Boot steps sounded firmly on the companionway of the Regale, and from her small cabin Emerald heard Baret’s resonant voice speaking to Yorke.
“I told you to bring her to the Warspite. You know why I didn’t want her aboard. This is a war voyage. We’ll be attacking by sea and land. We’ll soon be in battle! Where is she?”
Yorke cleared his throat. “In there, sir.”
“My cabin! Again? Where’s that wily future father-in-law of mine?”
“I did my best, captain, but Captain Harwick insisted on being brought to the Warspite. An’ Farrow upped anchor. He’s making his way now to join the Bonaventure.”
She heard Baret draw in a breath with exasperation.
“Harwick! So he’s avoiding me, is he? Wait until I see him alone. He has a lot to answer for!”
“Aye, captain, but maybe his daughter can answer a few of ’em.”
“She has questions to answer all right. Weigh anchor—we’re already behind schedule. If I miss the San Pedro, my plans are ruined. Sound the orders!”
“Aye, captain!”
Emerald winced, tensing for the ordeal ahead as the door was thrown open and Baret entered, his disconcerting gaze locking with hers.
She offered a sweet smile. “Why, Baret, hello … um … how kind of you to loan me your cabin … again. If I’d known the other cabin was already occupied by a female passenger, I’d have insisted Mr. Yorke bring me to my father. I thought he was aboard.”
“So did I!” He folded his arms and regarded her through dark lashes, a sardonic smile on his mouth. “I wonder where he went so quickly. And why.”
She plucked at her sleeve, still smiling. “I’m sure he’ll be able to explain everything to your satisfaction.”
“You’re quite certain about that, madam?”
She wasn’t but dare not admit it. She was as much in the dark over her father’s behavior as Baret.
He gestured to his belongings piled on a makeshift captain’s desk. “Strange,” he mused, “I could almost be certain we’ve lived through this before. Another time, another voyage. All that’s missing is Levasseur and Jamie Boy.”
Her eyes flickered with restrained temper.
“However, madam, this time I’ve no other cabin to retreat to since I’ve already been turned out of the great cabin.”
“You forget the sailroom, captain,” she said innocently.
“Ah yes, the sailroom …” he said. “Housing my buccaneers and their hunting hounds. I can see this is going to be a very pleasant voyage.” His gaze hinted of malicious teasing. “But then, come to think of it, there is a way out of my dilemma. I could call for the chaplain. He could marry us here and now. Then we wouldn’t need to worry about it, would we? Think how cozy we’d be.”
She stared at him, her heart jumping to her throat. He was teasing. Of course, he was. Wasn’t he?
He must have read her fluster for his mouth turned. “That’s what I thought.”
He didn’t mean any of this, she was sure of it. He was an impossible rogue at times, but how could he make light of anything so serious? Obviously because he had no intention of ever following through, and they both knew it.
“I believe,” she said airily, “it was also your plan that there be a very long betrothal, your lordship.”
“So it was. I wouldn’t want to rush so serious a matter until we both find out where we truly stand. In a very few weeks I’ve discovered a good deal more about you.”
Why did that make her uneasy? Her eyes swerved to his, watching her with thoughtful irritation. She lifted her head with a suggestion of dignity that opposed his allusion to shortcomings. “Well, that goes both ways, Captain.”
He touched his thin mustache, studying her thoughtfully, his dark eyes unreadable.
She flushed. “Why is it you make me feel guilty?”
A smile appeared. “Because you are, perhaps?”
“May I ask what it is, sir, you’ve discovered that you didn’t already know when you made a spectacle of me at Tortuga?”
“A spectacle!” He gave a laugh. “Your father did a fairly decent job of it himself, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and that doesn’t mean I approved, which I didn’t, and I’ve no foolish dream of either of us ever following through on—”
“Dream? Ah—something for me to contemplate. Does that mean you nourish sweet dreams about becoming mine?”
She stood quickly, then winced, clutching the arm of the chair.
He caught her, frowning. “Did Hob look after your ankle?”
“Yes, it’s only a sprain—let go of me. I’m fine! Let go, I said!”
His eyes narrowed. “Before dreams there was the matter of your schooling in London, if I recall. And that brings me to one of the questions at hand.” He sat her back in the chair and stood looking down at her.
Now it was coming, she thought, all the impossible questions she couldn’t answer about her father and the treasure of the Prince Philip.
“Would you mind explaining just what you were doing here, sailing with Karlton along the dangerous coast of Venezuela? Do you realize how many Spanish garrisons there are up and down this Main? How many pirates like Thorpe? You’re blessed he knew I was here. The greed of ransom was the one thing that spared you.”
He removed his hat and flung it on the scarred table. “If I recall our sweet good-bye on Tortuga, you were on your way to English Barbados—to board a merchant ship for dear Mother England. A few weeks later and—behold! I find you in grave peril. My dear,” he said silkily, “is that any way for a future countess to behave?”
Future countess. She could swoon. As if he meant it!
“And in my fondest dreams,” he said lightly, “I ignorantly imagined you safe aboard some English ship on your way to Buckington House, nibbling sweet dainties and sipping lemon water, with your sprightly French cousin for company. Instead, she’s captive to a priest of the Holy Office of Inquisition, and you fell into the clutches of Lex Thorpe.”
Yes, possibly the most horrid experience in my life, she wanted to say, but her loyalty rallied to her beloved father. To blame him would add substance to Baret’s argument that her father was willing to betray him for the treasure. Her conclusions about her father’s motives were hazy and bringing more discomfort by the hour, but she could not tell Baret for fear he’d turn completely against him.
“Be fair—it wasn’t my father’s fault.”
“Then whose was it? Yours? Do you yearn, madam, for yet another adventure on the Main aboard the Regale, is that it?”
Her irritation began to kindle. “If I weren’t here, it would have made it easier for you, wouldn’t it? What of the poor senorita you hold a prisoner for ransom!”
“Ah, yes. The poor senorita. How ill and cruel her fate!”
“You hold her a prisoner in your cabin. I know. Hob told me.”
“Hob talks too much. Suppose I state she’s not a prisoner but is my cousin? And that she is helping me locate my father?”
“Oh, come, captain.”
“As I thought. You dismiss my honesty without consideration.”
“Carefully considered, sir. Yes, quite carefully. A cousin from Spain?” She laughed softly.
“Half Spanish.”
“From Cartagena? A treasure city? The nobility is known to sip Madeira with English heretics, of course. A cousin. Yes, I see.”
“There are those in the family with sympathy for Spain and ties to the families of the dons. They do more than sip wine.”
“With your wrath so readily outpoured against anything hinting of Madrid, you really have a cousin with Spanish blood?”
“Did I say I was pleased about it?”
“I don’t believe she’s a cousin. She’s a prisoner. The royal governor’s niece. And you’ve locked her in your cabin. Just the way you locked me in when you sailed to Maracaibo.”
“Not quite the same.”
She took him in briefly, dubiously. “I can’t keep my
self from wondering how you captured her.”
He smiled. “She came to me begging for assistance.” He spread his hands innocently. “What could I do? She was like a ripe plum falling into my hand!”
She didn’t like his vision of a ripe plum. “Do you expect to use her so you can attack and loot the island of Margarita? Perhaps I was wrong about Morgan—maybe he’ll rendezvous with you and Captain Farrow, after all. And your French buccaneer friend—what was his name?—Pierre LaMonte?”
“Ah, the Frenchman. He brings me to the second topic we need to discuss, and I am not speaking of Pierre and his Bonaventure but of Levasseur!”
She turned her head away. “I will not discuss Levasseur. And if I’m to be on my way to England, what of you? I bade you farewell on Tortuga while you were waiting for your scoundrel friend Henry Morgan. Is he here also?”
Baret’s dark eyes warmed, and his expression was anything but placating. “I’m asking the questions.”
“Oh! I see. That changes matters considerably, my lord Buckington.” She smiled again, too sweetly. “It’s quite all right for a viscount to blame me for reckless behavior, while at the same time risking being hanged at Port Royal by turning pirate.”
“Cheer up. If anything happens to me, you’ll be my heir. You can return to Foxemoore, where you may subdue all those who tossed you out onto the Caribbean.”
“Do be serious. You could hang—you know that.”
He gestured as though that were of no import. “It’s you I’m worried about. It was enough that the Admiralty officials may wish to ask you questions about your involvement with me at Maracaibo, but this is a far more serious voyage. I intend to attack the Spaniards and take the San Pedro.”
How casual he made it all sound!
“With you aboard again, we may both face the gallows.”
She sucked in her breath, drawing back in the chair.
He laughed unpleasantly. “You’ve your father to thank for bringing you here. Rest—I will amend all. I’ve no intention of getting caught. And if they arrest you, I promise to take Port Royal and break you out of the gaol. Your neck is much too attractive for a necklace of rough hemp.”
“How can you!”
“The truth must be spoken,” he said airily. “You might as well know you’re betrothed to a blackguard. I suppose you wish to cancel the engagement?”
She sat up stiffly. “You’re saying this to frighten me. Well, sir! I have no intention of marrying a blackguard. What do you think of that?”
He smiled. “You’d have preferred James Maynerd, if I recall—or was it dear Rafael, smelling of French perfume and waving silver lace? Ah, mademoiselle, you grieve me.”
She stood, carefully this time, and said with dignity: “I shall leave this ship at once.”
“Will you? And where do you expect to go? Back to the captain of the Black Dragon? I fear he’s in a worse mood now. Do sit down, dear foundling. I promise to behave myself. And now—where were we?”
“I’ve no wish to burden you—”
“It’s your safety that burdens. If your father hadn’t signed articles with Levasseur and Thorpe, I wouldn’t have had to delay plans to sail into Margarita—the best opportunity I’ve had in three years to clear my father of the charge of piracy.”
Her mood changed to one of astonishment. “You don’t actually think the treasure is on Margarita, do you?”
He regarded her evenly, a brow lifting as though questioning her motive for interest.
“My father didn’t betray you,” she rushed on, embarrassed. “And he had no mind to cooperate with that sordid captain of the Black Dragon.”
“I’m certain of that much, yet he did have plans to rendezvous with Levasseur.”
“Never. You saw what happened on Tortuga. You know what happened there. He was angry with Rafael. How can you think they were planning to work together? Oh, I know my father said as much to Thorpe, but he had to say those things to trick him. Father wouldn’t betray you. Why, you even came to see him at Foxemoore about the map and journal because you trusted him.”
“So I did. Little did I know that he’d sailed with my father on that fateful voyage and kept it from me these three years. Just how much does he know that he still hasn’t told me? Trust him? Yes, I suppose I still do, but you have to admit he wasn’t completely truthful with me.”
She swallowed, feeling horribly upset, for deep in her heart she reasoned the same. But how could she deal with it? Had he indeed withheld these three years information that might have aided Baret in rescuing his father from torment?
“I can’t bring myself to believe he’d deliberately deceive you or keep back anything crucial. I know my father too well. He has his faults, yes, and he’s not always … well … completely Christian in his schemes. But he’s not vicious, nor is he so selfish that he’d allow either of you to suffer on behalf of some personal dream.”
He tapped his chin, musing. “Maybe. He still has to answer about what he was doing with my father’s pistol, and why he never told me about it.”
She lapsed into silence, also wondering.
His mood altered perceptibly. “By the way, did you send a message to Levasseur on Tortuga before you left, informing him of your father’s plans to come here?”
Startled, she wondered how he could even suggest that. “I had no idea we were coming here. I only learned where we were a few days ago. Even if I had known, why would I inform Rafael?”
“The one answer I can come up with at the moment is that you did so to aid your charming cousin. Why is it I somehow think you’ve entertained more feelings for him in the past than you will admit?”
“Rafael? You’re jesting. If you think so, then you don’t know me as well as you thought.”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly.
“My father can explain everything to your satisfaction if you’ll only give him a chance.”
“Is that why he insisted on sailing with Erik? Because he’s so anxious to explain?”
She hesitated. “I’m sure he will. Give him a chance. He thinks well of you.”
“He thinks well of me, indeed. And I know why.”
She flushed, reading between his words the suggestion that it was his wealth and position that had caused him to arrange the duel on Tortuga between himself and Baret. She wanted to tell him she would not hold him to the betrothal agreement, but the words stuck in her throat. “He told Thorpe he was working with Rafael because he was concerned for our safety.”
“I would accept that if it were true, but it isn’t.”
“Not true, what do you mean?”
“Karlton came here to rendezvous with Levasseur. If he told Lex anything false, it was that he was also working with me.” His mood was challenging, sardonic. “Unless he wishes to help pirate the San Pedro.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you’ll risk pirating a Spanish galleon?”
“Not yet. The less you know, the safer you’ll be. And now—” he snatched up his belongings “—I’ve no more time. I’ve a rendezvous with Farrow and LaMonte to keep.” He looked back from the door and smiled lopsidedly. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. If you need anything, call for Hob.”
Holding to the desk, Emerald stood looking after him.
She tried to shake the qualms from her mind. Would her father be able to satisfy Baret’s questions and why he’d said nothing to him until now?
Uneasily, her mind went back to that night two months ago at the bungalow. Baret had arrived to speak with her father about a journal belonging to Captain Royce Buckington, which he believed held information to help him exonerate his father of the piracy charge. If that were true, how did the treasure taken from the Spanish galleon fit in? A thought churned in her mind but was too disturbing to bring to the light. It was Felix who had confiscated that journal, she told herself. Perhaps by now he would have destroyed it.
She thought of something else. Her father claimed that on his deathbed the old earl
—Great-grandfather Esmond Stuart Buckington—had left a double portion of the sugar not to grandsons Royce and Felix but to Karlton Harwick. Felix claimed the change in Esmond’s will had been due to the unethical practice of a London barrister. Her father heartily denied this. Now, her father’s shares in Foxemoore were at risk because of debt incurred by the loss of family merchant ships and loans from merchants who had invested in his voyages.
Felix would show no leniency. His marriage to Geneva placed him in a position to force Karlton to either pay up or relinquish his shares. If her father knew anything about the treasure of the Prince Philip, might not he want to claim a hefty portion in order to settle his accounts?
Her mind stole backward to consider anew the reasons for her father’s moodiness on Foxemoore. He had said it was over a Spanish man-of-war that had sunk his ship. He had often threatened taking to the Main alone on a mission of revenge. Might those dark moods have had something to do with the treasure?
What if—she thought, troubled—what if it hadn’t been revenge at all that had burdened him but a desire to return to the territory where the treasure was located?
The idea was too upsetting for her to accept, since it would mean her father was a pirate. And had he indeed withheld crucial information from Baret that might have permitted him to find his father? This new face of her father did not fit the memories she held of him, nor did it explain his concern for the whereabouts of Royce or his wish to help Baret locate him. Or did it?
All that day she nursed her ankle and recuperated from the ordeal at the cove with Thorpe and his pirates. She hoped Baret would return at supper to explain matters more thoroughly. Hob arrived at sundown with a tray. “Roasted crab, mussels cooked in black butter and garlic. An’ his lordship’s favorite—chicken fried crisp brown and tender with slices o’ plantains.”
“Thank you, Hob. It looks very tasty, and I’m starving. Will … um … the captain be joining me?”
He grinned. “He be eatin’ with Miss Carlotta tonight on deck. Moon be as big as a melon, says I, and just as ripe too. Sea be smooth, wind warm, and—”
“Yes, I get the picture, Hob. Thank you.”
“I don’t think ye do, miss. He don’t care a turtle’s wink for her. It’s information he’s learning—all about the ways of the treasure ship and the goings-on in Porto Bello.”
Buccaneers Series Page 52