Anne Stuart (28 page)

“
No, I’m not your destiny?”

“
No, they didn’t tell me that,” she said irritably. “It’s cold up here. Are we simply going to stand around talking?”

“
I could warm you,” he said. “What did the cards tell you?”

“
I don’t want to talk about it....” She started past him, not even certain where she was going, but he caught her, bringing her up against him.

“
What did the cards tell you, Jess?” he murmured, his mouth hovering over hers. “Am I going to die tonight? Did you come along so that you could watch?”

She stood utterly still in his arms, past the point of dissembling. “I saw disaster. Destruction. It would mean nothing to you, but it was the Ten of Swords, which signals complete chaos. Things will never be the same.”

“
How delightful,” he said, and his lips were unbearably close. Tantalizing. “Are you going to try to save me? Or will you help me to my well-deserved fate?”

If she kissed him, it would be the beginning of the end. Marilla had warned her—you can’t serve two masters. The cards need her pure, undefiled energy.

And Alistair MacAlpin would defile her. Most thoroughly, most gloriously. Leaving her with nothing, not even the cards.

She knew it, and she couldn’t help it. She rose on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his gently, her hands lightly touching his face. “I’m not going to let you die,” she said quite firmly.

She had taken him off guard. He stared at her, too startled to take advantage of her hesitant kiss, and by the time he’d shaken off his bemusement, she had already moved safely out of reach to the edge of the building and the series of houses that lay out in front of them, the copper roofs, the flatter slate ones beckoning in the starlight.

“
Which one is Lady Plumworthy’s?” she asked when he came up behind her, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he didn’t touch her.

“
The far one, with the steep copper roof. Lower than the rest, you’ll be pleased to note, in case we have to make a hasty exit.”

“
I’m not a cat—I can’t see in the dark,” she replied with some asperity. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“
You mean you’ll trust me? Will wonders never cease? One piece of advice, Jessamine. Don’t look down. Don’t give in to temptation and glance over the sides of the building. Even cats aren’t overly fond of surveying such a drop.”

“
All right,” she said.

“
And do exactly as I tell you. Since you’ve decided to become a willing partner in this little expedition, you need to realize I’m the leader.”

“
Who says I’m a willing partner?”

“
You did. When you didn’t run.”

She followed him, of course, across the thick slate tiles of
one roof, the steep copper panels of another. Past stonework and chimney pots, past flocks of night birds and a chill wind that whipped through Jessamine’s thin clothes and tossed her hair in her eyes, climbing up and then down, an obstacle course of architectural wonder, until they ended on a high stone terrace.

Alistair leaned against the balustrade, his long, dark hair tossed back in the night wind, and smiled at her. “Enjoying yourself so far, my love?” he asked in a soft voice.

“
Where are we?” She hadn’t realized how loud her own voice could sound, or how quickly he could move. Within seconds he’d pressed her tightly against the stone wall of the house, pressing his hand over her mouth. There was laughter and something else in his eyes, and he pressed his body against hers.

“
We’re thieves, remember?” he whispered. “Housebreakers. We’re not supposed to announce our presence to the world. And we’re just outside Isolde Plumworthy’s bedroom. Fortunately the old bat sleeps like the dead, and I can hear her snoring, so I think we’re safe.” He lowered his hand from her mouth, but he made no effort to release her. His strong, lean body blocked the wind, and she told herself she welcomed it. Knowing that warmth was the least of her concerns.

“
How do you know how deeply she sleeps?” she whispered.

His laugh was silent. “My knowledge isn’t firsthand, thank God. I prefer to bed women who aren’t old enough to be my grandmother or young enough to be my daughter. As a matter of fact, I suspect you’re just about the right age.”

She shoved at him, which accomplished absolutely nothing. For all his lighthearted tone, he was immovable. “What do we do now?”

“
We can stand here all night, and I can see whether I can deflower you with us both on our feet. I suspect I could manage,
but it wouldn’t be comfortable and we’d probably freeze. I could take you into Isolde’s house, we could filch some of her ugly jewels and divide the proceeds between us.”

“
No,” she said far too loudly, and once more his hand clapped over her mouth.

“
You’ll see me at Tyburn,” he warned her gently. And then he released her, stepping to the edge of the terrace and looking over. “If those two options don’t suit, perhaps we might just enjoy the adventure of climbing down from our lofty perch. It looks to be a challenge, but you don’t strike me as the type to shy away from a challenge.” He’d already flung one long leg over the edge of the balustrade, obviously preparing to abandon her without a second thought.

She rushed to the edge of the terrace. They were above a garden—trees brushed against the stone walls, and there was a series of balconies that might provide a gradual descent. Might, if one were the Cat.

“
Alistair!” she gasped as he began to descend. “You can’t leave me here.”

He paused, considering it. “I don’t know, I think it would be vastly entertaining, watching you try to talk your way out of it.”

“
You wouldn’t be there to watch. Lady Plumworthy already thinks I have something to do with the robberies. She’d probably turn me over to one of her nasty manservants.”

“
You’re right.” He threw his leg back over the side. “I suppose I’ll have to take you with me after all.”

“
You’re a pig, my lord,” she said. “You were never going to abandon me, were you?”

“
Sooner or later everyone always abandons you, Jessamine. Haven’t you discovered that dismal truth yet?”

She stared at him as something dark and warm grew beneath the bleakness of his words, and she didn’t stop to think. To
think would be a mistake, the words needed to come from her heart, not her brain.

“
I wouldn’t abandon you,” she said so softly she half hoped he wouldn’t hear her.

But his hearing was as acute as his night vision. His head jerked around and he stared at her. “What did you say?”

“
Alistair...”

The door to the bedroom slammed open, the glass smashing against the stone wall. Alistair was still in shadows, perched on the banister, but the light that shone forth illuminated Jessamine perfectly, standing in her black thieves’ clothes. It illuminated the cruel, thick-lipped face of Isolde Plumworthy’s sinister majordomo, dressed only in a pair of breeches, his body covered with long, red streaks that might have been scratches, might have been whip marks. And it illuminated the gun in his hand.

His cruel, dark eyes narrowed as he surveyed Jessamine, caught like a trapped animal, and his thick lips curled in a smile. “I knew it was you,” he said. “I told Herself, but she wasn’t quite sure.”

He hadn’t noticed Alistair lurking in the shadows. He could escape so easily. Jessamine didn’t dare give a sign, to tell him to run while he could. She simply stood there, utterly still, terrified by the gun in the man’s hand and the cruelty on his face.

“
You’ll be a prime bit of sport for her ladyship and me,” Hawkins continued, the gun never wavering. “It’s not like you don’t deserve what happens to you. They’ll kill you no matter what—might as well provide some pleasure to one of your many victims than give the crown the chance. Unfasten that shirt and let me see your titties.”

Jessamine didn’t move. “I’d rather take my chances with Bow Street,” she said stiffly.

“
I don’t give a damn what you’d rather. You won’t be taking
your chances with anyone. Take off your shirt or I’ll put a bullet behind your ear.”

“
But then I wouldn’t be much fun, would I?” she demanded caustically.

“
Oh, I can still manage to enjoy it once they’re already dead. I imagine her ladyship is broad-minded enough to experiment,” Hawkins said cheerfully, raising the gun.

The next few seconds were an endless blur. Alistair launched himself across the terrace, and the explosion that followed echoed through the night air. Jessamine blinked with disbelief as Alistair wrapped his long fingers around Hawkins’s throat and calmly smashed his head against the stone. The sound was thick, wet, sickening, and when the man slumped to the terrace Jessamine had little doubt he was dead.

And then Alistair came toward her. His face was bleak, shadowed in the darkness, and his hands had blood on them. He put them on her arms and lifted her, pushing her off the balcony so that as she fell she wondered if he was trying to kill her as well. She landed hard in a thick hedge, the branches scratching her face, ripping at her clothes, and she lay there, winded, unable to see, to think, to breathe.

Breath came back to her in a huge aching rush. She struggled from the imprisoning shrubbery, staring up at the high terrace far overhead. Someone was screaming, a loud, angry wail, but no one leaned over the balcony to see who had escaped.

He was lying facedown on the hard ground. No bushes had cushioned his fall, and even in the darkness she could see the black stain of blood on his beautiful face. His eyes were closed, and she rolled him over, putting her head against his chest to see whether he lived.

His heartbeat was weak, irregular. She reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes, and saw her hands were covered in his blood. She knelt beside him in uncomprehending despair, and
all she could see was the prostrate body in the card, pierced by swords, as disaster reigned all around.

“
Is he dead?”

She never thought the voice of Nicodemus Bottom would be so welcome. She scrambled to her feet and flung her arms around the little man in incoherent joy. “We’ve got to help him, Mr. Bottom,” she said. “He needs care, he needs a doctor. I think he’s been shot, and he certainly had a bad fall....”

“
I’m not risking meself,” Nicodemus said firmly, pulling out of her embrace with a shake. “We had an arrangement, did his lordship and me. If something were to happen, I was to get the hell away from him.”

“
You can’t. I need to get him someplace safe.”

“
You’re to come with me. He made me swear I’d get you safe back to Kent. He’s not going to make it, miss, not after a fall like that one. Best cut our losses and see to ourselves.”

“
No!” She sank back down by Glenshiel’s unconscious body. “He’s not going to die. Not yet. And I’m not going to leave him. You can run if you want. Just leave me his carriage.”

“
Lord love you, miss, it ain’t
his
carriage,” Nicodemus said. “And the sooner I abandon it, the safer we’ll all be. I imagine the owner knows it’s missing by now, and while my opinion of the London police isn’t very high, a coach and four is a difficult thing to hide.”

“
Then go!” she said fiercely. “I’ll drag him to safety if I must.”

Nicodemus stood there, clearly torn. “Clarges Street is not far from here,” he offered.

“
Why should that matter?”

“
His house is on Clarges Street. I could help get him there. But that’s it. Then I’m off. And if you have any sense at all, you’ll come back with me. We’re already late as it is. It’ll be
past sunup when you get back to Kent, and you’d better have a list of excuses.”

Her hands were gentle as they touched Alistair’s bloody face. “I don’t need any excuses,” she said quietly. “Because I’m not going back. Help me get him to safety, Nicodemus, and I promise I won’t ask anything more of you.”

“
A likely story,” the little man grumbled, leaning down and pulling at Glenshiel’s limp body. “I’ll need your help as well, miss. He’s a bigger man than he appears.”

Together they managed to half carry, half drag him to the waiting carriage. Jessamine welcomed each groan as a sign that as long as he still hurt, he still lived. She was beyond conscious thought now, all she could do was pray, a jumbled, mumbled litany that made no sense.

She held him in her lap, pressing his head against her breasts as Nicodemus pulled the stolen carriage into the empty streets of London. He felt cold to the touch, and his breathing was shallow, rapid.

“
Don’t you dare die on me, Alistair,” she hissed at him. “I know it was my fault, and I’m not going to have your death on my conscience. Why in God’s name did you have to be noble all of a sudden? Don’t die on me, dammit.”

She looked down, and in the darkness of the carriage she could see that his eyes were open, unfocused, staring, and for a moment she thought he was dead. And then a mere shadow of a smile twisted his pale mouth.

“
Not yet, at any rate,” he said. And he closed his eyes once more.

Nineteen

The house on Clarges Street was dark, cold, and empty. Beyond that, Jessamine didn’t pay much attention as she struggled with Nicodemus to get Alistair’s unconscious, bleeding body up the stairs. Three wretched, hateful flights, narrow ones, with Alistair ominously silent between them as they wrestled him upward, banging him against the steps.