Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1)

by Skye, Christina

  “You can’t remember?” Blackwood gave a silken laugh. “I thought you were looking for a man to ruin you, Sunbeam. Wasn’t that the job you offered me?”

  Silver felt her face go crimson. “Of course it was. But it was only to be an act!”

  “An act? Not many men would hear an offer like that and take it for anything but the truth. Yes, I’d say with an offer like that, it would be real or nothing.”

  Hardness filled his voice. And with it came the same hunger Silver had heard the night before upon the heath. It had left her breathless and uncertain then.

  It did the same thing to her now.

  Blast the man! She wasn’t about to fall for his tricks or his damnable charm. Not that he had so very much charm, so far as she could see. Oh, last night she’d thought him bold and cool and — well, wonderful.

  But no more.

  Tonight she’d seen his arrogance and his highhandedness. She wasn’t about to turn craven and take orders just because he was a man and thought he knew best.

  It was business and nothing more between them. But before she could speak, the highwayman turned away and laughed harshly. “There’s a lesson for you, my love. Be more careful what you wish for or you just might get it.”

  The insolent man! Silver fingered the pistol in her boot. She thought longingly about sending a bullet through his back.

  But she couldn’t, of course. Uncle Archibald had taught her to observe proper sporting behavior. It simply wasn’t done to shoot an unarmed man — certainly not in the back.

  Not even if he was a highwayman.

  Silver contented herself with maintaining an imperious silence. Blackwood didn’t seem irritated by her behavior. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice her at all.

  Which only made Silver angrier.

  She tugged at her skirts, which were tightly tangled beneath her, and wondered again just what he had done during the time she was unconscious. Frowning, she checked the ribbons and laces on her gown.

  All intact, thank heavens. Of course he had been joking with all that talk about ruining her.

  Hadn’t he?

  They finally reached the little lane over the hill near Lavender Close. Silver wasn’t about to let him drive right up to the house. “Well, it’s been a wonderful evening,” she said curtly. “A pure delight. So you can stop right here.”

  She jumped down from the back of the gig and turned to stalk up the hill, shoving down her rumpled skirts.

  Blackwood’s low laugh brought her around.

  “Just what’s so funny, felon?”

  He shook his head, unable to speak. When he did, his voice was all rum and sugar. “Haven’t you overlooked something, Sunbeam?”

  She might hate him, but Silver had to admit that the man had a voice to make stones sing. The sound of it sent goose bumps racing all over her skin. “If you’re waiting for a good-night kiss, you’re going to be out here till hell freezes over!”

  His low chuckle halted her tirade.

  Frowning, Silver looked down.

  And gasped.

  Her heavy black skirts were all askew, hitched up around her waist, revealing the threadbare riding breeches she’d worn beneath her dress. Only now one leg was split, displaying ivory skin all the way from her waist down past the curve of one naked hip.

  Her face flamed. Her hands shook as she clutched at the ripped cloth.

  “Let me help you,” he said gruffly, jumping down.

  “No!” He was making it too easy for her to let down her guard and forget that it was only business between them. “I don’t need your help. I can’t afford to need anyone! And I’m certainly not about to start with an arrogant, detestable highwayman who is three sheets to the wind!”

  Her voice broke.

  Blackwood frowned, his face intent. He made no attempt to stop her as she stalked off into the night.

  ~ ~ ~

  She should have done a thousand things.

  The great copper distilling vat needed to be cleaned and the oils needed to be set out for tomorrow’s tests. Her week’s accounts had yet to be tallied and there were fragrance orders to be recorded.

  But she did none of those things.

  She sank down into her father’s soft old chair and lowered her face to her hands.

  She hated Blackwood. She wished he were dead. She—

  Didn’t. Not at all.

  She hated herself, because he made her feel so reckless, so curious, so hungry for all the things she could never have. Her responsibility was to Bram and Lavender Close; she could never forget that.

  Of course, the attraction was only because she met so few people in this secluded area of Norfolk. It was only because he’d shown her an unexpected kindness at a moment of terror.

  And, oh, how hard she tried to believe that.

  But as she sat on in the darkness, shredding a lavender leaf into tiny, fragrant pieces, Silver began to understand just how great a lie it was.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What I’m wanting to know is where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing there?”

  His eyes blazing, Tinker stood in the center of the conservatory, scowling. His hands were still dusty from the dried flowers he’d been sorting in the storeroom down the hill.

  Silver blinked in the light of his lantern, wondering how long she’d been sitting in the darkness.

  Wondering.

  Denying.

  Hoping. Yes, dear God, hoping with all her heart…

  She ran tired fingers over her aching head. Outside the glass the moon was nearly gone. “I told you, Tinker. I went to find Blackwood. It was our only hope, and I don’t care if you don’t like it. We have to do something, don’t we? Even if that arrogant, impossible man thinks he can—”

  A ragged sob tore from Silver’s throat.

  Gnarled, work-roughened hands caught her shoulders. “Don’t, Silver, girl. It’s me you’re raging at. Your old Tinker, remember?”

  A moment later she was in his arms, her body shuddering, and the old man was wise enough to let her have her cry without interruption.

  Only when the low, racked sobs fell away to hiccups did Tinker shove a crumpled handkerchief before her face. “Now then, let’s have the whole of it.”

  “There was another note. I — I cleaned up most of the glass and pushed a pot in front of the hole, but you can still see where the brick came through.”

  Tinker cursed. “Why didn’t you tell me, girl?”

  “Because I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could handle it myself. I thought that he would see how perfect my idea was.”

  “He? You mean Blackwood?”

  Silver gave a stiff nod.

  “By all the saints above, don’t tell me you went looking for that highwayman!”

  “Of course I did.”

  “At a cockfight?”

  She nodded defiantly.

  “At that gaming house?”

  Another nod.

  “Sweet heaven, not at—”

  “Exactly. And I found him there too. Only, he wouldn’t help me. He — he only laughed at my idea!”

  “A damned good thing.”

  Silver tugged angrily at the soggy handkerchief in her fingers. “That cur Millbank was there too. He nearly saw me, but Blackwood pulled me against his chest just in time.”

  Tinker scowled. “He did what?”

  “Oh, not in the way you think,” Silver said impatiently. “In fact, the bloody man couldn’t wait to get me out of there. He wasn’t a bit interested. Not even when Millbank said he wanted me — he wanted us to—” She stopped, flushing.

  Tinker went stiff with rage. “I’ll kill that braying ass! I’ve had enough of his lecherous ways!”

  An unsteady chuckle came from the head turned against his chest. “Such language, my dear old friend. Whatever would Mama say?”

  “Nothing, more’s the pity, because your sainted mother’s not on this earth to say anything. And that’s not half of what I’d like to say
to you right now, girl. What was you thinking of, going down there alone? I’ve told you again and again, you’re not to go nowhere without me. Especially not at night.”

  “I know, I know,” Silver murmured. She gave him a wavering smile. “Only, it’s far too late for scruples now. I’m quite beyond redemption.”

  “Nay, and so you’re not, miss! I’ll hear none of that kind of talk.”

  Silver gave a watery sniff. “Very well, Tinker.”

  “Humph. It had better be. Because if you sneak off that way again, girl, I’ll see you can’t sit down for a week!”

  Silver dropped a light kiss on his weathered cheek. “I truly am sorry. I know that Bram and I have been nothing but a bother to you since father died.”

  “Bother? You’ve been that aplenty, Miss Silver.” The old man’s eyes glinted with sudden moisture and he cleared his throat abruptly. “But I’d change nothing, do you hear? Oh, aye, we’ve had our share of scrapes and then some, but we’ll get through, just wait and see.”

  “We always do, don’t we?” Silver gave him a bright smile, which wavered only slightly.

  “Of course we will. Now off to bed with you, minx. We have a heap of plans to make on the morrow. I’m going to fetch some men from town to help us. Meanwhile, I don’t plan to sit around and wait for those brutes to return.”

  But after Silver left, the white-haired man sank down onto the workroom’s only chair. His shoulders drooped.

  And there was no trace of humor on his weathered face then.

  ~ ~ ~

  The moon was setting when Blackwood pushed through a secret opening in the yew hedge and nudged Diablo over the lawn toward Waldon Hall. Behind him the elegant manor house rose from a bank of elm trees, its broad windows lit only by the moon.

  Roses and jasmine spilled their perfume through the night air.

  And every hint of sweetness reminded the highwayman of a woman with green-gold eyes and a life he would never know again.

  Frowning, the eldest son of the eighth duke of Devonham pushed open a door that led to a quiet garden. His chest burned. His shoulder was aching.

  But he was safe.

  No one in Kingsdon Cross knew that he was the owner of Waldon Hall, of course. Lucien Reede Tiberius Fitzgerald Delamere, the eldest son of the Duke of Devonham, had been very careful that they shouldn’t.

  Even Waldon Hall’s prior owner believed that the buyer was a wealthy East India Company merchant just returned from India, a man of unstable health who wished to be left alone in his reclusive old age.

  Yes, the secluded estate was the perfect hiding place. As he’d hoped, Luc had been undisturbed here. When he made his midnight forays, he moved in safety and secrecy through the estate’s dozen hidden entrances and tunnels. They had been one of the reasons Luc had finally settled upon the place. Its proximity to heath and high road had been the other.

  This was his home now, Luc told himself grimly. Not Swallow Hill, the magnificent Norfolk estate that had been his family’s principal seat for eight generations. Not the elegant town house in Berkeley Square. Not the hunting box in Scotland.

  Waldon Hall would do well enough for Norfolk’s most notorious highwayman. Only Luc’s trusted companion Jonas knew the secret of the highwayman’s aristocratic past.

  And Luc meant to see it stayed that way.

  He pulled off his mask. A smile slid across his chiseled face as he thought about Silver St. Clair. The woman was trouble and no mistake.

  But then Luc had always been a man who enjoyed trouble.

  Swinging his cape over one shoulder, he tried to pinpoint exactly what it was about the woman that had put him so damnably on edge.

  It wasn’t her guile, for she displayed none. It certainly wasn’t her female wiles. She had none of those and thank God for it. In truth, the hellion was as fresh and untutored as a schoolgirl. She’d even had the temerity to let him believe she was a simple servant girl.

  Simple? No, there was nothing simple about Silver St. Clair, the highwayman thought ruefully.

  She was all storm and fire. All unbridled heat when a man least expected it. And the combination was infinitely dangerous.

  His blood surged thickly as he thought of how she had melted into his kiss upon the heath. How she had faced down that brute Sherringvale. Courage, he thought — and with it a blend of innocence and passion that was utterly addicting.

  Muttering, the son of one of the richest men in England pushed open a door that led into the cellars of Waldon Hall. Tossing down cape and hat, he strode up the stairs to the house’s central wing.

  He simply would not see her again. It would be difficult, but he would manage it. What he needed was a woman who was clever and jaded, someone who would help him forget Silver St. Clair. A woman of experience who knew enough not to become emotionally involved.

  Luc stared at the row of hard-faced men and worldly-looking women lining the stairs. They were of indifferent quality as portraits go, nothing to compare with the generations of Delameres who glared proudly from the canvases in Swallow Hill’s vast gallery.

  Somehow the thought of touching a worldly, bored female like one of those left Luc singularly unmoved.

  Damned if he understood why. He’d known any number of women over the years.

  Beautiful ones.

  Witty ones.

  Demure ones.

  Vastly passionate ones.

  But not a single one of them had ever affected him the way Silver St. Clair had in the short span of twenty-four hours.

  ~ 10 ~

  The boy is next.

  Bone tired, Silver paced back and forth from one conservatory wall to the other, watching sunset fade to twilight and twilight seep into full-fledged night.

  All the while she tried not to think about what would come out of that night.

  Somehow the day had passed. She had made it pass. The long hours of work and stubborn effort had helped to distract her from the last warning.

  But never for long.

  Who hated her so much to do this to her? Who wanted Lavender Close Farm so badly? And why? Was it someone in Kingsdon Cross, searching for the lost Millefleurs formula? Some perfumer from London, greedy for the wealth and success William St. Clair had once had?

  Or was it someone more sinister, someone hinted at in her father’s diary? She didn’t know. Until she was certain, Silver decided to consider everyone her enemy.

  She had just bent over her vials and distilling records when heavy boots thumped across the floor and Sir Charles Millbank pounded into the conservatory.

  His face was flushed and he smelled of spirits. “I knew I’d find you here. Disgusting, if you ask me. Women are not fit to handle business matters or run their own establishments. It’s unnatural and unseemly, and I won’t permit it any longer, do you hear?”

  “So you’ve said before, but I have absolutely no interest in your opinions!”

  “But you should. You’ve creditors at your door and no way to transport your next lavender shipment to London, for none of the local men will work for you. Aye, I’ve seen to that,” Millbank snarled. “Unless you want to lose your farm to a stranger, I suggest you make an effort to be more amiable to me. Especially now that these unfortunate threats have begun against you.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Only what I’ve heard in town,” Millbank said coolly, “but it’s common knowledge that that fellow Tinker’s been trying to hire more workers. You won’t find any, of course. They’re all too afraid to come out here now.”

  “I’m certain that delights you.”

  “Let’s just say that I’m hoping you’ll finally admit how foolish it was for you to undertake running Lavender Close yourself. Of course, I shall be more than happy to take over your responsibilities.” His pale eyes glittered. “Provided we reach an understanding as to how you will … repay me for those services.”

  Silver knew exactly what sort of repayment Millbank had in mind. She glared at th
e leering intruder. “When snakes can sing! Until then you can fly to hell and toast your eyebrows!”

  “Still stubborn, are you? I’m done with your teasing ways. You’re going to learn some respect!” Sir Charles jerked at his cravat. “Unless you submit to me in all that I command, you’re going to lose Lavender Close Farm and I’ll see that your bookish brother is sent away as well!”

  Silver’s breath caught as she stared at Millbank’s angry red face.

  She should have known the swine would come. Like a hungry wolf her brother-in-law could pick up the scent of any wounded creature’s pain. He’d been casting hungry looks in her direction for the last six months and more.

  Silver had never been close to Jessica, her elder sister. She had died six years before, after being married barely six months. Silver had never told her sister that Millbank’s first proposal had been made to her, but sometimes Silver wondered if her sister hadn’t known a great deal more than she’d let on.

  Silver had hoped that the passage of time would dull Millbank’s amatory interest.

  But it hadn’t. Since her father’s death the man had come more and more often to visit Lavender Close under the guise of “checking on Silver’s welfare.”

  His bulky shape cast a shadow over the conservatory floor. Silver could smell the stink of whisky clinging to his clothes.

  “I suggest that you leave now.” Her voice was steady, she noted with relief. “Before you make an even greater fool of yourself than you already have.”

  “So you think me a fool, do you?” Millbank’s eyes burned, lit by drink and lust.

  “Spare me a Cheltenham drama.” Silver turned her back decisively and began cleaning a copper distilling vat.

  All the while she kept her eye on the length of copper pipe standing against the wall. Just in case.

  “‘Tis you who’ll seem the fool, woman! Submit to me or see this place taken from you. I’ll put it up for auction to the highest bidder!”

  Silver’s face held nothing but contempt as she glared back. “Submit? To you? I’d as soon set fire to my lavender and eat soot!”

  Her brother-in-law loomed closer, his hot gaze burning over her. “I doubt that. You love these cursed fields far too well to part with them.” His fleshy lips curled. “And a damned unnatural thing it is for a woman too.”