Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1)

by Skye, Christina

  His sister flung herself across the room and into his strong arms. He caught her shoulders and held her tight. She had never been far from his heart in all those years of desperation, the old bond still linking them somehow. Luc wondered just how much she’d felt of his own pain over those years.

  As if in answer her head rose. Her eyes were full of tears. “I knew,” she said raggedly. “I knew you were alive — but in danger, gravest danger all the while. They told me not to hope, not to wait, but I knew they were wrong.”

  Luc bent and planted a soft kiss against her titian hair. “You were right, my dear. Although it might have been better if you had given up just like everyone else.”

  “Never,” she said fiercely, her fingers locked on his.

  And then Ian was beside them, shocked and happy and utterly confused. “You buffle-brained cabbagehead,” he growled. “Where have you been for five years? Even for a hardened reprobate like you, that’s a little too long for a card game.”

  Luc took a long, harsh breath, assailed by dark memories. “It’s a long story, Ian, and I’m tired from traveling. Good Lord, but you’ve grown. No need to ask how you’ve been keeping yourself, for it shows in the size of your shoulders.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “The Peninsula?”

  Ian nodded. “Ninety-fifth Foot.”

  “How long?”

  “Two years next month.”

  A look passed between them. “Then I’m certain we’ll have much to speak of, little brother.” There was a hint of irony in Luc’s voice, for in truth Ian was only an inch shorter than Luc was.

  “And what of me?” The Duchess of Cranford launched herself into the fray, her fragile hands clenched very tightly on her cane. “Well, you brute? Have you nothing to say to your grandmother?”

  Luc released his siblings and moved toward the fragile old woman whose eyes were flashing imperiously at him. “Only that you look ravishing, Grandmama. And not a single day older than when I last saw you. Your gown is by Madame Grès, is it not? Extremely fetching. I see you have not lost your exquisite taste.”

  “Rapscallion,” his grandmother said, her voice unsteady with tears. “But you’ll not talk your way around me this time. It’s answers I want! What the devil do you mean staying away and putting us through such torment?”

  Ian rested one his arm on Luc’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll tell us in his own good time, Grandmama.”

  Luc smiled wryly at his “little” brother. “Fighting my battles for me now, are you, Ian? I can remember when it was just the opposite.”

  “You look like you can fight your own battles quite well,” Ian said frankly.

  “And … Father? Mama? Tell me how they fare.”

  “Quite well. Father is off in search of antiquities again and Mama insisted on going along to keep an eye on him.”

  Luc’s breath hissed free in a sigh of relief. “I can’t quite believe it.” He passed a hand over his brow.

  “We’ve all changed,” Ian said softly. “But come, you’ve half the dust of Norfolk on your boots. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll send Jeffers up with a tray.”

  “Humph,” the duchess said. “The boy is not entitled to anything. Not after the deceit he’s worked on us!”

  Luc shook his head. “You always were a dragon, Grandmama. I can still remember the time you caught me climbing the great oak beyond the meadow. I had purloined Father’s dueling pistol and was fending off a whole band of ravening savages, as I recall. I can still feel the mark of your bruises upon my backside.”

  “No more than you deserved, boy. That dueling pistol was passed down through six generations of Delameres, and I barely managed to catch it before it fell into the pond.”

  Luc’s eyes twinkled. “You always did have excellent reflexes. I suspect that you still do.”

  “Just try me, boy.”

  Luc opened his arms. After a moment she crumpled against him, her fragile form dwarfed by his. Luc circled her shoulders carefully, feeling how much she had changed in five years. There were new lines about her eyes and she was terribly frail.

  The five years had affected all of them, Luc realized. It wasn’t only he who had suffered, and maybe the other kinds of pain were just as keen as what he had known. But for better or for worse it was over now. He was home again, the worst of the bridges crossed.

  Whether he would stay, he did not know. For now this was enough.

  He patted his grandmother’s shoulder and felt her pull back to look up at him. Her head barely reached the bottom of his chest.

  “I’m not crying,” she said fiercely, even as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I never cry. Especially not for a ham-handed ingrate like you.”

  “Of course you don’t, my dear.” Luc smiled inwardly, thinking of another woman who had used similar words and stolen his heart. “Well, where is she?”

  A light of mischief entered the duchess’s eyes. “She?”

  “Don’t toy with me, Grandmama. I want to know where Silver St. Clair is.”

  “St. Clair?” The duchess made a great business of studying Ian and India. “Do you recall that name, my dears?”

  Luc’s brother and sister were wise enough to stay out of this particular skirmish.

  “Grandmama.” There was a clear threat in Luc’s tone.

  “Oh, yes, I believe I recall the name now. A charming girl — a trifle headstrong, but then I never hold that against anyone. She was here, along with that ingenious brother of hers. Reminded me of your father at a similar age. Only, he was mad about antiquities, of course.”

  “Grandmama!”

  “Don’t growl at me, you great bear! I’m not in the least frightened by your threats. And that lovely young woman of yours is not here. She left, as it happens.”

  “She did what?”

  India, smiling hugely, threw one arm around her brother. “She is really quite lovely, Luc. But tell me, have you had the Dream?”

  Luc’s face took on a faint tinge of red. “Dream? I don’t know what you’re talking about, India.”

  “Of course you do, you great looby. The Delamere Dream. The dream all Delameres have the night after they meet their true love. Mother told us that the spirit of the first Delamere ancestor on English soil was betrayed in love and died most unhappily. Don’t you remember? Because of his unhappiness he always appears in a dream to alert his descendants that they have just met the one who will be the love of their life. That way they won’t make the same mistake that he did.”

  Luc’s flush had grown more noticeable. “I don’t know anything about such nonsense.”

  “Of course you do. You’re blushing like a schoolboy! Can’t you see it, Ian?”

  The gray-eyed soldier took pity on his brother and gave India’s hair a playful tug. “No, I can’t, minx. It’s just your imagination, that’s all.”

  “It is not! Oh, you wretched men all stick together. Grandmama, you see it, don’t you?”

  The Duchess of Cranford pursued her lips, studying her eldest grandchild. She was not going to let the boy off the hook yet. “Perhaps.”

  “Blast it, Grandmama, where did she go?”

  “Miss St. Clair went back to Kingsdon Cross.”

  “She did what?”

  “Really, my love, you are starting to repeat yourself. Miss St. Clair insisted on leaving as soon as she could. She told me she had important information for you.”

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “Two hours, I expect.”

  “The reckless little fool.” A frown hardened Luc’s face. “I must go.”

  The duchess began to protest, but Ian touched her arm. “Luc knows what he has to do, Grandmama. I think you’d best ask Cook to pack a satchel of food for him to take on the road.”

  “Humph.” The duchess glared at Luc. “I suppose I must. But you’d better not stay away from us for another five years, you rascal!”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” But Luc’s smile did not quite extend to his
eyes. His thoughts were already before him, racing along the road to Kingsdon Cross.

  “There’s one other thing you should know.” Ian’s voice was low. “Miss St. Clair’s brother had a notebook with him. Among other things it had a sketch of you in it, which is how we managed to connect you with the pair. But there was another drawing in the book.” Ian’s eyes hardened. “Damian Renwick’s.”

  Luc cursed.

  “I suspect it had something to do with the incident in King’s Lynn when we saw the farm wagon nearly run them down.”

  “Renwick, drive a farm wagon?” Luc shook his head. “Not bloody likely.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than that. It was over by the time we found her, and the man had fled. Perhaps I should have pushed the pair harder for information, but I confess that I was not thinking quite clearly when I found the notebook.” Ian studied Luc. “You see, I had just realized that my older brother was not dead, as I’d long supposed him to be.”

  Luc’s mouth hardened. “I … am dreadfully sorry. For all of you. But I’m not saying I wouldn’t do the same thing over again. There are reasons, Ian, things that I still need to think through.”

  “There is no need to explain,” Ian said gruffly. “I’m sure you had the best of reasons for doing what you did. Only next time try not to underestimate your family, you great fool.”

  India rose and put her hand on Luc’s cheek. “But there’s not going to be a next time. Surely, there isn’t, Luc.”

  “I sincerely hope not, my dear.” Luc’s voice was grim even as he tried to reassure her. “But I must warn you that since the first moment of meeting Miss Silver St. Clair, my life seems to have slid entirely out of my control.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Luc thought about those words again and again on the long, dusty trip from Swallow Hill south to Kingsdon Cross. They weren’t true, of course. He did have control. But Silver had shattered so many of his old beliefs, turned his life topsy-turvy and his heart inside out, that sometimes he felt out of control.

  But he wouldn’t give up the feeling for the world, Luc decided. And he was going to do whatever it took to protect the incorrigible female from any further danger.

  Whether she liked it or not.

  ~ ~ ~

  Luc’s boots were streaked with mud and his face lined with weariness when he raced up the sloping hill to Lavender Close three hours later. He slid from the saddle and made his way directly to the conservatory workrooms. When he came to the threshold, he felt something cold and malevolent brush over his spine.

  Shelves were tossed in a sprawl, tables overturned, and plants scattered everywhere. Dirt lined the floor and water lay in puddles along one wall.

  Fear gripped him. “Silver?”

  A groan came from behind a potted pine.

  Tinker!

  Luc strode to the far wall and found Bram sitting with one arm braced around the old servant, who was pasty faced and had blood dripping from his forehead. “Can you talk? Tell me what happened, Tinker.”

  “There was — three of them,” the old man rasped. “They came from behind while I was cleaning that blasted distilling pot. Looking for something, they were, and it wasn’t any bloody flowers, I can tell you that. Knocked me out cold after they tore through everything in here. After that I don’t remember nothing. Master Bram only found me a little while ago.”

  “But Silver — where is Silver?” Luc’s voice was tight with impatience.

  It was Bram who answered. He pointed to Silver’s desk. “A note was lying there when we came in. She picked it up, then gasped. After that she ran out. Nothing I could say would stop her. I didn’t know what else to do and then — then Tinker woke up, and he was mumbling, all covered with blood and…”

  “Don’t worry,” Luc said reassuringly. He saw the terrible guilt in the boy’s eyes. “No one can stop Silver when she’s got an idea fixed in her head. But I’d better have a look at that note you spoke of.” Luc found the piece of crumpled vellum and studied its scrawled contents.

  My dearest Silver,

  I need your help.

  I found something — something unbelievable. Something about the secret of your father’s death. Come to me at the old mill before sunset.

  Luc

  Luc’s fingers tightened.

  His name, but not his writing. Yet how would Silver know that?

  He felt fear bloom like an ugly weed inside him. When he strode from the room a moment later, his face was hard as granite.

  ~ 36 ~

  Waves slapping on water.

  The distant cry of seabirds.

  A plunk as oars dipped and swished.

  Dizzily Silver opened her eyes to darkness. They had caught her as she raced along the hedgerow before the old mill. Of course, Luc hadn’t been there. She had cursed herself for a naive fool the minute she saw them. Luc would never have summoned her to a place of danger like the mill. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? And why hadn’t she asked for help from his family?

  But it was too late now, Silver thought. She was trussed like a chicken, flung into the back of what felt like a rowboat making its way by darkness. She heard muttered voices nearby and the slap of oars. Without warning hard hands yanked her up into the air and bound her inside a coarse sack.

  Nausea churned through her stomach. Back and forth she swayed and pitched, hanging from the shoulder of her captor. She heard a door creak open and wood scrape over stone, and then she was thrown down upon a cold, hard floor. A blade pierced the coarse burlap.

  The next moment Silver stared up, half blinded, into the corona of a candle.

  “Welcome, my dear.”

  Blinking, Silver pushed to her feet and glared at the man before her. A single gold ring glinted at his ear and his black eyes were hard in a walnut face.

  “Who in the devil are you?” Silver snapped, though her feet were so wobbly she could barely stand.

  The man threw back his head and laughed. “What, no fear? Excellent. I find that most amusing in a female.”

  “Well, you surely won’t like it in me,” Silver hissed, kicking out with her foot. She missed him, however, and his response was to wrap a length of silken cord around her hands, binding them in front of her.

  “There, that’s much better,” he snarled. “That should take some of the fight out of you.”

  “Don’t bloody count on it,” Silver snapped. “Who are you?”

  The man crossed his arms and stared at her, his eyes hooded. “By all means, let me introduce myself. I am Hamid bin Salim, the head of the Dey of Algiers’ Select Guard. And because I have been so honest with you, I think it is time you answered a few questions for me, Englishwoman.”

  “When it snows in July!”

  “A tigress to be sure,” her captor said softly, “but I wonder if you will be so very fierce in a few minutes.”

  Silver’s heart began to pound. They couldn’t have Bram, could they? She felt her knees go weak at the thought of her brother paying the price for her recklessness, but she wasn’t about to show that she was frightened. “I doubt it,” she said acidly.

  “How very unpleasant you English women are,” her captor mused, shaking his head. “Our women are much more compliant.”

  “Thanks to whips and brutes like you,” Silver muttered.

  Her captor merely smiled at her.

  “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

  “It’s very simple, really. First I want your father’s records. Miss St. Clair, including his notebook and all his reports. Then I want the shipment of gold that I hid in his last crates of lavender, sent from the Mediterranean on the day before his death.”

  Silver’s hands clenched. Suddenly another piece of the puzzle fell into place. This was one of the men who had been hounding her father, demanding his participation in some illicit scheme.

  But she hid her emotions. “I know nothing about any gold shipment, you snake. I went through my father’s papers very carefully a
fter his death and I found no gold, I can assure you. But you must know that already, since you’ve searched the workrooms.”

  “Oh, yes, we searched and found nothing, my dear Miss St. Clair. But only a fool would leave such wealth lying about where any stranger might find it. And you, my dear, are very far from being a fool, I think.” Hamid’s eyes did not leave Silver’s face as he pulled a jeweled dagger from his pocket. Its blade was polished and curved, a lethal sweep of silver. He smiled as he lodged the point against her throat. “And now I believe it is time for some answers, ferenghi. Where did your father hide the gold?”

  “There wasn’t any gold, as I’ve already told you! If there had been, don’t you think I would have used it?”

  The Barbary corsair shrugged. “If you are as wise as I think you are, using it would be the last thing you’d do. We have had men watching Lavender Close for a long time now, of course. You would have known that.”

  Silver glared at Hamid. “Let me go. I have nothing of yours!”

  The Corsair smiled coldly. “Oh, but you do, Miss St. Clair. You have nearly one thousand pounds in gold.”

  “You lie!”

  “Not at all. They were hidden amid the cuttings and potted plants of your father’s last two shipments.”

  “There is no gold, I tell you!”

  “How unfortunate that you choose to be stubborn like your father.” He studied her over steepled fingers. “And how unfortunate for me that the men who were sent to deal with your father were such fools.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your lies grow thin, ferenghi. I shall refresh your memory. When your father continued to be unhelpful, men were sent to kidnap him. His business travels and his shipments made an irresistible disguise for our true purposes, you see. He could not be allowed to refuse our offers,” Hamid said coldly.

  “But he did refuse! He would never have anything to do with sea slime like you!” Silver countered, her eyes flashing.

  “Oh, he would have, my dear. After a few weeks of our consummate brand of torture he would have agreed to anything I asked.” Hamid laughed softly. “Unfortunately, the men who were sent to capture your beloved father took the wrong man. They are men of the desert, after all, and in your wretched English fog they grew confused, taking a younger man wearing a red carnation instead of your father in his red rose.”