An older man, clearly a fisherman, shook his head. “Something’s not right, I tell ya. I saw Davy come ashore last evening. He’d tied the boat up, and he was heading homeward with a very respectable snapper.” The man shook his head. “Davy wouldn’t have gone out again. Not in the dark. What for?” He shook his head again and repeated, “Something’s not right.”
Rufus’s eyes gradually became accustomed to the dim light of the tavern. He focused on a bundle of white sodden rags on the table in the corner. A body. The body of a young child by the looks of it. He made to take a step closer when a hand landed on his shoulder. “It is not a pretty sight, Rufus. The rocks have cut the lad up pretty bad.”
“Alex. What the hell are you doing in Deal? Not that I‘m unhappy to see you.”
Alexander Smythe, the Earl of Montford, was a close friend. Had been since they started their first year of school together. The boy with the face of a cherub turned out to hide the naughtiest temperament when it came to schoolboy pranks, and Rufus found himself being caned alongside Alex numerous times.
Upon adulthood, Alex’s fair-haired air of innocence, coupled with chiseled aristocratic good looks, ensured they all—Rufus, Anthony, Richard, and Alex—were always surrounded with beautiful willing wenches.
“When we left London, you’d decided to escape to your hunting lodge with two perky actresses. I didn’t expect you to emerge from your lair for at least a sennight. Alex, don’t tell me you’re so jaded that after only a few days you gave up your sweet treats.”
“Don’t be a bore. I did offer to share if I recall, but God and country came first. This atoning for the sins of your father is becoming tiresome. You’re turning down all the fun and leaving a man with absolutely no competition when it comes to seducing willing wenches. The female battlefield is far too easy with you forever leaving town to chase after villains.”
Rufus’s friend, although angelic of face, was anything but. Alexander was the most notorious rake in all of England, well—since their friend Lord Wickham’s, Anthony Craven’s, marriage.
“That’s easy for you to say. Your father was a paragon of virtue. He must be turning in his grave at your exploits.”
Alex mocked him. “Like you, there is no dishonor in my seductions.” He paused and gave his trademark innocent smile that had many Society mothers fooled. “None that have come to light, that is. As it happens I am on a mission of my own. A damsel in distress.”
Rufus couldn’t help letting his lips curl into a smile, his tone equally mocking. “If you’re in Southern England I assume it must be Miss Vanessa Thornton. We all know what she wants. You leg-shackled, married—to her. Be careful or it will be you who needs rescuing.”
Alex ignored his jibe, his mouth firming into a hard line. “Don’t start. I hadn’t even had time to sample any of my guests’ feminine delights before I was summoned. I had to dash back to London and set sail. Women! This is why a man shouldn’t form any sort of attachments. But then you learned that lesson the hard way. Your last attachment almost damn well killed you.”
Rufus pressed his hand to his side. “I’m lucky. I carry the constant reminder.”
“I remember having to stitch you up. Sorry I didn’t do such a bang-up job, but I’ll wager the ladies smother you with sympathy when they see it.”
Rufus swung away from his probing gaze and stared at the dead boy. “What are you doing here, Alex? Other than annoying me.”
“Come,” Alex said, and led Rufus to the back of the tavern. “It was my ship that pulled the body from the water. I have to leave immediately for Portsmouth.” Before Rufus could tease him further, Alex added, “The message from Vanessa was dire, and you know I promised her father I’d ensure her well-being while he is away. I owe him.” Alex’s mouth twisted, and he pointed to the body. “However, I can’t leave without knowing someone will look into this death. I believe there is more to this than a simple drowning. The marks on the boy’s body didn’t just come from the rocks. He was found naked; even though the lad was pounded against the rocks, I would have expected some remnants of clothing.”
“Was he beaten first?”
“I’m not sure, but there were bruises on his arms as if someone had held him in a vicelike grip.” Alex choked on his words. “And there were teeth marks around his groin.”
Rufus hit the wall with his fist. “Someone sexually used him? Is that what you think?” His anger now had a target.
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t look right. I’ve asked the locals. Too many young boys have gone missing over the last eighteen months for it to be coincidence. Boys no one would bother about. I can’t stay to investigate, but you can.” Alex leveled his gaze, and Rufus saw the anger churning within. “If you have time, can you look into this situation? Do it as a favor to me.”
Rufus nodded his head. “No need to ask. I’ll do all I can to help.” When Alex was a young man of twenty, he was held captive by a Turkish sultan. Rufus did not know the details of his incarceration; Alex refused to talk about it and kept the worst of it from his friends. Suffering in silence.
There was no doubt that the anger Alex felt for this boy’s death was real.
It also made Rufus feel sick to his stomach. He knew how important it was for Alex to fight for those who couldn’t defend themselves. Rufus remembered several tales of young men, men of great beauty, men like Alex, being used as sex slaves by the perverted Turks. Turks thought nothing of men with men, men with boys. Sodomy was rife throughout the Ottoman Empire. Perhaps that is why Alex thought he recognized it here.
It was no wonder his friend indulged in all manner of pleasure. Haunted by disturbing memories, Alex sought gratification in order to forget. Rufus did not blame him. It was an escape he used himself—frequently.
Rufus pledged his support. “I shall take care of this matter for you. I’ll get some of my men to investigate. If anyone is preying on young boys I will find him. I give you my word.” He hesitated to ask but he had to. “In return, could you do something for me?”
Alex remained silent but tilted his head slightly in assent.
“Some of your men must know people in the village. Your ships trade through Deal frequently. It was your tip that alerted me to Dark Shadow. Can you see if they know anything more about the smuggler—who he is? What cove he uses? Time is running out, and the good villagers of Deal appear to be stonewalling me.”
“Is the infamous Strathmore charm failing you? Don’t tell me you’ve been unable to seduce a local lass into giving you some information. You are slipping. Remind me when I get back to provide you with a demonstration in first-rate seduction.”
Rufus frowned, not wanting to admit he’d found only one woman he wanted to seduce—information notwithstanding—but he couldn’t. His churning feelings for Rheda were too similar to what he’d felt for Marguerite, and therein lay the danger.
Alex’s smile died. “Good heavens. You have found a woman to seduce but”—his eyebrows furrowed—“let me guess, it’s like Marguerite all over again.” Alex shook his head. “Will you never learn? Remember what that evil bitch did to you. Her treachery got Andrew killed, and I thought I’d be giving you a burial at sea when I rescued you.” He threw his hands up. “Christ, you stupid sap, you can’t trust women—period. You can’t let beauty and soft curves cloud your judgment. Marguerite’s weapons. Look how skillfully she wielded them. Women are not the weaker sex. They may not be as physically strong as men, but they have weapons that weaken a man’s resolve—”
Rufus hissed. “Don’t lecture me. I know damn well how deadly a pretty face and lustful figure can be. I’m guilty of the worst foolishness ever.”
Alex’s face grew serious. “It wasn’t the knife wound that nearly killed you, it was the guilt. It ate you up from the inside until I thought there’d be nothing left.”
“Don’t—”
His friend did not spare him. “It was not your fault. You were not the hangman. Marguerite deserved her end—”
Rufus raised his hand and pointed his finger. He couldn’t stop it from shaking. “No one deserves that end. It is barbaric. I’ll never let another woman be hanged. Christ, Alex. You were not there. It took her almost an hour to die. If I’d had my pistol with me I’d have shot her to put her out of her misery.”
“She was a murderer and a traitor—”
“Yes she was, but for almost six months she was my—everything. I loved her. I’d never loved any woman the way I loved her, yet I stood back and watched”—he swallowed the rising bile—“I had to watch her suffer like no human being should be made to suffer.” His voice betrayed his raw state. “I’ll kill a woman myself before I’d let her hang.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “I know you, perhaps better than you know yourself. I’m not sure you’d be capable of such an act.”
“After what I’ve been through I’m not sure you’d know what I am capable of. Marguerite killed my friend. I was too blinded by her beauty to see the real her. It cost someone’s life—how can I ever forget that?” His voice edged with steel, he added, “I won’t let any woman come between me and my mission ever again—ever!”
“Is that why you won’t seduce this woman who obviously can help you?” The two men stood glaring at each other. “Who is she?” Alex finally asked.
“I don’t know what you mean ...”
Alex’s steady gaze indicated he did not believe him.
Rufus looked at the floor. “Miss Rheda Kerrich, Baron de Winter’s older sister. She was in possession of an unstamped brandy barrel when I first met her. She knows something about Dark Shadow; I can feel it. She’s hiding something. She’s not as skilled as Marguerite.” At Alex’s smirk, Rufus scoffed. “At lying. I haven’t bedded her.”
Alex nodded. “Keep it that way. I didn’t save you once, only for you to repeat your folly.”
His voice heavy with bitterness, Rufus said, “I won’t make the same mistake this time. Now that I am aware of women’s treachery, I’ll be the one doing the seducing, not the other way around.”
“I see. Ignoring your true self has consequences—believe me, I know.” Alex sighed as Rufus growled deep in his throat. “Don’t listen then. Just remember I won’t be here to pick up the pieces this time. Don’t get involved with Miss Kerrich. Make her hate you. That ought to ensure she keeps you at arm’s length.” He waited for affirmation, but Rufus couldn’t give it. Already he knew he was in too deep with Rheda. Something about her made him vow to ignore all of Alex’s sound advice.
Sensing his defeat, Alex shook his head. “Be careful, Rufus.”
“I have the truth on my side, and my blinders are off.”
Alex’s eyes softened. “Does that mean honor should be stripped aside for the greater good?”
Rufus’s temper flared. “Don’t twist my words. I’ll not sacrifice honor to fight for what I believe in. That would make us no better than the French.”
Alex leaned back against the wall and gave a low whistle. “Miss Kerrich has you tied up in knots.” He put a hand on Rufus’s shoulder and squeezed. “If she is linked with this smuggler Dark Shadow, how honorable could she be? Dark Shadow is aiding a traitor. Deal with her and shut him down. Quickly.”
Rufus ran a hand through his hair. He knew Alex was right. He had to end this inability to be ruthless where Rheda was concerned. It wouldn’t matter how good she was in bed, he would ascertain all she knew and wash her out of his system. He gave Alex a shaky smile, resolving there, in the back of the tavern containing a boy’s dead body, not to care about any punishment that might befall Rheda. Her actions alone would hold her accountable for whatever befell her.
Just then Alex’s second mate arrived and whispered in Alex’s ear.
“Sorry, old boy, but the tide’s about to turn. I have to go. If she’s involved in this you have to do everything in your power to find out. Seduce her and discover the truth. If she’s guilty your honor is still intact. If your hunch is not correct, and she is in fact innocent of any and all knowledge about Dark Shadow, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Rufus started to shake his head.
Alex laughed. “Let’s face it. One lady is much like another where marriage is concerned. As long as they are not too hideous to look at, they know how to look after your household, and they provide children you know categorically to be yours, any female would do.” Before he ducked under the door and left the tavern, Alex hesitated and added, “Careful, my friend. Women are dangerous in more ways than one. Let’s have no repeat performances.”
At Alex’s departure, Rufus stood looking out of the empty doorway. Was he making a mistake? Was she innocent of involvement in treason or merely a good actress?
His mouth thinned into a grim line. Marguerite had been a brilliant actress. He’d taken her to his bed and, worse, to his heart. He thought he’d been protecting her against common French enemies, when in reality she’d been working for them. He pressed his hand against his side, still vividly recalling the agony of her betrayal. A betrayal she’d found effortless.
He thought back to that terrible time. It was eight years ago, when he’d been working in Belgium tracing a stolen British gold shipment for the war office. He and Andrew Peters had traced the shipment to a manor near Marguerite’s country estate.
They’d thought themselves so clever, planning the retrieval in a meticulous manner. Only they’d walked into a trap. As they were fired upon, Rufus couldn’t understand how it had all gone wrong. It was as if—somehow they’d known?
It wasn’t until he’d sprinted across the open meadow to ready the horses to make a last-minute dash to freedom that a sliver of unease pricked his skin.
Where had Marguerite gone? Andrew could take care of himself, but Marguerite was a woman.
For one terrible moment his world spun; he thought she’d been captured. Heedless of danger, he raced back to the house to rescue the woman he knew he could not live without.
He entered the house like a whisper. He could hear swordplay in the back room, and he made his way toward it. When he reached the room it was empty except for Andrew’s body lying in an ever increasing pool of blood. He felt for a pulse—there was none.
He bolted to his feet. Marguerite. His heart thudded in his chest, and the pain under his rib cage, as if a fist was squeezing his heart, made him almost fall to his knees. Where was Marguerite? If she’d been taken ... he felt sick knowing what they’d do to a woman of her beauty.
Then a small hand touched his arm, and she said in a voice filled with tears, “Is he dead?”
Rufus could only nod, his throat tight with emotion. He pulled her roughly into his arms and held her tight. “Thank God you’re safe. Come. We must hurry.”
“Wait.” She stopped him, and, rising onto her toes, she kissed his lips and thrust a knife in his side. Her laugh echoed through the deserted house. “When Napoleon enters England, I’ll visit your family and tell them how you died in my arms. Died a lovesick fool.”
Her ridicule still haunted his every waking moment, reminding him to never be a fool again.
He glanced skyward to the Kent sun and prayed for guidance. Marguerite had worn two faces. Did Rheda?
Chapter 13
Upon arriving at Hastingleigh, early, at a less than respectable hour, Rheda would’ve given anything to deny the spine-tingling awareness had anything to do with hoping to bump into Lord Strathmore. However, to her disappointment, she hadn’t been shown into the breakfast room. She’d been left with a pot of tea in Lady Hale’s drawing room. It was unlikely Rufus would stumble across her there.
As she sipped her tea, she pondered the man who, against all odds, was occupying her thoughts far too much. Not, sadly, because she wanted to know why he was here in Deal and what he was hunting, but because she could not forget how she felt in his arms.
Despite her vow to keep her feelings for him under control, Rheda felt a surge of desire whenever he was near. She freely admitted she was wilder than most young ladies
, but to her shame she never realized she was a wanton. That had to be the reason why she longed for his soft caresses, ached for his dizzying kisses, and desired his experienced touch. His sensual magnetism haunted her no matter what time the day or night.
Putting her cup down, she sighed with longing.
“My, that was a big sigh. Only a man could elicit such feelings from a woman.”
Rheda almost fell off her chair. She was no longer alone. A woman of such outstanding beauty that it made her breath hitch entered the room. The first thing Rheda noticed was her snow-white skin, with not a blemish marring it. She fought the urge to touch the freckles she knew were abundant on her own face. She’d never before wished she’d worn a hat when outdoors.
The sophisticated woman—who looked older than Rheda—walked toward her and smiled. But it was a smile that did not reach her startling blue eyes. With a regal nod of her head, that didn’t disturb the thick black tresses wound in a fashionable style about her head, the woman said, “You must be Miss Kerrich.”
Rheda ran a hand over her own hair, trying to tidy the riotous curls. It was a hopeless cause. Wisps had escaped her clips on the gallop over here. She must look like she’d been thrown through a hedge.
The woman smoothed delicate, well-manicured hands over her stylish, deep lavender muslin gown covered with delicate lace insets, then took a seat opposite her. Rheda’s hands itched to smooth the skirts of her well-worn riding habit, but she stopped herself. Why did she care what this stranger thought?
“You have me at a disadvantage,” she responded.
“You know how to deflate a lady. I was sure your brother would have mentioned me.”
Lady Umbridge. How could Rheda not have guessed? The widow was a startling beauty. The bitterness of jealousy scored her mouth. No wonder Lord Strathmore was not at all tempted by her behavior at dinner the previous evening. Rheda could never compete with a woman of such poise and beauty. “Pardon me. Of course I should have known who you were. Daniel has spoken of your beauty. He did not exaggerate.”
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