THE SENSE OF HONOR
Page 19
He pulled her into an embrace. “We can fix this, Christiana. Whatever your reasons for joining these cutthroats, we can find a solution. We have come so far this day, have we not? Only think of what we have found together and believe in me.”
She pushed away from him. “Believe in you? The man who made love to me only to wake and seek to slake his lust with any willing wench?”
Devlin grabbed her again by the shoulders. “I did not go there looking for a woman. If you must know, I went looking for you.”
She made a soft, scoffing sound. “And how did you think to find me there?”
“I was awake when you left my bed. I heard you say something about this Blackjack fellow.”
“You were sleeping. I heard you snore.”
Devlin made a snoring sound then arched his brow.
“Very convincing,” she murmured.
“So, this is the reason why you were so secretive, guarded and suspicious about my coming to Bellewyck Abbey. Why you were so defensive to all my questions. You did not want me to learn about the smuggling.”
“Well, if nothing else, you are persistent.” A faint smile curved her lips. “Very well, yes, I did not want you to find out about this. Good heavens, what shall we talk about now?”
“Rest assured, my sweet, we have a great deal to talk about.”
“I can well imagine,” she said under her breath.
“Christiana, I can help you, but you must trust me.”
“There is nothing you can do.”
“For God’s sake, how can you still not trust me after everything we shared this night? I realize this is new to you, but what happened in my bed was not lust. I assure you, what we shared was about two people who care deeply for one another.”
“I know that.” She spoke in a raw whisper.
“Then you must also see the wall between us no longer exists.”
“When walls come down, Devlin, they often leave ruins. You have already put yourself in danger because of me. If you had been killed tonight, if I had not been able to reach you in time—”
Briefly covering trembling lips with her uninjured hand, tears glistened in her eyes. It took a moment for her to gain control of her emotions. “I want nothing to happen to you.” She spoke in a pained whisper. “You cannot fix this, Devlin. No one can.”
“You expect me to simply accept this as your destiny? Forget what happened between us tonight? Forget you could be injured or possibly killed?”
She did not respond.
Frustrated with her quiet resolve, he tried another tactic. Looking down at her clothing, he shook his head. “For mercy sake, how can you hope to keep up this ridiculous disguise? I recognized you within ten minutes.”
“Only because when first we met, you found me dressed as a sweep. The Ravens know me only as a boy who has been with them for five years. Besides which, they know how Blackjack feels about me.”
Devlin crossed his arms, his disposition more irritable by the moment. “And just how does this Blackjack feel about you?”
“He loves me,” she replied matter-of-factly.
Devlin clenched his jaw. “Does he perchance know you are a woman?”
“Yes.”
“I see,”—he nodded curtly—“I suppose he thinks to be your lover. And what of that young man you were sitting with tonight? He seemed rather solicitous to your needs.”
She smiled at his inference. “Henry? We are friends, nothing more. If anything, Henry treats me like a little brother.”
“So you say. You have a great many male friends, my dear.”
“Are you jealous?”
“What if I said I am jealous? What if I said I want you to abandon this foolishness for me? This may come as a surprise to you, but I had hoped we might share more than one night together.” He cupped the sides of her face. “You know what will happen if you get caught. Hanging is not pretty.”
“And that is why I never wear a necklace. In truth, I never put anything about my neck—not a bit of gold—not a bit of rope. You might say ‘tis a motto I live by.”
She made a brave attempt to smile and make light of the dire circumstances, but it failed miserably. With a sad sigh, she pulled away from his touch. Then, standing upon the flat stone, she took to her saddle. “If you truly care about me, you will understand and let me go.”
Devlin put his hand atop her foot, noting how small it was encased in a boys’ black half-boot. “Do not do this, Christiana. I can gain your release. I can protect you from these men. You must listen to me. Trust me.”
Crystallized tears spiked her long black lashes. “And I prefer you not die because of me.” Leaning forward, she kissed his lips. “Perhaps one day you will not think too harshly of me.”
“For God’s sake, this is madness, Christiana.”
She nodded and gathered her reins. “I understand this places you in a difficult position; that your loyalties are first to Pemberton. If you prefer, I will not return to the abbey. Polly can assume my duties under your guidance.”
“Oh, no, you shan’t escape me so easily, my sweet.” He raked a hand through his hair. “How can I possibly let you return to that inn? You claim this Blackjack loves you yet fear to be killed if you do not return to prove your loyalty to him. What hypocrisy! Return with me to the abbey now, or let us face the Ravens together. I am not without skills. Do not presume me incapable of defending you.”
“You are such a knight,” she said with a bittersweet smile. “Alas, now is not the time for misplaced chivalry. You are one man against a hundred. Can you not see? If you follow me back, you will endanger my life all the more by your very presence. They do not know you, Devlin. They will not trust you. Besides which, ‘tis not Blackjack who would harm me, but other members of the Ravens. Honor amongst thieves is no exaggeration.”
“Forgive me, but you have a rather distorted view of honor.”
She looked down at her hands, wincing slightly at the blood-soaked bandage covering her wound. “I suppose I do.”
The defeated tone in her voice made him frown, but at least she recognized the inherent wrong in her actions. Recalling the dark suspicion with which he’d been regarded upon entering The Mermaid Inn, Millie’s attempt on his life, and the menacing looks directed his way when he left with Christiana, Devlin conceded his unexpected arrival might very well have put her in danger tonight.
Would he compromise her safety if he returned with her now? And if she did not return, would those blackguards seek her out and thence discover her true identity? Would it not make them more bloodthirsty and suspicious about the reason for her boyish disguise?
As much as he disliked the idea, perhaps the best tactic would be for the Ravens to continue thinking her a boy. And get her out of the gang as that boy. He only wished she didn’t see him as a steward—an ineffective one at that. She had no way of knowing he wasn’t only rich and powerful, but possessed great skill in fisticuffs and firearms, was quite deadly with a sword and, if necessary, adequate with a bow.
“Christiana, there is something you must know about me. It may very well change how you feel about going back to the inn.”
“There is no time, Devlin,” she stressed. “I have been too long away already. I will see you in the morning. We will talk then, I promise.”
She started to leave the grotto, but stopped and glanced over her shoulder to give him one last endearing smile. He stood there like a damn fool with hands braced on his hips, feeling utterly useless and more confused than ever.
“Damn it, Christiana, if you are not back by dawn—”
“I love you, Devlin Randolph.”
Her sudden declaration of love took him by complete surprise. The softly spoken words slammed into his chest with the force of a crossbow’s arrow. Not until after she’d gone from his sight could he even speak past the lump in this throat.
“God help me, Christiana. I love you, too.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Dangers bring fea
rs,
and fears more dangers bring.”
~ Richard Baxter
(1615-1691)
Alone in his bedchamber, shadowed jaw resting upon one hand, Devlin sat before the window, waiting. Each monotonous hour had lengthened in numbing silence. Morning had slowly moved ever onward and afternoon now faded into dusk. Soon, it would be night.
Still, Christiana had not returned.
All day he’d waited, at times going so far as to saddle Luther with the intent of searching for her. One thought held him back. Would he put her in greater jeopardy if he returned to The Mermaid Inn? He couldn’t very well enquire about a woman. And asking about a boy named Christian might put fuel on the fire of existing suspicion and risk exposing her disguise.
What if she returned in his absence? Injured and in need of medical attention. Another possibility also existed that word might come of her capture and, if so, he must be present to intercede on her behalf.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered and stood. “This waiting is driving me mad.” Why was he sitting at Bellewyck wasting precious time? There must be a way to find her, or at least gain some insight into where she might be.
With sudden clarity, he looked to the fireplace. Remembering where Christiana knelt to open the hidden wall panel, his fingers searched for the release mechanism, mindless of the cold, gray ash that quickly caked his hands. Through dogged determination, he located a loose stone behind which he found an iron ring. Once pulled and turned counter-clockwise, the ring released the panel. A slight rumble followed.
Darkness loomed in the revealed space. He stood upon the threshold, hands on his hips. Why would anyone voluntarily enter such a yawning void? Silent as a tomb, the passageway appeared ancient as the foundations of the abbey itself. It could be structurally unstable, too. Then again, the cold air smelled fresh.
Where did it lead? Would he be able to find his way out again?
“It makes no devil of a difference—not if this labyrinth provides the means for me to find Christiana.”
Before he could act upon his decision, a knock sounded on his chamber door. Paused at the entrance to the secret passageway, he returned to the hearth and turned the ring once more to close the panel. Dusting his hands off, he flung wide the chamber door. Unfortunately, the person he most wanted to see wasn’t there.
Unable to meet his eyes, Polly Darrow stared at her feet. “Mr. Randolph, ye’ve not eaten all day. Bertie wants to know if ye’d like a tray of food.”
“Thank you, no.”
The maid nodded then looked beyond his shoulder. “I could clean yer chamber and set yer bed to rights.”
Devlin followed her gaze to the askew linens and silk counterpane half off the bed. Remembering all too clearly what had transpired there yesterday with Christiana, he wanted no one to touch it.
“I would rather wait upon Miss Tatum.” Realizing how that sounded, he added, “That is to say, I understand she is responsible for cleaning my bedchamber.”
Polly’s eyes looked to him then, but the fiery temperament he expected had been replaced by a far more subdued demeanor. Earlier that morning she’d been glib, airily pronouncing each time he asked that Miss Tatum was about somewhere. At one point, she’d lied outright, saying the housekeeper was in the brewery. He let it go at the time, opting to watch from his chamber window the activities of the servants. One thing was evident. Polly wasn’t glib now.
A feeling of dread washed over him. “You have not seen Miss Tatum all day, have you, Polly?”
Polly shook her head, her gaze lowered to the floor.
Rage unlike anything he’d ever known made his body tense. “Inform the other servants I want to see them, including Jasper Collin, in the library. Those who are not present will no longer be employed.”
A pathetic looking group stood assembled before Devlin. Although they hardly looked capable of deception, their suspicious behavior and silence proved condemning. Either they protected Christiana out of loyalty or because they were also involved with smuggling. How could he discern the truth from these people short of threatening their very lives?
Despite their guarded manner, he’d actually come to care for this little group of misfit servants. He’d studied their individual moods and mannerisms quite well. To his surprise, even their stubborn expressions and amusing quirks were rather endearing at times. Touched by their family-type affection for one another, he’d been equally impressed by their diligence and work ethics. He also knew their strengths and weaknesses. Ironically, both seemed to come from the same source. And since their beautiful, reckless captain wasn’t present to lead, they appeared as lost and helpless as a group of children adrift at sea.
Jasper Collins, withered and aged, leaned heavily on a walking stick. Tall and lean, the balding Tom Rooney looked straight ahead, his manner defiant as ever. Young Sarah Lloyd held her grandmother’s hand whilst Polly stared a hole through the library’s already worn carpet. Even Nash was present—hands clasped together behind his back, his posture straight and strong. However, Gordon Darrow and his son, Billy, were absent.
Having studied each person in silence, Devlin returned to his desk chair. He looked at his timepiece. Now was the hour when, their duties completed for the day, they retired for the evening. In truth, they looked exhausted.
Glancing up at the pitiful group, a gust of sympathy gave him pause. They loved Christiana. He could well imagine what fears they had regarding her present whereabouts—especially if they knew about the Ravens. Well, the time had come to learn exactly what they knew, and he wasn’t about to settle for less.
“I know Miss Tatum is involved in a very dangerous, illegal activity,” he began, carefully observing their reactions. “Furthermore, each one of you has been covering for her absence all day. Consequently, I believe many, if not all, of you are also involved in this activity.”
Rooney glanced at Mrs. Lloyd, a curious look exchanged between the two.
“The Duke of Pemberton is also suspicious,” Devlin continued. “Regrettably, you have done nothing to put those suspicions to rest. Quite the contrary, your behavior has had the opposite effect.”
That got their attention. The mere mention of the duke, they all paled with terror. How laughable. God, but he wanted to proclaim himself as the Duke of Pemberton.
“I have questioned each of you individually. Your answers have all been the same. I can only presume you lie for one another and have done so for quite some time. In view of the absence of Miss Tatum—and others—I will question each of you again now. I warn you, this is your last opportunity to speak truthfully, and your only hope for pardon.”
He directed his attention to the cook. “Mrs. Lloyd, where is Miss Tatum?”
“I do not know, sir.”
“I see, and what can you tell me about a man named Blackjack?”
Mrs. Lloyd paled. “I-I know of no such man, sir.”
“Am I then to assume you know nothing about a smuggling gang that frequents the area called the Ravens?”
“No sir, Mr. Randolph,” she said in a shaky whisper.
Devlin noticed Sarah squeeze her grandmother’s hand. The poor child looked terrified. “Sarah,” he said gently. “Come here, please.”
The young girl looked at her grandmother then walked forward until she stood in front of his desk.
“You seem particularly upset,” he said.
“I-I do not know what ye want us to say,” she managed to voice.
“The truth.” Devlin kept his voice gentle, his words strong. “Surely you do not want to see anyone suffer needlessly. Stealing from one’s employer, whether creating false books or engaging in acts of smuggling during a time when a country is at war, these are crimes punishable to the full extent of the law. The courts will not seek to understand why a person has done something wrong, Sarah. They consider only the facts and impose judgment. Smuggling is punishable by death. Would it not be tragic to see people you know and love come to such a horrid end?”
Polly stepped forward and put an arm about the young girl. “Stop torturin’ her,” she cried.
“I am not torturing her. I am telling Sarah the truth, which is something that should have been done long ago. You do the child no service when you lead her by the hand into a web of lies.”
Undaunted, Polly guided Sarah back to her grandmother’s embrace whereupon the child immediately burst into muffled sobs. Then, returning to stand before the desk, Polly clenched her fists. “There is not a one of us has done wrong. We only did what his lordship told us to do. Ye cannot come here and threaten us for doin’ what he expected.”
Devlin frowned at the convoluted statement. Standing slowly, he leaned forward. “Why then is Miss Tatum not here doing her job? I daresay she is employed as a housekeeper at Bellewyck Abbey, not a smuggler named Christian.”
His words clearly stunned the maid.
“And if you truly know nothing about Miss Tatum’s smuggling activities, why have you lied to me regarding her whereabouts all day? Has it not occurred to you that your friend might need assistance, Polly? What if, at this very moment, she has been captured or worse?”
The fear amongst the servants became tangible.
Glancing at his coachman, Devlin caught the man’s slightly narrowed gaze. He only hoped Nash went along with what he was about to do—however cruel the tactic might seem.
Devlin picked up a quill from the desk. His fingers idly stroked the length of the plume. “Miss Tatum is a member of the Ravens, a smuggling gang led by a man named Blackjack.”
He watched closely for any reaction to his statement; there was none.
“I discovered this quite by accident. Last night I happened to come upon Miss Tatum in some rather disagreeable company. She confessed her involvement. I tried to impress upon her that she must return with me to Bellewyck Abbey. She refused. She said her life would be forfeit if she did not return to her comrades in crime. That her absence would raise all manner of suspicion and might expose her disguise as a boy. Because of this possibility, I honored her request.” Under his breath, he added, “Much to my regret, I must say.”