“We should have sailed to Boston on our own, and retrieved the information on our own.”
“Looking back and rethinking plans is a waste. This is what we did, and this is what we have to live with.”
“He’s furious.”
“I have no doubt.”
“And he’s hurt.”
Her head jerked up. “Pardon?” She pictured the blood splattered on his shirt. Good God, she’d assumed it was someone else’s. How hurt was he? And why didn’t Phin tell her this when he first walked in?
“He’s angry as hell at you, but he also feels betrayed. Why would he feel betrayed, Anne?”
Betrayed? Of course. Addison wasn’t hurt physically, he was angry because she lied to him and made him believe she was something she was not. Pressure built against the back of her eyes at the thought of the magic moment in Nicholas’s cabin, when his arms were around her and their bodies were so close she felt the pounding of his heart. He’d wanted her and he probably hated himself for wanting her.
“On Alphonse’s ship, he was prepared to defend me. Me, Phin.” She pounded a fist against her chest. “No one has ever done that before.”
His brows lowered in confusion. “There’s been no reason. You can defend yourself.”
He didn’t understand. She barely understood herself. “It’s his goodness, Phin. He’s a good man.”
“You mean he’s the first man who’s looked at you as a woman and not a pirate.”
She paused, surprised at Phin’s insight. “Yes.”
“Then you’ve done your job well, making him believe you’re Emmaline Sutherland.”
He was right, of course. She’d set out to make Addison believe she was Emmaline, a married woman sailing to Boston with nothing but time on her hands. That he believed her should have given her satisfaction. Instead it left her feeling more tainted than she’d ever felt before, because, in the end, she’d begun to believe her lies as well. In Addison’s cabin she’d let herself believe she was nothing more than a lonely woman in need of a man to make her feel complete.
She’d conveniently forgotten about her mission, about her past, about her father. About everything that had shaped her life and driven her actions for the past eleven years. In Addison’s arms she believed she could be something better, when the truth was she would never be the type of woman Nicholas Addison, sea captain and nobleman, wanted.
“He wanted me to pass a message to you,” Phin said.
“Yes?” Damn her traitorous heart, racing in anticipation. She felt like all those foolish girls at Aunt Dorothy’s ball. She felt like the girl she used to be before darkness stole her life.
“He requests a tour of the ship.”
Chapter Seven
Emmaline stood at the bow of the ship and pressed her fingers against her lips. She closed her eyes and drifted back to the moment when Addison kissed her. When she was naught but a woman. Not a pirate. Not a scoundrel bent on revenge, but a woman yearning for a man’s kiss.
She used to laugh at the vapid girls who sashayed from ball to ball, whispering and giggling, with no concerns other than for the color of their dresses. She thought them empty-headed, concerned only with themselves and the wealth of the men they could capture.
She believed herself above them, with a true purpose that far exceeded matters like expensive cloth and which utensil to use at dinner.
How disconcerting to realize she was more like them than she had believed. For she wanted Addison’s kiss again. She wanted him to look at her as if she were the most important thing in his world.
She dropped her hand to the side, opened her eyes and stared at the black night. Foolish woman. Such is not your life. Ships and pirates and revenge are your life. Never, never forget your revenge, Emmaline.
She straightened her spine, chastising herself for fruitless thoughts. She was a woman in biology only, a warrior in mind, and at heart a woman bent on destruction.
She was Lady Anne.
He wants a tour of the ship. Emmaline had laughed when Phin told her Addison’s demand. For a single moment she basked in the remembered warmth of his hand in hers when he helped her up the steps, at the twinkle in his eyes when he bored her with the minute details of the ship, and of their brief kiss. She’d been tempted to release him from his confinement and proudly show him her ship, but she held back out of fear. Fear of seeing him again. Fear of him seeing her feelings written clearly across her face.
Fear of facing his anger and hatred.
The scrape of a boot had her spinning around. Phin stood behind her. That he’d snuck up on her so easily spoke to her state of mind. She needed to force Addison from her thoughts and concentrate on her mission. She needed those shipping routes to destroy her father. Only then would she truly be happy.
“Provisions are running low,” he said.
When she made the orders to head for Barbados instead of Boston, she’d known their supplies wouldn’t last. But she’d put off the order to attack another ship.
“The men are bored. I’ve broken up two fights today,” Phin said.
She had broken up a few fights as well. The crew understood from the beginning that this voyage wouldn’t involve the normal plundering, but knowing it was entirely different than living it. Rarely did she attack ships not of Blackwell Shipping, but necessity demanded she make an exception.
“Anne?”
“The next merchant vessel we see,” she said.
“Aye.”
Phin vanished into the night, leaving her with her discontent, and a sadness that something between her and Phin had shifted. He was short with her, approaching only when they needed to talk about the ship. She missed his presence, missed being able to speak to him about anything. Apparently, they’d discovered the one topic they couldn’t converse about. Apparently, her confused feelings regarding Addison bothered Phin too much.
She moved away from the railing and headed toward the wheel to take her turn at steering the ship.
After tonight, her preoccupation with her captive wouldn’t matter. She’d sealed Addison’s fate with the order to attack another ship. Though he had been taken against his will, and he certainly wouldn’t participate in the upcoming attack, the crown would see it differently and he would be branded a pirate.
Emmaline peered through the scope, spying the merchant vessel, weighed down by cargo, plump for the picking. At the moment, it was valiantly trying to outrun the massive storm gathering at its port side, and heading toward Emmaline’s ship.
She lowered the scope and tapped it against her open palm.
Beside her Phin studied the dark skyline. “Thoughts?” He braced a hip against the rail.
She shrugged. “What I think doesn’t matter. We need supplies, and that”—she tipped her head in the direction of the merchant vessel—“appears to be the only ship in sight.”
“Can we reach it before the storm?”
“Does it matter?”
“No. I suppose not.”
Already the wind had turned from balmy to chilly and was gathering force, tossing her ship. Men stood in small groups, waiting for her word to advance. She sensed their restlessness, their need for action. Days upon days of riding the waves with nothing to look at but one another, no one to speak to but one another, and nothing much to do had taken its toll. If they didn’t attack the ship, there would be a mutiny.
Still she hesitated.
Three ships and three hundred men to take care of, but only one man occupied her thoughts. She would protect him by keeping him locked in his cabin and away from the fighting. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep him innocent of illegal activity, but in her heart she knew a court would not see it that way.
Innocent men had been found guilty of piracy before.
The truth was, they needed the food and supplies the merchant vessel carried. And considering how low it rode in the water, it carried other supplies they could put to use as well. The crew would turn a tidy profit.
; Her gaze strayed to the angry black clouds boiling across the sky. A bolt of lightning shot through one, the resulting thunder muffled by distance. A distance she would have to close in order to get to their prey.
“We can turn away,” Phin said, his tone of voice betraying his thoughts. He thought she was turning soft, and if he thought that, the rest of the crew would eventually think it as well.
She slapped the scope into his palm and turned on her heel. The hungry gazes of a dozen crewmen met hers. “Attack.”
Nicholas paced. One, two, three, four, pivot, turn, back again. One, two, three, four … Having been locked in this cabin for nigh on four days, he was nearly insane with boredom. Four days of nothing but looking out a small porthole, listening to the disgusting men who held him captive. And thinking about Emmaline’s soft body against his. Good God, a week ago he’d been worried the medication he’d taken for his injury had incapacitated him permanently. Now he wondered if he’d ever walk again without his rod at half-mast.
To stop thinking of her soft, pliant lips, he turned his traitorous mind to her deception and betrayal. A deception and betrayal that left him raw.
Never before had a woman made him angry enough to want to wrap his hands around her throat. Yet she chose him over the information she had stolen, something she clearly wanted. He’d witnessed the indecision in her eyes, practically felt the war waging inside her. She’d desperately wanted the information on that paper, yet she’d thrown it away to save his life.
And left him beholden to her.
Nicholas ran a hand through his hair and continued to pace. Soon he’d need not worry about escape, because he’d wear a hole in the floor of his cabin and swim to safety. He chuckled, the sound self-deprecating. He might be a sailor, but even he was unable to swim that far.
No, he was truly trapped.
He dropped onto the bunk and propped his elbows on his knees. His thoughts went in an entirely different direction.
Bloody hell! The thought of Emmaline lying with Phin, exchanging heated kisses with Phin as she exchanged them with him, set his blood afire. Fierce jealousy gripped him in its claws.
Christ, was he such a fool? Were Emmaline and Phin at this moment laughing at him?
“Heave to!”
Nicholas’s head jerked up. He twisted around to peer through the salt-encrusted glass of the porthole. Above him, the heavy thud of footsteps indicated men were running back and forth.
He glanced up at the vibrating wooden planks. His heart skipped a few necessary beats. His breath lodged in his throat and his hands went slick with sweat.
The two pirate ships that had been following them had surrounded a merchant vessel, and now hundreds of pirates poured over the sides of their ships to get to the hapless victim’s deck.
With the back of her wrist, Emmaline swiped a tendril of hair off her forehead, focusing on the merchant vessel and the men milling about its deck.
Her other ships, the Cain and Abel, maneuvered around to flank the prey. The winds were to her advantage, steering her ship into their victim until they nearly broadsided. But her luck was quickly running out. The storm would soon hit. The winds had picked up, making it difficult for the crew to hear her commands, lending a desperate cast to their already eager faces.
Standing at the bow of her ship, Emmaline raised her cutlass, then lowered it with a vicious swipe. Instantly, all three ships lowered their King George flags and raised the black flag. Cries of alarm echoed up and down the merchant vessel. A tender launched from the Delilah with Phin at the helm. He quickly scaled the side of the hapless merchant ship with a few of Emmaline’s men, chosen for their fighting prowess and ability to strike fear into the enemy.
Within moments the captain of the merchant ship surrendered. Emmaline wasn’t surprised. Rarely did a captain stand and fight pirates. It was easier to give in with the hope and prayer that the pirates would show mercy, and leave the captain and his crew with enough provisions to limp into the nearest port.
A slash of lightning cut through the sky, followed immediately by a crash of thunder far too close for Emmaline’s comfort. She made her way over on her own tender. Once on board, she watched crewmen carry out fruits and vegetables, bolts of fabric, barrels of spices, plenty of rum to keep them comfortable for the next several weeks, squawking chickens, belaying pins, coils of rope, chairs, tables, pots and pans and a few other items they would sell upon reaching Barbados.
The merchant crew huddled together in the rain, watched carefully by Emmaline’s men.
A shriek of terror had Emmaline and Phin exchanging a startled glance. Emmaline ran toward the sound, her heart thundering as loudly as the storm ready to burst.
Anger gave strength to her strides. Her hand tightened on her cutlass until her knuckles turned white. Following the shouts of terror and begging whimpers, she raced down a flight of steps and collided with Shamus. He had a girl no more than twelve years of age draped over his shoulder. Her blond hair whipped back and forth, while small fists pounded his torso. Her legs flailed in the air and her screams pierced the enclosed space.
“Shamus! Put her down.” Emmaline grabbed his arm and tugged, but he didn’t budge.
“Shamus, what are you doing?”
He pushed her away with such force that she staggered back and slammed into the wall.
Enraged, Emmaline sliced his arm with her cutlass. He yelped and loosened his hold on the girl. She squirmed from his grip and scurried away, her sobs echoing in the empty stairwell behind her. Blood welled from his cut and he turned stunned eyes to Emmaline. He was so wide he blocked the corridor. His sausage-like fingers stretched and his chest heaved.
He charged her, head bent. There was nowhere to go in such a confined space except backward. She hopped up on the step behind her.
He grabbed hold of the handrails and lifted himself up, swinging his legs. Taken off guard, she didn’t have time to move. His feet slammed into her belly, sending her flying up the steps. Her head hit the top step and pain shot through her skull. Her vision dimmed and she shook her head.
Emmaline grabbed her dagger from its sheath at her waist, and thrust. He twisted away, but there wasn’t enough room to avoid her knife. He fell on her and the dagger impaled him in his soft underbelly.
He grunted. Warm blood washed over them, coating her hands and chest, the smell metallic and cloying.
“Anne!” Phin pushed Shamus away.
Emmaline drew in a deep breath, kicking Shamus’s legs off hers.
Phin helped her up. “Are you hurt?” His concerned gaze took in her blood-soaked clothes.
“His blood.” She placed a hand on the wall to keep from swaying. Her skull felt like it’d been cleaved in two. She gingerly touched the back of her head and winced when her fingers encountered a large lump.
“You hit your head.”
“A small bump.” She squinted, trying to focus, until there was only one Phin instead of two.
Phin toed Shamus. “Think he’s dead?”
“We can only hope. What happened to the girl?”
“She’s the daughter of the merchant ship’s captain. He’s with her now.”
“Bastard,” she said softly, looking down at Shamus’s still form. She hadn’t expected that from him—attacking such a young girl. His actions surprised and disappointed her. “I guess we’ll have to take him back with us. We can’t very well leave him with the merchant crew.”
Phin grabbed Shamus beneath the arms and dragged him up the stairs. Each bounce of Shamus’s head on the steps was punctuated by a moan. Phin dumped him on the deck as Emmaline looked around. Rain slashed down and the thunder reverberated in her throbbing head.
The captain of the merchant vessel rushed over, wringing his hands. His daughter stood back, eyes wide with shock. “Sir, if I may?” He spoke to Phin, yet his fearful gaze flickered to Emmaline.
Phin nodded at the man pointing at Shamus, a soggy heap at Phin’s feet.
“That man. He was
protecting my daughter. She was afraid.” Again his gaze flew to Emmaline, before skittering away. “She was running. Not looking where she was going …” His voice trailed off and he looked over his shoulder at his daughter. “She was afraid,” he repeated. “Of pirates. We’ve heard what pirates can do to young girls.” He shot Phin a fearful look. “She was going to jump over.”
Emmaline looked down at Shamus in disbelief. He was trying to save the girl from drowning? Not hurt her? Ashamed, she sank to her heels and rolled Shamus over. The wound pulsed bright red, mixing with the rain sluicing down on them, and turning the deck beneath him pink.
She looked up at the captain. “Do you have a surgeon on board?”
Nicholas fought the memories threatening to steal his sanity. He tried to concentrate on the voices above, to block the terrified cries from the plundered ship. But his resistance merely made matters worse. The dam broke and he saw nothing but that fateful day when his ship had been attacked. He’d been so horribly injured he could do nothing to save his men, and now he heard nothing but the sound of battle and the cries of the men he’d come to care for.
He pressed his palms against his temples and ground his teeth. His thigh throbbed. His head ached. His hands sweat. The smell of burning cordite surrounded him. The pop of guns, the roar of cannons long in the past deafened him.
He’d been in battle before. But those fights had been different. Each enemy had a purpose, a driving need. Each believed they were in the right, fighting for a cause they deemed worthy to die for.
Pirates were driven by lust and greed. They’d been more than vicious. And they’d been unrelenting.
He didn’t fear them. He’d faced death before and come out the winner, fully aware he might not be as lucky the next time. No, he didn’t fear them—he despised them. Despised their lack of honor, their lack of morals and ethics in a time when honor and morality was looked upon with favor.
Nicholas wished with all his might he had the power to help the poor captain of the merchant vessel.
The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 8