Defiant Captive

by Christina Skye

  Eyes darkened in fury, Telford jerked his head at one of Digger's henchmen, who rammed the butt of his pistol into the wound on Hawke's forehead.

  Her hand raised to her mouth, Alexandra watched in horror as Hawkesworth staggered and then drew a finger across his forehead, grimacing as he wiped a fresh streak of blood from his brow.

  Hawke's head dropped to his chest as he choked down the fury that threatened to strangle him. Face lowered, he studied the room, quickly assessing the numbers and the odds, calculating a defense and a possible escape route.

  Right now, the odds looked very poor indeed.

  When Hawke straightened, the fire in his blood was carefully banked, and his voice was neutral. "The girl means nothing to me, Telford. She was a passing novelty, no more, and now that the novelty has gone ..." The duke shrugged indifferently. "You know how these things run their course."

  "Bravo! A fine performance — I applaud you. But not good enough. You see, your eyes betray you. Isobel was right; you really are devilishly transparent."

  "Cut line, Telford. This thing is between the two of us." A low note of menace entered Hawke's voice. "Let her go," he taunted. "Or is your bravery found only among a woman's petticoats?"

  "That remark," Telford growled through thin white lips, "will cost you dearly. One hundred thousand pounds, to be exact. If you fail to pay, the boy and the fair Miss Maitland will be turned over to the tender mercies of Digger and his men, who have been looking forward to a bit of rough sport. After I've taken my pleasure with the wench first, of course."

  As Telford spoke, his thin fingers slid lower and slipped beneath the neck of Alexandra's dress to move cruelly upon her sensitive skin. She flinched but clenched her lips against the pain he inflicted.

  Her captor continued in a tone of exaggerated patience. "Come, my dear duke, all I require is your signature. Then we may draw our little drama to a close."

  "You filthy blood-sucking maggot!" Hawke growled in a deadly voice that promised vengeance.

  Immediately Telford's fingers tightened, and this time Alexandra could not hold back the sob that escaped from her lips. She forced her eyes away from Hawke's face, not wanting him to see her misery or take it as a plea to accept Telford's offer.

  The silence stretched out, and the two men studied each other like skirmishing dogs. "Very well," Hawke said finally, his voice faintly bored. "How do I transfer the funds?"

  Telford's hand stilled against Alexandra's skin. From the corner of her eye she saw his lips quirk into a thin smile, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "You do nothing. The funds will be disbursed directly to me upon my presentation of this document." Abruptly, Telford pushed Alexandra away and strode to the desk. He pulled a long sheet of vellum from the clutter and raised it for the duke's scrutiny.

  Hawke moved closer, and to Alexandra's anguish, he looked very weary. Without expression he accepted the document and scanned it cursorily as a look of distaste curled his lips. "I see you have prepared for every eventuality, Telford. My congratulations."

  His enemy bowed in mock politeness.

  "You were always a careful man," Hawke said thoughtfully. "It was only by a stroke of luck, after all, that I discovered you were the source of the information that was leaking to the French."

  "My wits have yet to fail me, brother-in-law. I am sorry I cannot say as much for you." He held out a pen to Hawke. "Now, perhaps you will dispense with these pleasantries and oblige me with your signature."

  Alexandra's tortured eyes sought Hawke's face at last. Is there no other way? she asked. His dark eyes flashed once in answer, and he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  I will spend the rest of my life repaying you for this, my love! Alexandra promised silently, tormented by the knowledge that she had been the duke's weakness, the lure that had drawn him into this trap. As she watched the line of blood seeping down his forehead beneath the matted hair, she vowed that somehow she would replace what he had just given away for her.

  Without a word Hawke stepped to the table and lifted pen to vellum. He signed his name very slowly, and every scratch of the nib was excruciating torment to Alexandra.

  Straightening, Hawke held out the document to Telford, who grasped it quickly. His eyes shone with greed as he scanned Hawke's signature. Flush with triumph, he did not notice the duke lunge at him. An instant later, two pistols thundered in the confines of the small room.

  Rigid with horror, Alexandra saw Hawke stagger. Then Telford wrenched free of his large adversary and jumped to snatch the document that had fallen to the floor.

  "Hawke!" Alexandra screamed, running to catch the duke as he wavered. She threw her arms around his waist and fought to hold him as he slowly sank before her.

  "My — only love," he whispered hoarsely, a mere stirring of the air. His eyes were warm on her face for a moment; then, with a groan, he collapsed against her, pulling her to the floor along with him.

  "No," Alexandra whispered. "No!" When she pulled her fingers from his back, they were covered with blood.

  "So very predictable," the cold voice behind her sneered. "Ah well, it makes the rest of my work that much easier."

  "I'll do anything," Alexandra said brokenly, her dazed eyes never leaving Hawke's face. "Anything you ask, do you hear me? Only help him! He'll die if he's not quickly tended."

  "But that is precisely my wish, Miss Maitland."

  Alexandra looked up then, her eyes flashing in anger and raw grief. "You never intended to release him!"

  "Of course not," Telford said coolly, pocketing the document with Hawke's signature and strolling to the table to pick up his half-filled glass. "You could not really expect me to, could you? Honor, my dear, is a luxury reserved for youthful idealists and men born to wealth and power, of which I am neither. Hawkesworth was as great a fool as you to expect it of me."

  "Murderer!" Alexandra sobbed, her tears mingling with the crimson pool on Hawke's forehead. In a daze, she heard Telford's cold, sneering laughter.

  "Yes, when those two incompetents bungled the affair at the coast, I realized that sterner measures were in order. We considered several plans, Isobel and I, chief among them blackmail and kidnapping the boy. All of them soon paled, however, for as long as Hawkesworth lived, we would know no pleasure in our wealth."

  On and on the cool voice droned, echoing hollowly in Alexandra's ears. "So we decided that he could not live." Telford paused to refill his glass. "The question then became how to accomplish the thing. First it was necessary to throw the duke off guard. Our staged accident did that nicely, did it not? Yes, I rather pride myself on that. As for the rest, you know that well enough."

  Suddenly, coarse fingers pried Alexandra's numb hands from Hawke's motionless body. A wild fury overcame her, and she clawed the hands that sought to pull him from her, but in the end they overpowered her and threw her roughly back onto the bed.

  "Take him away," Telford said with a negligent flick of his hand. "His usefulness has ended."

  As she sank into a haze of pain, Alexandra saw Digger's men drag the heavy body from the room, and every muffled thump was a dagger plunged into her heart. At the door the men halted, sweating, while they maneuvered the large body over the steps.

  Wild with grief, Alexandra knew a desperate urge to fling herself after Hawke over the stairs and into the emptiness below. But Telford saw her intention and ran to hold her immobile, her arms behind her back.

  "Not so fast, my dear. I still have uses for you." His eyes narrowed speculatively. "It might be amusing to bed a woman who could almost be my sister. And after I've had my fill of you, Digger and his men will want their turn. If you pleasure me well, however, I might exert myself to spare you that."

  With all her strength Alexandra spat into the sallow face that bent over to kiss her.

  Flat fury descended into the colorless eyes. "That was most unwise of you," Telford said, roughly plunging the neck of her gown lower so that the full swell of her breasts was
exposed to his cold gaze. "I think you will indeed make delectable entertainment, my dear. I shall enjoy your pain. Too bad Hawke won't be here to witness it."

  With what remained of her will Alexandra wrenched one arm free and dug her nails into his cool cunning face, glorying in the bellow of fury and pain that followed. She stumbled from the bed and pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, just as the door burst open behind her.

  The Duke of Hawkesworth stood framed in the doorway, thighs braced, a cocked pistol in each hand. Around his forehead stretched a white strip of cloth that already showed red stains seeping from the wound beneath. "Come here to me, Alexandra," he ordered, keeping both pistols trained on the snarling Telford.

  Frozen in shock and disbelief, she hesitated for a moment — and that moment was her undoing. Telford's hands caught her and tightened around her throat.

  "Move back, Hawke! Unless you mean to shoot her too."

  Slowly, the pistols fell.

  Telford's laughter echoed across the narrow space between the two men as he forced Alexandra backward, careful always to keep her between himself and the duke.

  "Hawke—" she cried, her heart beating a wild crescendo, but Telford's fingers cut her off.

  "Shut up!" he growled.

  He thrust her toward the window and dropped to the floor for an instant to grasp a wooden stave lying nearby. With a crash he shattered the glass, and Alexandra had a quick impression of moonlight on black slates. She heard the raucous cry of sea birds as wind gusted through the jagged opening. And then Telford stepped into the night, jerking her through with him. A point of glass slashed her elbow but he did not stop, always careful to keep a firm hold on the wooden stave.

  The wind whipped Alexandra's skirts as she looked down to find herself upon a narrow railed porch. In the distance a forest of masts rocked in the harbor, where the Thames glistened silver in the moonlight. To her right a slate roof adjoined the warehouse, running across to another deserted storage building of some sort.

  In the moonlight Alexandra saw that the old structure was gutted with great black holes, where sections of its roof had caved in. The narrow planks that ran in a bridge from the balcony over the courtyard to the dark roof beyond looked equally unstable.

  Telford's fingers bit into Alexandra's wrists. "After you, my dear." Before she could gain a breath, he pushed her out onto the half rotting walkway, which creaked ominously beneath her weight.

  Her heart pounding, she watched the wooden planks sway. A moment later, Telford smashed his heel into the rotting wood so that the whole structure crumbled, and she plunged down into emptiness.

  Desperately she threw out her arms as she fell, clutching for anything of substance. Her fingers tightened upon the one wooden rail that still hung suspended in midair.

  Above, satisfied that he needed do no more, Telford shouldered his wooden stave and jumped across to the neighboring rooftop. His boots clattered hollowly against the slates as he ran up the steep incline, using the length of wood to brace himself.

  Alexandra saw his black figure clamber to the crest of the building, where he was silhouetted against the rising moon for a moment before disappearing down the opposite side. Then she closed her eyes in mute terror as the wood splintered beneath her fingers.

  "Damn his bloody soul to hell!" A curse erupted from the porch — Hawke's curse.

  But there was no time for questions. The raw edge to his voice told Alexandra all she needed to know about the precariousness of her position. "Up here, Jeffers!" he roared.

  Boots thundered across the narrow porch, and suddenly the taut faces of Lord Morland, Jeffers, and Hawke's burly footman swam before Alexandra's eyes. With the odd clarity of a drowning swimmer she wondered how they had all come to be there.

  "Brace me, Tony! I'm going across!" Carefully, Hawke inched his way, stomach down, across the single swaying plank, while Morland anchored his legs from the balcony. The wood strained beneath his weight, and Alexandra caught her breath, feeling her heart constrict as Hawke inched closer.

  Beads of perspiration began to form on Hawke's brow beneath the makeshift white bandage. Once more the wood groaned, and a corner of the rail ripped away from the roof.

  "Go back!" Alexandra whispered to Hawke, her heart in her eyes.

  He ignored her, moving as slowly as possible to avoid jarring the unstable structure. And then his strong hand closed upon her wrist just as the plank gave away with a crack and plunged in one thunderous stroke to the cobblestones below, sweeping the pair with sickening force against the wall of the warehouse.

  The savage impact slammed the breath from her lungs. The whole side of her body screaming in agony, Alexandra fought for breath, concentrating on Hawke's face above her. He grunted, straining, then dragged her closer so that both hands circled her wrists. "Now, Tony!" he rasped through clenched teeth.

  Slowly, inch by terrifying inch, they were dragged back over the edge of the roof. Alexandra knew that the pain where the ragged slates cut into Hawke's stomach must be terrible.

  Then she was in his arms, his breath warm on her face, his lips drinking the salt tears from her cheeks.

  "I'm here, my heart. Don't cry," he whispered against her skin as he shrugged out of his coat and caught it around her shoulders to cover her ragged dress.

  "Oh, Hawke, I thought —"

  "Hush," he said hoarsely, murmuring dark inaudible words against her skin and bathing her face in kisses. Then he found her mouth and convinced her they were joyously, vibrantly alive still.

  Heedless of the others on the balcony, Hawke molded her trembling body against his hard frame, grinding his lips fiercely against her mouth. His tongue plunged within, and everything but the velvet fury of his touch was swept from Alexandra's mind.

  The clatter of slates on cobblestone roused them. Alexandra felt his body stiffen. She knew what he would say even before he caught the ragged breath to say it.

  "I must go after him."

  Her heart and mind screamed to restrain him, but Alexandra nodded mutely and released him, knowing that if Hawke did not return, her own life was over as well.

  One last time he kissed her, hard and quick, then turned to surge across the roof in the direction Telford had gone. A moment later, Hawke, too, disappeared down the opposite incline.

  A cough pulled Alexandra's eyes to Jeffers's anxious face. "Someone to see you, miss."

  A brown ball of fur erupted into her arms, and she caught the little mongoose in a desperate hug. "Oh, God, Rajah! He's wounded," Alexandra whispered, for she had to share her fear with someone or something.

  The thin intelligent face looked up at her, his pink nose quivering as his long tail arched and fluffed. He squeaked then, a long, staccato rush of notes, and wriggled from her arms.

  "Rajah!" she called desperately.

  But the creature had already darted off across the roof where Hawke had disappeared, his eyes gleaming red in the moonlight, for the ancient bloodlust of the hunter was upon him.

  "Help him!" Alexandra whispered, and the sighing wind carried her words across the rooftops.

  When Morland's arm came around her shoulders to comfort her, Alexandra turned tortured eyes upon him. Neither spoke, and the silence seemed to go on forever, hinting at a thousand horrible possibilities.

  Suddenly, a bellow erupted from the abandoned bungalow across the way. Two figures appeared on the jagged roofline, arms locked as they fought for balance, their straining bodies black against the rising moon. A line of slates came free and rained down upon the cobblestones below. An instant later, the larger figure swayed and lost his balance.

  Rigid with terror, Alexandra watched Telford press home his advantage with a cruel blow of his stave to Hawke's face. When the duke reeled, Telford wrenched free and jumped back to safety.

  In all the paralysis of a nightmare the silent group on the narrow porch watched Hawke stagger. Slowly, Telford began to advance for the kill.

  And then, just as a cloud swept b
efore the moon, a third figure appeared, a small arched shape that rocked and swayed on the crest of the roof. Alexandra could almost make out the sharp eyes like bloodred coals, calculating the precise instant to strike.

  Once again Hawke staggered, tossing a hand across his eyes, and Telford hoisted his wooden stave for the final killing blow.

  In that same instant Rajah leaped from the roof with a shrill cry of fury and exploded against Alexandra's enemy with savage force. Sharp teeth sank into human skin, muscle, and pounding blood.

  Alexandra did not see what happened next; later, she would remember only a blur of noise and movement, a muffled struggle, and then Telford's howl of pain echoing across the rooftops.

  Slates rained down noisily as he grappled with the mongoose, but Rajah was not to be cheated of his prey. For long moments the two lurched desperately on the jagged roof as the great masts of the East Indiamen rocked behind them in the harbor. Then Telford plunged with a terrified scream to the cobblestones below.

  * * * * *

  They made a strange-looking group gathered beneath the shadowed vault of the warehouse: a giant of a man in a blood-soaked headband, a flame-haired beauty in tattered black lace and crimson silk, and an urchin with a young-old face and dark twinkling eyes. Perhaps strangest of all was the sleek, regal creature perched upon an upturned barrel with all the majesty of a sovereign reviewing his subjects.

  "You took your bloody time about getting here," Hawkesworth said tautly to Morland. " 'Twas a damned near thing!"

  "Nor would we have found you at all, had we not come upon your footman lying bloody in Bedford Square. He'd been following you when you so injudiciously accepted Isobel's hospitality. Unfortunately, one of Digger's men was also in pursuit and took him from behind. Poor Hardy barely managed to drag himself back before collapsing on your doorstep, where Jeffers and I found him. But never mind. All's well that ends well, and you both seem to have managed quite well without us," Morland said with a rakish smile that held only a trace of sadness. "You've dispatched your friend Telford once and for all. And it appears," Morland added with a bittersweet smile for Alexandra, "that you've won the fair maiden as well."