Without thinking, she rushed to his side. She tried to grip his arm, but her hand slipped on his oiled skin. The pungent smell was very strong; it dawned on her the sickly stench came from his skin.
“Opium,” he croaked. “I can’t get my limbs to function properly. I’m about as useful as an inebriated sailor in a storm.” He tried to smile as if his condition was not important, but she knew they were in trouble. She didn’t have the strength to carry him.
“If I wipe the oil off would that help?”
“It couldn’t hurt. It will at least stop the opium from continuing to soak into my bloodstream.”
“Take the gun.” She shoved it into Rufus’s hand. Then she hurriedly crawled across the jagged slate stones to Christopher’s discarded robe, and, trying to ignore the beauty of Rufus’s body, she rubbed as much of the oil off his skin as was possible.
Although conscious, Christopher had not moved. He sat watching her rub Rufus down, his expression that of a beggar who suddenly finds himself a chest of gold. She tried not to look at him, the man she had considered a confidant and friend. However, as she bent down to rub Rufus’s legs, Christopher groaned. She glanced over, and her stomach heaved. Christopher was fully aroused and enjoying her ministrations to Rufus’s body. She stood quick and turned her back on Christopher and his disgusting condition. She handed the robe to Rufus. “Put this on.”
Rufus flushed. He also seemed mortified at Christopher’s condition. He, too, could not look at the man. Or at her.
He took the robe from her without glancing up. But the material had barely left her fingers when Rheda suddenly found herself jerked backward off her feet by her hair. Pain slashed at her scalp, her hair almost ripped out at the roots. Too late she understood their mistake. Christopher had wanted to distract them. He’d wanted Rufus to be self-conscious in front of her.
Christopher pulled her tight against his nakedness, wrapping one arm around her, pinning her arms to her sides, while the other gripped her neck so tightly her eyes began to water.
“Drop the pistol. You know I have the strength to break this pretty neck.”
Rheda whimpered as his fingers dug into her flesh.
“If I drop my weapon, Rheda is as good as dead.” Rufus cocked an eyebrow. “As am I.”
“Then we appear to have a stalemate. One that I shall win. All I have to do is wait for Samuel to return. He shouldn’t be long. Allowing him to prepare you has made him anxious to play. Your superbly masculine body was almost too much for him. I’ve never seen him so excited before. Not even for my attentions.”
Rufus would not look her in the eye. His steely gaze was fixed on Christopher. Rheda had never seen such hatred blazing from their depths. Something stirred in her chest—hope. He was beautiful beyond imagining, yet his countenance screamed rage, an avenging angel. He would not let Christopher win.
She listened to the venom as it flooded his rich baritone voice. “I am perfectly aware of what your lapdog wants with me.”
Rufus lifted the pistol and aimed it at Christopher’s head. “But I insist on disappointing you.”
Damn. Rufus cursed under his breath. Christopher moved so that he was more firmly shielded by Rheda’s body; Rufus couldn’t get a clean shot.
“I don’t know why you are so eager to dispatch me to the underworld. I’m the only one who can clear your father’s name.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rheda’s head lift. “I know the truth. That is all that matters.” He hoped the lie did not reverberate in his voice. He needed Christopher alive. He needed his confession in order to once and for all squash all the rumors. Without Christopher’s testimony, all he’d have to convince a society that viewed him as little more than dirt under its boot was his word. It would not be enough.
“What has Christopher got to do with your father?” Rheda asked.
Christopher’s hold tightened on her neck. “Don’t talk, my sweet. This is between Rufus and me.” Christopher kissed the top of her head. “Do behave. I have plans for you once Rufus is dead. I want an heir. I’ll keep you locked away until you give me a son. You wouldn’t wish the authorities to know your brother is Dark Shadow.”
The thought of the bastard forcing his attentions on Rheda made Rufus’s gut crawl. It was bad enough knowing the monster had his filthy hands on her now.
“Rufus, shoot him. You have the gun. All you have to do is wound him, and he’ll drop. You don’t have to kill him.”
Rufus hesitated. What if he missed and shot Rheda?
“You won’t miss.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow. “But you won’t risk it, will you, Rufus?” Rufus watched helplessly as Christopher tightened his grip on her throat. “Honor won’t let you sacrifice her for the cause. You’d rather let me go than have an innocent woman’s blood on your hands.”
Rufus growled low in his throat. He was right. Christopher wasn’t worth Rheda’s life. He slowly lowered the gun. “I’ve caught you once; I can catch you again.”
Christopher, still with his hand wrapped tightly around Rheda’s throat, edged toward the door. “A deal then? You let me go and I’ll let Rheda live.”
“Once through that door you’d best leave her behind, or I’ll kill you.”
Rheda began to struggle. “Don’t do this. You can’t let this monster go.”
Rufus held Christopher’s victorious gaze.
“Rufus! My life is nothing compared to stopping Christopher.”
“Don’t struggle, Rheda, please ...” Rufus raised the gun again as Rheda tried to break free of Christopher’s hold.
“He knows the truth about your father—you can’t let him escape. I’ll not let you.” Her words were a scratched cry as Christopher’s fingers began choking her in earnest.
“Shut up, bitch. You’re ruining everything.”
Rufus watched with his insides tearing apart. “He killed those boys,” she gasped. “You can’t let him go free, he’s a monster. You can’t ...”
Anger tightened like a fist in Rufus’s gut as he watched Christopher’s face twist in a mass of fury. Both his hands were now squeezing the life out of her. If Rufus didn’t act soon, Christopher would snap her neck like a twig and escape through the door.
He pointed the pistol, but Rheda was struggling so much he was scared that if he fired he’d hit her instead of Christopher. Horror like he’d never known almost paralyzed him as her body went limp. She was dying in front of his eyes.
He pinched himself hard. He had to stay alert. He wasn’t about to let the woman he loved die.
With a roar, he threw himself at Christopher, knocking Rheda sideways and onto the floor and driving Christopher back against the stone wall. His fingers wrapped around Christopher’s throat.
Remorselessly, Rufus squeezed with all the strength he had left, but with all the oil on Christopher’s body he couldn’t maintain his hold. Christopher’s right knee lifted and kneed him in the groin.
Their fight raged around the stone. Each time Christopher tried to go for the pistol that lay next to Rheda’s inert body, Rufus drove him back. As Christopher’s desperation grew, his face twisted into a mask of rage and hatred.
Rufus’s arms began to tremble with effort. He felt his strength wane. Christopher landed a solid punch on his chin, and his legs buckled. His knees hit the slate floor. Luckily, the intense pain cleared his mind of the opium’s numbing effects. With a sudden lunge Rufus rolled on his back, scrabbling for the pistol. Snatching it off the floor, he turned and fired.
Christopher crumbled to the floor, blood trickling down his naked chest, a bullet hole over his heart.
He shook his head to focus. Christopher was dead, but they weren’t out of danger yet. The pistol held only one shot, and they had to escape Samuel.
His heart constricted with terror as he registered the prone form of his beautiful, gallant, unconscious love. Get up! He snarled to himself. On hands and knees, he crawled across the cold stone chamber to Rheda. She was so
still. Tentatively, as if he didn’t want to feel the truth, he gently touched her neck, checking for a heartbeat. The cold knot in his stomach eased as he felt a flutter under his fingers. Her pulse was erratic, but she was alive.
Gently, he cradled her face. “My love, wake up.” His voice sounded gruff and angry in the stillness.
She did not stir.
He gently shook her. “You have to wake up. I can’t get us out of here on my own. I’m not strong enough without you. I need you.” His plea echoed around the chamber.
He swallowed hard, his heart pounding as if it would break. He smoothed the hair off her ashen face and whispered, “Come on, you little fighter. Don’t give up on me now.” Emotion pricked behind his eyelids.
She had to live.
Then he heard the footsteps running toward the chamber. He tried to pull Rheda up onto her feet, but they both sagged back to the floor in a jumble of arms and legs. Steeling himself, he rose to his knees and levered his body between the door and his love. He would protect her with his last breath if that was what it took. He raised the empty gun, hoping it might halt the enemy’s advance.
Chapter 23
The door crashed inward. Stephen stood in the doorway with Daniel peering over his shoulder. Rufus dropped the pistol in relief.
“Please help her” was all he could manage before he sagged back onto the cold slate floor, energy draining from his drugged body.
“Rhe.” Daniel pushed Stephen aside and raced toward her. His fingers found the pulse point in his sister’s neck. “She’s alive, thank God.” He swept her up in his arms. “I’m taking her up to the house and calling the doctor.” And without a backward glance he strode out of the dungeon.
Stephen crossed to Christopher’s body. “He is very much dead I see. Was he our spy?” And shrugging out of his coat he walked and handed it to Rufus.
Rufus nodded.
Stephen sniffed the air. Softly he asked, “Are you all right?”
Rufus could see the question in his eyes, and he swallowed his embarrassment. “I will be once I’ve had a dip in the sea and several mugs of strong black coffee.” Stephen did not ask more.
Rufus held out his hand. “Help me up.” Stephen helped pull him to his feet and held the coat while Rufus slipped it on.
Rufus asked, “How many men do you have with you? We need to search the ruins. Hale has an accomplice—a young man called Samuel. We have to find him.”
“What does he look like?”
Rufus closed his eyes momentarily. “I don’t know. He was wearing a full-head, black leather mask.”
Stephen gave him a blank look, then blinked. Walking to the door he called one of the men over. “Get the men and search the ruins. We are looking for a man—young. Hold any you come across until Lord Strathmore can interrogate them.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Rufus joined Stephen at the door.
His friend asked, “What now?”
“I’m going for a swim, and then I’m going up to the house to put my life in order.”
“She’ll be fine, Rufus. She’s alive and she’s strong.”
“You should have seen her.” Rufus let the emotion he barely held in check flood his voice. “She was fearless. She saved me from a fate worse than death—”
“Miss Kerrich is quite a woman,” Stephen said softly.
“Congratulations.”
“Don’t congratulate me too soon. I still have to convince Rheda.”
Stephen laughed and clapped him on the back. “The biggest mistake you could make from this mess is to let her escape.” Stephen sobered. “I’ve never met a woman more right for you, Rufus. Don’t let foolish pride stop you from finding happiness.”
Rufus felt his mouth twist in a wry smile. “One thing my father’s disgrace taught me is that pride is a useless emotion. Speaking of pride, I think I’m going to need your help to make it down to the beach.”
A strong steady heartbeat thudded beneath her ear. Muscular arms held her tight against a solid chest. The masculine scent of sandalwood. Rufus.
As the mist on her brain continued to clear, she realized she was being carried and that they were moving at a fast pace. Heavy booted footsteps crunching on gravel. Her senses focused. Sun warmed her face and fresh sea air filled her lungs.
They were free of the dungeon.
They had survived.
The rush of relief gave her the strength to open her eyes. The world appeared fuzzy and distorted. Light temporarily blinded her; she reached up and cupped the face above her and tried to get her throat to work. Each swallow caused hot, raw pain and brought tears to her eyes. The sound that came out was croaked and muffled; she hoped Rufus understood. “I knew you’d save us,” she managed.
“We cut it a bit fine,” he said. “It took Jamieson too long to find Stephen. We were down by Fraser’s Landing.”
Daniel? Not Rufus. Daniel. Rheda’s heart almost stopped.
“Where’s Rufus?” she croaked, struggling in Daniel’s arms. Was he hurt? Throat forgotten, she closed her eyes and gave a silent prayer. Was he dead? She couldn’t remember anything except Christopher’s fingers squeezing the life out of her. She pummeled Daniel’s coat with her fists. “Put me down. I have to go to him.”
Daniel simply held her tighter. “Calm down. Rufus is fine. He has a few cuts and bruises and of course his body is under the influence of the effects of the opium, but it’s nothing that a bath and a stiff drink won’t fix.”
Rheda slumped back against his shoulder. Thank God. She forced her words out even though it felt like she’d consumed a hedgehog. “Where are you taking me?”
“I’m taking you to Hastingleigh. It’s closer than Tumsbury Cliff. I want the doctor to look at you.”
“If you put me down I can walk. It’s Rufus who needs a doctor. He could hardly stand.”
She felt the chuckle rumble deep in Daniel’s chest. “He was strong enough to kill Christopher and save you both. I don’t think he’s at death’s door.”
Christopher was dead? Rheda bit her lip. Poor Lady Hale. Her son was her life. How could she face the woman who had always been her friend, knowing she’d helped kill her son?
Christopher was dead! Her mind cartwheeled. Despair seeped into every pore. If Christopher was dead, that meant Rufus would never be able to clear his father’s name. Rufus would only have his word as evidence. Would that be enough? Given Society’s tendency to believe the worst—definitely not. It was little wonder Rufus sent her away with Daniel. He wouldn’t want to see her. She’d cost him everything; her stupidity had made him a captive, had caused him to suffer terrible indignities, cost him his pride, and, worst of all, destroyed his only hope of clearing his father and restoring the noble family name of Strathmore.
She didn’t blame him if he never wanted to see her again.
And she wanted him. She wanted him so much. The truth sizzled across her heart like a lightning bolt streaking across the sky.
All her life she’d believed it was marriage she’d feared. Giving a man so much power over her. Only now did she realize her fear wasn’t a husband—or children. The monster of her nightmares was marriage to the wrong man.
She was petrified of making her mother’s mistake and choosing a man who did not love her. Her mother desired to remain near her childhood friend, Helen. This formed the basis of her marriage, and as she’d watched her husband’s character weaken and degenerate over the years she’d regretted her choice.
Regretted it deeply.
Rheda refused to take the same path. But how was she to judge if a man would make a good husband? She’d had limited exposure to men, other than the sycophants and leeches who surrounded her father.
Except for Rufus. At the thought, it was as if someone dashed a bucket of cold water in her face. Rufus was nothing like those men. Nothing like her father. He had strength of character. He wouldn’t blame his wife and tenants for his financial troubles. He wouldn’t hit out at his neighbors
or curse his wife for dying in childbirth and leaving him with two children to raise. He wouldn’t drink and gamble their inheritance away and leave them destitute.
He wouldn’t be so selfish.
Unlike her. The horror of her actions—her selfish actions—made her tremble in Daniel’s arms, made her retch into her hand. She’d been behaving like her father. She’d taken the easy way out—smuggling. Using the help she could give the villagers as an excuse to condone her behavior.
But Rufus had never taken the easy way out. There was no easy way out for him. In the face of his father’s death and supposed treachery, Rufus could have turned bitter. He could have slunk away and lived his life at Hascombe and not given a damn for what others thought. With his wealth he could have lived a life of idleness and debauchery.
But he hadn’t. He’d stood proud and faced Society’s scorn. He’d risen above his shame to serve his country, trying to atone for his father’s actions even while believing him innocent. He’d put his family obligations ahead of his own desires.
For twelve years he’d believed in his father, in his family’s honor, and in himself. He was never going to give up when he had a sister and mother to care for and protect.
He was an honorable man—even to saving her life at the expense of his own honor and his family’s vindication. The thought of his sacrifice tore a sob from deep within her. His family.
Family. No wonder a man of his moral fiber would suggest marriage. He’d taken her virginity, and in his eyes there was only one honorable outcome—marriage. Especially if she was with child.
She touched her stomach and reverently rubbed her palm over it. Rufus’s child. The warmth of the image of their child swept away the last vestige of the cold dungeon.
Nevertheless, marriage did not guarantee fidelity, and family didn’t mean love between husband and wife.
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