Rake Beyond Redemption (21 page)

‘Zan. I can’t.’

Zan heard her words as if from a distance. He turned his head to look at her, his face grey and ravaged on a fresh flood of pain, eyes impossibly dark and shadowed with it. Such agony when she applied the candle flame. It was a monster with jagged teeth and sharp claws to bite and tear. He clenched his jaw as he rode the fierce full wash of suffering. But then he felt her cool hand on his. Saw the tears in her eyes that she had not, would not shed. Such strength she had. He would never have got through it without her. And there was still so far to go. Love for her, intense admiration and respect, burned far stronger than the pain. She would do it and he would be released and they would survive. She had to do it. Zan summoned all the authority he could into his voice, even though it seemed little more than a harsh croak to his ears.

‘You can do it, Marie-Claude. A braver woman I’ve never met. There’s nothing you are not capable of. You’ve got to release me. It could make all the difference in the world.’

Marie-Claude leaned forwards. With the ruffle of her skirt she wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. And because she could no longer hide her fear and her compassion, she pressed her lips gently against his damaged cheek.

‘I’ll do it. I too feel the pain. Forgive me, forgive me…’

She set to it again. It was excruciating, unbearable. Tears ran down her cheeks when the skin of his wrists blistered and he wept. When he could no longer remain
silent against the agony of it. But she stuck to the task, wiping the tears away with her forearm, working as fast and as efficiently as she could.

At last the strands of hemp began to give way with blackened edges. She put the candle aside.

‘Pull now, if you can.’

His shoulders strained as he pulled his arms apart, unable any longer to stifle a hoarse cry as the rope dug into his burnt flesh. But the rope parted.

‘We’ve done it!’

He did not respond, but turned his face once more against the linen on the bed.

Marie-Claire unwrapped the remains of the binding. Slowly Zan sat up, flexed his arms, his clenched fingers, breath hissing between his teeth. For a moment his head fell back, eyes closed. Then, cautiously, he stretched out his hand to touch her cheek.

‘I said you could do it.’ His eyes were blurred and without focus, his skin as white as the candle wax.

‘So much pain. How could you bear it?’ Marie-Claude forced herself to remain severely practical. ‘I’ve no water to bathe your wounds. Or your wrists. I’ll cover them with what’s left of your shirt.’ She tore at it to make a pad to dab at the blood on his mouth. Wrapped and tied loose cuffs around his wrists, conscious of every movement she made that caused him further pain. Never had she felt so helpless or so culpable. When it was done, gently she pushed him to lean back against the bed.

‘Rest a while. I’ve nothing to give you. I can’t even wash the blood away. You must be so thirsty.’

His eyes, barely open, glinted indigo. ‘No brandy? Amazing in a house designed as a smuggler’s paradise. And I recall you threw the water over me.’

His deliberate levity touched her heart, but she knew he was suffering, his breathing shallow, face still ashen. He closed his eyes again and she had the impression that he was harnessing what strength he had. All she could do was to sit silently beside him, waiting helplessly, conscious of every breath he took. She did not touch him again. She wanted to, would have taken him in her arms and let his head rest on her shoulder, but she gave him the space to conquer the pain and regain his self-control.

She knew the moment his eyes opened again, felt them resting on her and raised her head to find him looking at her, more focused now, but still shadowed.

‘That’s better,’ he said. Sitting up with exaggerated care, he flexed his arms and hands again. ‘Everything seems to work pretty well.’

‘Your ribs might be cracked.’

He moved and grimaced. ‘So they might, but I can deal with that.’

She leaned forwards and touched the back of his hand, the merest touch, not resisting when Zan turned his hand and enclosed her own.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

She could not read his expression. Quizzical. Regretful. A little sad.

‘For what?’ she found herself asking as her own guilt took hold. ‘I put out the lamp. I relocked the doors. I lit D’Acre’s suspicions. I brought this on you.’

‘So you did—all of those things. But it was not your fault and you must not take any of the blame, Marie. Do you hear me? The blame is mine. I can carry it.’ His attempt at a laugh nearly broke her heart. ‘I thought we’d got away with it. D’Acre’d written me off as a careless bastard hardly worthy of a place in the Fly-By-Nights,
but nothing worse than that. I’d expected a fist or two to the jaw, but nothing more. And then…’

Suddenly his hand tightened around hers. Taken by surprise she cried out, before catching her lower lip in her teeth. She watched as he turned her hand over in his, then snatched up the other. There was no hope of hiding it from him.

‘Marie…I didn’t know,’ he said, horrified.

‘It’s nothing. I just tried to stop the rope burning too fast, too dangerously, so I used my skirts and my fingers to crush the flames…’

‘And burnt them.’ He pressed his mouth very softly against the fingertips. ‘You suffered because of me. I should be whipped for that, if for nothing else in this unholy mess I’ve landed you in. It was never my intention, I swear it. I would have saved you all of this, but circumstances conspired against us.’

Carefully he pulled her close and folded her into his arms. Palms against his chest, she let herself savour the heat and strength of him despite his injuries. For a little while she allowed herself to rest there. It was Zan who finally pushed her away.

‘I should not have done that. Forgive me.’ He let his arms fall and rested his head back against the bed as if he were very weary.

Which stirred Marie-Claude from her despair. She took his hand and held tight when he would have pulled it away.

‘What was it that went wrong?’ she demanded. ‘Why did D’Acre turn against you?’

She saw him hesitate for the length of a breath as he decided what to tell her. Was it the truth or some version of it? Then he shrugged and she knew he would not lie.

‘It was Rackham. He rode up from the beach to warn
D’Acre. A rumour of a large body of excise-men mustering on the cliff top. He hadn’t seen them himself, but couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility. The word was that they were a substantial force, making their way in this direction.’

‘So D’Acre accused you of laying information about the run to the authorities.’

‘You can’t blame him, can you? So much had gone wrong tonight. And then the final straw—the Excise threatening to appear on the doorstep. I was the newest member of the gang with the most to prove in the loyalty stakes. It had to be me. I couldn’t argue my way out of it.’

‘Why did he beat you?’

‘To make me tell what I knew. A bit of gentle persuasion,’ he added. ‘D’Acre wanted to know if we were to be trapped like rats in a barrel, here at the Pride, and what I might know about it. He thought to extract a confession from me. And enjoyed every bloody minute of it! His tolerance of me was always thin.’

‘Did you deny it?’

‘Of course. If I’d admitted anything, he’d have killed me on the spot and disposed of my body later. As it was—and there’s still an element of doubt in his devious mind—he postponed the pleasure. At least we now have a fighting chance to survive.’ He took a deep breath. ‘By God, he has hard fists!’

‘And vicious boots!’ Marie-Claude considered. A chance. Perhaps. But when the run was finished, D’Acre would return to finish them off. They might never be together again. This might be the one time left to bridge the divide between them—and it was up to her to force Zan to tell her the truth. Not an easy task to set herself, but she was sure of her ground. She would not allow him
to continue this ridiculous charade. She turned her mind against his battered body and compromised senses and went for the attack.

‘Why did you work with him, with D’Acre? Why would you join so malignant a crew as the Fly-By-Nights? You have your own cutter, your own organisation working out of Old Wincomlee. Why do it?’

‘Why not? You know my reputation.’ Suddenly the focus was back. He had recognised the attack for what it was. His voice became clipped and very cold. ‘It brings a healthy profit, far higher than my own operation out of Old Wincomlee. D’Acre has so many strings he can pull, so many contacts. That’s what brings the gold in. That’s what I’m in it for.’ Savagely cynical, rebuilding the barrier between them.

She would not have it!

‘A healthy profit? And what do you spend the money on? Not Ellerdine Manor for sure.’

‘You know nothing about it.’

‘I know enough. I’m not stupid.’ She fixed him with a stern stare at odds with her delicate features, but not at odds with the lift of her chin. ‘I have to say—I don’t believe you, Zan. If you are going to continue to lie to me, you’ll have to make a better job of it than this!’

A line dug between his brows, but he did not look away. ‘What’s not to believe? Venmore and Harriette have told you all my past sins. My bloody crimes. I’ve never denied them.’

‘I don’t know about your past sins.’ She kept her voice level, unemotional. ‘I expect Luke and Harriette have told me the truth as you allowed them to see it. All I know is what
I’ve
seen. I hadn’t the sense to realise it at first. I was hurt and so believed what I was told—that
you used me either for your own pleasure or to make use of the Pride. Or to hurt Luke. And you encouraged me to believe the worst of you. How could you do that? But now I’ve had time to think.’

His brows rose with magnificent arrogance, but she detected a wary look in his eye. ‘How can you doubt I’m working with D’Acre? You know I came here tonight to open up the house for his contraband.’

‘Stop!’ Marie-Claude shook her head, entirely frustrated. ‘You’re not in league with D’Acre. You never have been. I think it’s time you told me what you’re really doing.’

The shadows that chased across his eyes deepened from far more than pain. ‘You are wrong. Just accept what anyone will tell you. What point is there in building me up as a martyr for the cause? It will only bring you more pain and heartache.’ His eye softened for a moment and he raised her damaged hand to his lips. ‘You’re a lovely girl. You burnt your hands for me. But I am not a man you should love, Marie-Claude. No matter how hard you try to make a good case for me. It’s not fitting that you should.’

‘No? I think it’s very fitting. Listen to me, Zan. This is what I know. And I’ve had time to think about it whilst I waited to discover whether you were living or dead. This is what I know, what I see. A man who rescues me from a drenching, or worse, from a high tide. A man who creates an escape for me from D’Acre’s embrace and the attentions of his gang. A man who tries to get me to leave the Pride when he knows it would be under attack—and don’t even try to tell me you didn’t write that letter from
A Friend
! A man who takes the blame for the careful planning I wrecked and
accepts D’Acre’s punishment. A man who gives me a pistol to defend myself if need be. How does the image of a man lacking all honour fit with that?’

‘I’m no hero,’ he muttered sullenly.

‘No, I don’t suppose you are. I don’t know about the wrecking. Nor the attempt to kill Luke and destroy his marriage to Harriette. Nor what prompted your liaison with a man of D’Acre’s stamp. I think that for your own reasons you made yourself into a villain so that I would not love you. Well—it didn’t work. I do love you. And I think you love me too.’

His eyes were wide with shock. As if a kitten had leapt to maul his throat. ‘No!’

‘Yes, Zan. You made me believe you were a rake.’

Zan closed his eyes. ‘Marie-Claude! This is not the time—’

‘This is
exactly
the time!’ She would not be swayed by the plea or the terrible weariness in his voice. ‘I think it’s time you told me the truth and answered to your conscience. There may never be another time. We could both be dead before this night’s out.’ She held up her hand when she saw him prepared to deny it. ‘You know D’Acre is capable of cold-blooded murder, and I give as little for our chances as you. I don’t want to die knowing you’ve gone out of your way to fool me, from some ridiculous sense of honour and decency. I want to know the truth behind the man I love. The man who loves me.’ She leaned forwards, eyes bright, alive with conviction. ‘You felt that instant, magical connection between us all those weeks ago. You still do. So do I. So tell me the truth, Zan. If it’s the last thing you do.’

‘I can’t…’

‘You can. You will. And if you do not believe that I
love you…’ Marie-Claude leaned forwards and pressed her lips gently to his. ‘There. Shocking. Inappropriate. Unmaidenly. All of those. And I’ll do it again…’

She did.

With the taste of her on his mouth, the drift of lavender from her hair weaving through his stunned senses like a drug, Zan found himself pinned under that beautiful but cruelly direct stare. All his carefully constructed life—or what passed for it—demolished under a deluge of honest knowledge from the woman he loved more than life, when it was clearer to him than it had ever been that they had no future together. All his carefully argued reasoning that he should drive her away because she was worthy of a man without blemish in the eyes of society, without a past of bad choices and disreputable actions, all his hard-won acceptance of the necessity of their parting, had just been cut away from under his feet. Her hands on his were strong, unrelenting. When they tightened they raised the level of his pain to near-excruciating, but he would not flinch. In that moment, with painful death a real threat, he was forced to face his past and his future. Should he continue to live the lie, the shady deceits, the half-truths? Or should he lay it before her and let her judge him?

She filled all his vision. Dishevelled, bloodstained—his blood ruining the pretty blue silk—she was more precious to him than the most valuable cargo of jewels and perfumes from the East Indies. He had known of her past, her brave escape from Jean-Jacques Noir. That was not even half of the inner strength she had shown in her facing of the smugglers, or her releasing of his hands.