Rapture Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Jeb nodded and rubbed his chin. “Think I’ll be able to find a few able seamen who might do. Johnny Fuller is my first mate—he’d be a good man to have.” He grinned. “And I know just the fellow to be your captain.”

  “I thought you might,” Barnaby said, his dark eyes amused. Emily didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just that easily Barnaby had seduced Jeb away from her and onto his side. She tried to feel resentful about Jeb’s defection, but she could not. Jeb wasn’t a smuggler at heart—none of them were. Circumstances had forced them into the contraband trade and she admitted that she wouldn’t be sorry to see the end of it. No doubt, she thought wryly, Barnaby already had plans for Mrs. Gilbert and some of the other investors.

  Emily said to Jeb, “There is nothing more can be done tonight. Walker can find you places to sleep here tonight and have you gone before Jeffery or his valet is likely to stumble over you.”

  Jeb shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. We’re going back to The Crown just in case Will and his gang decides to inflict more damage tonight. I left Ford and Fuller and a few others with Mrs. Gilbert to keep an eye out for trouble, but Caleb and I need to be there if it comes to a fight.”

  “Do you think it will come to that?” Emily asked worriedly.

  “No. Will and his boys got what they wanted and gave us a good trouncing in the bargain. I suspect they’ll only go after The Crown if we don’t heed their warning and continue to run contraband, but I don’t want to risk being wrong again.”

  Her initial shock and horror at tonight’s events fading, Emily was puzzled. She could have heard all of this in the morning, so why was Jeb here at this hour?

  Almost as if he read her mind, Jeb said, “I suppose you’re wondering now what was so important that I had to see you tonight.” At Emily’s nod, he looked sly and added, “Well, the answer is sitting right there at the other end of the table.”

  Almost as one, Emily and Barnaby swung around to stare down the length of the long table. The fisherman, a stranger to her, was no longer slumped facedown on the table, but was now propped up in the chair, his chin resting weakly on his chest. The bulky fisherman’s garb hung loosely on his tall frame and he was slim to the point of thinness, the bones of his wrists jutting out. Heavy black hair framed his face and fell down in a wave across his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes; his complexion was pale, but whether natural or from some illness, Emily couldn’t tell. He looked, she decided, like a man who had narrowly escaped death.

  Barnaby stiffened, hardly able to believe his eyes. After a stunned moment, he rushed to the other end of the table and exclaimed, “Lucien!” Appalled by Luc’s condition, he gently touched his half brother’s bone-thin shoulder. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Lucien stirred slightly and with an effort his head lifted. Dull, azure eyes met Barnaby’s. “I diced with death one time too often, but thanks to your friend, Jeb, here, he managed to get me out of France.”

  “He was damn near dead when I found him,” Jeb said quietly. “And that’s what delayed us. Miss Emily had asked me to find out what I could about your brother when I was in Calais. As soon as we arrived in port I asked a few discreet questions, but learned nothing. Two days later, just as we readied to sail, word came from a . . . friend that she had an American who might be the fellow I was looking for.” Jeb hesitated, then muttered, “He was in a, ah, brothel and Marie feared he might die. When I first laid eyes on him, he wasn’t dead yet but damn near. We had no choice but to wait and see if he was going to live or not.” He grinned at Luc. “The fellow decided to live so we brought him back with us.”

  Barnaby shook his head and, despite his concern over Luc’s state, he muttered, “A whorehouse? Now why am I not surprised?”

  Luc flashed him a shadow of his old mocking grin and murmured, “The ladies, you know, they adore me.”

  “But what happened?” Barnaby demanded. “How did you end up nearly dead in a whorehouse in Calais?”

  “It was not easy,” Lucien replied. The azure eyes lifted to Barnaby’s anxious face and Luc said, “I should have listened to you and Lamb—it was a foolish task I set for myself and one bound to fail.” Running a hand tiredly over his face, he continued, “I nearly lost my life and all I learned is that Maman’s family are all dead, and to be in France these days—especially for a foreigner—is . . . unhealthy. Since last summer Danton and Marat have dominated the Paris commune and have taken over all police power and they use it at will. In November I was in Paris and, having finally accepted that none of the family survived, I was preparing to leave the city when someone reported that I had been asking pointed questions about the Gagnier family.” A ragged smile crossed his face. “The police came to call and I’m afraid, I was not polite—I ended up in prison.”

  Mrs. Spalding interrupted the narrative by placing a mug of steaming potage swimming with bits of beef and mutton and carrots, parsnips and cabbage in front of Luc and declaring, “Eat! You can talk afterward. Right now, you need this.”

  Glaring at Jeb, she said, “And the same goes for you and Caleb. It’s a bitter, cold night out there and you’re not leaving my kitchen before getting something warm in your bellies.” A bit more politely to Emily, she asked, “Would you or his lordship care for something? I have a nice pot of tea ready and some cinnamon-and-raisin scones are about ready to come out of the oven any minute now. There’s also plenty of that potage if you’d like some.”

  Emily and Barnaby meekly decided that a cup of tea and some scones would be appreciated. The others accepted the potage and the chunks of bread and cheese Alice and Mrs. Spalding put before them.

  While the others ate, over the rim of her cup, Emily studied Barnaby’s half brother. She could see little resemblance to Barnaby beyond a certain look around the mouth and jaw and, like Lamb, Luc had inherited the Joslyn blue eyes and aristocratic features; he would have easily passed for Mathew’s brother. Though tall, even when he regained the weight he had obviously lost, Lucien would be a slim man, a rapier to Barnaby’s broadsword.

  As if feeling her eyes on him, Luc looked up and stared back at her. She flushed at the admiring smile that lit up his face and the speculative glint in that azure gaze as it traveled over her face and down to her bosom.

  Seeing Emily’s blush and guessing the cause, Barnaby sighed. Luc liked women almost as much as they liked him and even having just barely escaped death his half brother couldn’t help flirting with the nearest attractive woman.

  Glancing at Lucien, Barnaby said softly, “Leave her alone, Luc. I’m marrying her on Tuesday.”

  Astonished, Luc looked from Barnaby to Emily. A delighted grin flitted across his face. “Mon Dieu! Now this is wonderful news. It is very good that Captain Jeb found me in time to attend the wedding, oui?”

  “Yes, it is,” Barnaby agreed, “but you haven’t told us how you ended up half-dead in a whorehouse.”

  Luc started to shrug, then grimaced and rubbed his right shoulder. “After nearly two months in prison as a guest of the French police, I knew I had to escape or I’d die either of starvation, disease or the guillotine. I was desperate, and when the opportunity arose to take part in a prison break, I took it.” His lips twisted. “Unfortunately, I was shot during the escape. My, er, compatriots left me for dead and they scattered in all directions. With no money, surrounded by strangers and the French police looking for me, reaching the coast and getting aboard a ship headed for England was my only option. Under the cover of darkness I made my way on foot to the coast . . . stealing what I could as I traveled.” He shot Barnaby a sardonic look. “If I had any luck at all during that cursed trip it was that upon my initial arrival in France, while in Calais, I made the, uh, acquaintance of the same woman Jeb knew—Marie Dupre. I hoped if I could make it to her place that she would help me.” A disgusted expression crossed his mobile features. “I’d have been fine if the damned wound hadn’t become infected. But it did and by the time I reached Calais and Marie’s place, I
was so weak and racked by fever I could hardly stand. If she hadn’t taken me in . . .” He smiled crookedly. “If she’d turned her back on me, this story would have a different ending.”

  His voice thick with emotion, Barnaby said, “I warned you that it was a damned sleeveless errand. Christ! You could have died, Luc!”

  Seated beside Barnaby, Emily placed her hand over his as it lay on the table beside his cup of tea and squeezed gently, her heart aching for him. His hand turned and his fingers tightened on hers and in that odd moment all doubts about her coming marriage vanished. Why, we belong together she admitted, staggered by the insight. Her gaze dropped to their hands. Just as our hands were linked in some indefinable way, she thought, dazed, so are our very lives unalterably melded together. Together they were stronger, more complete and in that instant, she realized why: she was in love with him. Stunned by the discovery, her thoughts in a whirl, her fingers clenched even tighter around Barnaby’s.

  His fingers gripping Emily’s as if he’d never let them go, when Lucien remained silent, Barnaby said, “Go on. Finish it.”

  Toying with a small chunk of bread, Lucien said wearily, “When I first arrived in France, I stayed a few days in Calais and one night, I visited Marie’s establishment. There was some trouble in her place that night. . . .” His face went hard, and he said, flatly, “I settled the problem—much to Marie’s relief and gratitude. She swore she was in my debt and that if I ever needed a favor to call upon her.” He shrugged. “So when I showed up half-dead on her doorstep months later, she repaid the favor.”

  Barnaby glanced at Jeb. “It seems that I am deeper in your debt than I realized. Thank you for saving his life and bringing my brother safely home.”

  Jeb waved a dismissing hand. “Miss Emily is the one you should thank. If she hadn’t mentioned him to me, we’d have sailed from Calais with nary a thought of looking for Mr. Lucien.”

  His eyes on Emily, Luc said, “It seems, soon-to-be-sweet-sister, that I am in your debt. You saved my life—it is yours to command.”

  “Then I command you for your brother’s sake to regain your health and try not to cause him further anxiety,” Emily said with a glimmer of a smile in her fine eyes.

  “Once you know him better,” Barnaby said dryly, “you will discover that the latter is beyond him. He is not called Lucifer for nothing.”

  “Pay him no heed,” Luc replied airily. “My petite brother fusses like a hen with one chick.” He grinned. “It is good that his attention will now be shared between us. Keeping him distracted is a burden I will gladly share with you.”

  With Lucien’s tale told, the group broke up, Jeb and Caleb leaving to return to the village. Shortly after that, having said a private good night to Emily, Barnaby bundled Lucien into the waiting Joslyn coach.

  Sinking back against the luxurious padded dark blue cushions as the big coach lurched into motion and drove away from The Birches, Lucien shook his head. In the light created by the small candles burning in the four glass lanterns hung on either side of the coach doors, he regarded Barnaby seated across from him. Smiling faintly, he asked, “Your lordship? How the bloody hell did that happen?”

  As the coach rumbled through the night, Barnaby gave an expurgated version of the events that had occurred during the seven months since they had last seen each other. “A viscount!” Lucien exclaimed when Barnaby was through. “And Lamb here with you.” He shot him a teasing look from between thick, feminine lashes. “With your penchant for acting like a broody hen I’m surprised you let Bethany remain at home and didn’t drag her to England with you.”

  Barnaby hunched a shoulder. “I didn’t know what I was walking into here and she was adamantly opposed to leaving Green Hill. It seemed wisest to leave her behind for the time being.”

  Naming Barnaby and Bethany’s uncle, Lucien said, “Fortier with her?”

  Barnaby nodded.

  Satisfied that all was well with his young half sister, and aware that there were some intriguing gaps in Barnaby’s narrative, Luc said, “Now tell me how it is that the lovely, fair-haired Amazon you plan to marry is at home with a gang of smugglers.”

  Laughing Barnaby said, “You and Lamb! He’s called her my Amazon from the moment he first laid eyes on her.”

  “Lamb and I often agree about women,” Lucien purred, “but I notice you’re not telling me about the smugglers.”

  Knowing Lucien wouldn’t give up until he had the whole story, reluctantly, Barnaby related the main points.

  Lucien nodded several times and when Barnaby finished speaking, he grinned at him. “You know, I am liking this Amazon of yours more and more—I predict she will save you from becoming a stuffy old man. And Cornelia . . .” Lucien chuckled. “If she were fifty years younger she’d steal my heart.”

  “She will anyway,” Barnaby said, smiling.

  “So tell me more of our cousins, Mathew, Thomas and Simon . . . and the possibility”—Lucien’s eyes narrowed—“that one of them is trying to kill my favorite brother.”

  “I’m your only brother,” Barnaby reminded him drily.

  “Oui, that is true,” Lucien observed, “which is why you are my favorite and why I would prefer not to lose you.”

  The remainder of the drive to Windmere was spent considering the reasons and the identity of the person behind the attacks on Barnaby. “I think I liked it better,” Lucien said as the coach pulled to a stop at the front of the mansion, “when Mathew and Thomas were at your house where you could watch them. Who knows what they are up to at this Monks Abby.”

  “Not to worry,” Barnaby said as he reached for the handle of the coach door. “They’ll be arriving back here on Monday for the wedding on Tuesday. In the meantime you can meet Simon and take his measure.”

  In the darkness Lucien wasn’t treated to the full magnificence of the house, but stepping inside the soaring two-story foyer and the rich furnishings, his eyes widened. “Mon Dieu! I begin to see why our cousin might very well wish you dead.”

  The tall, young footman, William Weldon, was there to greet them, and not as well trained as his butler, Weldon couldn’t hide his flash of astonishment that his lordship had returned home with a scruffy fisherman by his side and one whose features bore the Joslyn stamp. Barnaby grinned, liking the honest reaction, rather than Peckham’s expressionless features.

  Upon reaching his rooms, Barnaby showed Lucien into the handsomely appointed sitting room adjoining his bedroom and rang for Lamb. He offered Lucien some liquor from the dazzling array of Baccarat crystal decanters that lined a mahogany sideboard on the far side of the room.

  Lucien declined the offer, but sprawled gratefully on one of the sofas. “Nothing for me. I need a clear head,” Lucien murmured, “to endure a fierce scolding from Lamb.”

  Lamb entered via the bedroom a moment later. At first he didn’t notice Lucien on the sofa and, smiling, he teased Barnaby, “I see your Amazon did not keep you long.”

  “Which was probably just as well,” Barnaby said wryly, thinking of those passionate moments in her arms and how close he had been to seducing Emily tonight. He waved a hand in Lucien’s direction and added, “I’ve brought home a guest—you’ll have to find him suitable rooms.”

  Lamb glanced at the bag of bones lolling on the sofa and froze. There was a second that Barnaby glimpsed the naked love and relief that sped across Lamb’s face, before it was instantly masked. Betraying little emotion, Lamb stared at Lucien and said calmly, “I’ve seen you looking better.”

  “Indeed. I confess there are times that I have felt better,” Lucien replied just as calmly.

  Barnaby had never understood the relationship between these two. He never doubted that they loved each other, but too often they were at daggers drawing. He could not decide for the life of him if it was because they were too much alike or because of an innate competitiveness. His mouth twisted. And he was usually caught in the middle of it.

  Ignoring the pair of them, he splashed some hock
in a glass. He took a swallow of the pale liquid and realizing that conversation was up to him, he related the high points of Lucien’s arrival.

  When Barnaby finished speaking, Lamb quirked a brow and like Barnaby before him, he said, “A whorehouse? Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Unlike his reaction when Barnaby had made the same observation, Luc bristled and replied curtly, “You know me—any port in a storm.”

  Barnaby stalled the sharp retort he sensed hovering on Lamb’s tongue by saying hastily, “The point is he is home and safe. He’s not fully recovered yet and the best place for him right now is bed.”

  Lamb studied Lucien’s face and, not liking his color or the dull sheen in his eyes, didn’t argue. On his way out of the room, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll see to it immediately.”

  Lamb was as good as his word and within thirty minutes Lucien was installed in a superb suite of rooms just down the hall from Barnaby’s. Lamb had assigned an eager young footman, Bertram Hinton, to act as Lucien’s manservant until other arrangements could be made.

  With Lucien, now wearing one of the nightshirts Barnaby routinely ignored, tucked into bed, before he left the room, Lamb looked at him and shook his head. “You do have the devil’s own luck, you know—if you’d arrived only hours later . . .” Lamb’s heart clenched at how close they had come to losing him. Struggling against the tide of emotion that flooded him, he said softly, “Welcome home, bantling—we were worried about you.”

  Barnaby looked up from the contemplation of his empty glass of hock when Lamb entered the room. “Is he all settled?” he asked as Lamb took the glass from him and refilled it.

  “For now,” Lamb replied, turning back with the full glass and handing it to Barnaby. “He’s in the suite two doors down. I’ve assigned Hinton to act as his valet for now.” For several minutes they mulled over Lucien’s return as well as the attack by the Nolles gang tonight.