by Shana Galen
“You would do that for me?”
“I would never have reached England if several men hadn’t done me a good turn. How can I refuse a fellow human in need?”
“Thank you.”
“If I may, why is it you want to escape Mr. Beaumont? He does not seem a cruel man.”
“He is not, but we…we have different loyalties.”
“I see. Then put your faith in me.”
“Why must she have faith in you?” Rafe asked as he strolled into the room.
Collette felt her cheeks redden as heat raced to her face. How much had he heard?
“She must have faith I will take you to the ship we saw this afternoon. Are you ready, sir?”
Rafe’s eyes met hers, and she looked away.
“Ready,” he said, sounding very much like a man to be marched before the executioner.
The night was cool, and Collette pulled her cloak close around her. The Thames stunk less in the evening, as the sun did not beat down on it and fewer ships moved through it to stir up the noxious fumes. And still Collette found herself holding her breath as they made their way along the quay toward the set of steps they had descended earlier. Even from the pathway she could see a couple points of light on The Amaranthe. Lanterns had been lit, and that was a good sign. Someone was on the ship. It had looked so deserted this afternoon.
Gaines led them past the set of steps they had descended earlier, and Collette gave him a curious look. “I assumed you would want to observe from the shadows,” he said in answer, and led them toward the doorway of an old brick warehouse, leaning from age and neglect. Many of the warehouses butted the quay and overlooked the river. If the Thames rose too high, Collette imagined they flooded. “You may watch from here and you will not be noticed.” He brought the spyglass to his eye and stared at the ship for a long time. Then he lowered it and handed it to Collette. She raised it and peered at the ship.
“They’re lowering a jolly boat.”
“Is the man you seek aboard?”
She squinted and concentrated, but she simply could not make out any details of the passengers. There were four or five, but the shapes were indistinct in the dark, and it was difficult to be sure.
“I cannot say.”
“If he does come ashore, it will most likely be along the quay near here. A boat like that can pull alongside a dock and the men can disembark easily. Or they might choose to come in shallow and beach the boat. Be careful if you go down. The stairs are slick at night and the riverside is rocky.”
Rafe held out his hand, and she put the spyglass into it. He peered through it. “Wherever they come ashore, we won’t reveal ourselves until we know Fortier is with them. And even then, we wait until they’re ashore. We don’t want them rowing back out and escaping that way.”
Collette frowned. “Do you think they will try and escape?” That had been the least of her worries. Her fear was once they realized she did not have the information she’d promised, they would try and hurt her or her father.
“I don’t know what they will do.” Rafe took a pistol from his greatcoat. “But I am ready for it.”
He must have retrieved the pistol from the coach when he’d gone to see the coachman. She wished its presence made her feel safer, but she couldn’t help worry that he might use the pistol to take her father prisoner.
“One shot from that,” Gaines said, “and you will have the Thames River Police here. I would not use it unless it’s truly necessary.”
“Point taken.” Rafe dropped the pistol back in his pocket and lifted the spyglass. “They’re getting closer.”
Collette shrank back into the shadow of the warehouse, touching her hood to make sure she was still concealed.
“I would leave you now,” Gaines said. “I don’t want any part in this.” His brown eyes met Collette’s. “But I will be at the inn if you have need of me. I will tell my innkeeper I am to be at your disposal.”
“Thank you,” Collette said, grateful that he seemed to remember their earlier discussion. She knew he must have been referring to her request that he help her find a ship to take her to the United States.
With a nod and then a bow, Gaines took his leave. When they were alone, Rafe handed the spyglass back to her. “Do you see him?”
She peered through it, scanning the dark water until she found the boat. “It’s hard to tell.”
“Look at the man seated in the middle. If one of them is a prisoner, it’s that man.”
Collette studied the man in the middle. He sat in the boat, neither rowing nor directing the other men. His back was hunched and his head down. He wore a dark hat, which shielded his head, and she could not make out the color of the man’s hair. “It might be him,” she said. “I think his size is about right, but I simply cannot see well enough.” But even the prospect of the man in the middle of the boat being her father made her heart pound with anticipation. She found herself praying over and over that she would see her father tonight.
“They’re heading for that dock,” Rafe said, pointing toward a small dock that jutted out from the riverside. It did not seem to belong to any particular warehouse and wasn’t long enough to accommodate a large vessel. But a small boat like this one could pull alongside.
“Should we go down?” Collette asked, no longer needing the spyglass to see the boat’s progress, which was only a few yards from the dock.
“Not until we’re certain he’s with them.”
The boat seemed to make excruciatingly slow progress, and then finally, it was within range of the dock. Collette raised the spyglass again and focused on the man seated in the center of the boat. Lamps lit the quay at sporadic intervals, and she could make out the features of the man in the bow of the boat. He had a long, thin nose and high cheekbones. His pewter hair had been brushed back to reveal a high forehead. She didn’t know this man, but she couldn’t believe he was a sailor. Everything about him, from the way he stood to the tilt of his upturned jaw, spoke of the nobility. The man rowing behind him was bigger and bulkier, but he too wore a coat and neck cloth.
And then the man in the middle looked up. The hood of his cape fell back slightly and Collette saw the glint of white hair. Her belly tightened and her chest sagged. It wasn’t him. Her father had dark hair, like she. In the murky lamplight, this man’s complexion looked pale and sallow, whereas her father had always had olive skin that made it look as though he spent much time outdoors.
And then he looked up, and Collette gasped.
“What is it?” Rafe was beside her in an instant, his hand on her back. She shook her head, unable to lower the spyglass. Unable to comprehend what she saw.
The prisoner in the middle had looked up. He’d looked directly at her, though he couldn’t have seen her. He must have simply looked in her direction. But there was no mistaking what she had seen. He was her father. Only he bore very little resemblance to the healthy, youthful man she’d known. This man had aged years, decades, in only a few months.
Her hand shook and she had to lower the spyglass.
“What is it?” Rafe asked again.
In answer, her eyes filled with tears.
Rafe took the spyglass and peered through it. “His hood has fallen back. Is that him?”
“Yes.” Her voice broke on the word. Rafe lowered the spyglass and took her by the arms.
“You have to tell me what’s wrong. Is that your father or no?”
“It’s him, but he…” She looked at Rafe. “What did they do to him?”
He gathered her in his arms, and she was grateful because she did not know if her legs would hold her. Her father looked so old and frail. She could see the hollows beneath his eyes and cheeks.
“They won’t touch him again. I swear it, Collette.”
She nodded, closing her eyes and savoring the warmth of his body as he held her clos
e. Then she found her strength again and straightened. “I want to go to him.”
“You should wait here. It’s not safe.”
She shook her head. “We had a plan, and my father’s life depends on how well we execute it. I’m ready, Rafe.”
He gave her a dubious look, but whatever he saw in her face must have convinced him. “Come with me, but stay close. The last thing I need is to have to rescue two prisoners.”
He moved out of the cover of the warehouse, and she trailed in his shadow. She wanted them to wonder who she was until the moment she revealed herself, so she kept her hood up and stayed out of view. She and Rafe moved silently, and she needed all of her wits about her to concentrate on picking her way down the slick stone steps.
At the bottom of the steps, Rafe put a hand back to hold her in place. The wall of the stairwell and the quay were on their right; to the left of them, the wall had been set back and was more open to the riverside. The dock, however, was to their right. They might prefer another staircase, one they could see upon approach, but that would mean walking along the river for some way. As Gaines had pointed out, the shore was rocky and difficult to traverse, especially with a sick man. Collette knew Rafe believed her father and his captors would choose to approach the stairs, and to her advantage, they would do so almost blind to who waited for them there.
Rafe tugged his pistol from his coat, primed and loaded it. Then he reached into his boot and extracted his dagger. He handed it to her, and she took it gratefully. She couldn’t imagine using it, but she did not want to face these men completely vulnerable. “Do you have a pocket?” he whispered.
She nodded.
“Put it away. We stick with the plan, and the dagger comes out if things don’t go as expected.” He hugged the wall and motioned for her to do the same. She stood two steps above him, and the instinct to race down the remaining steps and run straight into her father’s arms almost overwhelmed her. She wrapped her hands around the fabric of her cloak and willed the men to hurry. How long did it take to climb from a boat and walk to a stairwell?
Finally, she heard the crunch of their boots and the low whisper of one of them. Rafe held a hand up again, staying her even as she leaned forward. He didn’t move, and the whole world seemed to stop and stand motionless. And then Rafe stepped down and out, blocking the men from the stairway. She was still hidden from view, only able to make out the shadow of the man before Rafe.
“Stop right there,” Rafe said in French. Hearing him speak her language so unexpectedly gave her a jolt. “You have something I want.” He brandished the pistol. Collette could not see the men’s reactions, but from the way Rafe strained forward they must have stepped back.
“Monsieur, you must have us mistaken for someone else” came a voice in answer. Collette would have bet all the money she had it was the man she had seen in the bow of the boat, the one with the sharp features. He spoke French like a nobleman.
“I don’t think so.” Rafe gestured with the pistol. “Fortier, come forward.”
The silence seemed to press like a weight on her ears.
“There is no one by that name among us,” answered the same voice she had heard before. “As I said, you have mistaken us. And while you might have a pistol, it is four against one. I suggest you be on your way, monsieur.”
“And I suggest you hand Fortier over, else I put a pistol ball in the temple of the spy you’ve come to see.”
Although Collette knew what was coming, she was still startled when he grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest, wrapping an arm about her throat. He did not point the pistol at her head, but he held it close enough that the threat was real and present.
She could see all of the men, though her hood shadowed her face. The man in the front was indeed the man who had been in the bow, and his features looked even crueler in the yellow lamplight. Behind him was the other man, the one who’d been rowing. He held her father on one side, and on her father’s other side must have been the fourth man in the boat. He had been in the back, and she hadn’t seen him clearly. She didn’t look at him clearly now. She looked only at her father.
Now that she was closer, the changes in him were even more apparent. He stooped, and she could hear his breathing was labored. But his eyes were still sharp, and they were fastened on her with something that looked very much like horror.
“No,” he croaked, his voice sounding like the scratch of a pen nib on paper. “No!” he said again.
“Shut up!” the man holding him said.
Collette could hardly drag her gaze from her father back to the leader. When she did, his expression had not changed. He looked impassive. “And who is this?” he gestured to her with a weak flick of his wrist.
“Lower your hood,” Rafe said, his voice hard and cold. She could almost believe she really was his captive. She lifted her hands and pushed the hood back.
“No!” her father said, though it sounded more like a groan.
The leader narrowed his small eyes. “And why should I care about this woman?”
“Because she’s been spying for you for months, and because I believe she has codes you found so valuable that you crossed the Channel to meet with her. All I want is Fortier.”
“No!” Collette had worried she would give all away when she spoke. She was no actress, but the sight of her father standing there was enough to bring real fear into her voice. “No! Let him go. If you give him to this man, I swear I will tell you nothing.”
The leader’s gaze flicked to her and then back to Rafe. His haughty expression didn’t falter. Clearly, he had ways of making her talk. She prayed he would never have the opportunity.
“How do you propose we make the exchange?” the leader asked.
“Send Fortier up the steps. When he reaches the top, I hand her over.”
The leader frowned and turned his head slightly toward her father. “I’m not certain he can make it up the stairs on his own. He hasn’t been well.”
“You bastards.” The words came from deep within her. “You did this to him! I kept my end of the bargain—”
“He is an old man, Mademoiselle Fortier. I cannot be responsible for the health of old men.”
Her hand itched to grab the dagger and plunge it into his belly. Never before had she wanted to hurt anyone, but now she could have cheerfully killed all three men. And then her gaze met that of her father. His eyes flicked to Rafe and then to her. She stepped closer to Rafe, to try, in some small way, to let her father know he was their ally. At least she hoped he was.
“I can make it,” Fortier said. “I’m not so weak I can’t climb a set of steps.” He never looked away from her as he spoke. And she gave him a subtle nod. Yes, go far away, she thought. She wanted him on the quay if Rafe was forced to begin shooting.
“Go then,” the leader ordered. “Release him.”
The two men released his arms, and for a moment, he seemed to stumble. But he righted himself and squared his shoulders. In that instant, Collette saw the man her father had been. Hope flared in her. And then terror because she saw what he intended the moment before he struck.
Eighteen
Rafe hadn’t expected the attack. He’d thought the old man would fall over as soon as he wasn’t propped up. The haughty leader of the French contingent must have thought the same because his attention was on Rafe, not on Fortier.
And that was his mistake.
Fortier might have been weak, but he’d also been the best assassin Napoleon had ever employed. And he struck quickly and with deadly force. Fortier knocked the leader to the ground with his shoulder and followed him down, his hands wrapping around the man’s neck. Even as Rafe jumped to action, kicking the first man who rushed to his leader’s defense, he heard the snap. Rafe knew without looking the leader’s neck had been broken. The second man came for Rafe along with the man he’d kicked—who loo
ked decidedly angrier—and Rafe swung his pistol in the closest man’s direction. He could get off one shot and even the field, but it would still be two against one. Those weren’t his favorite odds, but he’d seen worse. He cocked the pistol and fired, bracing for the blow that would come from the other side as the man he’d not shot plowed into him.
But the blow never came. The smoke from the pistol shot cleared, and Rafe saw the man he’d shot on the ground, hand clutched to his shoulder, where the ball had hit. He swung around and saw the other man lying on the ground, hand to his thigh, where a dagger protruded.
His dagger.
He would have stared at Collette, but there was still one more man to deal with. Rafe took a step toward him, and the man turned and ran. Ha. That was more like it. Where were Neil and Ewan to see this? He’d told them he was better at fisticuffs than they gave him credit for.
Then he turned and saw Fortier had pointed a pistol at the man running away.
Rafe heaved a great sigh. Perhaps when he told this story at the Draven Club later, he would leave the pistol and Fortier out of it.
Then Fortier pointed the pistol at him. Rafe raised his hands. “You should point that pistol elsewhere, old man. I’m the rescue party.”
Fortier’s hand shook badly, and Rafe doubted he could fire straight. He had to have taken the pistol from the man whose neck he’d snapped, and Rafe was willing to wager it was primed and loaded. He wasn’t quite willing to wager his life that Fortier would miss.
“You had a pistol to my daughter’s head,” Fortier said, voice low and controlled. His hand steadied as he spoke.
Collette moved beside Rafe. “It was a plot, mon père, to fool the men who held you. Mr. Beaumont is our ally.” She glanced at him as though to confirm this.
He nodded, and he was never certain whether Fortier would have lowered the pistol or not. Before he could either fire or stand down, he was seized by a coughing fit that had him doubled over. Collette ran to him, her arm going around his shoulders. The pistol clattered to the ground as Fortier covered his mouth with the back of one hand. Rafe scooped the pistol up and put it and his own into his coat. They had to leave before the river police arrived. Surely they would be alerted by the sound of pistol fire.
