Between A Rake And A Hard Place [Pirates of London Book 2] (2 page)

Bound, vulnerable, and
alone
.

Up until this moment, she hadn’t shed a tear. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel like weeping hysterically, she was just numbed by the bewildering situation. Her throat tightened; her eyes grew hot and the first scalding tear ran down her cheek.

She wanted her father’s protection, which had always been there. She wanted England, with its green, bucolic pastures and early morning mists, and the comfort of Oakham Hall. She wanted her sister Hannah, who had always been her best friend, even through childhood squabble
s.

Instead, she heard a deep voice. “I should send thanks to heaven, I suppose, for the gag. At least you won’t scream and bring a bevy of guards with bloodthirsty intentions rushing in to dismember me on the spot. Forgive my impatience, my lady, but we have a very limited amount of time to get the devil out of here.”

Cassandra’s eyes flew open and she blinked, seeing a tall, dark-haired man bending over her, brandishing a knife. She shrank back but all he did was effectively slash the cords on her wrists, glancing around. “I hadn’t quite anticipated this. Surely there’s something you can wear. You’re a bit distracting as you are.”

* * * *

A
bit
distracting?

As understatements went, it was a crown jewel. The truth was, Christopher didn’t need his attention focused on anything but getting them both out of the palace, through the city and to the bay where the
Sappho
was at anchor, with the crew ready for a speedy departure, as expediently as possible.

If it could even be done. When the Sultan arrived and found his prize missing, they would be hunted down like crippled gazelles in front of a pride of hungry lions in full charge.

Unfortunately, at this particular moment he understood the despotic ruler’s desire for his fair English captive, even if he didn’t agree with the barbaric manner of obtaining her cooperation.

She was everything the grim-faced British Consul had described and perhaps a bit more. Gloriously blond, with waves of honey hair framing her fine-boned face. Eyes of an unusual blue that held a hint of violet, a luscious pink mouth…and her body was supple and full-breasted, with a narrow waist and long legs. Obviously she’d been prepared for her ravishment because the scent of perfume filled the air, and her nipples were a startling erotic red, which he suspected from her fair coloring were usually a delectable pink. The same vivid color had been applied to her lips, and a touch of kohl to her eyes, which was startling against her flawless pale skin
.

No time to think about that now
.
Pay attention to the matter at hand, you randy fool
.

“If you faint, cry out, or are a bother of any other kind,” he said conversationally, “I’ll just leave you behind. I’m here to help you get away, not to end up with an ax tickling the back of my neck. So listen. I know you are at this moment wondering who I am, and just let me say that I’m a friend, but I do have a great regard for
my
personal safety. I’m not heroic, and have no desire to be. Understood?”

She nodded even as she swiftly unfastened the gag with her newly freed hands. Good. He admired a stiff English upper lip at this moment almost as much as he admired her compelling beauty. It was no doubt the quick agreement was probably because of
his accent, familiar in such foreign surroundings. She’d learn eventually he wasn’t considered all that trustworthy when in the company of unclad ladies, but at the moment, his only interest in her delectable person was in removing it from the room as fast as possible.

“We can’t go out through the doorway,” he informed her.

The most lovely, most
naked
, Lady Cassandra scrambled off the bed and stared at him in consternation. “But the windows are barred.”

“The windows
look
barred.” He hadn’t wasted his afternoon. Some of it had been spent wisely. “But we still have to get up there.”

“No.”

He hadn’t been jesting. He would leave her if it was too difficult. In his misspent life he’d met far too many lovely ladies who were spoiled and otherwise not worth risking his life and limb. Not to mention the other precious parts he valued highly. “Very well,” he said coolly. “I bid you adieu then, my lady.”

Then she blushed. “No…no! I mean yes to the window, but I can’t leave like this. Please, could you perhaps give me your shirt?”

That was probably for the best for both of them. The last thing he needed was having his concentration ruined because she was so deliciously close and conveniently nude.

Obligingly, Christopher tore at the buttons on his dark shirt, shrugging out of it, and unhooked the coiled rope from his waist. With a small muttered prayer, slowly unraveling it in his hand, swinging it in a slow circle, he carefully tossed it upward.

The hook clanged a great deal more loudly than he’d anticipated against the intricate metal barrier, and fell, but on the second try, it caught fast.

This is one dubious skill I possess that is occasionally worth the effort it took to master.

Hastily fastening as much as she could of his shirt before he grabbed her hand, Lady Cassandra followed him to the now dangling rope. “I’ll go first and then help you up,” he said, aware of the time passing. The Sultan was due at any moment and this was the tricky part.

No, not true,
all
of it is tricky
.

He swarmed up the rope, bracing his booted feet against the wall, hoisted himself into the deep sill set in the wall, which was three feet thick, and motioned to Lady Cassandra to attempt to make the climb. To give her credit, she was fairly nimble about it, and he only had to help her at the last, reaching down to shackle her wrist and haul her up next to him in a flurry of blond hair and silken limbs, her slender form lost in his shirt.

“Well done,” he murmured, more than a little surprised.

“I was a hoyden in my youth,” she said with admirable aplomb for such a delicate looking young lady. “I’ve climbed more than one tree. How do you propose we get out?”

“Like this.” He took a breath, kicked out a booted foot and hit the metal frame he’d loosened earlier, and the bars satisfyingly tore away and dropped into the courtyard below. Somewhere a door opened in a slight creak of the hinges and there were voices, one masculine and commanding. He muttered, “I think we should take our leave now.”

This particular window happened to have a convenient jump to the tier of the next roof, and though previously he hadn’t planned on taking out Oakham’s daughter that route, once he’d reconnoitered the palace, it had proved the best option. He said tersely, “We can drop into the courtyard, or jump. I left the locks on the west gates inoperable. If we can use the roof, it will be much easier to get there without detection. Please tell me you’ll jump, Lady Cassandra.”

She measured the space in a glance, registered the fall to the stones below, but then nodded quickly as the voices got louder.

God bless an intrepid woman. Her violet eyes held a determined gleam.

He leapt first, landing on the tiles. His knees stung a little but he found purchase on the glassy surface and turned, catching her as she followed, the soft weight of her body momentarily propelling him backwards. Then he was back up, grabbing her hand, hauling her up against him, a sensation he would normally relish, but while he’d made love in some unusual places, a rooftop rendezvous was not something even he’d ever attempted. He murmured, “A hoyden indeed. We need to hurry.”

Especially since already he heard a shout, which could easily indicate that either the Sultan had found his prize was gone or that someone had spotted the open window.

He tugged at her hand, edging along the slippery tiles, hoping that this particular winsome English lady was as sure of foot as she was brave. They headed for the first peaked tower, a spiral dome with a pointed top, the exotic image superimposed against the starlit night. Having memorized the way, he guided them into the deep cobalt shadows of an angular wall.

Not perfect. It is happening faster than I hoped, but at least she is out, which means we have a chance.

The guard was as he’d left him, Christopher found to his satisfaction. He eased through the tower window and saw the man still unconscious and bound, sitting propped against the wall of the circular room as if asleep, his head tilted forward. Christopher lifted Lady Cassandra through the narrow opening and relieved the guard of his dagger. “Take this,” he told his beautiful companion, offering it. “Just don’t plunge it into me by mistake.”

Her eyes widened, but she hefted the hilt in her hand as if weighing the balance of the weapon and shook her head, her fingers slim against the intricately carved handle. “Not by mistake.”

He had to laugh, even considering their current circumstances. “The warning is duly noted. There’s a circular stair that leads into a small courtyard below. Don’t speak as we descend, as there are two other guards on different levels of the tower.”

They crept down the stone steps, him in front, one hand holding his favorite dirk, usually sheathed in his boot at all times. Unlike the weapons of the Sultan’s guard, it was not carved and etched with symbols, but utilitarian and efficient. In the course of performing the duties of his occupation, he’d used it more than once. Or twice. Well, to be honest, more times than he remembered, but never without necessity.

Navigating the stairs was as simple as he’d hoped it would be. Both the other guards were stationed at windows, their attention on any potential threat from the outside, not concerned with the tower itself.

The walled space at the bottom was cool with shadows in the darkness. The west gate still needed to be gained before they could make the race for the harbor, but Marcus was waiting with the horses and all he had to do was get past the portico.

The shout was in Arabic, which he spoke fairly well, but in any language, the meaning would have been clear. They’d been spotted.

Devil take it…

Her hair, he realized, so fair and lovely, loose to her waist, had given them away. Lady Cassandra’s gleaming tresses reflected even the pale starlight. He grasped her hand and sprinted past a fountain that gurgled a musical sound into the night, knowing that she was too conspicuous. No doubt her capture was a matter of gossip at the palace. Stealth was no longer an option and speed would have to do.

Clad in his dark shirt, her current attire or lack thereof a clear indication that she was escaping, she seemed to understand the gravity of the moment. If caught, they’d both be dead in minutes. To punctuate that thought, a shot rang out behind them as they raced for the arched opening into the next courtyard, the bullet going past his ear, the sound not in the least comforting. Luckily, there was only one guard in sight, his startled face an oval as he turned in his round of pacing and saw them running, though Christopher knew the main gate was still guarded on the outside.

Chased from behind, a barrier in front…he hoped to hell that the small door in the wall was still unlocked as he’d left it, because if it wasn’t…

The sound made him catch his companion by the waist and tumble them both to the ground, the noise deafening, the world exploding.

Chapter 2

London, England

One snip and the rose fell to the path, like a drop of blood against the crushed white gravel.

Rather symbolic, really.

Lady Hannah Lawson bent and picked up the fallen bloom, twirling it between her fingers, mindful of the thorns on the stem. “It is all,” she said succinctly, “very disturbing.”

“I would think,” her companion said in his infinitely practical, calm way, “that is somewhat of an understatement.”

She glanced over at Beau Fallon, the sixth earl of Auberville. He stood watching her, his blond hair ruffled by the late afternoon breeze, his pose nonchalant as always; but that was the deceptive thing about him. He always seemed relaxed, at ease, unruffled, but she knew firsthand he maintained the façade of a bored, sophisticated aristocrat, while beneath, he was much more complex. At the moment his expression was inscrutable, but it often was, his clean fine features unreadable, his immaculate clothing a nod to the current fashions, his crystalline blue eyes veiled.

“I
am
very close with my sister,” she admitted. “When she disappeared, though everyone else thought that she’d run off with someone, I did not. Cassandra is not the flighty type, nor do I think she could have become embroiled in a love affair and I would not have known it. I am sure she does not tell me every detail of her life, but we are friends as well as sisters.”

“If anyone can find her, Christopher Ives can. Your father chose wisely.”

He sounded so very calm and confident, but the implication that perhaps Cassandra wouldn’t be found was chilling. Hannah felt a shiver despite the warm afternoon sun. “I am truly starting to believe she was kidnapped.”

Beau was as neutral as ever. “One does wonder over such an abrupt departure.”

“But there’s been no call for ransom.”

“So I understand.”

She finally asked the direct question that was the purpose of her note, inviting him to call. “There’s a rumor that perhaps she was enceinte and has gone off to bear the child in secret. I do not believe it, of course, and am quite infuriated, but at this point, what am I supposed to think? Do you know anything more?”

“Me? Why would I?”

“You know everything, my lord.”

“When did the rumors begin?”

It was a bit irritating he didn’t answer, but she hadn’t anticipated it would be easy to get information out of him. It was, however,
worth a try. She considered the question. Rumor was, after all, deliberately elusive. There was all the rubbish of people confiding and swearing others to keep their anonymity—which never worked in her opinion—and it was all so unreliable anyway. No one seemed to take responsibility for it.

Luckily, Beau would never repeat what she said to anyone, though the reverse was true and he wouldn’t tell her what others were saying either. To say he was cryptic was not giving enough emphasis to the word.