by Cara Elliott
Damn. He would have to take a shot at grabbing the pistol—
CRACK!
From out of nowhere, a round missile whizzed through the air and struck the wavering weapon, knocking it from Arthur’s hand. It flew up and then fell with a leaden splash into the water.
“A corking good throw, Isa!” cheered Peregrine. “Now hit him between the eyes!”
Lucas looked around. Sure enough, Isabella was winding up with a second rock. “It was the snooker spin pitch, sir!” cried the little girl. “I did it just like you showed me.”
“It was perfect, lass. But—”
Arthur staggered back, with Peregrine still in his grasp. He slipped on the mossy stones, causing the throw to miss by a hairsbreadth.
“Call her off, call her off!” he screamed.
“That’s enough, sweeting,” said Lucas, scooping up the little girl and giving her a fierce hug. “You wouldn’t want to risk hitting Perry.”
Isabella responded with a sniff. “I was not aiming at Perry.”
“Little hellion! No doubt you’ve learned your evil headstrong ways from my sister-in-law.” Lady Battersham shook her stick at them. “The two of you headstrong hellions are unnatural females, I say. Unnatural! I have never seen the like of it in my life!”
“Nor have I.” Lucas allowed a ghost of a grin. “My ladies are both brave and bold as Boudicca, but now, if you please…” He handed the girl to Ciara. “I would like a chance to don my armor and play the noble knight.”
Her eyes had an odd gleam, one that seemed to come from deeper than the unshed tears clinging to her lashes. “Perry,” she whispered.
Lucas stilled her quivering lips with a touch of his fingertips before turning to Arthur.
“Come now, Battersham, toss down your hand. This is no different than a gaming hell. You played your cards well, but luck was not on your side. It’s time to accept defeat and settle our accounts.” Much as he itched to charge in and pummel the man to a pulp, he did not wish to drive the man to a desperate act. “I am still willing to pay you something. Just let the boy go.”
Arthur looked around wildly. The sky had turned gray as gunpowder, and a rumble of thunder from the approaching squall echoed the slap of the surf against the nearby cliffs.
“There is nowhere to run,” added Lucas quietly.
Perhaps sparked by the word “run,” Peregrine suddenly twisted and tried to bolt free.
Arthur managed to keep hold, and a blow from his meaty fist stunned the boy. “Throw down my cards? Not when I still hold an ace.” He lifted a groggy Peregrine up into his arms and slid his fingers around the boy’s throat. “Back off, unless you wish for it to be a spade.”
Lucas looked to Lady Battersham. “Talk some sense into your son,” he growled. “Listen to the seas. Your boat will have been forced to weigh anchor, and with the rising tide, there is no other way out of the cove.”
“Arthur…”
But Battersham had already turned, Peregrine still in his arms, and bolted over the slippery path of stones that led across the stream. Pausing on the opposite bank only long enough to hurl a last curse, he then squeezed through a sliver in the rocks and disappeared.
Ciara’s anguished cry echoed Arthur’s shout of “Go to hell!”
“Courage, sweetheart,” said Lucas. “We’ve no real choice—you must stay with Isa and trust Perry to me.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Logic and loyalty all said Lucas was right. But at the moment, her heart had a hard time listening to reason.
Ciara hugged Isabella, willing herself not to shatter into a thousand tiny shards. Right now, Alessandra’s daughter was her responsibility, and she must stand in as the little girl’s mother. While Lucas played the part of Peregrine’s father.
“Perry isn’t in any danger.” The little girl’s mud-streaked face betrayed not a flicker of doubt. “Lord Hadley is a great gun. He won’t let him come to any harm.”
“Yes, he is.”
“I hope he pounds that nasty man to a pulp,” continued Isabella. She clenched her small fingers into fists. “I shall ask him to give me boxing lessons next, now that he taught me the basics of cricket.”
“Look at you.” Lady Battersham regarded Ciara with a basilisk stare. “You’re a disgrace to Polite Society, and I see that you have poisoned yet another child.”
Ciara slowly looked down at her ripped skirts, her scraped hands, her tangled hair, her friend’s daughter, whose face was now scrunched in a scowl. And then she lifted her chin. “The poison flows from people like you and your son, who are overflowing with hate and greed and envy.” She set Isabella down. “I am proud of who I am and what I do. And if I can encourage my son and my friend’s daughter to develop their own individual spirit and to value truth over material possessions, then I shall be even prouder.”
Lady Battersham gave a snort of derision. “You’re a fool. You always have been.”
Isabella responded by calling the dowager a name that made Ciara blink.
“Lud, where did you learn that word?” she asked.
“From Perry,” admitted the little girl. “Who overheard Hadley use it when he was talking to Lord James”—she pointed a finger—“about her.”
“It’s not a term you ought to repeat,” said Ciara.
“I know.” Isabella did not appear at all contrite.
“I’ve heard quite enough. Out of my way.” Lady Battersham was a big woman, and her walking stick was a stout length of hawthorn topped with a heavy brass knob. Swinging it in a menacing arc, she came at Ciara. “You may have worked your black magic to escape justice today. But don’t think you have seen the last of us.”
Ciara stood firm. “You are not going anywhere. This time, you will pay for your perfidy.”
“And who is going to make me?” The dowager laughed. “You have no proof. It’s your word against ours. We’ll simply say that we stopped to visit my nephew, and as children are wont to do, the boy made up a wild story. All this will be dismissed as a mere misunderstanding.”
“It’s not just my word this time, Lady Battersham. Lord Hadley is a witness.”
“Hadley?” The stick waggled. “Ha! As if anyone will take him seriously! Society will simply think he’s up to one of his outrageous stunts.”
“You might be in for a rude surprise,” replied Ciara.
For a moment, there was a flicker of uncertainty in the dowager’s expression. “Bah! You are bluffing.” The malevolence was back in a flash. “Out of my way,” she repeated. “I mean to go extricate Arthur. You see, Hadley will have no choice but to let him go. Your name can’t stand another smudge of scandal.”
“Only because you and your family have taken such pains to blacken it with your lies.”
Lady Battersham shrugged. “I warned you long ago that it was a grave mistake to try to match wits with me.” She started for the stepping stones, but Ciara moved to block her path.
“And as you see, I’m still not intimidated by your threats.”
“Willful, wicked woman! I won’t allow you to stand in the way of my plans. It is I and my family who deserve to benefit from my brother’s estate, not you.” Using her stick as a cudgel, she aimed a blow at Ciara’s head.
Spin. Twist. Flick.
She put into motion the tactics that Lord Ghiradelli had taught her.
Splat. With a squeak and a squeal, the dowager fell backward, landing on her rump in the shallows of the stream.
The conte was right—when applied with textbook precision, the art of self-defense was a matter of simple physics.
Isabella’s giggle was drowned out by a string of sputtering curses. For all her posturing about propriety, the dowager knew a number of highly unladylike words.
Ciara uttered her own silent oath as a new sound rose above the splashing water and gusting winds. Snatching up the fallen walking stick, she reached for Isabella’s hand.
The thud of galloping hooves slowed. Branches cracked, bushes rustl
ed. Through the gorse, she saw the shadowy shape of a horse and rider start to thread through the swampy thickets of brambles.
“Lucas?” called the rider.
Expelling a sigh of relief, Ciara waved the stick. “Over here, sir!” she shouted in answer. “Over here!”
A moment later, Black Jack Pierson guided his stallion down the rocky slope. His face was dark with worry, the shading accentuated by his broad-brimmed black hat and the wild tangle of rain-spattered raven hair curling down to his shoulders. With a shake of his oilskin cape, he reined to a halt. “What—”
“I’ll explain later.” She thrust Isabella up into his arms.
Jack fumbled to holster his cavalry pistol. “Good God! I don’t know the first thing about children.”
“It’s simple—she is shivering. Wrap her in your cloak.” Ciara stepped back from the stallion’s sweating flanks. “I must go after my son and Lucas.”
“No, wait! Let me go—” said Jack.
Ciara was already scrambling across the stones. “As for the Old Bat,” she shouted over her shoulder, “if she so much as twitches a muscle, shoot her.”
The mizzle was making the rocks more slippery by the moment. Lucas paused to pull off his boots and stockings, hoping that Arthur would show some sense of self-preservation and slow his skittering descent. Not that he cared if the dastard broke his neck, but Peregrine was also in peril.
If anything happened to the lad…
Ignoring the shards of slate slicing into his fingers, he swung down from the narrow ledge and dropped to another outcropping. The move helped narrow the gap between him and his quarry.
“Battersham!” he called, squinting through the swirls of fog. “Blast it, man, slow down! Your hide is not at risk from me.”
Arthur answered with a shrill jeer. “You’re lying!” The man sounded winded and scared.
Bloody hell. Exhaustion and fear did not help a man make good decisions.
Lucas tried another tack. “Look, can’t you see that no boat is waiting for you in these waves? Leave the boy and go take shelter in the lee of a ledge until the storm passes. You’ll be able to cross the cove at low tide. From there, it’s an easy climb up a cart path to the coast road.”
“Where you’ll have the local magistrate waiting to arrest me!”
“Let Peregrine go and you have my word that I’ll not contact the authorities.”
“Ha!” A note of panic edged Arthur’s voice. “Since when have you become such an honorable gentleman?”
A good question. Lucas began inching along a sliver of stone. It was hard to say exactly when the change had occurred. It had crept up on him gradually—a slow realization that the pursuit of pleasure was no longer of paramount importance in his life. Pleasure was fleeting, while love and family were the things that endured.
But he might as well whistle into the wind as try to explain it to the other man.
“You’re right,” he called. “Like you, I’m no saint. So let me put it to you as a purely pragmatic deal. Having Lady Sheffield caught up in a scandal does neither of us any good. After all, it might affect her ability to sell her discovery to Whitehall and the military. So, as her future husband, it’s in my self-interest for us to cry peace for the day.”
Greed. Now that was definitely a sentiment that Arthur Battersham should understand.
“I—I…”
The stuttering words were swallowed in a scream as a rock suddenly shifted beneath his feet. Arthur teetered, fighting madly for balance. He slipped again, and in twisting, he lost his hold on the still-groggy Peregrine. The boy slipped from his arms and hit the edge of the precipice, where he hung for an agonizing instant before dropping like a sack of stones into the foaming surf below.
A gust caught Arthur’s billowing coat and blew him over the far side of the ledge.
Lucas was already moving—slipping, sliding, clawing his way down the rough rocks as he searched the churning waters.
“H–help me.” Arthur was hanging onto a crack in the granite, his beefy body dangling over a jut in the cliffs. There was no water below him, only jagged stone yawning up like giant teeth. His face was bloodless, and his breath was a ragged gasp.
Grabbing hold of the other man’s wrist, Lucas hauled him to safety.
“I think my leg is broken,” whimpered Arthur through chattering teeth.
“If I don’t find Perry, I swear that I shall come back and snap every other bone in your body.” With that, Lucas peeled off his coat and dove headfirst into the bay.
The sea was so cold that it nearly sucked the air from his lungs. Treading water, he looked all around, trying to gauge the wind and the waves. If the lad had been caught in one of the deadly crosscurrents, there was no hope—he would be dashed to his death against the cliff.
Salt stung his eyes. “Perry!” he shouted, even though he knew it was unlikely that his voice could be heard above the crashing waves.
“Hadley!”
Was it only his imagination, or was there an answer? It was strange, but the sound seemed to be coming from both the sea and the sky.
“Lucas!”
He looked up to see Ciara scramble down through the steep rocks, following the same dangerous path that he had taken.
“Lucas!” she cried again, pointing frantically toward a cut in the cliff.
Wrenching his gaze around, he spotted a small blond head bobbing amid the whitecaps.
“I’m coming, lad,” cried Lucas, cutting through cresting swells with powerful strokes. Thank God that as a boy he had spent countless hours swimming in the secluded coves. The currents were tricky, but he knew the dangers. He had the right angle—if only Peregrine could keep his head above water.
Kicking harder, Lucas fought through the chop. He was now close enough to see the boy’s face. Rather than appear terrified, Peregine wore a look of fierce determination as he struggled manfully to stay afloat.
A last hard pull brought Lucas abreast of him. “Put your arms around my neck,” he gasped through the swirls of salt spray. His own hands circled Peregrine’s waist.
The touch of icy flesh nearly made him weep for joy.
Lud, what a sentimental sop he had become of late. His friends wouldn’t recognize the sardonic, selfish Mad, Bad Had-ley of old. Perhaps because that man no longer existed.
“Don’t panic, Perry. I’ll get us safely ashore.”
The boy’s breath was warm against his wind-whipped cheek. “I’m not afraid, sir. Not with you here.”
“Watch out, Lucas!” Ciara’s warning cry alerted him to a new danger. He was drifting toward a shoal of rocks that guarded the narrow strip of beach.
“Stay back, sweetheart,” he shouted. She had climbed down to a narrow ledge and was crouched perilously close to the surging surf. “I’ve got him.”
But a quick glance showed the situation was serious. The cold was numbing, and Lucas could feel the strength ebbing from his arms and legs. Given the distance to shore, and the pull of the seas, it would be a close race to get both himself and the boy to shore…
He drew a deep breath and was about to plunge ahead when another shout rang out from the rocks above.
“Tie the end around your waist and keep hold of Peregrine!” Jack dropped a length of rope into the water. “I’ll pull both of you up.”
Lucas snagged the line, but his fingers were stiff with cold, and time was of the essence. “No—that’s too great a weight. Just pull up the boy!” Looping it under Peregrine’s arms, he managed to make a simple knot. “Haul away, Jack. I’ll be fine. I’ll swim for shore.” Without the extra drag, he had a good chance of making it.
Jack snapped a salute and started to pull.
Slowly but surely, Peregrine rose from the waters. Ciara caught her son’s collar and guided him up to the ledge.
A surge of relief swelled through his veins as Lucas watched her hug the boy to her chest with a sob of joy.
Jack was already scrambling down to meet them. At Ci
ara’s order, he stripped off his coat and she quickly bundled her son in its warmth. She and Peregrine were in good hands now—
A vortex of swirling seas suddenly sucked him under. The churning water was black as Hades, and he felt himself sinking, sinking down into the briny darkness.
Ciara gasped in horror as Lucas disappeared beneath the surging waves. Peregrine was now safe, snugly wrapped in heavy wool. But the hero who had just risked his life to save her son was drowning!
“Mama!” Peregrine had seen it too. “Hadley is in trouble. We must help him.”
She would not—could not—lose Lucas from their lives.
“Guard my son, Lord James.” She brushed a last kiss to Peregrine’s cheek and thrust him into Jack’s embrace. Kicking off her half boots, Ciara spun around and dove headfirst into the water.
Her heart skipped a beat as she plunged beneath the windblown waves. Whispering a silent prayer, she groped through the murky waters, desperately hoping she wasn’t too late.
Cold as ice, the currents cut against her flesh. Too late, too late. The roar of the surf filled her ears. And then her fingertips touched a tangle of hair. Fisting her hand, she kicked for the surface with all her might.
Gasping for breath, she opened her eyes to see Lucas’s dripping face just inches from her.
“Damn it, darling,” he sputtered. “You shouldn’t have risked your neck in such a fool stunt.”
“I—” A wave drowned the rest of her words.
He caught hold of her hand. “Follow me.”
The tide was changing, and the shift in currents was just enough to smooth the waters at the opening of the cove. Lucas angled through the surf, leading the way through the shoals. The squall had just about blown over, and as they rounded the jut of rocks, the sun broke through the clouds and the sea became calm as glass.
A few more strokes and they reached the shallows. Ciara felt her feet touch the smooth stones…
Then, with a last lurching gasp, Lucas heaved her over his shoulder and staggered onto dry land.
Unraveling herself from a tangle of wet linen, she slid rather ungracefully to a seat in the coarse sand. Her feet were bare, her sleeves were in tatters, and her shortened skirts now revealed an indecent amount of leg.
