The Black Rose

by Christina Skye

  Tess felt her face flood crimson. "It is your right, of course, but you'll only be wasting your time. You'll find no smugglers here at the Angel, Inspector."

  That at least was true, Tess thought. Hawkins would never find his man. Not if Tess could help it!

  Nettled by her composure, the squat officer bent closer. His stubby fingers lifted a strand of auburn hair from her shoulder and twisted it sharply, dragging her head forward until it was only inches from his face. "Won't I?" His rank breath played across her cheeks and Tess had to force herself not to flinch. "In that case ye won't mind us searching, will ye? Everywhere," he added, his eyes probing her bodice. "Starting with yer rooms."

  Tess jerked away, clenching her hands to keep from slapping Hawkins's leering face. The thought of his men going through her clothes and personal belongings infuriated her, but it would not do to fuel this man's suspicions. Hawkins was within his rights as His Majesty's Customs Inspector and well he knew it.

  Tess only hoped Letty had remembered to dispose of her dirty shirt and breeches.

  "Mundy!"

  The door jerked open. Hawkins nodded curtly to the thin man outside. "Check every room, Mundy. Beginning with Miss Leighton's," he growled. "Strip the bed, dump the drawers, and empty the shelves! I want nothing missed, d' ye hear?"

  Angry green sparks darted from Tess's eyes. She spun about to face Hawkins and for a moment found herself too angry to speak. Her chest was heaving, and the squat inspector seemed to take special pleasure in the sight.

  "Such crudeness cannot be necessary," she snapped through clenched teeth.

  "Having second thoughts, Miss Leighton? I can always call my man back. Then we can go somewhere to discuss this, somewhere more — private."

  "I've nothing to say to you, Inspector. Neither in public nor in private!"

  Hawkins's thick face turned a particularly ugly shade of crimson. Cursing, he caught Tess's elbow and jerked her close.

  "Still chasing foxes, Hawkins?" From the doorway came a new voice, hard edged and laced with mockery.

  Tess stiffened. Instantly she felt a stab of electric awareness flash down her neck and spine. Slowly she turned, to find lazy lapis eyes measuring her flushed face.

  Her heart pounded wildly. She fought to conceal her surprise, to betray no more than irritation.

  "Miss Leighton." The mocking lapis eyes studied her, cool and unreadable.

  "Lord Ravenhurst," Tess answered coldly. Her chin rose as she pulled free of Hawkins and moved back to straighten her skirts.

  The man before her smiled grimly. "We met five years ago, Inspector, did you know that? I was a callow lieutenant then. But the lady prefers not to recall the event. Ah, that such beauty could be so fickle," he added mockingly. "I am devastated, Miss Leighton."

  Tess stiffened her shoulders, returning his look with disdain. "But then five years is such a long time, my lord. A great deal may change in such a period of time. Battles won. Hearts lost — and regained."

  As she spoke, Tess tried to keep her eyes from his powerful, tense body. He still had the finest pair of shoulders she had ever seen, Tess thought unwillingly. And the most compelling eyes. Midnight eyes, which just now smoked with sapphire flames.

  Schooling her features to aloofness, Tess glared back at this man whom she had once loved with every fiber of her being. The man who had destroyed her every hope of happiness.

  Their eyes locked. In cold silence they scrutinized each other, two ruthless enemies assessing their opponent's strengths.

  And weaknesses.

  Slowly Tess's lips curved into a faint, insolent smile. In that instant she was glad she was dead inside, glad that she could never again feel such pain as this man had inflicted when he left.

  "I don't give a damn whether ye've met or not!" Hawkins snarled, angry at being forgotten during this tense interchange. "And what I say to Miss Leighton is no bloody business of yers, Ravenhurst!"

  "On the contrary, Inspector, it is very much my business. As a guest at the Angel, I find I don't care to have my possessions mauled about."

  "Ye wouldn't be tryin' to tell me my business, would ye?" Hawkins sneered. "Ye're not on your quarterdeck now, and this ain't the Mediterranean. I wouldn't care if ye was a bloody duke — 'tis my town ye're in, an' ye better not forget it!"

  Unruffled, Dane raised the toe of his riding boot and studied it lazily. "I didn't realize Rye was yours to control, Hawkins. Things must have changed here in the last five years, far more than I realized," he drawled insolently.

  "Aye, I'm the law here now! Just this night I uncovered a band of smugglers on Camber Sands. Nearly caught the bloody vermin, I did, but they piked off afore my men could round 'em up. One's wounded, though, and he'll not be hard to track. Came to me as how such a man might seek shelter at the Angel."

  "You'll find no traitors here!" Tess blazed.

  Cool lapis eyes swept across her face for a moment before settling on Hawkins. "What sort of man doubts a lady's word, Inspector?" the viscount drawled lazily. "Surely your men need look no further tonight."

  "I did not request your assistance," Tess interrupted stiffly. Nor would she ever. For this was a different Dane St. Pierre from the one she had known five years ago. This man was hard-edged and cynical, with vengeance on his mind. A callous stranger.

  She would show him soon enough that he had no place here — in either her life or her heart!

  Ravenhurst strode closer and sketched Tess a mocking bow. "Surely you have not forgotten our meeting this morning in the kitchen." As he spoke, he extended his hand, then stood unmoving before her.

  Aware of Hawkins's narrowed eyes, Tess reluctantly offered her fingers, which were immediately enveloped in a hard grip. Damn and blast! Why did her heart lurch so wildly at his touch?

  Around her the room blurred and the years seemed to slip away. Forget him, she told herself. Forget him before it is too late.

  Suddenly Hawkins snorted angrily. "Ye mean ye haven't heard of Viscount Ravenhurst, the hero of Trafalgar? Second only to Nelson in valor at sea?" he sneered. "Come to save us all from Boney, no doubt."

  "A hero, indeed," Tess said coolly, ignoring Hawkins. "You hardly find us at our best just now, my lord." The fingers around her hand tightened, suddenly hurtful.

  "Oh, I'm satisfied with what I've seen so far, Miss Leighton," Ravenhurst drawled. With studied arrogance, he bent down to brush his lips across her palm. "Of course, I mean to see a great deal more before I'm done," he whispered darkly, just beneath the range of Hawkins's hearing. "Of the Angel and of its lovely owner."

  To her dismay Tess felt her pulse leap. She tried to pull her hand away, but his fingers only tightened.

  The viscount smiled faintly, watching color stain her cheeks. Only then did he release her hand.

  Damn the pair of them! Tess thought.

  Gray-green eyes flashing, she spun about to face Hawkins, who was frowning over this interchange. "The Angel is nearly full, Inspector! You cannot mean to roust my guests with this mad plan of yours. As if one of them might be harboring the Fox beneath his bed!"

  "So ye think it's a joke, do ye? Well ye'll stop laughin' soon enough when ye see the bastard dancin' from the end of a rope!" Hawkins snarled.

  "And I'll tell you once more, we harbor no traitors at the Angel!"

  "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Leighton. Very glad, indeed. For I mean to make certain of just that." Hawkins's small eyes were cold with triumph. "And to do that, everything must be inspected. There's a reward of five hundred pounds on the bastard's head, remember?"

  Yes, for five hundred pounds a man might stoop to any evil, Tess thought. She would have to be very careful.

  "I certainly shall, Inspector, though the money is little like to benefit me." How true that, Tess thought.

  "As for yerself," Hawkins snapped, scowling at the big man who leaned lazily against the door frame, "I'd advise ye to stay out of this, else I take it into my head ye're tryin' to impede the performance of m
y duty."

  "So now you talk of duty, do you?" Dane's lazy demeanor suddenly vanished, replaced by stiff fury. "Just remember, then, that this area falls under my jurisdiction as commissioner of the Royal Military Canal. If the performance of what you call your duty brings you into conflict with my supervision of the canal —"

  "Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Tess interrupted, desperate to have the matter finished so that she could find her bed. Her vision was hazy and she was on the verge of collapse. "I'm certain no one has the slightest intention of impeding justice, Inspector Hawkins."

  Hold on, she told herself, Just a few more minutes. Can't risk bungling everything now! Too much to lose — for yourself and for Jack, who's been the best friend you've ever known.

  Her skirts swirling, Tess turned to the desk and took a large ring of keys from a drawer. Her eyes were cold as she held the ring out to Hawkins. "Since you are insistent on this ridiculous scheme, Inspector, I shall make it easy for you. Here are my keys. You are welcome to search all you like. Hobhouse will, of course, assist you as you require. Now if you will excuse me, I shall leave you."

  Her head held high, Tess swept gracefully from the room, feeling the two men's eyes burn into her back. Almost done, she told herself as she crossed the corridor and blindly sought the support of the banister.

  Before her the dark staircase seemed to stretch interminably. Her vision blurred. As if in a dream she began to climb, each step harder than the last. Then finally she was at her own door, her fingers straining for the latch.

  She stumbled over the threshold, tugging the door shut behind her.

  Darkness — must light a candle!

  Can't. Too late. Always too late.

  There, very slowly, Tess slumped onto the cold floor.

  Chapter Nine

  A great bar of lightning slashed the clouds out over the Channel. The wind rose, shrieking and rattling the windows. Without warning, the cold sky opened, loosing rain in torrential sheets.

  Like a shadow, the black shape bent into the wind and moved unerringly toward the roof. His hand moved at the window for an instant, and then the casement opened. In silence he slipped over the sill, the curtains dancing about him wildly.

  His cold eyes narrowed as he probed the darkness. What had happened to the bloody candle? A muscle flashed at his jaw as he moved along the wall, searching his way across the room. In the darkness he bumped into a table, knocking a metal candlestick to the floor.

  Lord Ravenhurst cursed harshly beneath his breath, and then his foot touched something.

  Something soft.

  Just then a bolt of lightning lit the room. Black-clad, he stood frozen in the phosphorous flare, unable to believe the sight before him. Even when darkness closed around him once more he still did not move, did not breathe even, unable to forget the vision of Tess's pale cheeks framed in a wild tangle of glorious auburn hair. Only inches away from his boot, one white hand curled around a flower on the rug, almost as if to pluck its teal petals.

  Beautiful and silent she lay, just inside the threshold, her hair an auburn stain upon the carpet. She might almost have been dead, except for the faint rise and fall of her chest.

  At his sides, Dane's calloused, rope-burned hands opened and closed convulsively.

  Soleil ... my sun.

  Sweet, bright flame of a woman.

  Now a cold-blooded traitor who gave her body to the highest bidder.

  Once again lightning slashed the sky, and this time Dane used the momentary flare to search for candle and flint. Grim-faced, he moved toward the desk where they lay.

  From somewhere below angry steps began to pound up the stairs.

  "Get out of my way, Hobhouse! I know where I'm going full well. Just don't try to stop me."

  Ravenhurst froze. What was the bloody customs inspector up to now? Silently he slipped through the darkness toward the far wall and tugged open the armoire.

  He had barely pulled the door closed when he heard Hawkins pound across the third floor landing.

  "I've got my own key this time, ye fool. Now get out of my way! Take him downstairs, Mundy. And tie him up if he tries to come back up here!"

  A key rattled in the lock. A moment later the door burst open. Through the armoire's narrow crack, Ravenhurst saw Hawkins enter, candle in hand, then slam the outer door and lock it. Smiling thinly, the inspector slipped the key back into his pocket and then turned to stare hungrily at the woman on the floor.

  "Sleeping, are ye, my beauty?" he muttered thickly. "I'll soon have ye warm and wakeful then." He set his candle down on the side table and bent over Tess, his fat fingers yanking feverishly at the narrow buttons over her bodice.

  The man in the armoire stiffened, a hot tide of rage exploding through his veins. The filthy, cold-blooded bastard! While she slept he meant to—

  Ravenhurst's calloused hands clenched. Beneath his fingers he felt the cold metal lip of the candlestick.

  Crouching by the door, Hawkins laughed in fierce triumph. Now Tess Leighton was his, by God. No one would stand in his way! Awkwardly he tugged at the tiny buttons, only to feel them slip from his grasp again and again. With a savage curse he locked his fingers in the neck of her muslin gown and sheared away a dozen buttons in one rough stroke.

  Outside in the night rain lashed the windows. A fierce burst of lightning exploded overhead.

  When it came, Dane was ready. As soon as the eerie light faded, he slipped from the armoire.

  Hawkins barely had time to feel the candlestick crack against the back of his head. With a stunned cry, he crumpled forward onto the rug, one stubby thigh pinning Tess beneath him.

  His eyes smoking, Ravenhurst tugged Hawkins's body across the room.

  Carefully he opened the door and listened, then dragged the unconscious customs inspector out into the corridor.

  He was just closing the door when he remembered that Hawkins still carried the key to Tess's room. "I believe I'll relieve you of this," Ravenhurst whispered to the squat, unmoving figure. His lips quirked grimly as he used the purloined key to lock the door, then slipped the cold metal into his own pocket.

  Damned useful it would be too.

  For long moments Ravenhurst stared down at the sleeping Tess. In silence he watched her chest rise and fall, watched her pale skin glow in the light of Hawkins's candle. Grim-faced, he remembered what the brute had been about to do, the similarity to his own earlier intent escaping him.

  The woman on the floor stirred restlessly, her rose lips parting as she mumbled something under her breath. Her fingers moved, stretching toward the light.

  Did she have any notion of the danger she ran? Dane wondered angrily. Or had she simply become so hardened that nothing could penetrate her cold facade?

  His mouth flattened to a thin, bitter line.

  What business was it of his anyway? All that mattered to him was that she tell him what he needed to know, starting with the identity of the Fox.

  Yes, by God, now he'd have the fellow's name!

  Ravenhurst's eyes were dark and unreadable as he picked Tess up and carried her to the canopy bed. Like burgundy silk her hair spilled over his arms, filling the air with lavender.

  Fire snaked through his groin. A spark leapt from his eyes. Yes, he thought grimly, and then he'd have the rest of what he wanted.

  Outside in the corridor came the quick, shuffling pad of feet.

  Scowling, Dane set Tess down on the bed.

  "It's Hawkins! And he's out cold!" Ravenhurst recognized the tense voice of Tess's maid. "What in God's name are we to do now?" she demanded shrilly of an unseen companion.

  "Carry him downstairs, I should think," came Hobhouse's cool reply.

  "He'll be furious when he wakes!"

  "I expect so," the Angel's majordomo said slowly, an undercurrent of keenest pleasure warming his voice. "I only wish I could shake the hand of whoever did this to him. Not that I'd put it past Tess."

  The latch clicked; the door rattled gently.
r />   "Locked," Hobhouse muttered. "Do you have your key?"

  "Aye, that I do. And I don't care if he's out cold or not. I'm still going to stay with her tonight. There's no telling what that brute will do when he wakes up. Locking the door against him might not be enough now."

  Dane slipped back toward the window. There was no other way out now. With careful fingers he opened the curtains and freed the latch, pushing open the leaded panes. Immediately a cold rain lashed his face. One leg over the sill, he studied the steeply angled roof bristling with chimneys.

  Behind him a key grated in the lock.

  "Hurry up, lest that bellowing pig come to and discover us!"

  Silently Ravenhurst slid into the night. His face dark with fury, he began to map out the final course of his ruthless campaign.

  * * * * *

  "Wake up, Tess! Sweet heaven, what's happened to you?"

  Tess frowned, fighting the sharp fingers that bit into her shoulders.

  "Please, Miss Tess. You must wake up!"

  "Go — away," Tess mumbled. Suddenly her eyes jerked open. "Letty? What —"

  "I'll be asking you that question, miss! We found Hawkins in the hall, knocked out cold. Hobhouse took him downstairs and I came back to check on you. Can't you remember anything?"

  Tess swept a trembling hand across her pale face.

  Don't try to stop me!

  Hawkins?

  Warm, rough hands lifting her. Her ribs grinding against thick bands of muscle.

  No, not Hawkins.

  Her eyes widened, gray-green pools of pain. That was when Tess saw she was not on the settee but the bed. With a little choking sob she jerked up onto her knees.

  A button flew off her dress and hit the carpet with a muffled ping. The blue muslin fell open over her chest.

  "How did that happen?" Letty stared strangely at Tess.

  Dear God, Tess thought. Was this Hawkins's doing too? She pressed a fist against her clenched teeth. She had to get a hold on herself or soon the nightmares would spill over into her waking life!