Page 51 of The Devil’s Waltz
Would the dragon mourn him? he wondered. Probably not. He’d left her with a solid hatred of him—the best thing he could have done—and if she was the sensible creature he hoped, she’d rejoice at the news of his disappearance and probable demise.
But she wasn’t the sensible creature she appeared to be. Beneath that starchy surface was a soft, melting woman, one who was foolish enough to think he was worth loving. She’d mourn him, and he hated to think he’d cause her more tears.
The answer was simple. He wouldn’t die. If only to let her keep on hating him.
He leaned his head back against the damp wall of the cave and closed his eyes.
It was early evening and high tide wouldn’t come till after midnight.
He had no idea when Chippie was expected but he imagined it wouldn’t be for a few hours.
In the meantime he could conserve his energy for when he needed it.
And stop thinking about the maddening Miss Kempton.
The noise and shouts came sooner than he expected, startling him into full alertness.
The moon was only partway across the sky—and yet someone had clearly arrived.
It didn’t sound as if it was a particularly welcome guest and he wondered if Harry Browne had come to his rescue.
It would be the foolish sort of thing he’d do, but he would have no idea where Christian had disappeared to.
By the time he found him, Christian would be long gone.
Maybe it was just some poor sailor who happened onto the wrong section of the coast. In which case the shouting would be done, the sailor would have joined poor old Crosby, and he could go back to sleep.
He could hear them approaching the cave, and he quickly closed his eyes in prayerful repose.
He doubted it was Chippie himself—the men were making obscene comments that would hardly befit the man who was paying them.
And then he felt a sudden horror shoot through his body, opening his eyes just as they dumped a bedraggled package of humanity a few feet away from him.
“This your lady friend?” Hoskins, the one who’d dragged her and dumped her unceremoniously, questioned.
“You should be able to do better than this.” He prodded her huddled form with his foot.
“Cap’n Parsons ain’t too happy to have another one, but he’s thinking Chippie might pay double for her. Otherwise we’ll just cut her throat.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—” he said in a bored voice. She was no more than a bundle of wet rags and he wondered what they’d done to her. At the thought he felt a rage sweep over him, so powerful that it took all his self-control to feign disinterest.
“The ladybird. Came looking for you, she did, carrying a pistol and everything. Too bad she didn’t know how to shoot.” Hoskins leaned over and grabbed her hair, dragging her to a sitting position. She didn’t make a sound.
“We’ll leave you two together. Shouldn’t be long now, and if she’s one of your sins you can always ask her forgiveness.” He chuckled, dropping her back against the wall. She lay unmoving, her eyes closed as the man left them, still laughing.
If she was dead he would kill every one of them. And then she opened her eyes, and he decided he’d kill her instead.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he demanded in a sharp whisper.
She looked terrible. Her hair was a loose tangle, her clothes torn and muddy. Her mouth was swollen on one side, she had a black eye on the other, and she was the most pathetic thing he’d ever seen. Damn her.
“Rescuing you,” she said in a rusty voice.
If his hands were free he would have strangled her. “Did it ever occur to you that I might not need rescuing?”
“Chippie arrived at Wynche End. He said they were going to cut your throat and toss you into the sea. I sent Jeremy off to warn Hetty and my sister, and I came here. Stupid, I suppose.”
“Extremely stupid. How did you get here?”
She swallowed. “I rode.”
He was silent for a moment. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Chippie told me. He was...threatening me, and he told me you were going to be murdered by smugglers.”
“Chippie told you?” he repeated. “I doubt it was an accidental slip of the tongue. And then he just let you go?”
“No, he didn’t He’s dead. I killed him.”
Maybe he wouldn’t strangle her after all. He took a deep breath. “How did you manage that?”
“I bashed him on the head with the statue of Diana.”
“Very fitting,” he murmured. “But that still doesn’t solve the problem.”
She turned her head slightly. She looked exhausted, which was no wonder. Had it only been the night before when they’d been entwined in the one bed at Wynche End? “What problem?”
“I can escape easily enough. Trying to get you out as well makes it a great deal more difficult. You really are the most tiresome creature.”
He was hoping to goad her formidable temper, but she simply closed her eyes again, “Then leave me. When Chippie fails to show up they’ll probably just head out to sea and forget about me.”
“When Chippie fails to show up they’ll rape and murder you, my pet.”
“Better than Chippie’s plans. He was going to sell me to a brothel and that would have lasted a great deal longer. I warned him I wouldn’t fetch much of a price, but he said he didn’t care.”
“True enough. Is that when you killed him?”
She opened her eyes to glare at him, her first sign of life. “If escape is such an easy matter, why don’t you go ahead? Just leave me. I’m capable to taking care of myself.”
His laugh was without humor. “Of course you are. And if you think I’m going to endanger myself because of your half-brained notion of rescuing me then you are deluded.”
“I have no delusions about you,” she said wearily. “If you’re leaving, go.”
“Who hit you?”
“Does it matter?”
He’d managed to slide the thin blade from behind his back, and he began sawing away at the ropes. “Not particularly. I was just curious.”
“The man who dragged me in here. I gather I’m to be his reward if things go well. Not that he seemed particularly gratified at such a boon, but I guess I’m better than nothing?’
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s tedious.”
She jerked her head up to glare at him. “I have every right to feel sorry for myself!” she snapped.
“I’m about to die in a very unpleasant manner, and you’re not even grateful that I was fool enough to come to try to warn you.
I made the colossal mistake of falling in love, and not only that, I destroyed my reputation for no other reason than wanton lust.”
He didn’t smile, much as he wanted to. He wasn’t in the mood to make her feel better. He kicked free of the ropes, tucking the knife into his boot, and rose, towering over her.
“Are you just going to leave me here?” she said, trying not to sound pathetic.
“It’s the practical thing to do. If I try and take you with me they’ll catch up with us, and I can’t risk that. This is your fault—you’ll just have to live with the consequences. When I reach the nearest town I’ll send help. They might make it here in time.”
“Lovely,” she murmured. “You worthless, donkey-loving whoreson,” she added in French.
At another time he might have laughed—or kissed her. Instead, he simply shrugged, stepped past her and out of the mouth of the cave.
The moon had risen, and he could see them all quite clearly while he remained in the shadows.
They had two longboats, and even on such a still night it would be rough going on the open channel.
He could escape quite easily, scrambling up the side of the cliff before they even noticed he was gone.
As long as he didn’t have the substantial weight of a tall woman dragging him down.
She didn’t make a sound behind him in the cave. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and turned back to where Annelise was huddled, yanking her upright and slicing through her bonds with a little less care than he should have used.
As he suspected, she was none too steady on her feet, and she swayed for a moment, looking at him through dazed eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Saving your goddamned life,” he muttered. “Though I have no earthly idea why. I’ll probably die doing it.”
“Because you care about me?”
He managed a totally derisive laugh before slinging her over his shoulder. Why the hell did he have to get saddled with such a tall woman? he thought. Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with a?—
He almost dumped her over the side of the path as that unwarranted thought popped into his brain. As if he needed more irrational complications at that moment. He growled, low in his throat and started up the narrow pathway.
He’d waited too long, of course. The moon moved from behind a cloud, illuminating them far too clearly, and he heard a shout from the shoreline, followed by the crack of a rifle. “He’s getting away!” someone shouted. “Damn you, get after them.”
There was no mistaking Josiah Chippie’s booming voice. “Killed him, did you?” Christian muttered, dumping Annelise onto the ground without ceremony. She let out a muffled oof. “He seems to have survived quite handily!”
“I did my best,” she said in a sulky voice.
“You can’t get away, Montcalm!” Josiah shouted from the shoreline. “If you come down without any trouble we’ll let the girl go.”
Not bloody likely, he thought, glancing down at Annelise. She was pale and silent and he cursed again, wishing he still had at least one of his pistols.
“Stay here,” he whispered.
“No! Don’t believe him!” she cried desperately, clutching his boot.
He helped her into the undergrowth with the vain hope of hiding her, when all hell broke loose from the beach below them. There were suddenly three times as many men on the beach, and it was all-out war.
“Don’t move or I’ll come back and strangle you,” he said, half wishing he meant it, and then he raced down the twisted path to the beach, charging into the midst of the fray, allowing himself only a brief moment to wonder whether he’d ever have a chance to threaten the dragon again.