“Where’d you learn to do that?” he whispered as I set to work.
“On a prison ship. I’m quite expert at it. Damn! This one’s difficult. I don’t know if the pin is going to reach—there, I can feel it giving. Just another minute—”
“You’re amazing, lass.”
“Shut up, you’re breaking my concentration.”
“Lippy, too. I come all this way to rescue you from a fate worse than death, and you tell me to shut up. You and I are going to fight a lot during years to come, lass.”
“There!” I opened the door.
“Amazing,” he repeated.
“Do whatever you plan to do with your explosives, Mr. Bond. Em and Corrie and I will meet you in back of the house in fifteen minutes. And—and please be careful. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“You do care. I knew it.”
“I just want to get off this bloody island,” I said dryly.
Jeremy Bond smiled and flung an arm around the back of my neck and kissed me quite suddenly, quite thoroughly. He was outrageous, utterly outrageous, jaunty and devil-may-care in the face of grave danger, refusing to be serious even when his life was at stake, taking the time to kiss me when every minute counted, kissing me with robust energy.
“There’ll be more later,” he promised, releasing me. “You be careful, Marietta. I’d like to get out of this without getting myself bruised up. Hate to fight. Prefer to sneak around in the dark.”
He patted my cheek and stepped nimbly into the dark armory. I moved back behind the shrubberies, listening for the guard. When I heard him pacing heavily on the other side of the stockade, I hurried back to Em’s cottage, keeping to the shadows. The front door was unlocked, a light burning in the sitting room. I stepped into the foyer. My heart was beating rapidly. I was out of breath. I paused for a moment, pulling myself together, then moved into the small sitting room.
Em was standing in front of the mantle, still wearing the elaborate purple brocade gown embroidered with silver flowers. There was a glass of brandy in her hand, and in her eyes there was a lost look, a look of total dejection, total defeat. She had taken off the diamonds and amethysts. They were scattered carelessly over the top of a small table in front of the pale blue sofa, shimmering in the candlelight.
“Get your things together,” I said briskly.
“Lord, luv, what’s the matter?”
“We’re leaving.”
A wry smile curled on her lips. “It must be the wine, luv. You drank an awful lot of it. Your cheeks are flushed bright pink. Your eyes—your eyes are like frozen blue fire.”
“We’re leaving the island, Em. We’re leaving tonight.”
“Red Nick wouldn’t like that, I’m afraid. Neither would Draper. I’m expecting him any moment now. I really don’t think it’s a wise idea, your being here at this particular time.”
“Em! Didn’t you hear me? We’re leaving. We don’t have much time. Jeremy Bond and his men have come for us. He’s planting explosives in the armory at this very moment, and they’ve put explosives in all the ships and warehouses. Everything’s going to blow in a matter of minutes.”
“My God!”
“I was strolling in the gardens. He dropped out of a tree and seized me and—I really don’t have time to explain. We have maybe twelve minutes. I told him we’d meet him in back of the gardens.”
“You—you’re not drunk?”
“It’s true, Em.”
“Jesus,” she said. She swallowed the rest of the brandy, set the glass down and hurriedly began to scoop up the jewelry. “I’ll be there, luv. I’ve just got to get the rest of my jewelry and—and a few other things. Do I have time to change? Twelve minutes. I can do it. Corrie? What about—”
“I’m going to get her right now. Ten minutes, Em. Make it ten minutes. Meet us in the gardens behind the house in ten minutes, no later.”
She nodded, curls spilling over her cheeks. She grabbed a tiny snuff box of solid gold set with pink and blue enamel, hesitated before a pair of silver candlesticks and then rushed out of the room. I hurried back outside and ran toward the house, bronze skirts billowing, whipping in the breeze. I was out of breath again as I entered the house, so excited I could hardly think. Calm, I told myself. You must be calm. You mustn’t alarm Corrie. We’ve got a full ten minutes. There’s so much to do. Ten minutes. Plenty of time if you don’t allow yourself to panic. I moved up the stairs and stepped into the bedroom. Corrie was still sewing.
“Miz Marietta! You startled me. You look upset.”
“Put down your sewing, Corrie. I want you to listen to me very carefully. We’re leaving the island tonight. Some men have come to take us away. Don’t ask me any questions. I want you to go down to your room and get your other dress and your cloak and then come back up here.”
Corrie put her sewing aside and stood up, perfectly calm, as though she had been expecting this. Leaving scissors, sewing box, and thimble on the table, leaving the blue and silver gown on the floor, she moved quickly and silently out of the room. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment and then stepped over to the wardrobe, pushing aside gowns and reaching behind rows of shoes to retrieve the white cotton bag I had hidden there. Corrie had made it for me. It had straps like an apron, and I had worn it tied around my waist, filled with jewelry, when we had attempted our escape.
Forcing myself to remain calm, I took down a fine white cotton petticoat, skirts awhirl with ruffles, and then took down the simplest and sturdiest gown I had, thin tan linen with narrow brown and rust stripes. I carried the garments over to the dressing table and draped them over the stool and opened the jewelry box, dumping its contents into the bag. I set it aside and undressed, dropping bronze gown and leaf-brown petticoats to the floor, kicking them aside as I strapped the bag around my waist, letting its weight rest against the side of my left thigh. My hands trembled slightly as I tightened the knot, securing it firmly.
I put on the white cotton petticoat, smoothed the snug bodice down, and then put on the gown. It had short, narrow sleeves and a low, scooped neckline that revealed the swell of my breasts. The waist was tight, the skirt extremely full. It wasn’t the ideal garment, no, but it was better than satin or velvet. I fastened the tiny hooks in back and ran my hands along my sides, adjusting the fit.
As I moved back over to the wardrobe to take down the tan linen cloak lined with rust-colored silk that went with the gown, I thought about Jeremy Bond and the extreme danger he was in as he moved about in the dark armory, placing those explosives he carried wrapped up in oilskin. What if he stumbled in the dark and knocked over a rack of guns? The clatter would alert the men in the barracks immediately, and they’d be upon him in a matter of seconds. What if he fumbled with the explosives and failed to set them up properly and they went off?
I forced the thoughts out of my mind and fastened the cloak around my shoulders. For all his jaunty, irreverent manner, Jeremy Bond was extremely capable, a professional mercenary who was apparently one of the best. He wasn’t going to knock over a rack of guns. He wasn’t going to blow himself up by accident. He would do his job quickly and efficiently and hurry back to the gardens to help us over the wall and down to the beach where the boats were waiting. So much had happened, so quickly. I still found it hard to believe that he was actually here, that escape was at hand.
Corrie should be returning any minute now. I glanced around the room, trying to organize my thoughts. I had the jewelry. I had changed. I had put on my cloak. There was still three or four minutes. What else did I need? Clothes. Perhaps I should grab a couple of other dresses. An extra pair of shoes as well. I could make a bundle of them. I took down a long blue cloak and spread it out on the floor, then returned to select the gowns, all so very sumptuous, cloth of gold, silver lace, deep garnet velvet, fine for the kept woman of a pirate chief but totally unsuitable for my present purposes. I finally selected a heavy blue silk and a golden yellow brocade. They were much too elegant,
but they would have to do. I folded them up and put them on the cloak.
Shoes. I scanned the rows of them lined up on the bottom of the wardrobe. They were all so fancy. Satin slippers. High heels. Shoes with gem-encrusted buckles. My mind seemed to whirl. I could feel panic building. I snatched up a pair of dark blue leather slippers and tossed them on top of the gowns, then grabbed hairbrush and comb and added them to the pile. I kneeled down and began to bundle the things up, folding the heavy blue cloak over gowns and shoes, hairbrush, and comb. It was a shame I couldn’t take the makeup case, I reflected, but it would make the bundle far too bulky.
Using the long blue ribbons meant to fasten the cloak under the chin, I tied the bundle up and placed it on the dressing stool, glancing anxiously at the clock. Eight minutes had passed since I first entered the room. I had moved fast indeed and, once again, was slightly out of breath. My nerves were beginning to jangle. Where was Corrie? What was keeping her? She should have returned by this time. Hearing footsteps in the hallway, I gave a sigh of relief and began to adjust the folds of the tan cloak over my shoulders, looking into the mirror as I did so.
“We must hurry,” I said as I heard her enter.
“Indeed?” Nicholas Lyon inquired.
I whirled around. I could feel the color leaving my cheeks. He stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the door frame, the other thrust casually into the pocket of his maroon satin breeches. The maroon frock coat embroidered with black silk fleurs-de-lis hung open, revealing the fine white lawn shirt beneath. Frothy white lace ruffles cascaded from his throat and from beneath the cuffs of his coat. Those piercing blue eyes took in my change of clothes, the bundle on the dressing stool, the opened wardrobe doors. He slowly arched one brow, chin lowered, the heavy red-brown wave slanting over his forehead.
“It seems you were expecting someone else,” he observed.
My throat was tight, constricted. I tried to speak. I couldn’t. I felt a terrible sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, and my pulse seemed to leap wildly just once and then vanish completely. My eyes must have reflected my alarm, for his thin lips slowly curled in a mocking smile. I wondered if my heart was going to fail me, if I was going to pitch forward to the floor.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
I managed to nod, desperately trying to fight back the alarm.
“In a fit of pique, no doubt. My little flirtation with Pepita must have upset you.”
“I—I thought you’d be gone—much longer.”
“Obviously. Did you actually think I’d sleep with that coarse little harlot? I gave her some more rum, let her chatter on for a while, and then dumped a few gold coins down the front of her blouse.”
He removed his hand from the door frame and folded his arms across his chest, his chin still tilted. He was enjoying himself immensely, enjoying my panic, my fear. I swallowed and passed a hand across my forehead, praying for strength.
“What’s all this about?” he asked, jerking his head to one side to indicate the confusion of clothes on the floor, the bundle, the open doors of the wardrobe.
“I—I’m leaving, Nicholas.”
“Are you?”
“You can’t stop me.”
“No?”
“Men have arrived. They came to—to rescue me.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
My voice was stronger now, a hard edge underlining each word. The initial shock had worn off, and I could feel determination building inside me. I wasn’t going to be intimidated. I wasn’t going to let him interfere. I stared at him with defiant eyes, no longer afraid.
“You’re being very foolish, my dear,” he said gently.
“I’m leaving. I’m taking Corrie with me.”
“Very foolish,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I’m going to have to punish you, you know.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Nicholas.”
It was true. Fear had vanished entirely. I felt a steelly hardness inside, strength such as I had rarely felt before. I stood very still, every muscle in my body taut, ready to spring, ready to strike. Nicholas unfolded his arms and tilted his head to one side, studying me with a reflective look in his eyes, a sad half-smile on his lips.
“This time I won’t hesitate,” he told me. “This time I won’t allow personal feeling to interfere with duty. I told you I’d kill the little nigger, and I intend to do so. You’ll watch.”
“Corrie’s already gone,” I lied. “She left the house ten minutes ago.”
“You’re lying, Marietta.”
“She’s already with the men. They’re going to blow up all your ships, the warehouses as well. He—the man who came after me—is setting a charge of explosives in the armory at this very moment.”
“You do have a vivid imagination,” he remarked. “No ship could possibly have approached this island without being observed.”
“They anchored the ship in a secret cove down the coast and rowed to the island after dark.”
A slight frown creased his brow as he considered this information, wondering if it could possibly be true. After a moment he rejected it as being altogether too improbable. I prayed Corrie wouldn’t come in, prayed she would hear him and have the sense to go out to the gardens.
“I’ve been very lax with you, Marietta,” he said. “Much too lax. I let my feelings for you get in the way.”
“You have no feelings.”
“I realize now I should have taken a firmer hand at the very beginning.”
He sighed and took a step toward me, the skirt of his embroidered maroon frock coat swaying, ruffles fluttering at chest and wrists. His dark copper hair was burnished by the candlelight, gleaming with rich red highlights. He smiled, his lips lifting at one corner.
“Don’t come any closer,” I warned.
“I don’t know where your little nigger is, but rest assured I’ll attend to her. Right now I shall attend to you—quite severely, I fear. I’m going to teach you a much needed lesson.”
My hand flew behind me, groping on the dressing table. My fingers closed over the ivory handle of a hand mirror. I pulled it up and hurled it at him. He ducked as it sailed past his shoulder and continued moving toward me, slowly, smiling in anticipation. I rushed forward, trying to dart past him. His hand shot out, seizing my left wrist, wrenching it savagely.
“Let go of me!”
“Struggle all you like,” he told me. “That’ll only make it more interesting.”
I pressed my lips into a tight line and kicked his shin with all the force I could muster. He winced in pain, bending forward, and as he did so I raked my nails across his cheek, digging deeply into the flesh, drawing blood. He let go of my wrist and stepped back and brought his right fist crashing against my jaw. Blazing pain shot throughout my body. I reeled backward, lost my balance, fell to my knees, stunned. Nicholas rubbed his bleeding cheek.
“You’re going to be sorry for that,” he promised. His voice was harsh now, metallic, filled with menace. “You’re going to be sorry indeed.”
He started toward me again and then stopped in his tracks as a thundering explosion sounded in the harbor, only faintly muted by distance. There was another and yet another. Nicholas Lyon wore a look of dismay, realization dawning on him as a fourth blast exploded with rumbling force. I touched my jaw, moving it gently to ascertain that it wasn’t broken. As another explosion thundered he looked at me with blue eyes blazing, his cheeks ashen.
“It’s true!” I cried. “Everything I said was true.”
“You’re responsible for this!”
“I’m glad. I’m glad! They’re blowing up the whole island! The armory is going to go any minute now.”
“You bitch!”
He leaped forward, and his hands flew out, seizing my throat, strong, sinewy fingers closing around it, thumbs pressing brutally into the soft flesh just beneath my windpipe. I gasped, grabbing his wrists, trying to break his gri
p, and he shook me viciously, squeezing even harder. Bright lights seemed to flash before my eyes, whirling rapidly, and I lowered my lids. The lights continued to whirl and my breath was gone and my lungs seemed about to burst as those thumbs crushed flesh and muscle. I grabbed his wrists again and opened my eyes and saw his face looming over me, his teeth bared, his eyes flashing blue fire. I tried desperately to pull those wrists apart, but my strength was going and I was beginning to sag. I knew I was going to die.
My head was filled with a shrill ringing noise, but I heard his yell nevertheless. He released my throat abruptly, staggering. I fell back onto the carpet in a limp heap, barely conscious. Through a shimmering haze I saw him above me, his legs wobbling and his torso swaying back and forth as his arms flew behind his back, reaching for something. He made a strange gurgling noise in his throat, beginning to topple, and I rolled out of the way as he fell crashing to the floor with a heavy thud, his arms thrown out. He lay there beside me without moving, and through the haze I saw Corrie standing a few feet away with the scissors held tightly in one hand, the shiny blades dripping with blood.
I coughed, trying to sit up. I was much too weak to make it. Everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, Corrie was on her knees beside me, trying to pull me up. I moaned and coughed and blinked my eyes. Her own were large and dark and filled with alarm as she helped me into a sitting position. My jaw still throbbed with pain and my throat was so sore I could hardly swallow, but I was fully conscious now … and alive. Corrie held me against her. Her arms were surprisingly strong.
“I thought you was dead,” she said.
“I think—I’m all—right,” I croaked hoarsely.
“I came up the stairs, and I heard him in here, heard him threatening you. I was afraid to come in. I stayed in the hall, leaning against the wall, and I was so scared, Miz Marietta.”
“You should—have—gone on to—the gardens.”
“Then he hit you and them explosions went off. I peeked through the doorway and saw him choking you and I—I didn’t even think. I just came running in and grabbed the scissors and stabbed him.”
Love Me, Marietta Page 33
