by Emma Wildes
She should run, Jessica realized, but still numb with horror at having two men assaulted in front of her in the space of a few minutes, she found her muscles seemed to be locked and useless. As she watched, Eloise Rivers calmly accepted a gun from the young man and casually pointed it straight at her. A heartless sneer twisted her pink mouth. “Mrs. Ramsey, I would dispense with you here and now as a gesture of revenge on your husband, who had the audacity to actually place me under arrest, but alas, I fear thanks to Jack’s unforgivable stupidity, we might need you near to secure our safe departure. Now, this way, walk swiftly and do not make any move that I might interpret as an attempt to escape, understand?”
After watching Eloise so indifferently gun down her husband, Jessica understood only too well. Her nod was doll-like, her head seeming to be separate from the rest of her body. Acting as if to tug her cloak tighter around her body, she slipped her right hand into the inside pocket and felt the solid weight of the hilt of the knife against her palm.
When the man called Francois stepped forward and grasped her arm, she did not resist.
* * * *
Alex stood transfixed in the shadows, his stealthy passage back toward the inn arrested by the sound of a gunshot. Not certain if he should spring forward and investigate, or else take the excruciating time to make an unannounced arrival through the back alley, he stood there and pulled his pistol from his jacket.
The docks were a rough place, he told himself, trying to slow the unruly acceleration of his heart. The Swine and Nettle was a filthy dive, frequented by the worst kind of riffraff, and brawls were commonplace, no doubt many of them fatal.
But as he swiftly checked over his weapon, he found his hands trembled. Dear Lord, Jessica might be there, in that sordid and dangerous place. Tolley was trustworthy and capable, but was he a match for the likes of Jack? He had been instructed to do nothing risky, but then Jack was more than an average adversary.
“Hell and blast,” Alex muttered. He couldn’t wait any longer. With a deep breath, he prepared to slip from his position in the block of darkness cast by a rundown building just as three figures hurried around the corner and came straight toward him.
God’s name in heaven. There was the gleam of rich hair that held ruby tints, which in the moonlight shone like blood. A dark cloak that billowed around a familiar slender body and a pale oval face shown in the dismal illumination…
Jessica was alive. In his joy, he had to fight the urge to rush forward and sweep her into his arms.
An action that could surely spell death for them both.
He had no illusions about Eloise Rivers. And that surly and almost insolent manservant, Francois—the one who had impersonated Jack so that Alex had been caught rummaging through the study at the Rivers townhouse—that same young man had his hand clamped firmly around Jessica’s elbow, obviously pushing her forward.
A devil of a problem, since they were headed for the ship.
Flattened against the damp side of the building, Alex wondered wildly what to do next. Since they had undoubtedly met up with Jack, he was afraid his old friend wouldn’t be far behind, joining his wife and her companion in their quest to escape, tipping the odds definitely to the other side.
On the other hand, he had Marcus waiting by La Dame, and both he and his brother were heavily armed. Tolley, too, was somewhere about, or at least he hoped so. That gunshot took a sudden new significance in his mind.
Shaking off the chill finger of fury, Alex waited until they passed him; neither Eloise with her pale hair and white skin, hooded and cloaked, or Francois with his death grip on his captive, noticing him in his hiding place. They both seemed intent on all due speed toward their waiting escape.
Once they were paces ahead, he slid out and followed them.
* * * *
The air smelled like dead fish, so strong Jessica almost preferred the rancid atmosphere of the tavern taproom.
The tavern. Tolley. Jack Rivers.
Her eyes squeezed shut and she stumbled, only to be jerked upright none too gently.
“Take care, madam.” The words were roughly whispered in her ear.
Her throat tightened. She was certain, with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, that anyone with a reputation for calculation and murder such as Eloise Rivers, would not spare their hostage once she was no longer of use.
Plus, as the lady had stated, she had a score to settle with Alex.
Ships of all sizes lined the quay, some with elaborate and whimsical figureheads, others bulky and stoic at their moorings, all of them dreary in the rainy gloom. She barely noticed which one was their actual destination, not until Eloise pointed and whispered, “There she is, Francois.”
“She” appeared to be a small but trim-looking vessel, the sails half up already. Francois replied in the same low voice, “There appears to be no one about. Ramsey must not be here yet. So what,” he asked and shook Jessica a little, his dark eyes gleaming, “do we do with this pretty little bird?”
Eloise shrugged dismissively. “You may keep her for your amusement, if you wish to take the risk of Ramsey following us to France, but I don’t advise it. He isn’t likely to allow his wife to be whisked away, even by someone of your charms.”
Jessica saw his amused stare slide from her face down to her bosom, visible through the gap in her cloak. She would have instinctively moved to close the garment, but her right hand was wrapped around the hilt of the knife in her pocket. Instead, she just looked away. Sideways…anywhere. At the drab and sullen side of a decaying building yards from where they stood.
And then she saw him. A dark figure crouched by the side of the weather-beaten warehouse on the opposite side of the dock. As she watched, he shifted, moving a little forward into the light so that she could see his face, his fingers lifting to his lips in a telltale gesture of silence.
Alex.
It was all she could do to not cry out. To keep her expression neutral, she quickly looked at her feet. “Madame Rivers, if you have no need of me to secure your freedom, please let me go.”
“But, my dear, what of the insult to my pride, deftly administered by your husband?” The question was put in a silky voice that raised the hair on the back of Jessica’s neck.
Next to her, Francois actually chuckled. Jessica—only too well aware of both Eloise with the pistol in her cloak, and Alex poised at the edge of the dock—steadied herself.
Very carefully, she lifted the knife from her pocket. It felt oddly heavy in her right hand, and she grasped the handle so that it was turned blade backwards, toward the man who held her so tightly. She said shakily, “What of it? I have hurt no one and Alex was only doing his duty. Is human life so useless to you, have you become such a monster, that you kill the blameless as easily as you murder those who are a threat to France?”
Eloise’s face changed, her lips drawing back over her teeth. Venomously, she spat out, “Monster? Your husband called me that as well. The insult increases.” One small hand slipped into her cloak.
Jessica had seen her shoot Jack down like a diseased dog. Her heart thudding into her throat, she stepped back involuntarily, only to come up against the solid form of Francois just as he stiffened and cried, “Look!”
Jessica’s terrified gaze flew to where she’d seen Alex crouching. Her worse fears were realized as she saw that he had stepped out of his hiding place and walked slowly toward them. Francois snarled, “Diable, it’s Ramsey.”
* * * *
It was a fascinating little tableau. The two women; both beautiful, one ice-cold and deadly, one pale and achingly vulnerable with her eyes like gilt pools and tumbled, lustrous hair…and of course, the sadistic Frenchman who held her in a grip that bespoke of pain and punishment.
If he did not conquer the fierce and consuming anger throbbing through every inch of his body, Alex knew he would further endanger Jessica, not help her. Forcing a calm he didn’t feel, he walked across the slick surface of the wooden planks. “Good ev
ening, Madame Rivers.”
Eloise had whirled to face him and he was grateful her attention was deflected from Jessica. She feigned surprise, coquettishly lowering her lashes in a mockery of flirtation. “Well, mon Colonel, what a dear, dear surprise to see you here.” Her hand went theatrically to her heart. “And to think I despaired we might never meet again.”
Somewhere in the darkness, Marcus lay hidden. Alex gave a slight bow and lied without qualm. “And yet we do. It must be fate, yes? I wish to tell you I am here alone. I traveled with all due speed to meet your husband, as per his instructions.” He smiled. “I would, of course, have brought you along, but you inconveniently escaped your imprisonment.”
“Alex.” It was little more than a moan from his wife’s lips. If possible, Jessica looked more ashen than ever.
Rolling her left hand in a small flourish, Eloise laughed, a macabre cackle of sound at odds with her petite beauty. “You have my apologies, of course.”
“I would have more than your apologies, madame.” Alex drew a slow breath. “As you see, I stand before you, unarmed. I wish very much to trade myself for my wife. Let her go free and I willingly submit. I am sure I will make a much more valuable prisoner upon our arrival on the shores of France. Your emperor, for instance, will relish my capture.”
The man called Francois muttered in French, “Tell me, Eloise, that you are not so foolish. He is dangerous, even unarmed.” He tugged on Jessica’s arm. “This one…she is no trouble.”
How wrong could someone be, Alex thought with involuntary amusement. And of course, Jessica even with her schoolgirl French had understood the man. Her chin tipped upward and her shoulders tightened in rebuke of that unwise comment.
Sliding a pistol from under her cloak, Eloise laughed again. “A generous offer to be sure, Lord Alex…but, I must decline. Your wife will accompany us on our journey. I trust the crew will enjoy her…presence. And as for yourself, I’m sorry.” She leveled the gun straight at his chest. “You now see, I am sure, that you risked much for nothing.”
Marcus, he thought, fighting off the glimmer of despair. Shoot her. For the sake of heaven, shoot the woman. He knew his brother well enough that the idea of gunning down someone would be hard enough, much less a member of the fairer sex.
The loud tick of the hammer pulling back sounded much like his personal death knell.
Then two things happened at once.
First of all, Jessica moved convulsively, seeming to throw herself backwards, the action answered by a hideous scream from Francois. Second, the roar of a whizzing bullet sped by his ear and Eloise jerked, staggering backwards like some sort of grotesque puppet, her skirts catching on the edge of the dock and her arms cartwheeling as she reeled off balance and plunged over the edge.
It all seemed a blink, a horror of sound and movement rooting him to the spot. He was aware of Francois falling across the greasy, wet boards of the dock, his hand clamped to his groin, his groans splitting the night. He also saw out of the corner of his eye that it had been Tolley, not Marcus, who had shot Eloise. Slim and covered in mud and blood, the young man limped forward still holding the smoking weapon.
But the only thing he could look at was Jessica’s white face, those silver eyes so hollow, her full lips trembling.
“My love,” he said hoarsely. “Oh my love. Come here.” Something clattered to the wooden boards at her feet.
Seconds later, Jessica was in his embrace, flying to him with such force that he very nearly fell backward. Her arms went around his waist and clung. She whispered against his chest, “You came for me.”
“Of course I came for you.” He tightened his hold and murmured against her silky hair, “I love you, Jess.”
She didn’t move and he heard her give a long, exhausted sigh. “I have been waiting what seems like my whole life to hear you say that to me.”
* * * *
There were all sorts of things to be arranged. She understood that, but it was wearing all the same, and Jessica was beyond tired. Actually, from the sympathetic expression on her brother-in-law’s handsome face, she suspected she looked as drained as she felt. There was also the small matter of being bruised, scratched, hungry, thirsty and disheveled.
“Have this.” Marcus leaned forward and pressed a glass into her hand. His tone was persuasive. “It’ll help.”
Even through her fatigue, she felt a glimmer of amusement. “Do all you gentleman think brandy will cure any ill?”
Marcus looked puzzled, his hair also uncharacteristically rumpled, his clothes sodden. “What do you mean?”
“The night I stayed at Braidwood with Alex, he gave me brandy before he told me about Robert leaving. He swore it would help. Look what happened next.”
“Oh.” The Duke of Grayston gave a small apologetic grimace. “Actually, it’s possible we do believe a bit too much in it. There is logic to the assumption by the way, because even if it doesn’t cure it, it makes the entire problem a bit more palatable for a short while.”
She choked on her laugh as much as on the taste of the sharp beverage.
They sat in the parlor of a much more reputable inn than the horrible Swine and Nettle. Marcus apparently had been given the duty to watch over her while her husband tried to clear up the mess of wounded and dead with the local authorities.
The room was warm enough and she had Alex’s coat draped over her shoulders, but Jessica shivered. “I am not still sure how this all happened.”
“My dear, that makes two of us.”
“I stabbed him.” She still remembered the telltale echo of pain from the horrible Frenchman who had held her so mercilessly.
“Bravo,” Marcus said in stout support, sprawled in a chair across from her. “In a strategic place, no less. Please tell me you don’t feel remorse, Jessica. The man is a despicable cohort to a deadly spy, and I believe they were about to abduct you.”
It was true, and she knew it. But she was still awash in a multitude of confusing feelings over the events of the past few days. She looked away, her throat working. “I don’t know. First I thought Jack killed Tolley, and then she killed Jack, then Tolley killed her…it was all so terrible.”
Dear Lord, she actually sniffled. Even during her frightening time with Jack Rivers she hadn’t cried. Now was the wrong time to start. It was over.
Marcus looked predictably distressed over any possible tears, and she would have found it amusing except she’d had a perfectly awful past few days.
“Quaffing brandy without me?” The even sound of Alex’s voice made her jump. “Is that at all ladylike, Jess? Marcus, what are you trying to do, corrupt my beautiful wife?”
Just the cadence of his tone and words had a magical effect. Marcus also looked very relieved at his younger brother’s arrival. “As I understand it, you corrupted her yourself before this. Jessica refused to go to bed without you. I’m merely fulfilling my proper role as guardian.” He got to his feet. “I trust the authorities now have what they need to know to settle things.”
“They know enough.”
The two of them exchanged looks.
It was all very cryptic and she wished she wasn’t too exhausted to care.
“Darling Jess, you should be asleep.” Alex loomed over her and bent down to scoop her up out of her chair without ceremony. “You’re spent, and no wonder.”
He had never been so right. The insistence to wait for him had been pure stubbornness. And, if she admitted it, born of a desire to see him, to have him hold her as he did now, with tender care against his chest.
Jessica laid her head on her husband’s shoulder as he took her up the stairs. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” she informed him with as much acerbic accusation as she could summon.
“Do I?” He also looked tired, but still a smile hovered around his mouth.
“Absolutely.”
“How about in the morning?”
“It is almost morning.” She yawned, his scent and strength enveloping her with
a feeling of security that had been missing from her life for a long, long time.
“So it is.” He strode down a hallway, somehow selected the right door, and shouldered it open. “Very well, we can talk now. Shall we start with how I think you are the most resourceful, brave, stubborn, infuriating person I have ever known?”
Jessica’s eyes widened as he stalked over to deposit her on the bed. “You must be daft. I am not the one who immersed our lives in a drama of foreign spies and—”
Her husband braced his arms on either side of her body, his blue eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “Where did you get the knife?”
The one she’d stabbed Francois with. She still felt ill when she recalled that moment. “It was Tolley’s. When Jack attacked him, he dropped it.”
“And, naturally, you had the presence of mind to manage to pick it up.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Probably not. I haven’t your cool head. So…please, go on, what happened next. Somehow Jack is dead.”
Jessica nodded. “She killed him. It was…heartless. I have to admit, he pushed me away at the last moment, as if he knew what she was going to do.”
Alex looked away for a moment, his expression bleak. “At one time, he was a good man and a friend.”
“He didn’t hurt me.” Jessica reached up and touched her husband’s face in a tentative gesture of reassurance. “I can say that.”
“I was so damn worried.”
It was amazing, it was fabulous and magical and why she’d managed to stay awake as she waited for him to return, and she believed him. Her throat felt tight. “Please tell me again.”
His brow furrowed. “I was worried.” “Not that.”
“Oh.” His smile was uncertain, lacking that usual facile charm. “I’ve heard women like to hear passionate declarations often. Forgive me if I’m new to this.”
