Three Heroes (59 page)

She grinned at Hawk, and raised the skirt a little to show more of her striped stockings.

He shook his head, but his eyes sent another message.

She could wait. Now all was certain, she could wait to lie again with him naked in bed.

Back at the Vandeimens’ they found everyone in the riotous high spirits of relief. The ladies were adorning themselves with the jewelry, real and fake. Clarissa acquired a tiara, and Miss Hurstman didn’t complain when Nicholas pinned a gaudy brooch onto her plain gown. She had Arabel in her arms by then, and the child, beginning to blossom again, reached for it with delight.

Nicholas laughed and gave his daughter Blanche’s necklace, which met with her rapturous approval.

Clarissa noted a shadow on him at times, however, and remembered him saying, “She was beautiful to me, once.”

She knew the death would not rest easily upon Hawk, either, though it could not be the first time he had killed. It was his way, she was sure, to deal with such problems by himself, but in time it would be her blessing to share them with him.

Then they all sat at the dinner table, with candlelight shooting fire from thousands of pounds’ worth of jewelry.

Hawk rose again, however, and raised his glass. “To friends,” he said, “old and new. May we never fail.”

Everyone drank the toast, and then Nicholas stood to propose one. “To the Rogues, who in the end, at least, never fail. Dare will be whole again.”

Con rose to add to it. “With the help of the Georges.” He grinned. “An interesting alliance, wouldn’t you say?”

“The world is doubtless tipping on its axis,” murmured the Duke of Belcraven, but with a smile, and he drank the toast along with everyone else. He even proposed one himself—a slightly naughty one about marriage, which made his duchess blush.

By the time the dinner was over, the duke remarked that no one was in a state to draw up legal agreements, and made an appointment the next day at the Old Ship, where he, too, had rooms. Clarissa insisted on being present. He gave in in the end, but insisted on seeing Clarissa and Miss Hurstman back to Broad Street.

“We’ll have no more impropriety, Clarissa,” he said on leaving her there.

She just smiled. “I will try, your grace, though I’m not sure it is in my nature.”

She slept deeply and late, awakening to an extraordinary sense of calm—like the calm of the sea on a perfect day, all the power of the oceans still beneath it. She breakfasted with Miss Hurstman and told her the details she’d missed. Miss Hurstman was astonished to find that she’d been regarded as a warder, but rather amused that she’d been thought to be part of a wicked plot.

Hawk came to escort Clarissa to the Old Ship. They strolled along the Marine Parade, by a calm sea touched to blue by the sky and sunshine.

“Do you think summer is here at last?” she asked.

“Carpe diem,” he replied with a grin.

She smiled back. “I promised the duke to try to behave. We can marry soon, can’t we?”

“Today would not be too soon for me, love.”

“Or me. But, Hawk, I would like a village wedding like Maria had. Is it possible?”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I would give you the stars if I could. A village wedding is surely possible.”

They entered the hotel in perfect harmony, but Clarissa found that she had to fight to give him enough for his father to fully restore Gaspard Hall.

“Think of it from my point of view,” she said. “I want our home to ourselves. If we give your father enough money, perhaps he’ll leave immediately to take up the work.”

“An excellent point. Hawkinville,” said the duke, “consider it settled. In strict legality, all the money should go to your father. If you present difficulties, I may make it so.”

Hawk rolled his eyes, but surrendered. “The rest of the money is Clarissa’s, however. I want it retained under her control. Once free of debt, the manor will provide for us.”

Clarissa didn’t argue except to say, “You know I will spend some on our comforts and pleasures. But I do want to use most of it for charity. It has a dark history. I thought perhaps a charity school in Slade’s house.”

Hawk laughed. “A wonderful idea! He’ll doubtless have to sell it to us cheap as well.”

“So?” Clarissa asked Hawk. “When do we marry? I am ready to fly.”

“It is for the lady to say, but the license will take a few days.”

“A week, then, if all can be arranged.”

He stood, bringing her to her feet. “It will all be arranged with Hawkish perfection. To do it, though, and to retain my sanity, I’m going to leave.” Ignoring the duke, he kissed her. “We have no need to seize the day, love. We have the promise of perfect tomorrows.”

“Alliteration?” she murmured, and he winced.

Hawk walked out of the dark church into sunshine, and into a shower of grain and flowers thrown by his boisterous villagers. Everyone smiled at a wedding, but he could see that these smiles reflected delight of an extraordinary degree. Not only was the Young Squire— as they’d decided to call him—married, but the Old Squire had already gone. His father had leased a house near to Gaspard Hall and left without a hint of regret.

The village was free of Slade, too, and the threat they’d all sensed from him. His house would soon be Clarissa’s to do with as she wished. The most important repairs to the cottages were already in hand, which was also providing necessary work.

He looked at his bride, glowing with her own perfect happiness as the villagers welcomed her as one of their own. He said a prayer to be worthy, to be able to create the happiness neither of them had ever truly known. It should be easy. She’d had her modiste recreate the simple cream dress that had marked their adventures, and she was wearing a similar hat and fichu. He could hardly wait to strip it off her, in the manor, which sat contentedly waiting, open-windowed in the sun.

He turned from that—it would wait—to accept the congratulations of Van and Con. Susan was definitely with child, and now Maria had hope. It was possible that Clarissa would also have a child in nine months.

A new threesome to run wild around the area.

Unable to bear to be apart, he retrieved his bride from among beaming villagers and drew her in for a kiss.

“Give thanks,” he said, wondering how soon he could sweep her laughing into his arms and carry her upstairs to a bed covered with smooth sheets fresh from hanging in the sun. “We have hope of heaven.”

“Alliteration!” Clarissa pointed out, with a twinkle in her eye that told him her thoughts were perfectly in accord with his.

Enough! He picked her up and spun her around and around. Then, “Enjoy the feast!” he called, and ran for their home.

May 1816

The south coast of England

The moon flickered briefly between windblown clouds, but such a thread-fine moon did no harm. It barely lit the men creeping down the steep headland toward the beach, or the smuggling master controlling everything from above.

It lightened not at all the looming house that ruled the cliffs of this part of Devon—Crag Wyvern, the fortress-like seat of the blessedly absent Earl of Wyvern.

Absent like the riding officer charged with preventing smuggling in this area. Animal sounds—an owl, a gull, a barking fox—carried across the scrubby landscape, constantly reporting that all was clear.

At sea, a brief flash of light announced the arrival of the smuggling ship. On the rocky headland, the smuggling master—Captain Drake, as he was called— unshielded a lantern in a flashing pattern that meant “all clear.”

All clear to land brandy, gin, tea, and lace. Delicacies for Englishmen who didn’t care to pay extortionate taxes. Profit for smugglers, with tea sixpence a pound abroad and selling for twenty times that in England if all the taxes were paid.

In the nearby fishing village of Dragon’s Cove, men pushed boats into the waves and began the urgent race to unload the vessel.

“Captain Drake” pulled out a spyglass to scan the English Channel for other lights, other vessels. Now that the war against Napoleon was over, navy ships were patrolling the coast, better equipped and manned than the customs boats had ever been. A navy cutter had intercepted the last major run, seizing the whole cargo and twenty local men, including the previous Captain Drake.

A figure slipped to sit close to him, one dressed as he was all in dark colors, a hood covering both hair and the upper face, soot muting the pallor of the rest.

Captain Drake glanced to the side. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re shorthanded.” The reply was as sotto voce as the question.

“We’ve enough. Get back up to Crag Wyvern and see to the cellars.”

“No.”

“Susan—”

“No, David. Maisie can handle matters from inside the house, and Diddy has the watch. I need to be out here.”

Susan Kerslake meant it. This run had to succeed or heaven knew what would become of them all, so she needed to be out here with her younger brother, even if there was nothing much she could do.

For generations this area had flourished, with smuggling the main enterprise under a series of strong, capable Captain Drakes, all from the Clyst family. With Mel Clyst captured, tried, and transported to Botany Bay, however, chaos threatened. Other, rougher gangs were trying to move in.

The only person in a position to be the unquestioned new Captain Drake was her brother. Though he and she went by their mother’s name of Kerslake, they were Mel Clyst’s children and everyone knew it. It was for David to seize control of the Dragon’s Horde gang and make a profit, or this area would become a battleground.

He’d had to take on the role, and Susan had urged him to it, but she shivered with fear for him. He was her younger brother, after all, and even though he was a man of twenty-four, she couldn’t help trying to protect him.

The black-sailed ship on the black ocean was barely visible, but a light flashed again, brief as a falling star, to say that the anchor had dropped. No sign of other ships out there, but the dark that protected the Freetraders could protect a navy ship as well.

She knew Captain de Root of the Anna Kasterlee was an experienced smuggler. He’d worked with the Horde for over a decade and had never made a slip yet. But smuggling was a chancy business. Mel Clyst

’s capture had shown that, so she kept every sense alert.

At last her straining eyes glimpsed the boats surging out to be loaded with packages and half-ankers of spirits. She could just detect movement on the sloping headland, which rolled like the waves of the sea as local men flowed down to the beach to unload those small boats.

They’d haul the goods up the cliff to hiding places and packhorses. Men would carry the goods inland on their backs to secure places and to the middlemen who’d send the cargo on to Bath, London, and other cities. A week’s wages for a night’s work and a bit of ‘baccy and tea to take home. Many would have scraped together a coin or two to invest in the profits.

To invest in Captain Drake.

Some of the goods, as always, would be hidden in the cellars of Crag Wyvern. No Preventive officer would try to search the home of the Earl of Wyvern, even if the mad earl was dead and his successor had not yet arrived to take charge.

His successor.

Susan was temporary housekeeper up at Crag Wyvern, but as soon as the new earl sent word of his arrival she’d be out of there. Away from here entirely. She had no intention of meeting Con Somerford again.

The sweetest man she’d ever known, the truest friend.

The person she’d hurt most cruelly.

Eleven years ago.

She’d only been fifteen, but it was no excuse. He’d only been fifteen, too, and without defenses. He’d been in the army for ten of the eleven years since, however, so she supposed he’d have defenses now.

And attacks.

She shivered in the cool night air and turned her anxieties on the scene before her. If this run was successful, she could leave.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered under her breath, straining to see the first goods land on the beach.

She could imagine the powerful thrust of the oarsmen, racing to bring the contraband in, could almost hear the muttering excitement of the waiting men, though it was probably just the wind and sea.

She and David had watched runs before. From a height like this everything seemed so slow. She wanted to leap up and help, as if the run were a huge cart that she could push to make it go faster. Instead she stayed still and silent beside her brother, like him watchful for any sign of problems.

Being in command was a lonely business.

How was she going to be able to leave David to his lonely task? He didn’t need her—it was disconcerting how quickly he’d taken to smuggling and leadership— but could she bear to go away, to not be here beside him on a dark night, to not know immediately if anything went wrong?

And yet, once Con sent word he was coming, she must.

Despite treasured summer days eleven years ago, and sweet pleasures. And wicked ones ...

She realized she was sliding again under the seductive pull of might-have-beens, and fought clear to focus on the business of the moment.

At last the first of the cargo was landing, the first goods were being carried up the rough slope. It was going well. David had done it.

With a blown-out breath, she relaxed on the rocky ground, arms around her knees, permitting herself to enjoy the rough music of waves on shingle, and the other rough music of hundreds of busy men. She breathed in the wind, fresh off the English Channel, and the tense activity all around.

Heady stuff, the Freetrade, but perilous.

“Do you know where the Preventive officer is?” she asked in a quiet voice that wouldn’t carry.

“Gifford?” David sent one of the nearby men off with a quiet command, and she saw some trouble on the cliff. A man fallen, probably. ‘There’s a dummy ship offshore five miles west, and with luck he and the boatmen are watching it, ready to fish up the goods it drops into the water.“

Luck. She hated to depend on luck.

“Poor man,” she said.