“It’s not your fault.”

“Who can say? If I’d had the sense not to dally with her so many years ago… Hawk was right, though. If necessary, don’t hesitate to hurt her.”

He stopped and looked out to sea. “That’s the Pretty Anna, and there’s our boat.” He pointed to a dinghy tied up at a wooden jetty.

“All details taken care of,” she said, and they hurried in that direction.

Clarissa shivered. In part it was because the rain had soaked her light dress, and the breeze was cold. It was also because of that waiting boat, because they were walking a path created by the evil Madame Bellaire.

She scanned the water again and saw no other boat swooping in. Of course it was too soon.

Their footsteps rattled on the uneven planks of the jetty, and then they were above the boat, a rough wooden ladder leading down.

“Can you manage it?” Nicholas asked.

“I’ll have to, won’t I?”

“I’ll go first,” he said, and climbed nimbly down with the bag of loot.

Clarissa took a deep breath and eased herself over onto the ladder. “Give thanks,” she said, “that Miss Mallory’s School for Ladies believes in physical exercise and womanly strength.”

The ladder was rough beneath her hands, and the wind swirled, seeming to snatch at her, making her skirts snag on rough edges. She went steadily down, letting the fine cotton rip if it had to. Another dress ruined.

At the bottom, Nicholas gripped her waist and eased her into the swaying, bouncing boat. He settled her on one bench, then took the other and swung the oars over the water.

She clung to the sides, feeling sure it would tip with the next wave. “I’ve never been in a boat before.”

“There are worse things,” he said with a smile, and started to pull.

“I can’t swim, either.” The boat bucked, and she held on tighter, determined not to scream. Were they making any progress against this rough water? And how was everyone else? The children. Lord Darius. Hawk.

From above, the sea had seemed choppy. From down here, the waves seemed huge.

“Hawk said he would swim in this?”

“He’ll be all right,” Nicholas said, rowing in an easy rhythm. “He said he is a strong swimmer, and I don’t think he’s the boastful type.”

A wave slapped and drenched her hand. They were getting nearer to the Pretty Anna, but not quickly enough for her. A viper waited, and perhaps a test of courage, but it looked so much more solid than this swaying, bouncing little boat.

Nicholas’s drenched shirt clung to his body, a body, she noted, as well made as Hawk’s. It pleased her, but it didn’t excite her. Please, God, let Hawk be safe. Please, God, let them save the children and Lord Darius.

Please, if that’s what it takes, let the Frenchwoman have the jewels and money, and go. Go far, far away. She knew Hawk wanted her stopped, but Clarissa was with Nicholas in simply wanting this over.

“Do you see anything?” Nicholas asked.

Clarissa snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the boat, twenty feet away. “No sign of anyone.”

“Keep looking.”

She scanned the simple boat with the small shedlike room and a tall mast. A lantern bobbed, but the vessel looked completely empty. If Nicholas was right that Therese Bellaire wanted to gloat, she had to be there somewhere.

Their boat jarred against the Anna, and Nicholas tied it up close to a ladder. “I’d better go first,” he said.

“No,” said a familiar French voice. “The girl first, with the ransom.”

Clarissa started to shake and tried desperately not to. After a shared look with Nicholas, she put the satchel across her chest and gripped the ladder. It was harder going up than down. She felt heavy, and her hands were aching with cold. She made it, though, and scrambled over the top to tumble awkwardly onto the deck.

She struggled to her feet. “I’m here,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t shake. “With the money.”

She heard a sound and whirled, but it was only Nicholas beside her.

“Therese?” he said, sounding completely at ease. “At your service, as always.”

A woman ducked out of the small covered area. She wore an encompassing cloak, but Clarissa could hardly believe it was Mrs. Rowland. The skin was clear, and even glowing in the chilly air. The eyes seemed huge, the lips full and red. In a chilling way, she was very beautiful.

“Nicky, darling,” she said. And he’d been right. She was gloating. Clarissa fought a desperate battle not to look around for the Seahorse, which carried Susan and Hawk.

The woman stepped a little closer, and a man emerged behind her. A handsome man. Young, but tall and strong, and with a pistol in his hand.

“These the ones, then?” he said in a local accent. “The ones who stole your money?”

“Yes,” she purred. “But they have returned part of it, so we need not be too harsh. Come forward, my dear, and give me the bag.”

Clarissa shrugged it off so it was in her hands, then walked forward. She suspected what was going to happen here. When she got close, the man would grab her and Nicholas would be at the woman’s mercy.

She dropped the bag on the deck a few feet from the Frenchwoman’s feet.

The dark eyes narrowed. “Bring it to me.”

“Why? That’s it. Take it and go.”

“If you don’t bring it to me, I will not tell you where the children are, where Lord Darius Debenham is.”

“Do I care?” Clarissa asked, drawing on experience of the most silly, heartless schoolgirls she’d ever known. “You’re taking my money. You say it’s yours, but it’s mine, and you’re stealing it.”

The young man started to speak, and Therese hissed at him to be silent. “It is mine. I worked hard for that money, and you did nothing. Nothing! You didn’t even kill Deveril. Now pick up that bag and bring it to me.”

“Make me.”

Therese smiled. “Samuel, shoot the man.”

The young man blanched, but his pistol rose.

Clarissa snatched up the bag from the deck.

“That’s better,” said Therese. “You see, it does not pay to fight me. You cannot win. Bring it here.”

Clarissa walked forward as slowly as she dared, willing Hawk to appear. She was about to put the bag into the Frenchwoman’s hand, when the man said, “Here! What’re you doing?”

Clarissa turned to see that Nicholas had unfastened the flap in his breeches and was undoing the drawers beneath. “This is what you want, Therese, isn’t it?”

The Frenchwoman seemed transfixed. Not by the sight—Clarissa could tell that—but by satisfaction. “Yes. Strip.”

Nicholas continued to unfasten his clothing, slowly, seductively. Clarissa realized she was gaping and looked quickly at the young man. He was red-faced. He suddenly jerked the pistol up and aimed it.

Clarissa swung the heavy bag and knocked the weapon flying into the sea.

Samuel howled and rushed at her. She dodged, fell, and quite by accident slipped behind Madame Bellaire so he ran into her.

He howled again, staggering back. Clarissa saw blood.

“Oaf!” the Frenchwoman spat, a bloodstained knife in her hand.

Nicholas had a knife out too, and Clarissa saw a boat sweeping close, sails full. It looked as if it was going to crash into them. Not with the children surely here!

She scrambled up and ran for the shed, but she was grabbed and hauled back. She saw the knife in Madame Bellaire’s hand and knew she should be terrified. She thought she heard someone bellow, “Clarissa!”

Hawk.

Go for the eyes. She scratched the woman’s face as hard as she could.

The Frenchwoman shrieked and Clarissa was free. She ran, but tripped over the bag of treasure.

Then Madame Bellaire was coming at her again, livid scratches on her face, a face ugly with furious hate.

Nicholas was running forward, but the man Samuel, blood still streaming down his side, threw himself at him.

It all seemed slow, but Clarissa did the only thing she could. She threw the bag.

It hit the woman, staggering her, then fell, spilling gold and jewels.

Madame Bellaire froze for a moment, staring at it. Clarissa fumbled for her knife, catching it on every edge, it seemed, as she struggled to get it free.

Then something jarred the boat, and Hawk landed on the deck. He grabbed the woman’s arm, but she twisted, knife lunging. A black shape flew through the air at her face, and she screamed.

Hawk tore the spitting cat away, trapped the woman in his arms, turned her…

And threw her, suddenly limp, over the side.

When he turned back, the knife was gone.

It wasn’t quiet. The wind rattled the assorted bits of the boat, and the waves slapped hard at the sides. But the people were silent, even the young man, Samuel, who’d been fighting Nicholas in the cause of the woman who had stabbed him.

“What have you done with her?” he cried, and staggered over to look out at the sea.

Hawk and Nicholas looked at each other.

“She was beautiful to me once,” Nicholas said, fastening his clothing. “But thank you.”

Samuel was weeping.

But then a faint voice cried, “Papa!” and Nicholas ran for the shed that must contain the steps.

Clarissa watched in a daze as the Amleighs climbed over the side of the boat. They must have rowed over. Susan began to do things to the boat, but her husband raced below.

Clarissa looked at Hawk.

He said, “Yes, I killed her. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

“I’ll grow accustomed.”

He pulled her into his arms. “God, love, I pray not!”

They clung together as things happened around them, and then Nicholas was on deck, a wan child clinging to him, and the boat was under one sail and moving carefully toward the jetty.

Con brought the other two children up, and they huddled close to each other, but Clarissa separated from Hawk and sat down to hold out her arms. After a moment they came forward. Hawk sat beside her, and soon Delphie was in her lap, Pierre in Hawk’s.