Man Of My Dreams: Secrets Of Midnight Part 25

She nearly tripped over the chest in her haste to reach him only to be grabbed round the waist and swung out of the way as a shot exploded, then another almost simultaneously, Louis's knife spinning in a spray of blood across the dock as he slumped onto Donovan. The next thing she knew she'd been released, the blond stranger lowering his pistol as Donovan flung off Louis's limp body-his right hand, his pistol, the front of his white s.h.i.+rt bloodied from a gaping hole in the marquis's chest.

It was then that Corisande saw Donovan had been cut, bright red blood oozing through a gash in the upper sleeve of his coat, and she started to run to him but was suddenly encircled by Marguerite, Linette, and Estelle, her sisters falling upon her tearfully. Her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g, too, she sank to her knees to embrace them; when she looked up again, Donovan was surrounded by Oliver and his crew, who must have come running at the sound of pistols firing. The handsome stranger who had helped them, an Englishman she was certain of it, and the other men had vanished just as mysteriously as they had come.

Louis's compatriots had disappeared, too, no doubt taking one look at his b.l.o.o.d.y corpse and deciding no amount of jewelry was worth dying so hideously for. It was a sickening sight, the marquis's right hand shattered by a bullet that must have been fired by the stranger just as the knife was descending, saving Donovan's life and giving him the split second he needed to fire his own pistol. And she hadn't even had the chance to thank the man . . .

"Corie, girls, come, we must go!" Oliver cried as he hurried over to them, shepherding everyone in front of him. "Soldiers might have heard-the last thing we need are questions! Go!"

Corisande grabbed up the chest, and Oliver grabbed up Estelle, while Linette and Marguerite lifted their nightgowns and ran barefoot alongside them. The crew of the Fair Betty and Donovan had their pistols lowered and at the ready as they all headed back to the eight-oared rowboat. And none too soon, as people began to pour onto the dock, a crowd gathering around the body they had left behind.

The commotion only grew worse as they rowed out to the Fair Betty, but very quickly they were all safely aboard and the anchor hoisted. Corisande tried to push the horror of Roscoff from her mind as she herded her sisters below deck and into Oliver's cabin. The pitching motion of the s.h.i.+p was a wondrously encouraging sign that they were well on their way. Another blessing was her sisters a.s.suring her that they hadn't been hurt, especially Marguerite. Dear G.o.d, if those men had touched her . . .

"I'm hungry, Corie!"

That from Estelle, and Corisande was only too glad to pull out for them from Oliver's private larder what was left of the pork and leek pie Rebecca had baked, and an untouched plate of b.u.t.termilk cake. She wasn't hungry, though, content just to watch her sisters eat heartily and begin to smile again, and giggle when Estelle took a spoon and tried to balance it upon her nose.

But suddenly Estelle grew still, tears filling her eyes. Corisande knew at once her sister was thinking about Luther; Estelle had always performed that silly trick with him before.

"Luther's fine, Estelle. He was lying upon your pillow when I found him. He'll be so happy to see you-"

"But they tried to kick him, Corie, tried to stomp him until he went to hide under the bed."

Sighing, Corisande brushed the b.u.t.termilk cake crumbs from Estelle's mouth as she drew her close to give her a hug. "We won't think of that anymore, all right? Marguerite, Linette? We're all safe and sound and together and we won't think of that anymore. Now I want you to wash up and then try to get some sleep-"

"But what about the chest?" Marguerite broke in excitedly. "Can't we have a peek inside?"

Corisande sighed again; she had wanted to see them quickly settled so she might find Donovan. He had been cut, his wound would need tending "Please, Corie?"

"Very well, but only a peek. Then I want you to get some rest. We'll talk about all of this when we're home."

As she lifted the wooden chest to Oliver's bed where they were all sitting, Corisande should have known waiting to explain everything that had happened would be impossible. The moment she opened the lid, she was bombarded with questions peppered with girlish oohs and aahs, and she resigned herself to telling them as much of the story behind the jewelry as she could, given that Estelle was only nine. The full truth of it she would tell Marguerite and Linette later.

"Oh, Corie, this was our grandmother?"

Corisande nodded at Marguerite, who held up the diamond-framed miniature of V6ronique for her younger sisters to see.

"She looks like you, Corie-a bit like Mama, too," Linette said very softly.

"Yes, and all of this is a gift from Mama to us," Corisande murmured as she returned the beautiful portrait medallion to the chest and closed the lid. "Now lie down, all of you. This bed is certainly big enough that you'll have plenty of room."

She was pleased that there was little complaint. The covers were soon tucked in snugly, the lamp turned down, and Corisande had almost reached the door when Estelle's sleepy voice drifted to her.

"Isn't Donovan going to come and tell us good night?"

"I-I'll go see," Corisande fumbled, not knowing what else to say.

He wasn't below deck, that she soon realized after a quick search of the first mate's cabin; the crew's berths were empty, too, all of the men probably at their posts until they were farther out into the Channel. She climbed the narrow stairs, a balmy breeze stirring her hair as she stepped onto the deck. She saw Donovan at once, standing far to the prow, standing so tall and straight that her throat closed tightly as she remembered how close that knife had come-Dear G.o.d, she loved him so much.

She loved him so very much!

Corisande was astounded, for the first time not denying to herself the truth of what lay in her heart. For the first time not wis.h.i.+ng for it to go away or that she didn't want it . . . for the first time not feeling afraid. She felt only one thing, that she wanted desperately to be with him. She must have flown across the deck, for in the next instant she was standing just behind him . . .

"Donovan?"

He spun, and her stomach sank to her shoes at the hardness of his expression, the tension in his body.

"Donovan, I-"

"What, Corie? Come to tell me you can't wait for us to reach Porthleven so you can formally lay your charges against me?"

His voice was a low growl, and she s.h.i.+vered. "Charges?"

"I'm an informer, remember? At least according to you."

"No, no, I wanted to thank you for helping me find my sisters," she blurted out, realizing with a sick feeling that Donovan was clearly in no mood to talk to her. She stammered, her thoughts suddenly in a jumble. "I-I would have liked to thank that other man too-"

"And his American friends?"

She stared at him, wholly confused as he gave a hollow laugh.

"An Englishman with American friends in a French port, and we're at b.l.o.o.d.y war with both of them."

"You-you think those other men were American?"

Donovan shrugged. "I heard them talking among themselves when Oliver and his crew came running-and it wasn't the king's English. h.e.l.l, it doesn't matter."

He turned abruptly back to the railing, and Corisande felt as if she had been dismissed, Donovan's broad back still stiff with tension.

"I . . . I was wondering how your wound-"

"A scratch. Already seen to, thank you. One of the crew kindly loaned me a clean s.h.i.+rt."

He said no more, and Corisande didn't have the heart to press things further. Now was not the time. He was obviously furious with her. But hopefully tomorrow- "Your sisters. They're well?"

She started, suddenly encouraged that his tone had grown softer. "Yes, yes, fine. Estelle, in fact, was asking for you. She wanted to tell you good night-"

"You tell them for me. You should get some rest yourself. b.l.o.o.d.y big day for you."

His sarcasm hitting her like a fierce blow, Corisande turned away, scarcely able to see for the tears burning her eyes as she fled across deck. She didn't stop until she had reached Oliver's cabin, fumbling with the door in an attempt to close it quietly.

"Corie?"

"Go to sleep, Estelle, go to sleep," she said hoa.r.s.ely, grabbing an extra blanket and throwing it around her shoulders before settling herself in a stuffed wing chair bolted to the floor. "Donovan said he would see you when you wake up, all right?"

Corisande got no answer; gentle sounds of sleeping came from the bed while she could but stare blindly into the darkness.

"Corie, will 'ee wake up? You girls have slept right through the docking, 'ee have!"

Corisande blinked open her eyes, squinting at the daylight streaming in the door. "What . . . ?"

"It's Oliver, Corie! An' I'm telling 'ee, Frances is d.a.m.ned an' determined to climb up the gangplank herself if you an' your sisters don't show yourselves to her an' quick! Can't ee hear her bellowing? Like a cow she sounds, bawling for her calves!"

Corisande started from the chair, suddenly feeling dizzy from standing up too quickly. She was so groggy she could but mumble a hoa.r.s.e thank-you to Oliver as she went to the bed to shake her sisters awake. Then she heard it, carrying down the stairs from outside, Frances's voice loud enough to shake the very timbers of the s.h.i.+p.

"Marguerite, Linette, and Estelle Easton, I'll not be waiten another minute! I don't want to come aboard the s.h.i.+p-I like to feel the good, steady land beneath me, but I will! An' that goes for you, too, Corie Veronique! Come out here this very instant so I can see all my girls are safe!"

"Well, did you hear her?" Corisande blurted out to her sisters, who looked like rumpled ragam.u.f.fins as they yawned and stretched, while Estelle was already clambering from the bed. "Up with you and go give Frances a hug!"

Estelle and Linette needed no second urging but skittered from the cabin, as Oliver followed after them, shaking his head. But Marguerite stood looking at her doubtfully.

"I can't go out there like this, Corie," she said, glancing down at her dirty flannel nightgown. "And my hair isn't brushed-"

"I'm sorry but I can't do anything for your hair," Corisande said wryly as she took off her cloak. "Here, put this on. It'll do until you get home."

Smiling gratefully, Marguerite whisked the cloak around her shoulders and darted from the cabin, leaving Corisande to pick up the chest and fit it snugly under her arm. Wondering if poor Oliver had had to awaken Donovan, too, she hastened up the steps, smiling at the brilliant sunny day that greeted her, smiling in antic.i.p.ation of seeing him.

Her eyes swept the deck, but he wasn't there. She imagined he must have joined the noisy crowd milling on the dock. It appeared much of the parish had turned out to welcome them home, no doubt everyone having heard of her sisters' plight.

She could see Frances beaming from ear to ear, laughing and crying at the same time as she hugged first Estelle, then Linette and Marguerite, then all three at once. And there was her father, beaming as broadly as Frances and surprising Corisande that he would have braved such a crowd. But she still didn't see Donovan- "Corie."

She spun, her eyes meeting Oliver's, and at once her smile faded as she saw his somber face, his perplexed eyes.

"Lord Donovan left the moment we docked, maybe a half hour ago now. Didn't say much except to thank me an' that he had things to do at home. I know 'tesn't my business, but did 'ee have a quarrel with the man- Corie?"

She'd fled, barreling down the gangplank nearly straight into Frances, taking only an instant to give the housekeeper a hug before she thrust the chest into her arms.

"Take that home, Frances, and help Papa find a safe place for it-one we won't forget!"

Frances looked from her to the wooden chest, sputtering in confusion, but Corisande had already moved on to her father. He was surrounded by her sisters, so she could only throw him a kiss, then she was ducking her way through the crowd, praying that Pete was still where she'd left him in the Trelawnys' stable.

Chapter 37.

"Y-you're leaving, my lord?"

"Yes, for London," Donovan said tersely to Henry Gilbert, whose large Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed in surprise. "I'll send word to you as to what needs to be done as soon as-"

"Needs to be done, my lord? Forgive me for interrupting, but I don't understand."

"You will, Gilbert, you will," Donovan said cryptically almost to himself, striding into the library. He had hoped not to encounter anyone, pack a few things and be on his way, but d.a.m.ned if Henry hadn't just been setting out for Porthleven, having heard that the Fair Betty had returned.

It seemed the agent had hired a fisherman to watch for the s.h.i.+p and then let him know as soon as it was sighted-Gilbert's loyalty amazed him. But better he be loyal to look after Arundale's Kitchen and the tinners' welfare when Donovan was gone. Just because he wouldn't be returning to Cornwall didn't mean he wasn't going to honor his part of the agreement.

"Brandy?" he asked, and Henry looked even more confused although he nodded. Donovan poured two br.i.m.m.i.n.g drinks and handed one to the agent, then lifted his gla.s.s and half emptied it in a swallow while Henry sipped his cautiously, no doubt recalling well the time he had nearly choked. As Donovan remembered it, they had just made a toast to his marriage . . .

"Will Lady Donovan be accompanying you?"

Donovan didn't readily answer, tossing down the last of his brandy.

"M-my lord?"

"No, Gilbert, she will not be accompanying me." He set down the gla.s.s with a hard thunk on the desk, his gaze falling upon a small stack of letters. "These arrive today?"

"No, yesterday evening, my lord, but you'd already gone to Porthleven. I heard some news at the mine today, though, that I think might interest you. About Jack Pascoe."

Donovan looked up, his scrutiny so intense that Henry appeared suddenly quite uncomfortable.

"If . . . if you care to hear it, my lord. You seem in quite a hurry-"

"What news, man? Of course I'm b.l.o.o.d.y well interested!"

"Well, my lord, Jack Pascoe's dead. An accident at Great Work mine, or so they're saying. It seems he'd been drinking before he came to work his core late last night and he started boasting that he'd brought the king's excis.e.m.e.n down upon Oliver Trelawny and that one day they'd catch him red-handed and your wife, too, my lord, please forgive me for saying so. I heard all this from Jonathan Knill, whose brother works at Great Work and-"

"So what happened to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d?" Donovan broke in with impatience, making Henry Gilbert jump.

"H-he slipped, my lord, slipped and tumbled down the main shaft. At least that's what the tinners said when the accident was reported. But I think-well, they've no love for informers around here-"

"So I've discovered," Donovan muttered, the pain suddenly so fierce inside him that he suddenly wanted nothing more than to escape it. To h.e.l.l with packing! He could buy what he needed along the way and in London. The sooner he was out of this house, out of Cornwall, the better. "Help yourself to the brandy, Gilbert," he said tightly, thrusting the letters into his coat pocket. "A pity that such fine stuff should go to waste."

He stormed from the library, and Henry Gilbert hastened after him.

"But-but, my lord, some of those letters I believe are bills. If you're going to London, shouldn't I see to-"

"Take them all, man!" Donovan spun so suddenly that Henry knocked into his arm, causing the letters to scatter to the floor.

Cursing, he sank to his haunches to help the agent retrieve them, noticing that one of letters was water-stained, the original writing upon it nearly faded, although more recent writing clearly indicated it had been forwarded from Arundale Hall. His heart seemed to stop when he saw that the letter had come from Lisbon, his fingers trembling as he tore it open and began to read.

"This one is addressed to you, my lord . . . from Miss Lindsay Somerset."

"What?" Donovan's voice was so hoa.r.s.e-G.o.d help him, his daughter had been found! She was safe in Lisbon!-that he could barely speak.

"From Lindsay Somerset, my lord."

"Are you sure it isn't for my wife?" Donovan took the letter, hardly able to focus upon the feminine scrawl for the emotion clouding his eyes while Henry Gilbert could only stare at him. "What are you looking at, man? Didn't you say you had bills to pay?"

"Yes, yes, my lord, I do. I most certainly do." Henry fled with a handful of letters back into the library, leaving Donovan standing alone in the entry hall.

h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, what could Corisande's friend want with him? He pocketed the letter about Paloma and angrily ripped open Lindsay's, cursing when the top half tore off in his hand and fluttered to the floor. He swept it up, deciding he wasn't even going to read the d.a.m.ned thing. Why should he? He had other things to think about . . . his daughter to think about . . . yet he began to read anyway almost in spite of himself . . .

I hope you don't think it too forward of me to write to you, my lord, but it is only because I so dearly love Corie and want the best for her. I've heard only the most wonderful things about you here in London, and I told Corie so in my last letter-ah, but it's not my purpose here to recount all of that. I wanted you to know how wonderful Corie is, too-though I truly hope you've already discerned that for yourself -but she has such a fearsome temper at times that I felt I must write to you and explain- "Fearsome temper?" Donovan said with a snort, reading on.

. . . explain that, well, Corie would never admit it, no, not even to me, but she's very afraid, you know. I wondered a long time why she seemed so set upon scaring away any young man who came near her, but when you look at her father-what became of the poor man after her mother died- Donovan glanced at the other torn half of the letter in his hand, but he had no stomach to read further. No stomach because suddenly he was so furious with himself that he didn't know what to do.