Page 35 of Thief of Hearts
C HAPTER T HIRTY-FOUR
G ERARD SANK BACK ON THE BENCH AS IF he’d been struck a mortal blow. Christ, he thought, even hanging would be preferable to this. Not even his brother’s bracing hand on his shoulder could ease his anguish.
“My compliments,” Kevin offered as way of condolence. “When you set out to make a woman hate you, you do a capital job.”
The crowd’s initial furor subsided into rapt silence as Lucy took the stand. She perched on the edge of the crude wooden chair as if it were a throne and she a princess determined to see a common knave punished for daring to touch the hem of her gown. Her gloved hands were folded demurely over her reticule. Gerard shot a furious glance at the Admiral, expecting to find him purple with triumph. The man looked as shocked as he felt.
Of course he would, Gerard realized. The Admiral would never approve of his daughter making a public spectacle of herself this way. Lucy must have concocted this petty little revenge all by herself. He shook his head ruefully, amazed that even as she was squeezing the last drop of blood from his heart, it could still surge with admiration for her.
“Miss Snow,” the prosecutor began, “could you please identify the man who applied for employment as your bodyguard”—the word drew a few ugly snickers from the crowd—“this past October?”
“Certainly.” She pointed a gloved finger straight at Gerard, her composed face betraying not so much as a flicker of emotion. He met her gaze squarely, lounging back on the bench with deliberate arrogance.
“You are respected as a woman of superior intellect,” the prosecutor continued. “I must deduce that this blackguard gave you cause to be suspicious of his sinister motives from the very beginning.”
“No, sir, he did not.” Lucy’s voice was so soft that the crowd had to strain to hear her. Strain they did. Not so much as an indrawn breath or rustle of movement profaned the tense silence. “Mr. Claremont was quite chivalrous. He vowed to hold my life as dear as his own.”
Gerard’s bewilderment grew, but he knew he couldn’t have looked half as dumbfounded as the prosecutor. These were obviously not the answers they’d rehearsed in his chambers.
The hall was drafty and chill, yet a trickle of sweat eased from beneath the man’s wig. “Well, ahem…I hesitate to offend you, miss, but the court can only assume the rogue was making sport of you.”
Lucy’s doe-eyed gaze reproached him. “Oh, no, sir. Mr. Claremont showed nothing but the most tender regard for my feelings, protecting me from attack on at least two separate occasions.”
Gerard realized then that something was terribly amiss. The Admiral was unnaturally still, his waxen features frozen in a sneer he should never have allowed the public to witness.
The flustered prosecutor drew a handkerchief from his robes and mopped his brow. He scowled at Lucy as if she were a dull-witted child, a tactic that elicited a rumble of disapproval from the crowd. “Perhaps he was only trying to gain your trust, Miss Snow. To make it easier to carry you off.”
Lucy looked directly at Gerard then, her big, gray eyes softened with such tenderness that Gerard thought he would die right there and save the Crown the expense of hanging him. Was she truly so vindictive? he wondered wildly. What sort of diabolical punishment was this?
Then with a flash of horror, he realized what she was going to do. He leaped to his feet, straining against his fetters. His guards gave them a vicious tug, binding him in place. “Don’t do it, Lucy! Dammit, I’m not worth it!”
Almost in the same breath, the Admiral barked, “Lucinda! Not another word! Silence yourself this instant!”
A small, secret smile played around her beautiful lips. She drew in a breath, plainly aware that every soul in that courtroom was hanging on her every sigh.
“Mr. Claremont didn’t carry me off,” she lied. “I accompanied him willingly. We were lovers, you see, even when we were living beneath my father’s roof.”
The court erupted in a frenzy of shock. Before the judge could restore any semblance of order, Lucy drew a faded oilcloth package from her reticule and waved it in the air.
Her voice rang with the conviction of truth. “The document is a bit worn from being hidden in the bottom of a gloxinia plant for six years, but I also have in my possession the letter of marque that will prove Mr. Claremont began his career as an honorable merchant named Richard Montjoy. It was only the greed and villainy of Lucien Snow that forced him into a life of exile as the pirate we’ve all come to know as Captain Doom.”
“You lying little whore!” The Admiral jumped to his feet, drawing something from his sash.
For Gerard, time ceased to exist, each set of impressions blurred, yet distinct enough to be forever imprinted on his memory. The gleaming muzzle of the pistol pointed at the snowy target of Lucy’s breast. The triumphant flush bleaching from her face as she realized what was happening. Tarn’s shout of warning. The prosecutor diving behind the bench for cover. Kevin’s desperate dash for the Admiral.
Kevin wasn’t going to make it. The click of the pistol’s hammer being drawn back cracked like thunder in Gerard’s roaring ears.
The guards weren’t prepared for his supernatural surge of strength. He tore from their grip, ripping both chains and bloody furrows of skin from their palms. Had his hands and feet not been fettered, he might have been able to knock Lucy out of the way. As it was, he could only lunge across the distance separating them, throwing his body across hers as a shield.
Fire exploded in his chest. He staggered, his chains suddenly too heavy to bear. Lucy threw her slight body beneath him to break his fall. Odd, he thought, as they collapsed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, that such a ridiculous tumble would finally put him back where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. In Lucy’s arms.
She cradled him across her lap, her gloved hands frantically trying to staunch his bleeding. Scalding tears trickled from her chin to wet his cooling brow. Her soft, moist lips brushed his cheek, his hair, his mouth, limning his lips with the salty taste of the sea he loved.
“Damn you, Gerard Claremont,” she said savagely, “you are the most stubborn man!”
He was surprised to discover the pain was already fading, retreating into the gray mist that had obscured the rest of the courtroom, obscured everything but Lucy’s beautiful face.
He caught her wrists in his weakening grip, not wanting her to ruin her pretty gloves for the likes of him. He smiled tenderly up at her, wishing for the strength to brush her tears away, to smooth the crumpled lines of pain from her cheeks.
“No lectures, please, Miss Snow,” he whispered hoarsely. “I was just…doing…my…job.”
His trembling fingertips arched toward her face just as a veil of unconsciousness descended between them, mercifully sparing him her piercing wail of agony.