beside Edward, who grinned at her, his eyes glowing with jubilation. “I haven’t lost my touch,” he whispered against her ear, indicating the bloody sword stick.

“You were always a superb fencer,” she said, smiling, kissing his cheek by way of congratulation. “Did you kill him?”

Edward shook his head. “No, merely pinked him, but it certainly stopped him in his tracks. He was wielding an ugly-looking cudgel.”

“Let us return to Vimiera, Gerard,” Sylvester was saying. He wrapped the chain round his wrist and moved behind the bed. “There’s something I believe you want to tell me.”

There was silence from the bed. “Come, now,” Sylvester said softly. “You’re not going to make this any harder on yourself than you must. I know you too well, Gerard. What was it?” The chain jerked again.

Gerard’s voice rasped from the cot. “You were outnumbered.”

“As we’d been all day.” All expression left Sylvester’s
voice now, and he seemed no longer aware of either of his listeners. He was standing in a dank, ill-lit chamber off Ludgate Hill, but in memory he was back on a scorched plain, looking into the Portuguese sunset and the ever-advancing line of the enemy.

The line of French was coming up at them. His men were firing into the sunset. Sergeant Henley’s face hung in his internal vision. He was saying something urgently. Telling him something he’d been expecting.
They had two rounds of ammunition left.
They could maybe beat off this attack, but after that they would be helpless.

Where the hell was Gerard?
He was looking across the flat plain ringed by hills. A slice of blue sea peeped between two of the lower hills. Behind him was the bridge that he had to hold. Gerard would bring his reinforcements over that bridge.

Sylvester stared at the gibbering, craven wretch on the bed, but he barely saw him. His mind was racing across the red-tinged barren landscape of a Portuguese plain. Memories crowded in now—faces, snatches of conversation, the frustration and helplessness as he faced the prospect of losing now, after a long day of battling the odds, buoyed by the certainty of support hurrying to their aid. Now they were going to be defeated, and the lives of the boys lying on the scratchy earth round him had been expended in vain.

The void of amnesia was filling rapidly, like an empty bucket in a rainstorm. The face of the young ensign who’d been acting lookout in the topmost branches of a spindly tree appeared before him. The lad’s eyes were wild, and he was out of breath after his mad dash from his post. He could barely speak as he brought forth his unbelievable message: Redcoats had appeared on the high ground beyond the bridge. He’d seen the sunlight flash off a glass as someone had surveyed the battleground before them. Then they’d disappeared.

Sylvester had been unable to grasp this message. He’d made the lad repeat himself. He’d told him that heat and fear
had addled his brain, ruined his eyesight. But the ensign had stuck to his story.

They’d been abandoned. Captain Gerard’s reinforcements were not coming.
Why?
And even as he’d been wrestling with this, the young ensign at his side had fallen, a musket ball through his throat, and the horde of French were racing across the plain screaming their war cry:
Vive l’Empereur.
And he’d ordered his men to lay down their now useless arms. Only the ensign and Sergeant Henley knew that the reinforcements were not coming. And the sergeant had died under a French bayonet.