Dark Temptation

by CHASE, ALLISON

  Abandoning the cup by the doorstep, he gripped the bottle and strode past the kitchen garden. From the stable he heard Prince’s soft whickering, and from the henhouse a few sleepy clucks. The distant bleating of sheep drifted from across the road. Hoping the elder Gordons arrived soon, he tilted the brandy to his lips, allowing a small measure to burn its way down his throat. Then, in a burst of frustration, he sent the bottle hurling into the side of the Gordons’ barn.

  Liquor would do him no good, could not banish a single one of his demons. Not the ones inhabiting his soul, and not the small one that now inhabited his life. She had charged him with protecting someone, but whom? Not Sophie. The little ghost had made that clear tonight. Why wouldn’t the apparition simply tell him what he needed to know?

  The brandy dripped in amber streaks down the whitewashed barn wall. Shards of glass littered the ground. Turning his back on the mess, he shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered as the cold air and an irrepressible desolation took hold. Protecting a nameless individual, rooting out a nameless villain, preventing nameless, countless others from falling victim to the crime of piracy—his life seemed filled with one impossible task after another.

  The crunching of wheels on the drive sent him sprinting to the yard at the side of the house. A cart drawn by two huge, smoky draft horses turned in from the road. The elder Gordons had finally returned.

  As Barnaby Gordon descended from the plank seat, Chad strode up behind him. His sudden appearance wrenched a startled shriek from Louisa Gordon, her face pale within the dark folds of a shawl.

  Her husband rounded on Chad. ‘‘God’s teeth!’’

  ‘‘I’ve got questions for you, Gordon.’’

  The man squinted, his expression incredulous. ‘‘Lord Wycliffe? What the devil are ye doing here? And at such an hour?’’

  ‘‘Helping collect your broken son off the moor, that’s what.’’

  His wife scrambled down from the wagon. ‘‘Dominic’s been hurt?’’

  ‘‘He was attacked. By friends of your husband’s.’’

  ‘‘What friends, Barn?’’ The woman clutched her shawl tighter beneath her chin. ‘‘What is he talking about?’’

  ‘‘Damned if I know.’’

  ‘‘Oh, you may well be damned. And that will make two of us.’’ A twist of fury and guilt drove Chad at the man, who stood taller and nearly twice his width. Using surprise to his advantage, he caught the broad shoulders in a vise grip, backed Gordon up against the cart shed and pinned him to the closed doors with a teeth-grinding jolt that rattled the hinges.

  ‘‘Who told you to alter the harbor lights?’’ Chad demanded. ‘‘Don’t deny it; your son admits as much. I want names, Gordon. And I want to know what other crimes you’ve been paid to commit.’’

  As the questions seethed from his lips, a commotion broke out behind him—the thwack of the opening front door hitting the wall of the house, then footsteps and a raised clamor of voices.

  A hand gripped his sleeve. ‘‘Leave my father alone.’’ Rachel’s appeal penetrated Chad’s rage. He looked down into her eyes, large and frightened, and decided that no matter what Gordon had done, Chad could neither threaten nor thrash the man as he’d like to in front of his daughter and wife.

  He eased his grip on Gordon but didn’t release him. Ian appeared at Rachel’s shoulder. Louisa Gordon followed, her high-pitched entreaties creating a shrill harmony to her husband’s rumbled curses. A shout came from the direction of the house.

  ‘‘I’m coming, Father.’’ It was Dominic. He stood on the threshold, gripping the jamb for support.

  ‘‘Go back inside,’’ his sister cried. ‘‘Oh, what are you thinking?’’ Her hems flurrying, she dashed back across the yard. Sophie appeared in the doorway, and Chad immediately regretted losing his temper and causing this scene. He didn’t want her caught in the middle; didn’t want her hurt any further.

  With a stoic expression she stepped outside, slipped an arm around Dominic’s waist and set a hand beneath his good elbow.

  He seemed not to notice her. ‘‘Don’t let the blighter bully you, Father,’’ he shouted.

  Chad knew an instant’s indignation, one that cost him his hold on Gordon. The farmer broke free and headed for the house with a formidable stride.

  ‘‘She’s to blame.’’ He thrust a finger in Sophie’s direction. ‘‘Miss hoity-toity with her nose in everyone’s business.’’

  Sophie’s cry of alarm launched Chad into pursuit before he had time to contemplate her uncle’s intentions. Sprinting forward on a burst of speed, he grabbed Gordon’s arm from behind and spun the larger man around with a momentum that robbed them both of balance. Chad hit the ground with a jolt that sent lights dancing before his eyes.

  Landing half on top of him, the other man let out a grunt as the air left him, but he recovered quickly enough. Before Chad could ease free and roll to his feet, Gordon pinned his shoulders. Face framed in wild black hair, the farmer glowered down at him.

  Though at a clear disadvantage, Chad met the man’s scowl with one of equal venom. ‘‘Let me up and try listening to reason. I came to Penhollow to discover the identity of the individual responsible for ordering innocent ships scuttled. Sophie has nothing to do with any of it. But I think you do, don’t you, Gordon?’’

  He felt a slight lessening of the force in the man’s brawny arms as Gordon peered over his shoulder. ‘‘What did ye tell him, boy?’’

  Chad took advantage of Gordon’s momentary distraction by gripping both of his arms, bracing his own feet on the ground and putting every ounce of his strength into heaving Gordon over onto his side. Then Chad bolted upright and pushed the other man onto his stomach. He wedged a knee at the small of Gordon’s spine, reclaimed one of the farmer’s arms and pinned it behind his back.

  That didn’t stop the larger man from struggling. Chad wrenched the arm another notch. ‘‘Care to hear it snap?’’

  Gordon growled, but shook his head.

  ‘‘Then calm down. You may be larger than I, but I excelled in both boxing and wrestling all through my school days. Shall we put it to the test?’’

  The fight drained from Gordon’s limbs.

  ‘‘Good. I’m going to let you up now. Remember, this is between you and me. Leave Sophie out of it.’’

  The farmer turned his bearded cheek to the ground and seethed from the corner of his mouth, ‘‘ ‘Sophie’ is it now? What’s she to ye?’’

  Chad ignored the question as he eased off the man and stood up. What could he have said? He didn’t know what Sophie was to him.

  Gordon shook his disheveled hair out of his eyes and continued complaining as his wife helped him to his feet. ‘‘Poking about where she don’t belong. If the girl don’t learn her place good and quick, she’ll come to a right sticky end.’’

  ‘‘And if you don’t come clean and help me, Gordon, you’ll find yourself swinging from a gibbet.’’

  At her brother’s side, Rachel gave a cry. Louisa Gordon treated Chad to a resentful glare. He angled his chin toward the house. ‘‘I want everyone inside. Now.’’

  It irked him no end that they all looked to Gordon for approval before filing into the house.

  Chad’s questions had to wait, however, until after Sophie’s aunt exclaimed her dismay over her son’s plight, examined his pulverized face and broken arm, tucked him back onto the sofa beneath several blankets, comforted her daughter, inquired after Sophie’s health and made tea.

  The bearded collie, called Heyworth, clambered up onto the sofa, taking up a good portion of space as he stretched out beside Dominic and set about nosing and licking his injured arm. The animal seemed to have a calming effect on the young man, for Dominic made no interruptions as Rachel explained the circumstances of the attack to her parents.

  Ian, meanwhile, attempted to make himself invisible by hovering silently in the farthest corner of the room. Eventually he retreated into the kitchen. Chad had forgotten that the y
oung fisherman might not be a welcome guest in this house, particularly not by Barnaby Gordon.

  Sophie, too, kept her distance, sitting alone on a wooden settle against the wall on the far side of the fireplace. Chad yearned to go to her, longed to hold her in his arms and ask forgiveness for all the wrongs he had done. A single question tormented him: Would being honest from the start have made a difference? As soon as the subject of smuggling came up—that first night as they searched the coast for her mystery ship—should he have confessed his reasons for coming to Penhollow, and all that had led to his arrival here?

  She might have run from him then, as fast and as far as possible, but at least she would not now have to bear the dismal burden of his deceit.

  I threw myself away for a lie, for a phantom pleasure I foolishly believed could be real.

  Those words slashed at his conscience in a relentless punishment he deserved.

  He turned to Gordon, and to the one matter he might still rectify. ‘‘Who paid you to change the shore lights? Those men at the moorland farm?’’

  ‘‘Don’t tell him anything, Father,’’ Dominic mumbled as he scratched Heyworth’s shaggy ears.

  The hulking farmer lumbered across the room and settled into a chair he dragged close to the sofa. His large hand draped his son’s forehead in a simple gesture of affection utterly at odds with the man’s rough exterior. Gordon rose a notch in Chad’s estimate, renewing his hopes that his efforts here would not be wasted.

  But when Gordon remained silently brooding, Chad stood before the man and gestured toward the sofa. ‘‘Two fiends thrashed your son. Supposing your daughter is next? Or your wife?’’

  Gordon paled. His dark gaze leaped from one family member to the next, even lighted on Heyworth. His coal-black eyebrows converged above his nose.

  ‘‘Still tongue-tied?’’ Amid a surge of impatient anger, pain lanced Chad’s gut, at the same time thundering inside his skull. The sensation felt akin to the illness that had struck him earlier at the chapel. Determined not to display weakness in front of the farmer, he purposely braced his hands on the armrests of Gordon’s chair and curled back his lips in a show of ire he hoped masked his distress.

  ‘‘You’re consorting with murderers, Mr. Gordon.’’ He bit down against the pain and hoped the gesture appeared threatening. ‘‘Their actions against Dominic suggest they consider you both a liability now. We know how scoundrels dispose of liabilities.’’

  The man glowered up at him through his bristling eyebrows. ‘‘Tell me, Your Lordship, how did I come to be such a bloody liability? It weren’t me out there spying last night. My son, neither.’’

  ‘‘No, it was Sophie.’’ Dominic pointed a finger in her general direction.

  ‘‘And me,’’ Chad said quickly. The pain subsiding, he pushed upright.

  ‘‘Bloody hell.’’ Gordon’s features turned ruddy. He surged to his feet, sending Chad back a step and prompting the dog to let out a whine.

  ‘‘Are we going to tussle again, Gordon, or are you going to decide to be useful?’’ When the man made a snarling sound in his throat, Chad said, ‘‘I watched you scan the sea last night through your spyglass. You were looking for a signal; I gleaned as much as I pressed my ear to the back of that ramshackle farmhouse last night. You’ve been waiting for the return of a ship, no?’’

  ‘‘None of your sodding business.’’

  ‘‘Father, tell him.’’ Rachel hopped down from her perch on the arm of the sofa. ‘‘Lord Wycliffe, through the years everyone in this town has benefited from goods brought in from France and beyond. Fair trading is a way of life for us and always has been.’’

  ‘‘Yes, Miss Gordon. But the circumstances have changed recently, haven’t they?’’

  ‘‘Aye,’’ she whispered. ‘‘It’s no longer fair trading, but something much more sinister.’’ She turned to her father. ‘‘You must tell Lord Wycliffe everything you know. For all our sakes.’’

  Behind his mane of black hair, a pulse ticked in Gordon’s cheek. He sank back into his chair. Reaching out, he took his daughter’s hand and rubbed his thumb back and forth across knuckles reddened from her daily toils on the farm. He sighed, a sound like an ocean gust hitting the cliffs.

  ‘‘My son and I are paid to keep watch for ship signals on the horizon. Three flashes, followed by two, then four. Always after midnight, and only in the days of the waning moon, when the night skies grow darker. We take turns at the watch. When the signal comes, he or I take our skiff down the coast and ignite a row of torches.

  ‘‘In the inlet near Edgecombe.’’

  Gordon nodded.

  ‘‘Have you followed the tunnel to its inland source?’’ Chad asked.

  ‘‘God, no. We did what we were told. Put in, light the torches and leave. The ship sails in close and sends a lighter to shore with the cargo. It’s unloaded, and the crew snuffs the torches and stashes them back in the cave before they row back out.’’

  His palm rasping against the growth of beard stubbling his chin, Chad contemplated whether the other man could be speaking the truth. ‘‘You mean to tell me you were never tempted to return afterward and examine that cargo? Perhaps snatch a thing or two for yourself?’’

  A shadow fell across the farmer’s face. ‘‘Tempted? Aye. But daft enough to swindle a swindler?’’ Gordon shook his head. ‘‘How long do ye think I’d have lived if I’d tampered with any of that plunder?’’

  An airy little outburst behind him drew Chad’s attention to Sophie. Her hems briskly sweeping the floor, she crossed the room. ‘‘ ‘A trick of the light. Go back to sleep. All is well.’ How could you tell such bald-faced lies?’’ She whirled to face her aunt. ‘‘Aunt Louisa, how could you?’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry, child. We were only trying to protect you.’’

  ‘‘Protect yourselves, you mean.’’ Outwardly she appeared calm, her hands folded primly at her waist, her head at a slight tilt. But Chad saw the storm tossing in her gray eyes, and felt the anger emanating off her in turbulent waves. ‘‘Trying to protect your ill-gotten gains,’’ she went on quietly. ‘‘No wonder you didn’t want me here. No wonder you fear my grandfather. Can’t you simply imagine your guilty faces plastered on the front page of the Beacon?’’

  Rachel gasped. Through his bruises Dominic approximated a fair rendering of a scowl.

  Chad went to Sophie’s side and touched her arm. She flinched and turned that tempestuous gaze on him, but he refused to move away. Couldn’t, once the heat of her skin imbued his palm. Of their own volition his fingers closed around her arm. ‘‘They’re making an effort to cooperate. This is hardly a time to threaten them with your grandfather.’’

  ‘‘Threaten them?’’ She glared at each Gordon in turn. ‘‘Those three sailors were murdered to line your pockets, by men you have aided. Why did you do it, Uncle Barnaby? How could you?’’

  ‘‘I believed ’twas the same game of fair trading we’ve always played.’’ Gordon folded his arms across his chest as if to shield himself. ‘‘Did as I was asked and minded my business. When I realized ’twas more than the crown’s revenue lost, but lives, ’twas too late to back out. I knew too much, they said.’’

  Sophie regarded her uncle for another moment, then turned her accusing gaze on Chad. She said nothing, didn’t have to. Like her uncle, he had lined his pockets by abetting murderers, and being unaware of the full truth didn’t excuse him. He should have made it his business to understand exactly what he was getting into at the time. Instead he had let himself be duped into complacency by the lure of easy profits. He was as culpable as Gordon; as guilty, in the end, as the men who wielded weapons and preyed upon others.

  A cold comprehension seeped through him. He might yet help to set things right, but he could never be completely absolved for the role he had played. Perhaps that was what his little ghost had been trying to tell him the night he arrived in Penhollow. Can you understand what torment is?

  God, yes. To
rment was knowing he could never escape what he had done. Torment was seeing the wounded look in Sophie’s eyes, and knowing he put it there.

  He shifted his attention back to Gordon. ‘‘How are you able to douse the harbor lights with no one in the village knowing it’s you doing it? Or are they all in on your secret?’’

  ‘‘I don’t douse the harbor lights. I told you. Dominic and I watch for the signals and light the torches near Edgecombe. That’s all.’’

  ‘‘Then who is responsible for the lights at the quay?’’

  The farmer shrugged. ‘‘I get my orders from Joshua Diggs and Edward Wiley, the men I went to see last night. There used to be a third, Giles Watling. But he’s dead now.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I saw Watling the morning he died.’’ Chad’s disclosure seemed to catch Gordon off guard. ‘‘He had a message for me. He said I must come to Penhollow and wait to be contacted. Do you know anything about that?’’

  Gordon’s scowl eased to a look of uncertainty.

  ‘‘Am I to be contacted, or killed?’’ Chad persisted. ‘‘Perhaps by your friends Diggs and Wiley?’’

  Gordon gave a shrug. ‘‘Your arrival at Edgecombe interfered with their plans.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I gathered that. Did my father’s presence at Edgecombe interfere with their plans as well?’’ Growing wrath put a tremor in Chad’s voice. ‘‘Did they find it necessary to dispose of him?’’

  Gordon’s features registered genuine surprise. ‘‘A fire killed your father.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps.’’ Chad tamped down an urge to strike something. ‘‘Diggs and Wiley will get their comeuppance, but ultimately it isn’t them I seek. Give me a name, and I’ll do everything within my power to see that you and your family aren’t harmed again.’’

  Gordon dismissed the assertion with a cynical grunt and rubbed a hand over his beard. ‘‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Whoever is in charge might not even hail from the village. He could be anywhere along the coast.’’

  ‘‘Then why was I told to come to Penhollow?’’ Pacing, Chad sifted through all he had learned so far, admittedly scant information. Someone had wanted him here, yet that someone had yet to make contact. Meanwhile his presence seemed to pose an intolerable inconvenience to everyone else involved in the piracy ring. It didn’t make sense. Still, he didn’t entirely disbelieve Gordon’s claims of ignorance about the man in charge. Beyond Giles Watling, Chad hadn’t known many other names either.