Sweetest Little Sin (30 page)

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Authors: Christine Wells

BOOK: Sweetest Little Sin
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TERROR rose so thick and fast in Jardine’s throat it nearly choked him.
Louisa.
God, why did she have to get mixed up in this? Why hadn’t he forced her to get away when he’d had the chance?
“Let her go. She’s innocent.”
The hooded lids half closed. “My brother was innocent, Lord Jardine. Yet he was not spared.”
“Your brother sold children into prostitution. He was lower than vermin.” Jardine sneered. “Lower even than you.”
“I’ll pretend for your lady’s sake that I did not hear that.” Smith paused, then said softly, “You ought to take more care of her, my lord.”
Jardine ignored the fierce agreement in his churning gut.
“Who told you? How did you know what Lady Louisa is to me?”
“Why, I believe it was Celeste.”
Celeste? How? The shock, the swift anger at her betrayal must have shown on Jardine’s face. Smith looked like a man savoring a fine wine.
“Never underestimate the fury and resourcefulness of a woman scorned,” said Smith. He jerked his head at his henchmen. “Take them down.”
Here was Jardine’s only chance. The curiosity cabinet was a small room. Only one person might pass through its doorway at once, creating a bottleneck. Jardine waited, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet as the dirty great brute stepped forward, directly into Smith’s line of fire.
Jardine sprang, yelling, “Drop! Louisa, drop!”
He ducked the man’s fist, drove his own into his stomach, then kneed him in the groin. Catching the howling oaf off balance, he shoved him into Smith and barreled his way toward Louisa, who was on the floor, scrambling for the door with the second thug lunging for her.
Jardine booted the thug’s arse, sent him flying into a display case full of Indian treasures. Glass shattered, showered around them as Jardine reached down, grabbed Louisa’s hand, and ran for the stairs.
A shot rang out, too late. They flew down the staircase, ran across the hall, and burst through the front door.
“Good man!” yelled Jardine at Ives, who held his horse, waiting patiently outside.
Jardine swung himself up and pulled Louisa up behind him. She accomplished the ascent without fuss, and he gave her a hard, desperate, thankful kiss as her arms wrapped around his waist. With a swift kick to the flanks, he spurred his mount onward, leaving Ives to vanish in a cloud of gravel dust.
Ives would win to safety. He was like a rat. Survival was second nature to him.
Instead of heading down the drive, Jardine steered his horse west, into the forest, as more shots rang out.
Smith’s ruffians would be in pursuit. Did they have shot-guns? He and Louisa would be out of pistol range by now.
Exhilaration and terror shot through him in a heady rush. First, he needed to get Louisa to safety. He had an escape mapped out.
But he still didn’t have that list.
“I have to go back,” he shouted to Louisa, as the wind whipped through them, as a low-hanging branch brushed its leaves over his face.
He shook his head and pressed on, aware that the crack of gunfire had resumed.
Louisa’s arms tighten around him. “Not you,” she called, breathless, but determined. “
We
have to go back. It’s my mission, too.”
Stubborn chit! Brave, too, and he was proud of her, but he’d rather die than subject her to the possibility of recapture.
He made a quick decision. “You take the horse and ride south to the next village. Don’t go to Faulkner. Take the first conveyance you can find and get yourself back to London.”
Her arms tightened around his torso and he wished circumstances were far different.
“I won’t leave you.” Her words were hot in his ear. “You can’t ask me to leave you now.”
“Listen, Louisa. Part of being a good agent is to know when you have to retreat, regroup. Ives will bring reinforcements.”
That was a bare-faced lie, of course. When Ives returned—if he returned—he would come alone. The situation was far too sensitive to involve the local militia. Besides, Smith was Jardine’s and no one else’s.
His jaw hardened. “You don’t have to worry about me. Get to safety, that’s all I ask.”
They flew out of the forest, jumped a low wall, and galloped across country toward a stand of trees. Jardine risked a look over his shoulder. No one had yet followed them out of the wood.
He halted them and turned. Louisa’s blue eyes were fierce with tears that shimmered in the pale moonlight.
“I won’t leave you,” she whispered, but he knew she’d do the sensible thing.
“Head west to Barsby and hire a carriage there.” He thrust a small purse of coins into her hand. “Don’t go back to the village.”
“I love you, Jardine.” In her voice there was mettle and terror and a distinct challenge. “Don’t you
dare
get yourself killed.”
He gathered her to him and kissed her, and the kiss was hard and fierce and strong, everything they were together. His heart burned in his chest, a fiery agony, a glory that transcended life and death. There was no term in any lexicon for what he felt. Love was too tepid a word.
Ah, Louisa. You shouldn’t love me. Look where it’s brought you.
But he couldn’t deny her any longer, couldn’t hold back any of himself from that kiss. It might be the last one they ever shared. She understood. For this moment, at least, there was honesty between them.
She pulled away first, her breath coming in sobbing pants. With a brave jut of her chin, she said, “Go. If we delay any further, it will be for naught.”
He gripped the back of her head and brought it close to his own, so that their gazes locked, their faces almost touching. “I will come back for you. Nothing will stop me from coming back.”
Handing her the reins, he slid down. The stallion was a brute and he wouldn’t trust any other lady to handle him, but Louisa, as in everything, was exceptional.
“There’s a pistol in the holster. Use it if you have to.”
“What about you?”
“Never mind about me.” He slid a knife into his boot.
Jardine slapped the stallion on the rump and the horse started forward.
She was a straight, elegant figure on his big horse, despite the awkward hike of her skirts rucking above her knees. With a quick, staccato salute, Louisa cantered off.
Jardine grimaced, beating back the pain in his chest. He watched until she disappeared, swallowed by darkness. Then he began the solitary walk back.
Twenty-one
“HARRIET.” Louisa touched the sleeping woman’s shoulder.
The gray eyes snapped open. Automatically, one small white hand dived under the pillow and brought out a pistol.
It seemed Harriet had recovered somewhat. Louisa raised her hands, palms outward, in a conciliating gesture. “Don’t shoot. It’s Louisa.”
The pistol didn’t lower. The hand that held it shook. Harriet’s chest rose and fell quickly. She licked her cracked lips but said nothing.
“Where’s Faulkner?” said Louisa.
Harriet’s eyes flickered but she still didn’t reply.
Couldn’t she speak? “Oh good God, what did he do to you?” whispered Louisa. “My dear, I mean you no harm.”
Cautious, careful not to make any sudden movement, she edged toward the far side of Harriet’s bed. Jardine’s pistol rested deep in the pocket of the cloak she had bought from the landlady with the money Jardine had given her. It hit her thigh as she sidled one hip onto the hard mattress.
Slowly, she put out a hand, intending to touch Harriet’s cheek, but the girl flinched back, gripped the pistol with more determination.
Stupid! Badly done, Louisa.
She ought to have known Harriet would still shy away from touch.
In a low voice, she said, “You must help me. There isn’t much time. I have written a letter that I want you to post if I don’t return by tomorrow afternoon.” She bent a little to look into Harriet’s eyes, trying desperately to make out if she understood. “Yes?”
Louisa held out the letter, a hastily scribbled note to her brother outlining the situation. If the worst occurred, Max would come for them.
Jardine would be furious. He wanted her to stay out of it. But how could she simply ride off and leave him? She didn’t trust Ives to bring help. She needed to do something to make sure Jardine came back alive. How could she bear to lose him now?
Harriet took the letter with the tiniest nod and slipped it under her pillow. Louisa prayed that meant she understood, that she agreed to do as Louisa asked. Harriet’s muteness tore at Louisa’s heart. The courageous, clever, slightly contemptuous young woman was gone.
Would Harriet regain the power of speech? Or had the treatment she’d suffered somehow turned her brain?
The door opened, making Louisa jump. Faulkner seemed unsurprised to see her there. Someone must have told him.
She straightened, her heart hammering against her ribs. The fact he remained here told her he hadn’t retrieved the list by any other means.
She started up. “Mr. Faulkner. I have bad news.”
The bulldog face displayed no surprise at her appearance. Did he ever show emotion?
She quickly explained all that had happened. “I fear for what they’ll do to Lord Jardine if you don’t help him.”
His eyebrows climbed. “He went back, you say?”
“Yes, to get the list. He is but one man against at least four. They have weapons.”
Faulkner watched her with a hard, searching expression. He clenched his fist and lightly tapped his other open palm with it. “Very well. I’m going in for him. But I’ll need your help.”
Louisa’s entire body clenched with fear. Go back there? Her gaze flickered to Harriet. Much as she had faith in Jardine, she did not want to suffer Harriet’s fate.
Taking her silence as acquiescence, Faulkner said, “I’ll get my coat.”
Louisa’s overwrought senses nearly crumbled. Go back? Did she have that much courage in her? She didn’t think so. She was almost certain that she did not.
What help could she be, anyway?
She turned back to Harriet. “Do not forget the letter. Please.”
Warmth crept into the gray eyes like the flicker of fire-light in winter. Harriet put on the safety catch and turned the pistol in her hand so that she gripped the muzzle. She held it out to Louisa.
Louisa hesitated.
“Take it. I have another.” Harriet’s voice was a dry rasp, barely audible, but hope for her eventual recovery blossomed in Louisa’s heart. She gripped the pistol butt with a murmur of thanks.
Harriet would recover from Radleigh’s barbarism. She was strong. If it came to it, could she, Louisa, be equally strong?
Faulkner returned, raised his brows. “Ready?”
“I don’t know what you think I can do.” She felt craven admitting it. The need to do
something
to help Jardine battled with common sense. Jardine had a plan. He didn’t want her there. It was smart to stay away, not cowardly. But what if—
Impatiently, Faulkner said, “This is spy work, Lady Louisa. Secret. There is no cavalry riding over the hill to save the day. There’s only us.” He fixed her with his perceptive stare. “You and me.”
Swallowing hard, Louisa nodded. She forced herself to move to the door and down the stairs, out to the stable yard, where their horses awaited them. A pistol jostled against each leg as she walked.
When they’d mounted their horses and cleared the busy inn yard, Louisa said, “What am I to do? How are you planning to rescue him?”
“That depends on what I find,” said Faulkner. He looked sideways at her. “Have faith, Lady Louisa.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted to know exactly what her role in this maneuver would be. She didn’t like the unpredictable nature of this work. Once again, it was borne in upon her that she was not cut out for the life of a spy. What the
Devil
had ever made her think she might be?
Faulkner remained resolutely silent for the rest of the ride back to the house. Without conversation to distract her, Louisa tried to calm herself. She was frightened, nauseous with it. Her stomach pitched so hard as she bobbed in time with the horse’s trot, she clamped her mouth shut, willing the sick feeling away.
Soon, they came upon familiar territory, the edge of the estate.
“We should approach from this direction.” Louisa indicated the path through the woods that ran past the Hindu temple, but Faulkner turned his horse toward the temple itself.
“Our meeting place is the temple, not the house. It’s all been arranged.”
Louisa gave a swift look over her shoulder. “Shouldn’t we conceal ourselves?”
“I’ve not the slightest need to scurry around in the shadows. Smith knows he can’t touch me.”
She wasn’t so certain about that. Smith seemed to believe he was invincible. Why would he give up a sensitive document for the mere asking?
They drew rein outside the house, and a surge of terror shot through her. She slid down from her horse and tethered him with shaking hands.

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