"There's nothing to be settled! Why can't you just let it go, as I have done?"
Ravenhurst's calloused fingers dropped lower, biting into her forearms. "I only wish I could," he growled, pulling her up the slope toward the silver blur of flowers.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Tess gasped, struggling to hide her panic. Dear God, could he have seen Jack? And what of the tunnel?
"Doing?" her hard-faced captor repeated coldly. "I'm ensuring that I have the truth from you. For once. Starting with that bastard's name."
"Wh-whose?"
Darkness pressed around them, heavy and silent. The only sound to be heard was the crushing of leaves beneath their feet. "The man who just came out of that cleverly concealed passage, by God. Who is he?" Ravenhurst's hands shifted, digging cruelly into Tess's wrists.
"None of your c-cursed business! L-let go of me, you contemptible b-bastard!" Tess strained furiously against him, twisting and kicking even though she saw her struggles had no effect.
Ravenhurst's mouth twisted into a thin smile. "I mean to do many things tonight, my dear, but letting you go is not one of them. Quite to the contrary." He laughed once, the sound raw and ugly.
"You've no right to come here spying! This is Fairleigh land — my land! Now, take your bloody carcass off before I —"
"Before you do what, my dear? There are only two of us here now. And this time our score will be settled, I promise you. As for my right, have you forgotten I'm the commissioner of the Royal Military Canal? Fairleigh lands march along that canal and lately have provoked my suspicions. Suspicions all too justified, judging by the charming scene I've just witnessed." With a smothered curse, Ravenhurst hauled Tess hard against his chest, burying his fingers in her hair and jerking her head back. His eyes were no more than blue shadows as he stared down into her pale face. "Give me his name, damn it!"
"V-very well," Tess gasped, thinking frantically. "He's one of the Fox's men. He-he brings me b-brandy and silks sometimes." Her teeth began to chatter. " 'Tis a b-business arrangement we have."
"A business arrangement?" The words, on Dane's lips, became an obscenity. "Is that what you call it? Is that all it takes to bed you, a few bottles of brandy and a length or two of silk? By God, you rate your services far too cheap, Tess Leighton. I know men in London who'd pay a king's ransom in gold to plow your silken thighs for one night." His fingers twisted deep in her hair. "In fact, you could almost name your price," he added harshly, fingering a heavy, scented strand. "Yes, for this hair, this warm, glowing skin, a man might well forget every scruple. But he would have to believe he was the first."
Her captor's fingers tightened suddenly, twisting so hard that they wrung a sob from Tess's dry lips. Suddenly Ravenhurst turned, forcing her back against the trunk of an ancient overhanging oak. His face was dark with fury as he seized her wrists and pinned them against the rough bark. "And you would know exactly how to convince him, wouldn't you? But he wouldn't be your first, would he, my sweet Tess? Chevington was the first. And how many others were there after him, damn you?"
His anger hit Tess like a knife. She twisted wildly, struggling to find any point of weakness so she could break free.
But the grim-faced man before her had no weakness.
"No more of your tricks, damn you. I've scars enough already." With his knee he forced her thighs apart, trapping her against the broad trunk. "Now, give me the devil's name!"
"Never!" Tess spit back, all the time fighting him. "You'll get nothing from me!"
But his wrists were like iron and his body was fed with a black fury that tripled his strength. "Oh, I'll get the name from you, Tess. Along with everything else I want this night." His hard thighs moved ruthlessly against her, crushing her against the tree as he whispered his dark promise.
"I — I don't know his real name. And as to his destination, he never tells me that. 'Tis safer that way."
"Liar." His body ground against her, a cold, angry weight. "Because he's not one of the Fox's men at all — he's the bloody Fox, himself! Oh yes, Jezebel, I watched the two of you part. You warm the Fox's bed, damn you. Tell me, does he kiss you like this, your midnight lover?"
Even as he spoke, Ravenhurst's mouth crushed down upon hers, grinding cruelly against her clenched teeth until Tess had to bite back a moan. Immediately his lips opened, surrounding her with driving, relentless heat.
He took her impersonally, molding her with the ruthless skill of an expert, teaching her how useless it was to fight him, and just how easily he could make her body betray her.
She felt every inch of him, felt his hot straining thighs, felt the puckered scars at his wrist, just as she felt the sharp bark biting into her back.
His mouth burned hot and cold against her, in ecstasy and torment, strange yet achingly familiar.
Like a spark of living flame, desire leapt from his mouth to hers, then flashed wildly along her trembling limbs.
A little sob escaped her lips.
"That's more like it, my love," Ravenhurst said harshly. "I like to hear you moan. Moan for me again, Tess. Just the way you did in the alley."
"L-let go, you —"
"You thought you'd fooled me, didn't you? And you bloody near succeeded. But when I saw you in the kitchen with flour over your face, everything fell into place. Yes, you were shocked to see me again, but you wanted me that night, didn't you? In spite of all your efforts to deny it — to me as well as to yourself. And now you're damned well going to have me!"
"N-oooo! I want only to be free of you. Forever!" With every movement Tess made, his scars ground into the tender skin at her wrists, cruel and abrading. Sobbing wildly, she lashed out with her feet again and again, until finally one of those blows struck home.
Ravenhurst groaned hoarsely.
Suddenly she was free.
Gasping, she spun about and flung herself toward the little coppice at the top of the hill. There was a trail through the hedge. If only she could make the top ...
"Bitch!" Ravenhurst cried furiously, stumbling after her, one hand clutched to his throbbing knee.
Ten more feet! Tess told herself.
She could hear him behind her, his footsteps angry and unsteady. She fairly flew over the meadow, barely touching the wet grass, the ghostly fog swirling up in frothy waves around her.
Then the dim half-circle of the white garden was before her, faintly silver, just below the dark, wooded crest of the hill.
The scent of lilies drifted on the cold air. She could just make out the faint petals of the wild roses growing along the low garden wall.
Almost there; don't slow down!
The wind dragged icy fingers through her hair, which streamed out wildly behind her as she fled toward the coppice.
Then she felt the bite of solid fingers, harder hands. She screamed as they caught the trailing hem of her cloak, jerking her back and holding her immobile. She gagged, feeling the garment's cords bite into her throat. Desperately she yanked on the strings, fighting to untie the knot that held her captive.
Her fingers grew clumsy; she began to sway, dizzy from lack of air.
All the time he stalked closer, his hands gripping the hem of her cloak and dragging her toward him.
"The time for running is over, Tess. Tonight this circle closes. It will be finished between us, once and for all."
With a muffled hiss the knot gave way and the cloak fell from her shoulders. Wildly Tess plunged upward toward the dark woods, her face a stark splash of white against the night.
But she was not fast enough. And this time her ruthless pursuer did not trust to her garments. Instead he claimed her hair in a cruel grip.
Sobbing, she flailed at his unseen fingers, but met only mocking emptiness. Then his hand dropped to her narrow waist, yanking her around to face him.
"Did you fight Chevington this way?" Ravenhurst growled, his face a dark, angry blur. "Was that how it began that night in the gate house — when you were supposed to be meeting me here? Did you goa
d him like this too?"
At first Tess did not hear, too busy kicking, twisting, lashing out with her feet.
"When did you drop your pretense of resistance? When he promised marriage? Or was it gold guineas you were after?" His hands twisted savagely. "Tell me, damn you! What is a whore's price?"
"Stop!" Tess cried, refusing to listen to his cruel words. Refusing to see the brutal images that swept up from deep in her memory.
Ravenhurst's fingers tightened at her waist. "What did it take to win your surrender, little seductress?"
"It — it wasn't like that!"
A bitter laugh exploded from her captor's lips. "I only wish I were wrong. But I'll have no more lies, by God. For I saw you myself that night, Tess. With my own eyes I watched you strain and claw at him in your nakedness. Yes, you were wanton and every inch willing for Chevington to bed you that night. And I damn your black heart for it!"
Ravenhurst stiffened for a moment, uttering a crude and graphic curse beneath his breath.
For Tess it was as if she had finally come to the end of her running. The nightmares had caught her at last, reaching out with icy fingers to claw at her eyes and neck.
More images, dark with horror.
Then the raw, searing pain.
Dear God, she'd lied when she had said Ravenhurst was wrong about what had happened that long ago night. It was not in her power to say if he was wrong or right.
Because Tess didn't know herself what had happened that night.
"Yes, all in all, it was a fine performance. I must congratulate you," Ravenhurst continued ruthlessly. "I have only myself to blame for being too much of a fool to take what you so freely offered to Chevington. But I was a gentleman, you see. A man of honor. I would have you only with marriage." His fingers were like talons against her skin. "How you must have laughed at my nicety."
"You — you twist everything!" Tess rasped, trying to think of a way to explain.
Knowing all the while it was impossible. Especially now, when Ravenhurst seemed beyond listening to anything.
"For five long years I've gone to sleep with the sound of your laughter and the mocking memory of your silken skin. And every dawn has found me shaking the same feverish images from my mind. But no more. For tonight I'll know the real thing, by God, and I'll burn away your memory forever."
Tess choked back a moan, drowning in memories of her own, which swept out of the fog like a chilling wind.
First came the image of Dane's rough tenderness all through those last weeks they had spent together. In spite of that, her terror at his leaving had grown until she pleaded to know him as a woman knows a man — just once, before he left for Trafalgar.
His refusal had been harsh and absolute.
Then, finally, had come that terrible night in the gate house. Tess closed her eyes, shuddering. Remembering ...
Her skin aflame. The scorch of hot breath and clawing fingers. Worst of all her own body, hungry and gnawing like some terrible, frenzied animal.
All of this whirled through her mind in an instant, perceived only in fragments, like glowing embers of sensation. Feeling it all again, Tess shivered, closing her eyes to the dim images she could not bear to face.
Dear God, what had actually happened that night? And why couldn't she remember?
Because you're too weak to face the truth, a dark voice whispered.
"Very affecting, my dear, but it won't work. Not this time. We've gone too far for reprieves." Grim-faced, Ravenhurst buried his fingers deep in her russet hair.
It was the bitter cynicism of his voice that finally jerked Tess back to the present. "Let me go, damn you! It's over, can't you see that?"
But Ravenhurst did not release her. "Over?" he repeated bitterly. "Over? By God, I only wish it were, woman! Do you know what they yet call me in London? Ravenhurst, the Devil of Trafalgar. Nelson was the day's Angel, you see, and I its Devil. Yes, I truly had the devil's own luck that day. Nothing seemed to harm me as I watched in the smoke while my men were torn to pieces before me. Even when I caught a shell hissing on the deck and threw it back into the water, I stood unscathed. Which is why I'm called a hero now. But the truth is, it's been my curse to live while my men died around me." Ravenhurst's fingers tightened in Tess's hair. He forced her head back so she would meet his gaze head on. "My curse to live, Tess, knowing all the while it was not courage that drove me that day at Trafalgar but complete and total indifference to my own fate." His eyes smoldering, the viscount scowled down at her white face. "You see, it's easy to be brave when one cares for nothing or no one. Especially for oneself. And I have you to thank for that."
Tess did not move, could not move, hypnotized by the torment in those lapis eyes, horrified by his ruthless revelation. She shivered, her heart constricting with pain and regret. But then her chin rose; almost immediately she began to struggle against this weakening.
For this man was her enemy, and she must never forget that.
Tess's lips clenched, her face taut with anger. "You would speak of bravery, you arrogant slime? Then look around you, for it's war we wage right here in Kent and Sussex! 'Tis a war of disease and poverty, of grinding, relentless hunger. You can see its toll in the children's pinched faces, in the eyes of women old long before their time." Her eyes flashed, alive with green sparks. "It's a war fought every second of every day, and it's impossible to win. But we fight it here the only way we can, and if smuggling is the answer for some, then I say more's the bloody power to them! And God help us if this coast loses in the fight, for it will spell the end of England long before any triumph of Napoleon does!"
A muscle flashed at the tense line of Ravenhurst's jaw. She was good, he thought. Damnably good.
Then the image of a young midshipman's battered body flashed before his eyes.
Abruptly his strong fingers tightened, twisting deep in Tess's burgundy mane. "By God, you really believe that, don't you?" Turning, he began dragging her back toward the white flowers. "That twisted notion of being right must make everything you do here so much easier."
Tess struggled, gasping, until every movement sent pain searing through her scalp.
"Give it up!" Ravenhurst ordered harshly. " 'Tis not my goal to school you by pain — not unless you force me to it, at least."
"You want it this way, don't you? Because it makes you feel more like a man. A hero, you call yourself? Oh, God, why did you ever come back?"
"Why, Tess?" her captor asked grimly. "I never meant to, you know. Not after the things I saw in the gate house. I was afraid if ever I saw you again I might —" Abruptly his voice fell away to a curse. "No, something more important brought me back. Not even the smuggling or the spying could have done it. But the gold shipments were something else. Gold buys food and weapons for Napoleon's war-weary troops, and I've seen the effects of those weapons at very close range. And, my dear, every guinea of that gold is carried across to France in the same vessels that bring you brandy and silks."
"What new and foul lie is this?"
"Not a lie. Even now, a clandestine cargo is moving south and should reach the coast by tomorrow. Is that where your lover went? To ensure its safe arrival?"
"There are no such shipments. No gold goes out from these coasts!" It had to be so, Tess told herself. If the Fox had planned such cargoes, she would certainly have heard of it.
Wouldn't she?
"I expected that answer from you. At first, anyway. But before long I'll have the truth from you — down to every last wretched detail. For the day you took up with your bloody Fox was the day you sealed your fate, Tess."
"What do you care about him?" she demanded bitterly. "What harm has the Fox ever done you?"
"Ask that of the hundred seamen I saw fall in one hour at Trafalgar. Ask it of the innocent man — little more than a boy, really — who washed up in Fairleigh Cove with his throat cut. With your name on his lips. Maybe you can explain that."
"In Fairleigh Cove? I know nothing of such a person. But I do
know one thing. The Fox would never hurt a boy. Nor betray his country!" Her voice rose, wild and brittle. " 'Tis you who lie and force your twisted tales upon me as truth. Do you think I'm one of your poor press-ganged crew, to be frightened and flogged until I cower? I'll grovel before no man, I warn you!"
Ravenhurst's wrists tightened, catapulting her full against him, crushing her heaving breasts against his chest. His smile then was no more than a faint white slash against the darkness of his face. "But you've seen so few of my methods, my dear. And I am a man of infinite flexibility. I shall discover soon enough which techniques work best with you."
Stony-faced, Ravenhurst pulled her down onto the low stone wall bordering the garden. Still fighting, Tess stumbled onto his lap.
"Perhaps this one first?" he growled, his voice rough and smoky. One hand captured her wrists while the other traced the defiant point of her chin, then fell lower to graze her proud, thrusting breasts. Unlike his voice, his touch was light, flicking, and electric.
Each swift spark of contact made Tess gasp as if she were struck by lightning. "You are — mad!"
"Oh, I'm quite sane, my dear. Perhaps for the first time in years. And I know all about the games you and Ashley played, as well."
"Which — games?" Tess whispered, playing for time, willing her ragged breath to still. Anything to distract her savage captor so his fingers would cease their torment. Her voice rose, cool and precise. "We had so very many, after all."
Tess felt as much as saw him stiffen.
"By God, you are thoroughly your father's daughter, aren't you? I refer to your game of seeing how fast your conquests could be made. A game meant to include Chevington and myself that night. Only you and Ashley miscalculated and I arrived earlier than expected." Ravenhurst's face hardened as he watched her eyes fly open in shock and denial. "Don't bother denying it. I had the story from your own father's lips!"
The Black Rose Page 19