Highest Stakes (54 page)

  "Are you certain, my love?" His voice was thick and husky, but his uncertainty quashed any remaining doubt she harbored.
This
was truly her Robert, her beloved.

  "Body and soul, Robert, I am yours. I am only yours." Her eyes were no longer wide with fear but filled with love. She would hold nothing back to fill the void that had developed between.

  "Then we will be as man and wife, as it should have been."

  She was, for the present, finally his.

As Charlotte lay curled by her lover's side, physically and emotionally spent, she heard the light scratch at the door. She tried to ignore the call, but the scratch came a second time. She had been promised an hour, and her time had flown. She wished they had the entire night to explore what had unfurled between them. They deserved a lifetime together, but they were cheated yet again.

  She rose upon trembling legs, and he pulled her cloak back about her.

  "You see what a dangerous thing you have done," he murmured heavily against her hair, his fingers caressing her face. "My hearing is tomorrow. Your coming has only made matters more difficult for both of us, my love."

  "But how can you say that now?"

  "Because we have no future. My fate hangs by the proverbial thread, and I just pray you suffer no consequences or regrets for your impetuosity this night."

  "But how could I?" She bathed his face in kisses. "I could have suffered only by not coming. Above all, you had to know my heart is unchanged."

  With the third scratch on the door, he pulled her into a last fervent embrace, their lips meeting for a final tortured kiss. Biting back a sob, she pulled the cloak more tightly about her and left.

  Robert spent the remainder of the night in sleepless reflection on all the events leading up to this desperate point of uncertainty. Hours ago he had been lost in hopeless desolation, pensively absorbed by the reflection of an idealistic fool in the windowpane, one who had sealed his fate by a single rash and self-indulgent act. He had regretted wasting his life in pursuit of an empty dream, but Charlotte's coming had changed everything.

  In selflessness, she had given her love, proven her devotion, her strength, and her will to persevere. He had taken what she offered, but their joining went beyond the physical. She had somehow given back to him a sense of himself, the sense of purpose he had all but lost.

  He prayed that she had not given her precious gift in vain.

A s Robert's hands were bound behind his back and the noose
dropped over his head, he closed his eyes. His senses awakened to the fetid stench of death emanating from the platform and the sharp prickles of the thick hemp rope, the hangman drawing it snug about his neck and then suddenly pulling it taut. The abrupt, crushing tension on his Adam's apple caused him to gasp and choke. The frenzied crowd roared in a cacophony of bloodlust, sensing the climactic moment imminently approaching.

  He shuddered involuntarily. Sweat broke from his brow, slowly dripping down onto his closed lids. His raspy breathing came faster, though he willed it otherwise. Suddenly, as the hangman prepared to release the hatch beneath his feet, there was deathly silence.

  His stomach lurched, and he fought for control, willing his body to obedience. If he must die today, by God, he would do it with dignity. He opened his eyes again to scan the crowd, desperately seeking a final glimpse of his love, one last gaze at her lovely face. He sought in vain.

  Squaring his shoulders and closing his eyes for the last time, he heard, rather than saw, the hangman release the trap door…

  Gasping and choking, Robert awoke abruptly to the sound of the key rattling in his locked door. Sitting bolt upright, he tried to orient himself, slowly recovering from the nightmare-induced panic. This, now, was real. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he rose from his bed, reaching to pull on his breeches when the door opened and the major stepped inside.

  Devington masked his surprise at the unexpected arrival of his superior officer… and accuser. He executed a mocking left-handed salute.

  "Devington," Philip said earnestly, "I am come to lend what counsel I may in preparation for your trial."

  "You are come to help me? I have nothing to say to you, you bloody lying Judas!"

  "You don't know how it was," Philip protested.

  "I know exactly how it was, you traitorous sod!" Robert retorted. "Sir Garfield gave Beatrix to your brother, so the only way to recoup your losses was to take Charlotte from me. You greedy bastard! Charlotte is everything to me and nothing to you, yet you cast all love and friendship aside and took her for the money! You were a hero to me. I trusted and loved you like a brother. How could you do this?" he cried, tearing at his hair.

  "Devington, it was not my intent—"

  "Your intent? What exactly was your intent? You maimed and left me for dead. Now you come offering your help?" Robert spoke incredulously.

  "Listen to me, Devington," Philip entreated, "I had no intention of settling our differences as we did."

  "Did you not, Philip?" he accused. "Then why did you continue pursuit? Why did you draw you sword?"

  Philip exploded. "You drew first and gave me no choice, you bloody fool! And had you not acted so rashly, I could have charged you with some minor act of misconduct, easily settled by a flogging, but now my hands are tied. That vindictive sodomite Prescott saw his opportunity and made his report that you assaulted me with intent to kill. He had a half-dozen corroborating witnesses, so you are to face the general courts-martial as the Mutiny Act requires." He paused while Devington digested this news.

  "I'm sorry, Devington," Philip said grimly. "I wish I could paint a different picture, but it doesn't bode well."

  "Is this what you came for? To tell me I am already condemned?"

  "For assaulting a superior, the articles prescribe punishment by death. I believe your only course is to plead guilty and appeal to the mercy of the courts."

  "Have you ever known of such a thing? Mercy in a martialscourt?" Devington laughed bitterly.

  Drake ignored the remark and continued soberly, "The court convenes at ten o'clock. Field Marshal Viscount Cobham presides. As judge advocate, he shall act as prosecuting counsel and oversee the legal proprieties. He is a man with a long and distinguished military career. He will be fair, but you must present your case before thirteen senior officers, with overwhelming evidence against you. For what it's worth, I deeply regret the turn of events and would not, were it within my power to prevent, have you lose your life over a foolish act of reckless passion."

  "Reckless passion? I'd yet kill you even now had I a proper weapon. If you are finished,
Major,
I respectfully request that you bugger off." He repeated the mocking salute.

  "As you will, Devington," Drake replied with bitter resignation and departed.

  The captain confessed to taking up his sword against his superior in defense of his honor, but the articles allowed no legal defense for his actions, regardless of the circumstances.

  His trial was remarkably brief; the evidence of two bloodstained swords was overwhelming and the witnesses abundant. The jury of officers adjourned for deliberation, returning the verdict in record time. The entire process had taken less than two hours.

  Robert Devington was headed for the gallows as surely as he breathed.

Although unanimous, procedure required that the court's decision and all transcribed documents be taken before either His Majesty or the commander in chief prior to execution of any sentence. Major Thomas Winthrop was appointed for the task.

  As the major's carriage departed for the Palace of St James, Philip intercepted him.

  "I fear there's nothing to be done now, Drake. Unless His Majesty deems otherwise, Devington's neck will soon be stretched." They both knew the sealed documents included a death sentence.

  Philip sighed heavily. "The King's penchant for discipline is as well known as his intractability. The odds scarcely favor clemency."

  "I think it would be rather hopeless to appeal to His Majesty, Winthrop said. "The entire episode was embarrassing to the army, and he was exceedingly displeased to hear of it."

  "But the Articles of War allow only His Majesty or the commander in chief to mitigate any sentence. Have you any influence with Field Marshal Wade, Winthrop?"

  "My acquaintance with him is the briefest, I regret to say. I hardly stand poised to request any boon of the man," Philip replied.

  "We fast approach St James; what shall it be? Is there no one with influence who might owe you a favor or a debt of honor?"

  Philip's reply was sardonic. "Winthrop, you do understand I do not run in the highest of circles. But a debt of honor?" Philip paused to consider it, then struck by a flash of brilliance, he grinned. "
That
might be arranged. We shall seek out Cumberland!"