Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1)

by Michelle McMaster

  But perhaps he would try to play the hero and refuse to leave without her, even if she won him the chance. Yes, she could see that happening. Beckett might not love her, but he would never leave her to a fate with Sir Harry in order to save himself.

  She stared at the skyline and shook her head. None of this would be happening if she hadn’t run away that night. Beckett would never have found her, or taken her in, or made her his wife. Now, she was back where she’d started—doomed to a life as Sir Harry’s plaything.

  But the man she loved would be killed because of her.

  Isobel turned her head toward approaching voices from the lower deck. It seemed to be a good time to return to her cabin. She picked up her pencils and started to leave, but stopped as she heard whispering.

  “I tell ye, we must move tonight, McGregor!” the whispered voice said forcefully.

  Something told her to hide then, and she crouched behind the crate on which she’d been sitting.

  As if sensing the tension in the air, Captain Black made himself scarce. Isobel listened to the pirates’ hushed conversation and held her breath.

  “I ’aven’t got enough men yet,” a gruff voice replied. “I needs a few more days, still.”

  “In a few more days it’ll be past the turn,” the man replied. “I told Brinkman we’d be in Jamaica to pick up the cargo next week, see? If we don’t move now we’ll not make it in time!”

  “Styles, ’ave ye gone daft, man?” McGregor hissed. “If we move without enough men, neither of us will make it to Jamaica. Now, d’ye want control of the ship, or don’t ye?”

  “Of course I do, ye dung-head!”

  “Then ye’ll have to trust me,” MacGregor said. “Just a few more days, and we’ll ’ave most o’ the men on our side then. It’ll be much easier to slit the cap’n’s throat if ’is lackeys are with us.”

  “Alright, then,” Styles said. “But don’t disappoint me. I want Worthington’s ’ead on a platter. And that little miss ’e’s been protectin’ will fetch a nice price in Kingston…after we’ve all had a few turns with her, o’ course.”

  Isobel’s blood turned icy cold.

  Was there no end to her woes?

  “I’ll do what I can tonight,” McGregor said. “Meet me in the galley after, grub n’grog. I’ll know more then.”

  “The sooner, the better,” Styles replied. “Shite, someone’s comin’!”

  Isobel heard their footsteps scramble away, but could only crouch numbly behind the crate as she contemplated her bleak future. The situation was going from bad to worse, rather quickly.

  There was only one thing to do.

  She had to reach Beckett. He might know how to turn this situation to their advantage. And if he didn’t, it might be the last time she would ever see him.

  Isobel peeked over the crate and, seeing that it was safe to move, quickly grabbed her pencils and stood. Purposefully, she walked across the deck toward the doorway that led down to the sleeping quarters.

  “I think I’ll retire to my cabin, now,” she said to no one in particular. The pirates there ignored her as she walked past.

  She searched the deck for Captain Worthington, but didn’t see him. The red-bearded first mate seemed to be in command at the moment. That meant Worthington was in his quarters, working on charts, or counting gold coins, or doing whatever pirate captains did.

  “Yes, I am tired,” Isobel continued saying to the air. “I think I shall have a long nap.”

  She reached the doorway and yawned loudly before she went through. As she’d become used to the steep stairway, she descended it as quickly as a monkey. There companionway was deserted.

  She went to her cabin and left her papers and pencils on the small table, then peeked out the door. It was still clear.

  Quickly and silently, Isobel scuttled down the companionway. She went in the opposite direction she’d tried before, hoping that this was the way to the brig. Her heart thumped hard in her breast as she went deeper and deeper into the bowels of the ship.

  As she came around one corner she saw a big, burly man fiddling with some keys near a door. Ducking back, she waited and listened.

  “Damn. I needs me pipe,” the pirate said to himself. “Been too long without a smoke.”

  Isobel heard him shifting around on his feet, snorting and clearing his throat.

  “Now, be a good chap and behave yerself while ol’ Williams is gone,” he said. “A man has to have his pipe now and again, or like as go mad, eh?”

  Chap?

  Could he see her? Isobel wondered.

  “So right, Mr. Williams,” a voice replied. “Be a good fellow and fetch me back a cigar, won’t you?”

  It sounded like Beckett!

  Williams laughed. “Yer a right funny one, ye is, m’lord. Tell ye what. I’ll have an extra smoke in yer honor. ’Ow’s that, eh?”

  “Take your time, my good man,” Beckett said. “We both know I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I shall, sir,” Williams said, chuckling. “And not a word o’ this to the cap’n, now. Wouldn’t look good if he thought we was becomin’ friends, eh? Might toss me overboard, he might. An’ I needs this job.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Williams,” Beckett answered. “If the captain comes by, I shall do my best to quake in fear at the mention of your name.”

  “Right good of ye, sir. I’ll be off then.” Williams turned with a snort, and headed towards where Isobel stood at the end of the passage.

  She looked frantically for a place to hide, but there was none. She backed up all the way into a set of stairs. There was no place to go!

  Just then Isobel saw a small crevice next to the stairs…she thought she might be able to squeeze in there.

  It was risky, though. If she got stuck and Mr. Williams found her, what explanation would she have for being wedged between the stairs and the bulkhead?

  She heard the man’s heavy footsteps approaching, and knew it was now or never. Isobel squeezed herself sideways against the narrow opening and wiggled an arm through. It was going to be tight.

  He was getting closer. She could hear him approaching around the corner. She closed her eyes—though what good that would do she didn’t know—sucked in her stomach, and shoved.

  Like a pearl through a button-hole, she popped through the opening. Isobel crouched down in the shadows just as Williams’s foot touched the first step. He clomped up the stairs with heavy feet, and soon disappeared out of sight.

  Isobel breathed a sigh of relief and quickly went about squeezing back out of the opening. There was no time to lose.

  She peeked around the corner again and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the passageway was still empty. Beckett was just a few feet away. Isobel crept closer as silently as a cat. She reached the sturdy oak door and saw a small square window near the top. It was blocked with sturdy iron bars.

  “Beckett!” she whispered. “Beckett, it’s me, Isobel.”

  His head popped up in the opening like a Jack-in-the-box, and Isobel felt tears come to her eyes.

  “Isobel?” She saw the disbelief in his eyes as he looked down at her.

  Her hands flew up to the bars and Beckett’s fingers threaded through to twine with hers. The touch of his skin sent a jolt of happiness through her body. She was laughing and crying all at once.

  “I didn’t know if you were still alive,” she said. “Oh, Beckett!”

  “Are you alright, my darling?” Beckett demanded. “Lennox, has he—”

  “Sir Harry has a terrible case of seasickness,” she explained. “He’s been in his cabin most of the time, and other than that, he hasn’t had the strength to do much more than scowl. I’m quite well.”

  Beckett closed his eyes in relief, then looked at her with that fiery gaze that made her heart skip. “I’ve been going mad with worry,” he said.

  “So have I,” she said, clasping his hand through the bars. “Are you alright?”

  “I had some broken ribs,” he
said, “but they’re on the mend. It’s too bad Williams didn’t leave his key. Don’t suppose you feel like breaking down the door, do you my dear?”

  “If only I could,” Isobel replied. Promise me you won’t try anything foolish, Beckett.”

  “I will try anything if it will get us out of here.”

  “Well, that is the least of our problems now, it seems,” she said, worriedly.

  “What do you mean?” Beckett asked.

  She took a deep breath, and explained, “I overheard two men talking just now about a mutiny that is going to take place very soon. They plan to kill Captain Worthington, and I can only imagine what they mean to do to us.”

  “Damnation!” Beckett cursed. “If we didn’t have bad luck, we’d have no luck at all. Where is the captain now?”

  “I haven’t seen him about,” she answered. “I assume he’s in his quarters.”

  “You must go and warn him, Isobel,” he said. “It’s too risky to hope we could escape in the midst of a mutiny. I’ll give odds that he won’t believe you at first. He’ll think you’re trying to help me or yourself escape. But you must find some way to convince him. Do you understand?”

  “I can if it means our lives,” she replied. “Oh, Beckett, I am so sorry you’ve been mixed up in this. If only you hadn’t taken me home that night. If only—”

  “Stop right there, Isobel,” he said. “I have no regrets. Why, just look at us—here we are, meeting all kinds of interesting people on board this lovely ship. I daresay the ton will be terribly jealous when they find out we have sailed on a real pirate ship, and survived. I imagine the Prince of Wales will have us to dinner just to hear the tale.”

  Isobel laughed, though tears dampened her eyes.

  Beckett’s his eyes glowing with emotion as he said, “It will be alright, Isobel. I promise. Now find Worthington.”

  Isobel reluctantly pulled away, unwilling to give up even one more moment with him. She finally turned to go down the companionway, but stopped. This could be the last moment they ever saw each other alive….

  She pressed herself against the heavy door, wishing it was Beckett’s body she clung to instead of the barrier that separated them. “I have to tell you something,” she said. “I can’t leave you here, not knowing if I’ll ever have the chance again. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but I must.”

  “No, Isobel,” he replied. “This won’t be the last time we have together. I promise. You must believe me.”

  “I’m afraid of losing you!” she said desperately.

  “You won’t lose me, Isobel. And I won’t lose you—not to Sir Harry Lennox. As long as there is breath in my body, I won’t.”

  “Beckett, I love you.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Even though you don’t want it to be true. Even though I don’t want it to be true. And I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it. I love you more than life itself. So you better take care, do you hear? Don’t take any foolish chances with my husband’s life. I want him in one piece when this is over.”

  “You must go now, Isobel,” he commanded. “We’re running out of time.”

  She nodded. A numbing coldness washed through her heart. She turned away, slipping around the corner. She paused for a moment and stood with her back against the bulkhead before she continued. Hidden from Beckett’s sight, she felt her heart aching, as if the love and pain inside would overflow and burst it open like the banks of a swollen river.

  He still didn’t love her.

  Even now, when their lives were in such danger, when they might never see each other again, he’d said nothing of love.

  It shouldn’t matter. Not now. But it did.

  She swallowed and steeled herself against the tears that threatened to fall. She had no time for them now. She had a mutiny to stop.

  Chapter 22

  Isobel walked purposefully down the companion-way, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself. But she didn’t know if it was from the danger she was facing or from the scene with Beckett.

  How she had wanted to believe that he loved her! And she had foolishly thought he would answer her declaration of love with one of his own.

  She had to clear her head of such notions. Now was not the time to lament her unrequited passion. Beckett had made his feelings plain on the beach. And if they did get out of this together, she could not expect anything more from him.

  She came around the corner, seeing the dark, sturdy door to the captain’s quarters. As usual, there was a fearsome looking brute standing guard outside. Apparently, Worthington’s trust went only so far—and rightly so.

  She took a deep breath, and walked up to the guard, saying firmly, “I need to see the captain, if you please.”

  The big man looked at her, unimpressed. “’E’s not to be disturbed.”

  “It is of the utmost importance,” she insisted.

  The man moved his face close to hers, and the strong smell of his unwashed body penetrated her nostrils. The stubble on his face almost scraped her cheek as he spoke again, slowly and quietly. “I said, ’e’s not to be disturbed…didn’t I?”

  Isobel tried avert her gaze from the rotten, jagged teeth that sparsely filled his mouth. “Good sir, I must see the captain,” she said, again. “If you will not knock on the door, then I shall.”

  The big man blocked Isobel’s approach and grabbed her outstretched arm, holding a wicked-looking dagger just inches in front of her face.

  “Ye see this, Miss?” he asked.

  Isobel nodded mutely.

  “Well, the cap’n, see, ’e tol’ me to put it through the heart of anyone who come near that door, there. An’ I would hate to dirty yer lovely dress.” He pushed her away but held the dagger up threateningly. “Now, ye be a good lass, and shag off, before me and me dagger poke holes in ye.”

  Oh, dear…this was not going at all well.

  “I shall return later, then,” Isobel said with as much haughtiness as she could muster. “And if the captain emerges, please tell him that I must speak to him right away.”

  The man grinned at her as if she had just asked him to perform Hamlet in its entirety.

  “’Course, Miss,” he said. “I’ll do that.”

  Frowning at her failure to talk her way past the guard, Isobel turned on her heel and made her way down the narrow passageway. Not knowing what else to do, she headed back to her quarters.

  Fighting the urge to return to Beckett’s cell, Isobel forced herself back to her room. She would wait a quarter of an hour or so, then try again. Feeling terribly powerless, she sat on a chair and looked around the room, as if the answer to her troubles might be lurking somewhere.

  Her eyes came to rest on the tray that held her luncheon dishes. Usually, it was removed right away, but someone had neglected his duties and hadn’t picked it up.

  Isobel looked at the plate. It was made of porcelain, and looked quite old and dingy. But perhaps it could be more than that. She wanted to laugh at herself for not thinking of it before.

  She picked it up and hit it against the side of the table. The plate broke into a few pieces that fell to the floor, and consequently broke into more. Reaching down, Isobel picked up one that was long and sharp, like an oddly shaped knife. She ripped some of her underskirt and wrapped it around the end, making a handle to grip. At any rate, the cloth would protect her hand from the jagged edge.

  Lifting her skirt, she tucked the makeshift weapon into the laces that wrapped around the top of her boot. She arranged it as best she could, and hoped she wouldn’t inadvertently stab herself in the foot.

  She picked up the rest of the broken plate and hid the pieces under the lumpy straw mattress of her bunk. Armed as well as she could be, Isobel set out on her mission once again.

  As she neared the captain’s quarters, she noticed that the man who had previously stood guard outside was nowhere to be seen. Instead of reassuring her about any chance of seeing Captain Worthington, instinct told her this would be worse.r />
  Isobel slowed her pace, listening for any sound beyond the door, when a big dirty hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her around the corner.

  “And where d’ye think yer goin’, Missy?” a voice rasped in her ear. Isobel grimaced at the stench of the man’s breath. Strong, beefy arms held her easily and pressed her back against a solid chest.

  Isobel kicked and thrashed about in the man’s iron-hard arms. The pirate only laughed and squeezed her tighter.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Not now—when Beckett’s life depended on her reaching Captain Worthington.

  Using all the willpower she could muster, Isobel sank her teeth into the meaty hand that covered her mouth and bit as hard as she could.

  The pirate bellowed and tried to pry her mouth open with his other hand, but Isobel’s jaws held tight. She tasted blood in her mouth, but refused to let the revolting hand go.

  The pirate’s hand curled around her neck, and she felt his fingers dig into her flesh.

  “Let go, ye bloody bitch!” the man hissed.

  “Leave off, Murray!” another voice said. “No marks on ’er skin, remember? Styles will have yer tongue cut out if ye bruise er.”

  “To ’ell with Styles! Help me get ’er off,” Murray groaned.

  The two men struggled to pry Isobel’s jaws apart. When they finally succeeded, both regarded her warily. Isobel could feel the warm wet blood running down her chin, and knew she must look quite a sight indeed.

  “Look what she to me, Dobbin!” Murray held out his wounded hand as gore dripped from it onto the floor.

  “You should have the surgeon look at it,” Isobel said, spitting out some of the blood in her mouth. “While I was on Barbados I contracted a rare disease—Caribbean parrot fever!”

  It was a bold-faced lie.

  There was no such disease as far as she knew.

  Nonetheless, it had the desired effect.

  Murray’s face turned white and he looked at Dobbin accusingly. “Why didn’t you grab ’er? Now I’ve got ‘Caribbean parrot fever’!”