“No!” Riki screamed. “Gil—?” She turned to him, horrified.
Belmont took an unsteady breath. “No,” he confirmed. “Take them into custody but I don’t want them harmed. Yet,” he added, holding David’s gaze. “They are to return to England for trial.”
“Gil—!” Riki broke off under the fury of the gaze he directed at her. In silence she watched her cousin and Marie Marley shackled.
Belmont remained where he stood, his rapid, shallow breathing betraying his rigid control. David cast them one last, unreadable look before he and Marie were marched out between the soldiers.
“How could you?” Riki cried as soon as the heavy door closed behind the dismal little procession. Shock and fury overcame her. “How could you? You betrayed me, you gave them David!”
Belmont caught her hands, gripping them until she flinched from the pain. “Be quiet! Damn it, Riki, I had no choice.”
“But David isn’t a traitor!”
“We only have his word for what he did. What did you expect him to say when he’d been caught?”
“But what if he’s telling the truth? You can’t be so certain, Gil. The only thing we do know he’s guilty of is talking too freely over his wine with a superior in the War Office.”
Belmont drew a long, steadying breath. “There is no doubt about Marie Marley. I’ll help Warwick because I promised you, but not that French—” He broke off whatever choice descriptive term he had intended to use. Dropping Riki’s hands, he straightened. “I already told you, I will not permit you to turn me into a traitor as well by releasing her.” He swung about, picked up his coat and strode from the room, his booted footsteps echoing on the floorboards like a death knell.
He was right, Riki realized, her heart sinking even lower. Even if Marie Marley had assisted David to make amends, that didn’t erase the years she had spent serving as a spy. By begging Belmont to forget that, Riki asked him to behave in a manner less than honorable by his standards. She averted her eyes from his stiff, retreating figure. They truly were of different worlds.
She started after him, her steps dragging. At least he wouldn’t make David stand trial for treason. He wouldn’t dare, not with all that her cousin could blurt out. She probably ought to be thankful witch burning was no longer a craze.
Outside in the now-quiet street, the British soldiers rounded up the French prisoners. David, limping badly, fell into line with them, Marie at his side.
Riki stomped off to where her gelding stood with the other horses in the charge of the grooms who rode with the unit. Grasping her reins, Riki led the animal toward the prisoners. The first of the guards stepped forward, stopping her.
“One of the prisoners is wounded and can’t walk,” Riki snapped at him. Her furious glare defied the man to stop her.
“Against orders, miss.” He stood his ground, his gun raised diagonally across his chest.
He made no move to point it at her but she sensed the threat. “Viscount Belmont!” She shouted his name in clipped, determined accents.
Belmont, who stood with the captain and a lieutenant, deep in conversation, turned a wary eye on her.
“This prisoner is unfit to walk. Have you not the common decency to permit him to ride?”
He strode over, his dark brows lowered over his hawklike eyes. “These two are not to be kept with the others. They are to ride with me.”
“And your escort,” the captain nodded. “They’re too dangerous for us to run any risk of their escape.”
“As you say.” Belmont nodded.
Riki glared at him, furious, but kept her lips together. At least David would ride.
She glanced back to where two soldiers assisted David to mount a horse. Disillusionment mingled with the pain on his normally animated countenance, and her heart cried for him. Poor David—he had been such an eager, naïve little boy over his favorite pastime. He’d been granted his dearest wish, to see the Peninsular Campaign in reality, and he’d never again be able to think of it with innocent pleasure. Now he saw his hobby as a thin veil covering the real horrors of war. Her spirits sinking even lower, she rode in silence as they began the long journey back.
In the three days it took them to reach Lisbon, Riki spoke not one word to Belmont. He rode at a distance from her, both his rigid posture and grim features defying her to approach. She made no attempt. What they had shared, she realized, was over.
The city, somewhat to her vague amazement, remained unchanged. They had been gone only a little more than two weeks yet it felt like an eternity.
Belmont left his party under the care of the lieutenant and went immediately to make arrangements with Admiral Berkeley. Preparations for their departure began at once and took depressingly little time. The morning following their arrival in the city, they boarded a British supply ship returning to England with the wounded.
Belmont’s expression remained rigid, unbending, and he steadfastly avoided Riki. Did his promise to her mean nothing anymore? She watched his distant figure as he conversed with the captain. Had he become so determined to administer punishment that he closed his mind, willingly sacrificing David along with Mrs. Marley? Or did he actually want to destroy his assistant who had caused him so much trouble—who had been the cause of bringing Riki into his world? That last thought hurt unbearably.
The voyage stretched out, long and lonely, as Riki sought some way to soften his mood, to make him see reason. She could think of nothing.
Nor was she permitted to speak with David or Marie, who remained secured in their separate prison cells deep in the hull, smothered in darkness and the vile smells of pitch and tar. Menchen, allowed more freedom than she, brought her word that they did as well as could be expected. Their jailer, though, he warned, did not permit his giving them anything from her.
She entrusted a message of hope for her cousin to the ex-groom and turned away, only to see Belmont striding in her direction. As he neared, he looked up and saw her. Deliberately, he headed a different way.
Her temper flared. Probably he was ashamed to face her! He’s betraying me. She repeated that thought over and over and found it more painful every time. She loved him, yet he wouldn’t spare David.
And Belmont loves me too—doesn’t he? He had said so once—when barely out of the throes of a fever. And he had proved it, so very eloquently, that one night they’d shared together. Now, though, the memory must be a constant source of embarrassment. Gilbert Randall, Viscount Belmont, was not one to wear his heart upon his sleeve.
Good heavens, I’m even beginning to think in the terms of his time. She leaned against the rail and stared bleakly out to sea. Whether Belmont loved her or not would make no difference to his decisions. He was a man of honor, and as such he would never let his infatuation with a woman interfere with his duty. For once she could not count on his aid.
That gave her something new about which to be depressed, and she proceeded to indulge to her heart’s bitter content. The sooner she returned to her own time, she decided, the better it would be. And instead of brooding over the irritating, frustrating behavior of men in general, she had best concentrate on rescuing David.
By the morning of the seventh day out, the already rough seas churned and darkened with an approaching storm. Waves slammed against the hull and the sailors ran to their posts, securing the sails against the wind that set Riki staggering as she stood in the bow. Salt spray stung her face, whipping wet, clinging tendrils of auburn hair into her eyes, blinding her as she stumbled toward the sheltering causeway.
Sailors bustled past, some offering a steadying hand, others too intent on their errands to do more than sidestep to avoid plowing through her. The deck lifted and dropped with a relentless thoroughness that left her stomach somewhere riding the crest of the last wave.
She pulled her cloak closer about herself as she stood in the doorway, reluctant to go below, where the smells would be her undoing. Determinedly, she refused to think of her cousin and his fair but treacherous love locked in the bowels of the ship. She felt ill enough here on deck, where the icy wind and spray kept her senses from dissolving in nausea.
Boats and I aren’t getting along lately. The voyage out to Portugal hadn’t been bad, merely endless, of course, but the one before that, when she and Belmont had set forth in her ketch…
She shivered, but not with the cold, as the pitching of the deck brought forth vivid memories of that lashing, thundering storm…the storm that had brought her back through time. There was only one way to save David, she had known that from the start. She had to take him forward two hundred years. And for that she needed an electrical storm!
She left her shelter in one surging motion, running to the starboard side where she clung to the rail to keep from being flung overboard by the erratic lurches of the heaving deck. Her intent gaze scanned the charcoaled skies, willing an elusive flash of lightning to break the darkness. None came but she did not give up hope.
Her mind whirling, searching for ideas, she scanned the ship. Could a vessel of this size make the nearly impossible voyage across time? As far as she knew the boats involved had all been small, holding no more than five people. Somehow she must get David transferred to some small ketch or yacht before they reached England.
The storm continued for four days, during which Riki clung to the rail, searching the savage sea for some small craft suitable to her purpose. None came into view, though, and for the first time in her life Riki watched the passing of a storm with heartfelt dismay. Once again calm water stretched as far as she could see, unbroken except by an occasional whitecap.
She paced the deck that rocked gently and tried to think up a way to approach Belmont, to whom she had been barely civil of late. She found him in the stern, quite at his ease among the sailors, laughing at some joke that set deep color to the men’s faces as Riki approached.
Belmont turned to discover the cause of the disturbance and his brow creased over suddenly narrowed eyes. The sailors took their hasty leave.
“Am I interrupting something?” She offered a hesitant smile, unsure of her reception. His eyes roamed over her face—missing nothing, she supposed ruefully.
His pleasure faded beneath cynicism. “What is it you wish me to do for you?”
Ouch. She fought back a wince at his words. “Must I want something?” She moved closer, one hand barely touching his sleeve.
She did want something, of course, but his nearness played havoc with her senses, creating unbidden visions of herself clasped tightly in his arms, of his firm mouth seeking hers or brushing feathery kisses along her throat, drawing moans of yearning from deep within her. She opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed and found him gazing at her, his expression unreadable.
With one finger he raised her chin so he could look down into her face. His dark eyes burned like coals, smoldering with a desire that set answering sparks flickering deep within her.
“Gil—” Her whisper faded, carried away on the salty breeze. It was impossible to speak with his thumb caressing her throat. Hunger gnawed through her, a starvation only he could assuage. She clutched his arms, drawing herself nearer, pressing her slight body against him.
His finger trailed across her freckled cheek, then down her neck, setting a riot of sensation through her. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she raised them to meet his. Warm breath fanned her cheek then her mouth, as his lips hovered so close she could taste the salt spray on them.
“It won’t work,” he murmured, though his hand drew her ever closer.
“Why not? You know it will.” Her lids, heavy with desire, veiled her eyes. The late afternoon stubble of his chin prickled against her cheek.
A soft chuckle shook his sturdy frame. “You won’t seduce me into freeing your cousin and Mrs. Marley, you know.”
She pulled free, her skin burning, then chilled as the blood drained away. “I wouldn’t! I—”
He clasped her hands, bringing them unresisting to receive his kiss. “Don’t think you’re not tempting me but I’ll not be turned traitor.”
She pulled free, furious. “I wouldn’t stoop to seduce—”
That falconlike gleam lit his eyes and he swooped like a striking tiercel, his mouth covering hers, stopping her angry words. She struggled for a moment then abandoned a fight for which she had no heart. This was what she wanted, to be lost in his mesmerizing spell, to sink into the whirlpool of sensation he created.
As abruptly as he’d claimed her, he set her aside. Her eyes fluttered open, startled, and for a moment she saw clearly the effort it took for him to control himself. A purely feminine elation surged through her, akin to smugness, that she could so stir him. “I didn’t come to seduce you,” she said.
“It just seemed a good idea?” He managed a wry smile that was touching in its vulnerability.
“Yes. A very good idea. It still does. I can’t think of a better one, in fact.”
He drew a deep, steadying breath. “I’ll remember that. What did you want then?”
She blinked then refocused on her plan. “To talk. To ask you something.” He waited, one eyebrow lifted in inquiry, so she pressed on. “Do you still believe David to be a traitor?”
“I don’t know,” he answered in all honesty. “I’ll accept that he didn’t consciously betray me—my department.”
“But?” she prodded as he fell silent.
“He went to Spain in the company of a spy and we saw him in the company of French officers at Badajoz.”
“You heard his explanation.”
Belmont nodded. “I did. And it might be true.”
She touched his arm then succumbed to the temptation to caress it. “It would be a pretty rash act, to enter a besieged city he knew would fall shortly to the attackers. Unless he intended to intervene to save himself.”
“Mrs. Marley still hasn’t given me the name of the man to whom she passed the information. Does that sound like a woman who would deliberately betray her own people after she’d been spying for them?”
Riki hesitated then nodded. “People do crazy things when they’re in love.”
“Do they?” The look in his troubled eyes could only be described as skeptical.
Riki’s heart sank. Yes, she wanted to scream at him. She would do something every bit as foolish—to be near him. Hadn’t she followed him into Badajoz through a breach in the wall while the fighting continued? It hadn’t been for her cousin’s sake, no matter what she told herself. She had gone to be near Belmont and, as he himself would say, the devil take the consequences.
“What did you want?” He interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to the point at hand.
With an effort she dragged her gaze from his face. “To take him back to the future, where he belongs. Like we agreed at the beginning.”
“And?”
She swallowed hard then persevered. “I think our chances will be much better on a smaller ship. Before we reach the Channel, will you request that we and the…the prisoners be transferred to some smaller vessel we’ll undoubtedly encounter? You can say you want to take them by the most direct route to London.”
His lips twitched. “No.”
“Gil!” She shook the arm she still clutched.
“Riki!” His tone mocked her desperation. “No, only consider. The chances of a lightning storm breaking in the next few days are nonexistent. We’ve just had a regular downpour.”
“You mean I won’t be able to take him…home?”
“Not at the moment.” His serious tone reinforced his words. “And whatever happens, I will not permit Marie Marley to escape.”
She glared at him but knew it did no good. She stalked off, depressed and afraid for David and Marie. Pace the deck as she might, though, racking her mind, trying to hit on another plan, nothing came to her.
When she again applied to Belmont for help, sympathy shone in his eyes but his only advice was an unhelpful, “Wait.”
She bit back her angry retort, knowing a rousing fight would not help her cause. Before she could speak incautious words, she left him. Even as she did so, though, she knew she was unable to be furious with this infuriating man she loved.
At last England lay ahead. Riki stood in the bow through the long afternoon, watching the land mass grow steadily larger and clearer as the wind drove the ship relentlessly toward home port. And David’s destruction, she reminded herself.
Afternoon faded into the haze of evening when the vessel at last neared the wharf at Newhaven and the sailors ran to secure the lines. Disheartened, Riki retreated to her cabin until the activity slowed.
A sharp rap on her door brought her out of her reverie. In answer to her call to enter, Belmont strode in.
“I have made arrangements for you to spend the night at an inn near the docks,” he told her.
She glared at him. “What of David and Mrs. Marley?”
“They’ll remain here. Under guard.”
“And you want me off the ship? Why? Are you afraid I’ll overcome their guard and make off with them?”
He shook his head but he didn’t smile. “I’ll be riding for London with Menchen at once. I’d rather you were safely on land.”
She barely heard his words. Her own had planted an obvious if extremely foolhardy solution in her mind, and the longer it remained there the more certain she was this could be her only possible course of action. She nodded slowly. “It will feel good not to have the deck swaying beneath my feet every moment.” And Belmont would think her safely out of the way and never suspect her intentions. She managed a sad smile for his benefit. “Give me a few minutes to repack my things.”
Half an hour later she watched from her low-pitched bedchamber at the front of the inn as Belmont and Menchen mounted their hired hacks. Belmont waved to her then urged the animal forward out of the lighted yard into the dark streets. She drew a deep breath to steady her shaky nerves and turned back into the room.
For this expedition she needed Hillary’s clothes again. She didn’t hurry, though. There was plenty of time. Midnight or later would be the best hour to set forth. She rang for the meal Belmont had ordered her to eat in her room and settled down comfortably on her bed to plan her attack.
She must have dozed off, for she awoke to the last chimes of the clock as it announced midnight. Belmont must almost be in London by now, she reflected, then shoved that thought aside. It was as well he wouldn’t be around to stop her.
Quickly she changed, then slipped into the narrow passage lit only by a single, smoking lantern, her legs still unsteady from her long days aboard ship. She made her way through the maze of corridors, at last finding the back stairs. After reaching the ground floor without incident, she let herself out through the kitchens, where only one minion dozed fitfully in a huge rocking chair beside the great hearth.
She found herself in a crooked, unlit alley-like street, where houses and shops crowded against each other. With determination filling her—primarily to keep her nerves at bay—she set forth to locate the ship. The night was overcast, with that eerie, still warmth that so often presaged a thunderstorm. An old, familiar fear welled within her, but her surging hope took firmer root, supplanting it. If only…
In spite of her growing excitement, she slowed her pace to keep from tripping over every uneven cobblestone. Tonight might be their only chance in weeks—if they were ever able to try at all. If she failed to rescue David she couldn’t bear to think of the consequences. And how was she to distinguish the right ship from amongst all the others in this darkness?
To her relief it wasn’t hard. The sleek vessel bobbed peacefully in its berth, oil lamps illuminating the gangplank that lay in place. A deep sigh of satisfaction mingled with unease escaped her. She hadn’t even begun to consider the multitude of problems that most assuredly would face her. At least she’d be able to get aboard.
At the foot of the plank, though, her nerve almost deserted her. It would be easier if she didn’t tremble so. She had no choice, though. It was now or never. Once the prisoners were brought from the boat onto British soil, they would never be turned loose.
She squared her shoulders, decided stealth was better than a direct attack, and slipped out of the shadows and up the wooden planks, crouching low. About halfway up it struck her that it might be immensely practical if she were to carry some large blunt instrument with which to knock out any guard who challenged her presence. She glanced back to the wharf, saw nothing movable, and mentally shrugged. This way, if she was caught, she might be able to talk her way out of it. A weapon would clearly betray her intentions.
She stepped onto the deck and ducked, and her hand encountered a loose wooden object. A belaying pin! She hefted it, testing its weight. It made a perfect club. So much for her logical reasoning of a minute before. A good stout stick gave her confidence.
Her spirits lifting at this bit of luck, she crept slowly forward, keeping as much in the protective darkness of the ship’s side as she could manage. At last, though, she had to run for the companionway, and felt every moment of her exposure as if it were an eternity. Still, no shouts were raised from the deck to shatter the stillness of the night.
So far so good. She reached the doorway, found it ajar and ducked inside. Having opted for the Portuguese slippers rather than Hillary’s hobnailed boots, she descended without a sound into the darkness of the cabin deck.
At the end of the long hallway another oil lamp shone, and she started toward it. Rather than feel safer, this total lack of guards made her even more nervous. She crept silently, holding her breath, her teeth clenching her lip until they drew a fine drop of blood.
She reached the next flight of steps that led down to the crew’s deck. Her heart beat so loudly, surely someone must hear—if there was anyone about. Doggedly, she kept on. She reached the next level in safety.
Again, another lamp hung at the far end, lighting the way into the cargo hold where the prisoners were confined. Dizziness swept over her. You’re crazy, the thought kept repeating through her mind. You’ll get caught. But by forcing one foot to follow the other, she proceeded inexorably though unsteadily forward.
She stood at the head of the last flight, peering down into the darkness. Why hasn’t a guard come forward yet? Was there only one, who would be watching David and Marie? That was possible. No one in England knew of the pair’s presence on this vessel. No one would be expecting a rescue attempt. And it was also possible the guard, bored and tired, had fallen asleep.
Heartened by this hope, she descended step by cautious step until at last she reached the hold. Still no one. She braced herself, inched forward, and a rough hand clamped firmly over her mouth from behind.