“She’s nothing to me,” Peter snorted, shaking out the wet folds of his great coat as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He used the movement to quickly cock his gun, wondering if he could get a clear enough shot to hit the man between the eyes. First, though, he had to wait until Jemima was in a less precarious position.
“She’s your bitch,” Scraggan accused, giving Jemima a shake and making her scream again as she slipped on the wet rock.
“She’s served her purpose,” Peter said. “You forgot one thing, though, Scraggan,” he went on, fighting hard to put amusement in his voice. “I work for the government. I couldn’t believe my luck when she came to me in Devon holding vital documents that detailed all of your activities. The Salty Susan, Anna Maria, Sara Jane.” He watched Scraggan’s eyes widen as Peter listed some of Scraggan’s most coveted prizes. “She carried the dates, times, your contacts, the spies. She had so much information there was no way you would evade trial and certain death. She showed me the papers and begged for my help. She was going to tell me more, only you went and spooked her.” He shook his head chidingly, knowing if he had any chance of getting Scraggan to let her go, he had to give the performance of his life.
“She got scared and ran. Of course I slept with her; after all she is passably pretty and didn’t have a protector, and I’m a red-blooded male. You would do the same, wouldn’t you? Of course, I knew the importance of the papers she held and had to get them back, so I went after her. It wasn’t her I was interested in at all. Just the bloody papers the stupid bitch refused to give me.”
He couldn’t bear to look at Jemima. There was too great a risk that he would give the game away if he acknowledged the silent tears streaming steadily down a face so stark with betrayal that he wanted to gather her into his arms and offer her his soul in exchange for her forgiveness for uttering such a cruel lie.
He could only hope to God that she gave him the chance to explain everything when this was over.
Jemima listened to Peter’s words, seeing the events of the past few months unfold before her with new eyes. She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid, so blind to the real motives behind his apparent interest in her.
But now she thought about it, things made a horrible kind of sense. She felt sick at her own stupidity and stared in horror at the man she loved to distraction as he spoke the words that broke her heart. Over the past few months she had wondered why someone like Peter would be interested in her. Now she knew.
Peter could sense Scraggan’s hesitation, but knew he wasn’t entirely convinced yet. There was a very real possibility that he would just let Jemima go anyway, so she would plunge to her death on the rocks below, but Peter could see no other choice. He couldn’t get a clear shot at Scraggan; Jemima was in the way.
Peter shifted a little, aware that Scraggan was studying him closely. “Think about it. I am wealthy and titled. Do you really think I would chase a woman, who was only a servant, halfway across the bloody country just to bed her? Ha! I could have any woman I wanted who is my equal. Married or not, with money of their own, far more beautiful than her,” and he waved a hand dismissively toward Jemima. “It wasn’t her I was after, but the papers she carried that the government needed.”
Peter sent a prayer heavenwards that he would receive forgiveness for causing her so much distress. Her gasp of pain wrenched at his heart, but there was little he could do.
He stamped his feet to regain some feeling in his chilled toes, ostensibly unconcerned by the fact that Jemima was hanging perilously close to death over the edge of a cliff.
“So, if she doesn’t mean anything to you, why did you try to save her in Derby?” Scraggan asked, squinting suspiciously at Peter.
“Because we knew she and her sister had more on you. We were right. Not only were they carrying papers on them, but more were in their house in a hidden cupboard.” He ignored Jemima’s gasp and continued, knowing Scraggan was hooked by the intent look on his face. “We had to persuade them to come back to Padstow and retrieve the papers, which are now with Hugo.”
“Hugo?”
Peter heaved a sigh of relief, and studied the suspicion still on Scraggan’s face with a flurry of satisfaction. He had no doubt that the smuggler hadn’t a clue who Hugo was and felt mollified that the man had been honest with them after all.
“A man who works for the War Office,” Peter replied, seeing no reason why he should lie. “Needless to say, now that we have the papers, I have promised to escort the ladies home, where they are now free to get on with their lives. You have bigger problems, though,” he declared flatly, when Scraggan appeared lost in thought, seemingly oblivious to Jemima’s weeping.
Determined not to give up, Peter continued. “Redcoats are sweeping through Padstow as we speak, arresting your men. It appears that the Salty Susan has decided to break anchor and make a run for it,” Peter nodded out to sea toward the looming shadow of the small cutter sailing at full mast down the estuary.
Scraggan cursed fluidly, his attention momentarily distracted.
It was all Peter needed.
Taking two huge steps forward, he grabbed a handful of Jemima’s cloak and wrenched her roughly away from the cliff, releasing her as soon as she was safe. He heard a heavy thump as she hit the ground with a startled cry, but was too busy seeking vengeance.
Peter briefly considered just shooting Scraggan, but Jemima’s weeping echoed in his ears, and he needed to slake his thirst for vengeance.
He didn’t wait for Scraggan to move away from the cliff edge and drew back his fist, landing it with stunning accuracy. All the pain, heartache, worry and fear that had dogged his every waking moment for the past year drove his fist home.
The loud crunch as Scraggan’s nose broke brought Peter little satisfaction, as he sought to extract his retribution.
From her position on the ground, Jemima watched as Peter and Scraggan traded blows. Although Peter was bigger and heavier, Scraggan was smaller and able to duck lower, avoiding many of the fists Peter rained down on him with fancy footwork.
She was unsure what to do or where to go for help, when she became aware that the fog had started to lift and she could see more of the coastal path and the surrounding area.
“Over here,” Harriett whispered, tugging on Jemima’s elbow.
Brushing tears out of her eyes, Jemima pushed to her feet and, through the haze, spotted Eliza, sitting on the ground next to Edward a short distance down the path. They had both clearly heard everything that had been discussed.
Edward’s eyes were burning with fury, Eliza’s full of gentle sympathy.
Jemima stumbled across the uneven surface and quickly began to remove their bindings. She would have to deal with Peter’s revel