When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  Hours east of the Mohegan’s destruction, the hindrance he’d soon encounter was no less impenetrable than the rocks that had destroyed the Mohegan. He’d run afoul of the one man who’d labored two long years to bring the Regent to justice and would do everything in his power to stop the Fury and put it out of business.

  What could Markwick do? If Walsingham caught up to him, he couldn’t fire on his friend’s ship, on Chloe’s brother’s ship.

  Now he wished for calmer moments in Chloe’s arms, the promise of being accepted no matter his rank, where he lived, the company he kept. But duty called, tearing him apart from the woman who’d opened the floodgates surrounding his heart, forcing him to set aside his personal desires and take up the Black Regent’s guise once more.

  Pye stepped forward, stopping at Markwick’s side.

  Markwick aimed his spyglass at the Windraker, redoubling his efforts as Owens’s prophetic words repeated themselves in his head: I speak for all of us here when I say it would be more pleasin’ by far if we get a chance to serve a man capable of stopping the Viper. He lowered the telescope and handed it to Pye. Walsingham was that man.

  Pye accepted the looking glass and aimed it at the other ship. “What do ye think Walsingham plans to do?”

  “If he’s spotted us, the answer is easy. He’ll come at us, full sail.” Did Walsingham know about the Viper? Captain Carnage? Fate had helped him arrive in time to save Chloe. How long before their luck ran out?

  * * *

  * * *

  “Abandon ship!”

  Chloe and Jane raced to the railing, then pulled back when vaulting sea spray rained down on the deck. Men struggled through the fallen debris, dragging lifeless limbs, blood streaming from their bodies, begging for mercy.

  “Abandon ship!” Captain Teague stood at the helm, coated in blood, his arm outstretched, his bony, gnarled finger pointing to a lantern-lit beach.

  Chloe followed his arrowed finger to shore. There, just beyond the angry surf, the Mohegan’s crew swam, finding footholds, tired limbs reaching, splashing. But they weren’t safe. Men waded in the shallow surf, wielding bloody clubs high overhead.

  Chloe opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She clawed at her throat, desperate to warn the unsuspecting swimmers, frightened she’d face the same fate.

  Sunlight illuminated the horrific scene, and she watched, terrified, as a man emerged from a wave, iridescent foam cloaking his shoulders. He inspected the carnage—blood-red surf, floating lifeless bodies, and then turned toward Chloe and said, “Your turn.”

  “Markwick!”

  Chloe bolted upright in bed. She opened her eyes and glanced around, then instinctively reached out for Markwick. But the mattress beside her was empty.

  She blinked and raised her hand to her mouth, choking back tears.

  “Oh, m’lady!” Jane exclaimed, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to her side and grasped her shoulders. “Do not cry. It’s just a dream. Just a dream, I assure ye.”

  The problem was, none of it had been a dream, except for Markwick. “Where is he?” she asked, apprehension racing through her veins.

  “Who, m’lady?”

  “Markwick,” Chloe said before realizing her blunder and covering her mouth with her hand.

  Jane’s eyes narrowed. “The earl cannot ride ’is steed to help ye now. Markwick is in Penzance, is ’e not?” When Chloe didn’t answer, Jane placed her hands on her hips. “Saints preserve us! No?”

  Chloe shook her head.

  “Then where? Who?” Jane stopped. Her eyes grew as big as saucers. “No! The Regent is Markwick?”

  Chloe gave a weak nod. “You had to find out sometime or another and there is no time like the present. But before I explain why my dearest love is a pirate, I must know where he is.”

  “Safe. Topside with ’is crew, I wager.”

  Shock registered, and she began to shake as fearful images of her dream appeared in her mind again. “Jane, we must stop them. We cannot allow senseless killings like this to happen.”

  “The Regent and ’is men?” Jane looked incredulous. “’Twas just a dream.”

  “Yes . . .” No. Was she still dreaming? “Pinch me, Jane.”

  This time, Jane didn’t argue.

  “Ouch!” Chloe’s eyes fluttered open, and the brilliant light streaming through the open stern windows in Markwick’s cabin nearly blinded her.

  “Forgive me for pinching ye too ’ard again, m’lady . . .”

  Chloe nodded solemnly and counted her blessings. It wasn’t only a dream but a memory of what she’d truly seen and heard. And yet, the images were thankfully gone until the next time she closed her weary eyes.

  “You’re getting quite good at ensuring I’m awake,” she told Jane.

  “Well practice makes perfect, they say.”

  Chloe couldn’t help but laugh at the mischievous smile breaking across Jane’s face. Thank goodness their ordeal hadn’t doused the young woman’s zest for amusement. She could always count on Jane’s positive attitude to assist her out of her melancholy.

  She grabbed Jane’s arm. “Promise me you will not tell anyone Markwick’s secret.”

  Jane nodded. “Of course, m’lady. Look ’ere,” she said, changing the subject. “I’ve brought ye some dry things to put on.”

  She glanced down at her body, suddenly remembering why she’d slept in her stays. “Thank you.”

  “The earl told me ye might not remember what ’appened last night. There was a danger ye’d turn feverish after all ye’d endured, and ’e instructed me to be ready with dry clothing when ye awoke.”

  “How long has he been gone?” she asked, suddenly eager to see Markwick, to reassure herself that he was real and thank him properly for saving her life.

  Jane bit her lip. “I do not know. I’ve been watchin’ over ye ever since ’e left, though.”

  Chloe reached out of the coverlet for Jane’s fingers, grasping them tightly. “You are too good for me, Jane, the way you watch over me with such great care. How terribly naive and reckless you must think me.”

  “Nonsense. ’Tis my job to go wherever ye go.” Jane smiled, her straight teeth brightening her face. “I know my place rightly enough.”

  “Who’s speaking nonsense now?” Chloe sat up and turned her legs to the side of the box bunk. She glanced about the cabin and gasped. Her clothing hung over various objects to dry. “You see? How kind and thoughtful you are. Thank you for tending to my wet things.”

  Jane’s brows knit together. “I didn’t do that, m’lady.”

  “Then who—” Her voice squeaked as reality sunk in.

  Markwick?

  Jane lifted Chloe’s gown and began to place it over her head. “It may smell of sea salt and musk, but it’s better than wearing nothing at all.”

  “Wait,” she said, thinking of something better.

  “For what? Ye will catch a chill, ye will. The sooner ye put on clothes, the better.”

  “It would be better for both of us if I dressed as a man.”

  “Better ’ow?” Jane said, knitting her brows together. “Or did ye forget you’re a lady?”

  “A lady cannot protect herself in skirts,” she protested, slipping her legs over the edge of the bunk so she could stand. “There will be plenty of opportunity to behave like a lady when we make port. Now come. I saw Markwick get clothing out of that trunk. Let us find something to wear there that will enable us to move about more freely on the ship.”

  Jane put her arm out to stop her. “Ye cannot be thinking what I think ye are thinking. It isn’t proper for a lady to wear trousers in public and in front of these men, no less. Ye must dress in the gown I saved for ye. Then I’ll have cook deliver victuals for us.”

  “I have made up my mind.” Chloe grabbed Jane’s hand. “I am not going to look like a damsel in distress any longer.”

  Jane attempted to mask her confusion. “Are ye ill?” She reached out to touch Chloe’s forehead.<
br />
  “No!” Chloe brushed away Jane’s hand. “I am not sick. I have all my faculties about me, and I refuse to be caught unawares again. The Captain would be ashamed if I didn’t utilize the skills he taught me.”

  “If I may be so bold, your skills tend to get us into trouble.” After several moments of silence, Jane shook her head. “Very well. I can see that I’m not getting anywhere. But ye must promise to wear your stays and stockings.”

  Chloe laughed as she allowed Jane to put on her stockings. “This is what we shall do. Instead of bothering one of the Regent’s men, we’ll locate the cook ourselves. Surely these men have more to do than serve two needy females.”

  “Ourselves?” Jane slanted a glance at the screen door, then lowered her voice.

  Was there a guard posted outside? What was making Jane so nervous? Other than being on a ship surrounded by water and strange men, of course.

  “We don’t know anything about this ship or these men,” Jane said.

  “Exactly my point.” Chloe stood, then glanced about the room. She dashed to the corner where the trunk sat next to a washbasin, knelt down, and opened the lid. Inside, she found several stacks of folded black clothing—breeches, trousers, linen shirts, and stockings.

  “Ye won’t be likely to find anything that fits in there. The earl is a big man.”

  Chloe bit her lip. She was determined. Markwick had shown her what it was like to be a woman without defiling her virtue, and now she would show him of what a Walsingham was made.

  “There is more than one way to earn a man’s love. I’m just as capable of reinventing myself as Markwick is. And when I prove that to him, perhaps he will see that we are equally matched.”

  She pulled out a pair of breeches, thinking the shorter hem would fit her better than trousers. She then selected a linen shirt and a leather belt, closed the lid, and turned to Jane. “These shall suffice nicely.”

  “Oh . . .” Jane placed her fingers over her lips. She made the sign of the cross over her chest. “I don’t think this is what the Captain meant when ’e instructed ye to stay out of trouble.”

  “No, it certainly isn’t what my brother intended, but he taught me to take care of myself and so I shall. Think of it: how else can I learn what it’s like to be a pirate, to understand the earl’s motives? If Markwick is set on portraying himself as the Black Regent, I shall help him do it. And mark my words: Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post will report our adventures to the full. Can you imagine how envious Lady O will be of us?”

  “But ye cannot divulge your presence ’ere! What will that do to your reputation, m’lady?”

  “Balderdash! What is a reputation compared to the deaths of thirty-six men?” Thoughts of what she could lose were insignificant compared to the lives forever altered by the tragedy she and Jane had endured.

  “It’s my job to remind ye that ye give that paper too much of your attention. Therefore, ye should be more concerned about such matters.”

  “Markwick is the Black Regent. My brother is a revenue officer hunting pirates. It is not I who should be concerned with my reputation.” Chloe turned to face Jane with a pout. “Oh, Jane! Don’t you see? We must convince the earl to give up his quest to restore his good name. Nothing but misery can come of it.”

  “Forgive me.” Jane lowered her eyes. “I do not always see things like ye do. We are two unattached females on board a pirate ship, and people will talk because it is their way, especially when they discover that we were rescued off the Mohegan by pirates.”

  “It is a conundrum, indeed,” Chloe finally admitted. “Why do you suppose Markwick created the Black Regent?”

  Jane shrugged her shoulders. “The Regent’s activities speak for themselves.”

  “Exactly! I do not know how he did it, but he’s been working against his father from the beginning. And now that Lord Underwood is dead, we must convince the earl to hang up his hat and rejoin civilization. There is no other way to do that than to make him believe I intend to join his crew.”

  Chloe stepped into the pair of breeches she’d selected and pulled them to her waist.

  “It is exactly as I feared, m’lady.” Jane tugged at the waist. “They are too tight through the hips and too wide through the waist. Ye cannot wear them.”

  “Nonsense. Help me with the shirt.”

  “It will be too long,” Jane complained.

  “Yes, but we can cinch the shirt with this leather belt.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “But the breeches!”

  “They fit snugly. They will not fall.”

  Jane let out an exasperated sigh. “Very well. But ye will not explore the Fury alone. I insist on going with ye.”

  Chloe reached for Otranto and clutched her beloved book to her breast. Thank God, it survived, albeit a bit waterlogged.

  The parallels between Otranto and this moment seemed almost too strange to be true. No one had known who Theodore was when he first arrived at the Castle of Otranto, and the suspense had always kept her riveted to the book. And now, in Markwick’s case, the reversal of fortunes was true. While Theodore was in fact the true prince of Otranto, Markwick was an earl pretending to be a lowly pirate. How long did he plan to evade his duties as the new marquess?

  “I am decided, Jane. We are on board the ship of the only man who’s ever thwarted the Captain, and he is none other than my beloved Markwick! I have always sensed his heroic nature, and I own we shall uncover his motives for taking on the pirate oath together.”

  “The Captain will not approve.”

  Jane was right. Pierce would be livid that she was cavorting with a pirate. What would her brother do if he learned the truth, though? That she was in love with one? That this particular pirate was his old friend?

  She focused on Jane. “Whatever reason Markwick has for masquerading as the Black Regent, his secret must be safe with us. Promise you will tell no one, Jane, especially my brother.”

  “I will not disappoint ye, m’lady.”

  Markwick had gone to great lengths to keep his identity a secret, and the men on board his ship had supported those efforts. Pirates were not often a loyal breed, but these men seemed to be. Would they assist her, too? She loved Markwick, even more now than ever before. She understood his need to prove himself better than his father, to right the wrongs done to those less fortunate than he. That aspect of Markwick’s character only made him more appealing to her. After all, the Black Regent was noted as the Robin Hood of Cornwall.

  Her dormant wits were renewed as her heartbeat cantered to a frantic pace, thoughts of Markwick’s loyalty to friends and his captivating kiss invading her senses. Loosed from the trappings of society—and clothed as a man—Chloe felt freer than she’d ever felt. She’d found her one true love, and like Otranto’s Isabella, she refused to be parted from him ever again.

  “Come.” She held her hand out to Jane. “I’m famished.” To discover the truth. “And I’m sure Markwick is busy handling whatever it is pirates do. There is no need to disturb him or his crew. Dressed as I am, I doubt anyone will think twice about two simple females in search of breaking their fast in the galley.”

  “There is nothing simple about ye, m’lady. What are ye planning?”

  Chloe smiled. “To explore the Fury and discover the Regent’s secrets, of course.”

  Chapter 8

  VILLAINOUS activity is upon us! Hear, oh citizen, and pity the ship sailing toward WRECKERS’ lead lights along the CORNISH and DEVON coast!

  ~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 6 August 1809

  Markwick paced the deck, his mind in turmoil. Should he warn Chloe that the Windraker was set to intercept them, that her brother had found them? How would she take the news? Walsingham doted on his sister. Hell, it had been in deference to his friend that Markwick had always refused to consider Chloe as anything other than, well, his friend’s sister. Had he been any other man, he’d have welcomed Chloe’s attention, encouraged it, even.

  But that was then.
Long before he’d discovered that everything he’d believed in was a lie. Before his father’s betrayals and the scandal that made Markwick unsuitable for marriage. Before Blackmoor’s invitation to embrace the role of the Black Regent. Before his acceptance to captain the Fury had put him at odds with Walsingham. Before he’d rescued Chloe from the Mohegan and finally acknowledged his desire for the irresistible woman.

  After everything he’d lost . . . Christ, he couldn’t lose the one chance at happiness he had left.

  But what kind of life could he offer Chloe now? The Fury was no place for a woman. Superstitions made men do terrible things to survive. How could he do right by her—by Blackmoor and Walsingham—ensuring the Regent’s secret identity remained hidden, while acknowledging his attraction to Chloe and combating his desire for her?

  Upon his soul, he had impulses now that drained all his strength and mental capacities, keeping him from doing what needed to be done. How could he not have them? Chloe’s vibrant red hair and strangely seductive violet eyes made her stand out from every woman he’d ever seen. And now that he knew the taste of her sweet ambrosia, still felt her gloriously soft, plump lips on his, he hungered for more. The thirst for what he couldn’t have would likely undo him. And put the lives of the men under his charge at risk.

  Chloe had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. He’d apparently been the focus of hers. But how does one stop the tide, the hands of fate that would tear them apart?

  “Sail there! How many leagues now?” he called up to his sentry.

  The topman’s lengthy pause filled Markwick with dread. “Deck there! Hold, Cap’n. I spy another sail.”

  “Another one?”

  How much worse could their situation get?

  Arnold, a nimble-legged youth, leaned over the crosstrees in the mast top. “Thirty-two pounder, unless I miss my guess. Gun ports wide open.”

  “Where away?”

  “Twenty leagues, sir. Movin’ fast. The saints—” Arnold’s voice cracked “—if it isn’t the Viper! She looks like she’s plannin’ to attack the Windraker.”