The Rake's Mistress (20 page)

‘Were you looking for Lucas, Miss Raleigh?’

‘No!’ Rebecca said. She gulped a steadying breath. ‘I wished to speak to you, your Grace.’

Justin gave her a flicker of a smile. ‘Then may I offer you a glass of brandy? You are looking somewhat shaken.’

Rebecca accepted and sat down a little abruptly in the chair that Bradshaw had vacated. Justin did not speak whilst he poured for her and topped up his own glass. When she took it from him she was surprised to see that she was trembling. She took a grateful sip and felt the brandy warm through her limbs, strengthening her. She gave a little sigh. ‘That is good.’

‘It should be,’ Justin said. ‘Your brother runs it.’

Rebecca almost choked. She put the glass down. ‘Your Grace—’

‘Miss Raleigh?’ Justin was not making it easy for her but then, Rebecca acknowledged wryly, why should he? She was the one who had some explaining to do. She sat up a little straighter.

‘I came to tell you that it is true that I am Rebecca De Lancey,’ she said. ‘I know that there must be a connection between the Midwinter spies and my uncle’s work, but I swear to you that I am not that link. Everything that I have told you is true. I am no traitor and—’ her voice warmed ‘—I cannot believe that Daniel is in the pay of the French either.’

Justin Kestrel let that one go. His face was grave. ‘I cannot offer an opinion on your brother, of course, but I must tell you, Miss Raleigh, that I never imagined that you were playing us false. Anyone who knows you at all well should surely realise that you are no spy.’

Rebecca stared. ‘But I thought… Lord Lucas assumed…’

‘Ah, Lucas,’ Justin said. He smiled at her. ‘Lucas always was impulsive and I am afraid…’ he sighed ‘…that he is also labouring under strong emotion, which is never conducive to making a man see clearly.’

Rebecca bit her lip. Honesty prompted her to admit that Lucas’s reaction was scarcely surprising, although the intensity of his anger had stunned her and the cruelty of his words hurt her deeply.

‘I concede that the facts looked damning against me,’ she said with a little shiver. ‘I cannot explain the connection between the Midwinter spies and my uncle, other than to repeat that it is nothing to do with me.’

‘The facts do indeed look damning,’ Justin agreed, with the ghost of a smile. ‘Lucas was angry and disillusioned to learn the truth, Miss Raleigh, but he may realise his mistake if you grant him a little time.’

‘There is no more time for us,’ Rebecca said bleakly. ‘Lord Lucas and I never could quite trust
one another sufficiently to make matters work and now we never shall. I wish to go back to London immediately, your Grace.’

Justin nodded slowly. ‘A pity, but I understand your sentiments. If that is what you desire then it shall be so. However, I must ask you to wait a couple of days more, Miss Raleigh.’ He saw her instinctive gesture of denial and went on, ‘We move against Norton and Lady Benedict the day after tomorrow. We cannot risk any change of plan before then or it may alert suspicion. After that, you are free to return home whenever you wish.’

Rebecca stood up. She knew that it was the best she could hope for and that under the circumstances Justin was being more than generous. It was only the inevitability of seeing Lucas again that made her heart ache so fiercely she was not sure she could bear it. Between them they had destroyed all the fragile trust that had grown up against the odds, and they had hurt each other beyond measure. She bore the responsibility for that as much as Lucas, for although he had deceived her first, she had never trusted him sufficiently to tell him the truth about Daniel, and now it would never be possible to gain his love.

I
t was odd to behave as though everything were as normal and yet to know that everything had in fact changed. Rebecca had been tempted to remain in her room for the whole of the following day, but she hated to be confined; she had also agreed to go shopping in Woodbridge with Rachel Newlyn. Lucas and Cory were to accompany them, but Lucas elected to ride and did not acknowledge Rebecca’s presence with more than a nod when they met in the hall. There was not another look or a word or a touch that passed between them. Rebecca knew that Rachel had noted this new coldness, but fortunately she asked no questions, and when the carriage rolled into Woodbridge and the gentlemen went off to the gunsmith’s, Rachel headed towards the bookseller’s and Rebecca pleaded a headache and told her friend she would await her on the quay, where she hoped that the fresh sea air might help quell the blue devils.

It was a misty morning and the sea fret hung about the boats, muffling sound and casting a grey pall across the water. The quay seemed quiet but for the scrape and hammer coming from the shipwright’s yard. An old man was sitting in a wildfowling boat, sorting methodically through nets and floats and whistling soundlessly through his teeth as he did so. He 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 expression 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 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 appreciate the workmanship, Miss Raleigh. It is a marvellous 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 featherheaded 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 magnificent 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 extreme 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 cupboard. 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 backwards 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 distraught.

‘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, pulling 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. 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 member 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 figure 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.

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, working 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 required 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 indications 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 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 Rachel Newlyn ran inside. Cory broke off and grabbed his wife by the arm, but it was Lucas whom she addressed 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 thunder 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 already 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 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 wondered whether Rebecca had gone of her own free will. Now he doubted no longer.

‘Aye,’ Benbow said, shaking his head. ‘Kidnap, right enough. Saw her struggling with him in the cabin.’

Lucas resisted the urge to shake him into urgency. ‘We must go after them.’

‘Aye, m’lord.’ Benbow sounded unmoved. He gazed across the misty harbour. ‘Powerful bad day to take a boat out.’

‘That can’t be helped,’ Lucas snapped. He was already starting to untie the wildfowling punt. ‘Come on, man! I need your help.’

‘Never catch them up,’ Benbow opined gloomily. ‘Not in a punt.’

Lucas stared in frustration. ‘There is no wind. They are practically becalmed! We will catch them.’

‘Aye, m’lord.’ The fisherman scratched his head. ‘No harm in trying, I suppose.’

Lucas was already reaching for the punt pole when the first rustle of breeze across the water caught the sails of
Breath of Scandal
and the yacht turned and headed towards the harbour mouth.

‘Quickly, man,’ he urged Benbow, who was reaching ponderously for the other punt pole. ‘Damn it, we need oars.’

‘Need more than that,’ Benbow muttered under his breath, but he took the second pole with a will and started to steer them out in the direction the yacht had gone whilst Lucas found himself praying
hard and fervently for the sort of miracle he was desperately afraid could never occur.

The yacht was making good headway, picking up the ripples of breeze that were guiding it gently but surely out of harbour. Rebecca could hear the footsteps of her captors on deck overhead. She knew that she had to work quickly for it could only be a matter of minutes before they came below to check on her. To check on her or to dispose of her. Her hands shook as she rummaged in her reticule. Where was it…? She always carried it with her… Her hand closed reassuringly around her diamond engraving scribe and she scrambled across to the porthole. There were three screws that held it closed and each was twisted tight, but with a few deft turns of the scribe she was able to loosen then sufficiently to push out the little pane of glass. She knew she was a good swimmer and that with the mist she might just be able to get away from them, but the mist was also her enemy as well as her ally for she would not necessarily be able to tell the harbour from the open sea. Crushing down her fears, she put out a hand and was about to push the porthole open when the boat juddered to a sickening halt. There was a scrape along the keel like claws on wood.