My Timeswept Heart

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "I would restrain that flip tongue, mistress."

  Tess shrugged. "Call me reckless. How long have you been stuck here, Phil? A year? Two? Don't you want it over? Or are you two planning to spend the rest of your lives hiding like cowards?"

  "I am well-pleased with my home, my life. I see

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  no reason to change it."

  "Come on, Phil, give me a break! Your ware­houses are in ashes. Whittingham has probably been arrested by now, spilling his guts to save his own skin. And you can't tell me you didn't expect Dane to come after you!"

  His eyes'narrowed a fraction, and Tess sought to twist the knife a little.

  "Nah." She relaxed in the chair. "You didn't think he'd find you at all. You led him here, you know, with Bennett, the attacks on the ships. Might as well have left a trail of bread crumbs."

  She was far too clever for a female, Phillip thought, the reminder of his mistakes gouging at his composure.

  "What's the connection between you two, anyway, besides that you killed his sister and stole his fami­ly's fortune?"

  Phillip stood abruptly. " "It was my fortune! Mine!"

  Now we're getting somewhere, she thought. "How so? It was in his home, in the possession of his father."

  "Grayson Blackwell stole from my father! His partner! And the whoreson kept all when my father was killed!"

  "Isn't that how it goes, though? Remaining hold­ings to the surviving partner?"

  "Nay, it belonged to me!"

  She shook her head. "I don't think so, guy. It should have gone to your mother, or did you just evolve from swamp slime?"

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  Another nerve, she thought when he reddened and clenched his fists. Tess went for the jugular. "What happened to your mommy, Phil?"

  Elizabeth nearly fainted, slumping in the chair and fanning herself. "Mistress Blackwell," she whis­pered, daring a glance at Phillip. "I beg you not to pursue this subject."

  Tess didn't give a crap what she wanted. "Weren't your parents married?" Tess was a bastard, and it didn't mean squat to her, in her time, but here—

  Phillip was still, unbelievably rigid, then like the smoothing of fabric, he relaxed and settled into his chair, crossing his legs.

  "Aye, they were wed." Tess marveled at the sud­den change. "But Father left her for another woman." Beneath the table Phillip took Elizabeth's hand. "Since his marriage to my mother was ar­ranged, he claimed to have never loved her, and the focus of his devotion turned to his—convenient," he said with disgust, "and their spawn." Tess heard an odd sound, a soft snap, and Elizabeth screamed once, sharp and loud. Tess looked from one to the other. Elizabeth was battling tears, and Phillip grew calmer by the second. "Mother perished from a bro­ken heart and, well, his whore—" His smile was a slow one, filled with a sadistic satisfaction. "I dare­say she met with a most unfortunate accident."

  Elizabeth looked away, her quickening breath heard from across the table. Phillip just kept star­ing, empty, cold. It was better than a confession.

  "The child?" Tess ventured softly.

  "Well-tended, I assure you."

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  Elizabeth's once pale skin flamed red, and she fumbled under the table, tears spilling from bleak eyes. Phillip rested his elbows on the linen-covered surface as she twisted away and fled the room. He linked his ringed fingers, appearing neither to no­tice nor care about her departure as he addressed Tess. *

  "One would believe you would already be privy to this information, Mistress Blackwell. Or are there secrets in your new marriage?"

  Tess ignored that. "I gather you know my hus­band as something other than simply the brother of your victim?"

  "Aye." He sipped his tea, the jibe bouncing off his thick hide. "We were educated together. At Eton."

  Tess regarded her lap. Eton? Eton? Then it dawned on her and she looked up, her features pull­ing taut.

  "Ann, I see you have heard of the school," he murmured. "The finest birching academy England has to offer a young pup."

  "And the strictest." They beat students, Tess re­called, and inflicted horrible punishments for minor infractions. "How could your father send you there?"

  "Grayson did, both of us." He leaned forward a bit, seeing no reason not to relay the tale since she wasn't leaving—at least not alive. "After my father's demise, Grayson provided me with an education and the barest essential but kept what was rightfully mine for his heir."

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  r

  "Sounds to me like you were treated well. He could have done nothing." With a son like Dane, Tess decided, Grayson probably provided more than Phillip chose to recognize. "And you honestly don't know what went on between Grayson and your

  father?"

  A muscle ticked beneath his eye, "I do. And need I remind you that I have sufficiently taken what Grayson prized most?" "Desiree," Tess answered, looking away. "Nay, his company," he said as if she should know better, and Tess shot him a contemptuous glare. He smiled thinly, coming to his feet. "The girl was merely a way to get closer to Grayson." He waved airily. "You must understand that the man had not known me since I was but a youth, with nary a notion of who I actually was," he said as he moved to the sideboard and lifted a small silver box, flipping the lid and dipping two thin fingers inside. " Twas remarkable, really. So easily duped." He brought the pinch to his nose and sniffed, de­positing snuff into each nostril. "And Elizabeth—" he withdrew a handkerchief, watching her as he blotted at his nose, his wide lace cuff fluttering. "She was Dane's lover and had been in the Black-well household a'fore." He shrugged elegantly clad shoulders. " "Ivas simple enough," he said, enjoy­ing the slight loss of color in her face.

  Dane and Elizabeth? Tess couldn't picture it.

  "Doesn't it bother you she slept with your enemy?"

  "Nay. Of course not." He flicked a lace-ruffled

  wrist, strolling around to her side of the table. "I

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  sent her to his bed."

  "Gee. What a prince," she mumbled, scrambling to her feet and backing away.

  "Phillip! How on earth could you tell her such a thing?" They glanced to the door, and Tess immedi­ately noticed Elizabeth's hand wrapped in a scrap of silk thaf matched her blue gown, one finger bound to a twig.

  "Leave us, Lizzie." He sauntered closer as Eliza­beth started to do as she was told. Tess's words halted her.

  "You whored for him." Her voice dripped with outrage as she stepped back. "How could you let him treat you like that?" She gestured to her wounded hand. "Like that! What the hell's he got on you?"

  Elizabeth's round-eyed stare shifted from Tess to Phillip, who wasn't paying her any mind. "You could not possibly comprehend the matter," she said.

  "Try me, sister," Tess snapped, her hands on her hips. "After today I've heard it all."

  " 'Tis none of your affair." Elizabeth bowed her head, cradling her throbbing hand but not before Tess recognized the glazed look in her eyes. She's taken something, and Tess wondered what drugs were available in this time.

  Phillip stared at Dane's woman. Her disgrace will be a sweet victory. And to have Dane witness it would be—sheer ecstasy. His body heated to the thought, ingraining the image in his mind. Aye, 'twould be fitting to steal that from Dane also. He

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  stepped closer.

  Tess retreated until she found herself up against a warm body. She jolted, nearly leaping into Phillip's arms, but caught herself and glanced over her shoulder. A smelly man with a hideous scar across his throat blocked her retreat. Then his hands closed heavily around her arms. Phillip advanced. Tess swallowed, her panic rising as she looked to Elizabeth. The blonde stood motionless, a peculiar smile curving her lips. She made no move to stop him.

  Dane shifted for a more stable balance on the

  tree limb, then sighted down the spyglass, mentally

  comparing the white fortress with the sketch Whit-

  tingham had made. This was his third occasion to
/>   be perched like a bird as he searched for a sign.

  Tess would do something if she could. If she was

  alive. Insects buzzed around him, birds squawked,

  yet he allowed nothing to destroy his concentration.

  No guards outside the wall. Bloody arrogant of

  you, Phillip. Torches blazed near the entrances and

  beside each window, illuminating the white structure

  like a pagan offering to the gods. His lips curved

  slightly, knowing the fires left anything beyond their

  glow in complete darkness. Another advantage.

  With the scope to his eye, he scanned the towers, not doubting for a moment that Phillip would en­sconce her in the most difficult to reach section of his private prison. His gaze swept the house again; then he paused, squinting harder, focusing through

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  the glass on the farthest window. His smile was slow, his relief immeasurable. She was alive. Ahh, God bless you, my love! Then he had another look to be certain he wasn't imagining it. Dane almost laughed. "I was so like Tess to leave her panties dan­gling from the stone sill in sweet invitation.

  Phillip saw the fear in those lovely eyes before she managed to cover it. "I have offered you much this morning, my dear. What will you provide in re­turn?" He pressed against her, his cold fingertips drifting over the bosom her burgundy dress ex­posed.

  Tess shivered with revulsion, turning her face away. "Like you said, Phil, you offered. I didn't push." Jeez, he had bad breath, too.

  "But I know naught of you."

  "Let's keep it that way, huh? Adds a little mys­tery."

  He actually chuckled, the sound low and sinister, making her skin crawl. She couldn't draw a decent breath, sandwiched between them, and Tess thought she'd do something stupid like pass out. He was a cold-blooded killer, and she played a dangerous game.

  "Back off, Rothmere," she warned, gathering the courage to look him in the eye.

  "You haven't the choice, my dear." His cold, clammy fingers slipped inside the loose bodice, and Tess felt she'd vomit any second. Would serve him right, she decided, swallowing repeatedly. He bent

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  his head, the grip on her arms tightening when she tried to twist away. I can't let him, she thought, afraid she wouldn't survive anything dealt by Phil-lip. Tess's hand slipped cautiously into her pocket, fingers wrapping around the lock picks. It was little defense, but all she had.

  His long fingers roughly clenched her jaw, his foul-smelling lips hovering close. Tess sent her el­bow into the guard's gut, then swiftly brought the pick upward, aiming for Phillip's eye, but only managing to stab at his cheek. The thin metal hooked in his skin and she yanked, raking it across his flesh. He howled, jerking back and covering his cheek. He glared between her and the pool of blood in his palm, then drew his arm back to strike. He swung and instantly Tfess dropped to the floor. The guard took the intended blow, staggering back with an agonized scream as Phillip's rings sliced open his face from forehead to jaw,

  Tess scrambled to her feet, but Phillip was quick, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her up to meet his face. Blood poured from his cheek in thick pulsing waves, running down his throat, staining his lace jabot and coat.

  "I will enjoy every scream," he told her in a icy voice.

  "You're just pissed off 'cause I outsmarted your ass."

  His thin blond brow rose, sending a shiver of ter­ror racing through her. "Are you claiming to be a worthy adversary, my dear?"

  God save me, Tess thought, he was completely

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  composed, showing no sign of pain. Christ, he needed about twenty stitches!

  "What? The lady has no witty retort?" He ran his hand down her arm to her wrist, gripping tightly. Tess fought with everything she had as he yanked her along, managing to keep him from leaving the room entirely. He called for aid, yet surprisingly none came.

  "A man approaches, sir," a guard called from be­hind Tess. Phillips narrowed gaze moved toward the veranda doors. "The signal?"

  "Sent, sir." The messenger's eyes drifted to Tess.

  "And?" he demanded impatiently.

  " Tis Lord Whittingham, sir."

  Phillip frowned, glancing at Tess. "Bring him to me." He unexpectedly released her, and she banged into a chair- "We will continue this another time, be assured, my dear." He drew out a neatly pressed handkerchief, snapped it open, then held it to his cheek. It reddened instantly.

  He walked away without a backward glance, heels tapping.

  Tess slithered to the floor, breathless with reced­ing fear. So, there was a signal, huh?

  A pair of polished shoes appeared in her line of vision. She lifted her gaze to see the butler, his hand offered in assistance.

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  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  White stucco bleached as old bones was visible in the darkness. Windows glowing with candlelight gave the aura of fire inside a skull picked clean. Lavish flower beds draped red around the house like a torn peasant skirt, a bleeding slope to the high wall, black iron spikes protruding from its wide flat surface, re­sembling scepters of Lucifer.

  Thick chains grated in their metal guides, the scrape vibrating in the night. Wood creaked and hinges whined as the drawbridge was let down slowly, giving safe passage over shifting water. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing from beyond the residence could be heard over the command to enter.

  On the ground a few feet away, Dane lay flat on his stomach, his body clad in black from head to toe, his face smeared with soot. He blended into the darkness like a stalking panther, only his pale green eyes glowing with a feral determination.

  Nigel Whittingham tossed the torch into the moat. It hissed and sizzled as he walked slowly, his heavy trod thumping on the bridge. Dane crawled quickly across the damp earth, digging with his elbows to propel him-

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  self to the water's edge, the smoke from the extin­guished torch shielding his body when he met open ground. He slid down the bank, his hands making pur­chase on the rough wood, legs dangling over the black water. Dane maneuvered only a foot or two, hands shifting sidejby side along the drawbridge almost in time with Whittingham's steps. Almost. The instant the Englishman's foot met the path to the house, the bridge jerked on its ride back up. Dane held on, mus­cles straining, but the rise was swift. Vertical over the water, he reached out to grab a spike just as the wood fitted into its stone frame. The old iron crumbled in his hand and he groped for security on another, swinging a leg out to catch anything that might keep him from falling into the moat. His booted toes dug into the an­cient mortar, fragments tumbling into the water with soft plops as he quickly adjusted his grip, then gradu­ally moved away from the torchlight, inch by painstak­ing inch. Patience, he told himself, nocturnal sounds muffling the scrapes of his boots.

  When he determined he was well enough away from the entrance, he pulled himself up until his eyes cleared the edge. Whittingham passed beside a bubbling foun­tain in the center of the courtyard, then vanished from his line of vision, moving beyond, Dane knew, into the house. Close to his hiding place, three guards slowly paced, and he counted at least ten farther up on the slope, walking a measured path through the gardens. Dane watched. The pattern was the same, their man­ner bored and haphazard. The trio nearest to him smoked pipes, each taking a turn as lookout. Not to­ward the wall, he realized, but for movement from the house.

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  Phillip strode into the study, scarcely sparing the man a glance, pressing the cloth to his face. Whit-tingham rushed toward him but stopped short when he saw the bloody handkerchief.

  "Dear God, man, what happened?"

  Phillip dropped into a leather chair. "It gives me a bit of character, don't you think?" He turned his head so Nigel could admire the wound.

  The Englishman turned green, his expression sour. "For the love of God, man, have someone sew you up. Damned wretched, that."

  Phillip replaced the cl
oth. "The damages, Nigh?"

  "Gone, all of it. Blown to hell."

  Another payment, Blackwell, Phillip thought with a tired sigh.

  "But that is not why I've come." Phillip looked up, waiting for the man to deliver his news. "Captain Blackwell wants in."

  "Naturally."

  "You will not allow him entrance?"

  Phillip merely raised a brow.

  "Bloody hell, man! He has my daughter!"

  Not one muscle in Phillip's expression changed.

  Whittingham clenched his teeth. "Then he said to give you this." He removed a pouch from beneath his waistcoat and tossed it to him. With a bored manner Phillip dropped the bloody cloth and opened the sack, dumping the contents into his palm. A diamond the size of his thumbnail glistened against his smooth white skin.

  Nigel had never seen this side of the man as Phillip

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  held the gem up to the light, the diamond's facets catching the glow and splashing it on the walls in fil­tered blues, pinks, and lavenders. Phillip was en­tranced, nearly hypnotized by the stone, his eyes flaming with strange greedy pleasure.

  "Well, the Blackwells are rather impatient to part with still more of their fortune." Phillip swallowed, his tongue feeling thick.

  Nigel eyed him cautiously. The man made no move to staunch the flow of blood. "He said there is more."

  Phillip smiled thinly. "I can only wonder how much his precious bride is worth."

  Gaelan turned his back from the house, struck flint and checked his timepiece. Three more minutes, sir, and we're coming in, he thought, wishing the captain had allowed at least one other to join him. He turned back toward the structure, lifting the spyglass to his eye. Dane was like a predatory animal, hunting, hun­gry, as he slipped over the wall and moved behind un­suspecting guards, then disappeared into a clump of flowers. Gaelan held his breath when one of the guards turned his head in Dane's direction, peering curiously toward the flowers. The first mate lowered the glass, drawing his sleeve across his sweaty brow, then whis­pered to the man beside him. "Prepare to board, Mr. Finch."