Scandal In Scotland Part 10

His jaw tightened. "If you won't tell me what's happening, then don't expect my help."

"Oh! You are so-I've told you all that I could and-d.a.m.n you, William. I-I've had a horrid day." Her voice quavered, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm being blackmailed and they forced me to come to this tiny town and-Fine, it's charming, but there's nothing here for me, and then I had to wait and wait and then you showed up and then you threatened to spank me and then I find out that the artifact was really your brother's and now you want me to just give it back to you as if nothing else is of importance and-"

William held up a hand. "Stand fast!"

She stopped, her eyes wet and sparkling.

He lowered his hand. "Marcail, my brother's life is at stake. Surely that means something to you."

She leaned her head against the squabs, exposing the slender line of her throat. "Of course it means something, but I ... this affects so many people other than myself."

"Let me put this in plainer terms, then. I must have that artifact back or Michael could be killed by the heathen devil who has taken him prisoner. To save his life, I must take this artifact to Egypt. What's at stake for you?"

She turned her head to look at him, her thick black lashes casting a shadow over her violet eyes. "I know you need the artifact. I-I can't forget that I took-no, I stole it from you." She swallowed, though it seemed to be difficult. "It's more rightfully yours than mine, but ... I don't know what to do. The cost is so high, yet if I hand it over to Miss Challoner and something happened to Michael, I couldn't forgive myself and-Oh, I don't know what to do!"

There was such anguish in her voice that he knew it must be real. "Marcail, you must tell me ... what do you stand to lose if you face your blackmailer with empty hands?"

"Everything." The words were a broken whisper. "Everything I've ever worked for, and I've given so much. There are people who depend on me to protect them, and I can't-" Her voice broke. "Perhaps ... perhaps there is another way. Maybe my blackmailer will understand if I explain things, convince Miss Challoner that I have no choice but to return the artifact to you. If she could see things our way, and then tell the person who is blackmailing me the truth about the artifact-"

"Do you really think this blackmailer doesn't know the importance of the artifact to me? They sent you to fetch it. Why would they have done so unless they were aware that I need it desperately?"

Her eyes darkened, a shadow pa.s.sing over her face.

Is that fear?

She bit her lip. "Perhaps I can bribe him, give him enough funds that he doesn't care about the artifact, or-or find something else he may want in its place." Her expression was desperate. "I have some funds set aside. I was hoping to save them for-" Her gaze flickered away. "But if this will solve the issue, it would be worth it."

William wished he didn't feel so d.a.m.ned guilty. She'd stolen the artifact from him-she'd drugged him to do it, too, and he was foolish to forget it.

This was the trouble with her. He could overlook her beauty, ignore her intelligence and wit, but he was no match for the thing she possessed in the least amount, and yet used with such unconscious power-her vulnerability. It slayed him as surely as her potion-laced port had frozen him in place on the s.h.i.+p.

And that's why I cannot afford any weakness. I must never forget that my reasoning is flawed where she is concerned.

He shoved his uncertainty aside. "Unless you wish to tell me the specific reason you are being blackmailed, as well as justifying that the cost of it is the equivalent of a brother's life, then there is nothing more to say. I want that artifact and I'll have it this very night."

She closed her eyes and slumped against her seat. "Fine. I-I will give it you. I can't justify being the cause of anyone's physical harm. I just wish-" With the back of her hand, she pushed her hair from her forehead, unwittingly exposing the raw stripe on her palm. "But wis.h.i.+ng is a waste of time."

The sight of her injured hand reminded him of her selfless actions on the dock. Now she was offering to return the artifact, as well. Somehow, he felt as if he'd misjudged her. But how? How could he be so wrong about her?

She crossed her arms as if cold. "The artifact is still in my room at the inn. You missed it when you searched."

"Where is it?"

"It's in my portmanteau. I stuffed it under my bed while you were searching my trunk."

"Blast it, someone could take it."

"They won't. It's hidden under a false bottom that's impossible to detect."

He supposed it was a safe enough place, then. "If I'd known that, I would have brought it with us. I don't like its being unprotected."

"Neither do I, but I hid it well. I know people cannot be trusted."

The faint bitterness in her tone hinted at numerous disappointments.

He suddenly realized that her reserved composure was no longer due to her overwhelming confidence. Now she used it as a s.h.i.+eld against others. Somewhere along the way, she'd become aloof. No longer the innocent, fresh young woman who'd faced life with such cool fearlessness, she'd become a worldly, rather caustic, cautious woman.

He knew little of life on the stage, but he knew that it exposed one to unwanted aspects of life, like the advances of unwanted suitors. Some wealthy lordlings attempted to increase their apparent virility by hanging a beautiful woman on their arm, and those less well off thought it fas.h.i.+onable to fall violently in love with unsuitable women.

But she'd welcomed Colchester's attentions. She probably courted the fool until she'd secured his promise to provide her with the style of living she'd wanted.

She turned to him now, the lantern light playing across her silken cheek. "Where will you take the onyx box, once it's yours?"

Her voice was the husky ripple of black velvet, stroking him as surely as a hand. He s.h.i.+fted away, wis.h.i.+ng he'd ridden up on top with Poston. "Michael is in Egypt. I shall set sail as soon as I can replace the Agile Witch."

Her brow lowered. "William, I'm genuinely sorry for the loss of your s.h.i.+p. I know you cared for her."

He had, of course. His s.h.i.+p was more than his way of making a living; she was his home. Or had been. A vision of the Agile Witch as she slowly sank, burning brightly in the moonless night, flashed into his mind. He instantly banished the memory; there would be time to mourn later.

He forced a shrug. "I shall purchase another s.h.i.+p."

"You can afford-" She caught his hard gaze and flushed.

Fury sharpened every word to a point. "I'm no longer a poor man, Marcail. I'm very well off."

Her rejection all those years ago had fanned his ambition to new heights. He'd accepted the first and farthest a.s.signment he could find, and had set sail.

Before their break, he'd been more taken with the adventure of an a.s.signment. Afterward, he focused solely on profits. He pushed his crew as few others would, and had taken a.s.signments no one else would or could. And he'd done it all to put funds into his account, and to prove to himself that Marcail Beauchamp had been wrong: he wasn't a hopeless failure "destined for nothingness." The words still burned his soul.

A temperate person would not dwell so much in the past, but would celebrate the benefits that her push had given him. He'd honed his skill and his crew to perfection, sailing dangerous shoals, through pirate-infested seas, and into storms others might avoid.

Over the years, his success had become the thing of legend, and the more success he'd had, the more influential people had sought him out-powerful, important people, people willing to pay generously for his services and his reputation for scrupulous integrity and astonis.h.i.+ng good luck.

He was now a wealthy man. Though Colchester was rumored to be richer than Croesus, William knew he could hold his own.

Sadly, he found that his wealth now mattered little. He had dreamed of confronting Marcail with a coffer of gold coins. In his imagination, she would have been overcome by the sight of so much wealth, and he would have sneered at her, laughed, and walked away.

But now, even that petty revenge seemed like too much effort. His soul was too tired to indulge in such mawkishness. All he wanted was his feet firmly planted on the deck of his own s.h.i.+p, and Marcail gone from his life.

He watched as she unconsciously began to smooth her silk skirts but winced when her wounded palms touched them. Who is this woman who tossed her Bond Street cloak to the ground to carry dirty, heavy buckets until her hands were raw in an effort to save my s.h.i.+p? What does she have to do with the woman who sent me away, the man she'd claimed to love, because my income no longer suited her? Which is the real Marcail?

She sighed now. "William, you deserve the truth. I thought to protect my family, but-" She took a deep breath. "I might as well confide in you."

"You're going to trust me with the secret your blackmailer holds over your head?"

She nodded.

"How do you know I won't use it to ruin you?"

"Because that's not your way." She spoke simply and with an a.s.suredness that surprised him.

Marcail raised a brow. "Well? Would you tell my secret if I shared it with you? Especially if you knew it could hurt others, far more innocent than I?"

He wouldn't, d.a.m.n it. "Perhaps not," he replied grudgingly.

"I don't think you would. William, when I give you that box, my family will pay the ultimate price, not me."

"Your family? You told me you were an orphan. That your father was a blacksmith and-"

"I know what I told you," she interrupted. "It wasn't true. None of it was. My parents are very much alive."

Anger, hurt, and bitterness sat upon his shoulders and whispered into his ear. "Why would you deny them?"

"Because I wanted to protect them from what I'd become."

He frowned. "An actress?"

She nodded, her cheeks flushed. "I should have told you, of all people, but it wasn't my secret to share. My parents and my sisters need me and-"

"Sisters?"

"I have four."

"d.a.m.n it, was there anything you told me that wasn't a lie?"

Marcail looked down at her hands. She'd been truthful about a lot of things when she'd been with William. She'd shared her dreams, and her desires, and her love ... the only thing she hadn't shared with him had been her past. "Before I came to London, I knew that I had to protect my family. The only way I could do that was to never mention them. Not even to you."

His dark eyes flashed. "It's no concern of mine." He leaned forward and said in a silky-soft voice, "I don't give a d.a.m.n."

Tears stung her eyes. She'd known he would be angry, but she'd hoped that time would ease the pain for both of them. "William, I've told you what you need to know, so there's no sense in dredging up the past. It can't be changed. Besides, we have enough problems today."

"We wouldn't have these problems if you had been honest from the beginning. Once your blackmailer demanded the artifact, you should have come directly to me and explained what had happened. Then perhaps I would have helped you."

"I tried to do that!"

"When?"

"When I came to your cabin to fetch the artifact, I told you that I was being blackmailed. I-I'd hoped you would help me, but you were so cold." Her gaze locked with his. "You told me in no uncertain terms that you wouldn't help me."

"I didn't know what was at stake."

"That would have made a difference?" She leaned forward. "Really? Because from where I sat, that wouldn't have mattered one iota. You were determined to get rid of me no matter the cost."

"At first, perhaps, but I could have been persuaded to a.s.sist-"

"I saw your expression, William. You didn't care what happened to me; you just wanted me gone."

She had a point; that was exactly how he'd felt. "Do you blame me?"

"No. I feared you wouldn't help, so I added the potion to the port before you returned. I gave you a chance to change your mind, but you refused to even listen."

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, she is right. I didn't give her a chance. "I didn't trust you."

"So I drugged you." Her lashes flickered and she said in a quiet voice, "I'm very sorry for that."

He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "So what will you do about this blackmailer now? Unless I a.s.sist you, you will be stuck with him for the rest of your life." William couldn't believe the direction of his thoughts; the last thing he should do was offer his help, and yet, she couldn't keep on paying funds to the blackguard; no matter what she paid, he would always ask for more.

Then and there, William decided he would help Marcail out of her predicament, and not just to keep her from being bled dry. He would help her because it pleased him that this was something she didn't wish to take to Colchester, but to him. It would also be a good idea to find out who ultimately wished for the onyx box and why. "I will help you bring this blackmailer to justice."

Marcail wasn't certain she'd heard William aright. "What could you do?" She caught herself holding her breath, waiting for his answer. She desperately wanted his help. She just couldn't bring herself to admit it aloud.

A smug smile touched his mouth. "There hasn't been a blackmailer yet who could withstand me."

He was so unabashedly certain he could manage the issue that for a wild, mad moment, the desire to put her problems into his large, capable hands was almost overwhelming.

The coach rumbled to a stop, and she realized with surprise that they were at the inn.

"We will finish this conversation inside." William opened the door and a.s.sisted her to the ground, holding her elbow instead of waiting for her to take his hand.

The wind whipped about them, and Marcail tugged the cloak closer against the cold night air.

William had turned to say something to Poston when a luxurious, blue-trimmed coach started forward and began to move through the inn yard, the same one Marcail had seen arriving at the inn earlier.

As the coach pa.s.sed, a woman leaned forward to close the window, her green eyes meeting Marcail's.

Marcail suddenly couldn't breathe. Miss Challoner. The lady was no frail flower of womanhood, but an Amazon built on tall, statuesque lines, her beauty defined by her bold, sensual mouth.

Something about the woman-her regal bearing or her rich clothing-made one think of long lines of queens. Her red hair upswept and fastened with a diamond clip that mirrored the flash of her green eyes, she projected an almost unconscious power.

Marcail knew she should alert William but she couldn't move, her surprise and trepidation turning her into an ice statue.

Miss Challoner lifted a hand in a languid wave, then the window snapped closed.

That brought Marcail back to life, and she turned and clutched William's sleeve.

He looked down at her, frowning. "What?"

Marcail pointed to the road, where the faint clop of horses receded into the dark night. "Miss Challoner! She was in the coach that just left!"

He spoke to Poston and almost immediately, the groom jumped back into the coach and hied the horses.

William turned toward her. "I don't know if John can find the coach in the darkness, but he will do his d.a.m.nedest to discover her direction and then return for us. I hope he-"

But Marcail had already hiked her skirts and, oblivious to the danger of running on the uneven cobblestones in her stockinged feet, dashed toward the inn. Please G.o.d, don't let it be gone. Please don't let it be gone!

A letter from Michael Hurst to his sister Lady Caitlyn MacLean, written from a tent on an oasis in the Great Desert.

I've enclosed two wooden tops for my rowdy nephew and spirited niece. I trust they are doing well. Last week I saw two children playing in the Nile, both chubby in the way that children are, and laughing that deep belly laugh that only the innocent can.