The customs inspector froze, rigid with fury, more than a little frightened by the cold savagery of Dane's eyes. "Just like to see ye try it, Ravenhurst," he blustered, edging toward the door. There he turned to sneer at Tess. "Not finished with ye, neither! Mark my words, woman!"
With that he stamped from the room, cursing all the way down the corridor.
Tess shivered, weak and drained in the aftermath of Hawkins's assault. Slowly she sank back against the china cabinet, her knees buckling beneath her.
"I begin to wonder, Tess Leighton, if you are in full possession of your sanity," Ravenhurst growled, his cobalt eyes searching her pale face. His hair was damp and clung in thick dark waves to the spotless white linen at his neck. He looked powerful and predatory, entirely in command of the situation. "Our customs inspector makes a bad enemy, I suspect. Someday I won't be here to rescue you."
"Oh, go away and leave me alone!" Tess snapped, tears prickling at her eyes. "You're no rescuer, but a plague upon me!"
"And you are a great fool!" His eyes flashing, Ravenhurst stalked closer until his hard thigh was but an inch from Tess's hip. "Fools do not live long, my dear. Remember that." His breath, warm with the scent of brandy, played across her cold cheeks.
Tess had the wild idea he meant to kiss her. For long seconds he bent over her, his eyes all lapis and smoke as they probed her face.
Then, with one powerful stroke, he reached around her and swung the cleaver down into its block on the shelf.
The movement strained the fabric of his shirt, revealing corded muscles beneath the fine linen. Tess's eyes were drawn inexorably to the triangle at his neck, where the garment opened to reveal bronze skin lush with springy black hair.
For one electric instant their bodies met, locked in a rigid challenge.
His hot and insistent.
Hers cold and suddenly without defenses.
Where would this nightmare end? Tess wondered desperately, jerking away. She shivered slightly, feeling as if Dane had stolen all the warmth from the room.
Behind her the keen blade pierced deep, rocking back and forth with a low hum.
As the shuddering blade gradually stilled, Ravenhurst's eyes darkened. Hard and bitter, they scoured her face, expecting nothing.
Promising even less.
What bitter experiences had carved the deep lines at his forehead and lips? Tess wondered. His next words made her wonder why she even cared.
"Why don't you marry Lennox?"
"You — you've been eavesdropping!"
Ravenhurst smiled thinly. "Oh, almost certainly."
" 'Tis my affair and mine alone!"
"An interesting choice of words, my dear. Is it only Lennox you fear, or is it all men?"
"You bloody —"
Ravenhurst smothered a curse. "I wonder if you realize just how dangerous your position is."
"It will take a great deal more than one brutish customs inspector to frighten me, Lord Ravenhurst," Tess snapped, her voice brittle and unnatural.
She felt as much as saw the tall man tense, his raw nerves barely held in check.
"But you forget one thing, my dear," Ravenhurst whispered, his hard mouth only inches from hers. "Hawkins is not your only enemy. Nor your most dangerous one."
Maximilian, who had observed this tense scenario in silence up to this point, suddenly stamped upon his perch and puffed out his emerald cheeks. "Cut line!" he cried shrilly. "Breakers on the lee. Mind your bow!"
A moment later the kitchen door swung open with a squeal of hinges. Ravenhurst stepped back just as Lord Lennox entered the room.
"So I find you here once again, my dear. Hobhouse said —" Suddenly the earl's smile froze, for he saw the tall man standing only inches from Tess.
Lazily, the viscount turned and eased his long body back against the kitchen range.
"But forgive me," Lennox said, his voice cooling slightly. "I did not realize you were engaged."
Furious, Tess reached up to brush a long strand of brandy-colored hair off her shoulder. "No, you are not intruding, Lord Lennox. I was only — only attending to some business with a lodger." Quickly she moved away from Ravenhurst. "I daresay you haven't met Lord Ravenhurst yet. He has come to oversee the Royal Military Canal and will be lodging at the Angel until quarters elsewhere can be readied."
"There you are wrong, my dear. Lord Ravenhurst and I met some years ago." Lennox smiled thinly, extending a hand to the man beside the range. "This is an unexpected pleasure, Ravenhurst. Even here in this far corner of Sussex we've heard about your exploits at sea."
Dane uncoiled his long form slowly and moved to take Lennox's hand, his dark brows rising at this praise. "Exploits that have been greatly exaggerated in the retelling, I have no doubt." He turned to look down at Tess. "But I fear I've kept Miss Leighton from her work long enough. I shall take my leave."
His boots hammered across the wooden floor to the door.
To her fury, Tess found she had to fight an urge to follow his broad shoulders with her eyes. She conquered that urge, then turned, darting Lord Lennox a bright, brittle smile. "You are very good to come see me again so soon, my lord."
"By that I fear you mean 'very troublesome to come and annoy me again.' "
"You know me well enough to believe that if I felt so, I would have said it."
He frowned, taking her fingers in his hand. "But you are upset about something. Something to do with him?"
Tess's smile faded.
Why don't you marry Lennox? Ravenhurst's hard voice came back to mock her.
"That man? What possible interest could I have in him?" Two spots of color appeared in Tess's cheeks.
"I could not begin to say." Lennox's green eyes searched her face. "I take it you haven't changed your mind about my offer?"
Tess's slight stiffening was answer enough.
Rather sadly Lord Lennox smiled, releasing her fingers. "Then I must keep the offer open, my dear. Just don't take too long, or one day you'll find me worn and weather-beaten, wearing a streak of white hair at my temple like Ravenhurst's."
After the earl had gone Tess stood for a long time, unmoving by the window. Her cheek still tingled slightly where he had kissed her before he departed.
"Hard about!" Maximilian began to dance upon his perch. "Dangerous shoals ahead!"
"Oh shut up, you plaguey creature!" Tess answered crossly. She aimed an angry kick at the broken range, wondering how the day could possibly grow any worse.
She had her answer sooner than she expected.
From high overhead came a deep rumble. A moment later the large iron damper plate tore loose and exploded down the chimney onto the top of the boiler, dragging an angry torrent of bricks and soot in its wake.
* * * * *
Before going to bed that night Tess threw the sturdy new bolt Hobhouse had installed on her bedroom door. Then, with strangely unsteady fingers, she secured the shiny brass latch at her casement window.
There, she told herself firmly. No one would be stealing into her room tonight. At the same time, she wondered why the sight of these devices did so little to curb her strange, gnawing uneasiness.
* * * * *
Out to sea, the captain of the Liberte gazed north toward the silver cliffs of England. With his powerful legs locked and braced he faced the wind, oblivious to the salt spray lashing his hard features.
Her face was in his thoughts. Her body fired his blood.
Soon, my auburn-haired beauty, he swore as the wind tore through his long hair.
The stupid English in the Revenue cutter would not find their prey tonight, he knew. Yes, the Liberte was far too swift to be captured by such as them. Around their captain, a well-trained crew sprang to their tasks, leaving Andre Le Brix free to ponder his own pleasures.
And his pleasure was to think of the woman whose hair shone like the finest burgundy, whose strange eyes tilted up like a cat's.
He had seen her often in the past month, though she did not know it
. Sometimes he slipped up from the harbor, heady with the success of a completed run, the tang of the sea still clinging to his hard body. In silence he stalked the narrow streets to stand beneath her window.
Watching. Waiting.
It was dangerous, of course. His crew thought him half mad, in fact. But she was a woman to drive a man mad, the Liberte's captain thought. And the danger only added to his reckless excitement.
For weeks he had dreamed of her, this woman of fire. Beneath his expert touch she would moan and flow like honey.
Soon, mon coeur, he vowed. Oh yes, very soon I shall have you.
* * * * *
Twice Tess woke in the night, certain she'd heard a rattle at the keyhole or a creaking of the wooden casement. Both times she'd frozen, her breath checked, waiting for an intruder to appear.
But it was only the glass pane tapping in the wind.
At least that's what she told herself as she huddled beneath the covers, staring at the flickering candle.
Only the old oak tree scraping the roof with its long, bony fingers ...
Chapter Twelve
When next Tess awoke, it was to golden sunlight spilling onto her face. For a moment she blinked, puzzling over the warmth on her cheeks.
Frowning, she sat up and opened her eyes.
The night was gone, the darkness past.
This time there had been no dreams, only blessed oblivion. Strangely renewed, she stretched slowly, enjoying the heavy golden feel of the sun on her outstretched arms.
Already her mind was sorting through the tasks before her. Today she would tend to the hidden brandy from the last runs. Hobhouse would have conveyed the four-gallon tubs out to Fairleigh already, she knew. There she could let down the overproof spirits with water and then transfer the mixture to bottles without fear of being disturbed.
One problem solved, her thoughts turned to the next. Tom Ransley was beginning to grow troublesome. He suspected something, she was certain. But he could not be omitted from Jack's select inner group, at least not yet. He would be too quick to sow dissension among the others.
Then there was the difficult decision of the next run. She would have to call a meeting with the Fox's four deputies. That was what Tess liked the least, those face-to-face meetings.
More danger, more risks. But she had no choice.
It would have to be the ruined castle at Camber, she decided; and it must be the following night. Her contact at Hythe had told Hobhouse that a cargo of tea and tobacco would be available in three days.
Three days for men to be alerted, wagons and horses assembled. Jack would still be at the priory, but he would not be roaming about in his weak condition. Yes, with a little bit of luck Tess would carry off her daring masquerade one more time. Her success, she knew, was possible only due to the strict code of secrecy Jack imposed on his men. By custom, information was parceled out in small bits, and then only to the few who required it. Even then no man could be certain what his fellows knew or did not know, and no one made the mistake of asking.
Finally, her decision made, Tess stood and began to dress. Her greenish eyes looked back at her from the mirror, glittering and reckless. Once again she felt the old elation, the wild, dizzying excitement, snake through her. She might be unmasked by Ransley or any other of Jack's men. She might even be hunted down by Hawkins, but at least she was alive and truly in control of her life at last.
Something she had once believed impossible.
With a quick trill of laughter she crossed the room, threw back the curtains, and unlatched the window, feeling warm, flower-scented air brush her face and fill the room.
A new day come. She would face its trials and she would win.
* * * * *
It was late in the afternoon before Tess could get away to see Jack. She was on her way downstairs to give Hobhouse some last-minute instructions when she heard faint laughter, followed by the rustling of cloth.
She halted at the second-floor landing, cocking her head to listen.
More laughter, then a low groan.
A woman's muffled shriek.
Frowning, Tess slipped across the landing in the direction of those furtive sounds, only to encounter a wall of silence.
Suddenly a door at the rear of the corridor burst open. In a split second Tess was across the hall, pressing back against the wall while she waited to see the culprits emerge.
If Mrs. Tredwell's son thought he could bring another of his lightskirts here, he would find he was sadly mistaken!
A moment later a voluptuous, red-cheeked serving maid was deposited giggling into the corridor.
"Out, baggage!" came a muffled male command.
"Ye know where t' find me, love," the woman purred, turning to rub herself wantonly against the man's chest. "Any time at all. Fer a man like yerself, I've lots more o' the same. Jest you remember that."
Her face dark with anger, Tess watched as Lucy, one of the new chambermaids, molded herself against the man in the doorway. His side was to Tess, and she could see little except straight, wet hair, for Lucy's voluminous curves all but engulfed him.
In the room beyond the pair Tess saw a tub of steaming water. Little puddles dotted the carpet, marking the man's progress to the door.
Which one was it, she wondered grimly?
The red-faced wine merchant from Brighton?
The overweight squire from Tunbridge Wells?
Or the sad-eyed cavalry officer on his way back to Dover?
She frowned as the man pivoted slightly, pulling Lucy against his chest and bending closer to mutter something in her ear.
Tess felt a hot tide of crimson stain her cheeks. She couldn't see the man's face but now she had a clear view of just about all the rest of him.
Some wild urgency held her fast, made her feast furtively on the sight of that unforgettable body. Beads of water glistened on muscles rippling at his back and shoulders. Beneath the scrap of a towel anchored about his waist, she could see the outline of lean hips and powerful thighs.
Tess's errant curiosity exploded into white-hot fury. Did the brazen fool think the Angel was a brothel?
Suddenly Lucy's practiced fingers dropped lower, stroking the taut line of flesh outlined at the man's groin.
Her green eyes flashing, Tess marched from her hiding place. "Out, the pair of you!"
The dark-haired figure stiffened and then slowly turned, a thin smile etched on his bronzed face. "Waiting your turn, Miss Leighton?"
Tess recognized him before he turned, even before she saw those mocking eyes.
Eyes cold and hard, the color of broken promises.
One black brow raised, Lord Ravenhurst casually cupped his companion's generous breast, which was outlined clearly beneath her damp garment. Idly his thumb circled a lush nipple, which obligingly tightened at his touch.
"Get out!" Tess rasped.
The thin smile widened fractionally. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me, you degenerate cur! Get out. If you wish to indulge in this sort of crude pastime, then find other lodgings. The Angel is not a bordello. And as for you, Lucy," Tess added, turning to face the jeering servant, "your employment here is terminated. See Hobhouse for your wages."
"Nothing wrong wi' havin' a bit o' fun, Miss High and Mighty!" the woman shrieked. "Jest cause ye're the bleedin' Ice Queen and don't know nothin' about —"
For an instant some dark, fleeting emotion flashed in Tess's eyes. Then her small chin rose. "Oh, but I do know, Lucy," she said silkily. " 'Tis just that I prefer to exercise a little judgment instead of prowling about like a she-cat in heat, hot for any tom that happens by."
"Why, you —" Lucy's fingers curled into fierce talons as she made for Tess's face.
"Steady, love," Ravenhurst growled, securing his companion with a hand about her ample waist. "No need to run out your guns. There's more than enough of me here for both of you," he drawled mockingly.
"I'll teach Miss Flamin' High and Mighty a lesson," Lucy his
sed, struggling vainly against Dane's grip.
"Off with you, Lucy." The viscount's voice cracked like a whip. Cold with command, it was the same voice that had once made grown men flinch. Now it had the same effect on the irate chambermaid.
"A'right, m'lord, but only since it's yerself askin'." Grumbling, she flounced her grimy skirts and turned on her heel.
Speechless with anger, Tess watched the woman stalk down the stairs. Then, her fury in no sense abated, she rounded on Ravenhurst.
He was waiting for her in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips, his powerful legs braced. Little beads of water slipped down his chest, glistening against his bronzed skin and tangled black hair. Tess had to fight to keep her eyes from following the silver drops down, down to where that springy mat of dark fur narrowed and ...
Perdition! Was she losing her mind? Speechless with fury, she glared at the nearly naked man before her.
Ravenhurst's lips twisted into a cold smile. His eyes glittered, never leaving her flushed face as his hands moved slowly to the knot at his waist.
His challenge was electric, stinging, nearly palpable.
And like some angry, half-mad marsh creature, Tess absolutely refused to back down before it.
Paralyzed, she watched his long fingers hook the straining fabric.
Dry-throated, she saw them clench and tug sharply.
No! He could not ...
With a muffled plop the towel hit the carpet.
"Is that more to your liking, Miss Leighton?" he taunted.
Horrified, Tess jerked her eyes away from the bronzed expanse of damp, glistening skin, away from the thick tangle of sable hair, away from the rampant blade of taut male muscle.
"You — you —" she croaked, her neck and cheeks on fire.
With cool deliberation Dane stalked toward her. Before Tess knew it, his fingers were circling her wrists, dragging her back into the room. A moment later he kicked the door shut with his foot.
The Black Rose Page 15
