Rake Beyond Redemption (26 page)

‘Don’t ask.’

‘Love me again.’

‘It is my pleasure and my delight.’

He smiled against her hair, moving only as much as
necessary, sinking slowly into the wet heat, soft as satin, smooth as silk, as the stroke of her lips along his jaw warmed his blood. It was enough. A rise and fall of breath, the glide of flesh, the flex of muscles. Long, slow kisses. A brush of fingers against welcoming flesh, soft, velvet soft to cushion them, and bring them both to heightened awareness. Slow, miraculously slow, to prolong every pleasure-soaked minute into a quiet ecstasy.

Marie-Claude linked her fingers with his, seeing her reflection in his eyes. There she was. Linked to him, within his sight, as he was locked deep within her.

Still he kept to that same steady peace of thrust and withdrawal, torturing her as the demand for release built, tightened its grip.

She felt his muscles tense at the end, and shudder uncontrollably, as she clung to him, helpless to resist the eruption of fire in her veins.

For a lifetime they lay, sharing each other’s breath, then Zan stroked his hand down her back, along her spine from the nape of her neck.

‘Marie?’

The words leapt to his lips.
Marry me!

Only to be crushed by doubt. How could a man ask a woman to marry him when the public accusation of wrecking still stood against him? When his name was blackened with the stain of leading innocent men to their deaths?

‘What is it?’ she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.

He couldn’t ask her to marry him. He would live with the dishonour, but he would not tarnish her name. If he wanted her he would have to be worthy of her. In that moment Zan resolved to work to reinstate himself in the
eyes of the world. To put the Manor to rights and take up the role in local society that the name of Ellerdine demanded. To clear his name, if it were at all possible.

Much as his father would have wanted. His lips twisted against Marie-Claude’s temple at the irony of it. And then perhaps there would be a chance for him with Marie-Claude.

‘You’re very quiet! What are you thinking?’ she asked sleepily.

He could not tell her.

‘I must leave you—go back to Ellerdine Manor.’ He pressed his lips against her hair. ‘I arranged to meet Rodmell there. And then it’s over. D’Acre, the smuggling—everything.’ And then on impulse he asked, because he really did not want to leave her, ‘Will you come with me? Will you come to the Manor with me?’

Strangely his future, even though he had denied that they could have one together, seemed to hang on this question. He held his breath for her reply.

So, Marie-Claude considered. Zan might love her, but he resisted taking the next step. In her heart she wept for him, knowing why he would never ask her to marry him. Turning her face into his shoulder, she smiled sadly. Once she had accused him of being a man without honour. But now it was that honour that stood between them. Well, she could not force him into a decision, but she would make it impossible for him to put her out of his mind, and she had no intention of letting him go back to the Manor alone.

‘Yes. I will come with you.’

I
t was a ruin. A rank, smouldering mess of scorched, tumbled stonework and burnt-out timber. The lovely manor house with its sweep of steps and elegant terrace was no more. Zan and Marie-Claude stood on the drive beside their horses and stared helplessly at what remained of Ellerdine Manor. Two wings of the house had been completely destroyed, whilst the rest, its roof gone and windows smashed, repelled with its sour reek of vicious vengeance on the part of the fleeing Fly-By-Nights. What the smugglers had singularly failed to do at the Pride in the heat of Rodmell’s efficient attack, they had succeeded in achieving here at the Manor with all the time in the world to set the fire, light the flames and watch the house burn. Only when they were satisfied did they make a run for it, west towards their lair. The fire had been well under way before it was discovered and no fortunate shower of rain had blown in off the sea to douse it.

There would be no living at Ellerdine Manor.

Zan could imagine the brutal instincts of the remnants of the gang, their savage delight imprinting
their faces as they had plotted this revenge against him. It held the taint of Rackham’s vindictiveness.

Marie-Claude stood at his shoulder, eyes wide in distress, but dry and furiously angry. She would not weep for him. Instead her virulence made him smile a little.

‘Mon Dieu!
How dare they!’ Her hands curled into fists. ‘They deserve every punishment.’

‘I expect they’ll answer for every one of their crimes. Rodmell won’t rest until they’re caught.’

‘But they’ve destroyed your home. All you possess.’

Now the tears came to glitter on her cheeks in the bright light that cast the ruins of his home into such terrible relief. When Marie-Claude turned her face into his shoulder, Zan held her, cradling her against the destruction of their future together. Even if he had asked her to wed him, how could he possibly ask her to make a new life with him when he had nothing—absolutely nothing—to offer her? No home, no comfort. Not even a bed. He had nothing but the clothes he stood up in and his mare. He felt surprisingly numb as the full horror hit him. He prayed silently that Mrs Shaw had escaped. His horses and dogs. Had they survived? He had no idea…

He was silent, his chin resting on Marie-Claude’s hair. Although his eyes could take in what he saw, the whole terrible devastation, Zan could not find words or thoughts to match it. He had not loved the place, had found no love there during his childhood, but it had been his, his home, his inheritance to pass on to his own sons. Neglected, shabby, in need of care and investment it might have been, but it was his and it had figured in his new, hopeful vision of the future since he had woken with Marie-Claude in his arms. But now it was gone, replaced by an ugly smoking pile of stone and plaster and wood.

Beside him, fighting to hold back tears as she silently admitted to pure selfishness, Marie-Claude saw the destruction of all her hopes. If Zan would not take her as his bride because of the smear on his name, nothing would persuade him to do so now. All hope of happiness together was gone.

As they walked forwards to pick their way through some of the debris from what had once been Zan’s library, George Gadie emerged from the ruined coach house, beating ashes from his breeches and jacket, followed by Tom, who had Bess securely tied on a short length of rope.

‘Well, y’r honour. Mistress. Glad to see you both in one piece.’ He raised his chin towards the debris. ‘A nasty business—but no lives lost. Your testy woman’s gone to stay with her sister over in the village. She’s a tongue an’ a half on her. Callin’ down the devil on all smugglers…’ He grinned. ‘And Tom ‘ere got out.’ Tom nodded, releasing the spaniel when she struggled for freedom. ‘Could’ve been worse, I expect…’

And Zan felt a slackening in the grip around his heart as he bent to scratch Bess’s ears, reducing her to ecstasy. ‘What about the livestock, George?’

‘Tom got the horses out. We took ‘em over to Sir Wallace.’

A laugh was dragged from him. ‘I can’t imagine what he said to that.’

‘He’s content enough. The end of the Fly-By-Nights’s good news for everyone. Sir Wallace says to tell you he’ll look after the beasts as long as you need.’

‘I seem to have suddenly gained popularity!’ Zan remarked drily.

‘Aye, sir, that you ‘ave. The dogs are there too, y’r honour.’

At least there was some good news. But Zan’s mind
seemed to be caught in a loop that circled again and again to the woman at his side, to whom he could not offer a life. As they turned to retrace their steps, a hooffall announced Captain Rodmell and a troop of Excise.

‘Bad news this, Mr Ellerdine.’ Scowling, Rodmell swung down from his horse and stared down his long nose. ‘I feel some responsibility. I never thought to send some of my men here. Never thought they’d have retaliation against you in mind.’ He bared his teeth in disgust. ‘Thought they’d be too busy saving their miserable skins.’

‘Have you got them all now?’ Zan asked.

‘No. I was on my way to tell you when I heard about this…Some half-dozen still at large, we think. But we’ve had word they’re making their way back to Rottingdean. We’ll get them, sir, never fear. And at least without their leaders they’ll just go to ground and we’ll have some peace along this coast for a few weeks. Until the next gang steps into their shoes,’ he added with jaundiced realism. ‘D’Acre’s death’s the best thing that happened for many a year. I don’t think you’re in any danger of their return, but I can leave some men if you wish. I at least owe you that after all your work.’

‘No. My thanks, but no.’ For in all honesty there was nothing left to destroy. He put a hand up to Rodmell’s bridle. ‘Is Rackham still at large?’

‘That’s the good news,’ Rodmell admitted, his lugubrious face settled in lines of satisfaction as he remounted. ‘Rackham’s under lock and key—and he’s talking. Twenty to the dozen—anything to keep his head from the noose or his hide from a transportation ship. Putting all the blame on D’Acre as you’d expect. I doubt it will win him any sympathy with the justices, but it clears up a
backlog of work for us. Rackham says D’Acre’s behind every abomination, massacre, theft and smuggling run in this neck of the woods in the past two decades.’

‘And that’s not much of an exaggeration, I would think.’ Zan acknowledged the relief that Rackham’s future escapades need not trouble him.

Losing interest in the Fly-By-Nights, Zan turned away from Rodmell. There were more immediate concerns. Marie-Claude was beginning to shiver in the chill wind and, he suspected, in delayed shock. This was too terrible a prospect to subject her to any longer. He struggled to ward off a terrible sense of loss as he tucked her cold hand in his arm and led her back to where their horses were cropping the sward. What must he say to her now?

Go home, Madame Mermaid. Leave me, because it would be best for you. I spent a night in your bed, but I can’t wed you. I have neither a home nor a good name to give you.

Well, as his father would have said, those who make their bed with the smuggling association must perforce lie down with them and share their noxious habits. He had paid for his fraternity with them and the debt was a heavy one.

‘If you need me,’ he said over his shoulder to the Riding Officer, ‘I’ll put up at the Silver Boat for the next few nights and then we’ll see…’

But Rodmell urged his mount forwards, leaned down. ‘Rackham’s saying one thing that might be of interest to you, sir.’

Zan looked up.

‘He spoke of the wrecking of the
Lion D’Or.
’ A speculative look. ‘I’m sure you recall it…’

Zan turned his body slowly to face Rodmell, releasing Marie-Claude.

‘And what is it that Rack says?’ His eyes on Rodmell’s face were keen.

‘That it was all D’Acre’s doing. His plan, his operation. The rest of the crew followed orders because they were given no choice if they wanted to stay alive. Not that I believe him particularly—he’s intent on saving his own skin—but Rackham’s denying all responsibility. D’Acre wanted it, he says, and made use of the Smugglers’ Lamp here at the Pride. Rackham even admitted, in his desire to heap everything on D’Acre’s shoulders, that you and the boy had no part in it. He says D’Acre sent the order. And it wasn’t the only wreck Rackham laid at D’Acre’s door. A good half-dozen, by Rackham’s count.’

As Zan absorbed the words, he was aware of Marie-Claude’s hand slipping into his, of her little gasp of surprise, of pleasure.

‘Grâce à Dieu!’
she whispered.

‘I’d heard the rumours hereabouts, sir—’ Rodmell’s voice was stern ‘—that linked your name with the Old Wincomlee wreck. Of your complicity. Not that I gave any credence to them. You might have been a wild young lad, but not as wild as that. But this exonerates you, I think. I’ll make sure it’s known in the right quarters.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You’ll be glad to shake that off your shoulders.’

‘Yes. By God, I shall.’

George Gadie, an interested audience, cast a sharp glance at the Riding Officer. ‘No man of sense’d think Mr Ellerdine would have it in him to join the Wreckers. Nor the rest of that rubbish I’ve heard tell of. I know
what’s been spread about his making his fortune on the back of D’Acre, but it’s not true—’

‘Gadie—leave it!’ Zan ordered. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

‘Aye, it does. I think the Captain should know.’

‘Let him speak, Zan,’ Marie-Claude urged. ‘It needs to be said.’

‘Well, Captain, it’s like this.’ The old smuggler needed no urging. ‘The money Mr Ellerdine made from the ventures with D’Acre. A tidy sum, I’ll warrant. In fact, I know it was.’ He scowled when Zan raised a hand to stop him. ‘I’ll say my piece, y’r honour. We’ve all heard what’s bein’ said. That Mr Ellerdine was feathering his nest in league with as chancy a set of blackguards as you’d ever come across. None of it was true. None of the ill-gotten gains from D’Acre’s operations was spent on Ellerdine land or property. That’s true, isn’t it, y’r honour?’ His old eyes were fierce.

‘Yes,’ Zan admitted sardonically. ‘It’s true. Even I couldn’t stomach spending the ill-gotten gains, as you put it. But there’s no need to—’

‘
I’ll
tell you where it all went,’ George continued remorselessly. ‘Into the hands of the fishermen’s wives and the empty bellies of their children in Old Wincomlee when the days were too wild for their husbands to take a fishing boat out. When the wind and fog kept their men at home. Mr Ellerdine kept none of it for himself.’ He nodded his head in affirmation. ‘It kept us all from hardship. It’s only right you know that.’

Marie-Claude had no need to question if it were true. She knew that’s exactly what he would do. Just as he would never speak of it. And it brushed her memory. Had she not seen some of the money change hands in the stable at Lydyard’s Pride?

‘What an admirable man you are.’

The planes of Zan’s face were hard, skin pulled taut over his cheekbones. ‘I’m no saint. I ran some of the operations with them to gain their trust. I kept quiet about some despicable deeds. I don’t deserve your praise. The money I made from their operations—it was only right that it should go to help those who could not work. I don’t deserve any recognition for it.’

‘I beg to differ,’ Rodmell stated, gathering his reins and signalling to his men to make ready to depart. ‘And so will my superiors. I can’t name many men who would have taken on D’Acre and brought him to book. You’ve rid us of a scourge. So you’re out of pocket, sir? No need to worry about that. There’s a large reward on offer for information leading to D’Acre’s arrest. And since you handed over to us the whole gang you’ll not be out of pocket for long.’ His mouth twitched in sour amusement as he turned his mount away. ‘And if some of the contraband at present stored at the Pride goes missing between now and our collecting of it—then many would say you’ve earned it. Quite an amount, I understand. Almost a fortune, Rackham tells me. Some would say you’re welcome to it, with the loss of the Manor.’ He touched his hand to the brim of his hat. ‘Good day to you, sir. Madam. Gadie. I’ll be in touch.’ He nodded as he rode away.

Zan laughed. Raw and ragged, but still a laugh.

‘It seems I’m not penniless after all. I can rebuild the Manor with the reward for upholding the law, and at the same time from the illicit profits of smuggling. Even my father would not know whether to approve or damn me!’

‘Is that what you wish to do?’ Marie-Claude asked. ‘Is that how you see your future?’

It was the question he must answer. There they were, standing in the ruins of his home. The day was bright, the sun warm on their heads despite the chill wind to flutter her fair curls. A lovely day, but they were surrounded by destruction. Marie-Claude walked a little way from him, turning to look out towards the sea as if she would give him some space in which to make his decision. Some time to think of the answer to her question. It had been a momentous hour. His home destroyed. His name cleared with no fuss, both Gadie and Rodmell sweeping aside the past as if it had never been. Rackham had done him a favour at the end.

What do you wish? How do you see your future?

There was no decision to be made. He had avoided it last night, even that morning, when he was still hedged in by reputation and disgrace, simply because he could see his life following no pattern. But now…To hell with honour and reputation. He knew what he wanted. He did not know what the future would hold for them, but he could not live without her. He would make no more excuses to her. Nor would he let her go. Would she have the strength of will to take a stand against Venmore and Harriette if they still stood in judgement against him? After last night, her strength in the face of imminent death, he thought that she might. And he would fight for her. He needed her as he had never needed anything in his life before.

Dare he ask her?

If she did not lack courage, neither would he.

‘Here’s how I see it. I’ve nothing to offer you, Marie-Claude.’ He kept his distance, eyes fixed on the proud lift of her head, her firm spine and straight shoulders. He would say it and let her choose. ‘You see what I have
around you. Destruction, ruin. Nothing else, except my horses, my dogs and the
Spectre.
And a sharp-tongued housekeeper. To some extent my good name is restored. There will always be those who have little good to say about me—a matter of the proximity of smoke and fire—but some now know the truth. You know the truth and to me that’s the most important.’