The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3)

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Miss Mellows,” Kate supplied.

  Dubois refocused on her. “Only you two are excused for one hour each afternoon to attend to checking the children’s work. Immediately that task is complete, you will return to your work here. There will be no ambling about while there is light enough for you to work.” He glanced around the six women. “Are those instructions clear?”

  None of the others spoke, although all of them nodded.

  Kate waited until he returned his gaze to her, and nodded, too. “Quite clear.”

  She hadn’t been there when Dubois had allowed his men to brutalize the young girl, but she’d seen the shadows in Harriet’s eyes; neither she nor any of the others would willingly tempt Dubois, and they’d all heard of the letter he’d recently received from the mysterious backers.

  Dubois held her gaze for a pregnant moment. Then, as if accepting her submission, he nodded. “Excellent.” He turned for the door. “While there are diamonds to be cleaned, you will continue to work for as long as possible at the best possible pace.”

  The women waited until he’d left the shed, then waited for a full minute more. Even then, they held their tongues and waited until Gemma went to the open door, looked out, and confirmed Dubois had, indeed, returned to the barracks and that there were no guards lurking before they let down their guard.

  Then they slumped onto their stools. They grimaced; some muttered. Grimly resigned, Kate reached for the new hammers and chisels, sorted them, and then shared them around the table.

  Perched on her stool opposite, Harriet accepted the new tools and met Kate’s gaze. “So what do we do now?”

  Kate raised her brows. She reached into the basket sitting beside her, lifted out a large piece of ore, and started turning it between her fingers, searching out the planes between mineral concretion and diamond. After a moment, she said, her voice low, but strong enough to be heard by all the women, all of whom were listening and following her lead, “We obey Dubois’s orders and work. We work at the same pace we always have, for the hours he stipulated. Meanwhile... I’ll have a word to Frobisher and Lascelle about their idea.” She glanced up and met Harriet’s gaze.

  Brightening, Harriet murmured, “The pieces of canvas?”

  Kate nodded. “As long as Dubois and his men continue not to count the individual diamonds coming into the shed, I can’t see how they can have any specific expectations over how many cleaned diamonds come out.”

  * * *

  “Until Cripps gets back with more lamp oil,” Caleb said, “the men are on short shifts, so Phillipe and I will see what we can do about creating pockets under your stools.”

  He and Kate—she was now Kate to him; that name fitted the woman who was his better than the primly reserved Katherine—were sitting on one of the logs about the fire pit, surrounded by the other captives. They’d just finished their usual meager meal of meat of some kind, eaten with what passed for bread in these parts. Water, at least, was plentiful. He raised his tin mug and sipped.

  “At least we can only work while there’s sufficient sunlight.”

  He lowered his mug. “True. But you’ll have to make a visible dent in that pile of rock outside the shed.” Turning the mug between his hands, he thought, then said, “I suspect you’d better ensure that you and the ladies fill that strongbox at least a little faster than you were before—before you had a backlog to work through.”

  “Indeed, and the new tools will help us accomplish that.” Kate caught his gaze. “But given the size of the backlog, we can keep our output at the higher levels Dubois will expect while also holding back a decent number of cleaned stones in case of later need.”

  Dixon, seated on Kate’s other side with Harriet beyond him, had been listening. He leaned closer. “Harriet mentioned your notion of using canvas for the pockets. There are some old sails tucked away in the supply shed. If you tell me what you need, I can cut the pieces for you—easier to bring out the pieces than the whole sail.”

  Caleb called Phillipe over, and between them and the women they estimated the size of the canvas squares they would need.

  Dixon nodded. “I’ll make time tomorrow morning to cut them.”

  Caleb glanced at Kate. “Phillipe and I will drop by in the afternoon and set up the pockets. Ten minutes is all it will take.”

  She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “It might be best if you came while Annie and I are with the children.” She met his gaze. “Less chance of one of the guards thinking something might be going on and coming to investigate.”

  “We’ll keep watch anyway,” Harriet said. “But I agree with Katherine—better you come when she and Annie aren’t there.”

  Caleb discovered he agreed and nodded. Anything to minimize the chances of raising Dubois’s suspicions, especially over anything involving Kate.

  With that decided, they settled to discuss the current state and rate of the mining. Ultimately, that led to everyone wanting to know how much longer it would be before Dixon managed to get into the lower level and—they all fervently hoped—confirm that the rock face there was as densely packed with diamonds as in the upper level, so that they would face no insurmountable obstacle in keeping the mining going long enough to be rescued.

  For them all to be rescued.

  Ever since September the seventh had been flagged as the date, Kate had been counting the days. Today had been August the fifth, so they needed four weeks’ grace—four weeks’ more steady, straightforward mining.

  According to Dixon, Caleb, and the others working on opening the lower level, they were hoping to sufficiently brace the crawl space they’d created to allow Dixon to check the quality of the vein of diamond-bearing ore sometime during the next day.

  So by tomorrow evening, they would know.

  Know if they would be safe—if they would be able to keep the mine going until the rescue force arrived—or if their lives still hung in the balance with an uphill battle before them.

  Kate sent up a prayer that all would prove to be as they needed, and she was certain she wasn’t the only one addressing the Almighty on their behalf.

  Then it was time for the men to return to the mine. It was a part of Dixon’s assumed role to chivvy them up and back to work. Although the others grumbled and cast him dark looks, that was all for show.

  Kate rose to her feet as Caleb stood.

  He looked down at her, hesitated, then reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “It might be better if you got what sleep you can. You’ll be working under increased pressure from now on, and my group is going to push as hard as we can tonight to get the lower level shored up.”

  She frowned. “Won’t you have to stop because of the lamp oil?” Dubois had had Dixon set up a rationing system to ensure the groups actually mining would have enough oil to keep production as high as possible through the shortage. Dubois had appointed Arsene to oversee the allocation of oil each day, so what Dubois regarded as non-essential works had limited hours of light.

  He grimaced. “Yes, but we’ll go for as long as we can.”

  Over recent nights, they’d enjoyed a quiet amble about the compound before retiring, but after their last interlude, perhaps he was right and they should play safe. She met his gaze and nodded. “All right.” She touched his arm, then let her hand fall. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  With a nod, he turned and joined the other men, who under Dixon’s urging were straggling back into the mine.

  She watched until Caleb vanished inside, then returned to sit with Harriet and the other women. They chatted and watched over the children as, gathered in their smaller groups, they, too, talked about this and that. Just how much the younger ones truly understood, Kate didn’t know, but the older ones...the expression in their eyes suggested that they understood the situation all too well.

/>   Diccon came to sit at her feet and leaned against her legs. Kate smiled down at him even though he couldn’t see, then gently stroked his fine pale hair.

  After an hour of desultory activity, the children agreed to the women’s suggestion that it was time for bed. There were rarely any arguments. The work the children did was strenuous and tiring, as well as largely boring; sleep was, to them, an escape from their waking hours—their dreams were doubtless better than their reality.

  With the other women, Kate herded the children into their hut and into their respective hammocks. She busied herself wrapping the fine mosquito netting over and around each hammock; many of the children were already asleep, eyes closed and breathing softly, by the time she and the other women had them protected.

  Then the women got themselves into their own hammocks. In the circumstances, they didn’t divest themselves of their gowns but slept in them.

  Gradually, the hut grew quiet, a quiet composed of the gentle murmur of thirty individuals breathing, punctuated by the occasional raucous call of some nocturnal animal hunting beyond the compound’s walls.

  Enveloped in the now-familiar dark, Kate lay in her hammock and stared up through the netting. She couldn’t see the ceiling, but wasn’t actually looking. Her mind had turned inward, following paths she hadn’t trod for more than three years. Ever since her mother had fallen ill and she—Kate—had retreated from all contact with others to nurse her ailing parent. That had been when she’d finally and, at least in her mind, deliberately turned her back on marriage, but in truth, her view of that state had been equivocal at best from far earlier. Specifically, from the day her wastrel, always-laughing father had died and left her and her mother so deeply in debt.

  So very alone, facing a largely hostile world.

  But the one thing she’d never quite understood was the love—never dimming no matter what he did—that her mother had borne for that wastrel profligate. Even as young as Kate had been, she’d seen it—had felt the all but tangible force of it, that power people called love.

  Her mother had loved her father, and despite all his flaws, he’d loved her truly, too. In that, he’d never been inconstant.

  He’d just been him, and sadly incapable of dealing adequately with the practicalities of life.

  And then he’d left them.

  In her heart, she’d never forgiven him for that.

  In her soul, she still blamed him for her mother’s early death.

  Men, she’d believed, were just variations on her father—lovable, but ultimately unreliable.

  Nineteen days ago, she’d met Caleb.

  And she now had some inkling of what had driven her mother’s devotion to her father. Now she had a clearer vision of what it was to love a man.

  And yet...from somewhere deep inside her, a little voice whispered, questioning how this could be. How could she have fallen so definitely in love in just days? Was it really love—the sort of love that wouldn’t die no matter what the loved one did? And if it was, did she truly want it?

  Did she have a choice?

  Or was she, like her poor mother, doomed to being swept away—by a handsome face, a cheery smile, and circumstance?

  How much of her attraction was due to their situation?

  How much of his?

  Unanswerable questions all, yet she knew she wasn’t like her mother, and regardless of her distrust of most men, she knew—to her bones—that Caleb wasn’t like her father.

  She could trust Caleb. She could rely on him.

  Was she up to trusting him forever? With her future, her life—her forever?

  And what did it say of her and him that, after the past years of adhering to the name Katherine even in her own mind, it had taken Caleb two weeks to anchor her back in her true self, the self she referred to as Kate?

  She stared upward into the darkness and found precious few answers there.

  Especially to her most fundamental question: When it came to Caleb, did she trust herself—or was she simply clinging to him and the safety he exuded because of the dreadful threat hanging over them?

  All those questions, but especially the last, left her restless and unsettled. She wasn’t going to fall asleep any time soon.

  Accepting that, she rolled out of her hammock, fought her way out of the netting shroud, then silently wended around the children’s hammocks to the partially closed door. They always left it slightly ajar so if any of the children awoke, they would see the sliver of light and not panic.

  She slipped out of the hut into the cooler night air. She sank onto the single stool they left on the small, uncovered porch—more a landing at the top of the two steps. She leaned her shoulders against the hut’s wall and let the quiet of the night wash through her.

  Let her questions go, let them fade from her mind. She looked up at the stars, shining like the proverbial diamonds in the black velvet of the night sky, and let the constellations, so very far away, remind her of how infinite and ageless they were—and how finite and inconsequential she was in comparison.

  Her mind had wandered to recalling the pattern of stars in the night sky over Aberdeen when the sound of men’s voices reached her. She looked across the compound and saw the men who had been working the last shift leaving the mine. They made for their hut. With her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see well enough to confirm that Caleb wasn’t among them.

  Nor was Dixon or Lascelle.

  Even after the emerging men had tramped into their hut and the compound had fallen silent again, the glow of a lantern—distant, but still detectable—shone from the mouth of the mine.

  She waited.

  Gradually, the steady glow of the lantern started to fade.

  Minutes later, she saw a group of men emerge, carrying the last lantern, now almost out. Among those men walked Caleb, along with Dixon and Lascelle.

  The men headed for their hut. Although she didn’t move, did nothing to attract his attention, Caleb raised his head, looked across the compound, and saw her.

  With a word, he parted from Dixon and Lascelle and came toward her. Intent invested his every stride.

  She met him at the bottom of the steps.

  His features set, he caught her hand and, without breaking his stride, towed her on—around the side of the women’s hut and into the deeper shadows there.

  Abruptly, he halted, spun her so her back met the wall, stepped into her, bent his head, and crushed his lips to hers.

  His kiss was an explosion of heat and passion.

  She parted her lips and drowned in the flames, in the raw, elemental tempest of desire he unleashed upon her.

  And that she instantly, in the next heartbeat, gave back to him.

  She caught his head, trapped his face between her palms, poured all he evoked in her back into the exchange—and hung on for dear life.

  Like a spark set to the tinder of their passions, the kiss ignited a conflagration of need, of want, of desperate desire, and sent it raging through them.

  On a groan, he straightened. His arms came around her, and he crushed her to him.

  Need—raw need—reached her.

  Without hesitation, she gave him all she had. She melded her lips with his, sent her tongue surging to tangle with his. She released his face, wound her arms around his neck, pressed herself to him, and together they rode the surging wave of unadulterated, well-nigh desperate wanting.

  Hunger drove him and, beneath that, a yearning.

  Both registered on her whirling wits, informed her giddy senses.

  And she realized she was his anchor in this storm. Some cataclysm had flung him adrift, and he needed her to ground him.

  She steadied. Stood steady within the maelstrom of their joint passions.

  Gradually, the firestorm abated.


  And eventually, the kiss became one of simple connection.

  Of communication, although she still had no clue as to what had so affected him.

  Finally, he raised his head, and their lips parted. His chest swelled as, eyes closed, he drew in a massive, steadying breath.

  She gripped his upper arms and searched his face. “Caleb? What’s happened?”

  Eyes still closed, his long black lashes casting crescent shadows on his cheeks, he lowered his forehead to hers, then exhaled. “It’s bad, Kate.”

  He drew in another breath and went on, “We got Dixon into the lower level. It’s not yet properly shored up, and it’s hellishly dangerous, but he was so determined to find out, he went in and...well, he says he can’t be certain, but I think he just doesn’t want to believe what he saw.”

  “It’s not good.” She made it a statement, which clearly it was.

  He straightened and opened his eyes. “We don’t yet know how bad it is, but from Dixon’s reaction, it’s nothing like what he expected—nothing like what we need.” He paused. “We’ll know for certain tomorrow. We have to do more shoring up, and then he’ll be able to examine the entire rock face properly.”

  “So it’s possible he missed something?”

  “Possible, but not likely. When it comes to mining, Dixon knows what he’s doing—he doesn’t make that sort of mistake.”

  It was the first time she’d heard him sound even vaguely despondent. The realization that he was cast down hit her like a slap. She stared at him, tried to study his face, his eyes, shadowed though they were. “We will find a way through this—you know we will.” She hesitated, then added, “It’s usually you who encourages and buoys everyone else.”

  And the entire company of captives would fall into a funk if he didn’t do the same this time.