Waltz With a Stranger (41 page)

Aurelia followed, stepping into the cave’s cool depths. The sand, pale gold in the sun, gleamed bone-white in the shadows, and the brackish but not unpleasant smells of sea-washed stone and beached kelp enveloped them. Peering into the gloom, she wondered how many centuries it had taken for the relentless tide to carve out such a deep recess in solid rock.

Sophie lit one of the thick candles they’d brought and shone its beam over the ridges and grooves of the cave’s walls. “Look, there’s the hole where James used to hide things!”

Charmed, Aurelia came closer and saw a small hollow worn into the stone, just about at eye level. “He did say
above
the water line,” she murmured, smiling as she envisioned a boy reaching up to tuck his treasures out of sight. Nothing there now but a battered tin cup, black with tarnish. Still, she was glad that his nasty cousin had apparently never found his hiding place.

“It’s not the deepest one here,” Sophie said, illuminating the back of the cave with her candle. “There’s another a bit farther down—Echo Cavern, it’s called. We used to go in and make all kinds of noises at the echo—clap, sing, shout silly words. Harry thinks it used to be a true smugglers’ cave, one that connected with the tunnels they used to hide contraband.”

“A smuggler’s cave? Then we absolutely must go there next,” Aurelia declared. No doubt any contraband stored there had been retrieved long ago by the free traders or the excisemen—or less romantically, rotted away in the damp and darkness. But it was the adventure that counted.

Sophie actually laughed, a sound of genuine amusement, then led the way out of the first cave and down to the famous Echo Cavern.

A much larger cave, Aurelia observed, perhaps because the rock protruded much further onto the beach. And deeper too. She lit her own candle before entering in her friend’s wake.

Sophie lifted her hand to her mouth. “Hullooo!” she called into the cave.

Ullooo—ullooo—ullooo
, the echo resounded back at them.

“Impressive,” Aurelia said, keeping her own voice low. “But maybe a little eerie.”

“Before I was old enough to know better, Harry and John told me it was a ghost living in the cavern, who made that noise. Aren’t brothers horrid?” Sophie lifted her candle and pointed down the rough stone passage. “See how much further back this goes? You’d think it would get narrower, but it opens up into a much wider space. Harry thinks the smugglers used charges to blast a bigger opening.”

“Those tunnels you mentioned?” Aurelia asked, raising her own candle.

“Exactly. I haven’t been down this far in years,” Sophie continued as they ventured further along the passage. “I do hope nothing’s collapsed after all this time.”

Luck seemed to be holding, however, and the passage did indeed open up into a larger, wider space—almost a chamber, Aurelia thought, gazing about in astonishment.

A large mass at the far end of the chamber caught her eye. Frowning, she stepped forward, shone her candle over it. “Sophie, are you sure no one’s been using these tunnels?”

The girl’s candle joined her own at once. “Good heavens, what
is
that?”

“It looks like a tarpaulin—with something underneath.”

Exchanging a glance, they crept toward the mysterious mass.

“It
is
a tarpaulin,” Sophie said, gingerly taking up a fold of dirty canvas. Aurelia did likewise, and they pulled back the tarpaulin, dropped it on the sand—and stared in shock at their discovery. Six wooden crates, stamped with the words “Mercer Shipping.”

Sophie caught her breath. “Aurelia, is that—?”

“The rest of the missing cargo,” Aurelia finished for her. “Yes, I believe it is.” She stepped back from the crates, made herself speak calmly. “Sophie, would you ride back to Roswarne and fetch Sir Harry? Tell him what we’ve found, and tell him to bring a wagon.”

***

Some fifteen minutes later, Aurelia looked up from her vigil over the crates as the sound of horse’s hooves outside the cave reached her ears.

So soon? Even if Sophie had reached Roswarne by now, Sir Harry would have needed time to ready a wagon. Frowning, she reached for one of the candles. “Who’s there?” she called, and tried not to shiver as the echo tossed her question back to her:
Who’s there—there—there?

“Aurelia?” Unbelievably, it sounded like James’s voice.

Relia—Relia—Relia
, the echo mocked.

“I’m in here, James! I’ve found the cargo,” she added, wishing it were possible to silence an echo.

She heard him break into a run, his footsteps preternaturally loud in the passage. Within seconds, he emerged into the chamber, his gaze lighting at once upon the crates.

“Good God.” It sounded almost reverent.

He was carrying a lantern, she noticed, and a crowbar. “You knew?”

“I had a suspicion.” He walked over to the crates, set down the lantern. “Something Aunt Judith said, about Gerald prying into things that weren’t his business. I remembered how he was always trying to find out my secret hiding places. And then I wondered if he’d managed to discover the biggest secret hiding place of all. Once I took another look at those maps in his room, I was almost sure of it. They were all of roughly the same area of the coast, and Echo Cavern appears on every one.” He picked up the crowbar and set to work on the nearest crate. “I’ve got to hand it to Gerald—I’d never have imagined he’d go to such trouble to hide these.”

She picked up the lantern and held it for him. “How did he learn about this place?”

“My guess is Simon Pendarvis told him. His family was up to its ears in the free trade. They may even have built these tunnels.” James eyed her speculatively over the lid of the crate. “Now, how did
you
end up in the thick of this, and why am I not more surprised?”

“It was pure coincidence,” she pointed out with dignity. “Sophie and I just happened to be exploring these caves today. I sent her to fetch Sir Harry, as she can ride much faster, while I kept watch on the cargo.”

“Good thinking,” he approved, resuming his labors.

“And this is the tea? Do you suppose it’s still good after six months in a cave?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.” The lid came loose at last, and he lifted it away.

Together they peered into the crate, filled almost to the brim with what looked like black wood shavings.
Tea
leaves
, Aurelia thought, stifling an absurd pang of disappointment. Well, what had she been expecting? Jewels, state secrets, or stolen antiquities like the Elgin Marbles? “At least there’s still some aroma left,” she remarked.

“Mm.” James thrust his hand deep into the tea leaves, felt around…and then frowned, lifting out what looked like a ball of dried leaves, tied with twine. “There’s something wrapped up in this,” he said, taking out a pocketknife and cutting the twine.

The leaves fell away to reveal a small brownish cake, about the size of a silver dollar. James took a cautious sniff, then held out the cake to Aurelia, who did the same: the pungent, sickly-sweet odor caught at her throat, but was oddly familiar. Memories of her accident drifted into her mind: splints, bandages, the cloying smell of laudanum…

She looked up, startled. “Opium!” Congress had levied a heavy import tax on opium and morphine just last year, she remembered.

James gave a grim nod. “Raw opium, smuggled in among the tea leaves. I’ll wager the crates are full of these little balls.”

“Clever of you to figure it out,” a new voice observed. “Now step away from my cargo.”

They turned sharply to find that Captain Mercer had entered the chamber behind them. In his hand was a revolver, aimed at James’s heart.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,

The very eyes of me:

And hast command of every part

To live and die for thee.

—Robert Herrick, “To Anthea,
Who May Command Him Anything”

Gun drawn and at the ready
,
Mercer advanced into the chamber, his gaze intent on the crates. “I knew these had to be here, somewhere, when they weren’t found with everything else.”

“And now we know why they weren’t.” James matched the captain’s coolness. “Gerald learned your secret, didn’t he? That’s why he stole the shipment.”

Mercer’s lips thinned, and his eyes—the coldest grey eyes Aurelia had ever seen—went even colder. “Some fool dropped one of the crates while unloading—it broke open right in front of him. Once your cousin knew about my operation, he wanted in on it.”

“Along with a bigger cut of the profits.”

Mercer’s face hardened. “Half the business.
My
business.”

“Gerald always was greedy,” James observed, his tone almost conversational. “I suppose he stole the cargo when you refused his terms?”

The captain gave a curt nod. “He also said that unless I gave him what he wanted, he’d turn me in to the law.” His hand tightened around the revolver. “I wasn’t going to allow that.”

“Which is why you killed him,” James stated flatly.

Aurelia bit back a gasp, not sure whether she was reacting to the accusation or James’s almost matter-of-fact tone.

Mercer ignored her. “He had an accident. Which he brought on himself, I might add.”

James’s eyes narrowed, though he still sounded eerily calm. “So, you were there, then—that night on the cliffs.”

“His idea of a meeting place,” Mercer confirmed, his face darkening at the memory. “He stood there, boasting of his own cleverness, convinced he had me right where he wanted. He said I’d never find my cargo without his help. That it could be right under my nose, and I’d never know it. Obnoxious little toad.” He shrugged. “I hit him, of course. He went right over—too bad for him he was standing so close to the edge.”

Aurelia glanced at James, saw his mouth tighten at this casual admission. Mercer might not have murdered Gerald, but he’d been directly responsible for his death all the same. “Too bad for you as well,” he said. “Gerald died without telling you where he’d hidden the cargo.”

“That’s not a problem now.” Mercer’s gaze rested on the crates. “I’d wondered this morning if Gerald had thought to use these caves. When I saw you turn up with your crowbar, I was almost sure of it. You and Miss Newbold have done an admirable job of finding my cargo. Pity it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

Aurelia saw the gun swing toward her like a deadly little eye, and wondered why she wasn’t more terrified. They’d sealed their fate the moment they discovered Mercer’s secret. They weren’t leaving Echo Cavern alive if he had anything to say about it. But Sir Harry was on his way, she remembered.
If
they
could
just
stall
long
enough…

James stepped in front of her. “Let her go, Mercer. She has nothing to do with this.”

“She knows what’s in those crates.” The captain’s voice was implacable. “But if you have some chivalrous wish to die before her—” Again he aimed the gun at James’s heart.

“Wait!” Aurelia burst out. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Captain,” she said, attempting a winning smile. “You don’t have to shoot anyone. Trevenan’s not like his cousin—he won’t say anything, will you, my lord? I’m sure it’s no one’s business what you carry aboard your own ships,” she prattled on, even as her ears strained for the sound of hooves.

James was staring at her in wonder and—she hoped—understanding, but Mercer regarded her with amused contempt. “An unusual opinion, coming from Adam Newbold’s daughter.”

Aurelia shrugged. “Oh, I never pay any mind to Papa’s
business
!” She made it sound like a disease. “But since you’ve mentioned him, I know he’d pay a great deal to have his daughter and his future son-in-law back safe and sound. Why, he’d probably pay
much
more than whatever you could get from all that!” she added, with an airy gesture toward the crates.

The mention of money actually got Mercer’s attention; at least, she thought she saw a faint flicker of interest in those cold eyes. “Would he indeed?”

She nodded, and felt her scalp prickle as a faint jingle from outside the cave reached her ears. Sir Harry, coming with his wagon? “Of course he would!”

“Aurelia, hold your tongue!” James snapped in a louder, angrier voice than was necessary. Had he heard it too? “Mercer’s not going to let us go!”

Following his lead, Aurelia raised her own voice, letting the echo carry their warning to whoever might be in earshot. “He might, once he sees what valuable hostages we’d make!”

Footsteps sounded at the mouth of the cave, and Mercer spun around, aiming his gun toward the tunnel entrance. James sprang forward, tackling the captain head-on. They fell to the ground in a tangle of thrashing limbs, grunting and swearing as they fought for the gun.

Glancing around frantically, Aurelia saw the crowbar, lying forgotten by the open crate. Even as she caught it up, she heard the crack of the revolver, followed by a sharp exclamation of pain. Turning, she saw to her horror that Mercer had clambered to his feet and was leveling his gun at James, still prone on the ground, his right hand clamped around his bleeding left arm.

She swung the crowbar with all her strength at Mercer’s head, felt it connect with a sickening crunch. He collapsed in an ungainly sprawl, the gun dropping from his hand. Shaking with reaction, the blood pounding in her ears, she stared down at his motionless form.

“Aurelia, the gun!”

His
voice, slicing through the fog and paralysis. Dropping the crowbar, she scooped up the gun and turned to see him struggling upright, his face drawn with pain, but blessedly alive.

“James.”
It emerged as a breath, rather than a word. But his dark eyes kindled into fire as he heard it. Without a word, he stretched out his uninjured arm, and she flew into it, felt it close around her as his mouth sought hers again and again. Wrapping her own arms around him, she kissed him back no less fiercely. Words spilled out between kisses, a breathless jumble of assurances and endearments. “Safe. Love. Thank God…”

“James! Aurelia!” Sir Harry erupted into the chamber. “I heard a gunshot—” He stopped short at the sight of them embracing, with Mercer unconscious at their feet.

“Good work, cousin,” he remarked prosaically as they turned to him with identical dazed expressions. He prodded Mercer with his foot, drawing a faint groan in response. “I’ve brought some rope. Shall we start by tying this bastard up?”

***

“See that these are sent to Lady Talbot and Lady Durward at Pentreath, right away.” James handed over the sealed letters.

“Very good, Lord Trevenan.” Accepting the letters, the footman bowed and withdrew.

Alone in his guest chamber, James sighed and pushed back his chair from the desk. Hours had passed since that tense encounter in the cave, hours since Mercer—barely conscious and still groaning weakly—and his cargo had been turned over to the proper authorities. He, Harry, and Aurelia had all given statements about what had happened in the cave and then been sent on their way without further questioning.

James flexed his aching arm, now cleaned and dressed. According to the doctor Harry had summoned on their return to Roswarne, the bullet had apparently passed through the upper arm without striking anything vital, so the wound would heal soon enough with rest and proper care. The doctor had left tincture of willow bark and a mild opiate to relieve any fever or pain, but James had not yet availed himself of either.

He rose and went to the window, gazing out at the darkening sky. Once again, he relived those moments in the cave—the blazing pain in his arm as he struggled to rise and fight again, Mercer looming over him with that damned revolver, and a golden-haired avenging angel swinging the crowbar that brought their enemy down.

His Aurelia, bright, brave, and beautiful: the woman who’d saved his life, which would never again belong to him alone. Aurelia, who held his heart so completely that he no longer had even a piece of it to give to any other woman—not even the sister who so closely resembled her. And somehow, he had to convince her of that.

If he could even get to her, that was. On their return, Sophie and Aunt Isobel had borne her off to another chamber, and he hadn’t seen her since. Was she asleep now, exhausted by their ordeal, or lying awake, fretting over what had happened? She’d struck down Mercer to save them both, but anyone unaccustomed to violence would have been shaken at having to resort to it. And James did not want her to suffer even a moment’s guilt or grief over that cold-blooded bastard. His own blood turned to ice when he remembered how Mercer had turned his gun on her. Thank God Harry had arrived in time.

Filled with a new resolve, he turned from the window. If Aunt Isobel wouldn’t let him see Aurelia, she could at least tell him how she fared. He strode toward the door, and stopped short when he heard the tentative knock.

“Enter,” he said after a moment.

The door opened, and Aurelia herself stood there, holding a tray and smiling at him, a little uncertainly. She wore a robe and a nightgown—borrowed from Aunt Isobel by the look of it—and her golden hair lay across her shoulder in a single plait, like his dreams, almost, but so much better. “Your aunt thought you should have something to eat, after all this time.”

For a moment, he stood where he was, drinking in the sight of her. Then he took her gently by the arm and drew her inside, closing the door behind them.

***

Safe—and whole
. Aurelia felt the hard knot of fear in her stomach loosen, then dissolve at the sight of him standing in the doorway. Despite the doctor’s assurances that he’d sustained only a minor wound, she hadn’t been able to banish her fears until she saw him again.

“Your arm,” she began in instinctive protest as he took the tray from her now.

“Will heal quickly, I’m told.” He set the tray on the dresser, turned back to her.

“I’d have come sooner, but Sophie and Lady Tresilian wanted to know everything,” she rushed on, feeling absurdly shy with him. “And then the doctor came to tend your wound, and your aunt thought I should wash and change and—”

She fell silent as he took her by the shoulders and drew her to him. This time, his kiss was not the desperate, almost feverish response to barely averted danger, but rather, the slow, deliberate caress of a man determined to do something properly. She closed her eyes, her lips parting beneath his like a flower. He deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing lightly against hers, an intimate touch that made her shiver, even as warmth flooded through her entire body. She leaned into him, wanting more, striving to give all she could. Her hands slid along the strong planes of his face—the face she’d seen in her dreams, waking or sleeping, for the last year—and buried themselves in his hair; the dark waves felt as thick and soft as she’d imagined they would.

“James,” she murmured against his lips. “Dear God…”

He made a sound low in his throat that might have been laughter. “Now, that’s something I don’t hear every day.” He pulled away just a little, gazing at her with steady dark eyes. “Listen, dear heart—I’m not marrying your sister. It would be the worst thing I could do, for all of us.”

Aurelia swallowed. “I know.” From the moment she’d swung that crowbar in the cave, she had known—less in her head than in her blood and bones—that she wasn’t fighting for Amy, but for him and herself and the future they were meant to have together. And that life was too short and too precious to waste it denying the truth of one’s own heart.

“I thought it would be dishonorable to break our engagement,” he went on. “Now I see it would be far more dishonorable—and unjust—to proceed with the marriage when I love someone else. When I love
you
.”

Her eyes flooded, even as her lips trembled into a smile. “I love you, James.” She freed a hand to dash away the tears. “I can say that now, with all my heart and no divided loyalties.”

He searched her face. “Truly? I know how close you and Amy are.”

“She’s half my soul. But I would have lost her anyway if she’d married you. I would have stayed away—I couldn’t have borne it…”

He kissed her again, brushing away more tears with gentle fingers. Sighing, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I just pray that she can forgive us both. That she’ll understand.”

“We’ll make her understand,” he promised. “My word on it.”

She believed in his word. And even more than that, she believed in what they could accomplish, together. Raising her head, she kissed him, shyly at first, then with growing confidence as he responded, his mouth working a subtle magic on hers that made her senses sing. Desire coursed through her, a tidal wave of longing sweeping away all else before it.

She felt an almost physical sense of loss when he drew back and touched her hair, bound in a loose plait for the night. “You should go back to your chamber now.” His eyes looked dazed, and his voice, like his hand, was not quite steady when he spoke. “I can’t answer for the consequences, if you stay.”

“There would be consequences?” Aurelia paused as a sudden daring stirred to life inside of her. “Then I definitely want to stay!”

His brows arched over widening eyes. “Aurelia, you don’t know—”

“Yes, I do. In theory, anyway. Mama told me a few years ago.” She fought down a giggle at his expression; it wasn’t often she could shock the man she loved. “And I mean it, James! I want to be with you tonight—and every other night for the rest of our lives.” She twined her arms around his neck, pressed closer to him. “We could have
died
today. And I can face anything, anything at all, tomorrow, if we have tonight! Don’t send me away.”

“Oh, God.” It emerged as a near-groan, and he kissed her once more, so fiercely that her head swam and even her name seemed a distant memory. Then, unbelievably, he pulled away.