“Thank you,” Rhys said gravely. “I think.”
Chapter 6
Rhys was not the only man to make his farewells as the bright morning sun burned off the shroud of fog in London and all along the coast. Mason Deverell stood on the narrow strip of shore near the entrance to Dunnelly’s caves and waited for his contact to make an appearance. He leaned against an oar and observed the steps leading down from the summerhouse.
“Why do you never use the cave passage?” he asked as he was approached.
“I don’t like it,” was the terse reply.
Mason laughed mockingly. “Not after that one night, eh? What a debacle that was!”
“What do you want?” The question was offered impatiently. “I could not believe it when I saw your signal. You’re clearly mad. The fog is all but gone. Anyone could see you.”
“It matters not.” He pointed down the rocky coast. Where it took a twist the tips of a mast could be seen. His ship waited beyond, out of sight of the manor. “I’ll be gone from here and the explanations will be yours to make.”
“Bastard.”
“Most likely. I came to tell you how she died.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll listen. You proved you were incompetent to take care of her yourself and I had to intervene. Now you’ll know how it was done.”
“I did not want her dead.”
“Mon Dieu!Do you think we didn’t know that? But you were trusted to do what was necessary so you would not be exposed. Kenna was coming painfully close to recalling the truth and yet you were ignoring it. Do you think I give onesouif she remembers you killed her father or that I broke her nose?Non!It is the sanctity of my mission for the emperor which must be preserved. Her recollection would have removed you from Dunnelly and compromised everything that I have worked for.”
“I cannot be compromised now. You’ve seen to that.”
“Yes, I have.” One corner of his handsome mouth lifted in a sneer. “Do you know of the young Lord Tremont?”
“His reputation, yes.”
“I wonder if you know his reputation with women. I wonder if you know he enjoys a bit of slap and tickle in the seedier sections of London. Place the emphasis on slap.”
“What has this to do with Kenna?”
“She was the last woman he enjoyed. He flogged her to death in his excitement.” He took pleasure in seeing the face across from him blanch, but when he read the intent in those eyes he dropped the oar and pulled his pistol. “Think twice before you lunge.”
“You are one of Satan’s own.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.” Seeing the threat was gone, he tucked the pistol away. “Kenna’s death changes nothing of our arrangement. You will still come to the cave when you see the signal and continue to provide the funds as requested. Your refusal would mean death.” His mouth lifted again. “Not yours, but that of those around you.”
There was a short nod to indicate understanding.
“Bien.This is farewell for us then. I am leaving for the United States today. There are sympathizers there, especially among the Creoles in New Orleans. I hope to increase their numbers and lighten their pockets.” Mason did not wait for a reply, knowing none was forthcoming. He picked up the oar and tossed it into the rowboat, glancing over his shoulder. “Care to help me put this in the water?”
“Go to hell.”
Mason shrugged, pushed off and jumped in the boat. As he rowed away he kept his eyes on the caped figure making the long climb to the summerhouse.
* * *
Kenna woke up sick. Her temples throbbed and she could taste bile at the back of her throat. Sliding her feet over the side of the bed, she sat up and put her head between her knees. The room was doing more than merely spinning, it was rocking. “Stop it,” she said under her breath, lifting her head and opening her eyes. This last action had the effect of completing her disorientation. Nothing was familiar to her and the panic that seized her made it impossible for her to catch her breath. She began to hyperventilate. Rhys swore his head had only touched the pillow when Kenna’s cry of alarm reached him. The sound of her strained and rapid breathing sent a shiver of fear through him. Without thinking, he grabbed the back of her nightgown and pulled her down next to him, flinging an arm over her heaving chest. One hand cupped her face.
“Slowly, Kenna.” His voice was gentle. “Slowly.” He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “A deep breath. That’s it. Let it out slowly.” Rhys held his own breath a beat then let it out to a count of ten, showing Kenna what he wanted her to do.
She watched his face, a certain distance in her wide eyes as if she didn’t really know him. Gradually she was able to pattern her breathing after his. At her sides her fingers trembled and she dug them into the mattress.
