Captives of the Night (49 page)

"It is not pleasant," he said.

"I rather expected it wouldn't be."

His expression eased a fraction, and he arranged himself in storytelling mode, his legs curled up tailor fashion.

Then he told her, all of it, from the time he'd begun buying stolen weaponry from her father's partner, whose name Ismal said he wasn't at liberty to mention. He told her how his planned revolution in Albania had gone awry because he'd tangled with the wrong men and become besotted with Jason Brentmor's daughter. He told her how Ali Pasha had poisoned him, and how Ismal had escaped with the help of his two servants, and gone on to Venice, where he'd terrified Jonas Bridgeburton into providing incriminating information against the anonymous partner. Ismal described how he'd used the unseen Leila to hasten the negotiations, and how he'd had her drugged.

He told her about racing on to England — against his servants' advice — to get revenge on everyone he imagined had thwarted him: the anonymous arms dealer as well as Esme's lover, Edenmont — and, of course, Esme herself. He told her of the bloody climax in Newhaven and how Esme had saved his life and how he had paid the family — in precious jewels, no less — for his crimes.

He told her of the voyage to New South Wales and the shipwreck that he'd used to his advantage, and of his encounter with Quentin, who decided that Ismal could be more useful in Europe than among transported felons.

When he concluded, Ismal bowed his head — as though inviting her to whack him again.

"It would appear that eighteen hundred nineteen was an eventful year for you," she said. "Small wonder being knocked on the head hardly fazed you. I'm amazed, in the circumstances, that you remembered Bridgeburton's daughter at all."

"I remembered," he said grimly. "The instant you said your father's name. Even then, I was troubled. When you told me of Beaumont and how he took you away, I knew he stole your innocence, and this was why you wed him — and I thought I would die of shame. Ten years of wretchedness you endured, and all because of me."

She bridled. "I was not wretched. You are not to make me out as a pathetic victim of that sodden pig. He was obnoxious, I'll admit — "

"Obnoxious? He was faithless, and he did not even compensate by pleasing you in bed. He was a drunkard, a drug addict, a peddler of flesh, a traitor — "

"He made me an
artist
," she snapped. "He respected that at least — and long before anyone else did.
He
recognized my talent and sent me to school. He
made
my first master accept a female student. He brought me my first patrons. And he had to live with the consequences — of my career and ambition, and of all his infidelities. He may have crushed others and ruined other lives, but not me, not my life. I am my father's own daughter, and I gave back as good as I got. I nearly knocked you unconscious with the bed-warming pan a while ago. I promise you that’s not the first time the man in my life has felt the brunt of my temper. Don't you
dare
feel sorry for me."

She snatched her hand from his and bolted up, to pace angrily before the fireplace.

"Pity," she muttered. "You say you love me, and all it turns out to be is pity — and some mad notion of making amends. When you, of all men, ought to know better. You know everything — more than Francis ever did: all my failings, all my unladylike ways. No secrets from you, not a one — and yet you make me out to be some pitiable little martyr."

"Leila."

"It's that curst male superiority is what it is," she stormed on. "Just as Lady Brentmor says. Just because they're physically stronger — or
think
they are — they think they're the lords of creation."

"Leila."

"Because they can't bear to admit they need us. Adam needed someone, to be sure. He never would have had the
courage
to eat that apple on his own. Eve should have just eaten it herself and let him wander about Eden knowing nothing, and no better than the dumb brutes about him. The idiot didn't even know he was naked. And who sewed those fig leaf aprons, I ask you? Not him, you may be sure. He wouldn't have — "

The door slammed.

She whipped round.

He was gone.

She hurried to the door, pulled it open, and crashed into him. His arms lashed about her, holding her fast.

"I
am
stronger," he said. "And my head is harder. But I am not a dumb brute. I made a mistake. I am sorry. I did not mean to insult you. I know you are strong and brave and dangerous. I love you for this, and for your devilish mind and your passionate heart and, of course, your beautiful body. Now, my tigress, may we make peace?"

When Ismal awoke, a warm feminine backside was pressed to his groin. He slid his hand over the luscious curve of Leila's breast and dreamily contemplated lovemaking in the morning.

Morning?

His eyes shot open — to sunlight. Quelling his panic, he was gently disentangling himself when she turned and murmured and nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

Then he could only smile down at her in idiotic pleasure, and stroke her back while he thought how well they fit together, and how sweet it was to wake to a sunny morn with the woman he loved in his arms.

She moved under his caressing hand and in a little while raised her head to smile sleepily up at him. "What's so amusing?"

"I am happy," he said. "Stupid but happy."

She blinked as she, too, noticed. "By gad, it's morning."

"So it is."

"You're still here."

"So I am. Stupid, as I said. I seem to have fallen asleep."

She made a face. "I suppose it was the blow to the head."

"Nay, it was my conscience. So many weeks of guilty worry had exhausted me. You wiped away the agitation, and I slept like an innocent babe."

"Well, I suppose it's wicked and incautious, but I'm glad." She rubbed his beard-roughened jaw.

"It would not be wicked and incautious if we were wed," he said. "Will you marry me, Leila?"

She put her hand over his mouth. "I shall pretend I didn't hear that, and we'll start with a clean slate — on both sides. I have to tell you something, because you seem to have the wrong idea. I wasn't as clear as I might have been last night, and it wouldn't be fair — " Taking a deep breath, she hurried on. "I can't have children. I've tried. I went to doctors and tried different diets and regimens. I shan't bore you with the details. I'm barren." She took her hand away from his mouth.

He looked down into her anxious eyes. "There are plenty of orphans," he said. "If you wish to have children, we may acquire as many as you like. If you had rather not, then we shall be a family of two. Will you marry me, Leila?"

"Orphans? Would you really?
Adopt
children?"

"There are advantages. If they turn out badly, we can blame their natural parents. We can also choose our own assortment of ages and genders. We can even get them ready-grown, if we wish. Also, strays can be most interesting. Nick is a stray, you know. But that was not so difficult, even for a bachelor to manage. He at least was an adolescent when I found him. I did not have to mix pap and wipe his bottom. Will you marry me, Leila?"

She hugged him. "Yes. Oh, yes. You are a truly remarkable man."

"Indeed, I am a prince."

"Noble to the core."

He grinned. "At the core I am very bad. A big problem. But only you see the core. My pedigree is enough for the others. It should be — I worked very hard to earn my title."

She drew back. "To
earn
it? You are not telling me your title is
legitimate
?"

"King Charles himself bestowed it upon me."

"But you're not Alexis Delavenne."

"By French law, I am."

He explained that finding the missing "sucker shoot" of the Delavenne family had been one of his earliest missions. He finally located Pierre Delavenne in the West Indies and was obliged to kidnap him to bring him back to France.

"He was very angry," Ismal said. "He had taken a black woman as his mistress and fathered half a dozen children and liked his life just as it was. He hated France in general and the Bourbons in particular. Eventually, it occurred to some of us to make intelligent use of his hostility. I needed an identity; he didn't want his. The similarity of surnames, as you can imagine, struck my superstitious nature. I legally adopted the name, which pleased King Charles, and he bestowed the title upon me, which pleased my English slave drivers."

She laughed. "And so you really are the Comte d'Esmond, after all."

"And you shall be my comtesse."

"How absurd. I — an aristocrat."

"It is not absurd. You are haughty as a duchess." He tangled his fingers in her hair. "You do not mind, I hope?"

"
I
shall try to ignore my consequence as much as possible," she said. "And I shall continue to call you Ismal in private. If it slips out in public, we shall say it’s a pet name."

"You may pet me all you like, wherever you like." He guided her hand downward.
"Let me help you find some places."

The dowager arrived just as Leila and Ismal were enjoying a second cup of coffee.

She followed close upon a harassed-looking Gaspard's heels, and pushed her way into the dining room before he could announce her, let alone ascertain his employers' wishes.

Ismal calmly greeted her and pulled out a chair. She swept the room and its occupants one withering glare, then sat and opened her mammoth purse.

"You'd better marry her," Lady Brentmor told Ismal as she slammed a sheaf of papers onto the table.

"I am happy to report that Madame has perceived the error of her ways. She has agreed to let me make an honest woman of her."

"It was the charitable thing to do," Leila said. "He's utterly useless without me."

"That's true enough," her ladyship muttered. She handed two documents to Ismal. "I hope you've told her a few things. Otherwise, you've got a devilish lot to explain."

"I have confessed all my black past — all but the secret that was not mine to reveal." He frowned down at the documents. "This is Jason's hand."

"He come in late last night. He's still sleeping, and I wasn't about to wait all day for him to wake up." She turned to Leila. "Would've been here weeks ago, but he got my letter finally, and stopped in Paris to look into the problem himself. The money," she added in response to Leila's baffled look. "I thought there was something wrong about your money — that bank account. I was sure Jason had told me, ages ago, that your pa had set aside ten thousand pounds for your dowry."

"Ten thousand?" Leila repeated blankly.

"Jason did go looking for you — after he'd settled other pressing matters here, that is," the dowager said with a scowl at Ismal. "But by the time he got to it, you was wed, and Herriard seemed to be looking after your affairs well enough. So Jason never gave it no more thought."

"Ten thousand pounds," Leila said, her mind whirling.

"Jason had a lot of cleaning up to do after his fool brother," Lady Brentmor went on. "Your pa's partner in crime. That’s the name Esmond here was too delicate to mention. My son Gerald. You might as well know. We're in the same boat, ain't we?"

"Your son was my father's partner," Leila said slowly, trying to take it in. "And I had a dowry of… ten thousand pounds. That does… explain… a good deal."

"It certainly do explain why Andrew Herriard took such good care of a little nobody orphan gel, protecting her funds from her philandering sot of a husband. It was one thing in the beginning, when Herriard was just starting his practice. But even after he got important, he looked after you like you was the Royal Family. But then, he wouldn't want anyone else looking after you. Someone else might start asking embarrassing questions."