The sirens captain, p.16
The Siren's Captain, page 16
“Did the earl have news about the boat in his caverns? I wish I had been able to see them.”
“Another time,” he promised. “Perhaps we can even sail in through the Dragon’s Maw. It’s quite the experience.”
“I would enjoy that.” They walked a short distance in silence before she realized he’d fended her off again.
“Quill.” She put a hand on his arm and stopped him where a little stone bench rested at the end of one turning. “I am not trying to pry, but if the earl said something of importance to our work, I should know.”
“It wasn’t that.” His gaze lingered on where her hand touched his arm, and she was certain she felt her fingers warming. “The fellow we saw on Sunday, the one with the red hair?”
“I remember,” she said.
“He brought word from London that he might have discovered my benefactor. It seems the fellow who did me so many kindnesses was my father, and the former Earl of Howland.”
Ree stared at him. “What? You are a Howland?”
He grimaced. “I’ll never be a Howland. If the earl was really my father, he didn’t acknowledge me, and there’s no proof he didn’t help me simply from the goodness of his heart.”
“He was much like his son, then,” she guessed.
He chuckled. “Oh, no. By all accounts he was a black-hearted, selfish scoundrel who spent his money only for his own pleasures. I have no idea why he didn’t just forget I existed. I suppose, in a way, he did.”
She hurt for him. At times, she had called her father a fool for his idealistic pursuit of a dream, but she’d cherished their time together. To never have known him, to learn he had never wanted to know her? How horrible that must be!
“He was not just selfish,” she said, “but stupid. You may not have been legitimate, but you could have been an asset to him. It is his loss he never chose to reveal himself to you.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
“And the earl?” she pressed. “Surely he will not turn you away.”
“We are agreed that it is best his mother does not know,” Quill said. “She still carries a vision of her late husband as a great man. It would hurt her to know he had valued another woman highly enough to stray from his wife, even for a short time.”
So he would sacrifice his place for a woman he barely knew, if it meant keeping her from a pain like the one he carried. “Your father may have been a scoundrel, Quill, but you are a great man.”
He started to shake his head, and she gave his hand a squeeze. “Yes, you are. You rescued Hugh from an uncertain future. You gave Ike Bascom and Alex Chance the opportunity to learn new skills. You tolerate my foibles.”
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against the back. “Such terrible foibles too—making sure I stay alive long enough to stop Napoleon.”
When had the charade moved beyond that? “And you give up your rightful family for a widow,” she countered. “You are a hero.”
His gaze caressed hers even as his fingers caressed her hand. “Careful, Mademoiselle Fortier. Some might believe you care for me.”
She did. Oh, but she did. Perhaps it was the love shining between the earl and his bride, perhaps the memory the dowager countess held of her husband, but suddenly, she wanted that for herself. Her and Quill, together, forever.
She opened her mouth to tell him, and a shot rang out.
~~~
The bullet burned as it torn through Quill’s sleeve. He grabbed Ree and forced her down, covering her with his body. Her eyes were wide.
“Where are you hurt?” she begged.
“I’m all right,” Quill said. “Stay down. Don’t give him another target.”
“Do not give him a chance to reload,” she countered, pushing against his shoulders. Quill rolled to one side, and she sat up, gaze swinging about. Whatever she saw galvanized her, for she surged to her feet and put herself in front of Quill where he sat on the dust of the path.
“Non! You will not succeed!” she cried. Hairpin once more in her hand, she stood her ground against the footsteps that thundered up the path. Quill pushed up as well, arm stinging.
The redheaded fellow they had chased so often was powering toward them. Ree braced her feet, long hairpin at the ready. Quill reached for the knife in his boot. His arm shouted in pain.
And a dark stain was spreading down his sleeve.
He forced his gaze and hand up, knife ready to protect himself and Ree even as the villain reached them.
Their quarry’s face was nearly as red as his hair, making the green of his eyes more vivid. “Get down,” he ordered. “He may fire again.”
Quill stared at him.
Ree glared. “You! You took that shot.”
He held out his hands as if to prove them empty. “I promise you, mademoiselle, I did not. I’m here to help you.”
“Lies,” she spat.
Quill’s arm was now pounding along with his heart. He turned to the redheaded fellow. “Get us off this cliff. Now.”
“Aye, Captain,” he said, turning as if to shield Ree and Quill from the village with his body.
“You believe him?” she protested.
“I’m hit, Ree,” Quill said. “I will shortly need to lie down.”
Her eyes narrowed on his sleeve. “Vite.”
They all acted on her order to hurry. They hurled themselves down the path, their assailant-turned-rescuer continuing to position himself as if to prevent another bullet from finding its way to either of them. When they reached Castle Walk, he veered onto another path that ran along the edge of the cliff, then cut through some of the yards of the houses and then to the rear door of the house where they had knocked a couple of weeks ago now.
The breeze was colder than Quill remembered, and breath seemed hard to find as the fellow let them in.
“Sit down,” he told Quill, nodding through the small kitchen to the next room down a short corridor. “I’ll get water and bandages.”
Ree looked as if she wanted to argue, but she followed Quill into the room and set about pacing in front of the sofa as he sank down onto it.
“Can you help me get this off?” he asked, attempting to shrug out of his coat.
Immediately, she was on her knees in front of him, easing the coat from first his good shoulder and then the other. Quill winced as the material came free.
She paled. “It is not so bad.”
“I remember you lying better than that,” Quill said as he leaned back against the sofa.
She was studying his arm. “A glancing wound. It is shallow, but you have bled enough to soak the shirt. It will have to come off.”
“Madam, my modesty,” he quipped.
“Will be sacrificed to expediency,” she said. “Let me help.”
Between the two of them, they had his shirt off by the time the stranger returned with a bowl of water in his grip, a towel on his arm, and a length of linen over one shoulder.
He went down on his knees in front of Quill but looked to Ree. “How bad is it?”
She glanced at Quill as if concerned for his sensibilities. “Not as bad as I had feared. But I would feel better if Doctor Bennett examined the wound.”
At the name of the physician, the fellow flinched. “For all our sakes, it might be better if Captain St. Claire’s wound remains our secret for now.”
She was busy taking the towel off his shoulder. “We will clean it, and then I will decide.”
“Odd that no one asks my opinion,” Quill drawled.
The fellow looked contrite. Ree did not as she wet the towel in the water and brought it to his wound. “You have been hurt. You may not be thinking clearly.”
“The bullet grazed my arm,” he pointed out, “not my head.”
“For which we can be grateful.”
He tried not to wince as she leaned toward the wound. But her touch was gentle, wiping away the blood to show nothing more than a deep gouge along the ridge of his muscle. She took the linen from their rescuer and began binding him up.
“Alas,” Quill said, “it seems my coat and shirt fared worse than my arm. Whatever will I tell my tailor?”
“Nothing,” the stranger insisted. “The least said about this, the better the chance we have of catching the culprit.”
“A culprit about which you know nothing, I suppose,” Ree chided. “I am watching you, sir. I will not allow you to finish the job.”
“I am not out to harm you or the captain, mademoiselle,” he vowed. “I am merely an innocent visitor to the spa, come to spend the winter somewhere congenial.”
She raised her brows and regarded him. “Who comes armed with bandages?”
Quill glanced around the room. Besides the sofa, two armchairs stood waiting in front of a wood-wrapped hearth, their seats still plump and uncreased, as if they had never been sat upon. The grate lay empty. Nothing said anyone had even taken up residence.
He turned his gaze on the fellow. Up close, and with the color fading from his exertions, the scar was all the more evident, running from high on his left cheekbone down to the corner of his mouth, leaving his lips tugged tight, as if he were constantly fighting a smile. The remains of a sword slash, perhaps?
“You’re no innocent visitor,” Quill told him. “Who are you and why are you in Grace-by-the-Sea if not to trouble me or Mademoiselle Fortier?”
For a moment, Quill thought he would continue to bluff. His gaze hit Quill’s, surprisingly hard for that grass-green color. Then he nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision.
“My name,” he said, “is Gideon Archer, and I was sent by the War Office to prevent your assassination.”
~~~
Ree jerked away from Quill to stare at the man. That hair, those eyes. After working beside Abigail Bennett to help save the Siren’s Call, she saw the resemblance.
“Gideon Archer, brother to Mrs. Bennett?” she pressed.
He must have realized there was no use continuing to dissemble, for he nodded. “Yes.” He dropped his gaze as if the connection were somehow shameful.
“Does she know you’re here?” Quill asked.
Gideon winced, gaze on the flowered carpet. “Not yet. It’s been years since I left home. Almost as long since I’ve had a letter from my family. I wasn’t sure of my welcome.”
“That cannot be right,” Ree said. “Eva Howland told me your sister and mother wrote you often. It was you who never responded.”
He glanced up at her. “I never received the letters. I was injured serving in India and spent some time in a hospital there. I wasn’t even sure of my own name until recently. Your Doctor Bennett, who I gather is married to my sister, wrote asking colleagues about me. One found me and made sure I was returned to England.”
“And still you did not write?” she protested. “How worried your sister and mother must be about you!”
His frown pulled at his scar. “I fully intended to write, but the War Office had other ideas. They insisted I come here in secret. I was trying to find a way to approach my sister nonetheless, but it didn’t help that every time I drew near her, you chased me.”
Both times they had encountered him on the way to All the Colors of the Sea, Ree realized. But still she could not completely accept his story.
“I am an agent of the War Office,” she told him. “Why did they think to send another?”
He blinked. “You’re from the War Office?”
“Indeed,” Quill put in. “Mademoiselle Fortier has been protecting me with her life for weeks.”
“So the betrothal…” he started.
“Is a sham,” Quill told him. “Concocted to give her an excuse to remain by my side.”
Though she knew he was right, it still hurt to hear it. “Captain St. Claire was worried about my reputation,” she explained.
Mr. Archer nodded, but his frown didn’t ease. “I still don’t understand why I wasn’t told there was another agent here.”
Quill leaned his head back against the sofa, as if suddenly weary. “The War Office has a number of factions. One doesn’t always tell the other what’s happening.”
She rounded on him. “Well, they had better start, or someone could be killed.”
“Someone was nearly killed,” he reminded her gently. “Me.”
The thought squeezed her heart. She might have lost him, still could lose him if he took a fever from the wound. She allowed her gaze to linger on him, if only to assure herself he was still with her. His hooded eyes were partially closed, as if he was determined to hide the pain in them. His color had yet to recover. She forced herself to finish tying off the bandage.
“So you were sent to stop the assassin,” Quill said to Mr. Archer as she worked. “Mademoiselle Fortier and I have done all we can and found no sign of the creature. What have you learned?”
He rose and set aside the bowl of blood-tinged water. “Precious little. I’ve tried to keep an eye on you, but I haven’t spotted anyone else doing the same except Mademoiselle Fortier and your crew.”
Quill gave her a look as if to say he’d told her so.
“But someone took that shot,” she reminded them both, sitting back. “Someone set fire to the Siren’s Call.”
“As to the latter,” he said, “I believe it was your manservant.”
Quill started, then grimaced as his arm must have protested. “Hugh alerted us to the blaze, but he swore it was started before he arrived.”
“The upper floor of this house has an excellent view out over the village,” he informed them. “I have a spyglass with exceptional power. Everyone from the Peverell household appeared to have gone to the wedding. His lordship was very kind about that. The only person I saw approaching the house was your manservant.”
“And today?” Ree challenged as Quill’s look turned grim. “Did you see Captain St. Claire’s manservant in the village?”
“No,” he admitted. “I noticed you going up to the Castle, so I was watching for you to come down. When it took longer than I had expected, I decided to venture out instead. I caught only a flash from the shooter’s gun, somewhere along the path that runs behind the shops. I’m simply glad the wound is superficial.”
“As am I,” Quill assured him. “I might have made a pretty statement, dying in Mademoiselle Fortier’s arms.”
An idea popped into Ree’s head, daring and perfect.
“No,” she told them both. “You are wrong. You did nearly die in my arms.”
Mr. Archer glanced between the two of them. “I don’t understand.”
“Someone shot Captain St. Claire, the valiant hero of the Battle of the Nile,” she explained. “It is a grievous wound, and he may never recover.”
Still he frowned.
So did Quill. “What are you up to, Ree?” he demanded, voice beginning to hint of command again.
“Simply this,” she said. “If the assassin thinks he has won, he may cease trying, and that will give us time to find him and stop him. You are used to pretending, mon cher capitaine. You must pretend to be dying. Confine yourself to your bed until we can bring this fellow to justice.”
He shook his head, and she straightened her shoulders, ready to argue if she must.
“You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “That could give us the time we need.”
Relieved, she climbed to her feet. “Then the next thing to do is fetch the doctor. I will go.”
Quill caught her arm with his good hand. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
She rubbed his hand. “He will not come after me. I will be surrounded. Trust me.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “Always.”
Once again she lost her breath. She wasn’t sure how long they gazed at each other before Mr. Archer coughed. “Perhaps soon, mademoiselle? To encourage the fiction?”
She pulled away from Quill. “Of course. But guard him well while I am gone.”
Quill sighed again, but Mr. Archer inclined his head in a bow. “You have my word.”
Ree headed for the door. A mirror lay against the wall above a small hall table. She stopped and took a good look at herself. Some of her hair had come free of its pins. She pulled down a few more tendrils. She looked a little pale, but if she ran at least part of the way along her errand, her color should rise. She blinked her eyes to add moisture to them, then opened the door and fled into the lane.
“Help!” she shouted. “Help me! My dear captain has been shot!”
The boy who had been sent to watch the front of the house, Charlie Lawrence, Quill had said, crawled out of the bushes and leapt to his feet. A brown-haired lad with a mischievous face, he gazed up at Ree with bright blue eyes as if ready for anything.
Many of the residents were still at the spa or the shops, but doors popped open here and there, and gentlemen and a few footmen stepped out onto the porches.
Ree held out both hands. “Please, you must help me! I need to find the doctor.”
“I can go,” Charlie offered.
“Wait with me,” Ree murmured. “We will play a game.”
Now ladies were venturing out as well. One pointed up the hill behind them toward the top of the village. “The militia are practicing this afternoon. I heard the gunfire. Doctor Bennett will be with them.”
“I’ll go for you, miss,” one of the footmen offered.
“No, no,” Ree said, now bringing a hand to her bosom. “I must speak to Doctor Bennett myself. But please, would you come with me? I feel faint.”
As the footman came forward, Ree bent as if catching her breath.
“Stay here,” she murmured to Charlie, who was watching her wide-eyed. “I left the door unlatched. Slip inside and make sure nothing happens to the captain. If the man with him does anything questionable, run for the magistrate. I will return shortly with help.”
Chapter Seventeen
In the end, two footmen, three older gentleman, and two couples accompanied her out of Lavender Lane and up High Street to where the Downs first began to open. They all expressed concern, determination, and her heart could not help but swell at the support. No one with nefarious purpose would dare approach her with such an escort.
