The Rogue's Folly

by Donna Lea Simpson

  “You wouldn’t dare!” she cried.

  “Ah, but I would, and will. If you knew me, you would already be aware of how much I will dare, given the correct incentive.”

  Etienne could see how very beautiful she appeared, standing over her attacker’s body, weapon still in her hand. Her soft white nightrail fluttered in the night breeze, and the wind picked up the tangled strands of her glorious auburn hair. So the evil Dempster had found her, and she had defeated him. Formidable!

  But even as he watched he witnessed fear override her courage. It was the sight of him captive, the sight of his blood, that had undone her. She had come to care for him, and what had he done? Brought her danger. After she had so bravely fought her own battle, she must be entangled in his.

  “She is not my paramour, Delisle,” he muttered. The knife bit into his throat just a little deeper as Jem tightened his hold and he stiffened, trying to subdue the flash of pain. He saw the fear in her eyes as she watched the blood ooze, trickle down, and soak his shirtfront.

  “Is she not? Then you are most assuredly losing your seductive ability, my old friend.” He eyed her appreciatively, his eyes traveling over her slender form. “Perhaps she is not to your liking, but surely she is worthy of a little tumble, yes? This moment she looks like a warrior maiden, and it would be entrancing to find out how such a woman would be in the bedchamber.” His cultured voice hardened as he said, “Set the razor on the ground and kick it over to me, gently, my dear, so that our English helper’s hand does not slip and slice the throat of my friend here.”

  She did as she was told, and Delisle bent to pick it up. He looked it over and then glanced at the body of Dempster. “You are an enemy not to be trusted, I think. Never have I seen a woman dispatch a man in such a fashion, but . . .” He shrugged. “Always there is a first time. I do not know the poor bastard at your feet, but I pity him. Is he dead, by the way?” He pitched the straight razor into the forest as he spoke.

  May nudged Dempster with the toe of her morocco slipper, and he moaned and then lapsed back into unconsciousness. “H-he is not dead.” She shivered in the chilly night air and stared at Delisle, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Now, I think that this is a fortunate occurrence for my friend and myself,” Delisle said. “I think you care for this rogue just a little, do you not?”

  Say no, Etienne thought, staring into her eyes. Consign me to the devil, little one! Do not give them a hold over you.

  But May, her blue eyes wide and sparkling with unshed tears, nodded.

  “He owes us, you see, a lot of money,” Delisle said, watching the girl with calculating eyes. “A very large amount. We know that there is no hope of collecting it from him, worthless as he is, but perhaps we have underestimated his value. Perhaps we can simplify what had become a convoluted plot to regain my investment.”

  Delisle moved further into the clearing and circled May and her victim. “We have been in this district for a few weeks—long enough to learn of the thrifty and very wealthy Lady Grishelda May van Hoffen. Tell me, my dear,” he said, moving close to her from behind and touching her bare hand and the streak of blood that fouled it. “Are you wealthy? I only ask, though I know it is not done in polite circles, because if you are, I will give you the chance to redeem your lover’s life.”

  Etienne stiffened and felt the knife bite into his flesh again. That was Delisle! Always he had an eye on the money, and always would he find a way to make a hopeless situation pay off for him. He could see that May was going to tell him the truth.

  “I am very wealthy,” she whispered, shuddering as Delisle caressed her bare neck and lifted her heavy hair off her back with the barrel of Etienne’s pistol.

  He buried his face in her hair, and murmured, “Mmmm, like silk. And fragrant, with your very English scent of lavender.” He circled to stand in front of her, and his gaze raked over her form, taking in the rounded swell of her bosom and the promise of long slim legs under the filmy nightrail. “Per’aps there is more than just your wealth to entice my excitable friend here. You are not his type, most assuredly, and you are not very pretty. He says you are not his paramour, but I find I do not believe him.

  “Did he seduce you from innocence? How unlike him. I have known him some time, and never have I known him to dally with a maiden. Not for him the untried virgins, you see.” He spoke as if it were the common thing to hold a conversation like that in the forest. Then his gaze sharpened, his beaky nose casting an eerie shadow over his face in the bright moonlight. “You are wealthy. Is some of that wealth in portable form, jewels, gold, that sort of thing?”

  She nodded, mesmerized by Delisle’s cultured voice, like a rabbit listening to the soothing hiss of a snake. “I have many jewels, worth thousands of pounds. And gold.”

  “Good, good,” the tall man said.

  Etienne could almost see the greedy gears of Delisle’s mind turning, scheming.

  “That’s the ticket, ain’t it then?” Jem said, his voice hoarse with excitement. “Th’ doxy’s got the dosh! We’ll get some good out o’ this lot yet.”

  “Bien, let us go then. You, my lady, will lead the way out of this wretched forest to your home. And no tricks or your French lover will be dead before your scream for help is finished.”

  Good, they were going to Lark House, Etienne thought. She had there her butler and other male staff. Delisle would surely not enter himself, knowing she would have armed servants. But he would perhaps trust her to go get jewels and gold, holding Etienne ransom. He hoped she would then go in and leave him to his fate, for Etienne knew the whole truth; Delisle would most certainly not leave him alive once they had the jewels and gold in their possession. The long, tangled skein between them was unraveling now, and Delisle would take the jewels then kill him, and perhaps May as well. He must not let her be harmed. He had to find some way of communicating to her that she must stay in her home and rouse the servants to help, no matter what Delisle threatened.

  May led the way through the woods. She glanced around her once, as though looking for something, and Etienne wondered if she had brought Cassie with her. Théron had bolted when Delisle and Jem had entrapped him and pulled him from his horse. His stallion was an intelligent beast, and so was her mare. Perhaps they had found each other.

  Finally the awkward group made it to the outer edge of the forest, on the manor house side. There was a long, broad sweep of land up to the back of the house and a long terrace. It was a ways away, but moonlight touched the windows, making them glint silver in the distance. Delisle took May’s arm, whirling her around to face him. He glared into her eyes. “Now, my pet, you will go and get for us the jewels and gold, as much as you can carry. If you do not come back, we will kill him. If you alert anyone, we will kill him. And I promise you this, it will not be a quick death, but slow and lingering, and we will tear his hide from him first, strip by strip so that the grounds of your so pretty home will ring with the screams!”

  She shuddered and whimpered, and Etienne cursed the man’s viciousness.

  “Enough, Delisle! Do not frighten her or I will—”

  “You will what?” the man snarled, turning his basilisk gaze on Etienne.

  Impotent fury coursed through Etienne. In the struggle with the bastards, he had been re-injured and his wound ached fiercely. He was weak, no contest for two men. They had stopped far enough away from Lark House that no yelling on his part could be certain of being heard. He tried to catch May’s eye, and she looked his way.

  He shook his head, and nodded toward Delisle. Dieu, if only he could say what he wanted! Do not do what they say! Stay safely in the house and arm your male staff. Worry not about me. Do not come back for me! He wanted to scream it, and tried to pour the message into his eyes.

  He had a brainstorm. It was flimsy and wretched, but it was his only hope of giving her the message without endangering her. “Little one,” he said carefully, staring into her beautiful blue eyes. “Listen to me. Be sure and bring b
ack for them the one special necklace. The one of sapphire, tourmaline, agate, and . . . and yellow gold. You remember, the one you told me of? Sapphire, tourmaline, agate and yellow . . . gold. And then you will be safe.”

  S-T-A-Y. Stay, he thought fiercely. Once you are safe, stay! It was a ridiculous plan, a ludicrous plan. Unless it worked. Then it was a most brilliant plan.

  She frowned at him, seemingly aware that he was trying to tell her something, but not sure what it was. Delisle’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Move, my lady!” he said, his voice hoarse and commanding.

  Etienne gazed into her eyes and saw understanding. She moved toward him while Jem tightened his hold and muttered that she had better not do anything foolish. Tenderly, she looked into his eyes and her bloodstained hand came up to caress his cheek. Her hand was trembling and cold, and he turned his lips in to her palm and kissed it fervently, hoping as he did that she would never know what he felt for her. As much as he cared, he must hope, for her sake, that this was the last time he ever saw her. She shook her head.

  “I will bring them everything they need. Everything.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Were they so stupid that they thought she kept all of her jewels in her bedroom for easy access? May shook her head in disgust. Of course the shorter one was clearly of a class that would know nothing about jewels, nor how things were done in the upper classes, and Delisle was French. Perhaps French ladies did things differently, or more likely he had a low opinion of the intelligence of English women. Her family’s jewels, the pieces that had descended in the van Hoffen line, were kept in a safe at her bank in London, for there was little chance one would use them in the country. Only the simplest of pieces were kept at Lark House.

  But she would have said anything to ensure that they kept Etienne alive, and if the promise of jewels and gold would do it, then she would promise, and figure out what to do once free. It had been the only chance she had seen to keep the man she loved more than life itself alive.

  May crept into Lark House and stole through the hall to the library. There she retrieved what she needed from a safe hidden in the big desk, then she crept to the stairs with her weighty prize. She ascended, avoiding the one step that creaked, and then slipped down the hall to her bedchamber. She shivered. So cold it was, as if the icy hand of death itself had her in his clutches. Poor Etienne! He was in danger, and even now they were spilling his blood. Her hands trembled as she spilled the contents of the strongbox over her bed, papers, mementoes, and gold. Her hands shook, but she filled a silk sack, one that usually held her nightrail when she traveled, with all of the gold from her strongbox in the library.

  She flinched every time the coins clinked together. If there was one thing she could not afford tonight, it was Hannah asking questions. Although her abigail was fiercely loyal to her, she was also imperious on occasion and curious. May would never be able to explain any of this: blood on her nightrail, the strongbox out, her filling a sack with gold . . . none of it!

  She paused and stared down at the coins. Unless she got them enough gold and gems, they would kill . . . she paused and drew in her breath sharply. The dark room was quiet, and she could almost hear her own heart pounding, the blood rushing through her veins at an accelerated rate. Would it make any difference at all whether she brought them jewels? Could they afford to let him live? Or her, for that matter?

  She slumped down on the floor by the bed, a deep sob clogging her throat. That was why Etienne was pleading with her to stay inside. He knew her life was forfeit along with his own the minute she gave them what they wanted. They had no intention of letting either of them go. And so Etienne had made up that absurd code to tell her to stay in safety once she was in Lark House. Did he really think that she would lock herself in and wait, knowing those criminals were going to kill him?

  No! She arose, her fists clenched around the silken sack. She had defeated Dempster, and she would find a way to defeat them.

  Frantically she searched the room for something else to weight the bag with, for they must be dazzled by the haul. If they were as greedy as she thought they were, there might be some hope in that cupidity. She bethought herself of her mother’s extensive collection. Yes, that would do!

  She tore off her bloody nightrail and stuffed it under her bed. It would not do to frighten Hannah. If she came in for something in the night and found her mistress’s nightrail on the floor with blood on it . . . well, May did not want to be responsible for what would happen. The poor woman would scream the house down. It was vital to her plan, and to Etienne’s safety, that no one raise the alarm, or at least not too early.

  Swiftly and silently she slipped her breeches on and pulled the cambric shirt she always wore with it over her head and tucked it in, pushed her feet into her riding boots, then donned another heavy cloak—an old one that had belonged to her father and that she kept in her wardrobe—over the outfit. She tiptoed down the hall to her mother’s room and spilled the contents of Maisie’s jewel case into the blue silk sack and tied the top, letting some of the sparkling necklaces dangle out just a little to dazzle greedy eyes. She then descended, and after one more stop sped out the doors of the terrace.

  The grass was slippery with dew, sparkling like jewels in the brilliant light of the rising moon. She ran down the slope, and then stopped to catch her breath. In the distance was the copse of trees. If she was not careful, the man Etienne called Delisle would just shoot her as she approached. After all, they could then get the jewels from her dead fingers. Maybe they had already killed Etienne!

  She clutched the bag to her breast. No! They would not do that until they were sure of her, until they knew she was coming back. And surely they would not risk shooting her until they knew what was in the sack? She was no use to them dead, and she would have no reason to go along with them if Etienne was dead.

  She walked on, wondering if she could circle and come up behind them, but no. There was no opportunity for that because in the bright moonlight they could see her cross the barren expanse of lawn. She would have to brazen this out and hope her plan worked. She trembled inside with fear for Etienne and for herself, but she would not cower in the house while he died! What was courage but acting in the face of her fear, despite the trembling in her body and the clenching of her stomach?

  Swallowing back the terror that threatened to leave her light-headed, she walked across the lawn. It was a long way on foot; she searched the dark edge of the woods with frantic eyes the whole time. She couldn’t see them. Had they gone? Had they killed Etienne, and waited to ambush her?

  But as she got closer, she could make out the glare of Etienne’s white shirt—he did not have a coat on—and then the pale faces of the men. She had to play her part just right, for never had so much been resting on her ability to conceal her true self.

  She widened her eyes and swallowed hard as she approached Delisle and his friend and their captive. She dared not look into Etienne’s eyes, or she would crumble. It was enough for now that he was alive, even though the sight of his blood trickling down and staining his shirt was enough to drive her to the brink of madness.

  “I . . . I brought it,” she said, her voice trembling in the quiet night. “Everything I could find. G-gold from the strongbox, all of my jewels, and I emptied all of my mother’s jewelry box into the bag, see?”

  She held out the bag in her left hand and the moonlight sparkled off one particularly fabulous necklace. The red and white stones glittered and she saw Delisle’s cold gray eyes fasten on it.

  “Bring it to me,” he hissed.

  “How . . . oh,” she sobbed, clutching the bag back to her breast. “How do I know you will let him go? Will you swear, on your honor, that you will let him go?”

  Impatiently, he gestured into the air. “Yes, yes! I swear! Now bring it to me, or we will slit his throat and you will watch him die!”

  “No!” she cried, staring with desperate eyes at Delisle. “Please, don’
t hurt him! Your friend must take the knife away from Etienne’s throat. I will give it only to him. After all, you might intend to take it and kill us all, your friend included! I have heard there is no honor among thieves, and you, Monsieur Delisle, don’t strike me as the kind of man who would be willing to share a hoard such as I have brought you, tens of thousands of pounds’ worth of rubies, diamonds and emeralds, as well as good British gold, with anyone!”

  “Don’t be foolish, little miss. Give the sack to me this minute!” Delisle said. He reached out and snapped his fingers in impatience, waving the gun in his other hand.

  The Englishman, his hold on Etienne loosening just a bit, glanced over at Delisle and frowned. “’Ere, whot she says is right. Never did trust you Frenchies, an’ you, my fine friend, you’d as soon slit your muvver’s throat as look at ’er. So I’ll take the jools!”

  “Jem, you fool,” Delisle muttered impatiently. “This is no time to argue! She is just trying to plant doubts in your mind about me. We have come this far, my partner, trust me.”

  That apparently was too much for the Englishman. He released Etienne and lunged at May, trying to grab the bag of jewels, but she had calculated the distance at which she stood carefully, and once she saw the movement, she heaved the bag with all her might at his head. It hit him and he staggered back. Etienne had made the most of his precious seconds of freedom to tackle Delisle, who did not expect the threat to come from that direction. They fell to the ground and grappled.

  May screamed “No!” but Jem had only been momentarily routed, and with an angry grunt like a bull, he ran at her again. She drew the pistol she had secreted in the waistband of her breeches and fired at him, winging him in one shoulder. He fell to the ground with a cry of pain, and the two Frenchmen, rolling in the wet grass, paused.