by Jo Goodman
Rhys found Kenna had plucked the glass of wine from his hand before he answered. “Most assuredly. I’ll only be a few minutes, Kenna,” He brushed her cheek quickly, making her smile with his distracted air, and left with Tanner.
Kenna looked down at the two glasses she held and smiled ruefully. She was wondering what to do with one when Alexis joined her.
“Here, let me relieve you of one of those.” She gave a little toss of her head and the long golden braid that had fallen over her shoulder settled properly at her back. “Where have Rhys and Cloud gone in such a rush?”
Kenna related what she learned from Tanner.
“That’s very good news.” Alexis sipped her wine. “How predictable Wilson was,” she mused, her smile flattening in disgust.
“What do you mean?”
“Cloud knew he would attempt something tonight, thinking it would be safer because so many of us are here. Wilson fell into the trap very neatly, I would say.”
“But you said even if he were caught there would be another to replace him.”
“True, but not if he can be persuaded to talk. Who did Cloud say brought the message?”
“Two men, Springer and Garrick, I think he said.”
“Garrison,” Alexis corrected, smiling broadly now. “Mike has fists like brass bookends. If your husband wants Wilson to name his employers, then Mike Garrison is the man who can get those names.”
Kenna took several large swallows of wine, her eyes widening. “And Springer?” she asked carefully. “What does he do?”
“Oh, dear. I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”
“No. Well, perhaps a little. It sounds rather coldblooded. Tell me about Mr. Springer.”
Alexis laughed as Kenna’s curiosity won out over her disgust of violence. “Springer is there to prevent Mike from using his fists. He’ll pretend to want to save Wilson from experiencing Mike’s wrath and he’ll reason, coax, and cajole. All the while Mike will be growing restless in the background. If you were Wilson in those circumstances, wouldn’t you give Springer what he wanted?”
“Most certainly.”
“It’s a very effective technique. The threat of force is in many cases more persuasive than violence itself.”
“I can understand how it would be.” She hesitated a moment then asked a question that had long been on her mind. “Why do you always call your husband by his surname?”
The warm blush that touched Alexis’s cheeks was at odds with her pirate costume and her eyes became so soft that one could be forgiven for forgetting she was skilled with the rapier resting against her thigh. “I thought Tanner Frederick Cloud too arrogant for my tastes when I first met him. I should have properly addressed him as Captain Cloud then, but I wanted to irritate him.”
“And did you?”
Alexis sighed. “No. He was more amused than annoyed. I think that is when I fell in love with him.”
Hours later when Kenna had removed her wig and was cleansing her face of makeup she told Rhys what Alexis had said. “Don’t you think that’s just like Tanner? Can’t you see him simply smiling to himself and letting Alexis go on and on? Poor Alex. She must have been furious.”
“Did I miss something?” he asked. He flopped back on the bed and attempted to remove his boots, using the toe of one foot against the heel of the other. Given his slightly foxed state it was not the best of strategies. “Why would she have been furious?”
Kenna took off her necklace and armbands and put them in her jewelry case. “Because she wanted to make him angry. Why is that so difficult to understand?” No reply was forthcoming and in the mirror Kenna could see Rhys was losing the battle with his boots. Taking pity on him she went over to him and helped him out.
“I think you overdid the celebration,” she observed as the first boot thudded to the floor.
“Wilson naming Britt, Anders, and Fielding as his compatriots was cause enough for a little indulgence.”
“It was the first time I ever drank a toast because someone was going to go to prison.” She grunted softly as the other boot gave way.
“I believe it was a first for me also.” His legs collapsed and he was motionless, showing no indication that he intended to undress.
Kenna hiked up her gown and crawled onto the bed, straddling Rhys. “Lift your arms. Alex explained the procedure Garrison and Springer used on Wilson to encourage him to talk. Apparently it worked brilliantly.” She sighed deeply, hands on her hips. “You can put your arms down now, Rhys.” Kenna leaned forward and unfastened the studs in his shirt, tossing them randomly until they glittered on the bed. She slid the shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, and pulled it out from under him with a magician’s flair. Next she concentrated her energies on the waistband of his breeches. She loosened them, then yanked them rather roughly down his thighs, following their path by shimmying down his legs.
Rhys rolled over on his stomach and gave a sharp yelp as several of the studs poked him in the chest and arm. He brushed them away and closed his eyes.
“Serves you right,” Kenna laughed. “Are you going to get under the covers or sleep on top?”
His speech was slurred. “Sleep right here.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” She picked up his clothes and laid them over a chair then undressed herself and slipped into one of her most revealing nightgowns. Kenna climbed in bed, pushing aside a few more studs and cuddled close to Rhys, pressing her body seductively against him. The few glasses of wine she had were making her feel decidedly amorous. She whispered in his ear. “I was thinking of something other than sleeping.”
But apparently Rhys was not. His soft snore told her that.
Kenna smiled, drew the coverlet around them, and was asleep herself in a matter of minutes…
She rubbed her eyes, waking to the sound of frantic, whispering voices. Cautiously she raised her head over the back of the settee and stared narrowly at the couple at the other end of the room. Victorine was engaged in pleading urgently with her red-caped companion. The devil’s hood covered his head and half his face but Kenna thought she recognized the shape of his mouth and the stubborn thrust of the Dunne chin. Nicholas! Nicholas and Victorine! Her hands slid beneath his cape and pulled him close, standing on tiptoe to reach his mouth. Nick’s hands caressed Victorine’s slender back as their kiss deepened.
Kenna left the gallery shortly after Victorine and Nick and stormed out of the house. She walked briskly toward the main gate, paused, then circled around to the summerhouse. There she uncovered more evidence of Victorine and Nick’s perfidy and was promptly sick on the steps leading to the caves. A light flashing over the water caught her attention and when two men came ashore she scrambled down the steps to investigate. Her entire body trembled as she watched the proceedings through a narrow fault in the rock face.
She could clearly see Victorine, then, when the Frenchmen moved, she saw the devil, his leotard and cape more orange than red in the dim lantern light. Nick again! Then her father appeared, drew Victorine to his side, and began berating his son. “Would you have her betray us all so that you might venture into some new scheme?” he said bitterly. “I had not thought you could be capable of this—not betraying your country for some notion of world peace designed by Napoleon. I should kill you, you know. But I can’t. At the very least I should bring you before the courts, but I find my pride too great to allow you to shame my house. I will grant you the opportunity to leave Dunnelly and England. It is better than you deserve.”
Kenna stepped into the entrance. She could not let father and son go against one another. She had to try and stop them. There must be an explanation for Nick’s actions. Her movement startled the Frenchmen. The lantern was pushed from the ledge it rested on but as it fell Kenna looked up in time to see a hand come down hard on her father’s wrist, making him lose his grip on one of the pistols he held. Before the pistol reached the cave floor the lantern crashed, plunging the chamber into unrelieved darkness…
“Nicky. Oh, no! Don’t Nicky!”
“Kenna!” Rhys shook her shoulder. “Wake up! Kenna!” He grabbed her flailing arms and threw a leg over her calves to keep her from kicking him again. “You’re dreaming.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She sobbed brokenly, trying to catch her breath. “Rhys! It was Nick! It was Nick in the cave with Victorine!” She repeated it over and over, shaking her head from side to side, until she exhausted herself.
As soon as she was quiet Rhys leaped from the bed and poured a brandy for her. With hands that shook he held it out to her as she sat up. “Here. Drink this.”
“I don’t want any.”
Rhys’s arms remained extended. “Drink.”
Kenna took the glass and sipped from it cautiously. It was like fire going through her veins but it cleared her head and calmed her nerves. “I had the dream again,” she said unnecessarily.
Rhys said nothing. He pulled at the covers, arranging them as he should have when they had first gone to bed, then he took the brandy from Kenna’s hand, set it on the nightstand, and got in beside her. He took her clammy hands in his, massaging them. “Whenever you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. Whatever you want to tell me is enough.”
If he had demanded to know her dream Kenna would have balked and told him nothing. His gentleness was her undoing and the words tumbled out so quickly she could barely make sense of what she was saying.
Rhys understood enough to realize Kenna was accusing Nick of killing their father. With the same fervor and assurance she had once leveled her accusations at him, she was now making the same claim about her own brother. Was it true? he wondered. Is this what she had fought so hard not to remember or were her dreams confusing her again? Was Nick the murderer as well as the traitor?
Rhys considered a number of things while Kenna spoke. Nicholas had never really investigated the tampering of Pyramid’s girth that led to Kenna’s near fatal fall. Nor had he pursued any of the other incidences. He either genuinely believed they were accidents or he was responsible for them. He could not take the middle ground. There was the pistol ball that had wounded Tom Allen. An accident? Nick was never much of a shot. The poisoning? If he were in league with the French then Monsieur Raillier was probably his accomplice. Rhys could not forget trying to carry out Kenna’s broth to see if it was tainted, only to bump into Nick and lose it all. Nicholas could have easily arranged Kenna’s abduction. Mason Deverell, Thompson, and Sweet were merely his hirelings. But Nick had searched all of London for Kenna. Was he only acting? If that were the case then Nicholas Dunne had missed his calling. He belonged on stage.
“I don’t know, Kenna,” he said when she finished. He could not point to what troubled him, only that something did. “I just don’t know any more.”
It was not the response she had expected. “How can you say that? Haven’t you heard what I’ve said. You told me I knew something I did not want to remember and now that I’ve remembered it you doubt me. Do you think I want to accuse my own brother? Dear God, Rhys. What sort of person do you think I am? Do you realize what I am saying? Nick killed our father. He is a traitor. And he tried to murder me.” Kenna’s features contorted with pain and she buried her face in her hands.
Gently Rhys pried her hands away and drew her into his embrace. She sobbed on his shoulder. “Think, Kenna. What prompted your dream tonight? Why did you suddenly see Nick as the devil when you have never done so before?”
“The costume at the party tonight.”
“Precisely. And I was the one who suggested he looked like Nick. It never occurred to you.”
“What are you saying? Don’t you believe what I’m telling you?”
“I believe you believe it, Kenna. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“Don’t you see, Rhys? I always knew it was Nick. Always! But I could not admit it. You said so yourself. That is why Nick was dressed as a highwayman in my nightmare. It made it convenient for me to confuse him with you. When I was thirteen and was forced to choose between my brother and a dear friend, I protected my brother. I loved Nick, Rhys. God help me, I still love him. But I love you, too. It is no longer convenient to remember Nick as a highwayman. He was dressed as Satan that night and that is how I finally remember him. I saw him with Victorine in the gallery. Do you a understand, yet? Victorine was the married woman my brother loved! You told me you saw them yourself in the garden, talking earnestly. He must have been trying to break off with her.”
Rhys remembered how long it had taken Nick to join him in the caves on that occasion. Had he been slow to come because he wanted to make certain his father and the intruding highwayman were dead by the time he arrived with help? Rhys did not know the answer. He was silent for so long that when he finally spoke his voice was rough. “If I told you I was going to write to Powell, informing him of what you’ve said this evening, that Nick is the traitor we’ve been searching for, would you still swear that your dreams are true?”
Kenna gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“Answer my question, Kenna. Do you have that much confidence in your dream that I would not be accusing your brother unjustly?”
When Rhys put it before in such a manner, Kenna found herself wavering. Hadn’t she already claimed Rhys was the murderer? Was she any more certain she had the truth now? “No,” she admitted. “I do not have so much confidence.”
“Neither do I,” he said softly. “Perhaps I was wrong to rely so heavily on your dreams, for I find I cannot accept this explanation either.”
“Why?”
“There are many things I could name that would seem to incriminate Nick, but I cannot forget how he looked when he told me you had been abducted. Have you ever thought Nick much of an actor, Kenna?”
“No. He is not adept at hiding what he feels or pretending to feel something he does not.”
“That is what I think, too. He was shattered that day he came to see me. I cannot make myself believe he had a part in any of it. It’s odd, you know, but before tonight I would have wagered Canning Shipping that Nick was the one. Now I wouldn’t put a farthing in on it.”
“What happened tonight to change your mind?”
“Actually it was Alexis Cloud that made me rethink the matter. Or rather her costume. I kept asking myself if I could have recognized her if Tanner hadn’t pointed her out or if I hadn’t known how she would be dressed. And the answer was no, I could not. I wondered if the same thing was not also true the night of your father’s ball. Who did I really see in the garden with Victorine? Nick, or somebody wearing a similar guise? You must come to your own conclusions about the gallery. I don’t doubt you saw a devil. But was that devil Nicholas?”
Could she really accuse her brother on the basis of a chin and the shape of his mouth she thought…“No, I cannot be sure.”
“It seems to me that we should talk to Madeline, Etienne, and Michael. The opportunity may never present itself again. If I show them the guest list they may remember what some of the people were wearing. Perhaps, like the four shepherdesses, there was more than one devil afoot that night.”
“What of Victorine, Rhys? Have I mistaken her, too?”
“I don’t know.” He kissed her temple as she lay back. “But don’t think about it now. Let’s get some sleep.” Though Kenna did so quickly it was a long time before Rhys took his own advice. Something still troubled him and it was made all the more agonizing because he could not name its source.
Rhys and Kenna went riding on Sunday, racing their new mounts over the fields with carefree abandon. Kenna pronounced her bay mare nearly the equal of Pyramid while Rhys continued to withhold judgment on his horse. By some mutual agreement which neither expressed aloud, they did not speak of Kenna’s dream at any time.
On Monday several letters addressed to Rhys arrived at the office. It was the first mail Rhys had received from any of the packet ships leaving London. Kenna recognized the handwriting on two of them as Nick’s and Victorine’s. The third letter s
till carried a faint fragrance that Kenna immediately associated with the time she spent in the Flower House. The letter could only be from Polly Rose. She was tempted to open the letters, hungry as she was for news from home, but she controlled her excitement and took them to Rhys at the building site. He opened them immediately while Kenna read over his shoulder.
Polly’s letter was amusing, full of anecdotes about the girls and the latest bit of mischief they had perpetrated on Mrs. Miller’s establishment. Kenna sniggered at Polly’s wicked sense of humor but pretended shock when Rhys looked at her consideringly.
Victorine had news of Yvonne—she was expecting another child—and of Nick—he was spending a great deal of time in London of late—and she hinted delicately that he had acquired a mistress. She wished Rhys well and hoped he would write soon with news of how he was faring in Boston.
Nick’s missive was the most sobering. He confirmed the reports they had heard that Napoleon was gathering troops and was expected to make his first strike in Belgium. He wrote poignantly of how much he still missed Kenna and how little time he spent at Dunnelly because she was no longer there. “I cannot help but think,” he wrote, “that had I forced her to marry you her death could have been avoided. Victorine says I blame myself unnecessarily but I cannot change what I think. Perhaps in time…Victorine is herself in no position to cast stones. She has not been well since Kenna’s death. Even when I am in residence she takes to her room most of the day. Doctor Tipping assures me there is nothing physically wrong with her but her melancholia saps her strength. I fear that time itself will not be enough to heal her.” The remainder of the letter was brighter in tone, yet Kenna and Rhys shared a common guilt when it was put aside.
“Cannot we write to him, Rhys?” pleaded Kenna. “Listen to what he says of Victorine! She is ill because of me. If she dies it would be as if we had murdered her. What can the harm be? I am with you now, thousands of miles away from Dunnelly, and very safe. Please let them know I am safe.”