by Ruth Owen
“I am all right,” Meg answered as she knelt beside Raoul’s unconscious body. “But Mr. St. Juste … Raoul … he is badly wounded.”
“Next time he will think twice before he crosses swords with me,” Lord Renquist commented as he took out his snuffbox and applied a pinch to his hand. “Hardly a sporting match.”
Juliana felt Connor’s fingers tighten on her arm. She saw something flare in his eyes—something she did not like.
“You are right,” Connor said, his charming smile returning like a full force gale. “St. Juste is no match for your skill. But I am. I’ve bested dozens of men, and every man jack of them was better than a tulip like you—”
“Connor!” Juliana cried. “Renquist is one of the finest swordsmen in all England.”
“Finest coward, I’d say. I won’t be killed by this dandy’s too-soft hands. Not afraid to challenge an amateur, but terrified to face a proficient swordsman.”
“Enough!” Renquist stalked forward, his face livid. “Under those gentleman’s clothes you are nothing but the wharf rat you always were, and you need a lesson in how to speak to your betters. Someone get him a sword.”
“Renquist, don’t be an ass,” McGregor said calmly as he took out his watch. “I wanted this hold secured before the crew returns. We haven’t the time for silly games—”
“This is no game. ’Tis a matter of honor,” the lord cried as he stripped off his elegant coat. “This low-born cur is no match for a gentleman. A fight to the death it is.”
“Suits me fine,” Connor replied as he shrugged out of his laborer’s jacket.
McGregor glanced at his watch again, and shrugged. “Oh, very well, Renquist. Have your sport. But I’ve work to do topside.” He glanced once more at his watch, then turned to the rope ladder. “I will return in a quarter of an hour. See that this business is dispatched by then. And Renquist, do be sure to clean up the mess. Blood tends to distress the customs officers.”
Juliana watched as a chalk circle was drawn on the deck, and the sailors lined the perimeter like gawkers at a prizefight, sizing up the odds. Unfortunately, Juliana had already done so. Renquist was fit and well fed. Connor had been dodging both the Admiral and the law for months. Despite his skill, he was on the edge of exhaustion.
“Connor, don’t do this,” Juliana pleaded as she came to his side. “Renquist will cut you to ribbons.”
“Hell, I’m dead anyway,” Connor replied as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and studied his opponent. “God’s teeth, who’d have thought those fancy coats hid muscles like tha—” Connor stopped musing, as if recalling who was listening. Feigning confidence, he chucked her under the chin the way he used to when they were children. “Don’t worry. I can best him. Meanwhile,” he said as his voice dropped to a whisper, “you and Meg make for the ladder. If I distract the guards long enough, you might be able to slip out.”
“Not without you,” Juliana gripped his arm, fighting down the panic in her voice.
He gazed at her, his eyes saying more than words ever could. “You must try to escape. For yourself, for me … and our baby.”
Their baby Yes, of course she had to try, for their child’s sake. She spoke, trying to sound bold, but her voice came out in a whisper. “I shall go on, for our child’s sake. But we need you. Both of us. You must not die.”
His mouth ticked up in a ghost of his trademark cockiness. “Still ordering me around, are you, Princess?”
She reached up and traced his scar, knowing that a lifetime would never be enough to say all the things she wanted to say to him. But they hadn’t a lifetime. They hadn’t even a moment. Before her next breath, Connor was pulled from her arms and pushed into the center of the chalk circle, to face the confident, cruel-eyed Renquist.
It was a lousy place for a fight. The ship pitched and rolled with the rising tide, and the lanterns hung near the circle’s edge swayed so badly they nearly made him seasick. Most of all, it was in a hold—a dark, close hold that reminded him too much of the Absalom. Memories swirled though his mind, making him every bit as nauseated as the shifting light. And at the center of it all was Renquist, stalking the circle like a sleek, well-fed panther, his haughty eyes looking down at Connor as if he were not human at all, just a mongrel dog that had to be destroyed. Wharf rat. Bastard. Dockside garbage. Nothing.
But he wasn’t nothing. Not to Juliana. Unable to resist, his gaze strayed to where she and Meg cradled Raoul’s unconscious form. Her face was white with fear, but she held her chin high and glanced meaningfully at the nearby rope ladder. She even gave him the wisp of an encouraging smile. Her love had given him a nobility far beyond that of blood or birth. In her eyes he was her shining, noble knight, her hero—
Renquist lunged.
Connor twisted. Luck rather than skill made the blade pass through his shirt, missing his chest by an inch. Juliana gasped. He spared a second to give her a jaunty smile, then turned back to Renquist. “You appear to have missed, m’lord.”
“A lucky turn. But luck is no match for blood and breeding.”
“Tell me, how much blood and breeding does it take to sell out your country?”
“Shut your mouth. You know nothing of my reasons.”
“Yes, but I can guess. High-stakes wagering. Fancy carriages. A few opera dancers to maintain in the expected style. ’Tis an old story. One might even say—common.”
Renquist lunged again. Connor parried the blade and spun around, delivering a quick hit to the lord’s sword arm. It was not deep, but it was enough to draw blood. Renquist backed away, looking stunned. “No one has ever drawn first blood on me.”
“Yes, well, I’m full of surprises,” Connor growled as he raised his sword. “En garde.”
The fight began in earnest. Steel clashed on steel, again and again until the hold rang with the sound. The two men attacked and parried, lunged and feinted. For endless minutes neither gained an advantage, but as the seconds ticked by Connor felt the strength of his thrusts ebbing, while Renquist’s seemed to grow stronger. He glanced at the women, and saw them edging closer to the stairs. But their way was still blocked by one of the sailors. More time. I need more time.
They came together, swords locked at the hilt in a move that brought them nose to nose.
“You cannot win,” Renquist sneered. “But you’ve fought well—give up now and I promise you a quick death.”
“Tempting offer,” Connor scoffed. “I’ll hold out for a better one.”
Renquist brought down his sword, glancing his opponent’s shoulder. Connor winced at the pain, but his smile never wavered. With his good arm he gripped Renquist’s sword hand and deftly twisted it behind him. Then he brought the stunned lord against his chest, his sword at the nobleman’s throat.
With the blade at his neck, Renquist began to tremble. “Please, do not kill me.”
“I won’t—if you order the guards to let the women pass.”
Renquist’s trembling grew stronger. “I cannot. The Admiral will kill me.”
Connor brought the blade closer to the noble’s throat and breathed into his ear, “And I’ll kill you if you don’t. So which will it be, my fine lord?”
Renquist swallowed. “Yes. I promise. Anything.” He signaled to the two remaining guards. “You men. I’ll pay you twice what the Admiral is giving you. Let the women pa—”
A roar like thunder split the air. Renquist went limp, his shoulder blossoming with a bright crimson stain. Shocked, Connor let him slide to the ground. McGregor stepped out of the shadows, flanked by his guards. “I was afraid of something like this,” he said as he handed the empty pistol to a guard and received another. “I always suspected you would betray me, Renquist. Your honor was all for show.”
“I … wasn’t,” the lord said as he held his bleeding shoulder. “I would never—”
“Oh, be still. I left you alive so that the captain could finish the job. Though he paid me well to conceal the indiscretion from his peers, Renquist is
the lord who seduced your sister.”
“What?” Connor turned and saw the terror in Renquist’s eyes. There could be no doubt. This cowardly dog was the man who had cruelly used and beaten his young sister. He twisted the sword that he still held in his hand, giving it better purchase. It would be easy to cut the helpless man’s throat, satisfying the revenge that had burned in his blood every moment of the months he spent on the Absalom, and the long years he’d spent in disgrace and despair. So very easy.
A gentle hand stayed his arm. “No, Connor,” Juliana said softly as she came to his side. “To kill him like this, it would be cold-blooded murder. It is what the Admiral wants.”
Connor’s chin shot up. He caught the gleam in McGregor’s eyes, the savoring the pleasure of watching another soul warped by sin. God’s teeth, it was what he wanted. Disgusted, Connor threw down the blade. “She’s right. He is not worth it. Neither are you. You’re not a great man of business at all, McGregor, but a sad, twisted puppeteer. And the saddest thing of all is that you don’t even realize that you are a puppet too, that it is your avarice that pulls your strings—”
“Silence!” McGregor’s calm veneer stripped away. “Nothing controls me. Nothing and no one! You will both be dead in seconds. I’d planned a slow death for you, but having your lady watch you die, and knowing that she will die a moment later, is more exquisite than any torture I could devise.” He cocked the gun, and brought it level with Connor’s chest. “If you have any prayers, Captain, I suggest you say them now—”
Again thunder roared through the air. Connor stopped breathing, waiting for the pain of a bullet tearing his gut. But the pain didn’t come. Instead, he watched the light fade from McGregor’s eyes. The gun slipped from his hand and he crumpled to the ground, revealing the man at the top of the rope ladder.
“My dear boy,” Commodore Jolly said to Connor as he calmly handed his smoking pistol to one of the multitude of lieutenants and constables streaming down into the hold. “This whole business would have been so much simpler if you had shared your little plots with Lord Melville.”
“I still cannot believe it,” Connor said as he sat in the Jollys’ parlor while Juliana gave a final inspection to the bandage the doctor had applied to his shoulder. “You have been watching Raoul and me for months, working under the direct orders of Lord Melville?”
“Just so,” the commodore said as he took a sip of tea. “He suspected that you might need some support, even though you insisted on putting as few people in danger as possible. But I must tell you it is not so very easy for a man of my size to pass unnoticed in these narrow streets. That is why I played the buffoon. It is a ruse I have used quite successfully on many an occasion.”
From the commodore’s side, Hortensia Jolly gave an affronted huff. “Well you could have had the civility to tell your own mother.”
Jolly bowed his head sheepishly. “I was under orders, Mama.”
“Orders be jigged. I was mortally afraid that I’d raised a buffle-head,” she stated, her expression growing glum. “Honestly, to think I was responsible for asking that horrid man to help our dear girl—”
“Madam, it is not your fault,” the dear girl supplied. “We all believed him. In any case, if you had not asked him to assist me, he would have found another way to become indispensable to me. He said as much when Connor and I—”
“Were in that awful ship, facing that devil,” Mrs. Jolly finished with a shiver. “You poor lambs. My first instinct was not to trust that man. I should have followed it. On the other hand,” she added as her gaze swung to Connor, “my first instinct was not to trust you either, as far as Juliana’s virtue was concerned. So—how soon is the wedding?”
“Mrs. Jolly,” Juliana cried, blushing crimson. “Give us some time. We have only just escaped from certain death.”
A heavily accented voice from the doorway chimed in. “Then all the more reason to marry at once, my friends, for you are now used to precarious situations. And marriage, I have heard, is precarious indeed.”
“Raoul!” Juliana ran to the door as the Frenchman hobbled in, followed closely by Meg, Rose, and Jamie. “But I thought you were not to leave your bed.”
St. Juste waved his hand. “What is a broken leg? I am fit as—how do you say—a drum.”
“Fiddle,” Meg corrected. “The man terrorized poor Dr. Fairchild. Someone should keep an eye on him.”
St. Juste cast a smile in her direction, indicating that he might not mind at all if that someone were she. Then his smile dimmed. “But it is important that I get well quickly. The fiend McGregor died without revealing who killed my uncle. As soon as I am able, I intend to hunt down the last of the Admiral’s men to see if they know anything of my uncle’s betrayer.”
Connor nodded. For years, the thought of finding Daniel’s murderer had been the driving force in his life. But now he had a new dream, and new responsibilities. He reached out his hand to Juliana. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the doorway behind him.
Grenville stood in the door, hat in hand. He fiddled the brim of it as he entered the room. “I have heard from the officers what transpired this night. And I—well, curse it.” He walked over to Connor and stood before him, carefully avoiding Juliana’s glance as he did so. “I have never been a saint, but I have always considered myself to be a fair man. But I have allowed our old—um, situation to cloud my judgment and to convince me that you were the Admiralty traitor. Looking back, I can see that Lord Renquist had access to many of the stolen documents, but I never thought to suspect him because he was a peer. I misjudged you sorely, Captain, and not for the first time. I can do nothing to change our past, but I can offer you my heartfelt apology and appreciation for your willingness to risk your life for our country. You have the bravery and honor of a gentleman, and I would count it an honor to shake your hand.”
For a long while, Connor stared at the offered hand. Once Grenville’s insults had lashed his young ego like a whip, and Connor had hated him for it. Grenville had misjudged him—but Connor had to own that he had done the same. He’d let his old hatred of Juliana’s cousin convince him that Grenville was the person smuggling secrets through the Marquis Line, instead of looking at all the possible suspects. Swallowing, he clasped the hand of his old enemy. “We cannot change our past, but perhaps we can change our future.”
Grenville gave a quick nod. Then, with an equally quick glance between Connor and Juliana, he muttered something about having to be at the Admiralty at the crack of dawn, and left the room.
Juliana hurried after him. “Grenville,” she said as she caught up with him in the foyer. “Please, I have to speak to you. About the wedding—”
“There is no need,” her cousin replied as he took his coat from the footman. “The commodore explained everything to me. You may break our betrothal without censure, and without any stain on your name. In any event, the War Office has been urging me to return to my former operations on the Peninsula. I believe I shall take them up on their request.”
“There is no need for you to leave. You are still a part of this family. And you shall always have a place in my heart for the kindness you showed to me.”
“Kindness? My dear, there was nothing kind about it. I fell in love with you. Even after the commodore told me of Connor’s heroic return, I’d hoped you might still … but the moment I saw you together, I knew. It is as it was between you when you were growing up—as it always will be.”
“I am … so sorry. If Connor had not come back—”
“Then we would have endured a tepid marriage, of not much use to anyone. It is better this way. For both of us.” He settled his hat on his head and turned toward the front door before adding softly, “I wish you well, Juliana.”
For several minutes Juliana stood in the empty hallway, staring at the closed front door. Behind her she could hear the voices of her family through the open door to the parlor—Raoul’s smooth accent as he charmed a laughing Meg, Jolly�
��s repeated assurances to his mother that he would never, ever deceive her again, and Rose’s soft but insistent attempts to convince Jamie that it was indeed time for him to go to bed. Yet she needed no sound or voice to tell her when he came to stand behind her.
“Are you all right?”
“No,” she admitted honestly. “Connor, I never meant to hurt him.”
He turned her to him. “Not all endings can be happy ones. But who can tell? Perhaps he will be lucky enough to find a—” His mouth pulled up in a grin. He lifted her lips to his as he punctuated every word with a lingering lass. “A bossy … stubborn … pigheaded …”
“You missed ‘improper,’ ” she breathed against his mouth.
“I was getting to that. ’Tis the best part.”
He lowered his mouth for a deeper caress, a lavish, heady embrace that held all the love of their past and all the promise of their future. Sighing with contentment, Juliana wondered at the miracle that this brave, good man had chosen to love her. Not that there had been much choice in the matter. As Grenville had said, the seed of love had begun to grow between them even while they were children. And no amount of pain, despair, separation, or heartache had been able to kill it.
As a girl she had worshiped him as her shining knight. Now she saw him as a man, full of strengths and weaknesses, victories and doubts. The perfect hero of her youth had been replaced by the reality of a flesh-and-blood man, striving to live with courage and honor in a world that valued those commodities too little. Somehow, that only made his armor shine brighter—
A too-loud cough behind them broke the embrace. Commodore Jolly advanced from the shadows, his self-conscious expression reminding Juliana that a part of him was still very much the blundering buffle-head she’d come to love. “Eh, I must be off to the Admiralty. There are papers to file, reports to fill out. ’Tis a bother, but there is nothing for it. Even clandestine operations require exhaustive documentation. Still, I wanted to make certain that I presented you with this,” he said as he handed Connor a scroll of paper. “It contains a good deal of eloquent bluff and bluster, but to get straight to it—Melville has offered you and your men a place in the fleet. Your commission will be reinstated, awarding you the full rank of captain of the Royal Navy, if you wish it.”