by Cheryl Bolen
Were it not for her--even with the duc knowing Jack's real identity--Jack would have had a good likelihood of outsmarting his enemy. But she had taken away Jack's opportunity to capture the wicked duc.
Every cell in her body ached for love of Jack, and everything she knew about the man she loved convinced her of how dear she was to him. In his haste to save her, he would deprive himself of life.
Escape was impossible. There was no way she could remove the ropes from her wrists. There was no way she could remove the boards that covered the only window of this miserable room. There was no way she could possibly open the locked door. She had only to wait for the duc to come back and kill her.
Blanketed in total darkness, she crouched in the damp, musty corner of her prison that smelled like wet dirt, hugging herself to try to keep warm. Jack penetrated her thoughts like a deep musk that clings to every fiber. She chose to spend her last few hours on earth recalling the special times they had spent together. Though her present surroundings were little different from the bowels of a coal mine, she allowed herself to remember the mild afternoons on which she and Jack had ridden through the park, and soon warmth from the memory of those days enveloped her like a hug from Jack himself.
As her last hours ticked away, she was crushed with regrets over her treatment of the man she loved. Had she to do everything over again, she would have acknowledged her love for him, would have vowed to force her family to embrace him or to relinquish her ties to them. Her heartbeat accelerated. She would have made love to him.
Now she would go to her grave without ever knowing the feel of her lover lying beside her, of taking her lover inside her.
Recollections of Jack's deep morality sent a tender smile to her lips. Had she offered her body to him, he would have refused it. Her wonderful, honorable, sinfully handsome, achingly sexual Captain Jack Dryden would never jeopardize the reputation of the woman he had come to care about so deeply.
She allowed herself the agonizing memory of the feel of his lips upon hers, the sweet strokes of his tongue against hers, and she could have cried out with her need for him, with her deep regret.
Would that she could see him . . . touch him. . . one last time before she died.
* * *
Bloody hell! He hadn't heard the duc coming. The comtesse's struggles when Jack tried to tie her hands must have covered the noise. This was one instance when Jack should not have followed standard procedure of tying the enemy's hands prior to interrogation. Damn it to hell, it wasn't as if she could have overpowered him!
His bloody carelessness was compounded by his lax grip on the pistol. D'Arblier was inside the room with his own pistol just feet away from Jack's head by the time Jack had reacted to his presence--far too late to launch a successful counter attack.
"If you wish to save Lady Daphne," the duc said, "you will lay down your pistol."
"If you wish to save the comtesse, you will lay your pistol down," Jack replied, his icy eyes regarding his nemesis.
A wicked smile on his face, d'Arblier began to laugh. "She's nothing to me. Go ahead."
The comtesse shrieked.
"If there's a shot, her servants will come," Jack countered.
The duc's wicked laugh rang out again. "Let them! They're all in my employ."
Of course they would be, Jack realized. In fact, every step of the comtesse's enslavement of the Duke of York had been orchestrated by d'Arblier. "Then it appears we're at a stalemate," Jack said.
"I think not," the duc said. "Stalemates are for opponents who are equal, and as much as I have admired you over the years, Captain, we are not equal. My strength is my isolation from human attachments. Your weakness is your propensity to human attachments: first Edwards, and now Lady Daphne Chalmers."
Jack shrugged. "Lady Daphne's nothing to me."
"This is not true!" the comtesse protested. "Me, I know these things."
Now Jack laughed. "I assure you my taste in women is far more discerning than to settle for a bespectacled wretch so skinny a man can't get a good squeeze."
At that moment, the duc did a most curious thing. "Ring for a servant," he told the comtesse.
"But my hands, they are tied!"
"Use your teeth," the duc ordered.
The comtesse was a most obliging sort, Jack noted when she proceeded to fit her mouth to the bell pull and give it a good yank.
A moment later, the butler who had admitted Jack that afternoon, his clothing haphazardly fastened, his hair uncombed as he stifled a yawn, entered his mistress's bedchamber. But instead of facing the comtesse, he turned his reverent attention to the duc. "You rang, your grace?"
"Yes. I wish for you to go to the warehouse on Compton Street and kill the lady who is being kept there. Campbell has the key."
"No!" Jack hissed, throwing down his pistol.
As the butler snatched up his weapon, the duc smiled and nodded. "You may go back to bed, Chassay, as soon as you unfasten the comtesse's hands. As you can see, I'm not at liberty to do so."
Jack's relief was short lived for he knew they would not allow Daphne to live. He had merely bought her more time.
This was likely the closest Jack had ever been to his own death, but he would not allow his hated enemy to see his fear. He faced the duc, smiling. "I applaud you, your grace. How did you learn that I was in England? It was a most well-guarded secret, I assure you. Not even Lady Daphne knows my true identify." He hoped like hell he could convince the duc and comtesse that Daphne was completely without a clue about their vile plot.
"I think otherwise," the duc said. "The lady was clearly trying to help you."
Jack chuckled. "The lady was acting entirely upon her own, I assure you. She was outraged that no one had been able to find the man who shot Princess Charlotte and told me if no one else would make the effort to find the culprit, she would. Of course, I urged her not to." He shrugged. "I didn't believe she would actually go through with her silly plan."
"He may be telling the truth," the comtesse said, looking up at the duc.
"He's lying," the duc said. "I believe the regent himself not only sent for the best spy in the Peninsula but that he also enlisted Lady Daphne to aid the captain."
Jack laughed again. "I'm disappointed in you, duc. Can you not think of something more plausible than that? Why would the regent trust a female? Have you ever known one who could keep secret about such an intriguing plot?"
"He has a point," the comtesse said.
"But you, my dear, have kept your secrets well," the duc said to her.
"You haven't answered my question," Jack said. "How did you know I was in London?"
"Actually, I did not know for sure until this afternoon."
Jack's gut clenched. "You're the one who was peering from the window?"
"I was afraid you saw me."
"Not well enough to recognize you. Had I, I would not have left this house without killing you."
"You overestimate your skills, Captain."
"I must own, you've got me now. Before I die I will reveal everything to you. I will tell you everyone who is privy to the information about your plot--under one condition."
"That I release Lady Daphne?"
Jack was desperate to save her. "Yes."
"That I cannot do."
"You are aware of the fact that I went to Windsor tonight?" Jack asked. "Are you also aware that before I came here I sent a message to the regent and to the Duke of York identifying you as the assassin? A most accommodating lad at the livery stable in Windsor gave me a statement that clearly identifies you as the man who shot the princess."
The comtesse and duc locked gazes.
"I suggest we send Campbell to Windsor to silence the lad," the duc told the comtesse.
"It won't do any good," Jack said. "By now both the regent and his brother have received their messages. A pity my letter does not link you to the comtesse. If it did, I daresay they'd be here by now."
"While I'll own your story is m
ost convincing," the duc said as he moved closer to Jack, "forgive me for not believing it."
Jack shrugged. "It's nothing to me."
The duc told the comtesse to ring the bell again.
When the drowsy butler returned, d'Arblier instructed him to summon the carriage from the mews. The aim of the duc's pistol at Jack's head never faltered for a moment.
Once the butler departed, the duc eyed Jack. "It's time you're reunited with your Lady Daphne."
Jack's stomach dropped.
"And you, my dear," the duc said to the comtesse, "must bind the captain's hands with your sash."
"Kill me," Jack said, "but I beg that you release Lady Daphne. She knows nothing of your plot."
"Ah, Captain, it is a pity you are so affected by your affection for others." The duc watched as she finished tying Jack's hands. "It pleases me to give you one last night with the lady you love."
Moments later, the duc's pistol on his back, Jack and the comtesse were stepping into the comtesse's plush carriage, then the three of them began the drive to the East End. Because the streets were completely empty, their journey was accomplished in but a few minutes.
When they arrived at the warehouse on Compton Street, the duc greeted a brawny Englishman who stood guard outside the door. Jack assumed this was Campbell. The duc then ordered Jack to disembark and spread his legs. "Now, madam, you will relieve the captain of the knife I am sure he has strapped to his body."
She quickly found a small, extremely sharp, sheathed knife that was strapped to Jack's calf. "You will have to remove your pantaloons, Captain," she said, smiling.
"And how do you propose I do that with my hands tied behind me?"
"The comtesse is quite adept at removing gentlemen's pantaloons, I believe," the duc said.
Giggling at what Jack considered the most inappropriate time, she began to tug at his pantaloons. Once they were past his knees, she unfastened the strap and took the knife.
Jack cursed as she restored his clothing.
"Now I shall follow you and the lady up the stairs," the duc said.
As they climbed the rickety stairs it seemed incredulous to Jack that the building could possibly be occupied at all, even if on a temporary basis. Abandoned for many years, its wood was rotting and the absence of windows laid open the former warehouse to the elements. And to rodents. He hated to think of Daphne being confined to such a foul-smelling hovel.
He hated even more to think of the fate that awaited her. And he hated himself for allowing the regent to involve her in this most dangerous scheme.
When the door to the room where she was being held opened, she squinted against the candlelight that shone into the chamber.
Jack quickly surveyed the room. Its only window was boarded, and though the thick timber door was extremely weathered, it was bolted with a shiny new lock.
"Can you identify this woman?" the duc asked the comtesse.
She nodded. "That is Lady Daphne Chalmers."
"You should not have lied to me," the duc told Daphne. Then he turned, pointed his pistol at Jack, and nodded toward the small room where Daphne was being held. "In there," he ordered with a flick of his head.
As soon as Jack strolled into the dark cubicle the duc slammed shut the door. Jack lunged at the door as he heard a key twisting in the lock.
From the outside hallway, the duc addressed his captives. "Killing you tonight would be too easy, Captain. I have waited for a very long time to have the pleasure of murdering you. My pleasure will increase tenfold by waiting until mid-morning, by knowing that for the next several hours you will be agonizing over your impending death."
Jack stood at the door and listened as the duc and comtesse descended the sagging stairs.
Then he turned to Daphne. Though he could not see anything in the complete darkness that surrounded them, he felt Daphne drawing closer and was swamped with a rush of tender emotions. His senses flared to the sensual onslaught ignited by her spearmint scent. She drew against him and began to murmur, flooding him with desire.
"Oh, my darling captain," she said in a for-once whispy voice, "I am so glad I could be with you one last time before I die. There's so much I've wanted to tell you."
Were his hands not bound, he could have gloried in the feel of holding her in his arms. He settled for nuzzling his face into her hair as her body molded to his. He could have cried out with joy. "About the investigation?" he asked, breathless.
Her face drew near his. "About us," she whispered. "About how I've always loved you. I shall love you for eternity."
All thoughts of dying, of preventing their sovereign's death, of her previous rejection of him, fled as he drew into her and kissed her greedily.
Chapter 27
A gnawing, debilitating need strummed through him as their tongues swirled together, as her body pressed against his like wet leaves. He forgot that he could not enfold her in his arms. He forgot they were in a musty chamber that was like a damp cave. He almost forgot that they were going to die tomorrow. A deep joy filled his soul. She loves me!
And, God, but he loved her!
"My dearest, dearest Daphne," he finally managed in a breathless voice, "you certainly hid your affection well."
She settled the side of her face upon his shoulder. "Only because I love you."
"I'm afraid," he whispered, dropping soft kisses into her hair, "you've lost me."
"My father is such a snob I couldn't have borne it were he to snub you--as he was certain to do when he found out you weren't the rich Mr. Rich."
"It doesn't matter to you that I have no money and no prospects?" What in the hell was he thinking? What did any of this matter? They would be dead tomorrow.
"No finer man than you has ever lived. I could never be worthy of you."
"Oh, God, Daphne." His lips nibbled along her neck. "I do love you."
"I know, my darling. I don't understand how someone as unattractive as I could ever have won your affections, but I knew you were falling in love with me, and I would rather hurt myself than bring you unhappiness."
He began to kiss a wet trail down the slope of her chest. "You're not unattractive. You've grown more beautiful every day I've known you. One very large captain can be emasculated to the merest weakling by the image of your slender body, or your unmanageable hair – or even those spectacles on one very perfect nose. In fact, no woman's ever affected that particular captain as you do."
She began to cry. Soft whimpers at first, then deep, racking sobs. He wished to God there was something he could do, not just to stop her tears, but to extend their lives. "I know, my dearest," he murmured, wishing like hell he could haul her into his arms. "A pity we wasted the time we had."
"Oh, Ja-a-a-a-ck," she wailed. "Don't let me go to my grave a virgin."
"Good lord, Daphne, is that why you're crying?"
"Yes," she said, sniffing. "I wa-a-a-ant you to make love to me."
"I've never wanted anything more, but I'm afraid I can't."
Her sobs intensified. "This is no time to be noble, Captain Jack Dryden!"
A deep, hardy laugh rose from his chest.
"What's so funny?" she demanded.
"You, my sweet innocent. In case you've forgotten, our hands are tied. I can't make love to you because I can't remove my breeches!"
"I wouldn't think a little thing like that could stop his majesty's smartest spy. Surely you can think of something." Her voice hitched. "You do want to make love to me, don't you?"
He laughed again. "Of course I want to make love to you! If you knew more about . . . a man's anatomy, you would have figured that out!"
"Of course I know about a man's anatomy! Your . . . your thing, unfortunately, lies beneath the pantaloons. The pantaloons you can't figure out how to remove."
Good lord! She really didn't know! "I'm not talking about the location of my . . . thing. I'm talking about what happens to my . . . thing when I think of making love to you."
"Something happ
ens to your . . . thing?"
He really did wish he could think of a better name for it. "Yes."
"What, pray tell?"
How could he explain this to such an innocent? "It becomes enlarged." He swallowed. "And it tends to jut forward."
"You mean . . . like a cannon?"
He did not at all like his anatomy being compared to a piece of artillery. His face drew near hers and he sucked her lower lip into his mouth. "Far less destructive than a cannon," he murmured.
"I do wish I could feel it!"
"I do too, my love," he said throatily. How in the devil had it gotten so damned hot in here? The room was icy when he arrived.
"It really did get big? Because of me?"
"It's not the first time you've had that effect on me, my vixen."
She stomped her foot. "I do so-o-o-o regret all the hours we can never recapture, hours when we could have been making love."
"But we wouldn't have."
"Because our union wasn't blessed and because you're too devilishly noble to compromise the woman you love?"
"Yes to both."
Her soft crying renewed.
The intrusion of reality. Now that their love had been proclaimed, they could remember they were going to die in the morning. What had either of them ever done for life to have cheated them so badly? "I'm sorry for everything."
She sniffed. "I would love to have given birth to your babe."
A pity a man could not weep. "Don't think." He eased his lips over hers for a feathery kiss. "Come, love, let's sit."
"I'll warn you, it's dirty."
"I assumed as much." He wished he could remove his jacket and lay it over the filth where Daphne was sitting. He collapsed back into the floor. It smelled like wet dirt.
As he lay there, his thoughts took a peculiar turn. Instead of thinking of the woman he loved, he thought about the damp floor. It wasn't just damp. It was wet. Why the devil was the room so bloody moist? The missing window had been boarded up. Rain could not have saturated the room.
He suddenly bolted up. Could the roof be leaking? Daphne's captors had thought themselves wise to put her on the third floor where the sound of her cries would be farther from the street, where the ground below was a sheer drop of three stories. But her captors had failed to take into account that there might be another way out!
