Gingerly he tested his arms and legs. He seemed to be in one piece. “I’m only battered.” He pushed himself up, stifling a groan at the protest of his bruised body.

Brynn shuddered. “Oh, Lucian, I thought… I thought the curse had come true, that I had killed you.”

He had shared her same dark thoughts. “The curse didn’t come true, Brynn.”

“Can you stand?” She glanced at the dead Frenchman and shuddered again. “We should summon a doctor for you and-” She drew a sharp breath, as if remembering. “Grayson… he was badly wounded, Lucian. I need to see to him.”

Before he could reply, they heard the sounds of footsteps on the cliff walk. That would be Philip Barton and his men, Lucian knew.

He mentally voiced an oath. He wanted to be alone with Brynn, for they had a great deal to say to each other. But now they would have no further chance for intimacy for some time. Not when the smugglers must still be dealt with and Grayson’s fate determined.

Grimacing, Lucian set Brynn carefully away and climbed determinedly to his feet.


The next hours were a blur for Brynn. The immediate peril was over, but the future was far from certain-both hers and Gray’s.

The moment his men arrived, Lucian called for a doctor to see to her and her brother, but then he seemed to withdraw from her, as if he’d recalled her crimes now that the danger had passed.

Worried for Gray, Brynn was allowed to return to the cave-but under escort. Her heart sank at the implication of Lucian’s orders: she wasn’t to be trusted alone with her brother. She wondered if she was still under house arrest.

She left Lucian quietly conferring with his collaborator, Philip Barton. Brynn suspected he was dispatching men to intercept the crew of French smugglers and to dispose of Jack’s body, as well as retrieve the stolen gold. Lucian glanced back at her only once before she disappeared through the crevice in the rock wall, urgently seeking her brother.

Grayson lay where she had left him, looking pale and in pain but still conscious. She knelt beside him and opened his jacket to find his shirt soaked in blood. Biting back fear, she tore the cambric away to expose the raw flesh. The wound was on the right side of his chest, just below his armpit. Grayson grimaced in pain as she gently probed.

“The ball passed through,” she murmured in relief, “but I think the rib may be broken.” She touched his forehead, feeling for fever. “Does it hurt badly?”

“Like the very devil.” His eyes searched her face. “What of Wycliff?”

“He’s alive, Gray,” she replied with a shudder. “Jack isn’t.”

“Good,” Gray said with grim satisfaction.

She glanced around her despairingly. “You cannot stay here. We must get you to bed.”

The leader of her guard detail spoke up behind her. “Forgive me, my lady, but I am under orders. I am to make Sir Grayson as comfortable as possible, but he cannot leave the caves. A doctor will be here shortly to tend him, and you as well.”

Brynn stiffened at the callousness of keeping her brother incarcerated here. “Surely it would do no harm to take him to his rooms, even if he is a prisoner. He is in no condition to try to escape.”

Oddly, the guard looked puzzled. “Sir Grayson is not a prisoner, my lady. Lord Wycliff merely does not wish him to be seen by your household servants.”

“Brynn,” Gray murmured, “it’s all right. I would rather not move much just now.”

She hesitated, realizing the futility of arguing. Gray was too wounded to walk, certainly to climb stairs. It would be painful even being carried through the tunnels, and she could not manage the task alone.

“If you won’t allow him to be moved,” Brynn said tersely to the guard, “would you be so kind as to fetch him some blankets? A cold rock floor is no place for a wounded man.”

“Yes, certainly, my lady,” he replied, his tone deferential. “It is being seen to.”

She took off her coat and covered Grayson with it. Then she waited anxiously while the promise of blankets was made good.

A doctor came shortly as well-or at least a man with a medical bag. Brynn had never seen him before, which meant he wasn’t from the district. She could only conjecture that Lucian had anticipated the danger of the operation and brought his own surgeon.

The man tended Gray’s injuries, confirming that the bullet hadn’t lodged in his chest or pierced a lung, but that a rib was shattered. With Brynn holding the lamp, the doctor grimly searched for splinters, then liberally doused the raw flesh with basilicum powder and bandaged the ribs.

“You are a very fortunate man,” the doctor pronounced, “but the wound is quite serious with the bone so fragmented. You may take some months to heal.” He drew up the blankets over his patient, who was clenching his teeth in obvious discomfort. “I regret I can give you only a taste of laudanum for the pain,” the doctor added. “Lord Wycliff wishes you to be alert when he speaks to you.”

Brynn felt a cold knot reform in her stomach. She was greatly relieved to hear her brother’s prognosis, but Gray still faced charges of treason. And while she was infinitely grateful that Lucian was unharmed, her own betrayal had perhaps created an insurmountable obstacle between them.

The doctor bandaged her arm, which was beginning to throb, then took his leave. Brynn sat quietly beside her brother and watched as the strongboxes of gold were retrieved from the pool and carried away.

The men who performed the task scarcely gave her a glance. If they were taken aback by events or by seeing Lord Wycliff’s countess dressed in breeches, they politely pretended not to show it. Not that Brynn could summon the energy to be concerned. After the terrible tension of the past few days, she felt drained, despondent, filled with dread at the punishment her brother would be dealt.

Her nerves were raw again by the time Lucian finally came.

The cut over his eyes had been cleaned of blood, she saw, but his features looked drawn and weary.

He met her gaze only briefly before glancing down at her brother. “I believe we have some important matters left to settle, Sir Grayson.”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely.

“Are you still anxious for me to put a period to your existence, as you were a short while ago?”

Gray’s mouth twisted with dark humor. “No… Lying here, I’ve had time to reconsider. I really don’t want to die.”

Brynn reached out to grasp her brother’s hand, whether giving or seeking comfort she wasn’t certain.

“Am I under arrest?” Gray asked.

“Of a sort.”

“Then you mean to send me to prison?”

“No.” Lucian gazed at him steadily. “Not as long as you honor your pledge to help expose Caliban. He still remains unknown and at large, and despite this night’s work, our prospects of capturing him have suffered. With Jack dead, we are back to where we started. His crew has been apprehended and will be interrogated, of course, but I doubt they know anything about their leader. You are still the closest link we have to Caliban.”

“ I told you, I will help in any way possible. But I cannot endanger my family any further.”

“I agree,” Lucian replied tersely. “Which is why you will have to disappear for a time.”

“Disappear?”

“Go into hiding. It is the only way to ensure your sister and brothers’ safety. As you said, if you are dead, Caliban will no longer have the leverage to blackmail you. So you will be presumed dead. We will put out the story that you were drowned at sea, that your body was never recovered.”

“Will anyone believe it?”

“I don’t see why not. I mean to say that you were in my employ all along. You have been working for the British government, Sir Grayson, trying to get close to the smugglers and win their confidence.” Lucian paused. “There is no proof otherwise.”

“You would do that for me?” Gray asked, his tone hoarse.

Lucian shot Brynn an enigmatic glance. “Yes. You were only aiding me in my duty, attempting to keep my wife safe. If you cannot be found, Caliban will no longer threaten her or your brothers. Once we catch him, you can return to the world. It may be some months, however. Caliban has proven damnably elusive. But you can use the interval to recover. The doctor tells me you will be bedridden for a time.”

Brynn let out the breath she had been holding. Grayson was not going to prison. She felt tears fill her eyes as she squeezed his hand.

When Gray remained silent, deep in thought, she spoke up. “What do we tell our brothers… Theo? They will be devastated to think Grayson dead.”

“If their acting skills are good enough, you can tell them the truth. Their grief must be convincing enough to fool Caliban, though.”

“Theo will consider it a lark,” Gray asserted. “And I’m certain we can count on the others to keep up the pretense.”

“At least the presumption of your drowning avoids one problem,” Lucian expounded. “If there is no body, there will be no immediate question of your heir assuming your title and holdings, so there will be no legal mess to sort out when you return to life.”

“Where will Grayson go?” Brynn asked.

“I thought Scotland. I have property in the Highlands where he will be safe. One of my ships is anchored at Falmouth and can convey him there.” His gaze focused again on Gray. “My colleague, Philip Barton, will accompany you. You can use the journey to tell him everything you know about Caliban. If you agree to the plan, I will have a stretcher brought in to carry you to the ship.”

“Now?” Brynn repeated. “So soon?”

“Tonight?” Gray asked.

“It will be best if you disappear immediately,” Lucian answered. “The subterfuge may become too difficult to sustain otherwise. If your servants see you wounded, it will be harder to make credible your sudden disappearance at sea.”