To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players)

by C. J. Archer

  She sat down at the table, picked up the toga that needed mending, and tuned out the players’ voices as they went through their lines. It was easy to do, distracted as she was. And she wasn’t only distracted by her achievement. Her wits had been addled ever since supper the day before. Ever since Rafe had almost kissed her. Indeed, she was so distracted, she stabbed herself twice with the needle and sewed the toga to her own skirt.

  “You are a disaster today,” Antony said, pulling up a stool and sitting beside her.

  “I am?”

  He nodded and held up a bright marigold wig she’d forgotten to arrange. Antony was supposed to play a Roman empress that afternoon. She had so much to do before then.

  “I’ll fix it after I finish this,” she said, unstitching the toga from her skirt.

  Antony giggled. “Never mind, I can manage. You keep working on the toga. So, this strangeness of yours doesn’t have anything to do with that mysterious Rafe Fletcher, does it?”

  “No! Of course not. Rafe is simply a neighbor, nothing more.”

  “Not even the brother of the man you’re going to marry?”

  “That too, of course.”

  Dear James. She hadn’t thought much about him since his departure, something she must rectify now everything was returning to normal. What was he doing now? Wherever he was, she hoped he was warm and dry.

  “So if it’s not the devilish Rafe, you must be deliriously happy that Gripp is no longer a threat to us.”

  “He certainly isn’t a threat anymore,” said Roger Style, standing in the curtained exit leading out to the stage. “He’s dead.”

  “What?” came a chorus of voices from the tiring house.

  “Are you sure?” Edward asked.

  “Best bloody news I’ve heard all year,” Freddie said.

  “He can’t be,” Lizzy said. “I just saw him not long ago.”

  Style came slowly inside. His gaze settled on her, cautious and…nervous?

  Cold fingers of ice gripped her heart and squeezed. It beat once then stopped.

  “How did he die?” asked Antony slowly, his gaze sliding back and forth between them.

  “Murdered,” Roger said without taking his eyes off her.

  “It wasn’t me,” she whispered. They all looked at her.

  “The authorities don’t think so. They have a witness who says you did it.”

  “A witness! That’s impossible.”

  “You and that ruffian friend of yours. I hear they’re going to arrest you both.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Rafe! She had to tell Rafe. Had to warn him.

  Antony gasped. “You’ve got to get away!” He dragged her to her feet but she was already halfway up. “Now! Go!”

  She threw her sewing on the table, scattering pins. Some fell onto the rushes.

  “Leave them,” Henry said when she bent to pick them up. He shoved her toward the back door.

  “My parents!”

  “We’ll take care of them,” Edward said. “Now go!”

  She ran.

  “But who will get the props ready?” Roger wailed behind her. “We have a performance in less than three hours!”

  “We’ll do it,” someone yelled at him.

  She opened the door and barreled straight into Rafe. He held her and for one brief moment she leaned into those big, capable arms and nestled against his solid chest and felt safe. His heart beat ferociously against her cheek. They hadn’t arrested him.

  Thank God.

  “You’re here,” she said between gasps.

  “I wanted to check that my friend…What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her face. “Lizzy, what is it?”

  “Gripp’s dead and they think we did it. They have a witness!”

  He swore and glanced over his shoulder. “Then the constables will be here soon.”

  “We can tell them we’re innocent,” she said, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them back. Now was not the time for hysterics.

  “They won’t believe us.”

  He was right. With a witness claiming to have seen them, their case was hopeless. It wouldn’t matter if he was lying, there were many other witnesses at the Revels office who had indeed seen them speaking to Gripp that morning. No jury would think them innocent.

  Rafe gripped her hand and pulled her down the steps to the street. She stumbled on the bottom one and he caught her around the waist. “I’m so sorry, Lizzy,” he said, “but we need to be fast.” He closed her hand in his and tugged her after him. “This way.”

  They ran down a thin alley wedged between two crooked buildings. The deep shadows swallowed them as footsteps came closer. Rafe’s big arm flattened Lizzy against the wall and his body hid her from anyone passing. When the footsteps retreated, he took her hand again and ran. At the other end of the alley he paused, looked right and left, then turned right into another dark, narrow lane.

  “Where will we go?” she asked, running alongside him. He had shortened his strides so she could keep up, something for which she was grateful.

  He stopped abruptly near the alley’s exit and pulled her hard up against his body. She pressed herself into him, a solid wall of strength, and felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek. He folded his arms around her, holding her there, and she reached around his waist and clung on. He kissed the top of her head and she lifted her face to look up at him. Heat smoldered in his half-closed eyes as they focused on her mouth.

  Two men ran down the adjoining street and Rafe shifted, breaking contact. One of the pursuers pointed to the alley where Lizzy and Rafe hid in the shadows. Rafe tapped her on the shoulder and pointed back the way they’d come.

  They hadn’t gotten far when another two men blocked their exit. The original two advanced from behind.

  Trapped.

  “Stay here.” Rafe let go of her hand and she wrapped her arms around herself. He touched her cheek. “It’s all right. Don’t be afraid. There’s only four.”

  Only four!

  He stepped into the middle of the alley with his hands in the air. “Let her go,” he said. “She’s innocent. I’ll face the charges.”

  “Rafe!” she cried.

  “Our orders are to take both of you,” one of them said. “You’re outnumbered. Don’t put up a fight and it’ll all be over with no one getting hurt.”

  He was right. They had no choice. Rafe nodded and she closed her eyes and sank to the ground. It was all over. They would have to face a court and argue their innocence somehow. But at least they were still alive and unharmed.

  Hot tears slid down her cheeks. What would become of her parents? Who would look after them? And James? Poor James would return to London to find her in prison, or worse…hanged for a crime she didn’t commit. His brother too.

  “A good choice,” one of the constables said. “Come with—oomph.”

  Lizzy opened her eyes. One of the men clutched at his cheek and another charged at Rafe, fists swinging. Rafe ducked and the constable careened past, off balance. He landed facedown in the earth.

  The other two constables drew out swords, the whine of the metal against the leather-covered scabbard loud in the alley. A scream caught in Lizzy’s throat. She should look away but couldn’t. There was too much happening and Rafe might need her.

  He drew his rapier. “I don’t want to harm you,” he said to them. “You have a job to do, I understand that.”

  “Then put down your weapon,” the biggest man said.

  “Can’t do that unless you promise to let her go.”

  “Our orders are—”

  “I know what they are. I’m telling you to forget your orders and let her go. Tell your superiors she got away from you.” As he spoke he moved in a slow circle toward them, but instead of staying still, they circled too until they were near their other two injured companions. Rafe stopped. “Well?”

  “Our orders are to get both of you.”

  He shook his head. “Not employed for your brains, I see
.”

  The big man bared his teeth, or what few he had, and lumbered toward Rafe, the other constable right behind him. Rafe parried the first strike then the second. His blade diced and jabbed in a rapid dance, forcing his opponents back into the wall. It was nothing like the choreographed fight scenes on the stage. This scene was brutal and fierce, yet with an elegance all its own in the way Rafe wielded his weapon. He was clearly a master swordsman, the rapier an extension of his arm, as natural to him as his own fingers.

  He felled first one then the other constable, not fatally, only to have the first two recover and join in. Hats got crushed underfoot and the bigger of the constables was breathing hard and sweating like a fountain. Rafe didn’t look in the least tired and his pace quickened.

  “I’ll give you one more chance,” he said. “Take me, leave her, and I won’t hurt you.”

  “Can’t do that,” said one and lunged.

  Rafe stopped the man’s blade with his own and forced it down to the ground. It became a battle of strength, which Rafe appeared to be winning until a second constable then a third came at him.

  Lizzy screamed. Rafe turned, dragging his opponent with him by the front of his jerkin. He shoved him back into the two advancing constables. All three tumbled to the ground in a move that would have had the groundlings roaring with laughter if it had been performed onstage.

  In the fray, they’d almost forgotten the fourth man. Cradling one arm to his chest, he lurched to his feet behind Rafe and rushed with his sword.

  “Look out!” Lizzy shouted.

  Rafe turned and parried the blow. Nearby, the other constables stirred. Two of their swords had been sent skittering across the ground when they fell, and landed near her. She blinked at them. Could she? No, let Rafe take care of it. Violence was his life, not hers.

  One of the men groaned, stirred. He eyed her then the swords. When she didn’t move, he inched closer. Closer. If he got to one, there would be no hope. Rafe couldn’t fight them all at once. The man reached out.

  Lizzy snatched the swords up and sliced through the man’s shoulder then his companion’s as he too stirred. Their shouts of pain bounced off the walls and throbbed between her ears. Her gut heaved at the sight of the oozing blood, but she quickly recovered.

  She’d done it. Mousy Lizzy Croft had fought off two men.

  She felt quite wild with relief. And powerful. Is that how Rafe felt after fighting off attackers? Did a kind of thrill rush through him when he performed his mercenary’s duties?

  “Witch!” cried one of the constables, backing up into Rafe. His wide, terrified eyes didn’t leave hers. “No mere wench could wield a sword like that.”

  Rafe disposed of his opponent with a swift kick to the stomach then dealt with the young constable, who appeared more terrified of her than him.

  “You need to meet more women,” Rafe told him and punched him in the nose. The man crumpled to the ground and didn’t get up.

  None of the others advanced. They were all unarmed, breathing hard, and injured. Rafe grabbed Lizzy’s forearm because she still held the swords in her hands, and together they ran out of the alley.

  They wended their way through Southwark’s streets and discarded the extra swords behind a stack of empty barrels near an inn. They ran on, not stopping until they reached the busy thoroughfare of Borough High Street. It was easy to blend into the passing traffic, but Rafe kept Lizzy tucked into his side. She didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  They passed the Tabard Inn’s arched entrance and stopped at the door of a tiny two-story house with a distinct lean to the left. If it wasn’t for the leather worker’s shop propping it up, it would probably fall down. The walls were a patchwork of wooden beams and the occasional brick with the spaces in between filled by daub. He removed a loose brick near the bottom and removed a key from the cavity. He unlocked the door and hustled Lizzy into a large but mostly empty room then closed the door behind him.

  She sagged against the wall and gulped in air, relief and fear making her legs weak and her body tremble. And there was still that strange thrilling sensation too. She had wielded a sword to save herself. How many women could claim to have done that?

  “Wait here,” he said and disappeared up the stairs. The boards creaked overhead and dust drifted down onto her bare head. She’d lost her cap some time ago and her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a tangled mess.

  She’d almost caught her breath by the time he returned, and her blood had ceased pumping through her veins. Where before she’d felt light and alive, now her limbs weighed her down.

  They were being hunted for murder. The authorities thought she and Rafe had killed Gripp. There was no escaping.

  “We’re alone,” he said.

  Alone. With Rafe. And she couldn’t go home.

  She sank to the floor, put her head on her knees, and burst into tears.

  Rafe wanted to do something. He should hold her or say something reassuring or perhaps tell a joke. He did none of those things. They probably wouldn’t be welcome and he could only think of crude jokes anyway. Being holed up in one of Hughe’s properties after a fight brought them all to mind again.

  He drew in a long, measured breath because his heart was still racing even though his body had stopped. It ached too, ached like the devil. That was new. It might have something to do with the scared, miserable woman sitting on the dusty floor. Her fear was palpable. He could feel it like an echo deep within him. Worse than that, there was nothing he could do to comfort her. She wouldn’t welcome his efforts—she’d made that clear in their short reacquaintance.

  So he sat next to her, close but not touching, and rested the back of his head against the wall. Hopefully it would be enough.

  Her sobbing eased immediately and after a few more moments she stopped crying altogether.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “I’m all right now.”

  “There’s no need to apologize.”

  She peered at him from behind a curtain of wavy hair the color of sun-bleached straw. There was so much of it. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? “I don’t ordinarily crumble like that, no matter what you might think,” she said.

  “I don’t think anything.” Except that she was pretty even when she’d been crying.

  She gave him a wobbly smile. It was the most real one she’d given him yet. “Thank you, Rafe. For everything. If you hadn’t been there those constables would have arrested me.”

  “And me. I was trying to save my own neck too.”

  “I was on my way to warn you.”

  He stared at her. “You were?” So she did give him more than a passing thought. Well. Of course she would. She was the kindest soul he’d ever met. She wouldn’t think twice about putting her life in danger to save another’s, even if it was the life of someone she hardly knew and didn’t particularly like. “Thank you, Lizzy.”

  Her smile dimmed and she looked down at her shoes. It was difficult to tell if her face was red from embarrassment or crying. It would seem her brief moment of trusting him, of not being afraid, was over.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  “Now we stay here until either the real murderer is found, or until we come up with a better plan.”

  “That’s it?” She bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant for the retort to slip out.

  He laughed and God, it felt good. He needed to laugh. The day hadn’t been a bad one compared to how they usually went when he was working for Hughe, but it felt far more draining. He was relieved to get Lizzy far away from those constables. Innocents like her shouldn’t be embroiled in filthy business like murder. Whoever was behind it would feel the sharp end of Rafe’s blade through his gut when he found him.

  “I haven’t had time to think of anything else yet,” he said. “Maybe after I eat.” He got to his feet and held out his hand.

  She hesitated then took it. Her fingers were so small in his, so fine and delicate despite the callus on the middle one
from using a needle for so many years.

  “Is there food?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. She made her way through the hall to the kitchen. It was small, smaller than the one at his house, and contained only one stool, a table, and a few cooking utensils hanging from hooks. A tinderbox beside the fireplace at least had flint stones and dry tinder. They checked the adjoining storeroom but it was empty except for a grain sack with its contents oozing from a hole.

  “Rats,” he said.

  She screwed up her nose and retreated to the kitchen. He left her lighting the fire and went to inspect the outbuildings. They looked like they hadn’t been used in years. The door to what had once been a brewery came off in his hand. He propped it back up and picked some logs off a log pile then rejoined Lizzy in the kitchen. He placed one of the logs on top of the lit kindling in the fireplace. It popped and hissed then caught.

  “Is there water?” she asked.

  “No. I’ll fetch some.”

  “You can’t go out now! The street will be crawling with constables looking for us.”

  He smiled. He couldn’t help it. Having someone worry about him was a new experience and he liked it. “After dark then. Don’t worry, I’ll provide for us.”

  She opened her mouth, took a breath, and for a moment he thought she would ask him some questions about how he would provide for them or about the house, but she said nothing and turned back to the fire.

  “This place belongs to Hughe,” he said.

  “Lord Oxley?” Why did her face light up at the mention of his name? “Did he tell you where to find the key?”

  “Yes.”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and inspected a pan. “Why doesn’t he put tenants in it?”

  Like the other properties Hughe owned, the house was used by his men during assignments. It provided shelter and anonymity but wasn’t set up for lengthy stays. Rafe could tell her none of that. It was against Hughe’s rules. It would also lead to many more questions, ones he couldn’t answer without making her even more afraid of him. She was skittish enough knowing he’d been a mercenary, she’d be even worse if she knew he’d been an assassin. Recently.