Falconer's Heart Page 8

  “How thoughtful.”

  His deep chuckle sounded, low but unmistakable. His enjoyment of this horrendous situation eased her nerves, which felt about as stretched as they could go. She tried to move her hands but found them too securely bound. At least the circulation wasn’t cut off.

  Belmont pulled himself into a kneeling position and tried to bend so his hands, which were behind him, could reach the ropes about his booted ankles. He muttered something under his breath that Riki couldn’t catch.

  She tried to copy his pose, with more luck. She found the ropes but the knot was on the bottom, buried beneath her feet in the sand. She gave up with a sigh. “What other delights does your time have in store for us?”

  “You believe it then?” He sounded curious.

  She considered. “No, but it’s easier than arguing with a madman. Or a figment of my imagination. What we just went through can’t have been real.”

  He chuckled again. “Can you roll over here? If we turn our backs to each other, we may be able to do something about our hands.”

  “You’re enjoying this!” she accused.

  “I am.” His tone held more than a little surprise. “Lord, I must be getting as bad as my brothers. Are you coming?”

  She complied, and for the next several minutes they were silent as they tried to position themselves so they could reach each other’s bonds. Under different circumstances, Riki decided, this activity could prove quite provocative. Rather like playing Twister, in fact. They kneeled in the wet sand, backs barely inches apart, her lower legs between his. He, at least, remained in possession of the flask in his back hip pocket. She felt it as they maneuvered into position.

  “I believe, Miss van Hamel,” he said at last, “it will be best if one of us remains still to give the other a chance to work unhindered.”

  “Yes, I was noticing it wasn’t easy with us both moving our hands. I don’t suppose you have a knife on you?”

  “I had, but our erstwhile friend relieved me of it.”

  “A pity the flask isn’t glass. We could break it and use it as a knife.”

  “Speaking of flasks, I don’t suppose you could reach it, could you, Miss van Hamel?”

  “Call me Riki. Everybody does.” She felt behind her for his back pocket and the brandy within. Those jeans couldn’t possibly have been any tighter. She concentrated very hard on removing the flask and not on his powerful muscles. Now was hardly the time for an intimate encounter. The thin metal bottle came free in her hand at last, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you.” His voice sounded tight. Apparently her search for the brandy had affected him too.

  She placed the flask in his hands. “If you’ll hold it, I’ll try to get the lid off.” His grip tightened, and within moments she’d loosened the top. The tiny cup dropped to the side, secured by a delicate silver chain.

  “Now what?” he asked, his tone purely conversational.

  “Oh.” After a moment’s thought, she shimmied away from him, turned around, bent down and got her mouth over the top. She started giggling, but whether from her ridiculous position or from reaction to all that happened, she wasn’t certain.

  “By all means, take your time.”

  Thus admonished, she got herself under control. By leaning far to one side, she managed to tilt a little liquid into her mouth and she swallowed. It burned like fire shooting down her throat, then a welcome warmth and lassitude crept through her aching muscles. She turned around and took the bottle from him.

  He copied her form, then with his back once more to her he recapped the bottle. “I believe you will do best to set it on the ground, Miss—Riki.”

  She quite agreed. The prospect of searching for that tight pocket intrigued her too much. She let the flask drop.

  The sip of brandy helped steady her. She remained still while Belmont worked on the knot binding her hands, but to no avail. At last, too stiff to remain where she was, she pulled away only to collapse unceremoniously on the sand.

  “Are you all right?” He looked over his shoulder, then dropped into a roll. In a moment he was pressed tightly against her, his warm breath fanning her cheek.

  “I’d be a lot better if we could get these knots undone. Sorry, my legs cramped up. Shall we try again?”

  His gaze did not meet hers. Instead he appeared to be studying her mouth. A slight smile just touched his lips. “By all means.”

  This time he succeeded in loosening the knot. Riki remained frozen, afraid to move and undo his work, as numbness crept through her fingers. Then suddenly the ropes eased and she could move her hands. The bonds fell away and she pulled her arms in front of her in relief to massage her bloodied, hurting wrists.

  Feeling returned and she set to work on the knots that cut cruelly into Belmont. The smugglers had been less kind to him. His skin was raw from the ropes, which were soaked with saltwater, rain and his blood. It must sting like mad but he made no comment as she tugged and eased at the ends. His rigid stance never slackened by so much as a fraction.

  “There, it moved!” Elated, she pulled a little too hard and saw him flinch. Biting her lip, she moved more cautiously. Another ten minutes or so passed before she could free him.

  His breath escaped in a ragged gasp as he dragged his arms in front of him. Her fingers were covered in blood, his and hers. She picked up the flask and handed it to him.

  He took a long swallow, then passed it back. She sipped carefully and let the fiery liquid slip down her throat.

  “Aren’t you going to indulge in a fit of the vapors?” He regarded her with an odd smile playing about the corners of his firm mouth.

  “In a what?”

  “Hysteria. After what you’ve been through, you’ve earned it.”

  “Maybe when the shock wears off. Right now all I want is to get my feet free.” She moved to a sitting position, curled her legs up and started working on the last of her bonds. If her fingers weren’t so stiff and sore already, it would be a lot easier.

  “Here.” Belmont stood, albeit unsteadily, and joined her, his ankles now untied. Kneeling before her, he helped.

  The light-colored ribbing at the cuffs of his sleeves showed dark stains and his wrists looked raw and ugly. She could see him quite clearly, she realized.

  “It’s morning!” Riki looked about, startled. She had been so absorbed in freeing herself she hadn’t noticed the pinkish tinge of dawn that crept into the heavy clouds hanging low in the lightening sky.

  “So it is.” He pulled the ropes away and helped her to her feet. Slowly, his eyes roved over her slender body in the wet, clinging jeans and the bulky sweater. “How the devil am I going to explain you?” he muttered.

  Riki bristled. “What do you mean, ‘explain me’?”

  “It would be best if I could keep you from meeting anybody except your da—your cousin.” Belmont rubbed a bloodstained hand over his stubbly chin. “There’ll be the devil to pay if you talk to anyone.”

  “And just what do you mean by that?”

  “If anyone just sees you dressed like that it will be bad enough. I knew I shouldn’t have brought you.” He muttered the last words to himself.

  “Let’s just get one thing straight. I’m not some baggage you hauled along. You didn’t ‘bring’ me. In case you’ve forgotten already, you needed my help.”

  “And now look where it’s got us.”

  She looked around, deliberately misunderstanding. “A rather nice beach, I’d say. Coarse sand, a bit of driftwood. A terrific sunrise with all those clouds. Not bad at all, considering the boat wreck and smugglers.”

  He ground his teeth. “We are in exactly the position we most ardently need to avoid, madam. Our purpose, in case you’ve forgotten already,” he mimicked, “is to remove your cousin from my time before he can do or say anything more that might alter the future. And now you are here, able to do as much damage as he.”

  “I wouldn’t!”

  “Not intentionally of cou
rse. But what about—” He started to gesture to the zipper on his jeans and dull color flooded his face as the blatant impropriety of mentioning such a subject in feminine company obviously struck him.

  “We get new clothes as quickly as possible.” She kept her voice purely matter-of-fact.

  “You will have to keep a guard on your tongue at every moment. It would be best if you could be prevented from meeting anyone.”

  “I am not such a fool as you obviously think me. I daresay if you will instruct me in how a well-behaved young lady acts, we shall ‘manage to scrape by tolerably well’. Have I that expression right?”

  A reluctant smile played about the corners of his firm mouth, easing the exhaustion from his face. “For one thing, a lady does not go off on harebrained adventures in the company of a gentleman.”

  Riki’s hauteur collapsed. “There’s no hope for it then. Perhaps you can pass me off as your half-wit brother. You did say you had one, didn’t you?”

  “Two, in fact. And both more harebrained than half-witted. They would enjoy this situation far too much.” He drew a deep breath, apparently coming to a decision. “But you are right. There’s no hope for it. You will have to meet a few people at least. As soon as we get our bearings, we’d best find you something suitable to wear.”

  “As long as it’s dry I’ll take anything.” She looked away from the shore but saw nothing but shrubs blending into forest beyond the sand. “Where do I buy—”

  She broke off. She had no money. For the first time in her twenty-seven years, she honestly had not one single cent.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, shattered by the knowledge but unable to explain. For all her life, the van Hamel money had been behind her. It colored the way people saw her, made instant enemies of some, instant cloying hangers-on of others. But now she was on her own without that glittering aura of family gold.

  “Riki?”

  “I…I don’t have any money.”

  A deep chuckle escaped him. “You looked as pale as death for a moment. Is that all?”

  “How would you like to find yourself totally bereft of funds?”

  A crease formed in his brow. “Does it matter so much? You’ll be in my time for as short a while as possible. I’ll provide what you’ll need for a few days.”

  “I’ve never been…on my own.”

  “What? Afraid?”

  If he intended to rally her, it worked. She brought her chin up. “Of course not,” she lied.

  “Then I think we had best decide how to get ourselves out of this rather uncomfortable situation. Stay here while I look around.”

  She shivered. “I’d rather come with you, if you don’t mind. I could use a walk.”

  “I will thank you to stay out of sight until I know where we are. Neither of us is exactly dressed with propriety.” He sketched a brief bow and started up the beach, leaving her to stare after him.

  Damn the family money. She’d never before realized how complete her dependence on it had been. Finding herself alone, stripped of her golden security blanket, she felt naked, vulnerable. This adventure suddenly took on nightmarish overtones.

  Except for Belmont. He fell under the category of a pretty fantastic daydream.

  Chapter Six

  Riki would be safe on the beach, Belmont told himself as he strode briskly through the shrubs toward the forest. He spotted an overturned dory and his spirits rose. There would be a house or even a town nearby, and probably a path that would lead him there. Once he knew where they had been left, he could set about obtaining help. He wished he had money—even one of his cards—on him. In these unconventional garments he had borrowed, no one would take him for a gentleman. He had only his voice—and his habit of command.

  A few minutes walk beneath the wind-swept pines brought him to a narrow cart track. Fresh hoof prints mingling with the narrow ruts of wooden wheels, neither completely washed away by the overnight rain, encouraged him further. There must be frequent traffic. Five minutes of following this brought him to a lane—and to the conviction that his boots had suffered irreparable damage.

  A signpost pointed the way to Rottingdean. Satisfaction washed through him. They were in East Sussex—and not that far from Brighton. Still, he’d be damned if he’d walk the whole way in these boots. And now he had to return to the beach to get his companion. He turned to start limping his way back, only to draw up short.

  A sigh of exasperation, not unmingled with relief, escaped him. “Don’t you ever obey simple requests?”

  Riki moved out from beneath the trees and joined him. “Only when they’re sensible. I couldn’t see any point in your coming back for me, and the way you’re walking, you ought to be glad. Does the signpost help any?”

  “It tells me where we are but it fails to suggest how we are to reach help.”

  “Walk?”

  “It’s all of nine or ten miles.”

  “To—” She looked past him. “Rottingdean? Do you know anyone there who would help us?”

  “To Brighton. I have a friend—Sir Julian Taggart—who keeps a house there. Even if he’s not presently in residence, his servants will give us shelter.”

  “Are you in the habit of calling on your friend in unusual circumstances?” She started along the lane at his side.

  “One of my brothers has, upon several occasions.” Was he becoming as madcap as Aubrey? The thought startled him. The responsible and always proper Viscount Belmont, engaged upon some lark? If Julian were indeed at home, his friend would never let him live down what would seem to him an unparalleled freakish start.

  He could always tell his friend the truth, of course. Then Julian would merely have him conveyed to Bedlam without further ado. A muscle twitched at the corner of Belmont’s normally sober mouth. He’d been raised to respect his position and his dignity, while Aubrey and Hillary kicked up larks and got up to every sort of entertaining bobbery. Just this once it wouldn’t hurt him to enjoy himself a little.

  “What will you tell your friend about me?” Riki spoke quietly. “Or do you intend to leave me hiding in the bushes outside so I won’t inadvertently blurt out I’m from the future?”

  “Minx,” he murmured. He looked down at her. She hugged herself against the cold and water trickled down her neck from her auburn hair. There were freckles there too, he noted with interest.

  Such a delicate little creature, yet she faced storms and smugglers without one word of complaint. Only the absence of her fortune made her tremble. Well, he could understand that, he supposed. Any other female of his acquaintance would have succumbed to a fit of hysteria by now, and without nearly as much provocation. Except, perhaps, for his sister Felicity.

  Unfortunately, his thoughts concerning Miss Riki van Hamel were far from fraternal at the moment. Those tightfitting “jeans”, which clung in a most unseemly and enticing manner to her slender legs, wreaked havoc with his gentlemanly intentions. The wispy Grecian drapery worn by the ton ladies over the past few years had never affected him as strongly as did the bulky knitted shirt that had lost its shape and now clung to the slender curve of her breast and her fully rounded hips. He moved a step farther away from her.

  “Your friend will know I’m not your brother,” Riki continued. “What was his name? Sir Julian—?”

  “Taggart. And anyone who sees you in the daylight will not be fooled into thinking you a youth, despite your shocking attire.” He spoke more sharply than he’d intended. She was temporarily under his guardianship, he reminded himself firmly, and it irritated him when that thought chafed.

  “My presence is going to make things awkward for you, isn’t it?” She peeped up at him from beneath her long, thick lashes, sudden mischief lightening her somber expression, mixing with unspoken apology.

  “As you say.” What a damnable little minx, to create havoc in him with just a look! It would serve her right if he succumbed to impulse and kissed her. But a Randall of Falconer’s Court—and the Viscoun
t Belmont, at that—did not behave in an improper manner. For the first time since his childhood, he found that dictum frustrating.

  “I suppose we’d best stick as closely to the truth as possible.” Her brow wrinkled in concentration. “He’ll know I’m an American from my accent—if you let me speak—and the boat wreck will explain a great deal. Where should we have met?”

  The next few minutes passed in a discussion of the most plausible story. Belmont encouraged this, for it kept his thoughts in a more proper vein. They were still arguing over details when he became aware of the steady clomping of a horse’s hooves and the rattling of an ill-sprung cart approaching.

  He broke off in midsentence and turned to see a farming wagon nearing them. A weathered, slightly built man of indeterminate years perched on the seat as his placid old cob plodded along. Belmont waited, and the man at last drew abreast.

  “Could you give us a ride? We were fishing and our boat sank.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed as Belmont spoke. “Quality,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Aye, climb in back. I’m goin’ t’ Brighthelmstone, if that’ll be of any help t’ye.”

  “Thank you, it would.” Belmont grabbed Riki’s hand and strode around to the rear of the wagon. She had a remarkably tiny waist, he noted as he picked her up and set her on the floorboards. The wooden planks smelled suspiciously of fertilizer. He didn’t even have a coat he could spread on which she might sit.

  “Where is he taking us?” Riki whispered as he jumped up beside her and the cart started forward once more.

  “Brighton. He used the old name—though I don’t suppose it’s old to him.”

  They fell silent as the wagon lurched along. Despite the crawling pace they were jarred considerably, but Belmont resisted the temptation to cushion Riki by drawing her against him. An inner voice warned him he might not stop at that, and a gentleman did not take advantage of a lady. Damn being a gentleman, he thought, for the first time in his very proper life.

  “How soon can we reach London?” She didn’t look at him but stared back along the lane the way they had come.