“The explosion,” she whispered.
“Yes, the French had mined that area.” He shook his head. “You should never have been there. What if something had happened to you? You are far too important to risk losing in all this.” He waved his arm at the covered windows.
Outside, the voices grew louder, closer, and Robert quickly blew out the candle, casting the room into darkness again.
“Be still,” he whispered, as he moved to the window and parted the curtain ever so slightly. He stood there for a time, peering out into whatever was beyond this room, watching, his body tense, his fingers drumming anxiously at the wall. Finally he let out a long, slow breath and let the curtain slip closed. “They’ve moved on.”
“Who?” she asked, wondering at all these strange events.
“The soldiers.”
She gathered every ounce of strength she could muster and rose up in the bed. “The French?”
He shook his head. “No. British.”
“What have we to fear from our own troops?”
He glanced back at the window. “They’ve gone mad. The entire city is in turmoil. They lost so many men trying to get in, what with the powder mines and the time it took, they are taking their revenge.”
Outside, there were drunken shouts, the sound of bottles being thrown against a wall and calls for more wine.
“You mean they’re pillaging?”
Robert settled back into his chair. “Yes. We’re safe enough. This building is abandoned, and there is nothing in the two floors beneath us to entice anyone to waste their time here.”
“But why isn’t Wellington doing anything to stop them? Why aren’t you?” she asked.
He eased forward in the chair. “Why would I?”
There was something in the icy timbre of his voice that chilled her spine. That warned her something was terribly wrong.
“Where is Aquiles?” she asked.
He seemed not to hear her. “You shouldn’t worry about anything right now.” He got up and dug around in a bag that lay on the floor.
Her valise! How had it gotten here from the tent? How had they gotten into the city when everything seemed in such turmoil? How had Robert found this place? Nothing about any of this, about Robert made sense.
“I was able to get us some food, before everything went so terribly wrong.” He held out his hand. “The bread is rather stale, not what you’re used to, but it will have to do until we can secure the treasure.”
The treasure.
The way he said it frightened her. A wistful note of longing clung to his words.
He moved over and sat on the corner of her bed. “When we have the treasure, I’ll dress you in diamonds, my dear. I’ll make all the promises I made those years ago come true. You’ll be my wife, and I will shower you with riches.”
And when he reached out to touch her cheek, she backed away. For the man reaching out to touch her was not Robert, not the Robert she had married, not the man who had captured her heart, but the one who had nearly destroyed it.
For the man before her was mad. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he spoke.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, his fingers stroking her hair. “I’ve forgiven you for not waiting for me. For being so deceived by that insidious cousin of mine. Rest assured, dispatching him will be my first order of business in securing our happiness.”
He got up and went back to the window, watching in the night, for what she couldn’t fathom.
Olivia swallowed back her fears. Her worst nightmare had come back to life amidst the hellish battle for Badajoz.
For somehow, someway, the Marquis of Bradstone lived. And now he held her life in his hands.
Outside a tent on the field beyond the walls of Badajoz, a lone man hung his head and wept. This wasn’t the first time he had shed tears in the last three days, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
Robert Danvers’s grief tore at those who heard his painful cries, so much so that most just ducked their heads and continued on past him. He might have helped win the battle, but he had lost his wife in the terrible explosion that had destroyed so many lives.
Why had she ignored his warning to stay well clear of the
battle
? he asked himself.
After the explosion, he’d climbed through the burning embers and remains, searching for her. And when he couldn’t find her, he’d dug and clawed at the rubble, trying to uncover where she had been buried.
Then he’d gotten swept back into the battle, carried along by the next line of troops. He’d lost sight of where she’d been, and in the changing landscape, it was impossible to tell where she had once stood and where she had fallen.
He tugged at the flask in his jacket and took a long pull, emptying the contents down his raw and burning throat. He’d spent most of the last three days drowning his grief in port, and now he’d have to find another bottle before the pain renewed its assault on his senses. He staggered off in search of more alcohol, anything to numb his heart.
Aquiles glanced up from inside the tent and watched him go. He shook his head and sighed.
“The major’s taking her death hard. Must be something we can do for him,” Jemmy said. “Though I can’t blame him for being beat to snuff. I still can’t believe the Queen’s gone myself.” He turned his face toward the tent wall, fresh tears spilling from his eyes.
Aquiles glanced down at the boy with a new appreciation. It was obvious that he would probably never walk again. Martha and Olivia’s quick doctoring had saved him from infection, and worse, probably, from losing the leg, but that it would never function properly again was most likely. And yet he hadn’t grumbled a word about his own painful condition, more worried about Robert and his lost ladylove.
Olivia had no idea how much time had passed when next Bradstone roused her. For some reason she had slipped back into a dreamless sleep, and she suspected he’d been mixing some of her powders into the tea he’d offered.
“Come, wake up,” he said. “ ’Tis nearly dawn, and the city is all but quiet. The worst of them are passed out, and the few stragglers that are out there will be no match for us.”
He tugged at her uninjured hand, the one that wore the ring Robert had placed on her finger not so long ago.
Orlando’s ring.
The sight of it offered her a glimmer of hope that somehow Robert, her Robert, was alive and searching for her.
“Where are we going?” she asked warily, as he hurried about the room, tossing the remaining bit of bread into her beleaguered valise.
“To the cathedral.” Impatience marked each word. When she didn’t rise any further, he stopped and stared at her. “To get the treasure,” he prompted. “There are four possible churches here in town, but I think we will start with the cathedral.”
She smiled at him. “But don’t you remember, my lord, the treasure is in Madrid.”
It was the wrong thing to say, for the madness she suspected that infected his mind now sprang to life in full fever.
He crossed the room in two mighty strides and sent a stinging slap across her face. “You faithless little bitch. I don’t know why I have forgiven you. But I shall. You’ll see.”
Olivia struggled to catch her breath and said nothing.
Bradstone didn’t seem to notice. “If the treasure isin Madrid, why did you bring
him
here? Didn’t you think I would follow you? Learn of your treachery?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to appease him, trying to regain his trust. “He forced me to do this.”
The man nodded. “I thought as much. That is why I sent Capitaine de Jenoure to find you.”
“
You
sent him to find me?”
He smiled. “I would have you safe, my love. Safe so we could find the treasure together. That was why it distressed me to see you start off for the battlefield. I had hoped to take you during the battle while you were in the camp with the women. But as it turned out, after the explosion, I was able to carry you away through the smoke without anyone noticing.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. The memory of the explosion replayed in her mind. Had Robert survived the blast? She had no way of knowing, and her heart ached to know the fate of her husband. “It was kind of you to save me,” she told Bradstone, all the while cursing him for taking her from Robert when he may need her.
“Yes, it was,” he said. “Now, up with you. We must hurry.”
This time she rallied what strength she had and got out of bed. If she was to escape him, it would be easier out in the streets. The bruises on her legs had turned to shades of green and black, while her burned hand still stung. She moved stiffly out of the bed, pulling down what was left of the dimity dress to cover her bare legs.
“There you go,” Bradstone said, encouraging her progress by handing over her stockings and shoes. “Good as new. But we will have to get you something else to wear. Can’t have my marchioness wearing rags.” He held out her cloak, which looked to have borne the brunt of the explosion. It was blackened by the fire and had several large holes in it.
She forced a smile to her lips and took the cape, holding back the cry of pain that threatened to escape her lips as she cast it over her shoulders. She’d be damned if she’d have him help her—allow him to touch her.
“Why do you need me to help you get the treasure?” she asked. “You know it is here in Badajoz, so why take me? I’ll just slow your pace.”
He laughed, a twisted little sound slipping from his lips like the growling of a rabid dog. “And what if it is not?” he asked. He dug into her valise and pulled out her notebook. “I have had my fill of your treachery, and if we do not find the treasure here in Badajoz, you will keep translating these notes until you get it right.” He threw the journal at her. “For every empty tomb I am forced to dig, I promise I will exact my revenge from your flesh, until you find your translation skills”—he reached into his coat and pulled out a wicked-looking stiletto—”as sharp as my knife.”
If Olivia had held any hope of escape, by the time she’d finished dressing and tucking her hair into a quick chignon, it quickly vanished. For just before they were about to head out the door, he turned to her, his face once again twisted with the insanity that infected his mind and the anger she feared.
“Don’t think you will leave me, my dear.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out her pistol. “How resourceful of you to bring this to me. And since I don’t as yet trust you, I fear I will have to use it to ensure your loyalty for now.” Then he shoved her out the door, prodding her toward the stairs, the muzzle resting between her shoulder blades.
The trip through the predawn streets offered no hope for escape. As he had said, the looting had all but ceased. Soldiers were lying in the doorways and gutters, snoring off their excess of wine and rum. Glass from shop windows glittered in the street, doors had been kicked in, and goods and booty lay ravaged and torn in the streets.
It appeared the British had exacted a heavy toll on the poor city for its stubborn and deadly resistance.
“Ah, vengeance,” Bradstone said, stepping over the dead and naked body of a woman. “What a lovely sight.”
Obviously he had done some exploration through the city, for they went directly to the cathedral through a maze of streets. He moved through the city like a rat, born to hiding and cunning stealth.
“How did you survive, my lord?” Olivia asked. “Everyone thought you dead.”
“Not with any help from you,” he muttered darkly. “But if you must know, when the
Bon Venture
went down, I was picked up by the Frenchies who sank us. Luckily the captain was a man of some breeding and recognized that I would be worth something in ransom. Unfortunately before he could make the arrangements to send word home, he was killed in port, and for a time I languished in a French prison, where—” He stopped abruptly, for up ahead of them a small contingent of British soldiers was marching through the street, apparently gathering up their drunken and fallen comrades.
He caught her arm and wrenched her into a doorway, covering her body with his to shield her from sight. She would have called out, but he put the pistol to her head and placed one finger on his lips to indicate he wanted her silence.
Olivia dared not so much as breathe until the men passed by, yet even after they had, Bradstone did not move.
“You’ve grown comely, Olivia,” he said, his voice purring over the words. “Who would have thought that seven years would give you a woman’s body and charms?”
She stiffened as his fingers traced a trail over her cheek and lips.
“I should take you now. Show you what you missed,” he said, pushing himself closer to her.
“It will be light soon,” she said. “There will be time enough for your pleasures, my lord, after you have gotten away with the treasure.”
He laughed and stroked the pistol down the neckline of her gown, the cold metal chilling her skin. “How impatient you are for the treasure. And for me, I wager.”
She shuddered again and hoped he took her revulsion for something else.
Stepping out of the alcove, Bradstone looked right and left to ensure the street was clear before he dragged her down from their hiding place and onward in his frantic pace toward the cathedral.
Ahead of them, its beautiful medieval towers rose above the low buildings surrounding it. She had to find a way to make her escape, for she doubted that Bradstone, in his madness, would allow her to live.
“How is it that you came to Spain?” she asked, hoping to distract him with chatter.
“My jailer in Le Havre was a greedy man. Over cards I made him an offer. I told him of the treasure and said we would split it if he would get us the necessary travel papers to go to Madrid. The bastard did it, but when we got there and there was no treasure, the authorities arrested us for traveling with false papers and threw us in a hole of a prison.”
He made a guttural noise, as if recalling that terrible place only fed his madness. “Four years I spent in that dark hole,” he said. “Four years without any light. Just the scraping sound of my jailers when they remembered to feed us and the constant gnawing of rats.”
“How terrible for you,” she whispered.
And too bad you didn’t stay there forever,
she wanted to add.