Devonshire: Richard and Rose, Book 2

by Lynne Connolly

  Only the sea breeze ruffled their clothes as they stood completely still, waiting for us. James, Sir George, Carier and Richard, who held the Cawnton Tom and I had met before. Carier held the other. They stood motionless. Richard stared at us expressionlessly, colourlessly while Tom and I were brought to the front. Terry had brought five men with him, and they stood behind him, armed to the teeth. One held a gun at Tom’s back.

  We stood in silence. Richard avoided my eyes and I knew why. He didn’t want to reveal his distress before these people. Anything like that might weaken his resolve, show vulnerability he wouldn’t want to display.

  “We’re here to take our property back,” he said, looking straight at Terry.

  “Here it is,” the fat man replied jauntily. “Safe and sound.” He gave me a little shake, but I didn’t respond.

  “Miss Golightly first,” said Richard.

  “No,” said Terry. “You can have the boy first.”

  When he nodded the man who held Tom released him, and gave him a little shove. “I’m not going without Rose,” Tom protested mulishly.

  “Go, Tom,” I said.

  Richard’s head snapped around to me. I don’t know what he heard in my voice, but for the first time, his gaze met mine. Hard, icy. I had to stop myself from calling out his name and running forward. Then I saw he was trying to tell me something. He gave a tiny gesture with his hand, and I understood what he wanted me to do. He knew Terry wouldn’t play fair.

  Tom moved forward slowly, and crossed the few yards between the two groups. He went and stood by his father. I saw Sir George’s hand reach out and touch him, but other than that they stayed still, watching Terry and me.

  In response, Richard let his man go, freeing his hands for whatever he had planned. Cawnton strolled across the divide and stood behind Terry. He winked at me as he passed. He looked almost wholesome next to his loathsome backer. I swallowed, waiting.

  “Now Rose,” said Richard steadily.

  Terry sounded conversational, as though they were sitting in Martha’s drawing room. “I’m not sure I want to remain entirely without hostages to your good conduct. I might hold on to Rose until next—Sunday, say? Besides, I’ve not quite finished with her yet.”

  “What do you say, my love?” Richard looked at me, his tones calm, and unemotional, despite the endearment.

  I kept my voice steady, emulating his. “I would like to come home, please.”

  “You heard the lady,” Richard said, quiet and steady. An element of menace entered his voice, something rarely heard in the fashionable drawing rooms of London.

  “You can keep your hostage as a token of good faith. I’ll keep my charming guest.” Terry had one of the Cawntons now, so perhaps he could make do without the other one. He would use me until he was bored with me, and then he would get rid of me.

  Richard sighed regretfully. “No, I can’t allow that.”

  He turned around, and when he turned back, he was armed. His sword seemed to have come from nowhere. I guessed it had been speared in the ground behind him. Still without any expression in his voice, he said, “Now.”

  I dropped to the ground and heard the clash of steel behind me. Rolling over the wet grass, I saw at least eight men who had certainly not been there before, coming steadily up behind Terry and his men. They rushed forward, swords drawn. These weren’t dress swords, they were cutlasses and sabres, pointing at the back of every man behind me.

  They had been standing on the ledge, that ledge Tom and I had played on when we’d brought the others here that day.

  I scrambled to my feet and ran. Richard held out his hand as I reached him and pulled me to his side. “Are you hurt?”

  “Yes, but not badly. I’ll tell you later.”

  He searched my face, and I saw the anguish he had been through. He released me, then turned back to Terry. “Our business here is done for the time being. You may go.”

  At Richard’s curt nod, his men dropped the points of their weapons. Terry saw he was outnumbered. I didn’t think this would stop a madman like him. I was right.

  “This is my territory.” Terry glared at Richard, angry beyond reason, balked of his prey. “No-one tells me what I can do here.”

  He drew a gun from his belt and fired as he drew it, but his attitude had warned us of his intentions and Richard leapt to one side while I dropped to the ground. All at once the ordered scene turned into a general melée. The sound of guns firing mixed with the clash of steel as they turned on each other.

  I stayed on the ground, picked up the pistol Terry had cast aside and laid about me as best I could with the heavy butt end. I managed to trip a few. I shouted but my voice was lost in the cacophony of male cries. In the confusion I wasn’t entirely sure the people I hit were all on the other side, so I made myself stop. I watched the action going on about me, ready to intervene if I could help. Striking out had helped me lose some of the anger I’d bottled up for days.

  Tom had acquired a sword from somewhere and was up at the front, fighting to get through to Terry, who had retreated, his men closing about him. Terry had a hand to his arm, and then I saw the gleam of steel at his shoulder. I wasn’t sure what had happened until I saw it again; a flash of steel as a thrown knife embedded itself in the back of one of Terry’s protective bodyguard. Richard, his sword stuck into the grass in front of him, had a handful of knives. He threw them with beautiful accuracy. Either he wanted to keep Terry alive or his target had moved at the last moment, because the knife buried itself in Terry’s right shoulder. The big man bellowed in pain, but he managed, under the cover of the fighting, to run back to where the horses were tethered. He scrambled on the back of one of them. He whipped it up and galloped away, not back inland, but down towards the coastal path that led to the beach.

  Terry’s men dispersed, leaving us in possession of the high ground. Those of his men who could headed for the beach, around to the side of the cove, scrambling down the steep, perilous path.

  One man lay dead, a knife in his back, and another had a cut to his leg, which bled profusely. I didn’t feel inclined to help him, but someone must have done. When I took any notice of him again, the wound was tied up and he was sitting at a distance, propped against a tree.

  I sat up and brushed myself down with a trembling hand. Richard’s arm went about my shoulders as he sat by me. I leaned against him gratefully, but I knew there was something between us, something I had to tell him. Not now, though. Safe at last I felt a strong desire to sleep, but I fought it off, looked up at him, and tried to smile.

  He looked bright, alive, excited by the recent action, but in control. He leaned down to kiss me but stopped, and studied me closely. “What happened?” His face clouded with concern. “What did he do to you?”

  Tom was sitting on my other side by now. He glanced at me when he heard these words, troubled. “Do you want me to tell him?”

  “Thank you, Tom, no. I’ll tell him myself, but not here, not now.”

  “Dear God.” Richard guessed some of it. I waited for him to draw away from him. Instead he held me closer. “I’ll kill him.”

  “No,” I said calmly, “I will.”

  He stared at me, startled. “You will tell me.”

  “Yes I will. But not now.”

  He frowned, but let it rest. I was too tired and this was too public a place for me to tell him what I needed to.

  James came to us, and I showed him a smiling face. I assured him I was perfectly well and none the worse for my ordeal. I had no desire to let everyone know how much I’d been used and humiliated, and I didn’t want Terry lynched by vengeful males. I wanted to be there to do it myself. Richard might allow that. James certainly wouldn’t.

  For the first time since we arrived, I looked out to sea. Smugglers usually preferred a moonless night, but not these people—the moon was full and bright. When the neighbourhood was as much in thrall as Darkwater, concealment gave way to the convenience of visibility.

  I s
aw the bulk of a ship on the horizon, surrounded by the gentle waves of the bay, glinting in the moonlight. The rowboats pulling away from the shore made smaller shadows. On the beach below us, men were active—at least thirty of them at a rough count. They pushed the small boats away, got hurdles ready to drag the goods up the beach and stood guard against anyone foolish enough to oppose them.

  “Watch,” said Richard. I leaned my head on his shoulder and watched, as if it was an entertainment put on for us, the audience on the cliffs.

  I saw the shadow of a small boat, not pulling out from this beach but from another cove, further along the bay. There seemed to be another behind it, but I couldn’t be sure.

  The little vessel approached the ship, reaching it before the others did. It must have travelled a shorter distance or set off first.

  Before it reached the ship, several tiny figures dived over the side of the boat. They headed for the small dot towed behind it, which must be a much smaller vessel, cut it free, and headed back to their cove. The larger boat in front was now unmanned. The smugglers’ rowboats were beginning to draw level with the ship, ready to unload the contraband, but as we watched, the night was rent by a low, ominous boom. On the ship, a great tongue of orange flame shot up to the sky. It caught on one of the sails, sent it up like a torch, spreading along the masts quicker than anything that could be done against it.

  “Gervase is an excellent sailor,” Richard said. “All I had to do was set the explosive and show him where the slow match went.”

  Tom dragged his eyes from the scene in front of him to stare at Richard incredulously. Up until now, he had seen Richard as a town dandy, a pretty boy who’d taken my fancy, but not any more. Richard met his astonished stare calmly, great satisfaction in his limpid gaze. “Did you really think I could let them run roughshod over your father and Lord Hareton? And me? They can’t profit from what they’ve done, I simply couldn’t allow it.” He turned back to the spectacle out at sea. “I’ve spoken to Cawnton, who seems a reasonable man for a criminal, and reminded him of the downfall of the Hawkhurst gang further up the coast. He’ll see sense. From what I’ve seen, Terry won’t.” His attention went back to the spectacle in front of us. “We’ll deal with him in due course.”

  I didn’t care right now. Fatigue washed over me, and the scene in front seemed unreal, part of a dream. The ship was well alight. Its crew hurled themselves overboard in an attempt to reach the rowboats, heading back to land with all speed.

  On the beach, all was chaos. Some men moved about, obviously directing the others, and they dragged the rowboats up the beach, giving no heed to the plight of the crew of the ship, trying to conceal the evidence of their presence now the run had been so obviously aborted.

  Richard sighed in satisfaction and stood. “We should leave now. Some of those people may think of revenge, and we could do with a head start.”

  Everyone looked up, waking as if they had just watched a particularly spellbinding theatrical performance. They started to get to their feet.

  Richard turned to the eight men who had been recruited for the evening, presumably from the households hereabouts. I wondered how many dinner parties were a footman short tonight. “Thank you, gentlemen. You’ll receive your bonus in the usual way.” He shook hands with all of them and they left quietly, after collecting their weapons. One of them pulled the knife out of the back of the dead man, cleaned it on the grass and returned it. Richard took it with a smile of thanks and put it back in his pocket.

  He turned to help me up, finding me almost asleep, my chin on my knees. He would have lifted me, but I roused myself and took his outstretched hand. We went to the trees, where several horses were tethered, peacefully grazing in the moonlight. Richard mounted, and said to James behind me, “I don’t think Rose is in any condition to ride. I’ll take her.” It said a lot for his commanding presence that James didn’t demur. Instead, my brother gave me a boost while Richard lifted me, and settled me in front of him.

  For a moment, I roused, reminded of that nightmare ride with Terry earlier. I sat up straight, and stared at Richard in terror, but I wasn’t so far gone I couldn’t recognise his face. He met my eyes and flinched, but drew me close. I sank gratefully against him again, and let him wrap me in his travelling cloak. I felt his warmth and took comfort from the gentle words he murmured to me. “Nothing will hurt you now, my love, I’m here, I’ll never let you go again,” were the tenor of them, exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. Soothed by his words and the gentle movement of the walking horse, I fell sound asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I don’t know what time we got home, or who put me to bed, but I woke once in the night, stirred and heard a female voice; Martha’s, saying, “Go back to sleep, dear. You’re safe now.” Childlike I obeyed, recognising my own bed. I didn’t wake again until the day was well advanced.

  The maid came in, saw me and smiled. She bent to light the fire. “Her ladyship says you must rest today, my lady. I’ll fetch you some breakfast.” I hadn’t realised I was hungry until I smelled the hot chocolate on the tray she brought, but I got up, wincing at some of the bruises when I caught them, put on my wrapper, and went to sit by the fire.

  I still sat there, my hands wrapped around the warm cup, lost in thought when the door opened and Richard came in. He was fully dressed in his usual style as though he had been to the coffeehouse for an hour, not up all night fighting gangs of free traders.

  I was overjoyed, but surprised by his presence in my room. “Martha let you in here?” I asked in amazement.

  “Lady Hareton is in bed. She sat up with you all night,” he replied, crossing the room to me. “I, on the other hand, slept well. Your brother thinks your maid is here, but I’ve sent her away.”

  “Thompson’s?” I asked, meaning the maid.

  “No, just a good tip.” He bent to kiss me good morning, then dropped into the chair opposite mine. “Which reminds me. I’ve sent to the agency for a maid for you. I hope you don’t mind. If you don’t like her, you can always send her away, but between ourselves, she’s not just the best lady’s maid I can find—she has skills in other areas. She’ll look after you.”

  “A bodyguard?” I gazed at him over the chocolate cup. His image shimmered in the steam. He wore blue today, almost the same colour as my wedding dress.

  “In a way. Much as Carier serves me. Her name is Adele Nichols. I had to steal her from someone else, but when she heard who it was for, she came willingly.”

  I sighed. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” I didn’t really think about it for the time being. I only had one thing on my mind; how to tell him what had been done to me, and what might have been done. Terry would be doing it now if I hadn’t broken away, I realised, and despite the warm day and the glowing fire, I shuddered in repulsion.

  Richard saw, of course, and leaned towards me, his tone softly tranquil. “You said you’d tell me what was done to you. If you’d rather not, if you can’t relive it or you don’t want to tell me, we’ll leave it alone.”

  His statement took my breath away. How I loved his concern, his thought for me, and his trust. For all he knew Terry could have raped me already. I could even be carrying his child. But I had to be fair, I had to show Richard, give him the choice. Besides, if I kept it from him, if we were still to be married next week, Richard would find out when he saw my poor abused body on Thursday night. Decisively, I got up from the chair and put down my cup.

  My bedroom looked out over the gardens at the back of the house, from two long windows. I opened the shutters out on the right side of one and the left side of the other, thus creating a screen so nobody could see me from outside.

  I didn’t look at Richard as I dropped the wrapper on the floor and lifted the night-rail over my head.

  I stood still, I don’t know for how long, and then I dared to glance across to where he sat. It must be obvious what had been done to me. I didn’t need to explain once he’d seen the clusters of red p
inches and bruises, some of them now darkening to blue, concentrated in the most private parts of my body.

  I saw I was right. It needed no explanation. I bent, retrieved my night-rail, and slipped it back on with shaking hands.

  White-faced he rose, came across the room, and helped me back into my wrapper. Then he took me into his arms and I rested my head on his shoulder. I let myself cry then, the first time I had allowed myself any self-pity. He stood, holding me in silence until I had myself under control again. He said nothing. There was no need.

  We went back to the fire, where he saw me seated before he went into my dressing room, and returned with a damp cloth and a towel. He carefully wiped my face clean of the tears, and gave me the towel afterwards, then took them away again, and came back to resume his seat.

  I broke the silence. “It was all Terry. Except the rope burns on my wrists; they were from when we were first taken. He beat Tom until I did what he wanted. He didn’t rape me, Richard, although he planned to.” If I hadn’t been looking I would have missed Richard’s slow indrawn breath, a sign that he was fighting to retain control of himself.

  I told him everything. I explained Tom’s despair, my forced compliance. I spared him nothing, although I dearly wanted to. It was the first time I’d felt any protective instincts towards Richard, the need to spare him, but I knew he had to know now, before any of it had time to fester, or he heard from anywhere else. He listened, still and silent, his elbows on the arms of his chair, his chin resting on his linked hands, pale and grim faced.

  When I finished, silence fell once more. I heard the sounds of normal domestic activities over the house, so normal, and I felt at peace for the first time in days. Whatever he decided, nothing was hidden between us. I watched him assimilate what I’d just told him, wondering what his reaction would be, if he would still feel the same about me, whether this would come between us, as Terry had intended it to.