Wicked at Heart (42 page)

Gerry crouched
down beside him, his shoulders touching Toby's.

"This Black
Wolf fellow, they say he's your cousin.  That so, Toby?"

"Aye."

"You must
be damned proud of him."

"Aye."

"Everyone's
talking about him, you know.  Never heard of so many women fainting and
swooning just at the mention of his name.  Sure wouldn't mind being the Black
Wolf myself."

A noise thudded
from somewhere above.  Toby whipped his head up, but there was nothing to be
seen in the darkness.  His uneasiness grew, and his heart began to beat
wildly.  Something wasn't right.

"I don't
think the Wolf's coming for me tonight, Gerry.  I want to go back."

"Nonsense. 
That noise?  Just old Hawkins, falling out of his bed.  Does it every night —"

"No,
really, I want to go back — now.  I — I don't feel well."

"Don't be
so damned lily-livered!" Gerry said with sudden sharpness.  "Only
babies whine so.  You're American, aren't you?  We British have respect for you
Yanks.  You're cut from the same mold as we are, unlike those dancing French
monkeys.  Now quit whining, and show some mettle, for God's sake!"

Toby gasped at
the sudden harshness of Gerry's tone.  Sudden dread shot through him.  He had
to get out of here, now.  Something was wrong, this just didn't feel right.  He
jumped to his feet, turned —

And ran straight
into the chest of Lieutenant John Radley.

He had no time
for a scream.  Radley's palm immediately clamped over his mouth, and he was
caught in a hold from which there was no escape.  "Move and you're
dead," his captor snarled, nearly crushing Toby's fragile body with the
force of his grip.  He dragged Toby back with him against the roundhouse and
yanked a pistol out of his coat.  "Fine work, Gerry.  You'll be richly
rewarded for this, I promise you."

"Yes, well
it wasn't easy.  Jack Clayton wouldn't tell me a bloody thing.  Couldn't help
but wonder what creature he was harboring when I saw him sneaking into the
strangest places with food and coming out empty-handed."

"You're
certain the Wolf's going to strike tonight?"

"Damned
certain.  Clayton wasn't willing to confess, but when I told him what we were
going to do to his wife and brats if he didn't, his tongue loosened up a
little.  Loosened up even more when Hawkins and I took the paring knife to the
quicks of his fingernails."  Gerry shot a nasty, malicious glance at
Toby.  "His little
pet
here confirmed everything.  The Wolf's
coming, sir.  Tonight."

"You'd
better be correct, Gerry.  I've waited too long for that rascal's head on a
platter to have it denied me.  Damn you, quit your struggling, you wretched bag
of bones!" Radley snarled, slamming his elbow into Toby's stomach until
the boy convulsed, retching.

From above, on
the railed walkway built onto the sentries' garrison, Toby heard movement and
whispers, and knew that Radley's forces were poised for action.

Training their
muskets on the water below.

Waiting for the
Black Wolf.

The horrible
truth was too much to bear.  Gerry had been spying for Radley all along, and
had tortured Jack until he'd gleaned the details of tonight's rescue.  No
wonder the guard had let them pass.  No wonder no one had raised the alarm.  It
had all been a trap.  What had they done to Jack?  What had they done to the
Reverend Milford?

And oh, God,
what would they do to Connor?

And then each
man who stood poised in the wet darkness heard it:  the faint splash of muffled
oars and the sound of a boat slicing through the water below.  From out of the
mists came a shape, moving like a phantom through the night, so much a part of
the darkness that no one could be sure it was even real.  In horror Toby
watched it disappear beneath the railing, and heard the sounds of the oars
backing water.  He struggled, trying to make a sound, but Radley cuffed him
hard across the temple and, nearly crushing his jaw, dragged his head around to
whisper savagely in his ear.

"Make one
sound and your cousin's dead the minute he shows his face above that railing,
you got it?"

Toby froze.  The
night pressed down on them, so thick and black that no star, no moon, not even
the lights from the nearby ships could penetrate it.  He felt the wind pushing the
drizzle against his face, the excited thump of Radley's heart against his ear —

And heard faint
scratching noises just below.

Climbing noises.

"Get
back," Radley mouthed, signaling wildly with his free hand.  Instantly the
guards pressed themselves against the roundhouse and headboard, their muskets
trained on the rail.

Toby's throat
closed with sobs.  He heard the scratching noise coming up the deadwood, the
main wale, the base of the figurehead, growing closer, growing louder, but
still fainter than the whisper of a cat moving along a fence. 
Connor.
 
He heard Radley's tense, measured breathing and that of Gerry and the guards
around and above them. 
Connor.
  Now Radley was quietly bringing his
pistol up beneath Toby's chin, its cold muzzle pressing against the soft flesh
that spanned the underside of his jaw.

"Toby."

One short,
authoritative command.

The Black
Wolf.

Again: 
"Toby!"

Radley held his
breath and pressed the pistol hard into Toby's jaw, slowly driving his head
back against his shoulder.  Toby struggled to see, trembling and looking down
the plane of his cheekbones.  A hand, gloved in black, reached up and seized
the railing.  Another did the same.  Then, slowly, with more grace than a
panther on the hunt, a figure hoisted its head and shoulders up over the rail.

Tension hung in
the air.

Not a soul
moved.

Radley's hand
was shaking as he pushed the pistol deeper into the soft flesh of Toby's jaw. 
Come
on, my friend,
Radley thought, clenching his teeth, clenching his finger on
the pistol's trigger, clenching the boy he held hostage. 
A little closer .
. .

The Black Wolf
hung there, half over the rail, head raised as he surveyed the darkness for
danger.  Then, slowly, he swung one long leg over the rail.  Radley quivered,
and thick saliva filled his mouth.  He felt the boy trembling in his grip.  He
saw the tall, powerfully built figure in black straighten to his full height
and look warily around.  He was magnificent, deadly, and certainly not a man with
whom Radley cared to do business.

He wouldn't have
to.  In his mind's eye he saw the guards around and above him slowly training
their pistols and muskets on his unsuspecting quarry.

Come on, damn
you!

His heart began
to thump wildly, and the excitement over the hunt, over the kill, had given him
a fierce erection.

The Wolf turned
back toward the railing, and in the darkness Radley saw Gerry silently bringing
his pistol up, clenching it in both hands and sighting down it toward his
quarry.

 "Halt
right there or the boy dies."

The Wolf froze
in a half-crouch, one hand still stretched toward the railing.  Slowly he
turned his dark head toward them, and beneath the mask that covered his eyes
Radley saw his nostrils flaring with contempt.

Radley stepped
from the shadows.

"Give it
up, Captain Merrick," he said smoothly, keeping his pistol beneath Toby's
chin as he moved forward.  "We have you surrounded.  Any sudden moves on
your part will only make me splatter the brat's head all over the place.  You
wouldn't want that, now, would you?"

Tears leaked
from Toby's eyes and streamed down his cheeks.  He saw the Wolf's masked face
turn slowly toward Radley, saw the quivering tension in every muscle of his
tall, powerfully built body.  When he spoke, his voice was dark with rage.

"Let the
boy go," he whispered savagely.  "He is innocent."

"Really,
you're in no position to bargain, Captain Merrick."

"I
said
,
let him go."

The Wolf took a
menacing step toward Radley.

"Another
step and my men will shoot you dead.  And don't think the boy won't
follow."

The Wolf did not
move.  Toby could feel the huge, frightening force of his fury, the magnificent
tension that warred within him as he considered Radley's words.  He seemed
larger than the night, dark, terrible, diabolical.

He towered over
Radley, staring down at him with barely leashed menace.

"What do
you want?"

"You,
Captain Merrick.  Preferably alive."

The Wolf glared
down at Radley a moment longer.  "Let the boy go, and I will freely give
myself up to your authority."  The dark figure loomed over the both of
them.  "A trade, Radley.  My life for the boy's."

Radley laughed,
a low, dark sound of pure evil.  "Very well, then.  Come here."

"Release
the boy."

From above,
there was a clicking sound as someone cocked his musket.  The guards shifted,
never lowering their weapons.  Finally Radley made a noise of derision and
shoved Toby toward the Black Wolf, who swept him up into his embrace and laid
his cheek against his hair.

Slowly, he
reached down to retrieve the rope he had brought with him and tied it securely
around Toby's waist.

"No sudden
moves, Merrick," Radley warned, training his pistol on the Black Wolf's
heart.

The figure in
black did not answer him, merely taking Toby's shoulders and looking down into
his eyes in a final goodbye.  "A friend awaits you in the boat
below," he murmured for Toby's ears alone.  "And your brother and
cousin await you aboard the schooner
Kestrel
.  Go.  And Godspeed."

"My brother
and
cousin
?  But who . . . what . . ."

But the Black
Wolf only smiled, and saw him safely down into the boat that would take him
through the mists and back to his family.

Then, slowly, he
turned to face his fate.

"Who indeed?"
Radley murmured coldly, and as his men leaped forward to restrain the
unresisting figure, he ripped the mask off his face with one vicious yank.

And found himself
staring into the ice-cold eyes of Damon Andrew Phillip deWolfe, the sixth
Marquess of Morninghall.

Chapter
27

"Lud, would
you look at these newspapers!  It took me the better part of the last two hours
just to wade through them!"

Rhiannon swept
into Gwyneth's bedroom, her arms piled with the papers that had collected
during their absence.  Casting a swift glance at Gwyneth, who sat scribbling at
her desk, she placed the stack on the chest at the foot of the bed.

"Anything
interesting happen while we were away?" Gwyneth asked absently without
looking up from her letter to Maeve, Lady Falconer, who, with her family, had
just left for the West Indies.

"I should
say so!  The Black Wolf has been up to his gallant exploits.  Seems he was so
bold as to try to take a young American lad off the prison hulk via an empty
water barrel!"

"Tried?"
Gwyneth asked, still without looking up.

"Someone
discovered the plan, and the Wolf was forced to abandon it.  He got away, thank
heavens!  Well, then, I'll leave you to finish your work; I know that time runs
short, and your handsome husband should be home at any time now!"

But Gwyneth need
not have rushed so.  By ten thirty darkness, hastened by the gloomy weather,
was settling over the city, and she was forced to work by the light of a
lantern.  By eleven o'clock the night was fully black beyond her window, and
she was beginning to feel a bit impatient and annoyed at Damon for his
tardiness.  By midnight, when he still hadn't returned, she was growing
worried, and as the clock on her mantle struck one in the morning, she was
pacing the parlor, wondering what to do, where to go.

Rhiannon, who
had come in earlier to express concern, offered the usual comforting words;
perhaps His Lordship had met up with some old shipmates and was drinking away
his last night in the navy at some dockside tavern.  Perhaps his business with
the port admiral or other naval officials was taking longer than expected. 
Perhaps he too had paperwork to catch up on, and like Gwyneth was hurrying to
get it done.  Surely, he would be home at any time . . .

But poor
Rhiannon was yawning and bleary-eyed, and at Gwyneth's urging, finally went to
bed.  An hour later so did Gwyneth, but she could not sleep.  She lay in the
darkness, listening to the rain outside, the shadows moving up and down her
walls as the wind moved the trees, and worried.

And imagined
terrible things.

Sometime in the
wee hours of the night, she must have fallen into a troubled slumber, for when
next she woke, a heavy gray daylight filled the room.  She lay in bed for a
moment, staring at the empty walls, at the furniture whose tops were now bare,
her trunk, pushed into a corner and overflowing with clothing, valuables, and
sentimental treasures.

She heard Sophie
moving around downstairs;  Rhiannon, down in the kitchen, banging on Mattie's
food bowl to summon the old dog to breakfast; carriages clattering in the
street outside.

Damon.

She leaped out
of bed, hastily washed her face, completed her toilette, and, garbed in a
simple gown of peach satin trimmed with green embroidery, hurried downstairs.

Rhiannon was
just coming around the corner.  Her face mirrored the same worry that snaked
through Gwyneth.  "Gwyn, maybe we ought to go down to the waterfront and
see if anyone knows anything."

"Yes, I'm
going now.  You wait here in case anyone tries to contact us —"

As if her words
had summoned it, there was a sudden knock on the door.  Gwyneth froze,
exchanging a frightened, paralyzed glance with her sister.  The knock came again,
sharp, hard, and businesslike, bringing Mattie charging out of the kitchen at a
dead run, growling and barking, with Sophie right behind him.  Gwyneth and
Rhiannon ran to the door.