Rapturous Rakes Bundle (32 page)

raised his head and greeted Rebecca as she walked

slowly by, touching his cap to her before he went back

to his work. Beside his tiny boat gleamed Sir John

Norton’s yacht,
Breath
of
Scandal,
and Rebecca was

halfway past it before she realised with a sinking heart

that Sir John was actually on board and had seen her.

It seemed unfortunate. Her spirits were lower than the

tide, her heart and her thoughts were full of Lucas and

the last thing she wished for was to fend off Sir John’s

bluff gallantry. Remembering Justin Kestrel’s words

the previous night, she felt a
frisson
of fear. This was

dangerous company in which to linger.

However, it was too late. Sir John had seen her and

now jumped down on to the quay with every expres-

sion of delight.

‘Miss Raleigh! Well met, ma’am! I was wondering

when I would have the pleasure of showing you my

craft.’

‘It is a trim yacht,’ Rebecca agreed, dredging up a

smile and giving the boat’s shining lines a look of

approval. ‘Do you go out today, Sir John? It seems an

inclement day for a sail.’

Sir John looked over his shoulder at the sea mist

pressing on the shore. ‘This will lift shortly,’ he said

dismissively. ‘The sun is already breaking through.

Perhaps you would care to come for a cruise with me

later?’

Rebecca smiled. ‘Thank you for your kind offer, but

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The
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Mistress

I fear I shall not have the opportunity today. Some

other time, perhaps?’

Sir John did not appear particularly cast down.

There was a flicker of calculation in his blue eyes as

he watched her. ‘At the very least, permit me to show

you the trophy I won in this year’s Deben Yacht

Race,’ he suggested. ‘I am sure that you will appre-

ciate the workmanship, Miss Raleigh. It is a marvel-

lous piece of engraved glass.’

‘Engraved glass?’ Rebecca said unwarily. Her gaze

shot up to meet his, but Sir John was looking bland.

She cleared her throat. ‘That is...I know little of such

matters, Sir John, but I should be delighted to see the

trophy, of course.’

‘Splendid!’ To her shock, Norton put one arm about

her waist and practically carried her over the side of

the yacht, guiding her down the companionway and

into the cabin below before she could even protest.

Gasping, ruffled and confused, she put out a hand to

steady herself on the table—and heard the stealthy

click of the cabin door behind her.

Rebecca jumped, trying to sound no more put out

than any young lady who had been manhandled

aboard a yacht and was now in danger of having the

vapours. At all costs she had to seem no more than

Justin Kestrel’s slightly feather-headed cousin.

‘Good gracious, Sir John, you are importunate!’ she

exclaimed. ‘What on earth can you be doing—’

‘A moment,’ Norton murmured. ‘I have it here.’

The neat wooden cupboard under the bulkhead was

slightly ajar, and through it Rebecca could see the

gleam of light on glass. There was indeed a magnifi-

Nicola
Cornick

243

cent engraved rose bowl, but next to it on the shelf

was a set of smaller glasses and they looked suddenly

and shockingly familiar. There was the one with the

engraved sun, the seagull, the anchor, the half-moon...

Rebecca stared as the ideas slowly slotted into

place. Of course. How foolish of them to have thought

that either Lily Benedict or John Norton would keep

an incriminating set of engraved glasses on display in

their homes for all the world to see. The Midwinter

spies were arrogant, but they were not stupid. Here on

the boat was the perfect repository for their master

code, the boat that Norton used for his illicit meetings

with his French spymaster...

‘Superb, is it not?’ John Norton’s voice sounded

loud in her ear. ‘Allow me to show you the detail,

Miss Raleigh. I am sure that a connoisseur such as

yourself will appreciate the magnificent craftsmanship

involved.’

Rebecca shook herself out of her reverie. Her nerves

were jumping and she was suddenly aware of the ex-

treme danger of her situation. She looked at Sir John,

but his face betrayed nothing but its usual good-

humoured bonhomie.

‘I am scarce an expert,’ she said lightly, ‘but I

should be delighted to see the trophy, Sir John.’

Norton bent to extract the rose bowl from the cup-

board. His voice was muffled.

‘You should not be so deprecating, my dear Miss

Raleigh. Who could be more qualified than you to

judge the merit of a piece of engraving?’

Rebecca’s throat dried. She started to edge back-

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The
Rake’s
Mistress

wards towards the doorway but Sir John Norton

straightened quickly, empty-handed.

‘Not so keen now, eh, Miss Raleigh?’ His bluff red

face had flushed to an even redder hue. ‘What a pity

that your faithful protector is unaccountably absent on

the one occasion when you require his aid—’

He broke off and stiffened as the boat shifted

slightly under the weight of someone coming aboard.

There was a thud, the sound of voices and then Lily

Benedict burst down the steps and into the cabin. Her

bonnet was askew and she looked flustered and dis-

traught.

‘John, what is happening?’ she demanded. ‘Edgar

said that the girl, Miss Raleigh, had come this way.’

She broke off as her gaze fell on Rebecca. Her eyes

narrowed in calculation. ‘Oh! Then you already have

her.’

‘Tell Edgar to cast off,’ Norton said without taking

his eyes from Rebecca’s face. ‘Quickly, Lily! We must

get away before the Kestrels come looking for her.’

Lily Benedict looked from the half-open cupboard

to Rebecca and back again. ‘I see,’ she said slowly.

‘Edgar!’ She turned on her heel. ‘Cast off! We must

make sail at once.’

In a desperate, unthinking effort to escape, Rebecca

made a dash for the doorway, but Norton reached her

within two strides and caught her about the waist, pull-

ing her brutally backwards. Her hip caught the edge

of the table; all the breath was knocked from her and

she bit back a gasp of pain.

‘Do nothing foolish, my dear.’ Norton murmured,

his breath hot against her ear. ‘There is so little point.

Nicola
Cornick

245

We had always planned to leave for France today and

all is prepared. Your presence merely complicates the

matter slightly, but I do not suppose that you shall be

with us for long.’ There was a threat beneath the words

that was impossible to ignore.

Rebecca struggled and was held hard. ‘I do not

know what you are talking about—or what you think

you are doing!’ There was no need now to pretend to

fear. It was clear in her voice. She could hear the

sound of the ropes being released and the anchor chain

clinking. It would take only a matter of moments to

get the boat ready to sail. Norton, as he had said, had

had it all prepared. Rebecca’s mind raced as like a

trapped rat. She could not get off the boat and Norton

knew her identity. There could be no pretence any

longer.

He laughed now and tightened his grip. ‘Silly chit,

thinking you could come here and ruin all for us. A

little engraver’s girl with delusions of grandeur.’ He

pushed her in front of him up the steps onto the deck.

‘Edgar recognised you straight away. He was a mem-

ber of the Archangel Club and he commissioned the

glass from your uncle and no one ever knew. No one

guessed the truth.’

Edgar, Rebecca thought. For a moment her mind

was blank, and then she remembered the huddled fig-

ure of Sir Edgar Benedict, skin papery yellow, sitting

in his Bath chair at the dinner, a sinister figure racked

with pain... Sitting in his chair and watching her to

see if she really was George Provost’s niece come to

expose the truth. They had never even considered him

as one of the conspirators. He had fooled them all.

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The
Rake’s
Mistress

As Norton dragged her up the companionway, the

cold sea air hit Rebecca’s face and helped to clear her

head a little. She could see Edgar Benedict now, work-

ing the sails, as hale and hearty as the vigorous man

he had evidently been all along. Already the yacht was

halfway out into the middle of the estuary, but it was

not that which concerned Rebecca so much as the

shifting banks of mist that she could see curtaining the

entrance to the harbour. She stared in horror.

‘Surely you are not intending to take her out in

this?’

Norton gave a snort of derision. ‘What would you

know of sailing, engraver’s girl? Best stay below if

you are going to have a fit of the vapours!’

He pushed her back down the companionway and

Rebecca fell in a sprawling heap on the floor below

and heard the cabin door slam shut and the key turn

in the lock.

Lucas had completely failed to find anything he re-

quired in the gunsmith’s, which was no surprise since

he could not even see what was in front of his eyes.

All he
could
see was Rebecca’s white face as she

pleaded her innocence, an innocence he had not been

prepared even to consider. Burning with anger, he had

gone out into the night and walked around until his

head had cleared a little. Then he had lain awake for

the entire night whilst he sifted the facts in his mind,

weighing and discarding the evidence. All the indi-

cations were that Miss Rebecca De Lancey was as

guilty as sin, yet all the evidence of his own intuition

told him once again that she was true. He was not

Nicola
Cornick

247

accustomed to acting on intuition and he did not like

it. Yet now he was obliged to admit, at last, that where

Rebecca was concerned his instinct had never let him

down. He had loved her before he even knew it. He

loved her still. And now he wanted her back, and no

secrets or misunderstandings would ever part them

again.

‘Lucas?’ Cory’s voice cut through his thoughts. ‘It

is clear to me that you are never going to make your

choice, so why do we not rejoin the ladies—’

The door of the shop swung open violently and Ra-

chel Newlyn ran inside. Cory broke off and grabbed

his wife by the arm, but it was Lucas whom she ad-

dressed through panting breaths.

‘Lucas! Hurry! Rebecca is on
Breath
of
Scandal.
’

‘What?’ Lucas focussed abruptly. ‘She has gone

with Norton on his yacht? What in the name of thun-

der was she doing—?’

‘No time for that,’ Rachel said, gulping air and

dragging them both out on to the pavement. ‘They

have just this moment set sail. I saw her on deck and

then Norton pushed her below. Quickly!’

She did not need to tell him twice. Lucas had al-

ready abandoned Rachel in Cory’s arms with more

haste than chivalry as he raced towards the harbour.

The air tore in his lungs, clammy and thick. Norton

had taken his yacht out in this? It seemed suicidal.

He reached the edge of the jetty to see the yacht in

the middle of the channel, already drifting into the sea

mist. Beside him on the quay Benbow, the wildfowler,

calmly sorted through his nets, humming beneath his

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The
Rake’s
Mistress

breath as though he had not a care in the world. Lucas

turned to him.

‘Benbow, Sir John Norton’s yacht...’

‘Aye, m’lord?’ The man’s eyes were an incurious

pale blue.

‘Has he been preparing it for long?’

‘Aye, m’lord. Said they were to sail today.’

‘They?’

‘Him and the Benedicts. Took the girl as well, of

course,’ Benbow added, shaking his head. ‘Poor little

missy.’

‘You mean he kidnapped her?’ Lucas’s stomach

churned. A small, doubting part of his mind had won-

dered whether Rebecca had gone of her own free will.