Tethered to a crouch by the short chain linking his wrists to the hearth, Tavin glared as Hugh yanked off his boots. “Do not touch her.”
“Is this affection I hear? I always thought you two smelled of April and May.” Hugh discovered Tavin’s small knife. “Excellent deduction, Garner.”
The rope binding Gemma to the chair strained her chest, forcing her to breathe in shallow pants. Then Tavin’s chain rattled. She met his steady gaze, forcing herself to use her head. To pray. To help Tavin.
Tied up, all she could think to do was distract Hugh. With great reluctance, she tore her gaze from Tavin’s.
“I came in friendship to warn you about Saul, never guessing you were the one who had sent your groom to kill me in my bed.”
“I’d never hurt you, Gem.” The irony was laughable, but Hugh, oblivious, glared at Garner. “If I’d known—”
“You’d have changed nothing, because she could have ruined your enterprise.” Garner sneered. “The description of me you offered Knox was, to my relief, vague enough that he’d not suspect me, but then I learned of your clandestine letter-writing, dear girl. How was I to be sure you were not some sort of agent for a rival smuggler? Or worse, for the government, which could only mean that others were aware of my intent to start a new order. So I had no choice but to find you at the masque. I was so close to you then. I had hoped ’twould be enough to frighten you into leaving town while I went about my business there. But once Knox told me you’d recognized me on Piccadilly, you had to be dispatched.”
“Pity for you both it didn’t work.” Gemma spoke loud enough to cover the faint rattling of chains sounding from near the hearth. Not enough to draw Garner’s notice. Keep on it, Tavin. Whatever you are doing—
Hugh spun to Tavin and tsked. “It will not work.”
Tavin snorted. “I was about to say the same of your objectives.”
Hugh’s eyes goggled in mock confusion. “Oh, you mean the smuggling. Gemma, the most amazing thing happened when Father died. I learned there’s a tunnel that extends from my wine cellar to the village posting house, with a fork that leads into the New Forest. I wish we’d known about the tunnels when we were younger. How we would have enjoyed exploring them.”
Bile rose in Gemma’s throat. “With far different intent than you use them now.”
He turned back to Tavin. “When one has as resourceful a partner as a Custom House official, well, it is difficult to see the negatives of such an arrangement. Everyone wins.”
“Not everyone.” Tavin shifted his weight from one stockinged-foot to the other. How uncomfortable he must be, forced to his haunches, chained at the wrists to the fireplace. “Garner’s motives do not match yours. He wants men. And money, too, for his cause.”
Gemma bit her lip. Tavin had better know what he was doing. Whatever it was, it kept all eyes from her, so she resumed twisting her wrists. The soft scrich of rope against the chair chafed her skin, but mayhap it would weaken the bonds.
“What cause?” Hugh frowned.
“You don’t know what Garner is about, do you?” Tavin’s voice was pitying.
“You try to turn us against one another,” Hugh said.
“No, he’s correct.” Garner turned from the window. “How did you come to this conclusion, Knox?”
Scrich, scrich.
“That you are the Sovereign?” Tavin did not take his eyes from Garner. “All signs pointed to Beauchamp, except for the green ribbon. I admit it took me weeks to fathom, but it is obvious now.”
“Not to me.” Hugh dropped Tavin’s knife on a lacquered table with a petulant thunk.
Garner stepped toward Tavin. “How did you learn of the ribbons?”
“I found one atop Verity Hill, the day you attacked Gemma. I wasn’t certain if it was a scrap or a clue until Bill Simple’s murder. Then, too, Gemma mentioned France, but it was not until your men, wearing similar ribbons, attacked her that I grasped your goal.”
Garner smiled. “You withheld that ribbon from me. To think I found you trustworthy because of your professed faith. Now I see you are just as deceitful as everyone else from your class.”
“Will someone not tell me what is going on?” Hugh raked a hand through his hair.
Scrich. Gemma eyed the knife.
“More than brandy and tea came through your cellars, Beauchamp.” Tavin’s voice was soothing, as if he spoke to Petey and Eddie. “Garner smuggled people, too.”
“Utter rot.”
“There were never Frenchmen in your cellar?”
“To collect payment, of course. But the war against Napoleon is over.”
“They were not here to gather intelligence.” Tavin grimaced. “They came to help start a revolution.”
Hugh’s brow creased, but Gemma fully understood now. “Before the tricolor in France, green cockades served as a symbol for the populace. These green ribbons must be a signal for Englishmen planning to challenge the government.”
“Not just challenge,” Garner snorted. “We will dispose of it. Parliament, all the so-called ‘betters’ who trample the citizens under their heels. And it will begin with the assassination of the Prince Regent.”
As Hugh’s jaw went slack, Tavin’s leg shot out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Now.
Jerking like a snared bird, Gemma fought against the ropes.
Tavin’s foot hooked Hugh’s ankle and yanked. As Hugh landed on his backside, Tavin pinned Hugh’s arms with one leg and planted his other foot atop Hugh’s throat.
Gemma tugged. If she could break loose and reach the knife—
The reverberation of a pistol shot stole her breath. Tavin.
Hugh crawled out from the cage of Tavin’s legs, rubbing his neck. Something Tavin would not have allowed, were he strong enough.
“Tavin.” Was that her voice? Or did she merely gasp the word?
Then a crimson flower blossomed through the length of white neck cloth high on his chest.
She screamed, stomped, wrestled against the rope. Popping to her toes, she hobbled like a half-dead crab toward Tavin, her chair dragging on the thick gold rug.
“’Tis well,” Tavin lied, his eyes dull.
A plush cushion lay on the floor from the tussle. She stretched out her leg and kicked it toward him. “Use this to stanch the flow.”
He pressed the pillow to his body.
“Now see here.” Hugh’s chest puffed out. “I did not agree to this.”
Gemma glared through hot tears. “If you’ve any decency left, Hugh, unbind me so I may tend to him.”
“I was not the one to shoot him, Gem.” Hugh’s voice rose. “I don’t wish to kill anyone. Certainly not the prince. His Highness is a personal friend. Are you mad, Garner?”
Garner brushed aside the curtain and peered out. “No time for histrionics. They are here.”
“Who?” Gemma’s wrists twisted. She would forfeit the skin on her forearms if it meant getting out of these ropes and helping Tavin.
“A shipment of goods.” Hugh stormed back to the window. “But are men with seditious intent under those tarps, too, Garner?”
“And weapons.” Tavin’s voice was weak, but his glare was piercing.
“Must I shoot you again, Knox? This time in the gut?”
“Enough.” Hugh pulled at his hair. “Give me my money and then we’re finished.”
Garner hastened to the door, pistol in hand. “Wait while I will send the free traders in the correct direction. If you grow weak-livered now, Beauchamp, you’ll get nothing. Hear me?”
Hugh grimaced, but then offered a reluctant nod. As Garner’s boots stomped down the hall, Hugh sank onto the settee, his head in his hands.
Tavin shuffled against the chains, pressing the blood-soa
ked cushion to his chest.
Gemma wriggled against her bonds. “Hugh, look at me. He shot Tavin. He will kill the prince, and me, mayhap within the hour.”
“That was talk.” Hugh tugged at the hair at his temples. “He wouldn’t hurt you.”
Tavin was pale as snow. “He had me protect Gemma. Not for her sake but his, to ensure she posed no threat to him. He may kill you, too.”
Hugh rose to his feet. “He won’t. He needs me. I can persuade him to spare you, Gem, but you must not speak of this, not of me or my part. Ever. Promise?”
Of course she couldn’t.
“She will keep silent.” Tavin nudged her leg with his. Her gaze met his. “I will not let you die. You will agree. For me.”
“I won’t go without you.” She turned back. “Please, Hugh.”
“I’m sorry.” Hugh turned away. “Knox is shot, anyway.”
Tavin gritted his teeth. “Beauchamp, put that knife to good use and set her free.”
Garner’s return clamped all their mouths shut. “More visitors for you, Beauchamp. Get rid of them, before this day ends in utter disaster.”
“Who is it?”
“The Earl and Countess of Wyling.”
Gemma sucked in a breath to scream, but Garner’s slimy hand smothered her mouth. “If they do not leave this house in two minutes, unaware of your presence, they will die. And so will those two lads of yours.”
She’d bite him if not for his threat to kill her family. Because if she knew anything about this so-called superior of Tavin’s, it was that he had no hesitation to commit murder.
* * *
The wound in Tavin’s chest burned, but it was also curious. He had been stabbed, punched, kicked, bitten and thrown from a horse, but he had never been shot.
At least the wound was high, closer to his clavicle than his heart. Either Garner was a poor shot or he preferred watching Tavin bleed to death on Beauchamp’s yellow rug.
“Do you think they will be safe?” Gemma’s voice was low. “Wyling and Amy. And Jed, oh!” She bit her bloodless lips.
Poor lass. He’d get her home with his dying breath.
“They’ll be home with the boys soon. And so will you.”
“Since you are in the mood to talk, Knox, explain something.” Garner collapsed into a lyre-backed chair. “Your family failed you. They ignored you, then used you, tried to break you, but you overcame. When you came to me, repentant over that middling agent’s death, I was astonished. A gentleman, remorseful? But you made your own way rather than inherited it. You didn’t lean on your family’s name or power to accomplish good. Can you not see how much better Britain will be once every man earns his lot?”
Breathing ached. Speaking ached. But every minute was another gift from Providence, another opportunity to save Gemma.
“There are other ways.”
“Ah yes, your Wyling tries his best. I will grant you that. But he must die when the time ripens.”
A cry escaped Gemma’s lips. Tavin did not dare look at her. Seeing her grief would do him in, and he would not be able to continue. “So you will slaughter the nobility, steal their possessions. Usher in a new era.”
“The Prince Regent gorges his gullet and ignores responsibility. Wouldn’t your God rather clothe the poor in the prince’s finery and feed the starving from his larders? Sounds like heaven, does it not?”
“Not quite.”
Hugh slunk into the room, his shoulders hunched. “Amy and Wyling are gone. I said Gemma and Knox were not here.”
“Good.” Garner smiled.
“But there is a problem in the cellars. The men are sparring over the weapons.”
Garner cursed and stood. “Watch them, Beauchamp, or I will have to shoot you, too.”
As Garner left the room, Hugh moved to the window. After a minute, he turned around, his gaze on the rug. “I cannot stop him. But you and I will be safe, Gem, if we keep quiet.”
Tavin’s knife lay on the lacquered table. Hugh ran his hand over the hilt, slow and pointed, and then he left the room.
Gemma snorted. “Why did he not cut me loose?”
“So he could state in all truth he did not do it when Garner points a pistol at his chest.” But excitement thrummed in Tavin’s chest. “You can reach the blade.”
“I am tied to the chair.” As her brows rose, her fingers wriggled.
“Carry the chair with you, like when you brought me the cushion.”
Pressing her toes into the rug, she scuttled in awkward thumps to the lacquered table. She stretched behind her, her fingers fumbling for the blade. Determination lined her face. She had never looked more beautiful.
“That’s it.”
The mantel clock ticked. Her fingertips skittered over the slick table surface and then brushed the handle. She almost had it—
The knife slipped to the floor and bounced under the settee.
Sending him a look of exasperation, she set the chair down on all four legs and tried to scoop it out with her boot-shod foot. “I cannot.”
Perspiration glistened over her face. He felt damp, too. Was it sweat or blood? “You can.”
“I am so sorry.” She continued to stretch her foot for the knife.
“I’m the sorry one, lass. I’m supposed to protect you.”
“You have. God sent you to keep me safe.”
“Until now.” His eyes shut. “Perhaps we should beseech His aid now, Gemma.”
He thanked God for Gemma. He prayed for strength and wisdom. And then the light of the candelabrum flickered through his closed lids. He opened his eyes.
“The candelabrum.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
Lord, give her strength to do what I ask of her. “Use the flame to burn the ropes.”
“But my hands are tied. I cannot carry it to you.”
“You maun be brave, lass. Back up to the candelabrum and lean your bonds into the flame.”
Her jaw slackened. “I will catch fire.”
“No. The ropes will—”
“And then the chair.” The pitch of her words rose. “And then me.”
“The rope will burn and you will be free.” His words were slow, even. “The fire will be so small we can extinguish it with the water from that vase. We can do this, Gemma.”
We? Tavin chewed his cheek at the word. Shackled to the hearth, he’d not be the one to overturn the jardiniere for the water. But he would do everything he could to help her. “My gaze will never leave you. I promise.” He wished he could brush the errant lock of hair from her cheek. “Will you try it?”
She licked her lips. The mantel clock ticked away the little time they had left. If she did not act soon, she would die here with him.
At last she nodded, her eyes squeezed shut. She inched backward.
He leaned forward, his head swirling with fogginess at the sudden movement. “There are still several inches to go.”
She scraped back another measure. Still not far enough.
“You are so brave, lass. The bravest female I’ve ever known. Remember how you thwarted Garner that first day? And he is not an easy man to foil. Now try to rise on your feet and lean back.”
She grimaced, holding the awkward posture. “I’ll burn.”
“The rope, not you. Now lean.”
She muttered something and inclined back. Flame danced a hairbreadth from the rope.
“Almost, Gemma.”
A ghost of a smile played at her lips. “See how I succumb to your flattery?”
“’Tis not flattery, but truth.” His gaze fixed on the flame. “I have never admired anyone as much as I do you.”
Screwing up her face, she leaned farther, and the rope began to smoke.
“There, it’s catching.” He kept his voice soft as lamb’s wool. “Twist away, if you can. I must see when the rope falls away.”
The odor of singed fibers assaulted his nose. Tiny, orange-gold tongues of flame lapped the rope, licked the chair’s upholstery. What memories it must spark in Gemma, whose chest rose and fell in panicky breaths. “Now twist so you can see the fire, on your left side?” She obeyed, but sounds like a wounded animal’s escaped her throat. “That arm is looser, is it not? Because it’s smoldering. Lift a wee bit.”
Grimacing, she did. And the rope turned black just as the flames on the back of the chair grew high enough to scorch her hair.
“Now!”
She leaped from the chair, although her right arm was still attached with rope that had yet to burn. She wrested against it and pulled free. A deep, painful breath left Tavin’s lungs.
Gemma hastened to the closest of the jardinieres. Yanking out the bouquet it held, she gripped the zinc water bowl and tossed it at the burning chair. The water landed short, soaking the rug.
Every muscle in Tavin’s body seized. He forced a single breath before speaking again. “You must get closer. Use the other jardiniere to quench the flames.”
“Tavin,” she protested, but she did it. Water splashed over the chair. Small flames still lapped at remnants of the rope. She ripped cushions from the settee and beat the flames until all that was left was smoke and charred furniture.
Her eyes met his. “We did it.”
“’Twas all you. How brave you are. Now run. Fast as you can.”
“Not without you.” Her eyes glowed like the fire she’d just extinguished. “I’ll pick that lock on your wrists with the knife.”
Like a true spy. “You haven’t time. Leave me the knife and run.”
“Never.” She dropped to her knees, stretched for the knife and rose. Her backside hit the lacquered table, tilting it on its spindly legs. The candelabrum tipped, scattering candles like chaff. A few extinguished. But the others landed at the hems of the golden drapes.
She stared at Tavin, eyes wide, as flames lapped up a drape.
The Reluctant Guardian Page 22
