Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Clearly, this was not what he wished to hear—or what he intended for her to tell Governor Modyford.

  “Baret has long sought for both the treasure and the whereabouts of my brother, Royce, whom he insists is alive. Sadly, it isn’t so. He’s sought to convince Earl Nigel of the same thing, but the earl wisely refuses to permit false hopes to govern his life. Unfortunately for Baret, he is now a pirate with a warrant on his head. The Regale is a pirate ship. Naturally, you already know this, since you sailed on the Regale into Lake Maracaibo.”

  “I know nothing of Maracaibo, Lord Felix. I was transported aboard my father’s ship before the incident of Lucca’s death.”

  He ignored the truth. “I can see why a woman of your background would wish to try to shield him from his just fate. The option of marriage to a Buckington, even a Buckington scoundrel, is tempting. I, for one, can no longer shield my nephew. I’ve done so for the last several years. His Majesty demands justice and an end to piracy in the Caribbean. As a member of the Admiralty court I must act for the king.”

  She remained mute, his words storming her mind. “A woman of your background…. Act for the king.”

  “I can only tell you what I told your father, Earl Nigel. Regardless of my background, or perhaps because of it, I’ve entertained no false hopes of marriage into the Buckington family. As for the viscount being a pirate, I’m also sure, if he is one, he does not sail by the same articles as does Captain Levasseur.”

  She looked at him innocently. Levasseur worked for Felix. “It is my dreadful cousin Rafael Levasseur who is one of the worst pirates on the Main, your lordship. Like you, I understand that family blood must sometimes be put aside. And therefore, I can only mildly lament your energetic efforts to locate and hang him at Gallows Point.”

  His eyes barely flickered. “Rest assured, my dear, he will come to his due reward. However, it’s your involvement with my nephew that disturbs the High Admiralty. I’m afraid, you’ll either come clean and confess all you know or go up before the officials. Naturally, I had hoped for your cooperation and so wished for your needs to be met, rather than Brideswell.”

  “I’ve told you, m’lord, I know nothing of the incident at Maracaibo. I wasn’t there. As far as I know, it never happened. Surely you would not wish me to fabricate a tale detrimental to your nephew, the earl’s grandson?”

  He smiled. “You’re a cleverer young woman than I anticipated. Naturally I would not wish my nephew to be arrested and stand trial for something as notorious as piracy.”

  “Of course, you wouldn’t, m’lord.”

  He lifted the letter, eyeing her thoughtfully. “I have here the statement of my overseer, Mr. Pitt. Mr. Hiram Walker Pitt, I believe is his whole name. In this letter he admits his error in accusing you of attempted murder. He realizes now that neither you nor your African cousin were involved. The attack came from a rum-sodden sea merchant who broke into the lookout on Fishers Row.”

  She tore her eyes from his gaze to stare at the precious document that would set both Minette and her free.

  “I’ll have a copy made of this letter to be given to you tomorrow. The original I will deliver to the Bailey. Your reputation will be restored, and the matter forgotten.”

  Her heart pounded as her eyes fixed on the letter.

  Baitingly, he laid it on the desk. “You’ll be free to leave first thing in the morning.”

  She stared at him, waiting for the conditions.

  “Is…there anything else?” she asked.

  He smiled. He opened the drawer and took out a piece of parchment. He pushed it across to her, followed by a quill and ink well. “You’ll sign and date this official document to be sent to His Majesty. Do you read?”

  “Yes,” she choked and picked up the document, her hand shaking.

  He came around the desk with the lantern and set it down close beside her. Then he walked to the open window and looked out.

  A moment later she looked at him, drawing in a breath. “M’lord, I cannot sign this. I would become the witness to see the viscount hanged for murder and piracy.”

  “It is either him or your own trial for attempted murder.”

  “But you know I did not try to kill Mr. Pitt! And you know Baret is innocent!”

  “I know nothing of the sort. You are both guilty of sordid crimes as far as I’m concerned, but in pity I seek to spare you from hanging for the sake of my wife!”

  His sudden anger set her off guard. For an instant she’d nearly believed him. She wanted to mock his concern but did not dare go so far.

  She threw down the document on the desk. “I cannot in Christian conscience lie to save myself. The crimes listed here are fanciful and vicious exaggerations—”

  “Exaggerations?” he cut in. “Did he not enter Lake Maracaibo?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Of course, you know. You know about Lucca.”

  “He sought his father—”

  “Ah. So you admit you know he entered Maracaibo?”

  “I’ll not sign this, Lord Felix. I cannot.”

  “You’re being foolish. Is it because of an infatuation with Baret?”

  “No—no—”

  “Money, then. I can see you set up well in England after the war.”

  “I cannot sign.” She turned away, gripping her fan.

  “You will sign, Emerald. And if it’s not your own welfare for which you will cooperate, then you will sign to save him.”

  She looked at him. “I don’t understand. My very signing will destroy him.”

  “Save him, yes. From a fate far worse than a trial in London. There is at least a possibility he will be found innocent of piracy and murder. But the fate now at hand will be worse than death.”

  She paled. “Please explain.”

  “He was captured by the guarda costa on a recent raid in the cays of Cuba. He’s being held for the piracy of the Spanish galleon Valdez. Capitán Espinosa don Diego de Valdez will see him imprisoned in Cádiz.”

  Emerald gripped the desk, searching his face. His sober countenance convinced her. Then he didn’t know yet about the San Pedro. Or that it was Baret who aided Carlotta to escape marriage to the don at Margarita. But Cádiz!

  “If you sign, the Spanish ambassador will see my nephew released from trial by the inquisitors to stand trial for piracy in London. As you see, I’ve done my best to help him, despite his unreasonable hatred for me. He blames me for the death of his father, a matter I’m entirely innocent of. And one day I’ll prove it.”

  He pushed the letter from Mr. Pitt across the desk to where her hand gripped the edge. She recognized the sloppy handwriting of the overseer and the official seal of the court.

  “You’re free, Emerald.” He dipped the quill into the ink pot and handed it to her, along with the document to be sent to King Charles.

  Cádiz…the inquisitors…Baret would never recant…they’d torture him to death…maybe bury him alive…

  But what if Felix was lying? Why should she trust him now?

  Her hand shook as she took the pen. Quickly she signed her name.

  Felix did not smile. Instead he laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. “You’ve had a trying time. I’ll show you to your chamber.”

  “No,” she said weakly. “I shall be all right. I’ll find my own way.” She picked up the letter from Mr. Pitt, and Felix went to the door and opened it wide.

  She walked out and across the tile floor to the stairway. As she slowly went up, her knees nearly buckled. Her heart throbbed painfully as she gripped the letter of her freedom.

  What have I done?

  But Baret was held a prisoner in Cuba! He was to be sent to the inquisitors!

  Did she believe that?

  Guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her when she at last entered her chamber and shut the door. She rushed onto the outside balcony and leaned against the rail. The rain wet her face, warm and steamy. She stifled a sob and was seriously contemplating the risk of going over the sid
e by way of the trumpet vine when she noticed that it was already torn and loose.

  “Not considering jumping on my account?” A calm, resonant voice shocked her into a gasp.

  She whipped about.

  He stood back in the shadows, handsomely garbed in black, the doublet embroidered with silver thread and worn over a white shirt.

  “Baret!”

  “Is it anguish over my fate or yours that tempts you to such disaster?” he asked lightly.

  She indeed appeared as though prepared to jump. She gripped the rail.

  “But—you can’t be here. The guarda costa arrested you!”

  “Not quite.”

  She rushed toward him. “You must leave here at once,” she whispered. “Felix is below now, so is Jasper, and your uncle has—” A hand went to her aching throat as she remembered the document she’d signed. Baret would never forgive her. He’d never understand why she had believed Felix. The letter from Mr. Pitt dropped to the wet terrace floor. The rain splattered on it.

  He stooped and picked it up, looked at it, then at her. A brow lifted. “Not a love letter from your French cousin?”

  Her mind flashed back to the scene on the Regale. “You don’t think I betrayed you?” she had asked.

  “No.”

  “You trust me? You don’t think I’m the kind of girl that would be—”

  “Unfaithful?”

  “Yes, you don’t think that about me, do you? Perhaps all the gossip in Port Royal has influenced you even more than you realize.”

  “No,” he had said softly.

  Now, as she stood on the terrace staring at him, agony gripped her. Her hands turned cold.

  “Give it to me.” She reached for the letter, desperate.

  Calmly he caught her wrist, searching her eyes. “Why in such a frenzy?”

  Her breath came rapidly. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You don’t realize what I’ve been through—” Her voice broke.

  His dark eyes softened as he slipped an arm about her waist. “I do know,” he said quietly. “Emerald, why do you think I risked coming here? Levasseur told me you were in Brideswell. I went there first. The guard told me you’d left with Jasper for his plantation. When you weren’t there, I suspected he’d brought you here.”

  But where was here if not Jasper Hall?

  Baret had risked returning to Port Royal to find her. His gallantry, and perhaps even something more, something she dare not contemplate, only deepened her sense of betrayal.

  “I’ve thought about you ever since you left,” he whispered. He bent toward her lips, but she pushed both palms against his chest.

  “Baret, I’ve done a dreadful thing,” she choked.

  He hesitated, searching her face. He stared at her for a long minute, and she thought she would faint under a knowing look that turned angry.

  For the first time his gaze dropped to the heavy pearl pendant about her throat. He took in the lace on the sleeve of her elaborate dress. He reached a finger and deftly cupped the pearl, lifting it for inspection, as though weighing it. At that moment Emerald thought it weighed as much as the entire world. Why did he look at her like that? She winced at the sudden pain she saw in his face, then the cynical mockery as his hand dropped from her waist.

  “Between you and Lavender, I’ve been a fool,” he said in a low voice. “I thought you were—” He stopped.

  How could she explain! Her own misery overrode anything he might think of Jasper, and she brushed past him, tears in her eyes, into the chamber.

  He wouldn’t believe her innocent, no matter what she said. No one had ever believed her to be anything more than a strumpet. Her eyes brimmed over. Her hands shook as she lowered the lantern light, telling herself nothing mattered now but his safety. The slaves or guards might see his shadow from below the terrace and inform his uncle. How had he gotten inside without being seen?

  “Lord Felix—he’ll find you. You must go at once. I didn’t want you to come.”

  “But I did. A poor investment in risk. I should have stayed in Tortuga. I now see why you didn’t want me.”

  She whirled, stricken. “No—you don’t see. You’re wrong! I prayed you wouldn’t come because it’s a trap. It’s not me they want, but you.”

  “Do you think I didn’t know that when I came? I knew Felix was here! I know what he wants from you—a confession of piracy to send to the king.”

  She paled. But he didn’t know she had signed that confession.

  “Jasper is the least of my worries. Evidently he doesn’t worry you either.”

  “Baret, how can you! I thought you knew me better than this.”

  “I thought I did too.”

  His suggestion lashed her. She turned away stiffly, so that he wouldn’t see how much his words hurt.

  “If your despair comes from what I suspect it does,” he said flippantly, “don’t let it keep you awake at night. By cutting Jasper into pieces for dog meat, I’ll once again save your noble reputation.”

  She sucked in her breath and turned back to him, her heart pounding so hard that she felt breathless.

  He snatched up a taffeta frock and looked about the chamber, taking in the huge satin-covered four-poster bed, the divan.

  To her mute horror she noticed that Jasper had left his jacket.

  Baret’s intense dark eyes came to hers, causing her face to warm from more than anxiety. He laid the dress with the others and walked up to her.

  “Baret—”

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  When she only looked at him, he took hold of her shoulders and wheeled her firmly about. Catching hold of the pendant clasp, he broke it. He dangled the large pearl before her eyes.

  “A cheap counterfeit. Your taste needs improvement, dear.” He threw it down. “And what did you surrender for his kindness in bringing you here from Brideswell? And to think I offered marriage and twenty thousand pieces of eight! Looks like I’ve been cheated.”

  He caught her in his arms and thoroughly kissed her, but there was no respect in his embrace. She had finally met the other Baret Buckington, and she was shocked by his rush to judgment, by his temper. If she didn’t know better, she’d think him jealous. She was able to struggle free, but only because he abruptly let her loose. With tears in her eyes she slapped him, more hurt by his mistrust, his belief that she’d behaved cheaply, than by anything Jasper would have said to her.

  “How dare you?”

  “So indignant, madam!”

  She stared at him, her emotions crashing, leaving her so weary she collapsed onto the velvet settee.

  He threw aside his plumed hat. “Where’s Jasper?” he gritted.

  She stared dully at the floor.

  His eyes narrowed. “Never mind. I’ll find him myself.”

  She looked up, startled by fear as he threw open the door and walked into the corridor.

  Emerald stumbled after him and grasped his arm. “No! It’s not what you think, Baret! How could you think so low of me—”

  She stopped, unable to go on as memory of her betrayal hotly accused her. She had let Baret down, but in another way—one that could cost his life in the Tower or destine him to a perpetual career on the Caribbean as a wanted pirate.

  Sir Jasper was crossing the salon from the den, where she’d met earlier with Felix. As he neared the stairway, he looked up and saw Baret on the landing. Jasper showed a flicker of alarm, then his gaze darted to Emerald, who stood bracing herself against the wall.

  Baret drew his dueling pistol from his baldric.

  “You’re a dead man, Jasper.”

  Jasper turned pale beneath his tan. Dots of sweat stood out on his forehead. He was like a trapped animal bent on survival; his eyes darting about the salon for an escape route.

  Emerald’s gaze swerved to Baret, saw his hand rise and steady the pistol. If he shot Jasper without a proper duel, he could be accused of murder.

  “Baret, don’t!” She threw herself against his
arm.

  In the seconds that Baret was off guard, Jasper drew his pistol. Baret pushed her away. Jasper’s gun exploded.

  Emerald’s hands flew to her mouth as she saw the impact and the spreading red stain on Baret’s white shirt. He caught himself against the banister and managed to raise the heavy pistol as Jasper cautiously stalked up the stairs, spent weapon in hand, as if a wounded tiger waiting to spring.

  Baret aimed. A blast followed, and smoke drifted between them.

  Jasper staggered to the side, gripped the rail, then slumped to one knee, his glazed eyes looking up at Emerald with puzzled consternation. “Em…” He choked and sank forward, the pistol loosening from his grip. The jewels on his hand caught the lantern light and sparkled.

  White-faced, dazed, she stared down at him. Then she spun toward Baret. He was still on his feet but sagging against the banister.

  She rushed to him, taking hold of his arm, but his look froze her. It was the look a man of title might give a servant.

  He removed her hand, nothing in his touch or in his voice. “I’m well enough, madam.” He moved to the stairs and started down.

  She feared he might collapse, but he seemed determined he would not and faltered only once. He paused on the stair beside Jasper’s body, looking down at him.

  Erik Farrow appeared in the salon entrance below, the lantern light falling on his golden mane. His frosty gaze swiftly took in the scene, slipped over Jasper to Emerald on the landing, then back again to Baret. He frowned at the bright stain on Baret’s shirt. Sword in hand, Erik walked toward the stairs, his calf-length boots echoing across the tile floor.

  “Where’s Felix?” breathed Baret.

  Erik’s frown deepened, but it wasn’t clear if it was because of Felix or because of Baret’s wound. “Gone. All his hired help too. Sit down, your lordship. Let me look at that.”

  Emerald watched, her throat constricting as Baret lowered himself to a step. The sight of blood brought her terror and anguish—terror that she was losing him, anguish because she blamed herself. And because, even if she could explain, he thought she had compromised.