by Ava Bradley
"There now, you go topside and visit with Henri. Good boy, Chauncy."
That wispy dress swished as she moved to the cabin door. With a clicking of toenails on the polished floor, the dog trotted away, leaving Christian alone with Adriana for the first time.
A jumble of emotions deluded his senses. Damn the Montagues for their unwavering luck. She'd really thrown his plans into a mess with her quick change of itinerary.
Christian clenched his fists, fighting the uncomfortable sensation brought on by Adriana's seductive voice. He dragged his long awaited scheme to the forefront as he struggled to ignore the alluring magic clouding the room like smoke.
The Montague luck wouldn't save her tonight; he wouldn't let it. He would simply seize the ship and turn it south before they reached Baltimore.
The wardrobe door wrenched open, blinding Christian with light. A rush of air sent that delicate, flowery scent whirling around him. When his eyes focused, he discovered the gleaming silver barrel of a derringer pointed at his heart.
Chapter Two
"Who are you, and what do you want?"
Starry Night, the necklace he'd traveled nearly three thousand miles to steal, glittered upon the exposed skin of her bosom.
Christian hardly noticed it. He was trapped by brilliant blue eyes as vibrant as a winter sky.
The painting of Ann Marie depicted her perfectly. Adriana was her spitting image, only more beautiful. The incredible softness of her features gave her a deceptively innocent appearance, contradicting dangerously with the gun held solidly in her hand.
A barely-there tint crept into her cheeks. Narrow, delicate brows drew together. She wasn't as confident as she wanted him to believe. From the corner of his eye he saw her hand begin to shake.
"Could it be I have captured the infamous Nighthawk?"
He caught his breath. No one in America had ever before suspected he and the Nighthawk were one and the same.
One corner of her mouth twitched into a wry smile. Her brows drew upward and she glanced over him as though he were covered in mud. "No, you could not possibly be. The Nighthawk wouldn't allow himself caught so easily. Revealed by a small dog, no less."
He took a step forward, emerging from the wardrobe. Adriana withdrew two. Fear washed the haughty arrogance from her features.
"Stay where you are."
Christian glanced at the necklace. Starry Night was every bit as stunning as he'd heard. Seven 3-carat sapphires hung from a silver chain, each ocean-blue gem circled with a fringe of glittering diamonds. The necklace wasn't daywear, but he expected she probably never took it off when traveling, despite the safe in her cabin.
"You aren't the first to try, and you shan't be the last," she said, seeing him glance at it.
"You won't shoot me."
"Ah, he speaks. Perhaps I was correct. It is rumored the Nighthawk is a Frenchman."
Her gaze turned mocking, a look Christian was sure she learned from her arrogant father. At the same time, her hand now trembled violently and those creamy cheeks held their scarlet stain. "And pray tell, why will I not shoot you?"
He advanced on her another step. This time Adriana held her ground. "Because the heiress doesn't have it in her. She wouldn't shoot a man over a trinket. She's refinement, sophistication, a true blue-blood."
A flicker of something dark passed through her eyes. "I am afraid you have me all wrong."
"No," he growled. "I do not." He glanced down again, not to look at the necklace, but at the luscious bosom rising and falling with each heated breath. "You are too dignified to shoot me. You've been educated at the finest schools, are welcomed by society's elite at the grandest parties. I do not believe you have it in you to spill a man's blood over a necklace."
"That is where you are wrong, Nighthawk. It is very valuable to me, a gift given to me by my father."
The mention of her father sent his rage flaring. He considered tearing Starry Night from her throat. "Has no one ever told you guns are dangerous?"
He seized her wrist and wrenched her aim away. She squeaked out her surprise as he spun her around and yanked her against his chest. He squeezed her wrist until she cried out and dropped the derringer.
"You brute! Unhand me!" She struggled valiantly as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into a crushing hug.
"I was right. You didn't shoot me."
"Given a second chance, I would."
She jabbed at him with her free arm. He suppressed a gasp as her sharp little elbow caught him just under the ribs.
"Just because I was tutored in a ladies school does not mean I won't claw your eyes out!"
White-hot sparks of arousal erupted in his groin and raced through his limbs. She felt even more delicate than she appeared, yet was surprisingly strong. Her shoulders fell just below his, a perfect fit against him. He found it strange such a thought would enter his mind, stranger still that none of his many conquests had ever stoked such glowing heat inside him.
Ruining her is going to be more entertaining than I'd thought. He tucked her under his chin and pressed one hand to her throat. Adriana fell still.
"Give the necklace to me nicely or I'll take it...not nicely."
"Never. Let go of me!" She thrashed against him, pressing her derrière into the tremendous stiffness at his groin as she screamed for Henri.
The old man must have heard the commotion because he appeared in the doorway at that instant. "What's this all about?" He stooped to pick up the derringer. "Mon Dieu."
"It's hers, not mine," Christian ground out as he fought to hold her steady.
Henri turned it over in his palm. "Adriana, where did you get this?"
"Mr. Dupree, shoot him! This is the man who attacked Father!"
Henri stayed rooted. He tucked the derringer into his pants. "No, Adriana, he is not. Christian, let her go."
Adriana froze. "You...you know this man?"
"Here now, what's going on? Mr. Dupree, move aside." Mrs. Bailey stood behind him in the narrow hall. "Who is this intruder?"
Chauncey squeezed past their legs and dashed around Christian's feet, yipping shrilly.
Christian reluctantly released her. A cold void rushed up the front of his body. She sidled away, staring from one to the other with utter horror. The crimson flush vanished from her cheeks, leaving her unnaturally pale. She pointed a trembling finger.
"He is the Nighthawk. He stowed aboard to steal my necklace."
"Great mercy!" Mrs. Bailey exclaimed. "Mr. Dupree, do something."
"Oh now, calm down, all of you." Henri snatched up the dog and thrust him into Mrs. Bailey's arms. "Quiet him, would you?"
Adriana fixed her gaze on Henri. The horror in her face had been replaced by a mixture of hurt, anger, and disbelief.
Christian steadied himself as the ship rose and dropped. "Who is driving this contraption?"
"Ollie is on deck," Henri snapped. "Holy saints, Christian, what were you thinking?"
"You conspire with this man?" Adriana's voice shook. "Henri, how could you?"
"Mr. Dupree?" the fat woman snapped when Henri remained silent.
"Has my father not paid you well? What would make you choose to steal from us? We have been good to you. We treated you like family."
"Oui, that you have."
"Then why?"
Henri stared at the floor. Christian couldn't believe her pathetic antics were working on the old fool. "She has no idea, does she?" he bit out.
Henri's gaze snapped up. "No, and it won't be you to tell her."
"The hell it won't." He turned his long-awaited rage on Adriana. Without that ripe little body pressed against him, his thoughts were level again. "It is my right."
"To bring pain to an innocent who took no part in it?" Henri shook his head. "I won't let you."
"She embodies everything he stands for. She was raised with the spoils and privilege that my father paid for with his life!"
"What is he talking about?" Adriana pressed a hand to
her forehead. "Please, somebody make sense."
"Yes, I do agree." Mrs. Bailey's voice had gone deep in her anger. "Mr. Dupree, explain."
An agonizing silence stretched.
"Henri!" Mrs. Bailey demanded with a stamp of her foot. Chauncy snarled.
The old man sighed. "No, it's the lad's story and he wants to be the one to tell it." Henri shot a warning glower Christian's way. "Respectfully."
"It isn't complicated, really." Christian straightened his shoulders. Years of resentment made his declaration vividly satisfying. "I am taking the necklace, and I am taking this ship."
Adriana issued a shrill chirp of humorless laughter. "Well are you now?" Her racing pulse throbbed under the pale skin of her throat. "Did you think I would simply stand aside and allow you to rob me without a fight?"
"You weren't supposed to be aboard, Miss Montague," Henri cut in. "You were supposed to be at a party."
She turned her anger on the old man. "That is why you were surprised to see me. And all those supplies–you're stealing Lady Luck!"
"I'm stealing her," Christian corrected firmly.
Adriana narrowed her eyes and delivered scorching glare. "I suppose you are going to throw me overboard because of some vendetta you have against my father."
"And deny myself the pleasure of your delightful company? I wouldn't dream of it."
"What do you intend to do with us?" she demanded.
Christian smiled. This couldn't have turned out more beautifully. "Why, take you with me, of course."
Her eyes grew wide. "Why, you, of all the–" She crossed her arms and turned up her nose. "I shall go nowhere with the likes of you."
"Perhaps you'd rather swim ashore."
"I do not understand any of this," Mrs. Bailey insisted. "Mr. Dupree, where are you taking us?"
"South America," Christian answered for him. He smiled, delighted by the gasp the heiress returned.
"It's not possible, not without a crew!"
He shrugged. "It is thanks to you and your quick change of plans we don't have one."
"It's thanks to you as much," Henri grumbled. "If you had waited until midnight like we planned–"
"If I had waited until midnight I would be standing alone on a vacant dock." He matched Adriana's stance, crossing his arms over his chest. "You should know me by now, Henri. I never reveal my true plans to anyone."
"I don't believe it," Adriana whispered. "Mr. Dupree, I cannot believe you would betray me like this. Betray my father."
"Oh, I'm going to be ill," Mrs. Bailey wailed. In her arms, Adriana's small dog yapped and growled.
"I am sorry, Miss Adriana." Henri's gaze fell to the floor and stuck there. "It was not supposed to happen like this. If I could change it, I would."
"It's just as well," Christian cut in. "I want you to know why I'm going to ruin you, and your father."
Mrs. Bailey moaned.
Adriana glared at him. He had expected her to be terrified, perhaps attempt to buy her freedom, or at least break down in tears. Instead she responded with a spiritedness that astounded him.
"I am not interested in anything you have to say."
The old man turned away and drove his fingers though his silver-streaked hair. Christian knew he wasn't happy about this, but things had turned out this way for a reason. It was meant to be. His heart raced with the triumph he so thoroughly deserved.
"Oh my," Mrs. Bailey wailed. "Oh blessed heavens."
Henri turned around and reached for her elbow. "Come up on deck with me, woman. I've got to keep watch."
"I will not leave Adriana alone in her boudoir with this...this vagabond." Mrs. Bailey jerked away from him.
"Oh come on now, you old land-lubber." He pushed her out but stopped and turned back, pointing a gnarled finger at Christian. "You don't lay a hand on her, you hear me? I won't tolerate it. So much as a hair on her head, and our deal is off."
Christian knew he meant business. The old man had always been generous and kind, but as firm as chiseled stone at the same time. Christian admired him with every part of himself that was good, and he would never intentionally disappoint the man who had been like a father to him all these years.
Adriana's chaperone squawked like an old hen as Henri dragged her away. "You shall get your just reward for this, I shall see to it. Don't push me, I don't do well on these ladders. Why you insensitive old crab, you'll face the gallows for this."
"Henri..." Adriana watched him go with hurt brimming in her eyes. A sliver of regret tried to needle its way into him, but Christian forced it away.
"Your father isn't the saint you believe him to be." His voice faltered. Now alone with her, Christian felt some of his resolution slipping away. He clenched his jaw.
Her expression turned to ice and she scanned him with that haughty glance again, as if he'd just tracked mud over her imported silk rugs. "You will forgive me if I do not believe you."
He imitated the mocking smile she'd given earlier. "Do you know where the stones in your necklace came from?"
Her eyes widened. "He had it made for me after my mother died...by the jewelry maker to the royal family."
Christian detected the hesitance in her voice; she didn't truly believe that story. "A ship builder? From humble beginnings?" He shook his head, enjoying the glimmer of doubt working its way into her eyes. This was what worried the privileged few–the threat to the crystal bubble surrounding their perfect lives. "I suppose you would believe him if he told you he dines with Queen Victoria on Tuesdays."
"Certainly more than what you are about to tell me, I'm sure." She crossed her arms across her chest, trying to appear confident, but Christian could see the façade slipping.
Enjoying the final release of his long-awaited anger, he decided to change his tactic and entertain himself. "When you were in London at Chadwick's finishing school, your father didn't visit you once."
More chips chiseled away from her ardent expression. This was what he'd hungered for all these years; to break her, destroy the untarnished world Adriana and Edmund Montague believed they ruled. Strangely it wasn't as satisfying as he'd hoped.
"If your father ever goes back to France, he'll be arrested the moment his feet touch the soil. He is afraid to venture even as far as England."
"You lie." She lifted her chin, staring down her patriarchal nose.
"Your father was one of the most illustrious jewel thieves France has ever known."
She barked out a mocking laugh. "My father is the most successful shipbuilder in all of Baltimore. His father was a shipbuilder."
"They were dockworkers, both of them. Nothing but hull monkeys."
She started toward him as though to make good on that promise to claw his eyes out. Christian caught her by the wrists and hauled her against his chest. That powerful heat washed over him again as the fury in her eyes sent his heart racing.
He didn't want this now, he needed to think clearly, to focus on his anger. He shoved her away, sending her sprawling across her bed. But seeing her toppled across the plush, velvet coverlet had the opposite effect on him.
She caught herself on her elbows, staring up at him like some hell-sent vixen, her full breasts straining against the modest confines of that demure yellow dress. She watched him with bright horror in her eyes, as though afraid he would ravish her right here, right now. And for a moment too long, he considered it.
He took a step back and drove his fingers through his hair. He'd given his word to Henri, a promise that meant more to him than anything else.
Adriana pushed herself upright and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress.
"I grow bored of you." Her voice quaked, revealing the fear she hid under her proud façade. "Finish your story and leave."
He advanced on her and pointed an accusing finger. "And I told you, this is my ship now. I give the orders."
"Mr. Dupree should have told you the Lady Luck doesn't have a brig. Until you release me, this shall remain my cabin."
"This trinket you wear..." he reached out and dabbed a finger at one of the sapphires. Adriana gasped and clutched his wrist.
Get away from her, Christian thought. Before you do something you will sorely regret. He slowly pulled his hand from her grip and took a step back.
"Have you ever heard of India's Midnight?"
She regarded him levelly. "Everyone has heard of it. But it is nothing more than a legend."
"I assure you, it was no legend. Your father stole it. Yours and mine together. Your necklace is made from the remaining accent stones after your father sold off the main gems."
Adriana issued another shrill, mocking chirp of laughter. Already she was getting on his nerves.
"I sincerely doubt it."
"Oh, it's true, heiress. Paris's famous Black Cat burglar was not one, but two men. In fact, the Black Cat didn't truly exist. It was a cover."
The color drained from her face. "If you expect me to believe that my father–”
"They were successful for many years because they devised a fool-proof plan. Devious, but fool-proof. You see, they were the most notorious of rakes. One of them would seduce a rich, married woman, and the other would commit the robbery. The burglar would stalk right in as if he had nothing to fear. And he didn't, because the lovers couldn't risk being found together. While one was burgling, the other was playing the sniveling coward, convincing the poor wench to turn over her most valuable trinkets."
Christian allowed himself the smirk pulling at his lips, delighted by the shattered expression Adriana wore. "Of course, their quarry couldn't call for the gendarmes because she was, after all, in a compromising position. So whichever of them was in her bed would simply convince her to wait a day and report the theft, blaming it on the famous Black Cat, and the two of them got away unscathed."
Adriana's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Christian knew women well enough to know tears were soon to come. He expected her to deny it, to accuse him of an outright lie, but instead what she said surprised him.