Seaswept Abandon (The McClellans Series, Book 2) Author's Cut Edition

by Jo Goodman

  "The ground was hard. God, I hate dirt under my nails."

  Rae's giggle was a little hysterical.

  "Rae?" He had her in his arms in the next moment. She was shaking. "You're so cold." He rubbed her back, her upper arms. Finally he simply drew her icy hands under his coat and held her. "It's all right. Everything's going to be fine. I promise."

  She hugged him, resting her cheek against his smooth linen shirt. "Why has the duke sent the letters now? Why after all this time?" Jericho did not have any answers for her, and she drew back a little, looking up at the grim expression in his eyes, the hint of whiteness about his mouth. "That man—Sam Judge—do you really believe he would have killed you, or rather Salem?"

  "To get to Ashley he would have. I'd admit he did not seem the sort of man the duke would send to do the deed, but surely you're not doubting the man was no courier."

  "I wish we had been able to draw him back to the house. We could have ended it. I can't help but wonder what he would have done if he hadn't met us?"

  "What I would have done in his place: delivered the package into Ashley's hands, then when y'all attacked with your questions, I would have sworn on the McClellan family Bible I'd never heard of the duke of Linfield. Eventually you would have let me go, no matter what your suspicions."

  Rae shivered, realizing he was right.

  "Come. Let's go back to the house. I'll talk to your father and brothers after dinner."

  Jericho's task of talking to the McClellan men alone was a difficult one. The men did not necessarily linger over a glass of wine in the absence of the women. Without Rae's assistance, Jericho doubted he could have managed. He admired the way she practically herded her mother and sisters into another room for an impromptu musicale. He kept the men at the dining table with a hard stare and the tiniest shake of his head. Gareth was the most difficult, since he was wont to follow his very pregnant wife everywhere.

  Robert had a teasing smile for Gareth, then poured himself a glass of port and slid the decanter toward Salem. "What's this about, Smith?" It occurred to him that perhaps Jericho was going to make his intentions toward Rahab formally known. It was odd that he would do it in front of the entire family, but the idea did not displease Robert.

  "It's the Duke of Linfield, sir. He's sent a warning."

  Robert choked. Salem's hand remained poised over the decanter. Gareth and Noah were looking extremely thin-lipped. Only Leah's husband, Troy Lawson, did not at first understand the import of Jericho's words. He sat forward at the table, his lean face grave, and kept his counsel while listening carefully to the others.

  "What sort of warning?" Salem asked sharply.

  Jericho explained the events of a few hours before, and when he finished a heavy silence permeated the room.

  "I once promised Ashley I would not resort to Nigel's methods, but I can see no alternative left to me," Salem said tightly. "There is only one reason he sent those letters and that is to taunt us. To let us know that when we thought Ashley safe, she was not. And now Courtney and Trenton."

  "And Rahab," Jericho added with quiet force.

  "And my sister," Salem went on, as if Jericho had not spoken, "who doesn't have the sense to realize the danger when she says she is my wife. We will forever be looking over our shoulders until the duke is dead. There is nothing for it but that I go to Linfield and end this."

  "No." Jericho's voice joined the others, and the sharp sound brought Salem's head up. He was not used to being gainsaid.

  "What do you propose?" Silence greeted his question and he smiled a trifle bitterly. "Exactly. I am willing to entertain better suggestions, but I doubt there are any."

  "You cannot seriously suppose you will have access to the duke," Troy said calmly. "Once he saw you, your life would be forfeit. Robert has no more chance than you of succeeding. Gareth or Noah might have the opportunity to get near him, for they are strangers to Nigel. But they have the look of McClellans, and you say the duke is shrewd, so I think he would find them out. It is not cowardice that keeps me from volunteering my services, but simply a lack of the skill and cunning this piece of work requires." He paused, looking thoughtfully at his folded hands. "I understand from what I have heard that there is no legal recourse open to you. It appears the duke is too canny to be caught in a scheme to bring him to these shores." He glanced around and saw there was agreement from the others. "Therefore, it seems to me the reasonable thing is to employ someone who can put pressure on the duke, or, if need be, put a period to his existence."

  Salem had listened carefully to Troy's analysis. There was no faulting his logic, but Salem did not want to put the fate of his enemy in the hands of another. "It would be folly to send a stranger to do what I should have done long ago. There is no one I trust to see to the matter."

  "No one?" Jericho asked mildly. There was the merest hint of a smile on his lips. He looked relaxed, without the aura of tension the others projected. He had pushed his chair away from the table and his long legs were stretched in front of him, casually crossed at the ankles. His long-fingered, capable hands were folded loosely in his lap, and his clear blue eyes held the spark of some subtle purpose.

  "You?" Salem was incredulous and took no pains to hide it.

  "Why not?" Jericho drawled softly. "The British will not mount another offensive until spring of next year, if one comes at all. By then I will have returned. My leg is no longer a concern, and I'm unattached." Forgive me, Rae, for having said the last. "Troy mentioned skill and cunnin'. Is there anyone here who says I haven't an ample supply of both? I thought not. What say, Salem? Reckon I could hobnob with a toff like the Duke of Linfield?"

  Salem could not help it. The tension that had been squeezing his chest and gut released itself in a spurt of laughter. The others soon joined, while Jericho merely grinned good-naturedly and let their nervous humor run its course. Salem wiped a tear from his eye and took a sip of his port to steady himself. "Forgive me, Smith. Your offer is generous and appreciated," he said seriously. "In so many ways you are exactly the man I could trust with a matter of such personal importance, but I fear that while you have great skill and cunning and courage as I have not witnessed in many others, the duke would identify you as a Yankee in a minute and be on his guard."

  "A minute is all I need." Jericho saw his grim observation had the effect of sobering everyone.

  "But you have to see him first. Years ago I was able to gain access to him through his interest in horseflesh. I doubt he would again be so accommodating to another Yankee buyer."

  "You realize you're only makin' the case stronger against your goin'. I have notions about seein' the duke that are a lot less troublesome than tryin' to pretend an interest in his stud."

  Guessing that Jericho had it in his mind that he would waylay the duke, Salem discouraged the idea immediately. "He does not travel without an entourage of servants who are loyal to him, Smith, and Linfield is a fortress."

  Jericho chuckled. "I'm not interested in takin' him on the road. It's too dangerous. And do you think I have intentions of scalin' his damn walls when the doors are open to his friends?"

  "You are not his friend," Robert pointed out.

  "No. But I could be."

  Robert coughed uneasily. "I'll be blunt, Jericho. The duke is much taken with his station in life. He has no interest in associating himself with someone beyond the pale. A Yankee, even if you professed a Tory's sympathies, would hardly be welcomed in his circle. Your wardrobe could easily be fixed, but your manner of speech would set you apart instantly. And in his eyes it would set you beneath him."

  "Is that what's troublin' y'all? What a fuss over nothin'."

  "It is hardly nothing, Jericho," Salem replied. "You could never be counted among the duke's friends. Believe me, that is not something to regret."

  "But if I could?" He asked the question casually, hiding from everyone that he was in earnest.

  "If you could? Then yes, God help me. I would take up your offer."
>
  "Reckon that's what I've been waitin' to hear. If y'all will excuse me one minute, I have to fetch somethin'." He was gone less than that, and he grinned at the puzzled faces still circling the table when he shut the door behind him again. In his hands he carried two books from Robert's precious collection in the library. One was Plutarch's Lives, the other a specially bound volume of writings by Rousseau. Neither was in English, but in their original Greek and French. Jericho opened the Plutarch tome first and began to read at random, first in Greek, then translating, in impeccable English that did not leave one syllable wanting full expression. Holding up his hand to halt their excited curiosity, he did the same with the Rousseau work.

  "I regret my French is not what it used to be. Rochambeau and Lafayette both found it eminently understandable, but lacking heart. You know the French; no one can speak their language as well as they can. Greek is not so difficult, but my Latin is better. My tutor was a pedant, and he had a petty scholar's love for the nominative and the dative. My command of the mother tongue is the issue here. Would the duke find something offensive with my speech?"

  No one spoke for a long moment. Finally Salem said, "Smith, you sound like a pompous ass."

  Jericho smiled widely. "I imagine that means ol' Nigel will attach himself to me like scum on a pond."

  "Hell, yes. Who are you, Jericho Smith?"

  His smile faded. "Is it important?" he asked quietly, a warning look in his eyes.

  Robert spoke for everyone. "No. We know your mettle, and your past is your own affair."

  "Good. Perhaps someday... but not now." He laid Rousseau and Plutarch aside. "I think it is time for us to plan our strategy. First, I must secure passage..."

  * * *

  Rahab thought her heart would stop beating when she heard the handle on the door to the music room twist. Her father walked in first and immediately went to the spinet. Much to Rae's surprise, he sat down beside Leah on the stool and joined in the singing in his endearingly off-key voice. No worry there she thought. Troy and Noah came in next, carrying some light refreshment to ease all the parched throats. Gareth dropped his bulk beside Darlene and inquired about her health. Ashley had her legs propped on a green velvet ottoman, and Salem nudged them aside when he sat there, leaning back against the arm of her chair and reaching for her hand. He seemed the very definition of contentment.

  "I'd like to have a word with you, Rae."

  Rae was startled to find Jericho standing at her back. Never would she become accustomed to his manner of sneaking up on a person. She looked around quickly and saw no one paying them any attention. His voice had been no more than a whisper in her ear. "Of course."

  "A walk?" he invited.

  She nodded. "I'll get my cloak." Rae caught her mother's eye and motioned she was leaving. Charity smiled serenely and never missed her turn to join the round they were singing. Rae slipped out the door, blissfully unaware of how soon her departure would alter the room's atmosphere.

  Jericho helped Rae slip into her pelisse. "You'll probably want this." He handed her a rabbit fur muff and took Salem's cape from the cloakroom for himself. "I don't think he'd begrudge me this, d'you?"

  Rae's smile was a little nervous. "No. He wouldn't mind."

  Jericho shrugged into the heavy wool cloak, and taking Rae's elbow, escorted her to the veranda.

  Without a word, they paused on the uppermost step and absorbed the sight that greeted them. It had begun to snow, soft furry flakes that captured the moon's silver light and spangled the ground before they vanished in a glittery flash. The earth sparkled as though all of heaven's stars had fallen upon it. Each melting flake had a hundred more to take its place.

  It was actually warmer now than it had been a few hours before, and Rae slipped back her hood to catch the snow in her hair and feel it on her face as they walked. Automatically she started toward the summerhouse, but Jericho turned her toward the river and she did not resist.

  "I had not credited you with so much patience, Rae," Jericho observed quietly, taking his fill of her glittering hair and soft profile turned skyward. He envied every flake that kissed her cheek and brushed her lips.

  "I'm learning."

  They walked in silence for nearly a hundred yards. Behind them the manor house glowed warmly from within, scattering its protective light for a short distance beyond the circular drive. Ahead of them lay one of the plantation's docking points and the James River. Noise was muted here by the water's unhurried flow; occasionally something jumped or moved in the trees on their left, but mostly there was a lovely blanket of quiet, a serenity Jericho and Rae were loath to break.

  "I seem to remember a bench around here," Jericho said. "Care to be my guide?"

  Rae led him a little farther along the path's gentle slope, then veered nearer the grove of stately pines. The bench was sheltered by a canopy of pine boughs, and a break in the trees provided them with an unobstructed view of the river. It was easy to imagine they were watching nature's play through a window at the landing.

  Jericho sat beside Rae but leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his fists. "I didn't expect it would be this hard, Red. To tell you, I mean." His private name for her slipped out without his being aware of it. "I've explained everything to Robert and your brothers. Do you know, Troy has a fair head on his shoulders. It's no wonder you—"

  "That's long in the past and not what you want to talk about," she chided. "Or at least it's not what I want to talk about. What has been decided about the duke? Am I the only one to know? Is that why you brought me out here?" There was an end to her patience, and Rae had just reached it.

  "I brought you out here because I want to tell you things I've told none of the others, not your father, not your brothers. I want to explain to you why I am the one going to Linfield."

  Part of Rae's mind registered that Jericho was talking differently. The drawl was absent, and there was a certain clipped purpose to his words. But those changes only received a vague recognition, it was the content of his speech that made her hands ice in the rabbit fur muff.

  "No!" It was a cry of pain as well as denial. Words slipped from her mouth before she knew what she was saying. "I knew you loved her, of course, but I had thought... oh, I don't know what I thought!"

  Jericho had straightened, turning on Rae as she spoke, clearly incredulous. But she was not looking at him; her eyes were tightly closed in further refusal. He gave her shoulders a gentle shake and she pulled from him sharply. His hands dropped uselessly to his side. "What's this nonsense? Who is it I'm supposed to love?" His fingers snapped as he hit upon the gist of her thoughts. "Ashley." He said her name more loudly than he intended.

  "Yes."

  His voice dropped. "Is that what you really think?"

  "Yes."

  "I see. And if I said it was you I loved..."

  "If you said it I would be hard pressed to believe you."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because if you loved me, you would not go to Linfield."

  Jericho sighed. "I have often thought that love should not be bound by such conditions. Apparently, it is a matter on which we disagree."

  "Apparently," she mocked bitterly.

  "Then you are not interested in alternative explanations?"

  "No. I want to hear none of it."

  Jericho felt defeated. He had never thought Rae would misinterpret his going to Linfield as further proof that he loved Ashley. Perhaps there had been a time when she would have been justified in believing that, but no longer. She did not want to hear that it was she herself who had prompted his suggestion, that, and the fact that Jericho thought he was the only one among them with a chance of succeeding. Nothing less than those reasons could have made him volunteer for a journey to England that meant an ocean voyage. The thought of the trip that confronted him was sufficient to make his palms sweat, in spite of the cold.

  "Rae," he tried again. "If you would but listen to me you would understand that it is—-"
>
  "Do you imagine your reasons are important to me?" she scoffed. "Do you think it matters why you are choosing suicide when there is nothing I can do to prevent it? Is there? Is there something I can say that will keep you from going?"

  "No."

  "Then I trust you take my point."

  In Jericho's mind there was nothing he was in danger of losing that he had already not lost. "I'll damn well take more than that, Red!"

  Jericho gave Rae no chance of escaping. His arms blocked her on either side and then they closed around her, pulling her tight in a hard embrace that gave no quarter. Rae doubled her fists and pushed at his stomach, but the muff softened the blow and it had no effect other than to trap her arms between them. Her mouth opened to hurl a curse at him, but Jericho made certain no sound came out.

  His mouth was hard on hers, punishing. He ground the sensitive underside of her lips against teeth that had closed sharply against his invasion. He jerked her once in his arms, tugging at her hair to lift her face. When her lips parted again his tongue swept her mouth in a savage foreplay that frightened Rae with its brutal intensity. She bit his tongue, and when he pulled back sharply she drew a deep breath, prepared to rend the air with a scream that would be heard miles away in Williamsburg.

  Jericho was quicker. His head lowered and bit her lower lip.

  He hadn't done it hard, it was more of a nip really, and somehow tender, given the response he could have made. Rae went very still in his arms; then Jericho's mouth touched her lips again, a nibble, this time and the gentleness kept her quiet. His mouth moved over her still unresponsive lips, tasting and teasing, denying the fierce hunger that had driven him moments earlier, that was with him even now. He touched the corner of her mouth flicking it with his tongue, and he felt a small shudder pass through her. Encouraged, he kissed her cheeks, her closed lids. His mouth slipped along the line of her slender throat and nestled in the curve of her shoulder.