by Cara Elliott
The lens slowly swung from the sea to shoreline. “For that I shall always be grateful—” Her words ended in an abrupt gasp. “Good God, the children!”
“What!” All amorous thoughts were gone in an instant, replaced by a spasm of alarm.
Lucas wrenched the glass from her hands and trained it on the spot where she had been looking. How the devil had the children been allowed to stray from the estate? The marshes were treacherous, and the cliffs posed myriad dangers for two children out wandering on their own.
But as the footpath came into focus, he realized that Peregrine and Isabella were not alone. A cloaked figure was leading the way through the twisting turns, while a second person had the children captured in his grasp.
Repressing a snarl of impotent rage, Lucas swung the spyglass in a wider arc. The search quickly revealed a small sloop at anchor in one of the small coves.
Damn him for a fool. While he had been preoccupied with his prick, Battersham had stolen a march on him.
“Lucas?” Ciara’s voice was trembling.
“Kidnapped,” he replied grimly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart—I’ll not let them get away.” He already had his boots on. “Run home and send a servant to alert authorities—Henry will know where.”
“No!” Ciara glanced at the jagged cut of rocks and set her jaw. “It will be far too late before any help can be mustered. I’m going with you.”
“The way is too rough. I will be taking a shortcut.”
“I can make it,” she insisted.
“Be reasonable—”
“Lucas, he is my son.”
There was no time to argue. His mouth thinned to a grim line as he took her hand. “Hold on tight. And be prepared for a rough descent.”
Chapter Twenty-three
A shard of stone sheared away under their steps and fell with a splash into the surging surf. Ciara stumbled, fear making her a little dizzy, but Lucas was right there to steady her footing.
She clutched at his hand, reassured by his hold. Strong. Sure. This was not the selfish scamp she had read about oh-so-many weeks ago. Resolve was chiseled in every taut muscle. His expression was hard as granite, reminding her of Lord Woodbridge’s words in the ballroom—his scapegrace friend just needed a challenge to bring out the best in himself.
That night seemed so very, very long ago. Mad, Bad Had-ley had changed beyond recognition.
“Give me your hand.” Lucas swung her over a deep crevasse in the rock. He paused a moment, then fisted her skirts and tore the fabric, shortening the hem by half a foot. “Take off your petticoat, as well,” he ordered. “The way down from here is treacherous enough as it is—I don’t want to risk losing you on an errant slip.”
She obeyed in an instant. “Don’t worry about me. All that matters is Perry and Isa.”
His grip tightened. “You are all very dear to me. I don’t intend on allowing harm to come to any of you.”
Light glinted in his eyes as he glanced up, setting off a winking of sapphire ice. Ciara shivered slightly, glad she was not the enemy.
“Damn,” he growled. “Come, sweetheart, we must try to move even faster.”
Following his gaze, she saw the scudding storm-gray clouds moving in fast from the west. The wind was already gusting, turning the seas choppy.
“Yes,” she answered, wishing they might sprout wings and swoop down upon the fleeing figures. “Let us fly.”
Slipping, sliding, they descended the steep cut of rock. Her hands were soon scraped and bleeding. Briars tore at her legs; wind whipped her ragged skirts.
Hurry, hurry. Their progress seemed so painfully slow, and the strand still appeared miles away.
“We’ll never make it in time,” she gasped, her half boots nearly tripping over the uneven scree.
“Steady, sweetheart,” replied Lucas firmly. “It’s not as far as it looks.” He angled through a cleft in the stone and led the way down a narrow ledge. “We’re almost there.”
The outcropping took a sharp turn, and then suddenly Lucas disappeared.
Ciara was about to cry out when she heard his voice ring out from below. “You’ll have to jump. I’ll catch you.”
Without hesitation, she stepped off the edge. The drop was not all that great, and Lucas was there, strong and solid, to gather her in his arms.
For an instant, she was tempted to stay in the shelter of his hold.
“Brave girl,” he murmured, brushing his lips to her windsnarled hair. “They will not escape us now.”
Spying a footpath between the tangled thornbushes, Lucas grabbed her hand and set off at a run.
The way twisted through the coastal thickets, and the loose stones and tangled vines soon slowed their progress.
“Can’t we go any faster?” she asked as Lucas paused to get his bearings.
“I dare not charge ahead too quickly,” he replied. “The way turns a little treacherous up ahead, for there’s a bog where the mud can be dangerous. If the kidnappers sense pursuit, they may be spooked into doing something rash.”
It was, of course, a sensible reply, but Ciara couldn’t help but chafe at the snail’s pace. Each scrape of her half boots seemed a harsh chiding on how careless she had been to abandon herself to carnal pleasure.
“I should never have left Peregrine, knowing that he was in danger,” she said aloud. “Perhaps the Sheffields are right, after all—I’m an unfit mother, a selfish strumpet who—”
Lucas whirled around and gave her shoulders a shake. “Stop it,” he ordered. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Do not let their evil lies poison your life, Ciara.”
She choked down a sob. “If I lose Perry—”
“You won’t,” he said firmly. “You must trust me on that. Now keep hold of my hand and stay silent, sweetheart. The footpath cuts in close to the sea up ahead, and there is a marsh that will slow them down.”
Sure enough, on rounding a thicket of gorse, Ciara spotted the children and their captors. They had halted by the bank of a wide stream, and the two adults appeared to be engaged in an argument. Despite Lucas’s warning, her breath slipped out in an audible gasp.
“Ssshhh. We must get closer before they become aware of our presence.” Pointing to a sliver of space between the bushes, Lucas inched forward. “The sound of the surf will cover our approach.”
The slap of the sea against the rocks echoed the churning in her chest, but she nodded, knowing he was right.
Crouching low, he picked a path down the sloping hillside, using the tussocks of salt grass to muffle their steps. The screen of thorny leaves allowed them to creep within a stone’s throw of the group, and over the rushing water of the stream, Ciara could hear the babble of angry voices.
“Idiot! Why did you bring the girl?”
“I couldn’t very well let her go and raise the alarm, could I?” Peeking through the branches, Ciara could see enough of the near figure to recognize Arthur Battersham. He had hold of both children, and as he spoke, he gave Isabella a nasty shake. “The little bitch bit my hand. I think it’s bleeding—”
His complaint ended in a shrill curse as Peregrine kicked him in the shin. “You ought to bite your tongue, Cousin Arthur. Gentlemen aren’t supposed to use bad language around ladies.”
Arthur responded with a hard slap.
“Don’t hit the brat. We may need him unmarked if Richard’s widow insists on negotiating face-to-face.”
Lady Griselda Battersham? Her late husband’s sister had always been a spiteful, selfish creature, but how could she, a mother herself, actually be so callously cruel as to contemplate harming another woman’s son?
But before she could react, Lucas slid his hand over her mouth. “Steady, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let’s try to hear what they have in mind before I intervene.”
“The Wicked Witch won’t be in a position to dictate terms,” came Arthur’s sulky reply. This time he dodged Peregrine’s boot and tightened his grip on the boy’s collar. “You said so yourself—she’ll do whatever we
ask to get her whelp back.”
What did they want from her? That she couldn’t answer the question only added to her fear.
“Lud, Arthur, do I have to do all the thinking for both of us?” snapped Lady Battersham. “Try using your brain for once. Of course we’re not worried about Lady Ciara. On her own, she has no influence or support in Society—a position we have taken great pains to ensure. However, this liaison with Hadley presents a potential problem.”
“It’s a sham,” said Arthur with a malicious laugh. “He’ll throw her aside as soon as he’s tossed up her skirts.”
In spite of the stranglehold on his collar, Peregrine managed a spirited reply. “No, he won’t—Hadley isn’t a filthy, rotten scoundrel like you.”
“I’ve always known that your mother’s bad blood has poisoned your veins, cousin,” sneered Arthur. “You should be ashamed of yourself, siding against your father’s family.”
“My father was a drunk and a bully,” retorted Peregrine. “And so are you.”
“Shut your mouth!” Arthur let go of Isabella to slap him again when suddenly the little girl wriggled free and darted off over the rocks leading upstream.
“Damn!” bellowed Arthur.
Lady Battersham took a step and then stopped. “Bah, let her go. It will be hours before she finds her way back to the manor house. Cousin Findley is waiting with the boat, and if we don’t hurry, the tide will change.”
Thank God Isabella was free from their clutches. Ciara bit her lip. Now, if only her son…
As if mocking her hopes, Arthur grabbed Peregrine with both hands and gave him a rough shove. “Don’t even think of trying that trick,” he warned. “And you had better hope your mama proves reasonable, cuz.” His low laugh was like the rasp of rusty metal. “Sailing can be dangerous, especially in these waters. Accidents happen all the time.”
A wave of cold fury washed over Ciara. For an instant, she gladly would have given the gossip columns a grain of truth by committing murder with her bare hands.
Only Lucas’s strong, steady grip held her in check. “Let me handle things from here.”
“Not so fast.” Stepping out from behind the bushes, Lucas called out a warning. “I think this has gone far enough, Battersham. Let the boy go.”
Arthur whirled around, his ruddy face betraying a mixture of shock and fear. “What the devil…”
“Trust me, you will wish that you had encountered Lucifer instead of me if you don’t release Perry this instant.”
“Stay out of this, Lord Hadley,” said Lady Battersham. “It’s a family matter that doesn’t concern you.”
Arthur’s bravado came creeping back, encouraged by his mother’s firm words and the pistol he pulled from his coat pocket. “That’s right,” he said. “You aren’t in any position to be giving orders.”
Mentally measuring the distance between himself and Arthur, Lucas slid a half step to his right. “Then let me rephrase it… as a request.” He turned to Lady Battersham. “You are obviously intelligent, Lady Battersham. And clever enough to know that you really have no option but to negotiate.” He heard Ciara move up beside him but didn’t look at her. Thankfully, she seemed to sense that he wished for her to stay silent. “We are, after all, about to be related by marriage. So let us discuss this reasonably.”
Lucas felt her flinch and knew the effort to remain calm must be causing her agony. Steady, steady. This time the warning was meant for himself. Peregrine looked so damnably vulnerable. And trusting. Though his face was pale, the boy looked up at him with a brave smile. “I knew you wouldn’t let them take us, Hadley. I knew you would come to the rescue.”
To Peregrine, he wasn’t Mad, Bad Had-ley, the reckless rake, the wild wastrel. He was a far different man. A man worthy of admiration. His throat tightened. No one had ever expected him to be a hero. Least of all himself. But the look in the lad’s eyes said otherwise.
“Isabella—” continued Peregrine.
“Yes, I will find Isabella,” he said softly. “I promise you that I’ll have all of you home safely soon.”
Light glinted off the gun barrel. “Don’t be so sure of yourself, Hadley.”
“Stop waving that weapon around,” said Lucas. “It might go off accidentally and actually hit something.”
Arthur’s face turned even redder with rage. “You won’t be sounding so cocksure when I put a bullet through your bollocks, Hadley.”
“Put the pistol away, Arthur,” ordered Lady Battersham. “As Lord Hadley says, there is no reason why we can’t settle this once and for all.”
“What is it you want?” Ciara finally tore her gaze from her son and looked up at her sister-in-law. “Money? It can’t be the land, for you must know it is all entailed.”
“It should belong to me,” growled Arthur. “I am more a true heir to Uncle Richard than his own brat.”
“True,” replied Ciara with a subtle sarcasm that sailed right over Arthur’s head. “However, life is often unfair, and we must learn to live with disappointment.”
“Not necessarily,” replied Lady Battersham with a crafty squint. “Sometimes, nature takes its own course… illness intervenes or accidents happen.”
Ciara drew in a sharp breath.
“And sometimes, a concerted effort of cleverness can even out the vagaries of chance.”
“I take it you are going to tell us what you have in mind,” said Lucas.
“It’s a simple exchange,” explained Lady Battersham. “Lady Ciara gets the boy in return for the scientific secret that she has discovered.”
“Scientific secret? I—I don’t understand.” Ciara gave voice to his own bafflement. “What possible interest is my work to you?”
The laugh was harsh and hard. “The fact that it’s worth a fortune to the government. Even more, in fact, than your son’s inheritance.”
“You are gravely mistaken—” began Ciara.
“Don’t try to play me for a fool.” Lady Battersham waggled her walking stick. “We’ve heard the talk about how Whitehall is willing to pay an astronomical price for the patent to a drug that will help protect our armies from battlefield wounds.”
Bloody hell. Lucas felt a little sick to his stomach on recalling how he had bragged of her accomplishments to his friends at the club. “I believe that the account you heard has been exaggerated,” he began to explain. “A misunderstanding—”
“And just how do you see this working?” cut in Ciara. It was her turn to be pragmatic. “I doubt that anyone would believe it for an instant if you or your family claimed credit for making the discovery.”
“You are right. Which is why you will sign over the rights to the discovery to us as a gift, acknowledging that you wish to honor your late husband’s wishes that his family be taken care of. My lawyers have worked out all the legalities. You have only to sign the document, which will allow us to sell it to Whitehall.”
“And if I do?” asked Ciara. “You will leave me and my son alone?”
Lady Battersham smoothed at the hood of her cloak. “We would have no more reason to bear you ill will.”
That was hardly a reassuring answer, thought Lucas.
Ciara, however, betrayed no hesitation. “Have you this document with you?”
“It’s close. We can arrange to meet first thing in the morning.”
The dowager’s flash of teeth was not a very convincing smile. “Naturally, we’ll have to keep the boy until the exchange is made.”
“Absolutely not.”
Arthur gave a snarl of laughter as he waved his weapon dangerously close to Peregrine’s head. “Don’t forget, dear Aunt, that you are not the one calling the shots.”
“Keep quiet, Arthur,” ordered his mother. “I’ll handle this.”
“No, actually, I will,” announced Lucas. “Here is Lady Ciara’s counteroffer. She—that is, I—will pay you a onetime settlement of ten thousand pounds. You are entitled to nothing, but I’m willing to be extremely generous in order to put
an end to this matter. As for the boy, his release is non-negotiable. He comes with us now.”
“Go to hell,” cursed Arthur. “You expect us to accept a pittance when a fortune is within our grasp?”
The dowager remained silent.
“The offer is final,” said Lucas. “And you have exactly thirty seconds to make up your mind.”
“And after that?” sneered Arthur. Despite the show of bluster, he was sweating profusely.
“After that, you miserable muckworm, I will break every bone in your body,” said Lucas calmly. He edged another half step closer to the other man. One more move should bring him near enough to lunge for the weapon before Arthur could react.
“What guarantee do we have that we can trust you?” demanded Lady Battersham.
Lucas curled a lip. “You will just have to take my word of honor as a gentleman.”
The dowager appeared to be giving the ultimatum consideration.
But Arthur’s gestures were becoming increasingly erratic. “We have the upper hand, Mother. Don’t give in to his demands!”
“Be quiet,” snapped Lady Battersham. “I need to think—”
“I won’t!” cried Arthur. “I’m sick of always being ordered about, as if I am a child. We all agreed our plan is a good one, and I mean to take charge and see that we carry it through.”
The pistol was now aimed at Lucas’s heart.
Ciara tried to set herself as a shield, but he caught her wrists and forced her back. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Even a bacon-brained clodpole like your nephew ought to realize the consequences of pulling the trigger.” He didn’t take his eyes off Arthur. “And if he doesn’t, perhaps his mother will explain. She, of all people, knows that murder is a hanging offense.”
“Arthur!” Lady Battersham’s voice was suddenly shrill. “Don’t be a fool.”
“Fool, am I?” The hammer cocked with an ominous click. “I’ll teach you all to show me some respect!”
Ducking low, Lucas spun away and pushed Ciara out of the line of fire. The move lost him a split second, but with any luck, Arthur’s reflexes would prove as slow as his wits. He saw a herky-jerky flash of steel as the gun barrel tried to draw a bead on his chest.
