Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  She frowned at his cryptic comment, then smiled, putting out her hand. "The letter. Let me see what you packed."

  He handed her the small bag. "Just the things off your dressing table—face paint, hairbrushes, mirror."

  "You're certain the mirror is here?"

  His eyes narrowed. "I could dispose of the letter for you. I need not read it. It would be better if I didn't."

  She snapped the clasp in the small bag and started for the door. "Some, problems have to remain my own." She smiled up at him. "Didn't you say we had to hurry?"

  As Richard stepped out the front door of the building with Ellen behind him, two burly men appeared out of nowhere. Ellen heard Richard swear in French.

  "Where you hurryin' off to with your bags and your woman, hmmm?"

  Richard dropped the bag and sidestepped, to shield Ellen from the two men. Ellen instinctively knew these were Hunt's men, most likely the two who had injured Richard so badly a few months ago.

  "Step aside and let us be on our way."

  "Not just yet. We got someone who wants to talk to you." The man nodded in the direction of the alley that ran between the apartment building and a cookshop. "Don't imagine it'll take but a minute." He grinned, baring blackened rotting teeth.

  "I said step aside, else—"

  "Else what?" The man flashed a pistol under his cloak.

  Richard glanced up and down the street. It wasn't busy, but still there were pedestrians and an occasional coach or horse going by. It was broad daylight and there were twenty witnesses within sight. "You're not going to shoot me on the street, now, with all these people going by."

  "You're right, we're not," said the other man as he made a quick movement forward, lifting his own pistol from beneath his cloak. "We're gonna shoot her."

  Ellen grabbed for Richard's arm, suddenly numb. She had almost made it, hadn't she? She'd almost escaped from Hunt forever. Goodbye, Gavin, her heart murmured. I love you. Please know I always loved you.

  "Now, come on with you. The duke, he ain't got all day." The first man waved his pistol, still keeping it partially concealed beneath his raw wool cloak.

  Richard casually lowered his hand to his sword. "We're not going into that alley with you."

  Ellen glanced over her shoulder down the alley. She couldn't see Hunt, but as sure as she lived, she knew he was there, watching her. Waiting.

  "I'm telling you, we're gonna shoot the slut. Shoot you both."

  Ellen could feel every muscle in Richard's body tighten. "So shoot us. Have it done with."

  Scratching his head, the second man looked toward the alley. "They say shoot 'em. They ain't comin', Your Grace. Now what do we do?"

  Ellen heard a string of foul curses from the alley. Then suddenly, Hunt came bursting out astride a white horse. "I'll have your livers for this!" he shouted, reining in a few feet from them all. His pink rodent eyes narrowed as he stared down at Richard and Ellen. "I want the letter, Thomasina. Give it to me without fuss, and I might well spare your life."

  She laughed as she took a step forward, pushing Richard's hand aside when he tried to hold her back. What does it matter now, she thought. I'm going to lose Gavin. He's going to sail never knowing I had tried to come to him. So she would lose the man she loved for this white bastard. At least she would stand up to him. She hadn't stood up to him or to Waldron all those years, but she'd do it now. With Gavin gone and her life and Richard's most likely forfeited, wasn't her pride the only thing she had left?

  "I don't know what letter you speak of." She gave him a coy smile.

  "Do not play the innocent with me. Your husband told me you had the list just before his unfortunate expiration."

  She lifted her hands to her hips. "If I give you the paper, you'll kill me."

  "I cannot kill you here, little Thomasina. Not on a street corner with citizens in view."

  "Mayhap not. Mayhap you would leave me be . . . for a time. But if I give you the paper, you will kill me. If I don't give it to you . . . if you don't know where it is, then you won't know whose hands it will fall into if I die. Rather risky, I would think."

  "You little strumpet!" Hunt sank his heels into his mount and the horse leaped forward.

  Richard grabbed Ellen, dragging her out of the path of the horse's hooves. At the same moment, both of Hunt's men leaped to protect their employer.

  Richard shoved her hard. "Run!" he commanded as he drew his sword to face his attackers.

  Ellen stumbled, but she didn't fall.

  "The woman!" Hunt shouted, trying to rein in his spooked horse. "I don't care about him! Get the slut! Don't let her get away!"

  One of the men dodged right after Ellen, wielding his pistol, while the other barreled toward Richard. Richard spun on his heels and lashed out at the man who pursued Ellen. He heard a boom of gunfire, followed by the sound of a musket ball whizzing through the air past his head.

  The man running after Ellen turned his pistol on Richard, who lunged forward in a riposte. The tip of the sword touched the attacker's chest and then Richard sank it home. The man crumbled, his pistol falling uselessly, his eyes glazing over before he hit the street.

  "Behind you!" Ellen warned with a shriek.

  Richard swung around, beating back his cloak to free his movement. The other man was coming at him with a clublike stick. Richard parried with grace as the man swung the huge weapon again and again. Then with a quick twist of his wrist, he sliced his attacker's arm and, in the confusion of the man's pain, managed to sink his sword into the soft flesh of his stomach.

  Ellen stood frozen in terror as she watched Richard swing around just in time to face Hunt, who had drawn his own sword but remained on horseback. "Run, Ellen!" Richard shouted, sweat running from his temples. "You know where to go! There's still time!"

  "No, Richard, not without you!"

  "How very touching," Hunt sneered as he and Richard parried, neither yet making a serious botte. "Come, come, Chambray, kill me. Kill me and the harlot is yours." The swords sliced the air, clinking again and again. "But I kill you and she's mine, isn't she?"

  "Coward!" Ellen shouted. "You're a coward, Hunt, to fight a man on foot by horseback."

  "Ellen, be quiet," Richard snapped.

  "But then you were always a coward, weren't you?" Ellen dared from the top step of the apartment building.

  Hunt turned his face toward her in reaction. At the same moment Richard struck his sword in a broad arc, catching Hunt's cheek with the tip of the blade.

  The duke screamed out in pain, his hand flying to his cheek to touch the bloody wound. "You'll die for that, Chambray!" he cried as he wheeled his horse around in fury.

  The swords struck again and again, Ellen wincing each time the metal clanged. By this time a crowd had gathered in a circle around the men. Women lifted their children up on their shoulders to see the duke fight the gentleman, and several men barked out wagers.

  Tears streamed down Ellen's face as she wrung her hands in utter helplessness. She knew there was nothing she could do to help Richard save not break his concentration. But just the same, it made her feel no better.

  The clanging of the swords went on and on, until Ellen thought she would go mad from the sound. First Richard seemed to gain the upper hand, making Hunt sway in his saddle, then Richard began to back up, taking the defensive.

  All at once Richard made a sudden swift, calculated move, and before Hunt knew what had happened, he had been unseated. He fell from his steed and hit the ground in a roll, his sword still clutched in his hand. But by the time Hunt was on his feet, Richard was bearing down on him. For a moment it seemed as if Richard had the upper hand. The duke was now bleeding from several nicks in his arms and chest, his powder-blue fringed coat splashed with crimson.

  The crowd that had formed around the men was becoming larger and more oppressive. As the tradesmen and hawkers pushed forward to get a better look, the circle around Richard and Hunt grew smaller.

  Even from the st
eps, Ellen could now barely see above the heads of the men and women who gathered around. Her view obstructed, she didn't see where the child came from, but suddenly a dirty-faced boy appeared on the ground between Richard and Hunt. A woman screamed.

  "My baby! Sweet Mary! My babe! Help him!"

  Without thinking, Ellen bolted down the steps, shoving her way through the crowd. She had just pushed through to the inner circle, when she saw Richard reach out with his free hand and drag the child out of harm's way.

  Then Hunt made his move. There was a silly smile on his face as he took a step forward, sinking his thin blade straight into Richard's chest.

  Ellen stifled a scream. Richard's face paled. He stumbled, pushing the child into the crowd.

  "Richard!" Ellen screamed.

  Just as Hunt took another step forward to make perhaps his final repartee, Richard raised his sword and sliced open the duke's thigh in a bloody gash.

  Hunt fell forward, going down on one knee.

  "The horse!" Richard shouted. "Get the horse, Ellen."

  Ellen grabbed the reins of the white steed, which patiently waited for its master, and led him toward Richard, all the while watching Hunt, who now lay on his side, dazed.

  Richard grabbed the reins from Ellen's hands and lifted her onto the back of the nervous mount. Then he grabbed the smaller of her two bags, tossed it up to her, and leapt up on the saddle behind her.

  "You'll die! You'll die for this!" Hunt shouted as the horse broke through the crowd. "I'll have your neck stretched for this, Chambray!"

  Ellen glanced over her shoulder as they made their escape, to see Hunt getting to his feet, shaking his fist in blind rage.

  "You should have killed him," Ellen murmured, tightening her arms around Richard's waist. "You should have killed him!"

  "Then it would have been my head," he threw over his shoulder.

  Feeling something wet, Ellen pulled back her hand. Her palm was a deep ruddy red. "Richard, you're bleeding."

  "A flesh wound," he assured her, turning hard to cut through an alley. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. We have to get you to the wharf before Gavin sets sail."

  She laid her cheek against his coat, holding him tightly. "You'll have to go with us now, Richard. If you stay in England, Hunt will track you down. He'll have you arrested for certain. You've got no choice but to go to America."

  He took a shuddering breath. "We'll see, Ellen."

  Before Ellen knew it, she could smell the heady scent of the wharfs, with their wet wood, raw sewage, and open tobacco crates. She could hear the sounds of sailors shouting orders, sails whipping in the wind, and wood creaking.

  "Where was he docked?" Richard demanded, running the duke's horse full speed down the wide dock, dodging horses and wagons and pedestrians.

  "I don't know!" She strained to look over his shoulder. "Down this way. It's the Maid Marion. The figurehead is a mermaid . . . red hair."

  "Of course." Richard couldn't resist the caustic remark. But when he spoke again, the sarcasm was gone from his voice. "I don't see it, Ellen. Are you certain this is the right wharf?"

  "I'm positive!" She craned her neck. "What time is it, Richard? Oh, God, have we missed him?"

  Reaching the end of the wharf, he pulled up on the horse and reached for his pocket watch. "Ten-ten, Ellen."

  A sob escaped her throat. "No, no, he can't be gone, Richard. He didn't leave without me."

  Richard slid down off the horse, resting his head against its haunches for only a moment before he reached for Ellen. She rested her hands on his broad shoulders as he lowered her feet to the dock.

  "He can't be gone," she whispered.

  Richard brushed back a wisp of his hair. His face had broken out into a sweat. The patch of blood on his coat was growing larger, turning to an even deeper shade of red. "Let's ask someone," he said, looping his arm through Ellen's.

  "There! You boy!" he called to the first person he saw within speaking distance.

  The young boy in sailcloth breeches and a striped tick shirt turned. "Me, sir?"

  "Yes, you." Richard took a deep breath before speaking again. "The Maid Marion, do you know her?"

  "Lord Waxton's ship, you mean, sir? Yes, I know her. Fine ship, she is."

  Ellen took a step forward, opening her arms to implore. "Have you seen her?"

  "Seen her? Yes, ma'am." He turned toward the water, pointing. "Why, there she sails now. Out of the harbor. Headed for France and then the Americas, I hear."

  Ellen forced herself to follow the boy's line of vision. Sure enough, there was a two-masted sailing ship, her lower staysails rippling in the breeze as she sailed down the Thames. Across the stern in gilded gold letters the words Maid Marion could still be seen. . . .

  Chapter Nineteen

  "I'm sorry, Ellen," Richard whispered, draping his arm over her shoulder as he watched the ship slowly disappear around a curve in the Thames. His voice was hoarse. "I'm so sorry."

  "He's gone," Ellen exhaled. "He's gone without me."

  Richard grasped her arm, forcing her to look him in the eye. "I'll get you on another ship, Ellen, I vow I will. The boy says he's headed for France. Surely you could catch him there." He pushed a stray lock of bright red hair away from her mouth. "If you want to go, I'll get you to the Colonies if I have to carry you on my back."

  Fighting her tears, she reached up to stroke Richard's cheek. For the first time she noticed his skin was so pale it appeared translucent. His eyes had a strange light in them. "He didn't wait for me. There's no need for me to go now."

  "Ods fish, sweetheart! You told him you weren't coming," he said gently. "Give the man another chance."

  "Yes, give the man another chance. . . ." Gavin echoed. He watched Ellen, his sweet Ellen, lift her gaze over Richard's shoulder until it met his. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "Gavin?"

  He stood there on the wharf an arm's length from her, wanting to run toward her but feeling like a fool. What if he had misunderstood? What if she really hadn't come to join him? He held open his arms for her. It was time to take a chance. "I couldn't go without you, Ellen," he said, trying to control the emotion in his voice. "I couldn't do it."

  Dazed, she took a step toward him and then stopped. Richard took a step back. "But your ship. I saw it sail," she said as if she were speaking to an apparition.

  "Julius went on to France without me." He still held out his hands, afraid that if he lowered them without her tucked in them, he would perish. "He sent me back to get you. Said I was to kidnap you if I had to." He gave a wry grin. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to."

  She smiled a bittersweet smile. "Gavin . . ."

  He didn't know how she got there. Did he run toward her, did she run toward him, or did they meet halfway? But suddenly she was in his arms. Suddenly, he was pulling her hard against his chest, enveloping her soft curves and feminine scent in his greedy arms.

  "Ellen, Ellen." He squeezed his eyes shut. Men didn't cry. "I was afraid I'd lost you. I was afraid you didn't love me as I loved you." He took a breath. "Then I realized I didn't care. If you love me just a little, it's enough."

  "I love you," she murmured against the soft cotton of his shirt. "I do love you more than I can express. I think that's why this has been so hard for me." She rubbed her cheek against the rough linen of his shirt. "I didn't want to love you, but I do. Too much to let you go."

  He grasped her by her forearms and pulled back so that he could stare into her dark brown eyes. "You'll go with me to the Colonies, then?"

  She nodded. "To the ends of the earth." She dropped her gaze, but then lifted it again. "But there's one thing. Richard, too. He has to come."

  Gavin hugged her against him again in disbelief. She had come to the wharf! She had wanted him! "Of course, of course." He glanced down at her face, wiping away the tears with the tip of his forefinger. "I could use a good man like Chambray on the land. It's a great deal of business for one man to handle alone. And even if he's not will
ing to work with me, he'll always be welcome in my home." He leaned to whisper in her ear. "Just not in your bed."

  Ellen smiled, but then her face suddenly paled. "Oh, God, Gavin. Hunt."

  He frowned. "Hunt?"

  "The Duke of Hunt. He and Richard had a terrible fight. Swords. Richard says he's not hurt, but I think he is." She took a breath. "We have to get Richard out of London quickly."

  Gavin slipped her hand into his and called to Richard, who stood discreetly a few feet away. "You're in trouble, Chambray?"

  Richard moved sluggishly toward them. Gavin took note of his gait. As Chambray's cloak swayed in the breeze, he caught sight of the blood on his chest. "Damned fine trouble this time, I think," Richard said, grimacing with each step.

  "Hunt? What the hell are you doing tangling with Hunt?" He released Ellen, going to Chambray and pulling back his cloak to see the wound. He exhaled slowly at the sight of the deep red blood that stained his pristine shirt. "Your lung," he murmured so that Ellen couldn't hear.

  "Yes. I fear so," was all Richard could manage.

  "Not now," Ellen called from behind, not hearing the exchange between the two men. "We haven't got time for talk. We've got to get Richard out of London. Surely Hunt has his men looking for him by now."

  Richard grasped Gavin's shirt. "Just take her and go. I don't want you mixed up in this. I just want her to be safe." His gaze settled on Gavin's face. "You don't want her in Hunt's hands. She'd be better off dead."

  Gavin stared at Richard for a moment. He didn't like this, not one damned bit. Chambray was insinuating that Hunt had something to do with Ellen, and the thought made him furious. "All right," he finally conceded, looking over his shoulder at Ellen. "Later, you can give me the particulars on just what the hell is going on here." He glanced back at Richard's face. He was growing paler by the moment. "Ellen, take this." He tossed her a coin purse he wore tied on his breeches. "Go to that ship, the Flying Esther. See a man called Roberts and tell him I need a good saddled horse within the next five minutes."

  She caught the purse in midair. "Five minutes. How can anyone get you a—?"