Pale Moon Rider

by Marsha Canham

  “Marvelous.” Dudley threw up his hands in exasperation. “You’re going to meet him with your chest bared and large bulls-eye painted over your heart?”

  Expecting some sort of wry retort, Robbie lowered his hands and stared at the somber expression on Tyrone’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

  “If I anger him enough, he might just offer me the opportunity to take him with me.”

  “He is a crack shot and a master swordsman. He has fought a dozen duels that we know about and never lost one yet.”

  “I did not say I would beat him, just that I would relish the chance to damage him a little.”

  “You do realize we are standing here calmly discussing the method of your suicide?”

  “Would you prefer ranting and foaming at the mouth? Would it change anything?”

  Dudley’s shoulders drooped. “No, probably not. But it might make me feel better.”

  Tyrone came around from behind the desk and clapped his hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, old friend, and don’t get maudlin on me either. We have had a good run at it. And we both knew it was bound to end one way or another. Just promise me you will take care of Renée and the boy. And for God’s sake, make an honest woman out of Maggie before she poisons you in one of her fey fits.”

  Dudley could not even muster the imitation of a smile. “What are you going to tell Miss d’Anton?”

  “Nothing. Only that I am taking Roth a sackful of ill-gotten gains and exchanging them for Finn.”

  Robbie looked intently into the pale gray eyes and cursed. “Of all the bloody, useless wastes …”

  Tyrone clapped his shoulder again and returned to the desk. “I’d best start writing before the entire discussion becomes irrelevant. Maybe you could ask Maggie to mix me up some of her special Irish? I’ve never penned a confession before; am I expected to list all my past indiscretions or only the highlights of a blazingly successful career?”

  Robbie shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He quickly exited the library, his limp more pronounced than usual, and when he was gone, Tyrone felt his shoulders sag. Alone, he turned to the window, his fists clenched so tightly by his sides the knuckles threatened to pop through the skin.

  He was still seated at the desk writing when Renée found him two hours later. She had obviously been sleeping; her face bore pink creases and her hair hung in a loose, fat plait over one shoulder. She was wearing his Chinese silk robe, and because the hem was so long and dragged behind her, he could see glimpses of pale white legs peeping through the edges as she walked across the room. It was equally apparent that she was wearing nothing underneath and watching her approach, Tyrone suffered a painful tightness in his chest, a sensation he was coming to realize had nothing to do with his wound or the rigid layers of bandaging.

  “I fell asleep in the chair,” she confessed. “When I woke and you were not there—”

  Tyrone gathered up the sheets of paper that were in front of him and stacked them neatly before placing them in a leather folder. “I would have been up in a minute or two. I was … just writing out some letters for business associates. I am still the Surveyor of turnpikes, until tomorrow, anyway, and there were some things—”

  “Did you find Roth? Did you meet with him?”

  She was close enough for him to reach out and invite her gently forward onto his lap. “I did, and I did. Everything is arranged.”

  “He is going to set Finn free?”

  “He wanted a bit more than I went prepared to give him, but,” he shrugged, “in the end, we agreed on a price. All that is left to do is arrange where to make the exchange and you shall have your Mr. Finn back.”

  “And Roth?”

  “Roth … will be a very rich man.”

  “That was all he wanted? Money?”

  “Were you under the mistaken impression he was dedicated to his profession?” She was looking so intently into his eyes, he was afraid she was detecting something he could not control, and with a sigh he added, “I do have a bit of bad news for you, however. It seems your uncle has gone back to London already, hell-bent on clearing out his vaults before the firm hand of the law steps in and starts asking too many questions.”

  “Can he do this?”

  He pursed his lips. “I suppose you could pursue the matter through the courts, but that would take time. I gathered from what Roth said that by next week the pair of them will have vanished to a place where no creditor or court can find them. It is unfortunate and unfair, but how many fortunes do you expect you can spend in one lifetime? Even after I pay off Roth, we will have more than enough to live in the extravagance befitting a duc and his kin.”

  Renée followed the motion of his hands as they slipped down to the belt that held her robe closed. So intent was she on watching him loosen the knot, she almost missed the most important thing he had said.

  “We?” she asked in a whisper, looking up again. “Did you say … we?”

  “You don’t really think I have gone to all this trouble just to stand on a dock and watch you sail away, do you? Robbie and I have discussed it and we figure Portsmouth is our best bet. It is usually full of ships waiting to sail to all manner of exotic places. I served on a privateer for a while, did I tell you that? At any rate, I have been meaning to take another look at the West Indies. The sun is always hot and the water cool, the breeze is clean and sweet and”—he leaned forward, pressing his lips over the heart-shaped mole he had uncovered with his roving fingers—“you can swim naked with the dolphins. I know you mentioned New Orleans, and certainly we can go there if you are anxious to drink lemon tea and wear tight corsets again—”

  “No,” she gasped. “No, I—I never want to wear a corset again. But what about you? What about—?”

  “My life of larcenous indulgence?” He looked deep into the blue pools of her eyes. “I somehow doubt I will be bored. Seven children, you say?”

  His mouth, his tongue, the gentle nipping pressure of his teeth claimed her flesh again as he opened the vee of her robe wider, exposing the white and pink velvet of her breast. A single warm roll of his tongue and the nipple was as hard as a berry. Her hands were in his hair, combing the glossy waves off his face, angling it upward that she might distract him long enough to keep hold of her wits a few minutes more.

  “I thought you said any manner of commitment was certain death to a man of your nature.”

  “Yes, well, I have no doubt you will be the death of me, mam’selle,” he murmured. “But I do not imagine I shall have any regrets, all things considered.”

  While she was absorbing the shock of his admission, he tipped his head and touched his mouth to hers. The cut on her cheek and the split on her lip made her look like a marred Grecian statue, but there was a soft shine in her eyes that made his own sting uncomfortably. She was radiant in the moonlight, spectacular by candlelight, dazzling in sunlight, lush and silky in no light at all and because he thought this might very well be the moment he would hold closest to him when the end came, he pushed aside the guilt he felt at deceiving her and concentrated instead on loving her.

  He trailed a path of warm caresses down the curve of her neck and from there to her breast, her belly, her thighs. She complied without protest as he pulled her gently down onto the floor, and, on a bed of their cast-off clothing, with the fire gleaming red and bronze on their bodies, he expressed his love the only way he dared. He loved her there, on the floor, with her body naked and golden beneath him, and he carried her up the stairs and loved her in the bed. He loved her until the air shivered with her cries and he had no more strength left to give her, no more of her courageous heart to steal.

  And when dawn came through the window, he extricated himself gently from the tumble of sheets, kissed her softly on the bare curve of her shoulder, then went down the stairs to find Dudley.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Renée wakened to the sound of voices in the next room. She looked quickly around, blinking the dulln
ess out of her eyes, and when she realized she was alone in the bed, she scrambled into the silk robe and was still belting it tightly around her waist when she walked through the dressing room to the study.

  Maggie and Antoine were there, carefully emptying the drawers and shelves behind one of the hidden panels.

  Antoine was kneeling on the floor beside an open leather chest, packing between layers of clothing the jewels and coins Maggie handed down to him.

  “M’sieur Tyrone said we were to pack up everything of value,” he explained. “He said that when we left here today, we would not be coming back.”

  “Where is M’sieur Tyrone?”

  Maggie glanced over briefly. “He and Robbie left about an hour ago. They … had some errands to run. Mr. Tyrone had to stop at the bank, and the solicitor’s office; Robbie had to go to the livery to make arrangements for a coach and purchase vouchers for a change of horses. I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”

  “No.” Renée’s gaze strayed to the clock on the mantelpiece and she was surprised to see it was past two. “Mon dieu, you should not have let me sleep so long!”

  “There was no reason to wake you,” Antoine declared. “And besides, M’sieur Tyrone gave orders we were to leave you be.”

  “He gave orders, did he?” Renée did not know whether to frown or smile, but in the end she just felt relieved to have someone else making the decisions. “Is there something I can do to help?”

  “No.” Maggie turned back to her work. “You have done quite enough already.”

  The dismissal was disconcertingly abrupt and at first, Renée credited it to the fact that Maggie was probably not entirely pleased at the turn of events. Even though Tyrone had said last night that both Robbie and Maggie had accepted their impending departure from England, she could understand how a pregnant woman might be upset, resentful having to leave behind everything familiar and flee her home in the middle of the night.

  Renée walked over to the piano and ran her fingers lightly over the polished wood. She still blushed to think of herself propped on the keys, a dark, silky head moving flagrantly between her thighs.

  To cover her embarrassment, she crossed over to the window and lifted the edge of the heavy curtain aside. The stronger light caught Maggie full on the face and she turned to avoid the glare, but not before Renée saw the redness around her eyes, the puffy, swollen look to her face.

  She let the curtain fall back into place. “Maggie, I am so sorry to be the cause of this. Do you have family here?”

  “Robbie and Mr. Tyrone are my family.” She looked over, then turned away again. “Since you are up now, miss, perhaps it would be best if you get yourself dressed. I’ve left you something in the wardrobe, nothing fancy, you understand; we do not want to be calling any more attention to ourselves than is necessary. We also have to leave here no later than five, if we’re to be at the rendezvous on time.”

  “The men are not coming back here first?”

  Maggie moistened her lips. “They didn’t think they would have time.”

  “When is the meeting with Colonel Roth?”

  “Six o’clock. Mr. Tyrone sent him a note first thing this morning and it came back just after noon, with Roth agreeing to all his terms.”

  “That is good, is it not?”

  “Aye. I suppose, if there is anything good about it …”

  “What do you mean?”

  Maggie shook her head. “Nothing. I meant nothing, miss. I’m … just tired, is all. The babe has been putting the boot to me all morning and I am just tired.”

  “Then let me help you. Let me finish for you.”

  “ ’Tis all done.” She shut the last drawer and closed the oak panel. “Will you be wanting a bath?”

  Something in the girl’s emerald eyes sent a sudden chill along Renée’s spine and she hugged her arms. “If there is no time, I will manage with just a wash.”

  Maggie’s shoulders bowed forward slightly and she shook her head again. “It may be the last chance you have for a while. And there are kettles waiting on the stove, already hot.”

  “I will carry this down the stairs,” Antoine announced, closing the lid of the chest and buckling the two straps. “Then I will bring the water upstairs for your bath. A pot of tea also, perhaps, and something to eat?”

  Renée reached out and ruffled his short blond curls, “You sound just like Finn.”

  “Vraiment, and he would scold me terribly if I did not take care of you. Both of you,” he amended quickly, glancing at Maggie. “Especially since I am the only man here at the moment.”

  He lifted the chest and started out of the room, but before Maggie could follow, Renée reached out and placed a hand on her arm.

  “Is something wrong? Have I said or done something to upset you in some way?”

  “No, of course not, miss.”

  “And M’sieur Tyrone? He was telling me the truth last night, was he not? Roth has agreed to make the exchange for Finn … ?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, he has.”

  The green eyes flooded with fresh tears and although Maggie tried to twist her arm away and hurry past, Renée stepped in front of her to block her way.

  “Maggie … s’il vous plaît. Please. Is something wrong? If something has happened, you must tell me.”

  Maggie pressed her lips together over a stifled sob. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Robbie made me swear I wouldn’t, but … I know if it were me, I would kill him with my own bare hands if he tried to keep such a thing to himself.”

  Renée was starting to become truly frightened now. “Has something happened to Mr. Tyrone?”

  “Not yet, it hasn’t. But oh, miss … ! Miss, it is so dreadful, I cannot even think how to put it into words.”

  Tyrone had thought it fitting they should make the exchange where it had all begun. From Dudley’s vantage point in the trees, he had a clear view of the road and the flat countryside beyond. It was the only patch of forest for a mile in any direction, and from Tyrone’s own position on top of the adjacent hill, he would know if Roth intended to keep to his end of the deal. Dusk had recently settled, smothering the surrounding countryside in shades of blue and purpling shadows, and for a change, the sky was perfectly clear. As the purple faded out to black, stars appeared by ones and twos, then in clusters. A thin layer of mist rose off the puddles and patches of mud that lingered from the recent rains, but it was a clear, cold evening with the twinkling lights of Coventry visible well off in the distance.

  Dudley had not said more than two incomplete sentences to him throughout the day. He wore a wide-brimmed felt hat jammed low over his forehead and did not glance in Tyrone’s direction any more than he had to and seemed almost relieved when dusk came and the gloom settled heavy around them.

  It was just as well. There was nothing more to say. Just as there had been no reason to linger at the house any longer than was necessary. It had been bad enough leaving Renée all curled up like a kitten, asleep on the bed. If he had to see her or speak to her again or hear that soft little catch she made in her throat when he kissed her, he was not sure he would have been able to go through with it. It was better this way, less painful for both of them, and even as the thought was forming in his head that it would all be over in under an hour, he saw riders off in the distance, moving at a brisk, official pace along the road.

  Roth rode in the lead, his saber slapping his thigh on every cantering stride. He was in full uniform, as were the six blue-clad Coventry Volunteers who rode in box formation around Mr. Finn. The latter had his wrists bound and tied to the saddle. He was not the most accomplished horseman at the best of times, and with his body jostling erratically up and down, side to side, his bony shoulders hunched forward, and his long legs slipping periodically out of the stirrups, he looked like he might almost prefer the comparatively predictable swaying motion of a ship’s deck.

  In contrast to Finn’s loose-limbed discomfort, Corporal Chase Marlborough rode a w
ary half length behind Roth. He had no idea where they were going, no inclination as to why they had removed the old manservant from his cell and brought him out to the middle of nowhere in the dark of night. He had an uncomfortable feeling, nothing he could identify, but the six men who rode escort had been handpicked by Roth, brutes and undisciplined troublemakers who had only joined the militia to avoid being tossed in a gaol cell themselves. They were also unusually heavily armed, with each man carrying a brace of pistols as well as a heavy musket. Corporal Marlborough had his sword and a growing sense of unease.

  “Just around this next bend, I warrant,” Roth said, glancing into the small patch of woods they passed. “We should find ourselves in a gulley between two hills, or so the map indicates.”

  “Might I ask, sir—”

  “No. You might not. You are here to observe and to do what I tell you to do and nothing more. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” He adjusted his seat in the saddle and muttered under his breath.

  “Did you say something, Corporal?”

  “No sir. I was just … thinking out loud, sir.”

  “Well, think to yourself. And keep your eyes open. I have no intentions of dying from a bullet in the back.”

  They snaked around the final bend in the road and rode into a shallow gulley. They had not gone twenty strides along this new stretch when Roth held up his hand, halting the men behind him. The trees were on the left now, a steep slope rose on the right. At the bottom of the gulley, a ring of lanterns had been lit and parked a few feet beyond, a covered coach with its bright lamp blazing like a beacon in the darkness.

  “Hold your position,” Roth growled and urged his horse forward at a slow walk. The only sound was the soft clopping of his horse’s hooves, the only movement came from the flickering shadows outside the ring of lanterns. When he had covered half the distance to the coach, he heard the latch twist and saw the door swing open. The man who stepped down wore a tall silk hat and a swirling black cape slung at a capricious angle over an impeccably tailored jacket, stark white cravat, and skintight buff breeches.