Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1)

by Skye, Christina

  “Capital!” the duchess exclaimed, striking the floor with her ivory-handled cane. “This grows better and better. A woman of beauty and spirit who refuses to consider marriage! It will add the most delicious challenge. Now let me see, there is Augustus Warburton. Only a baronet, of course, but he has considerable holdings in the Shires, I’m told.”

  “Your Grace, you quite mistake me if you think that—”

  “No? Very well, I agree completely. Warburton has an unpleasant squint, as I recall. But what of Lord Townshende? An earl, you know, and accounted to be quite handsome.” The duchess looked at her granddaughter, who was barely restraining her laughter. “What do you think, India?”

  The red-haired beauty shook her head. “I think, Grandmama, that you are entirely shameless. You’ve upset Miss St. Clair with your whirlwind ways. She’ll think us all fit for Bedlam if you don’t cease.”

  Indeed, Silver did think the old woman interfering beyond permission. But she sensed that her interference was meant with the best of intentions, and so she bit back a cutting retort.

  The duchess eyed her keenly. “Is that true, gel? Do you think me blunt beyond permission?”

  Silver felt a smile sneak across her lips. “Blunt? Entirely so.” An enchanting dimple peeked out at her cheek. “But not beyond permission, perhaps.”

  The duchess stamped the floor in triumph. “There, you see, India? A gel of spirit and wit, just as I said. She must come with us and drink a dish of tea. We were just bound for Minton’s tearooms when—”

  Suddenly Silver remembered their errand. She looked about her in dismay, fearing it was past the hour.

  India saw her urgency and laid a gloved hand on her sleeve. “Perhaps Miss St. Clair is already engaged, Grandmama. We must not presume upon her time, I think. Not on such short acquaintance.”

  “Oh, no, it is not like that! You are kind to invite us, but we must be somewhere by two o’clock.” Silver saw her brother deep in conversation with the Prince Regent, who was now being treated to a display of Bram’s botanical specimens, right down to the crumpled pair of eagle feathers and the stuffed dormouse.

  “I’m afraid we must decline, Your Grace. My brother and I have an appointment, and we must on no account be late.” As if on cue the little ormolu clock on the counter began to chime. “Oh no, surely it cannot be two o’clock already! We must go! Thank you again but — indeed, some other time, perhaps!” Silver made a curtsy, then rushed forward and seized Bram’s hand just as he was on the point of offering up his three-legged Norfolk toad for the Prince Regent’s bemused inspection.

  “A thousand pardons, Your Majesty. My brother is devoted to botany, you understand. If you will graciously excuse us, we must be on our way.”

  The portly prince was disposed by some rare innocence about this bewitching young woman to be the urbane and kindly cavalier. “Cinderella at midnight, eh? Well, I’m devilish sorry to see you go. Your brother has just been offering me some valuable suggestions for my, er, sister.”

  Silver felt her cheeks flame. “You are too kind.” She caught Bram’s hand and tugged him toward the door. “It is nearly two o’clock!” she hissed. “We must hurry!”

  ~ 32 ~

  Bram’s face was flushed with unaccustomed praise when he and Silver made their way from the shop. “Sorry, Syl. That fellow was devilish hard to escape.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder at it,” Silver said wryly. “That fellow was the Prince Regent.”

  “Well, I’ll be spit.” Bram’s eyes went very wide. “I’m glad I didn’t know it at the time. I wouldn’t have been able to force a word out.”

  They rushed into the street just as the great clock above the Guild Hall clanged out the changing of the hour. At that moment the leader of the street boys, with hair still damp and river mud clinging to his boots, came charging toward them. “There you are,” he gasped. “There’s been a change, mum. The bloke what went into the warehouse is sneaking out with a carriageful of ale barrels. Making straight this way, he was. Don’t wonder if he turns up the street any second.”

  Silver gnawed at her lip. What was she to do now, trapped here in the middle of bustling Lynn with the Prince Regent and his entourage mere steps away? Carefully, she slid her pistol from her half boot and hid it in her reticule, where it would be closer at hand. “You’re sure he is coming this way?”

  Her young and very muddy friend nodded enthusiastically. “No doubt about it. Only one other road and the bridge is out there.”

  “Very well,” Silver said. She dropped her voice as a society matron and her giggling daughter minced past. “Did you have a close look at him? Could you see his greatcoat?”

  “Sure did, miss. Hanging proper funny it was, with the pockets both full.”

  Silver nodded thoughtfully. If the documents Luc was looking for were so valuable, the man would certainly carry them on his person. In the greatcoat, no doubt. “It is the things in the man’s coat we need. Will you and your friends help us? There are two extra guineas in it if you will.” She handed the boy two coins.

  His young eyes glittered with excitement. “We’d go and march against that devilish Frenchman himself for two guineas, miss. Aye, we’re with you. You’re a right one, sure enough.”

  Silver held out her hand. “It’s agreed, then.” After they shook, Silver looked up, shading her eyes. “He’ll come around the corner over there, I think. What we need is a diversion.”

  “Just you leave that to me an’ my mates.”

  Silver smiled wickedly. “It will make a shocking commotion, I’m afraid.”

  “Not a doubt of it,” the boy agreed gamely. “The prince and his chums ain’t like to have seen nothing like it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  So it was that half a dozen small boys were loitering about the main street when a well-filled farm dray thundered around a corner and made its way to the center of town. At their leader’s nod the boys leapt from their posts and raced toward their target.

  Silver nodded at Bram. “Here I go,” she whispered tensely. “Wish me luck.”

  Her brother caught her hand. “Why can’t I go, Syl? It’s too dangerous. What if he doesn’t stop?”

  But Silver was already in the street. She wouldn’t consider letting Bram face this.

  The wagon picked up speed. Two street boys were already clinging to its back and Silver saw another two run up and catch the sides.

  Just as planned, her brother shouted a warning. Then he gestured wildly to the man on the wagon seat. “Rein in your horses, fool! Can’t you see that there’s a woman out there!”

  But the horses thundered on, dust and gravel thrown up in smoking clouds.

  Out of the corner of her eye Silver saw the Duchess of Cranford and her granddaughter move out of the select perfumer’s establishment. Beside them stood the smiling Prince Regent with a lady of fashion on either arm.

  If she was going to die, at least she would do it in style, Silver thought wryly. Her death would be witnessed by the Regent and half of London society at once.

  She heard the coachman curse and shout a warning, but even then he did not slow his team. The man from the boat was sitting beside him. Silver couldn’t make out his face, for it was hidden beneath a drooping hat, his greatcoat collar turned up around his cheeks.

  Silver’s heart began to pound. Closer, ever closer the horses raced while she prayed that the boys remembered their agreed-upon tasks.

  With a harsh crack the back of the wagon dropped open and the first of six ale barrels went crashing to the ground. They had remembered, Silver thought. Now the rest was up to her and Bram.

  Her eyes locked on the vehicle’s single passenger. She saw him shove his hand into his pocket, fingers tense. Yes, the documents were there. They had to be.

  Everything happened at once after that. Silver heard the duchess scream. Dimly she saw India Delamere throw up her hand in shocked warning as the Prince Regent pointed toward the racing horses.

  But all this wa
s secondary in Silver’s mind. Her main focus was on the man in the drab gray coat. She could feel him staring at her, his eyes cold and tight and angry. Turning slowly, she faced the churning wagon, one hand raised dramatically to her chest.

  “Get out of the way!” the driver thundered.

  His passenger leaned close and gestured. A whip cracked over the horses’ heads. In horror Silver heard the driver shout. “Can’t stop! Going to run you down if you don’t bloody get out of my way!”

  Damned if you will, Silver thought furiously. Jerking open her reticule, she pulled out her little pistol and leveled it dead at the driver’s chest.

  At that moment the leader of the street boys launched himself upon the passenger’s neck. As agreed upon, he tore off the man’s hat, then went to work upon his greatcoat, tugging it down over his shoulders. Snarling, the passenger clawed at his unwelcome visitor, but to no avail. The boy only laughed and danced about him, small and agile as a monkey.

  Silver saw it all dimly, as if in a trance. The wagon was thirty feet away now and closing fast.

  The driver cursed, swerving to avoid a pile of rubble in the street. Silver took a step backward.

  The passenger would sweep past only inches from her. She prayed she could reach his pocket in time.

  Meanwhile, the urchin danced about the seat, jabbing at the passenger’s chest. Reaching deep, he tugged something from one pocket and tossed it across to Bram.

  One pocket empty, Silver thought. Only one more to go. The man in the greatcoat was fighting, his chin sunk low to his chest. Silver still couldn’t get a glimpse of him.

  And then it was too late.

  The carriage thundered past. She leapt back only seconds before the great wooden wheels hammered over the cobbled street exactly where she had been standing.

  But her sharp movement cost her dearly, for she slammed into a row of stacked wooden crates. She felt a tearing pain at her side and gasped. Before her the street swayed and then tipped dizzily to one side.

  There was chaos.

  Screams echoed over the crack of exploding barrels. But Silver barely heard. Gasping, she caught her side and pitched to the street, blinded by a wave of pain.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ten miles away, Luc Delamere sat aside his prancing black gelding and scowled down at the sandy earth. “They headed south. There were just the two of them. What could they be doing in that direction? All they’ll find there is more heath and then the fens.”

  Beside him Connor MacKinnon hid a smile. “I’m vastly sorry to contradict you, my friend, but they are headed north. The prints you are looking at must be at least three days old. If Silver and her brother came this way, then the prints would be fresh. Rather like these, I imagine.”

  Frowning, Luc followed Connor’s fingers to a line of newly made prints in the sandy earth. His friend was right, of course.

  And that only added to Luc’s bad humor. “I suppose you are right. But don’t let it go to your head, you great lumbering beast.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Connor said calmly. “It is not your fault your eyes aren’t working, you poor besotted fool.”

  “Who’s besotted and who’s a fool?” Luc growled, glaring at his companion.

  “You’ll not hear a word from me,” MacKinnon turned his horse to the north. “No, not a word. None of my business if you choose to fall in love. None at all.”

  ~ 33 ~

  The world swam back around Silver.

  It came slowly, in little flashes and jolts that left her head feeling like the inside of a hammered drum. When she slid open one eye, she saw she was propped against an upturned ale barrel at the edge of the street. Bram knelt next to her, looking very worried.

  Silver tried to smile at him and didn’t quite succeed. “Did you see him? Did you — get his likeness?”

  Bram smiled, though the smile did not extend to his anxious eyes. “Every detail, Syl. Thin face, haughty nose, and stubborn mouth. I’ve got rather a skill at portraits, I think.”

  As he spoke, Bram held up his notebook. Two mangled eagle feathers, a dried piece of moss, and a mouse tail fell out of the book onto Silver’s lap. Just as Bram had promised, a man’s face had been quickly sketched on the well-worn pages, every detail clear and precise.

  Silver squeezed her brother’s hand, inordinately pleased with their success in spite of the bells that were clanging painfully inside her head. “Capital job, my love. And the street boys, did they manage their tasks as well?”

  Bram glanced around at the milling crowd and lowered his voice. “Well enough. Now lie still and be quiet, Syl. You’ve taken a fearful drubbing. That monster would have run you down, I’m sure of it, but the Prince Regent was in a furious taking and said he meant to call the militia out.”

  “And — the man riding? What of him?”

  “In all the uproar the bounder managed to escape, blast his foul heart.”

  Silver frowned, trying to listen, but his voice suddenly seemed high pitched and ragged. There was a fearful aching in her chest that extended down to her side. “And the — the documents, Bram? What about them?”

  “Right here in my pocket,” her brother whispered. “But we can’t talk now. The duchess is coming back and the Prince Regent is with her. They seem fascinated by the boys from the river.”

  With a sigh Silver sat back. “Give — extra crown — to each of them,” she muttered. Then her eyes closed and she slipped back into the darkness.

  ~ ~ ~

  When next she woke, Silver found herself braced against a mound of pillows with the sound of hoofbeats ringing in her ears. At least she thought it was hoofbeats and not the drumming of her heart. She opened her eyes and felt warm fingers press hers.

  “Finally awake, my dear?” It was the imperious voice of the Duchess of Cranford. “You gave us quite a turn out there on the street. I don’t ever think I’ve seen Prinny half so worried. But I don’t mean to be wearying you with chitchat. It’s rest you need, gel, and it’s rest you’re going to get.”

  “But—” Silver tried to sit up. “Bram! Where is my brother?”

  “Safe with India and Ian, her brother. I’ve kidnapped the two of you, you see. We’re bound for our estate, where you are going to rest until I’m sure you’ve recovered.”

  Silver wavered between fury at the old woman’s high-handedness and tears at her concern. She suspected the feeling wasn’t unusual. Anyone in the path of the Duchess of Cranford probably felt like a target for a runaway carriage.

  Silver gave a slightly unsteady smile. “Most abominably high handed, Your Grace, although I can’t say I relished lying in that dusty street with a hundred curious faces peering down at me.”

  The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “And that business you spoke of?”

  Silver thought of the documents hidden in her pocket. “Satisfactorily concluded. But we really must not—”

  “Hush. It’s all been decided.”

  “I cannot stay. There are … matters my brother and I must attend to. And Bram—”

  The duchess maneuvered Silver back against the soft pillows. “ — is fine. He’s riding ahead and at this very moment is no doubt busy regaling Ian and India with stories of the curious wildlife of Norfolk and the feeding habits of gray rats.”

  Silver smiled faintly. “A repellant child, I’m afraid. He was always collecting shells or grass or some animal or other. But he has become a seasoned naturalist.”

  “He’s also kept us well entertained. India, most of all, and I’m very thankful for it. She hasn’t been herself lately, not since—” The duchess’s voice broke off. She looked out at the passing landscape. For a moment sadness darkened her face. “But I am rambling again, my dear. You must excuse me. It is the one prerogative of old age. Lie back now and close your eyes. We shall be at Swallow Hill in less than an hour.”

  ~ ~ ~

  As the duchess had surmised, at that moment Bram was comfortably mounted on a gentle-tempered roan, where he was e
ntertaining his two companions with an embroidered account of the encounter at King’s Lynn. “A real group of bruisers, so they were. Only half my age and better fighters, every one of them.”

  “Thank heaven for it,” India Delamere said worriedly. “If that young boy hadn’t managed to distract the villain at the reins, your sister might not be alive right now. You’ll think me unforgivably inquisitive, but whatever possessed her to stand in front of that carriage in such a way? She seems a most stubborn and independent woman, but I confess I don’t understand it.”

  Bram coughed uncomfortably. “The fact is — I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

  The rider on Bram’s left gave a low laugh. Ian Delamere, Viscount Dunwood, had just returned from Spain, where he served as one of Wellington’s aides. He looked at his sister. “Give over, India. The boy has warned us off the subject and it won’t do to be prying.”

  Bram flushed. “No, it’s nothing like that. Blast, how rude you must think me after all your kindness.”

  “Not kindness. Not a bit of it,” the tall soldier said easily. “Grandmama has an insatiable appetite for matchmaking and in your sister she has discovered a prize candidate. It’s brutal self-interest with her, I assure you.”

  India shook her head, laughing. “You are the most dreadful cad, Ian! What will young Brandon think of us?”

  The boy in question shot an admiring glance at the beautiful woman riding beside him. “I expect he’ll think that he’s vastly lucky to have made your acquaintance,” he mumbled, his flush growing more pronounced by the second.

  Seeing his embarrassment, India kindly looked away, giving the boy time to recover. Ian helpfully launched into a complicated account of the night that the regimental mascot, a large and rather bad-tempered bear, managed to make his way into Wellington’s tent while the great man was fast asleep. The countryside slipped by, lush and green and beautiful.