The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Sharon Cullen

  The door opened and a hush fell over the room. People moved to the darker corners, allowing Nicholas a view of the newest patron.

  Beside Nicholas, Phin tensed.

  “Peter Lansing,” Nicholas said quietly.

  “The rat,” Phin muttered into his ale.

  Lansing tucked a walking stick under his arm to pull his gloves off finger by finger while surveying the dingy establishment with a loud sniff. As if he were too good for such a place. Had Nicholas been like that? Had he once thought himself too good to sit with hardworking people?

  Hardworking people? They’re rapscallions, cutthroats, murderers and thieves.

  A few patrons slipped behind Lansing and out the door, scurrying away.

  “Tell me about him.” Nicholas kept his voice low, so as not to attract attention. Suddenly he wanted to know everything about this man who caused fear in Emmaline.

  “Son of the governor of Barbados.” Phin’s body appeared at ease but Nicholas fairly felt the tension coming off him. Shamus, apparently sensing it as well, studied Lansing with narrowed eyes.

  “I’ve heard of his father,” Nicholas said. “A decent sort.”

  “The fruit fell far from that tree. The son is a snake.”

  “I gathered as much.” No gentleman would accost a woman in the middle of the street the way Lansing had. That alone told Nicholas enough about him, yet he wanted to know more. What was the history between Emmaline and Peter Lansing?

  “He first saw Anne a few years back, when she came into town to shop at the market. She caught his eye and he’s chased her skirts ever since,” Phin said.

  The need to wipe the grimy floor of the Elegant Sword with Peter Lansing’s face rose in Nicholas.

  Shamus muttered something about condemning Lansing and his family tree to perdition.

  “He was quite insistent,” Phin said. “Arriving on her doorstep nearly every day, with flowers and sweets and declarations of undying love. It became dangerous. Our ships are well hidden, and the locals believe Anne travels to London frequently to visit family, which explains her absences, but we still have to be careful. The wrong word to the wrong person, and Anne’s house of cards collapses. We can’t chance it.”

  Lansing made his way toward a vacant table and lowered himself into a seat. The barmaid, devoid of the skittishness she showed with the three of them, fluffed her hair and pinched her cheeks before approaching his table.

  “He’s a threat,” Nicholas said.

  “When we first came to this island, it wasn’t nearly as populated as it is now, and we were fairly secluded. But things have changed. The town has grown. The area supplies quite a bit of sugarcane to England, although that is changing. The situation is not ideal. I’ve tried to convince her to move to a more secluded island, but Anne is hesitant to leave.”

  “Why? Why risk everything to stay in enemy territory?” Enemy territory? Since when did he think of Englishmen as the enemy? Lady Anne was the enemy here.

  “Because this is her home and was James’s home, as well.”

  “James?” Nicholas’s fingers tightened on his mug. Who the hell is James?

  Phin eyed him speculatively. “She didn’t tell you how she became a pirate?”

  “She told me about sailing to the colonies and confronting her father.”

  “On her return trip to England, we were on the same ship,” Phin said. “I was a working as a swabby. It was the worst position possible, and the captain was cruel, the working conditions no better than slavery and the pay abominable. Right away, I noticed Emmaline was alone. She wasn’t as strong as she is now. She was frightened, although she never admitted to it. My crewmen weren’t the most noble. I took it upon myself to be her protector.” Phin smiled, putting Nicholas’s teeth on edge.

  His reaction was absurd. What did it matter how they met? He was leaving soon, and this would all be a distant memory.

  “Our ship was attacked by a privateer named James Sutherland,” Phin said, caught up in his nostalgia.

  Sutherland. The same last name as Emmaline’s. So this was her husband?

  “He took our cargo and most of our supplies, but left us with enough to limp back to the colonies. I was intrigued. Captain Sutherland took me aside and asked if I wanted to join him. I was only seventeen, but already tall and strong. He promised far more gold than I could make in a lifetime working a merchant vessel. I agreed to go with him.”

  The barmaid approached to take away their empty tankards.

  “And Emmaline?” Nicholas asked once she left, then wanted to take the words back. It doesn’t matter. Let it go.

  “She suddenly appeared, though I’d specifically told her to keep to the cabins below. But there she was, demanding to go with us. I argued with her, but you know how she can get. She implored Captain Sutherland to take her, as well. He agreed.”

  The images rising to Nicholas’s mind turned his stomach. Women on board ships were considered bad luck, and weren’t treated kindly. A ship full of seamen who more than likely hadn’t seen a woman in months? He shuddered at the thought.

  “So she became a pirate,” Nicholas said, trying desperately to erase the images.

  “Simple words, but the process was far from simple,” Phin said. “I knew I would have to protect her, but was surprised when Sutherland did as well. In a way, she became the daughter he and his wife could never have. He taught us everything we know, and we owe our lives to him.”

  At least she’d been treated well. Yet, what kind of man allowed a young girl to turn to piracy? Phin seemed to believe this Sutherland was a good man, but anyone who willingly trained a female to become a pirate should hang by his bollocks.

  “And she carries his name?” The words tasted foul in his mouth. How did Emmaline Blackwell come to be Emmaline Sutherland?

  Phin grinned. “A tale for her to tell.”

  Nicholas ground his teeth together. He shouldn’t care. It was in his best interest not to care. And yet, he did. And he hated himself for it.

  “And where is this hero of hers?”

  Phin shot him a dark look. “He died about eight years ago.”

  “My apologies.” May he rot in hell.

  “For Emmaline, it was like losing a father. Her real father. Not the man who sired her. She was devastated.”

  Nicholas looked away. He may not approve of Sutherland’s tactics, but for Emmaline, his death was yet another loss and another man who left her. He understood a little better why she doled out her trust sparingly.

  Lansing’s entourage, a handful of simpering dandies, rose from their table. Lansing turned and locked gazes with Nicholas. A corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile, turning Nicholas’s sluggish, ale-soaked blood cold. He couldn’t help but feel Lansing saw through him, and knew the truth of his betrothal to Emmaline.

  Shortly after, Nicholas, Phin and Shamus left as well, all of them drunk, but none willing to admit it. They stumbled back to the house, leaning against on another.

  But when Nicholas returned, he wasn’t yet ready to sleep. The other two made their way to their beds, while Nicholas stayed behind. Too much ale, too many revelations, too many thoughts kept him more alert than he wanted to be.

  He rubbed his aching leg and looked around the library. Maps were strewn across a large mahogany desk. A sextant rested next to them, as did a quill and inkwell. All tools of his trade. And tools of Emmaline’s trade.

  If she’d been a man, and she’d chosen the right path, she would have been a great captain.

  Too bad she’d chosen the wrong path.

  And what path would you have chosen?

  He touched the sextant, his thoughts returning to his conversation with Phin. Thoughts that veered to a young Emmaline, her dreams destroyed by the selfishness of a father who loved wealth and prestige more than his daughter. She had to have been frightened as she headed back to London. Frightened, and knowing Emmaline, furious. Furious enough to board a pirate ship. Furious enough to marry the pir
ate?

  He turned away from the desk and headed with unsteady legs toward his bedchamber, where no rest awaited him. His decisions lay heavy within him, but they were the right decisions. Regardless of her past, Emmaline couldn’t continue to attack Blackwell’s ships. It was illegal, and she needed to be stopped.

  Yes, her story was sad, but there were other sad stories, and the people affected didn’t turn to piracy to make a living. They found different paths, more honorable paths, and lived as good citizens should live.

  Emmaline made a choice that fateful day her ship was attacked by Sutherland. She hadn’t been taken against her will, as he’d feared. She’d consciously chosen piracy as her revenge, and it disappointed him more than anything.

  But, good God, he didn’t want to be the one to put the noose around her neck.

  One foot on the bottom step of the staircase, a hand on the banister, he stopped and closed his eyes against the pain piercing his stomach. His actions would kill her, but that wasn’t his fault. He was merely doing what was right, in the eyes of the king and England.

  His fingers tightened around the smooth wood. Don’t do this. Don’t do this to her, and don’t do this to yourself.

  He opened his eyes and deliberately made his way up the stairs. He wasn’t doing anything to himself, other than honoring his oath to His Majesty’s Royal Navy and to the king. And as for what he was doing to her, well, he wasn’t doing anything any other honorable man wouldn’t do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emmaline woke with a start, but remained still, her senses searching her bedchamber. There had been no sound to wake her, but something alerted her she wasn’t alone. Another’s quiet breathing. The certainty the room wasn’t quite empty.

  Eyes closed, breathing even and deep, she slowly moved her hand toward her pillow and the stiletto she kept beneath it.

  “Relax. It’s only me.”

  Her eyes flew open and she rolled over. Nicholas sat in the chair beside her bed. Moonbeams fell over his face, bathing him in an eerie, bluish light. His hair was mussed, his shirt untucked from his breeches, and he was barefoot. For some reason, she couldn’t pull her gaze from his naked feet. It wasn’t uncommon for a sailor to shed his boots while sailing. She’d seen many a pair of naked feet before. These shouldn’t snag her attention. So why did they?

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Checking on you.”

  She blinked the sleep away. Checking on her? He’d never seen the need to check on her before. Since her mother died, no one had checked on her.

  He sat back and kicked his legs out, crossing his ankles and settling in. His brows were pulled down, his tight muscles belying his relaxed pose. It was as if he were angry, but she didn’t get anger from him. More confusion and contemplation.

  Of course, it’d been a confusing day. His abrupt announcement of their betrothal bothered her, until she’d convinced herself it was made merely to divert Lansing. Of course it wasn’t a real betrothal.

  “I’m well, as you can see.”

  His angry gaze raked her body, causing her nipples to pucker into points, and a low hum to center in her nether regions. Her breathing quickened, but she controlled it. This man would not do this to her. She wouldn’t let him.

  Her gaze skipped to his feet again, up to the wet hem of his breeches, detouring around his lap until she was looking into his eyes. Without the benefit of light, they were black, bottomless pools. Unreadable, and therefore disconcerting. But his smirk told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She quickly looked away.

  “What does a pirate wear to bed at night, Emmaline?”

  She scooted up, pulling the bedsheets with her, covering the overly large, well-worn shirt, very much conscious of her bare legs beneath the covers. Even though he couldn’t see her legs, she still felt exposed.

  “It’s none of your concern what I wear to bed at night.”

  “We’re betrothed. That should make it my concern, shouldn’t it?”

  His words were slurred. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. By the smell of him, he’d apparently been at the Elegant Sword—the only decent pub on the island.

  “You’re drunk.”

  A shoulder rose, then dropped. “Mayhap. You didn’t answer my question.”

  She’d never seen him so out of control and yet controlled at the same time. Her mind slid to the one memory she couldn’t erase, the one that continued to pop up when she least expected it. Of him kissing her in his cabin, right before Alphonse’s attack. He certainly hadn’t been in control then.

  A delicious sensation swirled through her, making her cheeks flame hot. She looked at his lips. Did he want to kiss her again? Is that why he was here? Did he think their false betrothal would earn him extra benefits?

  “We are not betrothed.” She made sure her tone allowed for no argument. For both their sakes.

  He looked away. Damn the fickle moon playing shadows across his face. She wished she was able to see into his eyes. What was he thinking? What brought him to her bedchamber?

  Suddenly the breath went out of her and her shoulders slumped. She looked down at her fingers plucking at a loose thread on her blanket. She was forever plagued with that which she could not have. A father who loved her. A mother who would love her enough to stay alive. And now a man so far out of her reach it was laughable. If she was reaching, that is. Because she definitely wasn’t.

  “I can’t marry you,” she said, softly, almost sadly.

  “I know.” His voice was just as soft. Dare she hope, as desolate?

  “It would never work.”

  “I agree.” Still, he wouldn’t look at her. What was he thinking?

  “I’m a pirate and you’re the brother of an earl.”

  All arguments she’d told herself repeatedly and yet, when she said them out loud, she wanted to refute them.

  He straightened in the chair. “Tell me about Peter Lansing.”

  The change of subject left her disconcerted for a moment. She’d been thinking of betrothals and marriage, and he’d been thinking of Lansing? Well, of course he had. Lansing was the reason they were pretending to be betrothed in the first place. Pretending, Emmaline, don’t forget that.

  “What about him?” She’d thought a lot about Lansing since their encounter this afternoon, and what she would do once he discovered she was not marrying Nicholas. She had yet to come up with a plan not involving dismemberment or death.

  “I need to know what we’re up against.”

  “There is no we, Nicholas. We are not a couple, and you are not my keeper. I can fight my own battles.”

  He finally looked at her, but still she couldn’t see his eyes. His face was set, though, in the look that told her he would argue this to the death. “We are a couple, Emmaline. At least in Peter Lansing’s eyes. And I’ve never indicated I was your keeper. If anything, it’s been the other way around.”

  “You’re free to go whenever you want.”

  “Maybe I can’t,” he whispered.

  What the hell did he mean?

  “Tell me about Lansing,” he said again.

  Had she truly heard him say he couldn’t leave her? Is that what he meant? Or was her mind playing tricks? Hearing things not really said? “He’s a fool. I fear I’m surrounded by them.”

  His lips lifted at the corners. Not a full smile, but close. “I may be a fool, but I’m not dangerous. Peter Lansing is dangerous.”

  “Aren’t you dangerous?” Her words fell between them, surrounded by silence. His dark eyes stared at her, probing, contemplative.

  “I would never hurt you.”

  “I know.” But she didn’t know. She feared Captain Nicholas Addison would hurt her in far worse ways than her father ever had.

  He’d ripped her apart, never to be put back together so she could be the woman she’d been before they met. Yes, he was most definitely a danger to her, but she feared he might have already done the most damage.

 
“He believes he has feelings for me,” she said. “Some other woman will eventually come along and catch his attention, and he will forget about me.”

  His look told her he didn’t believe her. “How long has he had these feelings?”

  She waved her hand in the air. “Peter Lansing is nothing but a nuisance. I’ve faced far worse.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  Silence stretched between them while he stared at her in the brooding way that made her uncomfortable. “Is it worth it?” he asked. “Your revenge?”

  “Yes.” Yes, it was worth it. She needed to see her father punished for what he did to her mother, and for what he did to her. And although they might not deserve it, she wanted to see her father’s other family punished as well. They had the love and support of a husband and father, while she had to live without. “You don’t approve?”

  “It’s not my place to approve, and I fear you don’t need my approval. Or anyone’s, for that matter.”

  “No.” She’d searched for approval long ago, and was rejected. She’d vowed never to seek anyone else’s approval, and to live her life the way she saw fit—not the way someone else saw fit.

  “What is between you and Phin?”

  Lord, but the man was full of questions tonight.

  “Nothing is between me and Phin.”

  He raised a brow and she sighed.

  “At one time, years ago, we thought we had feelings for each other. We attempted …” She waved her hand in the air, suddenly embarrassed by the thought of the kisses she and Phin had shared. Child’s play compared to the kisses she’d shared with Nicholas. “It didn’t work. We found we were far better suited as friends than anything else. We’re both too strong-willed to be anything else.”

  “He still has feelings for you.”

  Emmaline laughed quietly. “You’re mistaken, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t be so certain.”

  She laughed again, although this time not as forcefully. Phin was protective of her, always had been. But that was because they were partners and the greatest of friends. Not because he still harbored feelings for her.