Come the Night (The Dangerous Delameres - Book 1) (34 page)

The cloaked visitor moved in utter silence. He towered over the table and did not seat himself. “What news have you brought me, Englishman? You have taken my gold and now I expect full payment.”

“Er, I’m close. Very close. I have nearly uncovered Blackwood’s hideout.”

“Nearly? “

Sir Charles’s face reddened. “One day more should do the trick. If not, the St. Clair chit will be my lure.” He sat up straighter as thoughts of Silver’s face, pleading in his captivity, brought him a measure of courage.
“She’ll
bring him to me, damn her. And then I shall drag him to you, just as I’ve promised.”

The foreigner smiled thinly. “I trust, for your sake,
ferenghi,
that you do. I show no mercy to those who betray me.”

Millbank cleared his throat, fidgeting beneath that cold gaze. He tried not to stare at the odd ring on the man’s fingers. It was an animal figure, and the emeralds in the eyes had to be worth a king’s ransom. Hoping to escape the man’s displeasure, he changed the topic. “But why Blackwood? What do you want with this highwayman?”

“Because it suits my mood, I shall tell you. The man was once in my custody, but he escaped. He is the only man who has ever done that.” The dark eyes hardened. “The only man who still lives, that is. But he will pay for his betrayal. Before I’m done, he will
beg
me for the pleasure of dying.”

The Englishman shuddered. “Er, quite. Well, I’d best be going. I’ve plans to lay before nightfall, you understand.”

His employer smiled coldly. “Lay them well. But beware, Englishman. I make a dangerous enemy. It would be a pity if I had to make you taste my vengeance.” He waved his hand abruptly. “Now leave me and be gone to your work.”

Millbank did not wait for further encouragement. White faced, he stumbled to his feet and fairly ran from the smoky room.

The sun was high by the time Silver woke from a restless sleep. Her wound pained her a little, but her energy was nearly restored. She tugged on her work clothes and a shawl and made her way to the flower fields.

There she took off her shoes and paced through the warm rich furrows, praying they would give her peace as they always had before. But this time they did not relieve her fear.

They certainly didn’t help her forget the anger and despair on Luc’s face when he strode from her room at Waldon Hall.

Two hours made no difference, nor did ten. Twilight found her just as restless and unsettled as she had been at her return that dawn.

Worse yet, there was next to nothing for her to do. Their attackers had been repelled, thanks to Tinker’s vigilance and the help of the men Luc had hired. Tinker and Bram had inspected the drying lavender and finished a load of sachets for the select hotel at King’s Lynn. They’d even filled a tedious order for lavender soap and restorative oils from the palace itself.

Silver smiled. They had finished without her help, right down to polishing each bar to a fine sheen. Now Silver felt like a relic on her own farm. And with time on her hands her thoughts kept drifting back to a man with amber-and-gold eyes. Had he made his way home to Waldon Hall, his pockets jingling with gold, or had one of the magistrate’s men dropped him to the ground with a musketball between the eyes? She couldn’t bear to think about it. She forced her thoughts back to Lavender Close. In the urgency of the last days she’d had no time to spare for her father’s journal, but now she took it from its hiding place beneath the conservatory floor. There were still a dozen entries left to read. She would study them outside on the hill her father loved best. Perhaps they would hold the key to his death.

It was your birthday tonight, Susannah. How much you looked like your mother in your joy. After you had gone to bed, I sat above the lavender fields watching the moon sweep down in waves of silver.

The twelfth night of the fifth month.

An important date, one whose significance is vast. So consider this well, my daughter. If you love my farm, if you love my fields, the meaning will eventually grow clear to you. I dare not say more in case this journal should fall into unfriendly hands.

If not and you now read these words, Susannah, remember your birthday. Think well.

The answer will come to you.

Silver sighed and let the journal fall closed on her lap. Dropping her head against the rough trunk of the oak tree behind her, she stared up into the night sky.

The twelfth day of the fifth month.

What could it possibly mean? Her birthday, yes, but what significance beyond that? She shook her head. Had her father’s wits wandered at the end of his life? Had he simply grown melancholy, convinced that every shadow was an enemy? She found she could not believe it.

In the night silence Silver sat on the hill where her father must have sat long years before, looking over his beloved lavender beneath a sky full of stars. But there were no clues or revelations hidden there. All Silver could see were three rows of new cuttings, which now lay withered and brown. Even in the older lavender beds she made out a few sickly plants scattered here and there. She would have to ask Bram to inspect them tomorrow. If it was the root disease, every one would have to go. Otherwise, they would risk the loss of
all
their fields, for the root sickness spread with terrible speed.

Frowning, Silver broke off a leaf of rose geranium, twined it around a sprig of lavender, and tucked the two through a buttonhole at her bodice.

Then she brushed off her skirts and pushed to her feet.

She would find no more answers here tonight.

~ ~ ~

Tinker was waiting for her when she made her way back to the cottage. “Did you see him?”

“Him?”

“The highwayman, of course. He’s been sitting beneath that oak tree on the hill for an hour and more. I thought it was more of those brutes come to carry out their deviltry, but it wasn’t. When I went up to check, I saw it was Luc. He was just staring up at the sky.”

Silver felt a twisting sensation in her chest. “I expect he enjoys the smell of lavender. Or perhaps he merely likes the sight of the sky at night.”

Tinker snorted. “He’s got a night sky of his own, back over the hill at Waldon Hall. No, I reckon the man is just about as cabbage-headed as someone
else
whose name I could mention.” The old servant shrugged. “No need to frown at me, Silver St. Clair. It’s none of my affair if the pair of you choose to go mooning about. No, it’s none of
my
affair at all!”

With that the old man stalked down to the storeroom, mumbling loudly to himself with every step.

~ ~ ~

Bram caught up with her five minutes later. “Did you see him?” he asked eagerly.

Silver sighed. “No, I did not see him, although I seem to be given a report every five minutes, first by Tinker, now by you.”

“But what is Luc doing up there? He’s been sitting beneath that tree for over an hour.”

“I expect he likes the view.”

Bram shoved the spectacles higher on his nose. “If you ask
me,
the man is mad. In fact the pair of you are! If this is the way grownups act, I am not all certain I
want
to grow up. Perhaps if I am lucky I never shall.” Then he, too, turned and stalked off to his room, leaving Silver alone with her curiosity.

Finally that curiosity overcame her.

Her eyes sought out the great oak on the crest of the hill. After a moment she saw him, just where Tinker had said he was, atop the rise that offered a clear view of the whole farm.

What was the man
doing
up there? What gave him the right to come bothering her, especially after he’d practically ordered her away from Waldon Hall?

Her shoulders stiffened. She would throw him off her land, that’s what! Then she would forget him. Cloak, hat, and silver fencing foil, she’d put them out of her mind once and for all. And it would happen
now
.

~ ~ ~

But Silver’s heart was pounding as she stalked to the top of the hill. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, and so many questions she needed to ask. Yet he rebuffed her at every step. She gnawed her lip, studying his silhouette as he sat beside a hedge of honeysuckle, his back propped against the ancient oak.

Before Silver could speak, he raised one hand. “No, don’t tell me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “It’s the mistress of the manor come to order me away. But how do I know who she is?”

Silver heard him draw a deep breath.

“Because here’s the hint of lavender that clings to her like a spring wind. And here’s the scent of roses to add a trace of sweetness. She wears a Kashmir shawl. How do I know? From the dusky smell of patchouli, which the Indian scarves are always packed in.”

His knees were drawn up before him. He stared up at the sky and did not turn to look at her. “Don’t you mean to rate my skill?”

Silver glared down at him, her hands on her hips. “You’ve been
drinking!”

“Not much, Sunbeam. Not enough to matter, at least. Certainly not enough to help me forget. But can’t a man drink his way to rack and ruin in peace? First that bad-tempered servant of yours comes pestering me, and then your scapegrace brother. Who’ll y’ send next, Cromwell?”

“Perhaps I shall! You can talk well together, one dog to another!”

But when Silver saw the tension in his shoulders, she felt her anger melt. “Of course they came to check,” she said softly. “They
care
about you.”

“Don’t want ‘em to,” Luc said hoarsely. “Not a whit. People who care about me … get hurt.”

Tears pressed at Silver’s eyes. She sank down beside him on the ground. “Where is it?”

“Where is
what?”

“That wretched bottle you’ve been drinking from.”

“Don’t know what the devil y’re talking about.”

She reached past him, searching in the darkness. Her arm brushed his shoulder. Her hip brushed his thigh.

Luc went dead still. “Bad idea, Sunbeam. Damned bad idea.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Not made of stone. Drunk as a lord, in fact. Not a fit companion. Not tonight.”

“Because you slur your words? You told me that you always slurred your words.”

“I lied,” Luc said grimly. “Now you’d better go.”

Silver ignored him. She found the bottle and pulled it from his fingers. After studying it for a moment she raised it to her own lips.

“What are
you
doing?”

“I’m finding out what it feels like to drink oneself to rack and ruin,” she said calmly. The brandy burned pleasantly down her throat. “It feels rather nice, actually.”

“Over my dead body, you will!”

She took another drink.

“Give me that!”

Silver turned away, clutching the bottle between her hands. “In a minute, perhaps. You hardly need it. You’ve drunk enough for a month of Sundays already.” Resolutely she took another drink, then settled herself back against the grass with one hand behind her head.

Luc frowned down at her. “I don’t think I like this. Why don’t you just leave?”

“Can’t a woman be left to drink herself to rack and ruin in peace?”

Luc muttered darkly. “No need for you to. You’ve got friends, family. Life of excitement before you.”

“Maybe … that’s not enough for me.” Silver was amazed at her own boldness. Perhaps the brandy had something to do with it or perhaps it was simply the burning pain in her heart that could no longer be denied.

Sitting up, she took another drink, a substantial one this time, before Luc managed to wrestle the bottle away from her.