The fall into ruin, p.8
The Fall into Ruin, page 8
Mr Brayshaw, his history teacher, had taken pity on him and had let him spend time with the faculty, running tasks and doing chores. He’d eaten with his loner teachers, spent Sundays in church with them, walked alongside like he was one of their children rather than an almost orphan boy. It didn’t matter that Anthony’s father paid his tuition in full and donated hefty sums to the universities, he was still pirate spawn and always would be. He could have invented the wheel and he would still be the son of a pirate first, inventor of the wheel second.
He almost wished his mother had been alive the day it was decided he was to be sent away but the ague had taken her right after his fourth birthday. His father had rebelled and sworn vengeance on those who had rejected his wife and him, denying her the happiness of her family in those final days, denying her healthcare in London. Two years after her death, he began to torment the navy and any merchant leaving England. It became too dangerous to have a boy in tow. His father became the pirate captain and Anthony had been abandoned.
Josiah’s voice broke through his melancholy and Anthony lifted his head to pay attention.
“What are your plans for the day, Germaine?”
“I was actually hoping Clairmont would allow me to ride the grounds for a few hours.”
The earl scowled. “I didn’t take you for a horseflesh sort of man.”
He wanted to tell the old bastard that he hadn’t taken him for any sort of man at all but he bit his tongue on the retort. “I was polo champion at university. Three years in a row.”
Samuel snorted and said, “Riding Hell’s Gate and playing games of polo are a little different.”
There were titters around the table but Clairmont seemed to ignore them all when he replied, “If the lad wants to ride, ride he will. I don’t have any grooms to spare while they set up for the hunt later this afternoon but I’m sure we can find a mount to suit.”
The evil smile Clairmont bestowed upon him gave him a chill. He had a feeling Rose had been spot on the money when she’d made her prediction the night before.
Where was his bride-to-be? “I wondered if Rose might like to accompany me, show me the pitfalls and cliff edges.”
Three heads turned towards Anthony at the innocent enough statement but the eyes of the guests who’d risen early turned to Clairmont as he chewed his ham. Finally he said, “She won’t rise before noon. If you want to ride, you’ll have to do it on your own.”
Anthony thought Josiah stared a little too long, which was interesting since Samuel had lost interest in the conversation and returned to his eggs. From the exchange, it was clear that Clairmont hadn’t seen Rose in his arms the night before. Anthony had wondered from all the glares thrown his way if he had. Now he thought perhaps their audience had been her brother Josiah.
Throwing back the rest of his bitter coffee, Anthony wiped his mouth on a linen and then rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll change my clothes and then present at the stables.”
Clairmont grunted. “I’ll send a footman to let the stable master know.”
Before he’d cleared the room, conversations were returned to and Clairmont had dismissed him but he felt a gaze on his back all the way to the door. It prickled his nape and he wanted to look over his shoulder but didn’t. Whoever it was would make themselves known soon enough, he was sure.
It took longer than he’d hoped for a mount to be readied but apparently just getting a bridle on the beast put men’s lives in danger. Rose was definitely right. As three grooms fought to lead the animal from the stable, Anthony swallowed hard. He’d hoped the quiet grey munching hay in the corner had been meant for him.
“Are you sure you want to sit atop this beast?” one of them asked him after a great deal of hesitation. “He’s a neck-breaker this one.”
He was sure if he was any other guest, he would have received an ageing mare rather than a neck-breaker but he was who he was. Apart from being a champion polo player, Anthony had exercised Oxford’s horses while the first and second sons had returned home for the special occasions. He was an excellent rider but this was new terrain and he didn’t know the directions.
Anthony inhaled deeply of the familiar stable smells—manure, hay, horse—and then stepped forward to take the reins, holding them firm, gripping the bridle hard so he could look into one huge black eye filled with mischief but not terror. “We’re going to be friends, you and I,” he told the horse without a shadow of doubt.
The horse snickered and attempted to toss his head but Anthony held fast. “What’s his name?” he asked the nearest groom.
“Malum.”
Anthony tried to wrap his tongue around it. “Is that Latin?”
The groom didn’t really answer his question, only replied, “We call him Mal for short, milord.”
“Hmm.” He was fairly sure Malum was Latin for evil but his languages had become rusty.
“The miss will think we’re not coming if you don’t get a hurry on,” the outspoken groom said quietly by his side.
Anthony groaned. Were all the servants in on it then?
He nodded his thanks and swung into the saddle, squeezing with his knees and pulling back on the leather to get Malum back under control. “Easy there, boy,” he murmured.
The groom mounted the grey. “He knows his way home so if you get lost, just loosen the lead and he’ll find his way back.”
“Eventually,” one of the others said and they all laughed.
As Anthony and Malum thundered from the yard towards the towering cliffs, he sent up a prayer to the dark heavens. He was definitely not loosening anything, lost or not.
*
Impatience gnawed at Rose until her stomach threatened to tie itself into knots as she waited for Anthony. Why wasn’t he there yet? She knew he would find a way to secure a mount if her father became difficult but what if something had happened to him? No. One of the grooms had instructions to ride out to her if anyone else took a horse from the stables or if Anthony didn’t show.
Ned was to lead him to where she waited and then she’d take Anthony to meet Michael. Her friend had a note delivered to her that morning to let her know they hadn’t lost any men or merchandise the night before although it had been close. Mr Smith was closing in and made it almost too dangerous to make runs but they now had only one more shipment expected before the movement on their end of the Channel became too treacherous with currents and winds and storms tossing ships all over. Mr Smith’s interference had meant they hadn’t collected all of their goods, their French counterparts deciding the danger was too high and returning home.
Rose shifted her weight in the saddle, her legs to the side, the smuggling suit threatening to unseat her with one restless toss of Belle’s big head. When her family wasn’t in residence and they didn’t have a dozen extra houseguests, Rose rode astride in trousers, a shirt and a chimney sweep’s cap. The freedom was exhilarating and the rides risky to her spine but she loved it. Now she just felt impeded and stiff. Much the way marriage would feel, she assumed.
The sound of hoof beats grabbed her attention and she tightened her grip on the reins as Belle shifted impatiently. Her little mare had a not-so-secret longing for Malum even though he was the worst type of cad in the barn. She knew without even seeing the monstrous horse that he was nearby. No one else thundered in a way that made the earth vibrate just so.
Within seconds both Ned and Anthony came into view single file on a narrow track between centuries-old branches bent to withstand the vicious, unrelenting wind. Anthony peered around as though he was trying to see through the trees before his gaze came to rest on her.
A thrill of excitement stole away the cold as she returned his frank assessment. He looked every inch the gentleman this morning in his highly shined boots and pressed riding coat, which was almost disappointing in a way. She’d been picturing him in pirate garb, perhaps a bandana around his head and three-day growth on his cheeks, his shirt open to the wind. Belle clearly wasn’t the only lady at Hell’s Gate with a penchant for the wrong type of man.
“Good morning, Rose,” he said, after tearing his gaze from her person and lifting it to her eyes.
“Anthony,” she returned, unsure of what else to say. Suddenly she felt awkward and out of sorts and wondered if it was second thoughts that made her pulse gallop and cause her chest to feel heavy. Perhaps it was merely the use of his Christian name that caused her entire body to almost flutter.
Instead of more triviality, she turned to Ned. “Is anyone else up and about?” she asked him.
He grimaced but then nodded. “Everyone is awake but no horses have been ordered yet. Your brothers came by in the night but they have their own men in the stable. There was whispering in the dark corner but nothing else untoward. No one went out.”
What could her brothers possibly have wanted in the night, unless it was to do with the afternoon’s hunt? She transferred her gaze. “Anthony, are you riding in the hunt later today?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought,” he said. “Though it probably would be wiser for me to stay away from your father if he’s carrying a loaded weapon.”
She smiled and answered, “Probably.”
Ned took his leave and then it was just the two of them and their restless horses, only the wind and the creaking leathers making noise.
“What are we doing out here, Rose?” Anthony asked, seemingly no longer willing to make small talk. “We could have discussed this at the house.”
“There is nowhere private in that place. Noise travels in directions you wouldn’t even imagine.” She hated Hell’s Gate just as passionately as she loved it. It was a complicated relationship.
“Very well. I want to know how Smith found you and then I want to know how you found me.”
“I will tell you everything, I promised you that much, but first you have to meet Michael. It’s just as much his story as it is mine.”
“Lead the way.”
She hesitated, paused to reconsider the consequences if he intended to betray her. “Remember you gave your word,” she said, thinking the reminder was entirely necessary.
He gave her a nod. “I remember.”
She hadn’t expected the awkwardness though she should have. He might not have mentioned anything about their kiss from the night before but Rose was positively itching to discuss it. She knew why he had instigated it but more than anything else, she wanted to know if he would do it again. And then again.
“I didn’t see my father this morning but was there any mention of…last night?”
She couldn’t see his reaction as he rode behind but she thought his voice carried a smile. “One of your brothers behaved strangely but I don’t know the man. Your father was his usual stoic self when it comes to my presence.”
“Why does he hate you so much?”
“I don’t think he actually hates me as such. I think he only hates the fact that my father is a pirate. Just the same as most of the men of the ton. He doesn’t know me well enough to hate me for me.”
“Are you close to your father?” She already knew he wasn’t. It had disappointed her to know he couldn’t simply reach out to the captain to help them with Mr Smith.
“I barely know him anymore but he is still my father and despite what the ton think, he is a good man.”
“What happened to your mother?”
Silence descended until she thought he wouldn’t tell her—perhaps it was painful—but then he spoke. His voice was so soft, she had to slow down to listen. “My mother died when I was four. The ague took hold and wouldn’t let go.”
“Where was your father?”
“At her side until her last breath. He wasn’t a pirate then. He was a simple fisherman.”
She had heard his mother had been disinherited upon her secret marriage to Richard Germaine. Despite their love story being an old one, there were still granddames who remembered. Her godmother had told her most of the story. Well, most of the public story. There was always a private side to the tales the ton retold as gossip.
“How did they meet each other? Wasn’t your mother a baron’s daughter?”
“That she was,” he said, and then cleared his throat and went on. “It’s all terribly romantic and clandestine; I’m not sure I should fill your head with that particular rehashing.”
Rose leaned back and swung her right leg over Belle’s head, turning in the saddle so she could see his face. He was laughing at her. What he found about their situation hilarious, she didn’t know. “Are you making fun of me or light of their story?”
His grin fell away as he tilted his head to the side. “There is nothing light about their tragic tale, Rose. They met, were unsuitable, fell in love anyway and then it ended in her death. My father was cast out and turned to piracy to take out her passing on the aristocracy.”
Cast out? She hadn’t heard that. “There must be more to it than that.”
“There is.”
“But you aren’t going to tell me? Are you?”
“No. Now where is it we are going?”
They were close so Rose let the matter rest for now but curiosity filled her. She was a lost cause for a romantic tragedy. How she used to long for a love so great that one would die for the other. She knew they existed in some form but not in their society. Usually the greatest romances were forbidden and quashed well before they could become a bastard child or an elopement to Gretna. That was the real tragedy in Rose’s mind. But she’d thrown off the unrealities of a romantic age years before, taking up independence and adventure instead as her life’s thrill. At least adventure couldn’t break her heart or leave her cold. It’s what she told herself day after day.
“Just over this ridge is an old hunter’s cabin. It’s where we meet.”
“And your father doesn’t know about it?”
“It’s not on his land. My father doesn’t care about anything really. Except his Runners and his public face. As long as he has good standing, he’s happy enough.”
“What about your brothers? How have you managed to keep this quiet for so long?”
She was about to answer but the sound of weapons being brought to the ready saved her words.
Behind her, Malum reared, his front hooves waving madly in the air, fear causing the whites of his eyes to shine beneath the tree’s canopy. He smelled the danger but it was too late for Anthony. One moment he was in the saddle, the next he was on his back on the ground.
Chapter Nine
There was a rock digging into Anthony’s hip and as he fought to regain his breath and his pride, he listened to Malum’s hooves beating a rhythm as he fled what was about to come. Had it all been an elaborate set-up? The scene the night before at the cliffs? The smugglers on the beach? He’d been so caught up with Rose’s puzzling babbling and actions that he hadn’t prepared for any sort of reaction, especially not an ambush.
She’d led him far enough into the woods that she could put a ball between his eyes and let the scavengers finish him off, scattering his bones far and wide. He was an idiot. No wonder Clairmont doubted him and his investigative skills. Already his eye and his mind had been turned by a pretty girl.
“Are you all right?” Rose asked, her voice penetrating the fog of indignity. The last time a horse had thrown him, he’d been all of thirteen and showing off for his classmates.
“Not really,” came his gruff reply. “If you’re going to finish me off, you’d better do it now before I open my eyes.”
Her tinkling laughter wasn’t expected so he cracked an eyelid to the forest’s gloom. There the vixen stood, a dozen men at her back with guns lowered but still in hand, all filled with the same level of mirth at his fall but not a one menacing or ready for the killing blow.
“If I wanted to kill you,” she said dramatically, “I would have thrown you from the cliffs last night.”
At the front of his mind he scoffed at the idea of her besting him in the dark, but in the back of his mind, he knew she was probably right. He had been stumbling then and he’d stumbled now.
Rose held out her hand to help him from his backside and he took it, once again surprised at how quietly strong she was.
He received several jolting claps to his shoulder and back as the strangers laughed and retold of the moment Malum had tossed him from the saddle. He took it all in, listening to the cadence of the conversations and camaraderie between the men. It was clear all were friends and as they fanned out alongside Rose, even clearer was that they were her friends too, protecting her from all angles as they approached a cabin. This almost felt like a family.
No smoke drifted from the chimney and overgrowth pushed the building to a lean. To the casual observer the entire place appeared abandoned. But he saw the scuffed boot prints, the trails leading to and away from the two steps to the rotting deck timbers to the door, which was the only thing not leaning.
“Whose land is this?” he asked Rose’s back.
“The Duke of Ashmoor’s.”
He swore beneath his breath. Ashmoor was the most upstanding citizen London had likely ever seen. He was more devoted to England and patriotism than the prince himself. He swore again.
The cabin door opened from the inside and he followed Rose straight in. His gut told him to turn and run, to take cover, to go back to the castle and retrieve a sword or pistol. The dagger secreted beneath his coat wasn’t going to do any real damage if he needed to use it. If he’d known this was her plan for the morning, he would have come better armed.
Anthony had to stand quite defunct and watch as Rose rushed forward to embrace a black-haired fellow with piercing dark eyes and a commanding air about him despite his not being very large or intimidating.
“Oh, Michael, I’m so glad you’re all right. I saw everything and was so worried.”
