Miss Ridgeway's Privateer (Regency Belles & Beaux Book 3)

by Michele McGrath

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He left her with a distinct feeling of unease. The ship rolled to the swell of the sea so she lay down until she was called to dinner. She hastily straightened her dress and tied a scarf around her disordered hair. She thought she must look dreadful but noticed the same gleam in Captain Dupré’s eyes when he came forward to greet her. It was a moment or so before she realised that the table was only set for two.

  “Your officers and Mr. O’Rourke are not joining us?” she asked, rather alarmed.

  “They’re sailing the ship. This part of the bay can be treacherous, so they must work hard while I claim the pleasure of your company, a captain’s privilege.”

  The first dishes arrived, bowls of a steaming fish stew which Lucy found too salty for her taste. This was removed with a pastry filled with eggs and cheese. Lucy was eating when Captain Dupré said,

  “But you are not wearing my pearls.”

  Lucy spluttered and almost choked. “Your pearls? It was you who sent them to me?”

  “But of course, I thought you knew that.”

  “How could I? There was no note with them.”

  “My messenger had orders to put them into your hands and to tell you.”

  “Well, he didn’t. I found them beside my plate at breakfast There was nothing to say they were from you. Otherwise I would have written, thanked you and returned them. They are far too valuable for me to keep.”

  The captain picked up his glass and sipped his wine as he looked at her.

  “Why shouldn’t you accept such a gift from me?”

  “You are neither a relative nor a close friend of mine, Captain.”

  “Not now, perhaps, but maybe in the future.”

  He put down his wine and came around the table to stand beside her. Lucy shot to her feet before she realised how close he really was.

  “What do you mean?”

  He reached out to her and stroked her cheek with his finger.

  “I would like to become a relative to you or a friend at least. You’re a beautiful girl, worthy of my little bauble. Pearls for a kiss, how is that for a bargain?”

  He moved closer and Lucy put up her hands to fend him off.

  “Captain, please!”

  “Do you find me offensive?”

  “No.” Lucy answered truthfully. He was a handsome man in his own way, only rather old. “But I am on my way to my grandmother in Ireland and she would not like me to kiss you.”

  “No need for you to go there or for her to know anything about it,” he murmured, pressing closer.

  “The ransom,” Lucy gasped.

  “I have paid Captain Rollin the price of your ransom. He’s not one to chase a woman who doesn’t want him. You will find that I am quite different.” His hand was around her, fumbling with the fastenings of her dress. It was laced unfashionably high and for once Lucy was glad. She squirmed in his grasp only to have his lips fasten on hers. Even if she moved her head away from him, she could not escape. It was hard to breathe and then suddenly the pressure eased. He swept her up into his arms and carried her through a doorway, tossing her into the middle of his bunk. She opened her mouth to scream when he said,

  “Scream if you like, but no one will come rescue you.”

  His hand was on her sleeve and he yanked hard. The material ripped. Her shoulder and part of her breast was bare. Horrified, she screamed the first thing that came into her head,

  “O’Rourke!”

  Dupré chuckled. “I’ve ordered my men to keep O’Rourke away from this part of the ship. In any case, my dear, he is what we call a man of the world. Why should he interfere?”

  A cold shiver ran down her back as her mind searched for a way of escape. Dupré sat down, one hand holding her pinned to the bed while the other traced the outline of her breast. His fingers slid beneath the fabric until he found the nipple.

  “Enjoy it,” he said as he squeezed. “I won’t hurt you. This is only what your husband would do to you on your wedding night and it should be a pleasure for both of us.”

  He bent closer, his lips moving across her skin. He was intent on what he was doing and Lucy watched him in horror. She had no idea what he would do next but she knew that, whatever it was she did not want it to happen. Her hands were free and he could not see what she was doing. Very gently she felt around her and touched a shape, a lantern from its smell, unlit and hanging on a hook beside the bunk. Her fingers curled around the loop and lifted it while, with her other hand, she stroked his hair, to conceal her movements. Then she bent and kissed his brow. Obligingly he raised his head to look at her. Immediately she swung the lantern at him as hard as she could. He groaned and his eyes closed for a moment, then they opened again and he started to push himself up away from her, hand raised. Before he could straighten, Lucy hit him again, just below his nose. This time she saw his eyes roll upwards and he slid backwards onto the floor. Terrified, Lucy picked up her skirts and jumped over his body. She flew through the cabin and the saloon, pulling both doors shut behind her. No one was in the corridor to notice her dishevelled state although she did not think about that. Her one wish was to find O’Rourke.

  If he won’t help me, I’m lost, she thought, but he will. He promised me that he would. I have only to find him. Where did he say he would be? The gun deck. Where’s that?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lucy had never been any further into the ship than the saloon, but she remembered some stairs leading downwards from one of her earlier visits. She found them and tiptoed down. Flickering lanterns ahead of her enabled her to see the outlines of men gathered in a circle. Smoke rose and so did the murmur of voices. She crept towards them, hoping O’Rourke would be there and felt deeply thankful when she recognised his accent. How could she attract his attention without alerting the others? She edged nearer, hiding behind the boxes and bales that littered the deck. Her heart started to thud when someone left the group and strode towards the side of the ship. A creak, a lighter square opened in the darkness and she heard a splashing sound as if water was being poured through the hole. She had no idea what was happening and did not care, as long as the man did not see her. She shrank down and hid her face, thanking Heaven that her black dress had no coloured trimmings. The man was returning to his companions when people shouted and feet stamped above her.

  All the men rose and ran past her, O’Rourke at the back of the group. She caught at his coattail and he spun round with an oath. He saw her and immediately he pushed her head down.

  “Qu'est-ce que c'est?” someone called back.

  “Rien. J’arrive,” he answered and shuffled a few steps forward as if he intended to follow them, then he turned and said to her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I had to come, the captain…”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “He tried to rip off my clothes so I hit him with a lantern and ran. Help me, Patrick, please!”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No… perhaps… I didn’t stay to find out.”

  “So that’s what all the shouting is about.”

  “You said you’d help me…” Lucy heard her voice quivering with fright.

  “I must have been mad!” He pulled her to him, holding her tightly. “Don’t fret; I’ll keep my word but if he finds us now, we’ll be lucky to escape with our skins. Wait!” He stood still for a moment then he said, “If we stay on the ship, we’re finished. There’s only one thing to do for now, but it’s dangerous. You’ll need courage to attempt it.”

  “I’ve courage,” Lucy stuttered wondering if she really had any at all. “My father was a hero!”

  “Let’s hope you’re his true daughter then. Now don’t argue and do as I say, before anyone comes.” He pulled her past a gun carriage and over to the square gun port which the sailor had left open. He picked up a coil of rope and then swung his leg over the sill. All she could see of him was a hand h
olding onto the rim until he called,

  “Now turn on your belly and put your legs through the hole and your toes where I tell you.”

  Noises were coming nearer and the fear of being captured made her climb quickly through the hole after him. Her petticoats thrashed and she seemed to be dangling into empty air. Then his hands caught her feet and she felt her toes catch on a ledge. He passed a rope under her arms and tied it around her.

  “Hold onto the rope,” O’Rourke hissed. He reached up over her head and jerked the gun port closed.

  Lucy glanced below her and closed her eyes in horror. The sea raced along the side of the ship, terrifyingly close.

  “Keep quiet and don’t move,” O’Rourke instructed. “They’ll never believe you’re out here, so with luck they won’t put their heads through the port. Once they search and can’t find you, they’ll think you’ve fallen overboard.”

  “How long…”

  “Shut up, they’re coming.”

  Lucy never did find out how long she hung there, suspended by the rope which cut into the soft skin underneath her arms. Whenever she shuffled her toes to take the strain, she slipped. Once, her heart almost stopped as her foot came off the thin rail and she swung free until O’Rourke hauled her back and held her against him. After that she tried not to move at all even to relieve the pain of the rope. She kept her eyes closed and her body taut. At any other time, she might have pushed him away. Now it seemed to her that the only warm things in her life were his arm around her and his breath on her cheek. Hours later, or so it seemed, he whispered,

  “Hold tight now, Alannah, I’m going to let you go. I think they’re gone.”

  He straightened and reached up. She heard the creak of wood and then a soft “Good!” His warmth had been removed and her eyes sprang open. He sat astride the gun port and was reaching down to her, grasping her arms and drawing her upwards. Lucy started to help him but then she realised her fingers and toes had gone numb.

  “Don’t wriggle or I might drop you!” he hissed.

  Inch by inch he hauled her up until her head and shoulders were almost into the hole, then he grabbed a handful of her dress and pulled her over. They both collapsed on the gun deck breathing hard. He gripped her arm and hauled her to her feet.

  “We must hide you until I find a boat.” He hurried her over to the other side of the ship where more cargo was stowed. He released a rope and dragged out a bale, making a space behind it.

  “Crawl in there, as deep as you can and stay there until I come for you. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Lucy did as she was bid. She turned around and sat with her back against a box. A scraping sound and the bale was pushed in front of her, cutting out what little light there was. The space was stuffy, smelling of dampness and salt but Lucy was only too glad to sit still and be able to massage the cramp in her toes and arms. Despite the pain, her eyes gradually closed and it was not long before she slipped into sleep.

  As he pushed the bale back into place, O’Rourke was thinking furiously. Lucy could not stay on board the Matou. Dupré was not known as either a patient or a forgiving man. Lucy had wounded both his pride and his head and he would punish her for it. She would be lucky to escape with a thrashing if he did not kill her and himself as well for helping her escape his wrath. She would be safe enough for the present, though, because the gun deck had already been searched. When she was not found, someone would say that she had fallen overboard. It would not be the first time such a thing had happened. Eventually that explanation would be accepted and everything would die down. Perhaps he could let down one of the boats and use it to get both of them ashore. They could sail to the nearest land. He knew people up and down this coast and he had sufficient money to bribe a fisherman to take them out to the rendezvous. According to the original plan, they would have been transferred to a French fishing boat the following morning. Such craft were often disregarded by the authorities and it was easy for them to meet a vessel of a different nationality to trade or transfer goods and information. The main problem was finding one of the ship’s boats. The next was to smuggle Lucy into it. He would only succeed if he managed to explain his absence from the search in a satisfactory manner, so he must pretend he had been looking in another part of the ship.

  He crept across the deck, opened the hatch and climbed down the ladders into the bilges. The smell made him gag, but he quickly smeared some of the filth onto his face and clothing. Then he paddled into the mess up to his knees. When he scrambled up the ladder, his shoes squelched and slipped but it could not be helped. He left the hatch open and went to find the other sailors. The first person he saw was LeCoq, the bos’n.

  “Where’ve you been?” he growled. “Thought you’d jumped overboard with that damned whore you brought aboard.” O’Rourke moved forwards and LeCoq moved back, waving his hand in disgust. “Keep away from me. You reek!”

  “I’ve been down in the bilges searching for her and I slipped. It’s where I’d hide, but she isn’t there. Haven’t you found her yet?”

  “No, and the Patron is raving like an imbécile. He was roaring for you, so you’d better get below. He has a hole in his head where the catin hit him. She did a good job, so he’ll be worrying about his beauty.”

  “I’m too dirty to go like this.”

  “He won’t worry about that. The way he was swearing, you’d think she cut his balls off.”

  O’Rourke grinned as he hurried away. He found the captain lying back in an armchair, one bloody rag held to his head another to his streaming nose.

  “Enfin!” he spluttered as his eyes opened and he saw O’Rourke. “I almost died of old age before you came!”

  “They only told me you’d been hurt a few minutes ago. Why isn’t Girard tending to you?”

  “He’s ashore, damn him. Got drunk and broke his arm so I had to leave him behind. Rollin tells me you’re a good enough sawbones. Prove it.”

  “Let me look at you, Capitaine.” O’Rourke removed the bloody clouts and looked at the injuries. His fingers probed the head wound and touched the swollen nose which was still seeping blood. Then he drew back.

  “It’s as well you have a hard head. Your skin is badly cut at the back but the bone has not been broken. The wounds need stitching and you will have a headache for a few days but no more provided they heal cleanly. Your nose must be packed with cloth to keep it in its proper shape, so you will have to breathe through your mouth until I remove the packing. Do you want me to start?”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it! But wash yourself before you touch me, you stink.”

  “I was down in the bilges looking for the girl. I’ll go and fetch my satchel.”

  He ran down to the gun deck, found water and washed his face and hands. The rest would have to wait and the stink should prevent anyone coming too close to him. Several of the sailors had already returned and told him that the search had ended.

  “The bitch has gone overboard, good riddance to her.”

  O’Rourke nodded and recruited two of the largest men to return with him to the captain’s cabin and another to fetch him hot water and cloths.

  “His head needs stitching and that will hurt. I’ll get him drunk but that won’t be enough. I’ll need you to hold him still.”

  “Merde! He won’t like that.”

  “He’s agreed to let me do it. Come with me.”

  It took some time and several glasses of the fine old spirit to get the captain in a fit state for O’Rourke to begin the operation. By this time the wounded man was singing an obscene song punctuated by groans if he moved too wildly. O’Rourke stationed a sailor on either side and began to clip away the captain’s curly black hair. The two long head wounds were deep and it was lucky for the captain that Lucy was not stronger or he would have been dead. O’Rourke cleaned the gashes and warned the sailors before he poured brandy into them. The captain reared up as if he had been stabbed and his shriek brought LeCoq to the door to find out what was happening. />
  “Brandy in his wounds, that’s all,” O’Rourke told him. While he was working, he had been thinking how to obtain a boat and suddenly he saw an opportunity. “He’s in a bad way. If this stitching doesn’t hold, we may have to take him ashore. Where are we now?”

  “Abreast of the Île-de-Bréhat. We’ll be passing the coast of Jersey by morning.”

  “Can we land on Bréhat?”

  “It’s not the best of anchorages in this wind. We’d have to lie off and it’s a long pull in. Jersey would be better if it wasn’t held by the accursed English.”

  O’Rourke glanced at him. “Don’t tell me French fishermen don’t go in and out whenever they wish.”

  The coxswain grinned. “Well, I won’t then. We’ve a man aboard who knows the way of it if you need him. Kerrien’s his name.”

  “Ask Mr. Madec to close the coast of Jersey as near as he can without being seen. Have Kerrien standing by to guide us and the skiff ready to be lowered. We should know by morning whether they’ll be needed or not. We’ll veer away if the captain holds his own.”

  O’Rourke did not expect his orders to go unquestioned since he was neither a sailor nor a member of the ship’s crew. Yet with the Matou’s own surgeon ashore no one would argue with him over the treatment of the captain’s wounds. He was packing the captain’s nose and bandaging the deep cut beneath it when Madec, the mate, appeared. O’Rourke explained what was happening.

  “What does the captain say?” Madec asked.

  “Look at him; he’s in no shape to say anything.” O’Rourke waved at Dupré’s slumped figure, swathed in dressings and with his mouth lolling open as he breathed. “Don’t wake him. Sleep is the best healer at the moment. It’s your decision, Madec, but if he goes into a fever, he’ll need better care than I can give him aboard this ship. Get us near to Jersey for now, and I’ll let you know if there’s any change. With luck he’ll recover enough that we won’t have to land.”