Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  "Just do as I say."

  Ellen took one look at the expression on his face, and she lifted her skirts and ran down the dock.

  The moment she was out of earshot, Gavin turned back to Richard. "Christ, Chambray, he caught your lung."

  Richard rested his hand on Gavin's shoulder for support. "Bloody lousy luck, hmm?"

  For a moment both men just looked at each other. Both were soldiers. Both knew what a lung puncture meant. It meant death. It mean slow internal bleeding, loss of breath, lung collapse, infection. A lung wound could mean a slow, lingering death or a swift one, but most certainly it meant death.

  "I want the truth, Chambray," Gavin finally said. "Is Ellen really in danger of Hunt?"

  "Grave." Richard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was growing weaker by the moment. "You have to get her out of here. Hide her until you can get her on a ship and then get her out of England."

  "So Hunt is somehow involved in this deep, dark secret of hers?"

  "It doesn't matter, does it?" Richard studied Gavin's reaction, then, seemingly satisfied, went on. "What matters is that you know and I know it's not likely I'll survive this wound. She has no other protector but you. I'm handing her over to you, Gavin." He squeezed his arm. "I'm trusting you to love her as I've loved her . . . to keep her safe, whether she ever tells you her secrets or not. Can you do that . . . friend?"

  Gavin looked away, for a moment following Ellen's movement as she walked up the gangplank of the Flying Esther. Roberts was coming across the lower deck to meet her. Her long shining hair had tumbled from beneath the hat she wore, flowing down her shoulders in a brilliant river of red. Her gait was one of urgency, but of confidence as well. "I love her, Chambray. I'll keep her safe from Hunt and any other man or beast who tries to harm her." He looked back at Richard. "I'll make her as happy as she's willing to let me."

  Richard nodded. "Good enough. No one could ask more of a man. Now, where do you intend to take her?"

  "Take her? We go together, Chambray—you, I, and Ellen."

  "Let's be logical here. It would be better if we separated. She'd be safer. I can manage myself."

  "You may be able to deceive her, but not me. I know a man who's barely conscious when I see one." He took his arm. "We go together."

  "She'd be safer—"

  "She thinks you're going to Maryland with her. If she's going to lose you to Hunt's sword, she deserves some time to get used to the idea. To say goodbye. You owe that much to her, Chambray."

  Richard watched a sea gull hover overhead for a moment. "You're right. If I am to die, I'd like to have her at my side my last few days. I just didn't want my selfishness to put her life in danger."

  Gavin spotted Ellen coming across the dock. Behind her, Roberts followed, leading a saddled chestnut. "I know a place where we'll be safe enough until Julius returns with the ship. He'll be back in two weeks time. By then, you may be better."

  "That, or six feet under."

  Gavin lifted an eyebrow. "At least tell me you caught him with your own sword."

  Richard grinned. "He looked like mincemeat. Nothing life-threatening, unfortunately, but I imagine he'll take a stitch or two."

  The two men were laughing together as Ellen reached them.

  "You were right." She smiled. "He found one. He found us a horse!"

  Gavin took the reins from the old salt. "My thanks."

  The man tossed Gavin his coin purse. "Keep your coin. I owed you one, anyway, boyo." Without another word, he turned and started back for his ship.

  "If anyone asks, you've not seen me, the lady, or the gentleman," Gavin called after him.

  The sailor threw a cynical grin over his shoulder. "Ain't seen a thing in years." He tipped his cap. "Good day to you, my lord. See ya in hell!"

  With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Gavin turned back to Richard. He cupped his hands, making a stirrup. "Up with you."

  With a groan, Richard managed to heave himself onto the back of the horse.

  Gavin handed him the reins. "You seated? I can tie you on if necessary."

  "I'm losing my patience with you, nursemaid I've been injured worse, remember?" He tried to smile as he wheezed to catch his breath. "Just get her up on that horse and let's get the rotting hell out of here."

  Gavin crossed the dock to the huge white horse that stood patiently. Ellen followed, carrying her small bag. He frowned as he caught sight of the crest embroidered into the blanket that fell from beneath both sides of the saddle. "This isn't Hunt's horse? Tell me this isn't Hunt's horse?"

  Richard reined up and came toward them. "Fine. That's not Hunt's prized French horse you're going to ride out of Londontown on. It's not the horse they say he won from King Louis in a throw of dice. Feel better?"

  Gavin couldn't resist a smile. Chambray was a good man. He knew that now. Even in the face of death, somehow Chambray managed to keep his sense of humor. If he died, Gavin knew he was going to miss him.

  Grasping the reins of the white horse, Gavin slung into the saddle. Then he reached down to pull Ellen up. "No matter what happens, you hang on, you understand?"

  She slipped her arms around his waist and wedged her bag between them. "I understand."

  He urged the horse forward. He knew a few back ways out of the city. Already, he was planning a route in his head. "You'd be better to leave the bag behind. We need to travel light."

  She clutched the soft satchel. "No. The bag goes."

  "Ellen—"

  Richard came up beside them. "Let it go, Waxton." His gaze met Gavin's. "She wants to take her bag."

  Gavin was surprised by the forceful tone in Chambray's voice. He nodded. "Well enough. Let's go."

  They rode off the wharfs and down a side street, hugging the Thames, a few streets off the water. Gavin led them down winding back alleys, through the slums of the city. They hugged the walls of the leaning frame houses and merchant's stores, sidestepping piles of stinking garbage and gullies of sewage. Occasionally, a woman or child stuck a head out the window to see two gentlemen and a lady riding through their back alley, but Gavin threw them a warning glance and they quickly ducked inside, slamming their shutters. He wanted no loose tongues telling Hunt's men which direction they'd gone.

  Just to cover his tracks, Gavin decided to take London Bridge out of the City. They would travel through Kent and then cross the Thames into Essex tomorrow. Even with stopping for the night, if they traveled swiftly, they'd reach Havering House before nightfall. If any tongues did wag, Hunt would be sent off into the Kent countryside in the wrong direction.

  As Gavin led them onto Fish Hill Road, Ellen leaned forward. "You know somewhere we can go? Somewhere Richard will be safe?"

  "We'll not be there until tomorrow, but he'll be safe enough." She laid her cheek against his broad back and tightened her arms around his waist. Gavin placed one of his hands on hers in a gentle caress. "I can't wait to get you alone," he said in a voice meant only for her ears. "I can't wait to take you in my arms and make love to you. I can't wait to take your nipples between my lips and—"

  She chuckled, squeezing him hard around the waist. "Enough, enough," she whispered. "The thoughts are mutual, but let's stick to the task at hand. There'll be plenty of time for that nonsense later."

  "A lifetime," he told her wistfully.

  "A lifetime," she echoed.

  Gavin glanced over his shoulder. "You still with us, Chambray?"

  "I'm with you. Keep riding."

  Their horses' hooves had just hit the wooden planks of the London Bridge, when the relative peacefulness of the morning was shattered by the sudden discharge of a musket ball.

  The glass window of a butcher's shop shattered and Hunt's horse reared.

  "Hunt's men!" Richard shouted from behind. "Go, Gavin!"

  "Richard!" Ellen screamed as Hunt's white steed leaped forward and barreled down the bridge. The wooden structure with its leaning buildings was packed with mid-morning traffic. She closed her ey
es in fright as the giant horse leaped over a crate of squawking chickens, the owner jumping free of the deadly hooves.

  "Damnation, that was close," Gavin muttered, urging the mount faster.

  Ellen tightened her arms around Gavin's waist to keep from being jarred off the mount as its hooves pounded on the wooden bridge, hell-bent on escape. The tall, cramped buildings that lined both sides of the bridge whirled by as more musket balls exploded in the air, whizzing too close to Ellen's head for comfort.

  Richard and Gavin now rode side by side. They dodged coaches and herds of goats, milk carts and peddler's wagons. Gavin sank his boot heel into the right flank of Hunt's horse and suddenly veered right, missing a funeral hearse by inches.

  Ellen stifled a scream as the toe of her slipper brushed the edge of the coffin. She could still hear the pounding of horses' hooves behind her as Hunt's men raced to catch them.

  "How are we going to get away?" she hollered over the pounding of the horses' hooves, the blast of musket balls, and the roar of the crowded street. "They're gaining on us!"

  "I've not come this far to lose you now," Gavin called back. "Just hang on!"

  They clattered over the bridge and Gavin veered again, this time straight for the water. Richard's horse pounded beside them.

  "Got any ideas?" Richard called, peering over his shoulder. "There's eight of them, three of us."

  Gavin reined the horse down a steep bank.

  "Halt in the name of His Grace, the Duke of Hunt," a man shouted from behind. "I said halt!" Another musket blast rang in the air.

  Ellen thought she should pray, but no words came to mind. Her fingers found her mother's gold crucifix beneath her smock. No prayer came to mind, but she suddenly felt comforted. She lowered her hand, tightening her hold on Gavin's waist. He was right. They'd come too far to lose each other now. He would find a way out of this. She knew he would.

  "Waxton! They're gaining on us!" Richard shouted.

  "Follow my lead!" Gavin shouted. He was panting now from the hard ride, his shirt growing damp with perspiration.

  Ellen could hear Hunt's men behind them. They were close enough to shoot and hit them now. She didn't want to die this way. Not with a musket ball in her back.

  Suddenly, they were down at the river, riding along the edge. The Thames was busy with sailing boats, rafts, and barges.

  Gavin turned abruptly onto a small dock, urging the horse forward. Ellen saw the water looming ahead of them as they flew at lightning speed. He was insane! They were going to ride right off the dock and into the water!

  Ellen heard herself scream as Hunt's massive horse leaped through the air and fell the distance of what seemed a hundred feet. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of the splash and the shock of the cold, filthy water. Instead, the horse hit something solid with a hard jolt. A second later, she heard Richard's horse beside them.

  At the sound of a man's exclamation, her eyes flew open. They had landed on a moving fishing barge and were already traveling away from the dock!

  She looked up to see Hunt's men pulling back hard on their mounts to keep from riding off the end of the dock. One man didn't rein in hard enough, and the horse and rider went skittering off the dock and into the water with a great splash.

  Gavin leaped down off Hunt's horse and pulled Ellen with him. "Stay low!" he ordered, shielding her from the men as they fired a last futile attempt.

  At the command of someone not visible, two boys with poles swung their arms in fluid, rapid motions, hastily steering the flat barge out into the middle of the river, where it could catch the swift-moving current.

  "I'll be bloody damned," Richard swore as he slid off his horse, holding on to the saddle for support. "I swear by the king's cod, I thought you were leading me straight into the stinking Thames!" He gave a laugh that strangled in his throat as he broke into a coughing fit.

  Ellen watched him bring a handkerchief to his mouth and saw the bloody cloth as he pulled it away. She made a sound in her throat and started for him, but Gavin caught her arm, shaking his head ever so slightly.

  Ellen forced herself to stand beside Gavin, waiting for Richard to gain his composure.

  Just then a tall man with a straggly beard came around Hunt's horse. "I wish you'd let me know you were dropping in, Merrick," he said good-naturedly, offering his hand. "I'd have had the woman make a lord's supper. I got nothing but rye bread and goat cheese aboard."

  Gavin chuckled. "I appreciate you being in the right place at the right time, Zach." He squeezed the man's filthy hand, not caring that it had dry scales stuck to it and reeked of fish.

  Zach glanced back at the shore, where Hunt's men were trying to pull the bellowing man out of the river. The horse had already begun to swim for shore. "Did I by chance hear right? Be them Duke's men?"

  Gavin caught Ellen's hand. "You don't want to know, Zach. Take my word for it."

  The man thought for a moment, then gave a nod. "Right you are." He grinned. "But seems they thought they was Duke's men." He gave a shrug. "But then what do I care?" He looked back at Gavin. "So where can I take you?"

  "Up the river, if you don't mind. We're headed well into Essex. Can you manage? If not, I'll not be insulted. You can well put us off a few miles up and we'll ride the rest of the way."

  "Pshaw! I ain't been up that way in months. I'll just stop by the house and put one of the boys off so he can let his mother know I'll not be warmin' her tick tonight. 'Sides, I seen the look on your friend's face. He's bad hurt. He don't belong ridin'."

  "I appreciate it. Name a price and it's yours."

  "Don't want none of your coin, my lord," Zach said, heading back toward the boys, who were still poling with all their might. "Seems to me, you done me a favor or two in the past. Just glad I can do the same for you."

  Ellen turned to Gavin and laid her hand on his chest, smoothing his damp wrinkled shirt. "You said Essex. What's in Essex?"

  "A place where you and Richard will be safe until Julius gets back with the Maid Marion."

  Ellen felt a sudden ominous shudder of fear. "What place?"

  Gavin draped his hand over her shoulder, looking out over the water. "My brother's old place, of course. It's not yet been sold. Havering House, he called it."

  Ellen took a deep shocking breath, afraid for a moment she might faint. Havering House, she thought. Not there, please heavenly Father, anywhere but there . . .

  Chapter Twenty

  The Duke of Hunt slumped into a silver chair in the opulent anteroom off his bedchamber and waved a hand impatiently. "Come, come, before I bleed to death, you little whoreson wretch!"

  A teenaged boy in tight red velvet breeches came hesitantly forward with his needle and thread and a pair of ivory-handled scissors on a tray. Jason served as one of Hunt's manservants when he was needed, but he was mainly just one of the young boys the duke kept within his household to fulfill his sexual perversions.

  There was a knock at the antechamber door and then it swung open. It was Hunt's secretary, a little man with an immense periwig, a hooked nose, and a dark secret . . . and an unmarked grave to prove it, which kept him the duke's servant for life. "You called for me, Your Grace?" Ludwig Robards whined.

  "I did," the duke snapped, half rising out of his chair. "What I wonder is why you tarried so long! When I call you, I expect you to come."

  "Your Grace, I was—"

  "I don't care if you were servicing the queen! I have need of you and you work for me!"

  Robards clutched his paper and quill to his chest, his hands shaking. "Sorry, Your Grace, so sorry. What would you have me do?" He took note of the duke's bloodied clothing but made no comment.

  "I want a warrant for the arrest of a Baron Richard Chambray. And I want it tonight."

  "T . . . tonight, sir?"

  "Did I stutter, you moronic ass? Yes, tonight!" Hunt glanced over his shoulder at the pretty boy, Jason, who was hovering behind him. "Come, come, boy, and sew this damnable wound on my ch
eek. I'm bleeding all over my new shirtwaist!"

  "Yes. Yes, Your Grace." Jason came to the duke's side and began to thread the needle with white silk.

  Hunt settled back in the silver chair. "Get me a refreshment, Robards, and a plate of pickled eels."

  "I thought you wanted me to get the arrest papers, Your Grace?"

  "I do want the damned warrant," Hunt exploded, "but first I want the drink!"

  Robards took a step back, his eyes flicking to the silver mirrors draped in black that lined the walls like pieces of artwork. They made a strange appearance against the silver and black stripes of the wallpapered wall. "I . . . I need to know the reason for the arrest, Your Grace. To . . . to get the papers. I take it you want this done legally."

  "I . . . I'm going to start, Your Grace." Jason leaned forward to take the first stitch.

  Hunt barely flinched. "The filthy bastard, Chambray, killed my man Little and wounded his brother. Look what he did to me!" He indicated the gash on his cheek. "I'll be scarred for life because of that arrogant, strutting bastard!" He gave a sly smile. "But I'll fix him, I'll warrant that. First, I'll cut off his balls and have them fried and served to him with supper. I'll get what information I need out of him in the Tower, and I'll see that his neck is stretched from here to Whitefriars. Then I'll have that malapert slut, Thomasina, he's been protecting all this time, won't I, Robards?"

  "Yes, yes, Your Grace."

  Jason took another stitch.

  Hunt licked his lips in thought. "A few days in my special little room down below, and she won't be so high and mighty with her airs, will she?"

  "I think not." Robards forced a smile. He had never seen the duke's special room, which was off-limits to the servants, nor did he care to. The screams he heard echoing from the depths of the dungeonlike cellar at night were enough for him.

  Jason took another stitch on the duke's cheek, then licked the corner of a white linen towel and wiped the blood that dripped down his master's face.

  Hunt smiled at the gesture. "How does it look, boy?"

  "G . . . good, good, Your Grace. There'll barely be a scar."

  Hunt slapped Jason on the buttocks with the palm of his hand. "Liar!"