The Black Rose Page 3

Ravenhurst's hard lapis eyes flickered across the man's uniform. "I am Viscount Ravenhurst, the new commissioner. I trust that answers your question, Sergeant."

  Something about the angry snap of command in that gravelly voice made the dragoon take an unconscious step backward. Ravenhurst did not wait for a response, spurring Pharaoh on up the lane.

  His neck prickled, and he could feel the men's cold gaze upon him all the way to the top.

  * * * * *

  Twenty minutes later Tess finally reached the edge of the flood plain.

  Around her all was quiet. The drizzle had nearly stopped and trailing clouds danced before the moon. Seeing no sign of Hawkins or his men, she bent over and drew in great lungfuls of air. Even though it was May, the cold was fierce. Her teeth were chattering and her feet and fingers were numb. She felt very light, weightless almost, as if she were floating over the ground.

  By the time she reached the old cottage on the edge of the marsh and dropped an oilskin bag with China tea for Widow Hargate, the moon had slipped low in the sky. In the distance she could see the dark spires of St. Mary's rising above the rooftops of Rye.

  Ashen-faced, she skirted Gibbett's Marsh and made for Wish Street. Her eyes dim and unfocused, she slipped between fences and darkened yards, avoiding the main streets. Her left rib throbbed where she had fallen over a rock on the marsh, and only raw willpower kept her on her feet now.

  Five yards more. Four, she told herself, panting.

  Soon she'd be safe. A fire. Dry clothes.

  Three yards more.

  Can't stop now can't stop now.

  Before her the dark, narrow mouth of the Needles passage beckoned.

  And then she saw the dark shape at the alley's mouth. He was a big man, his broad shoulders blotting out the moon's weak light. Unmoving, he stood at the entrance to the narrow passage, enveloped in a greatcoat and a cloud of smoke.

  Dear Lord, why did he choose this place to blow a cloud? What in the name of heaven was she to do now?

  From the lower reaches of the street came the angry snap of curses and the restless neighing of horses.

  "Brown, take five men and scour the docks!" Amos Hawkins bellowed from the top of the street. "Boggs, go around to Mermaid Street. The rest of ye come with me. I want that bloody vermin and I don't care how ye catch him! Five hundred pounds for the man who brings me the Fox!"

  Tess stifled a sob as Hawkins's eager officers thundered up the street behind her. Dear God, she was trapped!

  In her panic, one weary foot struck a broken slab of cobblestone and sent it skittering down the lane. Immediately, she shrank back into the shadows, pressing herself against a darkened doorway. There she froze, her heart pounding wildly.

  Too late! The man in the passage had turned, and although his face was in shadow, Tess could feel his keen eyes plumb the dark silence of the street. For long moments he stood motionless, then finally turned and braced his tall frame against the far corner of the passage.

  Releasing a silent breath, she turned to scan the nearby houses, searching for a better place to hide.

  Without warning a pair of iron hands seized her shoulders.

  "What have we here? Hawkins's elusive prey, perhaps?"

  With a wild cry, Tess twisted away, pounding furiously at those hard fingers. But her flailing fists might as well have been marsh flies.

  "If so, you're a small prize," her captor growled, searching her face intently. "And a damned filthy one at that."

  Tess breathed a prayer of thanks that she'd stuffed Jack's whiskered mask into the pocket of her voluminous cape before she'd left the marsh. The tricorn would conceal her hair. She only hoped that the charcoal she'd rubbed into her skin had not streaked away to nothing.

  Outside the passage the drum of feet grew louder.

  For a moment she swayed, and then sharp fingers caught her, pressing her back against the rough brick wall. "The Fox trains you young, doesn't he?" her captor said roughly. "By God, you can't be more than thirteen or fourteen! Just a bloody boy."

  "Lemme go, ye scoundrel! I'll teach ye to go botherin' us innocent folk!" Instinctively Tess lapsed into a broad country dialect, for she knew she must keep her identity secret at all cost.

  Her slim legs whipped wildly, seeking a target. With each movement her bulky cloak swept wildly about her slim body until she was suffocating in thick layers of cold, damp wool.

  But the man only laughed, turning sideways and crushing her against the wall with the full weight of his massive body. "You're spirited, I'll say that for you, boy. Ten pounds of cloak and ninety pounds of fight!"

  His breath was warm, tinged with the scent of brandy. Even though she knew it was useless, Tess continued to struggle. The wild movement brought her flush against the man's broad chest and the hard line of his thighs.

  She felt her face flame crimson beneath the layers of charcoal.

  "Stop fighting, you fool!" the stranger hissed.

  Something about that gravelly voice of silk and steel cut deep into her memory, plummeting down through the layers of bitter reserve built up over long years. Down it slashed, stripping her bare as it stirred a deep wellspring of pain.

  A cruel pain she had forced from her mind five years ago. A pain she had thought forgotten.

  Until now.

  In a daze she felt the man's rigid thighs grind against her hips and she stifled a sob.

  For it had all come back to her, the memories lashing her with the sullen fury of a Channel squall.

  Not a stranger's voice at all.

  The voice of Dane St. Pierre, the man she had once loved with all the unbridled force of her innocent young soul.

  Dear God, it could not be!

  But there was no mistaking the rough timbre of that voice nor those hard cobalt eyes.

  Midnight eyes. The eyes of a man who had taken her heart and stripped it into little pieces, then turned and walked out of her life without the slightest regret.

  Tess froze, nearly crying out with the searing pain of those memories.

  Cold and damp, her captor's fingers moved to her throat.

  "Damn ye!" she croaked hoarsely. "Lemme go, ye filthy scum!" She managed to pull away and jerk her knee up toward his groin, but he turned sharply, trapping her leg with his own. Then his hard body pinned her against the wall.

  "Quiet, you fool!" Ravenhurst growled, his hand digging cruelly into the soft skin at her throat. "Unless you wish Hawkins to find you!"

  Outside the mouth of the passage came the stamp and neigh of restive horses.

  Dane's fingers tensed warningly, his taut body forcing her back, crushing the pair of them against the wall of the passage.

  Heart to heart they stood, thigh to damp thigh. Tess swayed dizzily, awash with memories, drowning in his rich scent.

  She inhaled the mingled tang of sea salt and tobacco, brandy and wet wool. And beneath it the elusive man smell — clean and faintly smoky. How familiar it all was — almost as if those long years of separation had never existed.

  Every taut ridge of muscle, every line of bone and sinew was molded against Tess's acutely sensitized form. Her stomach cushioned his straining thighs and her chin was wedged against his chest. Through her damp garments she could feel the heat of his skin; beneath his parted greatcoat she heard the fierce pounding of his heart.

  Or was it her heart?

  The rough, damp wool chafed her nipples, which instantly rose to taut peaks. Desire, wild and irrational, knifed through her trembling body, and she shuddered, awash in a sea of raw sensation and cruel memories.

  Dane, her blood whispered. Why did you let it end that way? And why did you ever come back?

  From the top of the lane came the sharp clatter of more hooves. "You, there! Halt, I say, in the King's name!" Quick feet tapped across the street.

  "What're ye stopping for, fools?" Hawkins bellowed from the foot of the hill. "Nothing there but a bloody cat! Now, bring me those godrotting smugglers! Tonight, I say! Round up anyone w
ith a grain of sand on his boots or a blade of marsh grass in his hair. They'll tell me what I want to know, by God, or I'll have their tongues from their heads! Now, get moving or ye'll lose yer man while ye stand there gawping!"

  The horses plunged up the lane, their hooves ringing harshly in Tess's ears, and a moment later the excise force thundered past the mouth of the passage.

  Finally the night grew quiet, the sharp voices trailing away to distant murmurs. Tess let her breath play out in a quiet rush.

  Immediately Ravenhurst's iron fingers tightened in warning at her throat.

  "Release me, ye great sapskull!" she hissed furiously, prying at his hands.

  Before she knew it, she was slapped back against the wall, her captor's breath searing her chilled skin.

  As her rib ground against a protruding piece of brick, she fought down a sob. No tears! she thought wildly. I mustn't give myself away by a flood of weeping. Mustn't let him know I'm not the boy he takes me for!

  "Now then," her captor said silkily, his voice tinged with menace. "Let's have a look at Hawkins's elusive prey."

  In vain Tess struggled, while he dragged her toward a faint square of moonlight slanting down into the narrow passage. Wild with terror, she wrenched against his grip. When she felt his arm brush her face, she bit down fiercely.

  The man beside her growled with surprise as much as pain. Cursing fluently, he forced her hands behind her back. "One more trick like that, boy, and I turn you over to Hawkins! From what I hear about the man, you'd find that little to your liking!" His keen eyes narrowed, searching her grimy face. "Your youth would do you no good at Dover jail, you fool. If the disease didn't kill you, the other men would — after they'd first used you for their unnatural pleasures, of course." Stony-faced, the tall man waited for his words to sink in.

  Tess shivered. Her struggling abruptly ceased. She could never hope to win a contest of strength with him anyway. No, keen wits were what she needed now.

  "That's better. No reason we can't be allies." Her captor laughed grimly. "Or neutral parties, at least while you consider my proposition."

  A wild, brittle laugh escaped Tess's dry lips. Proposition? Could he have guessed his quarry was a woman?

  Ravenhurst stiffened. Scowling, he turned his captive's face into the bar of moonlight, trying to discern the features hidden beneath the heavy layer of charcoal. Impatiently he jerked her cloak aside and hauled her closer.

  And that is when his arm grazed soft flesh. Warm, pliant curves.

  Immediately Ravenhurst's whole body froze. He knew a woman's breast when he felt one, by God!

  He snapped out a cold expletive. "So the Fox welcomes women to his band, does he?" Catching her wrists in one large hand, Ravenhurst brought his other hand back to verify this startling discovery.

  Tess fought wildly, terrified by what he might do next. But she was weak and dizzy from her flight and he overpowered her easily. When his hard fingers traced the curve of her breast, scarce concealed by her damp shirt, she had no strength left to resist.

  His exploration was slow and ruthlessly thorough.

  To her horror, Tess felt her nipple grow taut beneath those hard, probing fingers.

  Her captor's breath checked. Once more his hand moved against her, but this time his touch was lingering and provocative. His long fingers curved, cupping and teasing the furled bud with expert skill.

  A little whimper escaped Tess's clenched lips. Dear God, how could this be happening to her?

  With a growl of triumph, the man in the shadows anchored her hands above her head and forced her back against the wall. His full lips curved in a dark, knowing smile. "Not so young that you don't know a woman's passion, I see. I only wonder if the rest of you can feel half so good."

  Grim-faced, Ravenhurst began working the buttons of her shirt free, relentlessly pushing aside the thin, damp fabric even as Tess tried to struggle against him. But he ignored her, his eyes narrowed, sweeping over the pale curves and shadowed crests faintly illumined in the moonlight.

  He could see too damned little, but what he did see was more than enough to set him on fire.

  Desire exploded through his groin, and his manhood strained hotly against his breeches.

  By God, he wanted her, soot-faced and all, even if she was nothing but a common smuggler's doxy! But something told Ravenhurst this body of hers was young and sweet. And it had been four long weeks since he'd bedded a woman.

  Yes, by God, why not?

  Slowly he bent his head until his lips captured one pouting crest.

  The woman in his arms trembled and moaned sharply, struggling against him.

  So she felt it too, did she? Ravenhurst had heard that ragged note of passion too many times before not to recognize it now. She probably thought a little fighting would net her a higher price, he decided cynically.

  His blood surging thick and hot through his veins, he took her other nipple into his mouth, nipping then suckling her fiercely. Another tremor shook her, and he smiled darkly.

  God, she was a responsive little wench! Some primal instinct told him this woman would not feign or perform, as his manipulative mistress had so often done. No, this little beauty would challenge him with every breath, struggling and biting.

  And then she would moan and arch beneath his teasing fingers, hot and wanton, all wet, hungry woman.

  Ravenhurst's breath caught as he had a sudden urge to find out what she tasted like everywhere, starting at the dusky triangle between her thighs.

  Go ahead, a dark voice whispered. She's hot and eager, yours for the taking.

  Ruthlessly Dane anchored her head and nipped her bottom lip, then drew the soft, swollen flesh between his teeth.

  Take her now!

  Locked in his savage grip, Tess caught back a sob, wrenching against this unthinkable onslaught. Her cheeks burned beneath the thick charcoal. She had to get away or everything would be lost! "Take yer bloody hands off o' me!" she cried, hating the ragged note of passion in her voice. "Yer nothin' but scum, just like the rest o' yer gentry kind wot comes prowlin' here fer sport."

  In the shadows Ravenhurst frowned, hearing something other than passion in her voice, something that sounded like raw fear.

  "If that's fear I hear, then you're playing a damned dangerous game, my girl," he growled, fighting against the hot tide of his desire. His breath sounded harsh and uneven in his ears, and he cursed fluently beneath his breath.

  What in bloody hell was wrong with him? He hadn't felt this way since he was a randy stripling! "But perhaps I could interest you in a different sort of proposition tonight."

  "When pigs kin fly!" Tess spat furiously, straining sideways in a desperate attempt to escape.

  But his hard thighs held her immobile against the wall. "God help you if Hawkins finds you," he growled.

  "Aw, the devil fly away wi' that great black sod of an excise officer!" Tess snapped with false bravado. "Come t' think of it, the devil fly away wi' yerself too!"

  "Oh yes, our friend Hawkins has a liking for a woman with some fight in her." Tess's cold-eyed captor continued harshly, just as if she hadn't spoken. "I hear he enjoys beating the spirit out of his women. Almost as much as he enjoys the things he can make them do then — the more degrading the better. No, a night with Hawkins would not be an experience you'd relish, wench, no matter how fiery you try to appear." His eyes narrowed on her face, half-concealed beneath the jaunty tricorn. "And something tells me it would be a shame to see the light extinguished in those luminous eyes of yours."

  Tess shivered, knowing that he spoke the truth about Hawkins. She remembered some of the rumors she had heard about Rye's surly customs inspector. But even if Ravenhurst was right, she refused to show any fear. "What sort of services was ye speaking of before?" she demanded, her voice sullen.

  "First, let me see your face."

  "Not bloody likely! Too dangerous by half. Ye'd only betray me, and then we'd both be found trussed and drowned in some lonely ditch!
The Fox has eyes everywhere, don't ye know?"

  "Perhaps you're right," Ravenhurst said slowly, searching her soot-darkened face.

  Tess waited, frozen, praying he would not recognize her. It had been five years after all, and her features were nearly concealed by the charcoal.

  After long moments her captor appeared to come to some sort of decision. "Listen hard then, woman. I'm in need of information, and I'll pay you well if you can tell me what I need to know."

  "Now, why would a fine gen'lemum like yerself be asking the likes o' me fer information?"

  "I have my reasons."

  "Just what sort o' information ye be seeking?" she countered warily.

  "How to contact the Romney Fox."

  Tess's gasp exploded like thunder in the narrow space between them. "That ye can't never do!"

  "I must," the man with the shadowed face growled. "You work for him. I can tell by your voice that you fear him, but you respect him too. So think hard on this. His very life depends on my talking to him. A great deal more than his life, in fact."

  What was the madman talking about? Tess wondered wildly, struggling afresh, afraid of the ruthless determination she saw in Dane's strange, cold eyes. "Reck'n the Fox wouldn't see it that way. No, he don't meet wi' nobody. Dangerous even t' think about it an' that's a bloody fact! Now lemme go, ye villain! Before I'm seen talkin' wi' ye!"

  But Tess struggled in vain against his unrelenting grip. Dear God, let it end! She couldn't keep up this masquerade much longer!

  "Listen, wench, I don't ask you to tell me the man's name, nor to inform on him. Just carry a message for me. Tell him I want a meeting — at a time and place of his choosing. On his terms. But it must be soon," Ravenhurst added harshly.

  "Can't be done, damn ye! Ha'n't ye ears in yer head? Too bleedin' dangerous! Besides, I dunno the Fox's name. Dunno nothin' about him — no one does! Rises like mist on the marsh, he does, and disappears just the same."

  The hard fingers tightened their grip. Suddenly her captor's face was close enough for his hot breath to sear her cheek. "Listen to me, you little fool," he growled. "This is more important than a miserable smuggling run. It's more important than you or I or even your bloody Fox! Men's lives are at stake — thousands of them!" He cursed graphically, releasing one wrist to dig down into the pocket of his greatcoat.