Her eyes fell again on the portrait of Cousin Lavender, which remained on the carved wooden bureau. Remembering the incident at the ball when Lavender had slapped her provoked a flutter in Emerald’s chest. What if she were sent back to Foxemoore? What would all the ladies say after the horrid news got out that she had been taken aboard his ship?
“Oh, I simply must keep this dreadful secret buried!”
She flushed. She had once heard of a girl who had to marry the young man who had removed her shoe after a fall from a horse—he had seen her ankle.
She paced again, trying to breathe calmly as her heart pounded. There was no cause to allow herself to be overwrought. After all, he might be an arrogant viscount, but Captain Foxworth was a reasonable man, she assured herself. Once she explained why she had been waiting on the wharf for Jamie and stood firm in her decision to marry him and voyage to New England, the viscount would allow them to depart. And Baret was also likely to be upset about Lavender’s reaction. After all, he would need to do some explaining himself and would wish this horrid matter cleared up.
She took in a deep breath and solaced her distraught nerves. What did he care whom she married? Being aboard his ship this way was all a dreadful mistake.
Yes, he would cooperate. Perhaps he would even bring her and Jamie to one of the sugar islands to catch safe passage aboard an American ship returning to Boston.
There were so many questions that needed to be answered, though. What if Jamie were not aboard after all? But why had the men in the longboat known him even though they hadn’t recognized the name “Bradford.” “Jamie Boy” they had called him. And whose crewmen were they if not Baret’s? And why had they brought her to the Regale?
She winced. The thought that Baret might not cooperate plagued her with uncertainty. If he returned her by boat, she would need to swallow the bitter cup of explaining everything to her father—and to Lavender. She guessed their appalling reactions, eventually resulting in a dark cloud of gossip and knowing smirks among Lavender’s friends that would suggest she had deliberately sneaked aboard the viscount’s ship.
This incident would bury her reputation once for all. There wouldn’t be a soul at Foxemoore or Government House that wouldn’t be adamant in his harsh judgment of her.
Emerald covered her face with her hands and sank into the chair. Lord, I couldn’t bear it.
At noon Hob returned with a tray of tea.
“Did you bring my message to the captain?” she asked anxiously.
“Aye.”
“Well, what did he say?”
Hob poured her tea and grinned. “He be too busy now, says he.”
She cast a quick glance toward the open door. Her eyes sparked. If Captain Foxworth wouldn’t come to her then—
Seeing her opportunity, Emerald dashed out of the cabin onto the deck and glanced swiftly about.
She squinted against the tropical sunlight. The wind ruffled the jade waters of the Caribbean, warmly touched her face and hair, and softly billowed the hem of her full skirt. She lifted a hand to shade her eyes. She could see Port Royal through the masts and rigging of ships at anchor. The lush greenery of the Blue Mountain range dominated the horizon.
Scanning the decks, she picked up her skirt and mounted the short wooden steps before Hob could overtake her.
When she reached the high deck she paused. Her eyes fell on Baret in black woolen trousers and a white buccaneer shirt with full sleeves. He was standing at the rail, the wind tugging at his hat as he leveled a telescope. A crewman placed a mug on the rail and, noticing Emerald, said something to his captain.
She expected Baret to turn swiftly, displeased that she had escaped Hob, but he continued to look through the telescope, undisturbed.
Emerald drew in a breath and walked swiftly toward him. She stopped beside him at the rail, but he ignored her. She said with precise dignity, “Captain Foxworth, I should like to know why I’m being held aboard your ship.”
He did not reply but continued his concentration.
“Where’s Mr. James Bradford, or have you put him in irons? And where is Zeddie?”
He gave no immediate reply.
Emerald’s embarrassment was aroused as the protracted silence went uninterrupted. Then she heard the sound of hurried steps and saw that Hob had followed.
She turned back to Baret, who rested his elbows on the rail as he steadied the telescope.
She shaded her eyes and peered out to see the object of his focused attention. She saw nothing of importance—just a longboat rowing toward them with several men seated inside. The plumes of their wide-brimmed hats fluttered in the wind.
“M’lord—” she breathed with exasperation.
“Captain Foxworth,” he corrected.
“Among the urgent matters I’ve already mentioned, I wish my trunk to be secured at once. There are papers inside of great value belonging to my deceased uncle, and I would be highly disappointed if anything happens to them.”
“The translation of the African dialects was quite good. He wrote music?”
He kept the telescope fixed on the longboat.
Emerald scanned him cautiously, her suspicions rising. “Am I to understand, sir, that you have my trunk and that you dared to search its contents?”
“Yes to both questions. After all, Miss Harwick, you may have been running away with a pirate carrying information stolen during your first visit to my cabin. I hope you’ll understand that I had to make certain. Your trunk will be returned.”
His calmness maddened her, and she was offended that he’d not fully trusted what she’d told him in the garden at Foxemoore.
“But I’ve already explained all that, and just what information would I wish to steal from you and run away with?”
“That depends on you,” came his evasive reply.
“But there is nothing in your cabin I want. Nor do I wish to stay aboard a vessel with a disrespectable captain. Will you free me or not?”
He lowered the telescope and turned his head to look at her for the first time, his dark eyes glinting. “Disrespectable?”
She refused to back down under his penetrating gaze. “I believe, sir, that you walk the thin line between questionable buccaneering and outright piracy.”
“Indeed?”
She looked out at the green glare. “I was abducted from the wharf last night and brought here. What are you going to do about it?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
She looked at him, startled. This was the last response she had expected. “You haven’t decided—”
“No. I was going to send you and Zeddie back this morning to Sir Karlton, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“You—you what?”
“I’ve changed my plans,” he repeated.
“But I’m supposed to meet Mr. Bradford. Last night your odious crew implied that he was on board waiting for me.”
“Fortunately for you, madam, Hob had misinformed them, and so they deposited you on my ship. They are not part of my crew but belong to the Venture. I believe,” he said dryly, “that you are acquainted with its captain, Rafael Levasseur.”
Stunned, she looked at him. “But Captain Foxworth, my French cousin is a pirate, a despicable man.”
He smirked. “We agree on that much.”
“And Jamie—I mean, Mr. Bradford—does not know him nor would he send men from Levasseur’s pirate crew to bring me there.”
“I beg to differ. Jamie Boy—I mean Mr. Bradford—” came the slightly ironic voice “—is now in league with Levasseur. And I believe, madam, that he intended you to sail with them to take a Spanish galleon.” His eyes were maliciously amused.
She gasped. “How can you even suggest Jamie would do something like that? Or that I would join him?”
He folded his arms and leaned back against the rail, watching her alertly.
“Then you believed his letter?”
“Of course I believed—” She stopped, her eyes swerving to h
is, and a slow flush warmed her cheeks. “Sir, you are no gentleman if you read my letter.”
“Madam, I assure you it was quite distasteful to my gallant nature to have done so.”
“I think not. You wanted to read it. You are a rogue.”
He said with feigned gravity, “But alas! My situation is such that I can leave no stone unturned when it comes to the intentions of your cousin. And,” came the smooth tone, “I wanted to learn the depth to which you and he have come to these past months while secretly planning to escape Foxemoore.”
She drew in an embarrassed breath, uncertain that she had heard him correctly. “I can’t for the life of me guess why—”
“For reasons that will prove important.”
“And are you satisfied with your discovery, Captain Foxworth?”
A slight smile touched his mouth. “Among other things, I take it that your dear Jamie Boy is rather lacking as a romantic poet.”
She blushed, for the letter had spoken nothing of love—only of escaping Port Royal and their plans to start a farm.
“You can presume nothing,” she said stiffly. “He’s a gentleman.”
“Is he? A rather cool one I would think, considering you were both emotionally attached enough to seal matrimonial doom for the rest of your years—and being no more than sixteen, you have a good many of them to invest with him in raising piglets in the Boston colony.”
She saw the glint of amused challenge in his dark eyes. “I shall indeed marry him.”
“Then you are, I take it, ambitious to raise piglets with Jamie Boy?”
Her face turned hot. She glared. “I don’t care to discuss such personal matters with you. Jamie has nothing to do with Levasseur, and I told you at Foxemoore what I thought of Rafael.”
“So he was to bring you to the Massachusetts colony?”
She smarted under the doubt in his voice. “Yes, and we shall proceed with our plans. We’re to be married at Boston.”
“And of course,” he suggested with disbelief, “you were both going to sail on Cousin Levasseur’s ship. Was he also to attend the wedding?” he asked dryly.
She had no answer, for passage aboard the Venture made no sense. “He—he must have been mistaken, thinking the ship was a merchant ship. What would he know about pirates?”
“Evidently a great deal. I’ve word from a reliable source that Jamie has joined the crew of the Venture. He is now Levasseur’s lieutenant.”
She stared, trying to judge his truthfulness. He appeared confident.
“Impossible. Jamie is no pirate. But what about you, Captain Foxworth? Did I not overhear you tell that vile Frenchman last night how you intend to sign articles with Levasseur? A known pirate, wanted in England.”
She looked at him victoriously.
He merely lifted a dark brow and made no move to defend himself.
“Then you are,” she said coolly, “a pirate.”
“You may say that I am, madam.”
“You mean you’re not going to deny it?” she asked incredulously.
He smiled. “Why should I?”
She floundered, an uneasy feeling stealing over her as he watched her, the wind whipping the plume in his black hat. Her eyes faltered. “You’ll hang,” she whispered.
“Perhaps. Would you be sorry?”
Her eyes darted up to his, and under his gaze she blushed. “No.”
“I didn’t think so. You grieve me sorely, madam.”
She looked stiffly out toward Port Royal.
He offered her the telescope, and she glanced at him to see a sardonic smile touching his mouth. “Perhaps you best have a look. Your darling comes. No doubt to claim you.”
Emerald’s eyes searched his face. Jamie was coming? Her confusion grew more acute.
“The one question remaining for me,” said Baret, “is whether or not I should permit him to do so.”
“Permit? .. But …” she floundered, taking the telescope and trying to focus it upon the approaching longboat, but her hands shook, and the ship seemed to sway gently, giving her a disoriented feeling.
He stepped beside her to steady the instrument, but she swiftly moved away. “I need no aid, m’lord.”
He offered a slight bow. “Captain,” he repeated. “But we’ll save titles for London.”
“Not London. I’m going with Mr. Bradford to Massachusetts.”
“To raise piglets.” He gestured an airy hand toward the longboat. “Better think twice. Levasseur has other plans, and they lie in the direction of the Spanish Main. Bradford is sailing with him. But I can’t say how long Jamie will be there to protect you.”
She didn’t know what to think, and, turning her back toward him, she steadied her elbows on the rail as she had seen him do and focused on the longboat. This time she managed to hold steady, her heart thumping in her chest as she saw the lean swarthy face of Captain Levasseur.
His lively black eyes gazed straight ahead. He was modishly garbed in a burgundy taffeta suit with a matching dyed ostrich feather swirling from a black hat worn over his curled periwig.
Her bewilderment grew as she studied the man sitting beside him in a faded cotton shirt and leather breeches of untanned hide. Beneath his rough cap, the jaw-length chestnut hair curled slightly, matching a wide mustache on the upper lip of a masculine face weathered by the sun. Alert blue eyes were fixed on the Regale.
“Jamie,” she whispered.
As she looked intently through the spyglass, she became aware of Hob’s presence, ready to interrupt.
“She darted from the cabin like a canary, Cap’n,” he explained. “I couldn’t reach her before she was already up the steps.”
Emerald faced them. “Am I a prisoner? If there’s a decision to be made concerning my future, it’s only just that I be present.”
“It’s all right, Hob,” said Baret. “Miss Harwick will be present when we greet them. The four of us have much to discuss. And if there’s unpleasantness, I’ll trust that Sir Karlton’s runaway daughter will refrain from fainting to the deck in a heap of flounces.”
Her eyes narrowed as he offered a slightly exaggerated bow. “I must not keep the Brethren waiting.”
Emerald watched as he descended to the quarterdeck with Hob behind him.
She stood there for a moment, then looked over the ship’s rail as the longboat rowed up to the ship’s ladder and a slave reached to tie the rope. Her anxious gaze watched Levasseur confidently mount the rope ladder.
Emerald turned to step down to the quarterdeck when she saw Hob bringing Baret his baldric, holding sword and pistols. Baret first slipped into a black velvet jacket and then passed the baldric over his head. Hob handed him a wide-brimmed hat, which he put on with style.
Emerald knew about the customs of the Brethren of the Coast. On certain occasions among the finer gentlemen who believed in chivalry, they often dressed in magnificent finery—usually before a duel.
She came down the steps with uncertainty. “M’lord! What are you going to do?” she cried, and when he didn’t answer immediately, she lifted her skirt and sped toward him.
“There are certain customs,” he said casually. “And your cousin sets great store by them. The French betray themselves with a fastidious love for exaggerated courtliness. Hence my dress and weapons show respect for his reputation as a buccaneer.” His dark eyes were amused but sober. “Stay close to Hob until I introduce you.”
“I see no need for trouble,” she said nervously. “Can’t you understand that I just wish to leave with Mr. Bradford?”
“You will do as I request, or will I need to have Hob escort you to the cabin?”
Her eyes searched his. “You mean that?”
His even stare was answer enough.
“I shall do as you request,” she said too politely.
He turned and went down the companionway to the main deck.
Emerald trailed, wondering. She still had no idea of why he might not allow her to depart now that Jamie was
coming for her.
Even if Jamie were a pirate, why should Baret care? Was he concerned for Sir Karlton? Perhaps he would insist she be brought back to Foxemoore.
I won’t go back, she thought.
26
FOR TWENTY THOUSAND PIECES OF EIGHT
Emerald stood tensely on the quarterdeck steps, the breeze moving the hem of her frock, her eyes upon her cousin, Levasseur, who came over the side.
He paused at the head of the ladder, as though considering his safety. Then, with pantherlike agility, he stepped on board and stood with his lean brown hand resting on his sword hilt. Gleaming black curls clustered about his narrow face, alert as a fox.
As yet he did not notice her.
His gaze moved from one to another on deck until colliding with Baret Buckington. He doffed his hat according to custom and replaced it, the plume dancing, then approached Baret with a glint of subdued anger in his eyes. A curled smile touched his thin lips.
“A surprise, Captain Foxworth?”
“Indeed, Captain Levasseur. A most pleasant one,” he said smoothly, but it wasn’t clear to Emerald who was meant to be pleased. Baret stood boldly in full buccaneer regalia, a hand on one of the pistol butts in his baldric.
“Pleasant?” said Levasseur. “But no, you have offended me! Have you not scorned my hospitality?”
“How so, my captain?” he said with a faint smile.
“I waited long into the night aboard the Venture—but alas, you did not keep our rendezvous as agreed.”
“A mere safeguard, Captain Levasseur, I assure you. And I am most gratified that you have kept our appointment.”
“But aboard your ship!”
“Of course, my captain! There is the damsel Emerald to think of.”
Emerald moved uncertainly at the mention of her name, and Levasseur’s black eyes became granite.
“My cousin? You have no need to concern yourself over her, Captain Foxworth.”
Baret laughed. “Ah, but I have decided to become concerned.”
“Must I tell you that this is a personal matter—one that has nothing to do with our business of signing articles?”
Buccaneers Series Page 30