James neither fought his bonds or groaned. Carter should only enjoy the gloat so much.
At last Carter sauntered away, off to his duties.
James knew why Carter left him hanging there. Not to let James reflect on his crimes, but so that Carter could return anytime he wished and gloat some more. Carter didn’t care what happened inside James’s head.
The ship moved, and the sun sank. The linen pad remained in James’s mouth, but he didn’t mind. When he’d bitten down in his agony, he’d felt, between its folds, something long, thin, and steely hard. Lieutenant Pembroke was slyer than anyone thought.
*** *** ***
Diana was in full fury by the time Lieutenant Pembroke unlocked the door of his cabin and let her out.
The door had a real iron lock and a huge key that Pembroke had taken away with him. Diana had shouted through the keyhole, promising that her father would have him demoted, but Pembroke had not seemed alarmed.
Locking her in had been the captain’s order, of course. When Pembroke had told her the captain’s plan to have James flogged, she’d nearly gone wild. Pembroke had promised to do what he could, then told her to stay put in the comfort of his cabin.
Not that Diana could have sat still. As soon as Pembroke had gone out, she’d slipped after him. Peering around the door that led to the deck, she’d had a clear view of the foremast and James tied to it, his muscular back gleaming in the dying sunshine. She’d watched, in stomach-churning horror, as they’d beaten him, stroke after stroke. His back had bloodied, but he’d never once bowed his head.
She’d tried to rush forward, intending to snatch the whip from Osgood’s hands and fling it into the sea. Two sailors had taken her firmly by the arms and pushed her back into the lieutenant’s cabin, and Pembroke himself had locked the door.
Now she bathed Pembroke in a cold glare. “Where is he?”
“Alive,” Pembroke said. “He is a strong man, my lady. He is hurt, but he will recover.”
Diana pretended not to listen, even while her heart turned over. “I would like to see your captain. I would like to tell him exactly what I think of him.”
“Aye, my lady, I am to take you to him at once. And I’m sorry, but he has told me he insists on speaking to you alone.”
“Very well.” She played the freezing, haughty society lady to the hilt, though the announcement worried her. “Lead me, please, lieutenant.”
Pembroke took her the five steps down the passage to the captain’s door and knocked on it. Without waiting for answer, the lieutenant opened the door, stepped aside to let her in, then closed it. Pembroke flashed her a warning look before leaving her, and Diana pretended for his sake not to see it. She knew that if Pembroke openly disobeyed his captain, even about abusing a prisoner, he could be court-martialed. They all had to tread carefully.
Captain Carter looked up from his desk after Pembroke shut the door, his self-satisfied look in place. “The flogging did not kill your Captain Ardmore,” he said. “Therefore, he will face trial and hanging in London. Do you wish to join him in that?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Diana’s breath hitched. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were so willing to die for him in that inn at Plymouth. By rights, you should join him on the gallows.”
Diana’s heart beat faster. “Have a care, Captain.”
Carter smiled as he came around the desk to her. “You are an accomplice to a criminal, Lady Worthing. That makes you a criminal yourself, does it not?”
Diana had met Carter before, and men like him. Edward had been one such, smoothly urbane in public, a bully in private. The less their victims could stand up to them, the meaner and more bullying they became.
She drew herself up. “You have already violated gentlemanly behavior by ordering a flogging that could kill a man less robust than Captain Ardmore. Floggings are meant for discipline, not cruelty.”
“So speaks your weak-minded father. Tell me, Lady Worthing, what are you willing to do to escape Ardmore’s fate? I mean the flogging now, as well as a trial and hanging later.”
“You would flog a woman?” Diana’s blood went cold, but she tried to keep her voice from shaking. “Rather ignoble of you.”
“You’re his whore,” Carter said, losing every bit of politeness. “The publican and his heard him rutting you all night. I will spare you, Lady Worthing, if you play the whore for me. At least, I will think about it.”
Diana suppressed a shudder. Gentlemen had pursued her after she’d married, yes, wanting liaisons with her, but they knew how to veil their need in hints, games, and double-entendre. Even the most ardent gentlemen of the ton had viewed Diana as a lady, and knew seduction had its rules.
None had blatantly demanded she service them. She tasted bile.
“I believe I’d prefer the flogging,” she said clearly.
Carter struck her. His fist caught her across the cheekbone, and Diana stumbled, hand to her face.
“Proud thing, aren’t you?” he said. “I believe I will cure you of that. Your lover is going to die, Lady Worthing. Hanged, legs kicking, gasping for breath. Men soil themselves in their last struggles for life, did you know that? No dignity in it. I’ll make sure you do the same, unless you spread your legs for me right here.”
“My father would never let that happen. He’ll not let James hang either.”
“Your father has no say in the Admiralty anymore. He is an old man, and his career is finished.”
“Lieutenant Pembroke’s father will stop you then. He is still very much prominent in the Admiralty.”
“I knew I was a fool to take Pembroke’s brat onboard my ship, but I was given no choice in the matter. The lieutenant protects you well. Are you his whore too?”
Diana tried not to flinch. “You are vulgar, Captain.”
“Sir Edward told me how vulgar you were. Dressing like a tart and making trysts with every man in London.”
“He was unjust. I never betrayed my husband.”
“You lie when he cannot be here to contradict you. But I have no interest in your protests.” Carter unfastened the first button of his breeches. “I’d like you on your knees while you beg for your life, Lady Worthing. I want my cock down your throat while you say it.”
Diana didn’t move. “As I said, Captain, you ought to have a care. My father will have you stripped of rank, command, wealth, dignity — everything.”
His answering blow knocked Diana to the floor. She quickly dragged herself up, bright fear that he’d simply have at her while she lay stunned propelling her to her feet.
“I told you,” Carter said. “Your father is a weak man with no power.”
She rubbed the side of her face. “I disagree. But Captain Ardmore isn’t a weak man by any means. He is not someone you should anger.”
Carter gave her an incredulous look. “Do you think so? Then come with me. Let me show you your precious Ardmore.” He buttoned his breeches again, grabbed Diana by the arm, and steered her out of the room, taking her up on deck to the foremast.
The sun was sinking. The red and gold light fell fully on the bunched muscles of James’s arms and on the blood that coated his back.
James hung there, his legs collapsed, his wrists taking the strain of his weight. His cheek rested against the mast, and his eyes were closed. No one had taken away the wad of linen Lieutenant Pembroke had stuffed into James’s mouth, and the wind stirred it and James’s black hair.
“You see, Diana?” Carter crooned in her ear. “Here is your heroic Captain Ardmore. Just a man, beaten and subdued like a disobedient sailor.”
James opened his eyes. His face was white and lined with pain, but his green eyes were as cold as ever. There was nothing subdued about James.
He let his gaze rest on the bruises that stung Diana’s cheek and forehead, and the look in his eyes went deadly. Carter took a step back.
Diana reached for the linen pad in James’s mouth, fearing it choked him, but Carter
grabbed her wrist.
“Leave it.” He called to the boatswain’s mate. “I do not believe this man has learned his lesson yet, Osgood. Give him twenty more lashes.”
As the boatswain’s mate approached, Diana jerked herself free of Carter. “No, damn you. Leave him be.”
Carter grabbed for her again, cursing as Diana’s nails raked his skin. “Pembroke!” he roared. “Keep this hellion under control, or I will lock her in irons!”
Pembroke hastened forward. Carter threw Diana at him. She got in a few good kicks at Carter before Lieutenant Pembroke swung her away. “Be still now, Lady Worthing,” he said into her ear. “All will be well.”
“No, it will not be. They’ll kill him.” Diana’s rage and fear dissolved into tears. Pembroke led her away, but she couldn’t shut out the evil hiss of the whip and the slap as it struck James’s bare flesh.
*** *** ***
She spent a miserable night on Lieutenant Pembroke’s narrow bunk, gazing up at the boards of the deck above.
At least Carter had left her alone. His rage had turned to disgust, and Carter had told her plainly, his coldness returning, that he’d give her over to a magistrate when they reached shore. Then he’d given Pembroke the order to lock her in the cabin and set a guard on her door.
Diana listened to the familiar sounds of a ship — creaking boards, wind snapping in sails, footsteps of officers overhead as they worked their watch. Pembroke had brought her a supper of boiled beef, but she’d been unable to take a bite. The lieutenant had left her alone then, but locked the door again.
She realized as she lay on the bunk that James would never have been captured at all, if not for her. He could have easily gotten away from Carter’s marines in the public house and left her to Carter’s mercy. He could have shoved her at them or let them shoot her. He’d dropped his knife and let them bind him to keep Diana alive. He’d done all this because he’d worried about her.
A selfish woman might be pleased at his sacrifice. Diana only felt wretched.
She remembered with clarity James raising his shackled hands to his chest as he stood on the deck, forming Isabeau’s sign. How he’d watched her understand what he meant.
I love you.
Tears burned Diana’s eyes and trickled unhindered down her cheeks. Why had the blasted man waited this long to tell her? Why had he told her now?
Because James knew he was going to die. Carter would take him to London for his trial, conviction, and hanging, and he was saying goodbye. Diana opened her eyes, staring at the weathered boards above her. One had split around a nail.
It would be unlike James to submit so meekly. Very unlike him. Yet he’d known he’d not have the chance to speak to Diana again, and he’d taken his only opportunity to tell her that he loved her, in a way she’d understand.
Her breathing came faster, and her tears dried as she realized. James wouldn’t submit meekly. Carter would never get James to London, would never make him face trial. James would never let him, and he knew it.
James had sent the message to Diana not because he knew he would die, but because he had something up his sleeve. The damned man was planning something.
Diana sat up so fast that her forehead connected with the beam above her. She put her hand to her head in irritation.
James was planning an escape. How he’d manage it, she had no idea, but he was James Ardmore. He sank armed frigates and defeated pirates single-handedly. Captain Carter had put James in chains and thought himself safe. The bloody fool.
Diana swung down from the bunk. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she heard commotion outside — angry voices, shouts, running footsteps. The square of Pembroke’s window still showed black, deep night.
Diana banged on the door. “Let me out! What is happening?”
Her cries were drowned by the furious shouts of men as they ran past her door.
Diana had to beat on the door and demand Pembroke to open it for another half hour before the young lieutenant came. His eyes were round, the light of his lantern showing a pale face and shaking lips.
She clenched her fists. “What has happened?”
For answer, Pembroke took her hand and half-dragged her out behind him.
A gray line of dawn barely broke the horizon. In the dim half-light, plus the glow from the men’s lanterns, Diana clearly saw that James was no longer tied to the foremast. The ropes that had bound him lay, loose and cut, on the deck. Next to them were a chain and his manacles, empty.
Of James, there was no sign at all. Captain Carter, had likewise vanished.
*** *** ***
Three weeks later
Lady Whitney-Jones, wife of the seventh Baron Whitney-Jones, raised her plucked brows as she entered the dressmaker’s parlor and stared at the lady preparing to leave it, aghast.
What was the scandalous Lady Worthing and her decidedly odd daughter doing here, of all places? The ruined woman ought to have the decency to remain in hiding. She returning to Mayfair to order fine gowns from Madam Mirabelle, cool as you please, was not to be borne.
Diana sensed these thoughts raging through the head of the utterly fashionable Lady Whitney-Jones as she fastened Isabeau’s cloak. Lady Whitney-Jones’s slightly protruding eyes followed Diana’s every move, though she never spoke.
Diana took Isabeau’s hand. She gave the lady, who was now open-mouthed, a cool nod. “Good afternoon, Lady Whitney-Jones.”
She walked resolutely past her and out the door before Lady Whitney-Jones could splutter a reply.
Outside, the June sunshine warmed the pavement of Oxford Street. London residents beamed at one another, happy for good weather at last.
Diana spied her father’s carriage a little way down the street. A tall man with blond-brown hair stood talking to the coachman, but when Diana approached, he turned and tipped his hat.
“Hallo, Diana. Your father asked if I would escort you home. So here I am.”
“Lieutenant Jack.” Diana took his outstretched hand in delight. She’d not seen him in some days. Jack had taken lodgings near Whitehall and spent most of his time at the Admiralty now. “I suppose I should no longer call you that. You do have your own name, after all.”
He gave her a little smile. “I like Lieutenant Jack.”
Though Jack had survived his ordeal on Haven, the surgeon having performed the trepanning that saved his life, he still wore a slightly haunted look, and the lines about his eyes had deepened.
Upon awakening from the unnatural sleep, Jack’s pain had much lessened, but he still hadn’t remembered his own name. Diana had both hoped that the trauma of the illness might have shocked him back into memory, but nothing had changed.
“Jack” was not his name, they’d discovered upon returning to London. It was Richard Delacroix, as Lieutenant Pembroke had predicted it would be.
Lord Richard Delacroix, to be precise, brother to the Duke of Carlisle. Jack had been raised as a privileged son then decided to try a career at sea. He’d joined as a midshipman and passed his examination, working quickly up through the ranks to first lieutenant. The Admiralty had been considering giving him his own command. Now, of course, they hemmed and said that they would wait and see what happened with his illness.
So Lieutenant Jack had a name, and a family — and a wife. She lived in Norfolk with his son and daughter, and was currently looking after the children of his two brothers as well. Lieutenant Jack had not gone to see her. Diana had not asked him why.
“Jack seems more my own name,” he replied.
“Then I am honored to use it,” Diana said.
She let him hand her into the carriage and lift Isabeau in beside her. Isabeau climbed happily onto the seat next to her mother and caressed the boxes of their purchases. Isabeau loved to shop.
Jack took the opposite seat and the carriage started forward, taking them toward Mount Street where Admiral Lockwood’s house lay.
As soon as they were moving, Diana’s welcoming smile died. “Any
thing?”
“I am sorry, Lady Worthing. No.”
Lieutenant Jack and her father had busied themselves searching for clues as to James’s whereabouts. After his escape from the ship, he’d disappeared. No trace of him or Captain Carter had been found on shore, though Lieutenant Pembroke, taking command of the ship and landing again at Plymouth, had sent the marines to search. He’d also sent someone to contact the Admiralty.
Pembroke had not suggested Diana be arrested. Lady Worthing had been caught in circumstances beyond her control, he said, and would be returned to her father. A ship whose captain was loyal to both Admirals Lockwood and Pembroke had taken Diana and a surgeon to Haven while the rest of the ships scoured the coast for James.
But James had remained elusive. Neither the Admiralty nor Diana’s father had heard any rumor of James’s capture, death, or escape. Likewise, the Argonaut, James’s famous ship, had never been sighted.
Of Captain Carter too, there was no sign. Diana feared the man was at the bottom of the sea — with James, perhaps.
Diana vacillated between relief that no reports of James’s death had surfaced and burning worry. She suspected that Lieutenant Pembroke had had a hand in James’s escape, though Pembroke had looked as surprised at the escape as anyone.
At Lieutenant Jack’s news, or lack of it, Diana changed her mind and directed the coach to Whitehall, where her father had gone that morning to visit Admiral Pembroke. They descended in front of the columned façade of the Admiralty, and Jack led her and Isabeau inside.
They found Admiral Lockwood standing on the marble stairs in conversation with Admiral Pembroke and a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman with sun-kissed hair. As Diana approached, the blond gentleman scanned her with intensely blue eyes then broke into a wide smile.
He could melt hearts with that smile, Diana thought. Not Diana’s, of course. James had already shattered it.
“Diana,” her father said warmly. “A pleasant surprise to see you, my dear. Your lordship, I would like to present my daughter, Lady Worthing. Diana, this is Viscount Stoke.”
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