by Cheryl Holt
“I’ll fetch the sewing box. And the medicinals.”
Their conversation was indistinct and fuzzy, and Luke wondered if he’d gone deaf. He reached out, but his limbs were heavy as lead, and he groped like a blind man.
“Helen . . . ?”
Suddenly she was there, hovering over him.
“What is it, Luke?”
She’d been crying, though he couldn’t remember why she was sad. It was so hard to concentrate.
“Are you married to Bennett?”
“We’ll discuss it later.”
He stared into her beautiful face, and he was so happy to have her with him.
“Are you having my baby?”
“Yes, Luke, I am.”
“Is it a boy?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I hope he’s just like you.”
“So do I.”
He meant to say something else, but the comment eluded him, and he dozed.
“Luke!”
There was a panic in her tone that he didn’t comprehend. He was in a very lovely place that was quiet and serene, and he felt more at peace than he’d ever been. The ache from his injury had vanished, and he wasn’t lonely anymore.
“Keep him awake,” someone nagged. “Don’t allow him to drift off.”
“Luke!” Helen called, pestering him like a buzzing gnat. He should have answered, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to answer. The spot where he’d gone was so tranquil, so welcoming and familiar.
“Lucas! William Lucas Westmoreland! Speak to me! Captain Westmoreland! You must stay here! Are you listening?”
She was so frantic, and he should have told her not to fret, but she was so far away, and he was so tired. There was a woman off in the distance—his mother?—beckoning to him. She was standing in a shower of light, and he walked toward it.
“Luke!” Helen called again.
He smiled, glad her voice was the last he heard.
24
But . . . but . . . you can’t mean to leave me here.”
“Actually, I do,” Mr. Smith replied.
Archie peeked out the carriage window, studying the moonlit cove with barely concealed terror. A smuggler’s ship loomed in the distance, looking large and menacing. The gangplank was down, and men were unloading cargo onto a dilapidated hidden wharf.
He suffered a surge of panic that swiftly metamorphosed into rage, and he struggled against the rope at his wrists. How dare Smith attempt this! How dare he treat Archie like a common criminal!
“I won’t stay!” Archie declared. “You can’t make me!”
“Would you rather I killed you?” Mr. Smith blandly inquired. “I could, you know, without blinking an eye.”
“You haven’t the courage.”
“Haven’t I?” Smith chuckled and extracted a knife, flicking a finger across the sharp tip. “I’m not certain where I’d start. Most likely, I’d stab you in the belly and—while you writhed and moaned—I’d cut off your cock and stuff it in your mouth so you choked on it. Then, I’d dump you in the bay and let the bottom fish pick your bones clean.”
Archie’s heart pounded. “You’re just saying that to frighten me.”
“Am I? I’ve traveled across Arabia. Those Mussuelmen are awfully harsh to their enemies, and I paid close attention to their violent methods. You have no idea of the things I’ve seen and done.”
Archie scrutinized him, wondering how much was bluster and how much was fact. Anymore, he couldn’t decide what to make of Mr. Smith. With his rough clothes and shaggy hair, the gold earring in his ear, there was nothing remaining of the scholarly fellow Archie had met during that stupid card game with Westmoreland. Smith appeared every inch the brutal villain he claimed to be, and Archie had to accept that his threats were probably genuine.
It was obvious—with his hands bound—that he couldn’t fight Smith, so he had to reason with him. But how was he to talk himself out of his predicament? How could he sway Smith to mercy?
“Where is Adrian?” he asked as he had numerous times already. “I demand to confer with him.”
“I told you: The Captain murdered him, and I secretly buried him out in the woods in an unmarked grave.”
“You did not!”
“I did. He’s vanished, and you will, too. No one knows where either of you went, though the entire country is searching. Even as we speak, your pathetic face is being plastered on every fence post and in every tavern from Cornwall to Edinburgh. If you’re caught, Helen, Patricia, and I will lie about your involvement in Adrian’s scheme, and you’ll be hanged.”
“Helen would never behave so despicably toward me!”
“If that’s what you think, then you don’t know her very well. She’ll get an annulment from Adrian, she’ll inherit all your worldly possessions, and she’ll be free of you forever.” Smith chuckled, the sound sending chills down Archie’s spine. “I realize it’s difficult for your enormous ego to grasp, Archie, but you’ll never be missed. Not by anyone.”
The carriage door was opened, and Smith hopped out, and he was much too enthused for Archie’s liking. Archie shrunk into the squab, but he couldn’t avoid the fate Smith had arranged. Smith reached in and dragged him out but did nothing to ensure Archie’s safe landing. With Archie being fettered, he was off balance, and he thumped to the ground and bounced in the dirt.
He whimpered in agony but bit down, not wanting his cry of distress to be detected by the sailors swarming around the dark ship. They would be titillated by a show of weakness, so he had to mask his fear.
He curled into a ball as a man approached, and Archie recognized that he should stand and present himself as competent and composed, but he was trembling and worried that his bowels might let go.
“Are you Captain Morrow?” Smith queried.
“Yes, and you’re Smith?”
“I am.”
The two men shook hands; then Smith leaned down and lifted Archie to his feet.
“This is no one of any consequence, at all,” Smith said.
Archie huffed with offense and pulled himself up to his full height. “I am Archibald Mansfield! This miscreant”—he gestured at Smith with his chin—“has assaulted and kidnapped me, and I solicit your assistance. I’m a rich and important gentleman. If you help me, there’ll be a hefty reward in it for you.”
Captain Morrow was a grubby, disgusting oaf who stunk to high heaven, and he laughed to Smith. “He’s a conceited little snot, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“I’m sorry about Captain Westmoreland. My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“This sniveling bastard had a part in it?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Morrow assessed Archie so keenly that Archie felt as if he were the main course at supper. “I always thought the Captain was a fine man, and I owe him several favors. I’m happy to do this for you.”
“I’m much obliged.” Smith slipped him a bag filled with coins. “I don’t care how long you keep him, though five years wouldn’t be too much. I don’t envision your being able to tolerate him for such a lengthy period, but please try.”
“Will do. For Westmoreland.”
“For Westmoreland,” Smith echoed as though raising a toast. “Once you’re through with him, it’s up to you where you leave him, but I’d appreciate it if you make sure he hasn’t the means to return to England.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Morrow spun away and issued commands that had his crew hurrying to complete their tasks.
Smith grinned and rubbed his palms together as if dusting them off after a job well done. “Good-bye, Archie. And good luck! You’ll need it.”
He moved to climb into the coach, and Archie leapt over to block his path.
“Mr. Smith,” he begged, “if you have any decency remaining, you’ll not abandon me to these barbarians.”
“I used to be decent,” Smith reflected, “but my honorable tendencies fled when you
tied Patricia to those bedposts.”
“So I’ll apologize. I’ll reform. I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” He couldn’t deduce what to add that might convince Smith to relent. It was tricky business, pretending remorse when he didn’t feel any. “Give me another chance.”
“I don’t wish to. I want you to suffer and suffer. I hope your misery never ends.”
“I did nothing to your precious Patricia! I didn’t even administer the black eye. Adrian is the culprit. Why blame me?”
“Why blame you?” Smith snorted with derision. “It’s time to grow up, Archie. You have to learn to accept responsibility for your actions. Perhaps this adventure will imbue some of the maturity you so clearly lack.”
Archie’s temper spiked, and he vowed, “I’ll see you hanged for this. The moment I’m free, I’ll come looking for you.”
“Oh, Archie. . . .” Smith sighed. “You don’t understand what’s transpired, do you?”
“No, what?”
“You’ve been sold into slavery.”
Archie gasped. Was Smith mad? This was modern-day England! Archie was a citizen of the Crown! He couldn’t be . . . be . . . bartered like an African savage!
“I won’t abide such an outrage.” His panic and his voice were rising, and he stomped his foot. “I won’t! I won’t!”
“Be silent down there!” a sailor growled from the deck of the ship.
If the smugglers were concerned about noise, then there had to be others nearby who might hear and rush to his aid. He drew a deep breath, eager to let out a bloodcurdling scream, when Smith brandished a pistol and coldcocked Archie alongside the head. Archie dropped like a stone and lay on his back, wheezing and shivering with despair. Smith bent down and stuffed a kerchief into his mouth, preventing any subsequent outburst.
“I suppose I should warn you,” Smith counseled in a whisper.
What? What? Archie’s frantic question mutely flitted between them.
“Captain Morrow is a pirate in the truest sense of the word, which is why I picked his ship rather than another.” Archie frowned, not comprehending, and Smith explained, “He’s a renowned sodomite, and his crew regularly practices buggery—as most pirates are presumed to do. I’m positive you’ll be very popular with your new companions.”
No! No! Archie pleaded with his eyes. Smith couldn’t think he had perverted inclinations! Yes, he’d occasionally dabbled with Adrian, but still . . .
“A sailing vessel requires many hands to keep it functioning,” Smith went on. “During the day, they’ll work you to death; then at night, they’ll have other duties for you to perform.” He patted Archie on the cheek. “You’re such a pretty fellow. Pray that Captain Morrow takes a fancy to you. If he does, it will be much more bearable.”
Smith jumped into his carriage, and the vehicle whipped away, spitting up dust and rocks that pelted Archie in the face. A sailor traipsed over, and Archie was hoisted over the man’s shoulder, but Archie was too shocked to resist or complain. Agog with dismay, he dangled upside down, as he was hauled up the gangplank and onto the ship.
He was thrown down a ladder into the hold, and he banged and hit as he tumbled to the bottom. Stunned, disoriented, aghast at the wretched turn of events, he huddled, quaking in the darkness. The orders were called to shove off, and the ship’s timbers creaked as it was caught by the tide and swept away.
They reached the curve of the bay, and waves started slapping at the hull as it sliced through the water. He could visualize the shoreline fading, the coast of England being swallowed up by the evening’s fog.
Quickly and quietly, Archie vanished without a trace.
“Where have you been, Mr. Smith?”
“I can’t say, Miss Reilly.”
Patricia glared at Robert, vexed that he’d been absent for an entire week and that he refused to utter a word as to his destination.
“I assume you’ve relieved us of our unwanted cargo?”
“It’s gone for good. We won’t have to worry about it ever again.”
“Fabulous.”
They both knew she referred to Archie Mansfield. After the calamity, they’d spread the story that Bennett and Mansfield had plotted to kill Captain Westmoreland, then they’d fled to points unknown. They had so few friends and were so generally disliked that it was easy to persuade others that they’d have perpetrated such a terrible crime.
The country was buzzing with fury that their celebrated hero had been cut down by such a pair of scoundrels. Of course, each time the tale was told, Archie and Adrian grew more deranged, and no one at Mansfield Abbey did anything to quell the rumors.
People were searching for them everywhere, anxious to spot the appalling duo, to see them captured and executed. Patricia almost wished it could really happen. It would have been so enjoyable to observe at the gallows as the two men swung from their double ropes.
After Helen’s failed wedding, as the servants had trickled back to their posts, Robert had kept Archie hidden until they could figure out how to be shed of him. Helen had had mixed feelings, wanting Archie punished, but she was extremely stricken and hating the notion of a public trial where details would have been bandied.
Robert had devised the perfect solution: In the dead of night, he’d spirited Archie away, not telling anyone—not even Patricia—where Archie was. In the years to come, as emotions and memories calmed, Helen would never have to fret over Archie’s fate—because she would never know what it had been.
“Now then”—Robert removed his gloves and tossed them on a nearby table—“I have something to discuss with you.”
“And I have something to discuss with you.” In the frenzied days following the attack, they’d hardly had two seconds to talk. She gestured to his attire, to his untrimmed hair. He hadn’t shaved, and his cheeks were shadowed with stubble. He looked tired, sexy, and dangerous. “What have you done to yourself?”
“I’ve found out how to be a man.”
“I’ve seen you without your trousers. I never had any doubts.”
“Well, I had them.”
He was walking toward her, each step bringing him closer, and there was a feral air about him, as if he was ready to possess her in some way he never had previously. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach. When he gazed at her like that—as if she was beautiful and alluring—she couldn’t resist him.
“I liked you just how you were,” she insisted.
“You couldn’t have.”
“I did.”
“Well, I like you better with all these curves and shapes. I didn’t care for you as a man, at all.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“What are you trying to say, Robert?”
Her pulse was pounding, with dread, but also with expectation. Nothing had ever gone right in her life. No relationship had ever endured, no friend had ever stayed, and she couldn’t trust the future. With his next comment, he could make her the happiest woman on earth or he could dash every dream. Which would it be?
“I learned to fight in London. The Captain taught me.”
“What a marvelous legacy.” She couldn’t veil her sarcasm. She’d had enough fighting to last throughout eternity and didn’t feel that an addition of brawling skills was any reason to brag.
“I’m not afraid anymore. Not of anything.”
He was so proud of how he’d been transformed, so eager to have her welcome the alterations and be proud, too, so she would be. “I’m glad for you.”
“I can protect you from any hazard. I can keep you safe.”
He’d done all this for her? But she didn’t want him to be the person he’d become! She wanted her old Robert, the funny, droll, humble man he’d been. Where was that charming fellow?
“I never needed you to keep me safe! Did I ever demand it of you?”
“No, but I needed to know, for myself ”—he clutched a fist over his heart—“and now I do.”
“Are you satisfied with how you’ve turned out?”
/>
“Not yet.” He fell to his knee and clasped her hand. “Will you marry me?”
“What?”
“You asked if I was satisfied. I won’t be until you say yes.”
“But . . . but . . . you claimed that we couldn’t be together, that you hadn’t any money, and that—”
“A few things have changed since then.”
“What? What’s changed?”
“My brothers sent me some cash—as reparation for my losses. Actually, it was more than some; it was quite a lot.”
“How much is quite a lot?”
“Enough to have an excellent life with you.”
She studied him, struggling over his declaration. He’d received some funds, so he’d come back for her, as any gentleman would, but he couldn’t have thought through his situation. For the moment, he was pretending to be a brigand, but eventually, sanity would creep in, and he’d pine for his tailored suits and ledger books.
She’d have no place with that man.
She began to tremble, and she pulled away and went to peer out the window.
“Pat, what it is?”
He rose and walked over to stand behind her, and she could feel his consternation and concern.
“You don’t want me.”
“Why would you say so?”
“You want someone like . . . like . . . Helen.” Gad, but it was so difficult to confess her greatest fear aloud. “You need someone like her. What would you do with me? You could never take me anywhere or introduce me to your snooty acquaintances. They’d laugh, and I couldn’t bear to humiliate you.”
After her outburst, there was such a protracted silence that she supposed he’d tiptoed out without her noticing. Finally, she peeked around only to see him evaluating her most peculiarly.
“You believe I could desire another more than you?” he inquired.
“I know you could.”
“How could you have such a low opinion of me?”
“I don’t. I think you’re the finest man ever.”
“Then give me some credit, would you? I know what I want.”
“No, you don’t,” she countered. “You’re wrapped up in this fantasy where you’re strutting about like a bandit—it’s as if you’re acting out a part in a stage play—but you’ll come to your senses and realize that you’ve made a terrible mistake, and then where will I be?”