Rogue's Lady

by Robyn Carr

  Doré relaxed again, but his smile was teasing. “I find these English so dull, but I see they know the value of money. How is it the baron has convinced you that this marriage is what you want?” Tyson was silent, but the deepening color of his skin caused Doré to chuckle. “Well, my friend, I hope she was worth it.”

  “So do I,” Tyson said with no small amount of irritation.

  “You have a most interesting reaction to falling in love, Tyson. One would almost think you dislike the notion. But then, it is not at all what you are accustomed to, I suppose. In my country we fall in love more gracefully. And more frequently.”

  Tyson did not like the idea of having his friend witness his discomfort, but at the same time he could hardly deny the satisfaction of having someone close at hand whom he could trust. “But, monsieur, I shall expect you to exercise great restraint.”

  “Ah, restraint. Are you the man to teach me this virtue, Tyson?” he asked playfully.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Tyson grumbled.

  “Not yet,” Doré acknowledged. “But very soon I shall.”

  Tyson and Do refilled the night with rum and nostalgia, going over the details of their past together. There were stories enough to put them well past midnight with their tales. Neither had yet suggested sleep, for it had been almost two years since they’d been together.

  The conversation had only just begun to lag slightly when a shout from outside caused Tyson to stiffen in his chair. There was another shout, and within seconds the bell on the quarterdeck began to ring frantically. The sound of yelling and running quickly followed, and Doré and Tyson made a dash from the cabin to the quarterdeck, greeting many half-dressed, sleepy ship hands bumping into each other and the thick, black smoke rising from the ship’s hold.

  “Fire.”

  Tyson stopped dead in his tracks. His cargo was burning. Without fast action, his ship would go down—his first and favorite vessel.

  “Buckets,” he shouted. “From dockside over the plank. Hop to, mates. We have a fire in the hold.”

  Tyson grabbed two buckets and was down the plank, on the docks, Doré fast behind him. Tyson called for hooks to lower the buckets from dockside and had to get to his knees to fill the first one. He nearly panicked at the time it took to secure one full bucket and surveyed in his mind the amount of flammable cargo he had purchased. He handed off to the nearest man, recognizing Bevis, his face darkened by smoke. Bevis was wheezing, but did not delay. He ran into the ship with his bucket while Tyson handed the next full pail to Doré. Within moments there was a line of men passing the water across the wide plank that had been used for loading cargo all day long. Tyson furiously filled buckets until he couldn’t stand it any longer and then called for a replacement and began handing water into the hold.

  The flames were not so dire as was the smoldering of wool and silk. The blackness of the smoke was suffocating, and the salt water from the Thames was not doing the job. He ran out to find Doré, and they had a quick conference to devise a better plan.

  “Keep on those buckets, mates,” he shouted. “Bevis, Tommy, Drexel, and Mack, come with me.”

  Six men on the deck strained their muscles to move the large barrels of the crew’s drinking water, all ready for the next day’s departure, to stand beside the deck hatch from which smoke strained to escape. When a dozen barrels stood in a line, Tyson rushed to the side. “Clear the hold and close her up. We’re taking the fire from the deck.”

  He ran back to the hatch, where two men were positioned and ready to lift it. He braced his shoulder against the first barrel, Doré joining him on the opposite side. When he heard the closing of the cargo door, followed by a shout that all was clear, he gave a slow nod to Bevis and Tommy.

  The men lifted the hatch, and smoke poured out into their faces. Tyson and Doré grunted with the effort to tip the barrel. Water poured atop the smoldering cargo. Two men behind him pushed a barrel forward and repeated the tipping, and so on, until all had been emptied into the hold. Then they stood back, over fifty men in all, and watched the black clouds wane and dissipate. The fire was beaten, and the men cheered.

  Tyson stood and looked down into the hold. His cargo was very likely destroyed. His ship might have been also. He saw Bevis sitting on the deck, leaning against the rail.

  “I think we got ‘er early, Cap’n,” the man said, the sound of wheezing still apparent in his voice.

  “Do you know the cause, mate?”

  “I’m thinkin’ it were the lantern, Cap’n. I woke up the first whiff o’ smoke and seen some glass broken by the crates.”

  Tyson scowled. “Did you see anyone?”

  “I ‘eard somethin’, Cap’n, but I got to the fire first, sir. Didn’t think of chasin’ the scoundrel.”

  Tyson was silent for a moment. “You did right, Bevis. You may have saved the ship.” He regarded his crew, most of them shirtless, some of them barefoot and wearing only hastily drawn up britches. “Well assess the damage at daybreak. Everyone who fought the fire will find a bonus.”

  His men began to drift away from the disastrous scene to get the few hours of sleep left before the sunrise rousted them again. Only a few remained on the deck when Doré put a firm hand on Tyson’s shoulder.

  “Deliberate, Tyson. There is no doubt.”

  “I know.”

  “Who?”

  Tyson considered the possibilities. Would Lord Ridgley go so far as to damage property to keep Tyson’s money? Surely the baron could press his advantage legally. And Shelby would certainly profit by Tyson’s problems. Even Charles Latimer had shown his obvious displeasure with both the business partnership and marriage. In addition to these three, there was a city full of British citizens disgruntled by Americans in port.

  “I could have lost my ship.”

  “You could have lost your life, Tyson,” Doré pointed out. “I would choose the dark of night to set a fire, but with fifty hands and the captain sleeping aboard ship, it is as much an attempt to murder as damage goods. Did you see how it began?”

  “Bevis was my watch, and he slept...”

  Doré slowly shook his head. “You were too busy with the fire to notice that the hatch was unlocked. Whoever did this simply lifted the hatch and dropped in the lantern. It was not necessary to creep past your guard into the hold, but only to come quietly up the gangplank to the deck and drop the lantern onto your cargo. A child could have done it. Bevis might have missed the action even if he’d been awake.”

  Upon consideration, Tyson realized that Doré was right. A darkly clad youth could have tiptoed past any drowsing sailors and lifted the hatch enough to slide the offending lantern into the hold. Bevis’s post was near the cargo door, in watch for thieves. No one could get past him to go in, or carry goods out.

  “I suggest you leave your new business partner and take Lillian to Virginia,” Doré said.

  “And run?” Tyson laughed shortly. “You know that is not my way. I do not run from my enemies.”

  “Do you know who they are?”

  “I would be even less likely to retreat if I knew them. Now finding them is the greater challenge.”

  Chapter Eight

  Tyson assessed the damage to the ship and found the Lady Lillian to be seaworthy, but half of the cargo destroyed. While his men were put to the task of emptying out the charred cargo, Tyson knew it was time to pay a visit to his mother’s cousin. He had known for some time that the earl of Lemington had a residence in London, but he had been uncomfortable about a meeting. He thought there might still be hard feelings, since his mother had abandoned her homeland for an American. Now he wished he had met the earl sooner. He hated to press a British noble, family or not, for support, but he obviously numbered more enemies than allies.

  Tyson had sent a message to the earl upon his arrival months before, and the reply had indicated that Tyson would be received, but it was barely cordial and certainly not enthusiastic. His second missive, after the fire on his shi
p, stated frankly that he needed to see the earl, and the earl replied he would see him at once.

  His lordship of Lemington, Farrell Moresay, was a small, reserved man of nearly sixty. He seemed to receive Tyson with some initial resistance, but their acquaintance began to warm as Tyson found out the reason. “Your mother was my favorite cousin, and when we were young I actually hoped to marry her. I was angry for a long time after she fell in love with that colonial.” The earl smiled. “I should not complain, as I’ve had two good wives and seven living children. And by your acquaintance, I see that Lillian did well for herself.”

  “When we were children, Mother talked often of the English nobility,” Tyson told him. “She told us stories of princes and princesses that kept us begging for more. Yet, I know she was happy with her life in Virginia, and my father was a good and prosperous man.”

  “You have followed in his footsteps, haven’t you? A merchant captain, a plantation owner, looking for business in England.” The earl chuckled. “The Gervais men are ambitious. Perhaps I would have been a world traveler, if not for my father’s title. But I don’t complain. I envied your father, having made his own way, and when he took Lillian to Virginia, I think I hated him. But I am too old for such hostility now. I wish I had made just one trip to America, though. I wish I had told your mother that I was no longer resentful that she did not accept my proposal of marriage.”

  “She spoke well of you, my lord. I’m quite sure she never worried that you were still angry. She extracted many promises from me that should I ever visit England, I must certainly find you.”

  “I’m glad you did, and I’m pleased that you’ve done so well for yourself.”

  “The first ship that I purchased with my own earnings I named for my mother. She is christened the Lady Lillian, and I have done well with her. But I’m afraid that since my first message to you, I have found myself in need of counsel from someone who knows the laws of this country. Would you take a ride with me, my lord, and let me show you my ship?”

  The ride to the wharves from Lord Moresay’s fashionable house consumed nearly an hour. During that time Tyson explained his investment, his impending marriage, and the fire, careful to keep accusation out of his narration. It was true that resentment of any American profiting in England might come from many sources. A sailor, down on his luck. A redcoat who had suffered losses or injury in the Revolution. The possibilities were endless.

  Lord Moresay admitted that he had known Lord Ridgley for a long time and had the utmost respect for him. He was appalled by the damage to the ship, but cautioned Tyson. “I do not think you need question Lord Ridgley’s honesty, if it has come to that. Perhaps this young man you mentioned...what was his name? The one who hoped to marry the baron’s daughter?”

  “Andrew Shelby. I have considered him.”

  “What will you do now?” the earl asked.

  “I am sending the ship to Virginia without replacing the cargo that was lost. I’ll lose money on the shipment, but I think it best that she be out of port. I will go to Chappington for my wedding, and if Lord Ridgley does not object, I will bring my wife here so that I’m close at hand to oversee the warehouse rebuilding. I will send you a note when I return.”

  “Can you think of a way that I can help?” the earl asked.

  “At present I mean only to inform you that I may later seek your help. If you would put the contracts I have signed with Lord Ridgley in safekeeping, that would assist me. Beyond that, there is nothing, and I am afraid I will be late for my own wedding if I don’t hurry.”

  The earl shook Tyson’s hand. “I look forward to entertaining you and your wife. And, on behalf of Lillian, I will assist you, Captain. I only hope you don’t find yourself in need of someone to help you fight Lord Ridgley. That would be difficult for me to do.”

  “If that is what I need, my lord, even you may not be able to help me,” Tyson said boldly.

  “I doubt the baron would wed his own daughter to a man he intends to harm.”

  “You know him better than I do.”

  “If you have these suspicions, why have you entered into both a business partnership and a marriage contract?”

  Tyson took a deep breath. “Both, my lord, were irresistible.”

  Tyson could not easily dispel the suspicion that Lord Ridgley might have set fire to his ship, hoping that Tyson would take to the sea, leaving behind one slightly damaged young woman and a large sum of money. Even with Lord Moresay’s endorsement of the baron, Tyson’s curiosity was peaked. There had been no word from Chappington.

  In spite of Tyson’s desire to brush Vieve from his mind while he readied his ship for departure and finished other business, he found himself musing on whether her maidenhead had been worth his invested sum. He suspected her family of foul play, yet had never before had such disruptive, torrid dreams as had plagued him since that day in the old keep. And when he had sought to find some base pleasure with a prostitute, he had found that his virility would not serve him. He had commanded his mind to pretend that it was Vieve’s velvet flesh he caressed, her thick golden hair that spread across the pillow, and her sweet fragrance that aroused him. But it was useless, and he left the whore in frustration.

  Of all the things that Tyson could find to worry about, the worst was the fact that memories of Vieve haunted him, hindering his usual control. He had hoped that the month away from Chappington would help him to develop an indifference toward her, yet instead he felt drugged by her beauty and sensuality more from afar. He had not even been able to name the threats he faced, which might indeed come from her own household, yet he was forever in want of her body. He had thought the wedding a trap, but it paled in light of the larger snare of his desperate longing.

  Such thoughts occupied him as he folded the clothing he placed in his trunk. In a few hours he would be under way with Doré. The conflict in his mind grew apace with his physical tension. He wanted her, but resented the desire she inspired. He longed to make love to her, yet despised the torment of such longing, feeling weakened by it. His thoughts were ever turned to her, seeing her face, her body, her lustrous hair so clearly in his mind that she might as well have been standing in front of him. He had never before been so consumed, nor had his concentration been so insistently drawn away from the more serious business that should occupy him. He thought he’d been cheated, tricked, trapped, and coerced into a state that made him more vulnerable than he had ever been before. He struggled to think of a way to get the better of such debilitating feelings.

  “I’ll pack ‘er up for ye, Cap’n,” Bevis said, pulling Tyson out of his daydream.

  Tyson peered at his servant quizzically. “I hadn’t expected the offer.”

  “Aye, it’s a good gentleman’s lackey I aim t’be,” Bevis returned sarcastically.

  “Oh? Shall I brace myself for a change in attitude?”

  “Ye ‘ave some complaint ‘bout the service, Cap’n?”

  “Oh, no,” Tyson laughed, backing away from his trunk.

  Bevis McCauley made a good mate, qualified by knowledge of the sea and ships to pilot any vessel. Although short, Bevis was as strong as an ox, determined by nature and accustomed to the rugged life aboard ship. When in port, he was more given to brawls than women. At nearly fifty, Bevis had served on many a ship, although since he had worked for Tyson for ten years he now called Virginia home. He preferred the company of men, but he had had three wives, two of them simultaneously. When Bevis saw a pretty smile, he married indiscriminately, and seeing his error, took his leave with due haste.

  Tyson had found much to fault in Bevis’s performance as a manservant, but he wished to keep Bevis close at hand because he was loyal, strong, and shrewd in his own simple way. Bevis had not argued overlong when Tyson required him to act the part of manservant and driver for three quick trips to the country, but when Tyson had told him that he must play that role for an extended length of time, the disgruntled mate protested so loudly that Tyson wondered if Bevi
s would find some other ship to employ him. In the end, Bevis grudgingly agreed to stay with Tyson while he finished business in England, but not without a daily complaint and a great deal of discontent.

  “Ye’re goin’ through with it then?”

  “I thought that was quite clear.”

  Bevis shook his head. “Ain’t clear t’me atall, Cap’n. Ye never thought t’marry before, an’ this little one, she got ‘er a right powerful pa. If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, Cap’n, it ain’t goin’ to sit well with that old Ridgley bloke if ye goes back t’yer old ways.”

  Tyson raised both brows in amusement. “My old ways?”

  “Aye, sir. Loose women, sir. I understands it, I do. But if ye likes yer women cheap an’ bawdy, what be ye doin’, marryin’ high and decent like this?”

  “Is that how you see the baron’s daughter? High and decent?”

  “Blast it, Cap’n, I don’t know nothing ‘bout women—but I knows a thing’r two ‘bout them what come from strict ‘ouses, an’ if ye marry an’ bed this’un, ye’d better change yer ways.”

  “Why, Bevis,” Tyson laughed. “Fatherly advice from you. That quite exceeds my expectations.”

  The man snorted and began folding clothes. “I said what I ‘ad t’say. Ye go an’ do what ye’ll do, but if ye don’t like this ‘usband business, ye be right careful where ye plays. That little slip’s pa’ll put ye in the ‘ole, ‘e will. If ‘e don’t shoot ye straight out.”

  “So, you old goat, you think I’ll make a poor husband? Is that it?”

  “If I ‘ad a daughter, I’d keep ‘er locked up tight ’til ye was well out o’ port.”

  Tyson laughed as he went to his desk and picked up a quill to sign the log. “It’s a blessing, then, that Lord Ridgley did not ask for your advice. He happens to think he got a good bargain out of me.”

  “Aye, sure he does, since ye ‘as enough money fer ‘im. But mark me, Cap’n, if they don’t like the way ye treats the girl, they’ll keep yer coin an’ take ‘er back. An’ what they’ll do to ye, I’d dare not guess.”