The Pirate Lord

by Vanda Vadas

  His gaze slid to Miles. Dark eyes stared back at him from a solemn, deeply tanned face. Where the hell had he been? Why had he surfaced now after ten years?

  Julian braced himself for whatever the dark truth might be. Warily, he looked from the pistol to Miles. ‘Would you have used that against me?’

  The question hung in the oppressive air.

  ‘No. It’s not loaded. But your sister damned near killed me before giving me the chance to explain myself!’

  ‘Nearly?’ Julian raised a brow in question. ‘Elly, I taught you better than that.’

  She laughed and swiped at her tears. ‘I grazed his shoulder.’

  ‘You both have left your mark on me,’ Miles grudgingly admitted.

  Derby cleared his throat. Loudly. He used a handkerchief to dab the perspiration on his forehead. ‘Yes, well. I shall make myself scarce at this point, given you three have much to discuss.’ Before closing the library door behind him, he said, ‘I’ll have my man bring fresh tea, or perhaps something a little more fortifying.’

  Julian listened as Miles spared no details in delivering his account of the events leading up to the fire and why he fled England. There was much to absorb, including the extent of Gareth’s deception, the life Miles had made for himself in the Caribbean and his stalwart strategy of revenge.

  Julian rested his elbows on his knees, his head dipped and face buried in his hands. He struggled to contain his anger. He looked up at the sound of movement. Eloise’s eyes closely followed Miles as he walked to the window and pushed it wide open.

  Julian broke his silence. ‘Gareth has, and continues to, thoroughly betray those in his trust. His actions are reprehensible. He must be punished for his treachery.’

  Miles turned to face him. Eloise shifted in her chair. Her gaze darted from one man to the other.

  Julian surged to his feet. ‘Miles. Your Grace. Your misfortune at the hands of your half-brother is such that I’ve not the words to fully express my regret and sorrow. If only things had been different.’

  He reached for Eloise’s hand beside him. ‘I do not condone your actions in having abducted my sister, even though I understand your reason for doing so. You do the memory of our parents proud, in exposing and bringing to light Gareth’s sordid nature. Now, what’s your next move and how might I assist?’

  With each measured step Miles took towards him, Julian suffered the sting of his sister’s nails as she gripped his hand ever tighter. What had Miles Fenton done to have such a profound effect on his sister? Either he frightened her, or he was a man with whom she’d become enamoured.

  Miles stood face to face with Julian. ‘You honour me with your support of solidarity. Before any further discussions, I would request to speak with you …’ His gaze dropped pointedly to Eloise. ‘In private.’

  Another summer’s day drew to a close. Soon it would be dark.

  Julian anxiously awaited Gareth’s arrival on the terrace and stood overlooking the gardens. It seemed a lifetime ago that the imposter had enquired about the trustworthiness of men hired to protect Blakely stables. Had Gareth also masterminded that deceitful ploy? Without proof, Julian’s hands were tied.

  But that was the least of his concerns.

  Eloise had been home two days now. What a tearful homecoming it had been, with not one dry eye among the welcoming household staff.

  Maisy, Catherine and the Wentworths had shed enough tears to rival a spring shower. But it was Julian who’d almost wept like a baby the moment Eloise took his daughter in her arms, whispered the name Beth, and reverently kissed the infant’s forehead.

  He’d not heard her speak their mother’s name since the fire. Even now his eyes misted just thinking about it.

  The sound of familiar footsteps at his back sparked inside him a blistering red rage. He summoned cheerful civility, and turned to greet his guest.

  ‘Your Grace.’

  ‘Shafford!’ Gareth spread his arms wide. ‘My dear, dear friend. I left London as soon as I received your letter. You cannot possibly know how relieved I am to learn that your sister is safely returned. And with her sight restored.’ He clasped his hands together in a loud clap. ‘Thank God!’

  The insidious fop looked and sounded every bit his half-brother’s inferior. Julian had never realised it more so than now. More fool him for ever having allowed this man to deceive him. ‘Yes. It’s nothing short of a miracle. She is unharmed and slowly recovering from her ordeal.’

  ‘Unharmed, you say?’

  It was a weighted question. Julian ignored it other than to say, ‘Yes.’

  Gareth pursed his lips. ‘What was this highwayman’s price, and why did you not inform me that you were negotiating her return?’

  ‘The ransom is irrelevant. I would have given my life for Elly’s safe return. He threatened her life should I involve anyone else.’

  ‘Then where has she been all this time? Give me the details of her gallant rescue!’

  ‘There was nothing gallant about it.’ That was the truth. Julian hadn’t rescued her. Miles had.

  ‘You didn’t let the blackguard get away with it, did you?’

  ‘I had no choice. He had an accomplice and I was not going to risk Elly’s safety.’ How easy it was to lie to this liar. ‘I’ve men on his trail, but enough of that. We have the evening ahead of us. Plenty of time to divulge the details.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Where is the lady of the hour? I’d like to see her.’

  ‘First, I should like to discuss with you the matter of … marriage to my sister.’

  Gareth looked down his nose at Julian. ‘Yes. I expect you do.’

  Arrogant bastard. Julian stepped up to the balustrade and cast his gaze beyond the gardens.

  ‘You realise, Shafford, there are any number of women I could take to wife.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Say anything to stroke the man’s ego.

  ‘I’ve watched your sister flower into the most exquisite rose and have always hoped that one day she’d be my willing wife. To accept the honourable title of Duchess.’

  Julian turned his head to the side. ‘I believe that day has arrived.’

  ‘Willing or not, now she has no choice about it. After all, who else will do you the favour of taking her off your hands?’

  The balustrade would have crumbled beneath Julian’s grip had it been made of chalk. He strove to maintain calm. ‘Your Grace?’

  ‘Come now, Shafford. Let’s be honest with one another. Abducted and returned after three months? With all due respect, your sister’s reputation is ruined. People will believe the rose has been plu–’

  ‘How dare you!’ Julian swung around, surged forwards, and grabbed fistfuls of Gareth’s coat.

  ‘Shafford! You forget yourself.’

  He had. Julian recovered swift control of his rage. He took a step back and bowed, lowering his gaze to Gareth’s chest. ‘My apologies, Your Grace. It’s enough that Elly should bear the scrutiny and shame of what people will think, but to hear you voice it …’

  Gareth straightened his coat and touched a hand to his wig. ‘You are aggrieved and I understand your anguish, however, take heart when I say that I do, and always have … loved Eloise.’

  The declaration floored Julian to the point where he almost roared with laughter. When he looked up it was to witness in Gareth’s eyes and face the look of a man who meant what he’d said.

  Poor, pitiful sod. Who would have thought this monster capable of loving anyone?

  Gareth inspected his nails. ‘There is, of course, the question of her dowry.’

  If Julian hadn’t tightly clasped his hands behind his back, they would have found their way around Gareth’s throat. The man professed to be a duke, with a duke’s fortune. He’d declared his love for Eloise. With his next breath, he wished to negotiate a price for her hand in marriage as though she were stock to trade. The spurious good-for-nothing was lower than the dirt beneath Julian’s heel.

  ‘You shall be handso
mely compensated, Your Grace.’

  ‘Then we have an understanding, my friend. I’ll take good care of your sister.’

  The verbal handshake made Gareth’s eyes glitter. Was it talk of money to so excite him, or the prospect of owning Eloise, like sealing a deal on newly acquired property?

  Julian couldn’t stomach the sight of him. ‘Perhaps you would enjoy the honour of delivering the news to Eloise.’

  ‘Splendid idea! Where is she? In the drawing room?’

  ‘No.’ Julian gestured towards the terrace steps. ‘In the stables. You know how she loves to spend time with her mare. If you hurry, you might steal a moment with her. She is alone.’

  Julian stared with pure anathema at Gareth’s retreating back. With no time to waste, he followed at a safe distance, staying hidden from view.

  Burning oil lanterns cast shadows inside the stables. The air carried the scent of leather, hay, fresh manure and warm horseflesh.

  Miles hid inside a grooming stall. His mouth lifted in a triumphant smile when he spied Gareth confidently stride into the heart of the cobbled stables and stop abruptly to look around. ‘Lady Eloise?’

  Horses snorted and whickered, seemingly familiar with his voice and presence. He turned in a circle and looked from one end of the stables to the other. ‘Lady Eloise, are you here?’ He moved on to Charity’s stall.

  Miles drew a measure of satisfaction from hearing the mare stamp its hoof, and from watching its graceful head swing away when Gareth tried to pet it.

  A stable boy stepped inside the entrance and executed a bow. ‘Your Grace. The marquess wishes you to know that Lady Eloise has already returned to the house. He has requested you join them at your leisure.’ The boy bowed again and promptly disappeared.

  Gareth cussed and made a move to exit the stables.

  Miles opened the low-hinged door and slammed it shut behind him.

  Gareth spun in his black buckled shoes. ‘Who’s there?’

  Dim light streamed through brick-walled windows, enough to reveal Miles’s tattered coat, fawn breeches and well-worn boots.

  ‘Show your face!’ Gareth barked.

  The moment was everything Miles had imagined it would be. With heady satisfaction, he stepped slowly forwards, hunched over with knees slightly bent to take inches off his height. As he approached, he watched Gareth struggle to focus through beady-eyed slits, then to stare at him wide-eyed as slow recognition and naked shock drained the colour from his cheeks.

  ‘Miles,’ Gareth gasped and stumbled back a step. One hand settled suspiciously against his coat pocket.

  Miles saw panic in his eyes: Gareth knew he stood to lose every privilege he’d enjoyed for the past ten years. In a heartbeat, familiar cunning returned to those cold, slate-grey eyes.

  Gareth’s gaze raked Miles from head to toe, leering at every inch of his unkempt appearance. ‘Good God! You’ve risen from the dead.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Into a much sturdier rebuild, wouldn’t you agree? How ironic that you should choose this very place to reveal yourself.’

  ‘I doubt Shafford would welcome me as a guest in his house.’

  The words, combined with Miles’s forced, weak-sounding voice, seemed to bolster Gareth’s confidence. He stood straighter. ‘Quite right. From what hovel have you crept, and for what reason?’

  ‘I would have thought that rather obvious.’ Miles expelled a chesty cough.

  Gareth’s cynical laugh penetrated the darkest shadows. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, brother, but there’s nothing left of your inheritance.’

  I’m well aware of that. How gratifying it would be to say those words aloud and to see surprise wipe the smile from Gareth’s face. But it was a confession Miles had come for, not a battle of one-upmanship. He would need to give Gareth the opportunity to vaunt his exploits, to believe he had the upper hand, and that Miles, vulnerable, and seemingly unarmed, had no means of overpowering or outsmarting him.

  ‘Father was right. You have no head for business,’ Miles goaded.

  ‘Father!’ Gareth spat as if he’d tasted poison. ‘He was no father to me.’

  Miles stepped closer. ‘He loved you. You and your mother turned against him.’

  ‘With good reason. Mother married for title and wealth, so that one day her own flesh and blood would inherit the lot.’

  ‘And if you’d been born a girl?’

  Gareth sneered at the insult. ‘We’d have still found a way to be rid of you.’

  ‘We? You relied on a woman, your mother, to secure your future by falsely accusing me?’

  ‘Stupid halfwit!’ Gareth glanced over his shoulder towards the stable entrance. With no one in sight, he loosened his tongue. ‘You set yourself up when you argued with Lord Shafford.’

  ‘I merely defended myself against the base lies and accusations you would have his family believe of me.’

  ‘Call it what you like. I cleverly turned your pathetic attempt at an apology into an act of revenge.’

  Miles staggered backwards. His heart hammered. There it was. The truth began to unravel. ‘Innocent people died in that fire!’ he rasped.

  ‘How was I to know the marquess and his wife would risk their lives to save a few damned animals?’

  ‘There was a third body.’

  Gareth laughed with malice. ‘Someone whose job it was to kill you! The imbecile couldn’t even accomplish that.’

  ‘And so you murdered him?’

  ‘I don’t reward people for a job half done. At least his charred body served a purpose. Everyone assumed he was you. How lucky you were to escape and run like a beaten dog. Mother, God rest her soul, concocted stories as convincing as mine. People believed us, even though father defended you until his last breath.’

  Grief cracked Miles’s heart with the mention of his father. ‘Your lies and deceit extend further than the family walls.’

  Gareth stiffened.

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ve kept my ear to the ground all these years. You swindled Viscount Derby. How long did it take you to fritter away that small fortune?’

  Gareth’s lip curled. ‘Don’t tell me you are his henchman finally come to make threats?’

  Miles didn’t dignify the question with an answer. Silence could be a useful tool.

  ‘What a shame you’ll never taste the power title confers. Lesser folk aspire to rub shoulders with me, and when they do, they divulge all matters of consequence. Like Derby. Trustworthy, honourable, but a gullible buffoon.’

  ‘And you treat Shafford with even less respect. How many of his horses have you stolen and sold?’

  The question earned Miles a baleful glare. He braced himself, on alert, when Gareth reached into his coat pocket and walked within feet of him.

  Gareth produced a handkerchief, dabbed at his forehead and then crushed the linen in a threatening fist. ‘Who is the rat scurrying to your ear?’

  ‘You will appreciate those of us who reside in a hovel form loyal allegiances to one another.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Gareth stepped aside with a look of disgust. He gestured to Miles’s clothes. ‘You dress like a vagrant who lives in the sewer. How far you’ve fallen.’

  Miles parodied the gesture and walked slowly around Gareth to stand with his back to the entrance. ‘And you, having squandered my inheritance, still struggle to rise.’

  There was a familiar look in Gareth’s eyes that exposed his all-consuming need to prove himself right, and Miles wrong.

  A horse whickered. Gareth approached the thoroughbred and stroked its soft muzzle. ‘Salvation is at hand. You see, dear brother, I’ve ingrained myself so thoroughly into Shafford’s life that not even his animals flinch at my touch. Do you have any idea how easy it was to lead beauties like this one from its box at night? I had men waiting to take the reins in exchange for a handsome price.’

  ‘Not enough to keep your creditors at bay.’

  Hatred glittered in Gareth’s eyes. ‘Has your life been so empty that you should concern yourself wi
th mine?’

  ‘Empty? No. Have I made your life my concern?’ Miles paused. He drew himself up to his full height and abandoned his weak-willed voice for commanding contempt. ‘Yes!’

  Gareth started. A flicker of fear crossed his face. ‘Go back to your hovel. You’re no threat to me. No one will believe your word over mine. If you come sniffing around me again, I’ll kill you for sure.’ He threw the scrunched handkerchief at Miles’s feet, and strode forwards.

  One wide step and Miles blocked his path.

  ‘Stand aside!’ Gareth hissed.

  ‘I’m not finished with you yet.’ Miles took from his coat a leather-bound journal. ‘When I left, I took up life aboard a pirate ship. Years later, I managed to secure the role of privateer while England and Spain battled. Afterwards, I bought a modest island in the Caribbean, established a prosperous sugar plantation and acquired a few spare ships.’

  ‘Enterprising,’ Gareth sneered.

  ‘Yes. Pity the same can’t be said of your investment in trade and shipping.’ Miles shoved the journal into Gareth’s hands. ‘Open it.’

  Gareth leafed through several pages. His head snapped up. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘From your ship.’

  Gareth’s face flushed with outrage. ‘You attacked my ship?’

  ‘Ships! What became yours under the guise of duke was in fact rightfully mine. But I would never choose to profit from slave trade.’

  Gareth slammed the book shut. ‘It’s perfectly legal.’

  ‘It’s barbaric. As is the kidnapping of innocent children to be sold as indentured servants.’

  ‘You’ve no proof.’ Gareth wiped his silk sleeve across his forehead, knocking his wig askew.

  ‘You’re holding it. In addition to this, I spared your captain and crew their lives in exchange for letters written in your hand. I’ve enough proof to warrant your death.’

  ‘No. You don’t.’ Gareth slipped the journal inside his coat pocket. He looked beyond Miles’s shoulder and yelled, ‘I say! Is anybody there? I need help.’ His eyes darted back to Miles. ‘There. Now who’s the dead man? You’ll never lay claim to your identity and its entitlements.’