Midnight Mistress (24 page)

She pressed on with her heartfelt words. She had failed to save him in the past, but she still had a chance to save him now. “It is not yet too late. You still have time to return the dispatches and regain some measure of your honor.”

“Honor?” He spat the word like a curse. “You are a fine one to talk of honor, when you just tried to seduce St. Juste.”

Seduce!
Her eyes widened as she recalled how she taken Raoul’s face in her hands, a gesture of friendship that had been completely misinterpreted. “That was not the way of it. I was only trying—”

“I know bloody well what you were trying,” he answered, his chilling gaze impossibly becoming colder. “God knows, I’d expected you’d changed since we were children, Juliana. But I never thought you’d stoop so low that you’d barter your body.”

He turned and started to stride away. But she could not let him leave—not while he believed that she would … that she could … Her mind could not even fashion the words for
what he believed she’d done. She ran after him and caught his sleeve. “Connor, listen to me. I would never do such a thing. I could never—”

He gripped her wrist and spun her around, pinning her arm painfully against her back. He leaned forward, pressing so close that his body molded to the length of her back. “Do not, for one instant, mistake me for one of your palsied admirers, or for a man of character like Raoul. I could strip you of whatever’s left of your precious honor in a heartbeat. And,” he growled, bending so close that his hot breath seared her ear, “I could make you beg for more.”

He released her so quickly she staggered against the railing for support. She watched him stride off until the twilight swallowed him up. Only then did she find the strength to breathe again.

She had to escape. She had to retrieve the dispatches and leave this ship. Before England’s plans fell into enemy hands. Before she lost courage. Before it was too late.

Before she gave in to her shameful desires and sought out his bed.

The midnight bell tolled to silence.

Beneath the deck in the aft cabin, Juliana craned her neck as she listened to the footsteps of the changing watch. With her gaze fixed on the ceiling, she followed the sound of the footfalls across the deck above.
He stops at the aft railing. Then a slow turn to the left. Nine measured steps across the deck, and down the ladder to the quarterdeck …

Since the beginning of her imprisonment, she’d listened to the midnight watch. She knew she had some fifteen minutes before the footfalls of the watch returned, minutes that would spell the difference between defeat and disaster. She slipped out of bed and hurried to the aft bay window, where some hours earlier she had carefully broken out a glass pane. She reached outside and felt the hull until her hand found the knotted rope that she had dropped over the side a few days past.

St. Juste had been her best plan for escape, but he had not been her only plan.

Gripping the rope, she cautiously eased herself backward out of the window, trying not to look at the churning black water far below. The night wind hit her bare shoulders, for she’d stripped down to her shift for the climb, but she clenched her teeth and continued to work her way out of the small opening. A sudden roll of the ship yanked her roughly from her perch, and for a terrified moment she swung out over the emptiness with only her grip on the rope saving her from falling. Then her feet found purchase on one of the knots. She laid her cheek against the coarse hemp while her heart slowed to a manageable beat. Then, hand over hand, she climbed the hull to the aft deck of the ship.

Once topside, Juliana hurried to the midship, steering clear of the signal lanterns hung at the corners of the decks. The masts, rigging lines, and lowered canvas provided ample cover, and she was easily able to crouch behind a moonsail under repair as the watch passed by. She glanced across the bow and saw the stern lights of one of the convoy ships straight ahead, barely a hundred feet off the port bow. Now that they were virtually at a standstill she could climb down the bowline and swim to the nearest ship. The water would be cold, but if she lowered herself into it slowly, she could endure it for that short distance, and the storm current would help drive her toward the convoy vessel. At least, she hoped it would.

Once she was on the ship, they could slip away in the fog and lay on sail before Connor realized they’d gone. By the time the sun rose, they’d be well on their way to Lisbon, too many hours ahead for him catch up with them before they reached the harbor and its naval fleet. Faced with the prospect of fighting English warships instead of unarmed merchant vessels, Juliana had no doubt that the Archangel would turn tail and run back to his frog masters.

All she had to do to foil Connor’s treasonous plot was to swim over to the nearest convoy ship. That—and one thing more.

Once again she waited for the watch to pass by. Then she scurried through the shadows and climbed through the hatch down to the lower deck. Tiptoeing through the narrow hallway, she paused in front of the door to the wardroom. Hardly daring to breathe, she gingerly slid back the door bolt and slipped inside.

After a moment, her eyes grew accustomed to the faint light gleaming through the porthole from the deck above. It wasn’t much—most of the room was in complete darkness—but it was enough to make out the shape of the cupboard, and of the small chest that rested on top.

Juliana snatched the chest from its perch and headed for the door. But her steps slowed. The evidence inside the chest would send Connor to the gallows if he were captured. She knew she should jump at the chance to send a traitor to his death. And yet the thought of Connor being put to death—and by her hand—filled her with an anguish so great that the pain of it nearly robbed her of breath.

A light flared in the darkness as the man in the room’s far corner lit a single candle. “Hello, Princess.”

“Connor. Wh … what are you doing here?”

His smile gleamed in the flickering light. “Waiting for you. I knew you’d try to escape tonight. Saw it in your eyes. And I knew that whatever you tried, you’d never leave the dispatches behind. Of course, I didn’t know you’d come for them in such a—now, how would your fashionable friends put it?” He paused as his gaze ran over her from head to toe. “Ah, I have it. In a such a topping rig.”

She swallowed, shamed by his mockery—and by the carnal heat that coursed through her. She clutched the chest of dispatches as if it were a shield. “You will not get away with this. I’ve … I’ve already signaled the nearest ship.”

“You’ve signaled no one,” he said, taking a step closer. “You would never risk their lives to save your own. Besides, you’ve been watched since you climbed that rope to the aft deck—which, by the way, was a damned fool thing to do. If
I’d known you meant to pull such a cork-brained stunt, I’d have locked you up in irons for your own safety. The winds have kicked up hellish crosscurrents and that water’s cold as death. You might have been killed.”

“And deprived you of the pleasure of performing that task yourself,” she finished, her voice as brittle as corn husks.

He reached up and brushed his knuckles across her cheek so tenderly that she could barely suppress a quiver of desire. “I already told you—I will not harm you. How many times do I have to say it?”

“A thousand times would not be enough. I could never trust a man who could betray his country.”

“There are many kinds of betrayal.” He stroked her face, carving the path of his scar on her untouched cheek. “When your father banished me, you turned your back on me like all the rest of your class. I doubt you remembered me an hour after I was gone.”

An hour after he was gone, she was striding through the winter night after him. “ ’Tis not true,” she breathed in words barely above a whisper. “I loved you.”

He bent so close that she could feel the warm caress of his breath on her cheek. She wanted him—God, she ached for him! It would be so easy to take a step closer, and offer her lips to his caress. She remembered the kiss in Jolly’s office—the burning glory she’d become in his arms. It would be so easy to give in to the need throbbing within her. All it required was that she give up her family, her country, her honor.…

“Lie or no lie, you were my savior, Princess. Though all the dark days and darker nights, your memory was the one thing that kept me sane. I’ll never hurt you. Never.”

“Then let me go,” she pleaded.

He paused a heartbeat before repeating, “Never.”

He dropped his hand and stepped toward the door. “I shall have someone take you back to your cabin. At the moment I would not trust myself with that task.”

She closed her eyes, her cheeks blossoming with shame as she realized how close she had come to betraying her country for his caress. He had to be stopped, and she was the only one who could do it.

Taking a deep breath, she uttered what she hoped would sound like a come-hither sigh. “Connor, I would be pleased if you would accompany me to my cabin.”

His eyes widened.

“When I think that I shall never see you again, well, I—” She wiped away a tear that was not there.

He gave her a shrewd glance. “What are you up to, minx?”

Still holding the chest, she sidled closer. “If you cannot figure it out, then I am doing it wrong. I am only a woman, Connor,” she breathed as she lifted her lips to his.

His look was wary. Nevertheless, her offered mouth proved too much of temptation. “Dammit, Juliana, you don’t know how much I’ve wanted this. How I’ve dreamed of—”

She shoved the dispatch chest soundly into his unmentionables.

He bent double and cursed impossible combinations of anatomy. But before he drew a second breath Juliana had already sprinted down the hallway and up to the deck, with the chest securely tucked under her arm. She sped down the length of the ship, jumping ropes and canvas. She made for the forecastle, her gaze fixed on the distant light of the convoy ship and freedom—until at the last moment a hulking sailor stepped from behind the mainmast and blocked her path.

“Sorry, miss, but ya can’t pass,” Barnacle apologized. “I gots my orders.”

She turned to the left and found her way blocked by another sailor. Spinning around, she came face to face with a sympathetically smiling Raoul. She backed against the railing and stared at an unbreachable wall of sheepish but resolute sailors. Her horror increased as she caught sight of Jamie and the bosun on the forecastle, signaling the convoy ships to back away.

The wall of sailors parted and Connor stepped forward, his tender expression replaced by one of pure murder. “I’ve had enough of this, Juliana. You’ve taken your best shot. Several,” he admitted with a grimace. “But it’s over. Time to heave to and admit defeat. Come, give me your hand.”

“Never,” she cried. She heaved the chest into the sea, then she glared at Connor in triumph. “If you still want Napoleon’s gold, you’ll have to fish for it!”

“Only if Bonaparte wants our old larder bills,” Connor replied as he reached into his shirt and pulled out a thick packet of dispatches. “I switched them the day after you found the dispatches.”

The day after … and all this time she’d been planning to steal them. All this time she thought she’d had a chance. But Connor had already figured all her plans, and ruined every one. From the beginning the deck was stacked in his favor.

“Give me your hand, Juliana. I’ve won.”

She backed away until she pressed against the railing and she had to grip a shroud line to keep from falling. Connor had the dispatches. But if she escaped there was still a chance she could let the Lisbon magistrate know of his plot. If she could just reach the convoy ship.

“You haven’t won. Not entirely.” Then she let go of the rigging line and plummeted backward into the sea.

The water hit her like a sledgehammer, driving nearly all the air from her lungs. It was freezing cold, like a thousand knives stabbing into every part of her body. Blackness stretched in all directions and she flailed wildly, unable to tell which way was up. A final kick sent her through the surface and she grabbed a lungful of air. Then she started to pull for the nearest convoy ship.

But the waves pushed her backward, the cold, rough water leaching the strength from her limbs. Try as she might, she was no match for the ocean. The cold drove through her, numbing her arms and legs. Waves battered her body, and the hungry water closed over her again.

She was going to die. Oddly, she felt no fear at the thought. Years ago when she’d almost drowned, she’d fought for life with all her strength. But years ago she hadn’t had her heart cut out by a man who’d used her love and trust to betray her country. She loved him and hated him, and the agony was more than she could endure. Growing still, she let herself sink deeper into to depths. No more pain. No more betrayal. She drifted down, her thoughts on the Connor she’d loved.
Dear Lord, he was a good man once. Remember what he was, not what he’s become. And if you can, forgive him
—

A hand grabbed her arm and yanked her painfully to the surface. The peace of death shattered—the agony of living returned. Sputtering and coughing she tried to wrench away from her rescuer.