Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (35 page)

“What if it gets dangerous, Irish? When news of the will leaks out, a lot of people are going to be interested in your whereabouts. A fanatic collector might consider trying to steal the wine from the abbey, but it would be much easier to get the wine through you.”

“Kidnapping?”

“Possibly. Or some nasty coercion. Even a barter, if one of us gets taken. What I'm saying is that things are going to get rocky.”

“Then do your job. You're a bodyguard, aren't you?” Cathlin's voice was cold.

“Even bodyguards make mistakes. And when that will becomes public knowledge, every two-bit criminal and out-of-luck thief in England will be trying to get his hands on that wine. Or on
us.
”

“Like the men in that car?”

“Maybe.” Dominic cursed softly, tired of having to field questions he couldn't answer. “But the conditions are still the same, Cathlin. If you stay, you do what I say, when I say. Nicholas will back me up on this.”

“Don't count on it,” Cathlin said flatly.

Dominic's eyes hardened. “You know that Gabriel's murderer was never found, don't you? No one knows what happened that last night down in the cellar. And Aunt Aggy tells me—” He stopped.

Something about the hardness in his eyes made Cathlin frown. “What, Dominic? What did she tell you?”

“You're not going to like it.”

“Tell me.”

“She found some letters in an old hatbox in the back of her armoire. It appears that all London was abuzz with gossip in the spring of 1794.”

“So?”

“So the story circulating was that Gabriel Montserrat had finally gone past the line by kidnapping a respectable young woman from the safety of her own house.” Dominic looked out over the moat, past the tangle of old roses. “And then he murdered her.”

“No,” Cathlin whispered. “Why would he murder her, then mention her in his will? It doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe it does. Maybe guilt drove him to make up in death for what he'd done to her in life.”

“You can't believe that.”

Dominic shrugged. “I don't know what I believe. And I don't know if we'll ever have the answers.” When he turned, his face was hard. “Nicholas said to tell you we're dining at eight in the Yellow Salon.” His eyes glinted for a moment. “Wear something special.”

“D
AMNED, STUBBORN WOMAN
.”

Dominic watched Cathlin stride over the gravel path along the moat.

A dozen tasks awaited him. He needed to go over the inside security arrangements, then discuss them with Nicholas. After that he wanted to take a look at the cellar and see if anything had been overlooked down there.

Yet here he stood, thinking about the past, thinking about a woman with haunted amber eyes.

Dominic's shoulder began to throb. Too much boxing. But someone who came up from behind wasn't going to care if his shoulder hurt or not.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fragile piece of fabric. Light broke over the Ashton diamond glinting on his palm, cold and beautiful.

Dominic twisted it thoughtfully, wondering why such a precious gem was attached to a piece of simple white cambric. He had taken it from Cathlin's chest at Seacliffe, sensing he might find answers somewhere in those cold facets.

He stared down now, watching the diamond sparkle, thinking about this hard-faced ancestor and his strange bequest.

Feeling the images form into memories…

 

G
ENEVA
R
USSELL CROSSED THE
polished floor and sank down on the gilt chair before her dressing table.

Her face was pale, her eyes haunted as she slid off her gown and tugged on a cambric wrapper.

Though a week had passed, she could not forget the fury in Gabriel's eyes, nor the fierce disgust in his voice.

Jezebel.
How right he had been.

Listlessly she pulled the pins from her hair and brushed out the rich black curls, barely aware of her movements. Devere had come to see her twice already, braying and blustering that he would have Isabel de Verney carried to the guillotine.

But not yet. Devere needed Geneva's sister alive, as a means to threaten Geneva. It was the Rook he wanted, and he needed Geneva to lure the shadowy hero of a hundred forays out of hiding.

It was for that reason that Geneva was leaving London tomorrow for Seacliffe, the family's estate near the southeast coast. The grand old house overlooked the barren sands and tidal pools of Romney Marsh and not even Henry Devere would bother her there.

She stared down at the exquisite leather trunk neatly packed beside her bed. Inside were the jeweled shoes and satin gown she had worn at the masquerade. With them was the cameo that Gabriel had given her. Geneva would never wear any of them again. There was too much pain in her memories of that night.

“Will you be wanting anything else, miss?”

Geneva smiled at her maidservant, hired along with this furnished house in a very elegant part of London. “No, that's all, Amelia. I shall close the trunk and you can see it loaded onto the carriage to go with us to Seacliffe tomorrow.”

The young woman nodded. “Very well, miss.” She dropped a quick curtsy and went out as silently as she had come.

Geneva barely noticed. Carelessly she pulled off her wrapper and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her face was as pale as the white cambric nightgown she wore. The only light and ani
mation about her came from the diamond stickpin she wore at her neck. Geneva would wear it always to remind herself of her perfidy and the grim look in the eyes of the man she had betrayed.

A shadow slid into her vision, captured in the mirror. A shadow with glinting eyes and a hard jaw.

She spun around, her hand at her lips. “You!”

It was the only word she uttered before Gabriel Montserrat pulled a snow-white cravat from his pocket and bound her mouth. His eyes moved over the curves hinted at beneath the fragile cambric. “So you think to mock me, do you? You even wear my own jewel. But I shall see you repaid for your treachery, my sweet, in ways you can't imagine.” He ignored the burning desperation in her eyes, ignored the way her face paled to white. In tight silence, he found her gown, tugged it over her shoulders, and drew the laces up the back. “We are going on a trip you see, my love. We have a great deal of business to finish, you and I.”

He looked at her one last time, saw the hint of the diamond at the edge of her gown, and with a curse he tore it free. “I'll have that back now, my dear.”

But Geneva kicked him wildly, every movement filled with desperation. Cursing, Gabriel dodged the blow.

And in the process the Ashton diamond dropped unnoticed from his fingers, landing in the chest beside Geneva's bed.

Grim-faced, Gabriel caught his captive over his shoulder and strode down the stairs. “No more tricks, my love. We've a long coach ride before us, so I suggest you cool your anger.” Through the quiet house he stalked, Geneva draped over his shoulder like a sack of flour, her bare feet kicking. At the bottom of the stairs he was met by a wide-eyed servant, his clothing all awry.

“Miss Russell! My lord! What are you—”

Gabriel slid a pistol from his pocket and leveled it at the man's chest.

“But you can't—” The butler looked at the pistol and swallowed. “That is, you really shouldn't—”

“But I am,” Gabriel said flatly. Then he strode out into the London night, his kicking hostage held tightly in his arms.

 

G
ABRIEL'S COACHMAN HAD
been waiting for his signal. Immediately a high-stepping team raced around the darkened square. Gabriel bolted down the steps and slid Geneva to the ground.

His eyes burned silver as he removed the gag from her mouth. “There is no use screaming, my dear. I am taking you where you cannot betray me.”

“But you can't!” Geneva's eyes were wild as she studied the darkened square behind them. “Devere has been watching the house all week, hoping that you would come after me. That's why I was leaving for the coast.”

“An unsuccessful lie, my dear.”

Geneva pounded his chest, her small hands fisted. “He'll come, I tell you! The French have put too high a price on your head for him to resist.”

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. Was this another of her tricks? He studied the darkness around them, watching for any sign of movement.

None came. So much for that, he thought grimly.

Not that it mattered. An hour's ride would see the dust of London's streets long behind them. Soon they would be beyond the reach of Devere or his minions.

Gabriel was just on the verge of telling Geneva to save her breath when he heard an old wooden shop sign hammer across the square.

Clang-clang,
it cried, creaking in the wind. The noise reminded Gabriel of the windmill in Dunkirk, sails straining in a channel gale. He had heard the sound just before he discovered the three dead children. He knew the sound would haunt him always.

Suddenly a crack split the night. Gabriel shoved Geneva inside the carriage, while the coachman fought to control the team.

Another shot exploded past as Gabriel leaped within and wrenched the door closed behind him.

He tried to ignore the press of Geneva's soft breast where she lay beneath him. He tried to ignore her lilac fragrance and the way her hip rode against his thigh.

“I tried to tell you,” she said raggedly. “He knew that you would come.”

Gabriel smiled coldly. “I have naught to fear from Henry Devere. He'll never find us where we're going.”

As they took another jolt, he saw Geneva wince. Cursing, Gabriel pulled her onto his lap and wrenched back her cloak.

He stared down in horror at the trail of blood on her gown. “They hit you.”

Geneva's hands were white where she gripped the folds of her cloak. “He will never give you up. The French have promised him a fortune for your capture.”

Gabriel pulled her against his chest, cursing softly. He couldn't go all the way out to his estates near Tunbridge with Geneva bleeding. He had already closed up his London town house, in preparation for his departure.

Which left only Draycott House.

Gabriel sat forward and called curt direction to the coachman as Geneva twisted restlessly in his arms.

 

G
ENEVA
R
USSELL'S SHOCKED
servant watched the carriage race from the square and shook his head disapprovingly.

He had thought it most peculiar when the woman had called upon his services as a butler. No respectable female lived alone in a house without family or a single chaperone. He supposed that's what came of her growing up in the heathen climates where her father had been a high official in the East India Company.

Yes, Edward Wilson hadn't like it then and he didn't like it now. There had been something very peculiar about Miss Geneva Russell. Respectable ladies simply did not set up housekeeping by themselves in London.

His muddy eyes narrowed. This was just the sort of information that gentleman Mr. Devere had asked him to report. The servant straightened his collar and pulled on his cloak. Yes, he would see that Henry Devere learned the news of this outrageous affair from his own lips. No doubt there would be several gold guineas in it for him.

His thoughts were full of greed as he set off for the address that Henry Devere had been careful to leave with him two weeks before.

 

T
HE WINDOWS AT
D
RAYCOTT
House were ablaze with light as Gabriel's coach lurched up to the front door. Gabriel prayed that his reprobate friend, the viscount, was not holding one of his wild parties. As he pounded up the front steps with Geneva in his arms, the door of Draycott House was thrown open. A dour figure in black appeared.

“Let me down,” Geneva protested raggedly. “I can walk.”

“No, you can't.”

Templeton, the old butler, gave a sniff of disapproval, eyeing the woman in Gabriel's arms. “I shall fetch Lord Draycott.”

Frowning, Gabriel crossed the beautiful marble foyer and made his way to Adrian Draycott's study. After lighting a candle, he pulled back Geneva's cloak.

“It is nothing, I tell you. But you must leave. Henry Devere will follow you here.”

Gabriel snorted. “Let him try. Meanwhile, stop fighting me, woman.” In the light he made out a jagged line of blood, the path of a shallow bullet.

He was muttering a stream of graphic curses when the door
opened behind him. “My dearest, Gabriel, what an unexpected pleasure. Templeton tells me that you have now taken to kidnapping gently bred females from the London streets.” Adrian came to a halt as he saw the white-faced woman on his settee.

“It's a shoulder wound from a ball meant for me.”

“I am quite well,” Geneva said faintly. “And I pray you will not speak of me as if I were not here.”

Adrian smiled. “So you have the same sharp tongue as ever, Miss Russell.”

At the doorway Templeton cleared his throat anxiously. “Will your lordship be desiring brandy?”

“No, hot water and fresh linens, Templeton.” Adrian looked down at Gabriel. “What happened?”

“Henry Devere decided to let Miss Russell act as his bait to trap the Rook. Unfortunately it worked.” Gabriel's breath caught as a scrap of blood-soaked lace came into view.

“Let me alone,” Geneva protested.

“Another word and I'll bind your mouth again, hellion.”