‘Well spoken, my dear, my secrets are nobody’s property but mine.’
Kit entered the tiny cabin with his usual cat-like grace, making the room suddenly seem much smaller. The cynical smile was firmly in place, the slight frown drawing his black brows together demonstrating clearly that he had overheard enough of the conversation to know Clarissa had been asking questions.
‘My aunt always told me that listeners hear only ill of themselves, you know. You are fortunate you didn’t arrive any earlier.’
‘Ah, so you have an aunt, as well as a mother. Quite a little family gathering there will be awaiting you on your return from your trip. And what, pray, would I have overheard that would have been so unwelcome to my ears?’
‘Why, sir, only what I told you myself, and to your face. You are a hero. And it came this time not from my lips, but from those of Monsieur Renaud here.’
‘And, oh, monsieur, it is true. To us you are a hero, je vous promis.’ The worshipful tone of Lisette’s voice could not be ignored, but instead of taking umbrage with her, Kit laughed.
‘Merci du compliment, mademoiselle. But I didn’t come here to discuss my character, I came to remind you of your promises to me. We will be in England soon. A chaise awaits you, to take you to London and thence to Oxford. Once you are disembarked, you must not discuss this journey, nor may you tell any of your friends still in France how you came to contact me. From tonight, the Loup de Mer is no more. You have the honour of being my last passengers. And after tonight, even if we meet in the street, you must not recognise me. Is that understood?’
‘But why? Monsieur, I do not understand why?’
‘Lisette!’ Monsieur Renaud laid a constraining hand on his daughter’s shoulder. ‘Tais-toi. I speak for both of us, monsieur, when I say that it shall be as you demand. But I beg you, if you should ever be in need of a friend yourself, to consider me your eternally grateful servant.’
‘Thank you, monsieur.’ Only Clarissa realised that the curt tone hid Kit’s own pleasure at the compliment. ‘Now, I will bid you adieu. I will be busy on deck until we disembark. I am sure that madame here will look after you well. She is adept at it, I can vouch.’ A brief nod and a smile, and he was gone.
Clarissa settled Lisette down to sleep on the narrow bunk, letting her head rest on her own lap, soothing her into slumber by stroking her hair as she had done with Amelia countless times. After a while, Monsieur Renaud slept too, more fitfully, uncomfortably upright on the bunk opposite, and Clarissa sat watching over them, her own mind too tired to grapple with the travails that lay ahead when they arrived back in port.
Finally she too dozed off. She woke briefly to see Kit hovering over her, tucking a blanket round her, but he put a finger to his mouth and left as silently as he had arrived, so she smiled faintly, and turned to a troubled sleep once more.
When Clarissa next opened her eyes, the porthole revealed a choppy iron-grey sea rising to meet the pale dawn sky. It was morn, though she had no idea what o’clock. Even with a poor wind, they must be near home. Gently, so as not to disturb Lisette, still soundly asleep on her lap, Clarissa rose and stretched, stiff and sore from lying on the rough planks that passed for a bed. Her eyes felt gritty from the briny salt of the sea-spray, and she was ravenously hungry. She had not eaten since the inn, which seemed like long ago now, though it was only yesterday. But breakfast would have to wait until they landed, and she had a suspicion that once they were safely ashore, breakfast would be the last thing on her mind.
The yacht was slowing, but she could see nothing from the porthole to tell her their position. Steadying herself to go above decks, she was stilled by the sound of strange voices, and waited, suddenly alert to danger. The cabin door opened abruptly and John appeared, his face creased in worry.
‘Master says to stay down there, and make no sound. There’s a cutter coming alongside, they mustn’t find you.’
‘A cutter? Do you mean a customs ship?’
‘Aye. They’ve been tipped off, must’ve been, as they were lying in wait for us. I warned the master after the last time that someone was informing on us. And this time they want to board. They must be certain sure of their information.’
‘But can’t you prevent them boarding?’
‘Master Kit’ll try, lady, but they do seem mighty determined this time. And Master Kit, happen he’s riled that Lieutenant Smith once too often. The lad’s got summat to prove.’
Looking desperately round the tiny cabin, Clarissa realised there was nowhere for them to hide. The brandy casks were in the hidden compartment on deck, but no Riding Officer worth his salt would fail to discover the hiding place if he was permitted a thorough search. Looking anxiously at the still peacefully sleeping émigrés, Clarissa knew that if the customs men found the brandy they would almost certainly want to search the cabin too, where, unknown to them, a much more valuable cargo was stored. They must be prevented from searching or the game was up for them all. And if Kit couldn’t stop them, she thought, a plan forming in her mind, well, then she would have to.
Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, for John was entreating her to remain in the cabin and stay quiet. ‘Do as Master Kit commands and don’t even think of doing anything silly or you’ll get us all hanged.’ With this, he closed the cabin door firmly on Clarissa’s face and returned above decks.
‘I must command you to allow us to escort you into port, Lord Rasenby. We have a warrant to search the Sea Wolf.’ Lieutenant Smith stood stiffly on the deck, his dinghy tied alongside in the calm waters of the channel, his cutter swaying a few yards off and behind the yacht.
‘This obsession with my night-fishing trips is becoming tedious, Lieutenant. I thought you would have better things to do with your valuable time.’
‘You have been less fortunate than usual, my lord, from what I can see?’
‘I don’t take your meaning.’ Kit’s temper, usually so cool under pressure, was frayed. Never before had they been unable to outrun the customs men, and he cursed the ill luck which had seen the wind drop suddenly. The thought of the Renauds and Clarissa hidden below decks made him nervous, more nervous than the thought of the cargo concealed in the secret locker. He had no clear idea of the law regarding the émigrés, but he had a very clear idea indeed of what would happen to his reputation if this story got out.
‘My meaning, my lord, is simple. Where is your catch?’
Cursing volubly under his breath, Kit turned helplessly to John, who shrugged in consternation. They had caught no fish.
‘As you say, I was unlucky last night, Lieutenant. Come now, we both know this is foolish. I am in need of my bed, as I’m sure you are of yours. Nothing can be gained from searching us, for there is nothing to be found.’
‘Perhaps your catch is below decks, my lord?’
‘Devil take you, Lieutenant, what are you implying?’
‘You know very well, Lord Rasenby. You are carrying contraband and this time nothing will prevent me from discovering it.’
‘I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed all the same, Lieutenant.’ Clarrie’s husky tones, as she stepped boldly on to deck, startled the men into silence. John, standing behind Kit, looked on slack-jawed.
‘Lord, Kit, I thought we’d never get back to England. I’ve missed you, darling, it’s no fun below decks on my own.’ Laying a proprietorial arm on Kit’s, Clarrie pouted. Her hair was loosened to curl freely down her back, and her dress unbuttoned sufficiently to add to her air of abandon. There could be no mistaking that she had this moment arisen from a night of passion.
Lieutenant Smith’s jaw dropped in imitation of John’s at this lush display, but Kit, quick to take advantage, merely pressed Clarissa’s hand in acknowledgment of the ruse, and smiled tauntingly at the Riding Officer. ‘My cargo, Lieutenant Smith, as you see.’ Taking Clarissa’s hand in his, he raised it to his mouth and planted a lingering kiss on her palm. ‘Good morning, my love. I’m afraid this gentleman was
rather intent on searching your quarters.’
‘Oh, please, Lieutenant, let me preserve some modicum of dignity. The cabin is—how can I put it delicately—a little untidy.’ There could be no mistaking her meaning. Lieutenant Smith blushed as scarlet as his uniform.
‘You can see now, Lieutenant, why I had no time for fishing last night. I was rather more agreeably occupied with this particular little piece of bait.’ A rather unnecessary pat on her bottom made Clarrie start.
‘Please, Kit, not in front of the gentleman. You can see he’s embarrassed.’ Indeed, the Lieutenant was playing with the collar of his coat as if suddenly finding it too tight. ‘I’m so sorry, Lieutenant—as you can see, I’m having a little difficulty in taming his lordship here. What he needs is his bed.’ This accompanied by a wink, which made even Kit raise an eyebrow.
‘I—well, I—yes. Excuse me, Lord Rasenby, it would seem that once again I was misinformed. Please accept my apologies, ma’am, for disturbing you—I mean, for disturbing your…’
‘My rest, I think you mean,’ Clarrie said with a saucy smile.
‘Yes. Your rest, ma’am. Of course.’
‘Lieutenant?’
‘My lord?’
‘A word, if you please, before you go. I would ask you to keep this encounter to yourself for all of our sakes. The lady, you understand, belongs to another, and it would grieve him greatly should he find out about this night’s fishing trip.’
Realisation dawned in the officer’s eyes, and they widened at the temerity of the man standing shameless in front of him. Lord Rasenby’s reputation was well known to those hereabouts, of course, but never before had Lieutenant Smith been faced with such blatant evidence of his raking. And she so young and pretty too! Nodding wisely in an attempt to pass off the encounter as he was sure a man of the world would do, Lieutenant Smith thrust the proffered note away in confusion. ‘My discretion does not need to be bought, Lord Rasenby. I am a man of honour. You can accept my word that I will not discuss this encounter.’
Kit’s brows rose in surprise. ‘You are a credit to your uniform, sir, and I honour you for it. And in return, I’ll tell you something to your advantage.’
‘Sir?’
‘It will perhaps relieve you to know that my night-fishing trips are at an end. You may wish to share that knowledge with the Marquis of Alchester, your informant.’ Raising his hand to forestall the confused denial, Kit continued. ‘I have been aware for some time that he has been keeping you apprised of my movements. Rest assured, I will be taking the matter up with Alchester personally. But for now, I trust, you take my meaning? The Sea Wolf will not be going fishing again.’
‘I thank you, sir. I take your meaning well. Now I must bid you good morning.” A blushing nod to Clarissa, and the lieutenant was gone, over the side to the waiting dinghy, and back to his cutter.
He was barely back on board before Clarrie turned, exultant and bursting with excitement, towards Kit. ‘Oh, Kit, I can’t tell you, my heart was thumping fit to burst. Just for a moment there I thought he—’
Kit cut short her excited torrent of words with an imperious wave of his hand. ‘You were told to remain below. Can I not trust you to follow even the simplest of instructions? I would have found a way to deal with Lieutenant Smith. John, make haste for the quay. We are long overdue. Clarissa, go below and make sure the Renauds are prepared to disembark.’
Curtly dismissed, Clarissa stumbled below, blinking back the tears. Kit turned to take the wheel, confused at his own sudden temper.
‘Don’t you think you’re being a mite hard on the girl, my lord?’ John asked gravely. ‘She got us out of a pretty pickle there and no mistake.’
‘I know, John, I know. Your point is well made.’ She had saved them all from a perilous situation with her quick thinking, cool head and bravery. So why, then, was he so angry with her?
Chapter Seven
‘Can you finish up here on your own, John? This way, Clarissa, we have unfinished business to attend to.’ Kit, his expression impassive, ushered Clarissa towards the awaiting chaise. His tightly reigned temper had been in evidence ever since the Sea Wolf docked. Monsieur and Mademoiselle Renaud were disembarked and dispatched in a separate post chaise with uncommon haste, allowing Clarissa time for only the briefest of farewells. John was kept busy amid a flurry of barked orders from Kit, unloading the remaining cargo, securing the yacht, and then finally the boathouse.
Aside from pointing Clarissa towards the chaise, Kit had said nothing to her. Deducing correctly that she was the source of his anger, although having no clue as to how she might have provoked it, Clarrie felt her own temper starting to rise, fuelled by a sense of injustice. She wheeled to confront him.
‘What have I done to incur your displeasure this time, my lord? At least have the decency to tell me to my face. I thought you would be impressed by my actions when we were boarded by the Revenue. My motives were of the purest, I did it only to protect all of us—you, me, John and the Renauds. Would you have me in the wrong for that, would you have me apologise for trying to save you? For it worked, didn’t it?’ She added proudly, ‘The look on poor Lieutenant Smith’s face was priceless!’
‘Yes, it worked. But you were lucky and, more to the point, extremely reckless, for things might easily have gone awry after your impulsive behaviour. This is not merely a game, some sport for your entertainment, Clarissa. Innocent people’s lives are at stake. Lives that you put at risk.’
‘I thought you cared naught for these people yourself. Did you not make me a pretty speech that it was all sport to you and you were indifferent to their fate?’
‘Well, I care for John, at any rate,’ was his lame response. Confound the woman, Kit thought, looking distinctly uncomfortable now. First she knows my thoughts, and now she seems able to look into my very soul and read what lies hidden within.
Clarissa pressed on, warming to the task, recognising that for once she held the upper hand. ‘As usual, my lord, you would be better served aiming your words at a more deserving target—yourself! Putting innocent lives at risk for sport and pleasure! For shame, sir, is that not exactly the fate you intended for Amelia Warrington?’
‘Her again,’ Kit exploded. ‘What is your obsession with that girl? As I’ve said before, I pride myself on amply rewarding those with whom I play such games.’
‘Indeed you do, Lord Rasenby. But have you ever considered that what you proudly call generosity is, in fact, conscience and guilt?’
Kit stepped towards Clarissa, grasping her by both elbows, looming over her threateningly. ‘That may be so, Clarissa, but we are embroiled in a game of our own, remember. One we both chose to play willingly and in which neither of us could be called innocent. A game that is about to resume.’
Giving her no time to reply, Kit nodded farewell to John, ushered Clarissa into the chaise, and mounted his own horse. Almost before the door was fastened shut, the chaise started forward. They were journeying back to London, that much seemed certain. But how was she to forestall Kit to give her plan more time to succeed with regards to Amelia and Edward, while keeping her virtue intact? Kit would be expecting payment soon, that was plain. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Clarissa could not find it in her to care at this moment. Mentally and physically exhausted, she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
She awoke to the heat of a fire and the rattle of a tea tray. Sleepily she sat up rubbing her eyes, to discover that she was no longer in the coach, but on a sofa in a small parlour. The curtains were drawn, giving no indication of the time of day. For a minute in her confusion Clarissa imagined she was back home. But as she gradually took stock of her surroundings, noticing the tasteful, opulent furnishings, the paintings and ornate tapestries that adorned the walls and the huge roaring fire with its impressive over-mantel, she realised this was not her own humble home but somewhere much grander, redolent of money and privilege. Clarissa also became aware that she was not alone. Kit was studying her qu
ietly from the comfort of the generously upholstered leather armchair opposite.
‘Where am I? What is this place?’
‘This is my home, Clarissa—or the one closest to the coast, in any event. Thornwood Manor to be exact, although, if you wish, you may call it Castle Udolpho.’ Kit closed the book he had been reading while she was asleep. ‘I have been familiarising myself with Mrs Radcliffe’s novel, of which you seem so fond. Naturally I wish to ensure that I live up to the villainous Signor Montoni. Bringing you back to my lair while you slept seemed rather appropriate.’ His smile was twisted, every bit the unrepentant rake.
Clarissa felt a small curl of trepidation clutch the pit of her stomach. But to show it, she knew, would be to surrender. Challenge, and if she could manage it, a cool approach to quell his ardour would be the most likely weapons to succeed. She yawned and sat up properly on the sofa, pushing the cashmere shawl that had covered her to one side. ‘Lord, Kit, you take me too seriously, I fear. Mrs Radcliffe’s novels are much too dramatic for me—’tis my aunt, really, who has a liking of them. Perhaps you should abduct her instead.’
‘Very good, Clarissa, but I know you better than you think. This latest act does not fool me, nor will it put me off. I was happy to play the wicked Montoni, but I think, do not you, that the wicked Lord Rasenby will suffice just as well?’ The smile that accompanied this remark was bleak, curling his sculpted mouth only slightly, but he made no attempt to move, seeming content with talk for the present.
‘I know you well enough by now, Kit, to know that you are not, nor never shall be, the wicked Lord Rasenby. I presume you brought me here that we may partake of refreshment before the journey back to London. A sound idea, I am badly in need of a wash and some sustenance.’ Watching him cautiously from under her lashes, Clarissa was not encouraged. Kit was showing no signs of relaxing.
‘Several times now, Clarissa, I have warned you to ignore my reputation at your peril. You persist in doing so, but that is your look out. Do I need to remind you that we struck a bargain? A bargain with the devil it may be, but one that you must see through, none the less.’
The Wicked Lord Rasenby Page 12
