“In that case, let’s both sit down and I’ll explain. Kirkland is recovering from a bad bout of fever and tires easily, so better you have a good idea of what’s going on before you see him.”
“Admirably efficient,” Masterson murmured. “I’m all ears, Lady Kiri.”
Kiri took a chair, spent a moment organizing her thoughts, and began to talk. She started with her being captured by the kidnappers, moved to Damian’s and the attempt to kidnap Princess Charlotte. Then she described what they knew of the conspiracy, and how they were trying to stop it before major damage was done.
Masterson listened without interrupting, absorbing every word. When Kiri was done, he said, “I understand why Mac thought it best to seem dead. I just wish I’d known that he was all right.”
“Kirkland wrote you the next day and used a government courier to get the letter to you as quickly as possible,” Kiri said.
“The letter is probably waiting for me back with my regiment. I didn’t decide to come home for winter until quite recently, so Kirkland’s best attempts didn’t work out.” Masterson got to his feet. “I’d like to see Kirkland now if he’s awake.”
“You need to check what I’ve told you against what he has to say,” Kiri agreed.
“I’m not testing you,” Masterson said swiftly.
“I know. But I am an amateur at spying, and my understanding might be poor.”
“Actually, you seem very like Ashton,” Masterson said. “Very clear and fair in your thinking.”
Kiri almost blushed. “Thank you. That’s a high compliment.”
“It’s meant to be.” Masterson paused at the door. “Are you coming up with me to see Kirkland?”
“It will be easier for you to talk without another person present.”
He nodded and left. Kiri stayed in the drawing room and . . . plotted.
It wasn’t long before Lord Masterson returned. Again Kiri was struck by the general similarity of the brothers. Since they were both tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built, it would be easy to confuse them at a distance if a person didn’t know them well. Even their features had a similar cast, though Mackenzie had the mismatched eyes and more auburn in his hair.
The real difference was in their personalities. Mackenzie had an irresistible sparkle of mischief and charm, while Masterson had a deep, quiet calm that gave the impression that he could handle anything. She guessed that the two men might have become either enemies who drove each other crazy, or friends who balanced each other. She was glad they had become friends.
Masterson was looking sober, his initial exhilaration at his brother’s survival superseded by concern. “Kirkland looks like a herd of horses ran over him. I suffered a similar fever in Spain last year, and it took weeks to get my strength back. His thinking is clear, though, and he confirmed everything you said. I’m glad I came back. If there’s going to be trouble at the State Opening of Parliament, I should take my seat in the Lords and be prepared to help if necessary.”
“We may need all the help we can get,” she said glumly. “We’ve not had much luck with finding the conspirators, and time is running out.”
“Why were you so concerned for Mac that you threw yourself into my arms?” A smile lurked in Masterson’s eyes. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but your reaction did suggest serious anxiety.”
“I’ve been worried ever since he got a letter from the smuggler captain asking him to go down to Kent.” She sighed in frustration. “I had no reason to be so concerned. It just felt dangerous from the beginning. Now that he’s later than expected, my stomach is tied in knots.”
“I’ve learned not to discount intuition,” Masterson said slowly. “I started feeling concerned about my brother in Spain. It was a major reason I decided to return to England when we went into winter quarters. While I’m vastly relieved that Mac wasn’t killed at his club, I find that I still feel some concern.”
They regarded each other thoughtfully. “You must be tired of traveling, Lord Masterson,” Kiri said in her most persuasive voice. “But . . . would you be willing to accompany me down to Kent? I have been wanting to go but wasn’t sure I could do anything on my own.”
“If we decided to go down to Kent to prove our worries groundless, do you have a chaperone who might travel with us?”
She grinned. “Lord Masterson, I have been living outside the rules for long enough that I see no reason to worry about respectability now. Let’s just go.”
Blessedly imperturbable, he said, “If we’re going to run away together, Lady Kiri, you should call me Will.”
“And I’m Kiri.” She bounced from her chair. “I need to return to the house Kirkland keeps for his agents. 11 Exeter Street, near Covent Garden. I’ll change to more practical garments and be ready to go. Is there anything you need to do?”
“I’ll leave my gear here, hire a post chaise, and come collect you.”
“Done!” Kiri swept from the room to ask the footman to call a carriage for her. She’d always thought well of Will Masterson in their casual meetings at her brother’s house. Now she decided that he was wonderful.
Mac did get fed, though the cheese, dry bread, and water were barely enough to sustain life. One manacle was undone so that he could eat and take care of sanitation needs, but with his other wrist still chained and an armed man always watching him, there were no opportunities for escape.
The worse part was having nothing to do but listen to the endless sloshing of the waves. Thinking about Kiri helped, because she was never dull even in memory. After the first day ended, he was uneasily aware that she would be starting to worry.
By the time the two days had passed and Rupert Swinnerton arrived, Mac was ready for a confrontation just to end the boredom. Probably it would end with Mac’s death—and wouldn’t that be an adventure to discover what, if anything, came next! But from what he knew of Swinnerton, the man might want to indulge in some exotic way of killing Mac that would enable him to feel superior. If that meant unchaining Mac from the wall, he might just have a chance.
Howard heard Swinnerton’s approach along the path and went out to meet him. Mac mentally prepared himself. After two days of confinement, he was cold and . . . afraid, though he hated to admit it. Since he was officially dead already, he ought to be able to handle the real thing.
No amount of joking could completely eliminate the fear, though. He loved life, loved where he was in it—and he loved Kiri. With the end imminent, he admitted that to himself, for there was no more time for evasion or denial.
Swinnerton entered with the swagger of a man who knew he held a winning hand. That was as Mac expected—but he wasn’t prepared for the man who walked beside Swinnerton and carried a lantern.
The man wasn’t prepared for him, either. “Mackenzie!” The lantern shook in Baptiste’s hand, the flames flaring wildly. “But you were killed! I saw your body. . . .” He stared, his eyes black and incredulous.
Baptiste. Mac had known someone at Damian’s must have cooperated with the kidnappers, and told himself that no one was above suspicion. Even so—he had never dreamed it was Baptiste, who had been his friend as well as his most trusted employee.
Swinnerton laughed, and Mac realized that the bastard had been looking forward to Baptiste’s shock. He enjoyed pain.
Concealing his own shock, Mac drawled, “You took your time getting here, Rupert. Jean-Claude, I’m disappointed in you. Wasn’t I paying you enough?”
Face pale, Baptiste said, “I was told they only wanted to retrieve a runaway girl before she could ruin herself. Nothing criminal, and no one would be hurt. And then”—his face worked—“you and another man died.”
“If you’re going to let yourself be corrupted, you should be more careful who you allow to do the corrupting.” Mac’s gaze shifted to Swinnerton. “I assume my disguise wasn’t quite as good as I thought the night we played cards.”
“You almost fooled me,” Swinnerton admitted. “But I wondered why a diamond o
f the first water would hang on the arm of such a boring man, so I looked more closely. When I saw you spread your cards in a particular way, I realized who you were.” His thin lips twisted with anticipation. “Now I will learn what you and your friends know about our plans.”
Mac thought swiftly. Swinnerton knew they had some sense of the plot, so there was no point in pretending complete ignorance. It was reasonable that he and “his friends” had figured out that there was a plot aimed at the British royals, but he mustn’t give away that they were sure the State Opening would be the focus. If Swinnerton realized that, there would be time for him and his cohorts to change their plans.
Therefore, Mac could admit to some knowledge, but he couldn’t reveal that too easily or Swinnerton would be suspicious. “Why would I want to tell you anything?”
“This is why!” Swinnerton lifted a short riding whip that hadn’t been visible in the shadowy cave and slashed at Mac’s eyes,
Acting on pure reflex, Mac jerked away and ducked his head. The lash blazed across his left temple, but the pain was nothing compared to the panic triggered by memories of the near-lethal lashing he’d received in the army. He’d nearly died in agony, and now, as then, his wrists were secured so he couldn’t avoid the blows.
Swinnerton slashed at Mac’s throat. Again he was only partially successful, but the lash left an arc of choking fire. Since Mac planned to talk anyhow, he let a cry of pain escape. A third lash followed, and he cowered away. “For God’s sake. Swinnerton! What do you want to know?”
A fourth stroke followed. “I knew you’d break easily,” Swinnerton said with vicious satisfaction. “After that army flogging, showing a whip should be enough to make you turn craven.” He struck again.
“If you’re going to whip me anyhow,” Mac gasped, “why the devil should I talk?”
“There is that.” Looking regretful, Swinnerton let the whip drop to his side. “Tell me what you know.”
“No more whipping?” By telling himself he was playing a role, Mac was able to let go of his pride and cower. Cowering was easy. Letting go of his pride was more difficult. Thank God Kiri wasn’t here, or he’d probably let himself be whipped until he died of heart failure. “Your word as a gentleman?”
Swinnerton laughed. “I love to see you grovel. Very well, time is short because I must get back to London, so no more whipping. Tell me what you know of our plans.”
“You’re targeting the British royals in order to throw the government into disarray,” Mac said wearily. “You tried to kidnap Princess Charlotte Augusta”—Baptiste made a strangled sound—“and made unsuccessful attempts to assassinate the prince regent and the Duke of York. I suspect the French goal is to create a situation where Britain will be willing to end the war by treaty, with certain territories under French dominion to be returned to us and France keeping the rest of her conquests.”
Swinnerton’s brows arched. “You’re more intelligent than you look.”
“I had help.” Blood was trickling down Mac’s forehead and into one eye, and with his hands manacled, he couldn’t scratch or wipe it away. “Since you’re going to kill me anyhow, satisfy my curiosity about what you’re planning.”
“Why should I satisfy you in anything, you filthy wife-killer?” Swinnerton hissed.
“You know damned well I didn’t kill your wife, Rupert,” Mac said. “You’re the one who beat her to death and tried to pin the crime on me. As for why you should tell me, it’s so I can suffer the frustration of knowing and not being able to stop you.”
Swinnerton’s eyes narrowed. “That actually has merit. But this is for your ears only.” He waved the other men back. With the constant sound of waves filling the air, all he had to do was lower his voice to ensure privacy. “We will strike at the State Opening of Parliament. You know the Chancellor’s Woolsack, which sits right before the throne in the House of Lords?”
Mac nodded. “Big square red thing filled with wool to remind the lords of the source of England’s medieval wealth.”
“You know history! I am impressed.” Swinnerton gave a smile that showed his teeth. “Princess Charlotte will sit on the Woolsack during the ceremony. A bomb inside will surely kill her, the prince regent, the prime minister, and a good number of England’s peers. Clever idea, isn’t it?”
Mac gasped, sickened by the knowledge of what would happen. “How are you going to get a bomb into the Palace of Westminster and set it off without being noticed?”
“A cooperative peer of the realm made it easy. Setting it off will be just as easy.” Swinnerton’s eyes narrowed. “Last question. I’m running out of time and patience.”
“Do you wear a cologne called Alejandro?”
Swinnerton’s reptilian eyes blinked in surprise. “A strange question for your last on earth. Yes, I have a bottle of the stuff my brother gave me and I wear it sometimes, though it’s not my favorite.” He turned and beckoned the other men closer. “Good-bye, Mackenzie. Knowing you has been an appalling experience.”
So Swinnerton had been the leader of the kidnappers. If he’d worn Alejandro that night at the Captain’s Club, Kiri would have been able to give certain identification. They had been so bloody close to cracking the conspiracy.
Swinnerton said to Howard, “You can kill Mackenzie with lingering misery?”
“Aye, sir. There’s a tunnel in the back of the cave that goes down to the cove. When the tide is low, we come and go that way. The tunnel floods when the tide comes in.” Howard smiled wolfishly. “I drilled a nice new metal hook in a rock below the high-tide level. I’ll chain the bastard to that and leave him to wait for the tide to come in.”
Swinnerton considered death by slow drowning, with the victim fighting frantically for breath as the water rose higher and higher. “I like that very well,” he said with a decisive nod. “Go ahead, then. Baptiste, stay here until you’re sure Mackenzie is dead. You know he needs to die, don’t you?”
Baptiste nodded mutely. He still looked pale, but resigned.
“I’ll see you in London, then.” Swinnerton took one of the lanterns. “Enjoy the execution.” Then he turned and marched from the cave, arrogant as always.
As well he should be. The corrupt devil had won.
Chapter 38
The wind off the Channel cut to the bone, and Kiri had never been more aware of how far north Britain was. She could use some of India’s suffocating heat. At least her divided skirt and riding astride were warmer than a side saddle would have been.
“A nasty night.” Will Masterson rode between Kiri and the coast, breaking some of the force of the wind. His enveloping greatcoat was similar to Mackenzie’s, and in the dark, they looked unnervingly similar. “Do we have much farther to go?”
“If that’s a tactful way of inquiring whether I’m lost, the answer is no, I don’t think so.” She checked the landmarks. “We have between one and two miles to go.”
Will laughed. “It sounds like you have your brother’s sense of direction.”
“Adam is good at such things?” Having known her big brother only a few months, there was much she didn’t know about him.
“Though he’s a peaceable sort, he has the talents of a first-rate officer.” Will shook his head with mock mournfulness. “All wasted since he’s a duke. Actually, you’d make a good officer, too, Kiri, if women were allowed to serve.”
“Me?” she asked, startled. “What a strange thought.”
“You’re decisive and a natural leader. I suspect you also start feeling restless if cooped up in drawing rooms.”
“You’re very perceptive, Lord Masterson,” she said, a little unnerved by the accuracy of his observation. She was only now beginning to realize how ill-suited she was for the drawing-room life. “It’s more amusing to ride through a stormy night on what may be a wild-goose chase.”
“Maybe it’s a wild-goose chase,” he said. “But my intuition is still twitching.”
“So is mine,” she admitted. Not just twitchin
g, but screaming that there was danger and time was running out. “I wish there was moonlight, but it was a dark night on my first ride through this country, too.”
“A new moon is good for conducting business at a smuggler’s hideaway. Mac and his captain wouldn’t be interrupted.”
“In theory.” Kiri spotted a familiar wind-twisted tree ahead. “Here’s our turn.”
As Will fell in behind her on the narrow track, she prayed they’d find Mackenzie alive and well at the end of the road.
Howard turned to Mac, his eyes avid. “Tide is just turning now. The perfect time to stake you down there, Mackenzie.”
He snapped orders to his two men. They leaped on Mac and immobilized his legs while Howard unlocked the chains from the wall. He removed one manacle and left the other on since it gave him a chain for dragging Mac to his feet. Mac struggled, but he was so chilled and stiff from sitting for two days that he couldn’t put up much of a fight.
With the manacle biting into Mac’s abraded right wrist, Howard hauled him to the back of the cave. A narrow, irregularly shaped tunnel slanted down toward the cove. With Howard and one of his men ahead and Baptiste and the other man behind, Mac had no chance to escape, and the narrowness of the passage meant he kept banging into the walls and protruding rocks.
The passage ended at a slightly widened area with water boiling up furiously. Each wave splashed a little higher in the tunnel. Howard locked Mac’s manacle to the shiny steel hook set into the rocky wall. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.” He stepped back, his expression gloating. “Now I can stand here and watch you drown.”
The narrowness of the tunnel concentrated the force of the water. The next wave splashed over Mac’s boots. “Good. If you stay, I’ll have a light for my final moments.”
Baptiste said in a choked voice, “Howard, let’s go above rather than wait and watch. This tunnel is too crowded.”
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