Kiss From a Rogue (19 page)

Something had been wrong this morning, and not just the briny cheese. Ruford had scurried back to his ship like a frightened rat.

Had Teague already made his counter to their counteroffer? The man seemed awfully certain he could move as much cargo as he wanted, whenever he wanted to move it. Tony would bet his last penny Ruford was actually afraid to sell his illicit cargo to anyone but Teague now.

He needed to know why. He needed to make Sylvia smile again, to lift the weight of defeat from her slender shoulders.

Ruford was on his ship, anchored out in the cove, unlikely to come ashore again anytime soon. Tony heard the first mate shout the order to weigh anchor.

Their last hope was about to sail out to sea.

Did he need to do this badly enough to row out there in a little boat, tossed about on the merciless waves? He could swim to the ship. Nick had tried to drown him when they were twelve, but succeeded in teaching him to swim instead.

But once out there he’d still have to climb aboard the cutter, which was bobbing on the waves, back and forth. In constant motion.

The anchor clanged up and locked in place. There wasn’t enough time to swim. He fought down the nausea.

He grabbed a skiff leaning up against the cliff and dragged it between the fishing boats to the water’s edge, then ran back for the oars. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed off and started rowing.

Sylvia realized Tony had disappeared while she’d been lost in her thoughts. She missed his comforting presence at her side. She’d have to get used to that. She blinked back a tear, refusing to let it fall.

She interrupted Corwin, who’d been discussing possible employment opportunities at the Swanage docks. “You are not moving to Swanage.” She pointed to Sawyer. “You are not emigrating to Canada. And you”—she pointed at Mrs. Pitsnoggle—“are not going to become an unpaid governess to your nephew’s children. We are all staying right here. Baxter, please show me which cave you got the cheese from this morning.”

Baxter closed his mouth with a snap, then jumped up from his chair. “Yes, my lady.”

She followed him out, her back straight, knowing every eye in the room was on her. They were all counting on her. She wouldn’t let them down. Again.

“Ahoy!” Tony called as he neared the cutter.

After some grumbling from the men above, a rope ladder was rolled over the side, and Tony climbed up.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring any cheese,” he said once he’d been led to Ruford on the aft deck.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Ruford’s gaze darted between Tony and the companionway hatch.

“I just came to find out why you refuse to sell us your cargo. It’s as if it didn’t matter what we offered as counter to Teague—your mind was made up. Why is that, I wonder?”

“Because that’s the way it is.” Teague emerged from the companionway near the wheel.

Oh, hell. This did not bode well for Sylvia and her men.

Ruford stepped back, as though in deference to Teague.

Tony kept his expression carefully neutral. “Are you going to let him bully you on your own ship?”

Ruford seemed to locate part of his spine, and stood a little taller. “It is simply good business. I’m selling to the highest bidder for the highest profit.”

The wind shifted, and Tony was caught downwind of the captain. That, combined with the constant rocking motion of the deck, made him really wish he’d skipped breakfast. He swallowed down the bile and turned to Teague. “What makes you so certain you can safely move the extra loads? Have you bought off all the Revenue agents and excisemen in the area?”

“Just the important ones.” Teague rocked back on his heels.

“Why, thank you for the compliment.”

Tony stared at the man standing in the shadow of the mainmast. “Tipton?”

“Good morning, Mr. Sinclair.” Tipton moved out of the shadows. “You really should have stayed in bed with your wife.”

“You should have stayed in bed too, Tipton.” Danielson had just climbed the ladder from belowdecks, and stood beside Teague. Ruford took a step to the side, looking as if he wished everyone would just get off his ship. His crew stood around, murmuring, seeming as uneasy as Tony felt.

“You’re a busy man, Captain,” Tony said to Ruford. “Three appointments in one morning?”

“No appointments,” Ruford grumbled. “They just showed up. One after another.”

“Sir?” At the sight of Danielson, the color drained from Tipton’s face. “I—I don’t understand.”

Teague sneered. “Did you really think you could take my coin and then turn me in?”

Tipton ignored Teague, and spoke to Danielson. “I told you about the plan. We could have charged him with bribery as well as smuggling, and be certain he hung for it!”

“Yes, but your plan interferes with mine. You may be happy with the pittance we’re paid, but I am not. Mr. Teague is making it worth my while to look the other way.”

“But you can’t! That’s—”

“Shut up!” Tony hissed. Tipton demonstrated the self-preservation instincts of a lemming, and continued to sputter his moral outrage at his supervisor. Teague was caressing the two pistols stuck in his belt, sending a chill down Tony’s spine.

“I believe Mr. Tipton is going to pose a problem,” Danielson said.

“No trouble at all.” Teague drew one of his pistols.

Bloody hell. On a moving deck, he was just as likely to hit Tony as Tipton.

Tipton was still babbling, his attention focused on Danielson, completely oblivious to his mortal danger from Teague and shushing motions from Tony.

Teague raised his arm and cocked the pistol.

Sylvia picked her way among the rocks and tide pools at the water’s edge, following Baxter to the caves. The first two were large and deep, used for temporarily storing the brandy, though the first was empty at the moment.

The third cave was wide but too shallow, and filled up at high tide, which was just coming in. They’d have to hurry, or end up swimming back. The fourth and fifth were deep enough but too narrow for more than one person, and so usually weren’t used. With lots of outcroppings as natural shelves and a near-constant temperature, though, they had seemed an ideal place in which to ripen the cheese.

Baxter finally stopped at the fifth cave. Sylvia ducked past him and entered the cool, damp interior. Instead of being neatly stacked at the far end where she had placed them, cheese rounds were carelessly heaped on the nearer, lower outcroppings—below the high tide watermark.

“Baxter!” Sylvia took a deep breath as her shout echoed off the cave walls, and forced her fists to unclench.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Someone moved the cheese. Do you know anything about it?” She was proud that none of her anger slipped into her voice.

He ducked his head and peered into the entrance. “I think it might have been moved last month, or maybe after the first load of tubs we landed. Yes, that’s it—we needed to put some tubs back there.” He pointed.

She squinted into the darkness at the back of the cave. Now that she looked closer, there were a couple of tubs, forgotten on the farthest, highest shelf.

“Guess we forgot to move the cheese back when there was room to move the tubs to the other caves.”

She wanted to pound her head against the cave wall. Well, pound someone’s head against the wall. A wave washed in, soaking her skirt to the knees. A cheese round bumped against her shin, floating on the incoming tide. How many had washed away altogether?

At least now she knew why the cheese had tasted like low tide.

There were still at least a dozen ripening rounds, totally useless. Well, maybe they could let them ripen a few months longer and use them as spare cart wheels.

She marched out into the bright light. There were several dozen other rounds ripening in her stillroom, the cellar, and other places. Safe places. All was not lost. Though she doubted she could ever convince Ruford to try another taste.

She started to pick her way back to the beach when she glanced at the
Polly Anne.
Men on deck were shouting and running, climbing the rigging, setting the sails. She pulled out her spyglass and trained it on the ship.

Ruford was at the helm, but Teague was there, too, pointing a gun at Tipton, and…Oh, dear heaven, what was Tony doing on the ship?

Before Teague could fire, Tony lunged for Tipton, intending to shove him over the side and follow him into the water. But one of the sailors stepped in the way, and knocked Tony and Tipton to the deck.

“I knew it,” Ruford muttered. “A bloody hero. The damsel in distress wasn’t enough, you have to try to save the idiot as well.”

Tony sat up, but with the sailor looming over him, didn’t try to stand. “Even an idiot has the right to live.”

“Hey!” the idiot objected.

“Meddling amateurs,” Teague said. “I’ll see to it they don’t interfere anymore. Them and all their cohorts. Captain, get under way. We’ll dispose of these two out in the Channel, and let the tide take care of the bodies.”

“Fine, fine, just don’t get any blood on my deck.” Ruford gave the order to Crowther, who shouted commands to the crew.

Most of the crew sprang into action, but not the brute standing behind Tony. Several other men also loitered nearby. Neither Ruford nor Crowther seemed to mind. Tony swept his gaze up and down the man standing over him.

Boots. The loitering men were all wearing boots. The crewmen heaving on the ropes to hoist the sails were all barefoot, as were those who’d climbed the rigging.

No wonder Teague was so confident, with members of his gang on board.

The wind caught the billowing canvas with a snap, and the ship lurched. So did Tony’s stomach.

“Just where do y’think you’re going?” The brute grabbed the back of Tony’s collar as he got to his knees.

“If the captain doesn’t want any blood on his deck, I doubt he wants—” Tony lurched for the railing and leaned over the side, heaving his guts out. The grip on his collar prevented him from jumping overboard.

His stomach empty, seeing the waves crash against the ship’s side made Tony’s head spin. He stood up on shaky legs, one hand on the brute’s shoulder to keep from falling. “Thanks, chum.”

“S’are’ right.” The brute was a good six inches taller and twice as wide as Tony, with hands like hams. Said hands were pulling Tony away from the railing, his feet barely touching the deck.

“Tie them up,” Teague shouted.

“Aye, boss,” the brute said, and started to push Tony down.

“If you would be so kind,” Tony said. The man grunted in surprise, and paused in his shoving. “I became ill while I was down on the deck. If you let me, say, sit on that locker at the stern so that I might see the cliffs, perhaps we can avoid a nasty repeat of the experience, and keep the good captain’s deck clean?”

The brute thought that through, shrugged, and shoved Tony down onto the locker. While he tied Tony’s hands behind his back, another of Teague’s men tied his ankles together. Two others did the same to Tipton, and shoved him onto the locker beside Tony.

“I knew you was up to no good,” Tipton said. “Newlywed, my arse.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I just saved your sorry arse a minute ago.”

Tipton opened his mouth to retort, but one of the brutes held up a kerchief. “He didn’t say I had to gag you, but I will iff’n you both don’t shut up.”

“Mum’s the word,” Tony said. The brutes glared at Tony and Tipton for a moment, then the one put his kerchief away.

The four stayed close by, though their attention wandered. Teague and Danielson conferred near the wheel, where Ruford was steering the ship out of the cove, headed for open sea. The cliffs at their back were already receding as the ship picked up speed.

The increased motion made Tony light-headed. The meager contents of his stomach sloshed around, threatening to come up again at any moment.

“You’re looking a might green there, chum.” At least the brute didn’t laugh.

“Thanks ever so much for pointing that out,” Tony groused.

What an ignominious end. If he’d lunged right instead of left, he could have jumped overboard while Teague shot Tipton, and swum to safety in the calm waters of the cove. Instead he’d merely bought a little time, perhaps only minutes.

And Sylvia…He swallowed a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with the ship’s movement. He’d known he’d leave her soon, but not like this. Not like this.

Well, they weren’t dead yet.

Their guards stared out as the ship sailed past the mouth of the cove, the rocks disconcertingly close. Tony scooted closer to Tipton and stretched his arms. His fingers scrabbled on the man’s sleeve, until Tipton finally understood what was going on and moved closer. A little more, a little…there. Tony got his fingers on the rope around Tipton’s wrists and worked at the knot. Sweat broke out on his brow and upper lip, slid down the small of his back, and made his fingers slick.

The brutes were still staring at the receding cove. Now out on the open water, the ship’s bow lifted high on a wave, dipped low into the trough. Tony fought to keep from heaving, concentrating on the knot. Just the knot.

It broke free. Tony twisted and stretched his wrists out so Tipton could return the favor.

Tipton jumped up, struck the brute nearest him, and wrested the pistol from the man’s belt as he fell.

Tony stood and hobbled to the side, out of the way of the falling man, but his hands and ankles were still tied. The other brutes swung at Tipton. He fired the pistol. Another man fell.

“Shoot them!” Teague roared, and raised his own pistol.

Tipton swung his spent pistol at another of the brutes. Teague cursed.

With a deafening blast, another pistol fired near Tony. He blinked as blood splattered him. Tipton fell backward, over the railing.

Teague raised his pistol, aimed between Tony’s eyes.

The ship rose on a wave, as did the bile in Tony’s throat. He lurched to the left, ready to heave.

Teague fired.

Pain exploded in Tony’s right temple just before he sailed through the air, and then slammed into the water. He sank into its cold depths.