by Violet
Cedric strode to the library door and flung it open. His lip curled at the shambolic sight within. Three women, wearing little more than the paint on their faces, were standing on a table, performing a lewd dance for a group of five men, sprawled over couches and chairs, glasses in hand.
“Governor, wasn’t expecting you back so soon.” One of the men stumbled to his feet, a fearful note underpinning the drunken slur.
“Clearly not,” his uncle declared in disgust. “I’ve told you before I’ll not have you whoring in my house. Get those harlots out of here and conduct your business in the stews, where it belongs.”
He stood to one side, watching with searing contempt as the men lurched to their feet with mumbled apologies and the women stepped off the table, hastily scrambling back into skirts and petticoats, their eyes glazed with drink yet haunted with the predatory hunger of the desperate.
One of them approached David Penhallan with a deprecating smile. “A guinea apiece, sir,” she whined. “You promised, sir.”
She went reeling as Cedric’s nephew backhanded her. “You think I’m fool enough to pay a guinea for a drunken dance by a scrawny bag of bones?” he demanded savagely. “Get out of here, the lot of you!” He raised his hand again and the woman cowered, her hand covering the mark on her cheek.
“Oh, we should give them something for the dance, David,” his twin said with a chuckle that sounded more menacing than humorous. Charles reached into his pocket and threw a handful of pennies at the women. His aim was true and vicious. A coin struck one woman in the eye and she fell back with a cry of pain, but then she bent with the others, scrabbling to pick up the coins amid the laughter from the men, who all joined in the new game, bombarding them with coins—an assault that they couldn’t afford to run from.
With a disgusted exclamation Cedric turned on his heel and left the room. He despised his nephews, but he wasn’t interested in their puerile little cruelties. The women they were tormenting meant nothing to Lord Penhallan; he just didn’t want them in his house.
He marched up the stairs, pausing for a minute to look at the portrait of a young woman hanging above the half landing. Silvery fair hair, violet eyes, she gazed down at him with the same defiantly mischievous smile he remembered across the mists of more than twenty years. His sister. The only person he believed he had ever cared for. The only person who had dared to challenge him, to mock his ambition, to threaten his position and his power.
Cedric could still hear her voice, her chiming laugh as she told him how she’d overheard his discussion with the Duke of Cranford, how she believed that William Pitt would be most interested to know how one of his most trusted advisers was working behind the scenes to oust him. The price of her silence was her own freedom from her brother’s authority. The freedom to pursue whatever little adventures she chose, and, when she was ready, the freedom to choose her own husband without thought to whether he might be useful or a liability to her brother’s ambition.
Pretty, lively little Celia had made herself too dangerous.
Shaking his head, he went on upstairs, ignoring the renewed shrieks and gales of drunken laughter in the hall as the women were chased from his house followed by the revelers heading out in search of new entertainment.
PORTUGAL
“So what’s behind this journey, little girl?”
Tamsyn looked up at the sky, following the flight of an eagle as it soared above the mountain pass, its magnificent wingspan black against the brilliant, cloudless blue.
“We’re going to be avenged upon Cedric Penhallan, Gabriel.” Her mouth was set, her eyes suddenly hard. She looked across at him as they rode abreast, following the line of a goat track etched into the mountainside. “And we’re going for the Penhallan diamonds. They were rightfully my mother’s, and now they’re rightfully mine.”
Gabriel drew a wineskin from his belt and tilted the ruby stream down his throat. He knew the story as well as Tamsyn did. He passed her the skin, saying thoughtfully, “You think the baron would have wanted you to seek his revenge, lassie?”
“I know he would,” she said with quiet certainty. “Cecile was cheated out of her inheritance by her brother. He planned her death.” She tilted the skin, enjoying the cool stream as it ran down her dry throat. “The baron swore he would be avenged. I used to hear them talking at night.”
She fell silent for a minute at the memory of those evenings when she lay in her own bed, the door ajar, listening to the soft voices, the baron’s rich chuckle, Cecile’s musical laugh, and occasionally the chilly ferocity of El Baron roused to anger by some stupidity or perceived failure of loyalty. Cecile would defuse his anger, but she never interfered in his dealings with his men, and she’d never been able to soften his icy rage at what Cedric Penhallan had paid the robber baron to do.
Gabriel frowned, his customary placid demeanor disturbed. He wasn’t sure what position to take on Tamsyn’s plan because he wasn’t sure what position the baron would have taken. “The baron had a powerful grudge against your mother’s family,” he said, feeling his way. “But I don’t believe he considered it your grudge, too. And Cecile always said there was nothing to avenge because her brother’s plans went so far awry.”
Tamsyn shook her head, screwing the top back onto the skin and passing it across to him. “And you know the baron always denied that Cedric’s plans had failed. He wanted his sister out of the way, he wanted to bilk her of her rightful inheritance. He succeeded. The baron always intended to redress that wrong. He’s not here to do it, so I will do it for him.”
Gabriel’s frown deepened. “Cecile counted that wrong as a good,” he said. “There’s never been a love like theirs, and she always said it was the Penhallan who put them in the way of it.”
“Cedric Penhallan paid for Cecile’s abduction and murder.” Tamsyn’s voice was almost without expression. “The fact that she found a lifetime’s happiness instead with the man Cedric paid to do his dirty work is no thanks to him. It’s time he paid the price.”
Gabriel clicked his tongue against his teeth, considering. The baron had confided his intention to concoct an appropriate vengeance on the Penhallans. It could be said that that confidence had laid the burden now upon his old friend to do what he could no longer do. Gabriel certainly had the responsibility to protect the baron’s daughter, and if she chose to exact her father’s vengeance, then it seemed he had no decision to make.
For a man of action rather than decision, the conclusion came as a relief. “So how will you prove your kinship?”
“I have the locket, the portrait, and other documents. Cecile gave me all I would need to prove that I’m her daughter.” Tamsyn adjusted her position in the unfamiliar sidesaddle. “She also told me that her real name was Celia. She started to call herself Cecile when she was fourteen because she thought it was prettier.” A misty smile touched her lips as she heard again her mother’s laughing description of her own youthful romanticism.
“She said she had some romantic notion about the name when she was a girl, and it annoyed her brother almost more than anything else when she refused to answer to anything but Cecile.” She looked across at Gabriel. “She said that should I ever need to prove my identity to the Penhallans, it would be the final confirmation for Cedric if I told him that, because it was not something anyone else knew about.”
Gabriel whistled through his teeth, nodding. “If she gave you all that, little girl, I’d guess she wasn’t totally against the idea of vengeance, after all.”
“No,” Tamsyn agreed. “But she would have called it restitution.” She chuckled. Cecile’s delicacy of phrase had always amused her robber-baron mate. “And she also gave me a written and witnessed account of her abduction,” she continued, serious again. “If that found its way into a London newspaper, vouched for by her daughter, it might cause her brother some considerable embarrassment, don’t you think?”
“If her brother’s still alive.”
“There is that,” sh
e conceded. “If he is, I shall know what to do. If he’s not … then what I do will depend on his successor … on the rest of the family, really. If they had nothing to do with Cedric’s plan, then I can hardly hold them responsible. We shall see what we shall see, Gabriel.”
“Is it blackmail you’re talking, little girl?”
Tamsyn shook her head. “No, I intend to expose Cedric Penhallan’s treachery to all the world. But for it to be credible, I must have a reputation for respectability myself. That’s where the colonel comes in. Once I’m established in society as the protégée of such an eminent aristocrat, my story will carry much more weight than if it came from some unknown who just popped up out of nowhere. And once the truth is known, the diamonds will come to me without question, because they’re indubitably mine by right.”
“And how much of this does the colonel know?”
Tamsyn glanced down the mountainside to where the broader, more frequented, path wound its way through the pass. The tall figure of Colonel, Lord Julian St. Simon rode at the head of the baggage train, six villainous outriders bristling with weapons in escort, the pack mule carrying Josefa plodding steadily in the rear.
“None of it,” she said. “He knows nothing of the Penhallans, of the diamonds, or of the plot to murder Cecile. He and Wellington know only that I’m an orphan with Cornish connections, alone in the world, desperate to find a home and family.”
Gabriel threw back his head with a snort of derision. “And they fell for that story! Och, little girl, shame on you. You could make grown men weep with your tales.”
“Cecile always said the chivalry of an English gentleman was a very useful weakness,” she said with a complacent grin. “I need a base in Cornwall, and I need the right entrees. Under the colonel’s protection, ensconced in his family home, I shall have them.”
“I’d watch my step with the colonel, if I were you,” Gabriel advised. “He’s not one to care for being made game of … however chivalrous he may be.”
“But I’m not making game of him,” Tamsyn said judiciously. “Only use.”
“He’ll not care for that either.”
Tamsyn was inclined to agree. “He won’t be able to do anything about it. I don’t intend to stay in England once I’ve done what I set out to do; besides, the colonel will be so relieved to get back to his beloved war, he probably won’t give a damn by then anyway.”
“You’d better be right, lassie.”
Tamsyn merely shrugged and raised a hand in greeting as the colonel looked up toward the higher path, shading his eyes against the sun.
Julian didn’t acknowledge the wave. It annoyed him that she chose to ride apart as if she and Gabriel were still riding as partisans. It left him journeying in solitary splendor with only the swathed Josefa on her pack mule as companion. One could hardly consider the outriders companions. They were the most ruffianly pack of scoundrels, led by a one-eyed villain who made no secret of his suspicion of the English colonel. However, they looked as if they’d prove effective defenders of Tamsyn’s treasure if pushed to it.
He glanced up again and saw that Tamsyn had left the goat track, and Cesar was picking his way down, surefooted, through the scrub and cactus clinging to the mountainside. They reached the main path a little ahead of the baggage train in a shower of loose gravel.
Tamsyn had no difficulty riding sidesaddle, but he hadn’t really expected her to. She was as at home in the saddle as if it had formed her childhood cradle. It would be interesting, however, to see how she took to the hard, backless English saddle. She’d certainly have to abandon her exotic cushioned Spanish version for riding the tan in Hyde Park or even the quiet country lanes of England if she expected to be accepted by the highest sticklers.
“Are you lonely?” She greeted him cheerfully, turning her horse neatly on the narrow path to ride beside him.
“You and Gabriel seemed to be having a very intense discussion,” he responded. A spot of color blossomed against the sun-browned cheek, and he wondered why.
“Oh, I was just filling him in on the details of the plan,” she said. “I didn’t really have the time to do it before.”
“I see. And did he embrace your scheme with avid enthusiasm?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Tamsyn responded a shade truculently to the colonel’s heavily sardonic tone.
“Oh, no reason.” Julian shrugged. “I’m sure he has not the least difficulty in giving up the life and land he’s called home for so many years. And even if he did have, you would still expect him to do as you wished.” His voice was as dry as sere leaves.
Tamsyn’s flush deepened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“My dear girl, you know exactly what I mean. When you want something, you make damn sure you get it. Gabriel’s loyalty won’t permit him to refuse you his support, and you’ll use that without compunction.”
“Oh, how horrid you are!” she exclaimed in a low voice. “What a horrid thing to say about me.”
“You forget that I’ve been swept up by your broom as well,” he replied as aridly as before. “You didn’t give a thought to my position or my feelings in the matter.”
Tamsyn bit her lip, startled to find tears pricking behind her eyes at the harshness of a judgment that seemed to have come out of nowhere. A judgment that deep down she recognized had some merit. Since the glorious evening in Aladdin’s cave two days before, they’d hardly met at all. She’d understood that the colonel would have much to do preparing for his journey and arranging to hand over the reins of his brigade, so she’d made no further attempt to seduce him from his work. But when they’d set out from Elvas that morning, he’d been morose and uncommunicative. Hoping that quiet reflection would bring about a change in his humor, she’d chosen to ride apart with Gabriel. A forlorn hope, clearly. There was no dent in his resentment.
She blinked rapidly and urged Cesar forward, drawing away from the colonel, breaking into a trot and then a canter. Cesar threw up his head and sniffed the wind, then lengthened his stride, breaking into a gallop on the narrow, treacherous path.
“Tamsyn!” Julian yelled, his heart in his throat as horse and rider careened round a tight bend in the track where the mountainside fell steeply away; then they were gone from view.
“Said something to upset her, did you?” Gabriel’s horse skittered down the mountainside onto the path beside them.
“She is the most ill-conditioned, unschooled hellion!” Julian exclaimed. “She’ll break her neck, if she doesn’t break one of that animal’s legs first.”
“No.” Gabriel shook his head. “I doubt that. They know each other too well. What did you say to upset her?”
“A couple of home truths,” Julian said. “Long overdue.”
“That’ll do it every time,” Gabriel observed placidly, offering the wineskin. “Doesn’t like to be told she’s wrong. It was the same with the baron … particularly if he was wrong.” He chuckled, turning in his saddle to observe the progress of the mule train behind them. “I suggest we get off the road well before sundown. There’s some tricky spots coming up, and I’d not relish a dusk ambush.”
“Those scoundrels you picked look ready for anything.” Julian handed back the skin with a nod of thanks.
“Maybe … but there’s no point taking foolish chances.”
“I agree. We’ll stop at the next village with a hostelry of some kind.”
“Won’t be much, at best,” Gabriel said. “Not in these parts.”
They rode without any sign of Tamsyn for another half hour. Julian tried to conceal his anxiety since Gabriel clearly didn’t seem to feel any. He told himself he had every right to lash out at her as severely as he chose. She’d forced him to leave his brigade at the most inopportune juncture. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Wellington had marched a detachment of men into Badajos and erected a gallows in the central square. Men had been tried for looting and hanged. It had brought the rest of his demoralized army straggling ou
t of the city and back to the camp, where their officers had somehow to put them back together again. It was a dreadful time for a commanding officer to leave his brigade, even in the competent hands of the newly promoted Tim O’Connor ably assisted by the rest of his staff.
So Julian had been in a vile temper that morning when they left Elvas and he hadn’t missed the opportunity to chastise the cause of his grievance. For some reason though, anger at his exploitation didn’t preclude worrying about her safety, and he couldn’t deny the surge of relief when she reappeared, cantering toward them.
“There’s a pueblo up ahead, about three miles,” she said, offering the fruits of her reconnaissance. “It’s not much, but there’s stabling for the animals and a stone byre where we could store the goods. It would be hard to mount a surprise attack on it, and it could probably be guarded safely with just two pickets; so if we have several watches, everyone should be able to get a few hours sleep.” She addressed her remarks to Gabriel and avoided the colonel’s eye.
“What kind of shelter does it have for the rest of us?” Julian asked neutrally.
Tamsyn shrugged. “The farmer offered his barn and hayloft. It’ll be cleaner than his cottage, which was crawling with vermin.”
The colonel nodded. They had their own provisions and needed only shelter from the cold mountain nights. He glanced at her, noting that she was still looking rather crestfallen. It surprised him that she should have taken his harshness so much to heart; it didn’t seem to jibe with the manipulative brigand he knew her to be. However, she deserved whatever treatment he chose to mete out.
“You will oblige me in future by not disappearing in that fashion,” he said shortly.
“I didn’t seem to be very welcome here.”
“Do you expect to be?” He stared ahead down the path, his mouth hard. “Thanks to you, I’ve had to leave my men in the worst possible circumstances.”
Tamsyn nibbled her lip unhappily, then said, “I’ll try to make the journey and … and later … pleasant for you.”
