Rogue Pirates Bride
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told Raeven now. “No wife, no children, no family.”
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She gripped his hand tighter. “You don’t know
that. You were going to search for your brothers.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
She shook her head. “Will you really give up so
easily? Will you really go so gently to your death?”
He was facing death. Certain death. He’d persuaded
Russell to take him prisoner instead of hanging him
from the Regal’s yardarm. Russell was canny enough
to realize the glory he’d receive when he brought the
much-vaunted Captain Cutlass to London to face trial
and punishment. It was a risk, though. Pirates were
known for their tricks and deceptions. The admiral
had made sure Bastien was locked up tightly and had
no interaction with the crew—less chance he’d be able
to sway any of Russell’s men or cause a mutiny. Less
chance he’d be able to persuade one of them to help
him escape once on land.
But Bastien sure as hell would not go to his hanging
without a fight, even if he had little hope he’d be able
to escape. The British Navy didn’t make a habit of
losing prisoners. “I have a few tricks yet.”
“Perhaps I can help you. Perhaps—”
“No.” He all but crushed her hand in his. “This
is no game. If you’re implicated in aiding my escape,
you’ll be imprisoned as well. I don’t want anything to
happen to you.”
“What a touching sentiment,” a voice said from
behind her. “Coming from a rogue. I hope you don’t
believe that drivel, Raeven.”
Bastien met the admiral’s eyes, squeezed Raeven’s
hand a last time, and released her. But she didn’t
step away from his cell. Instead, she stood in front of
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Bastien, as though she were shielding him. Bastien
shook his head. He really should have married the girl
while he had the chance.
“Father, I demand an explanation. Why is Bastien
imprisoned on the Regal? He’s done nothing wrong.”
Her father’s brows shot up. “Nothing wrong? Is this
the man you wanted to hunt down for the death of
Captain Bowers? Is this the man you urged me to pursue
because you were certain he carried arms for Spain? He’s
a pirate and a rogue. He’s responsible for the death of
Percy Williams. And now you dare defend him to me?”
“I’m responsible for Percy’s death, not Bastien.
Percy went aboard the Shadow with me only because
I pushed and cajoled him.”
“Be that as it may. If nothing else, the man has the
crime of piracy on his shoulders. He’s attacked British
ships, stolen British cargo, killed British sailors. And
I’m not going to allow those misdeeds to go unpun-
ished because you’re smitten with him. Now, go back
to your cabin. If you’re found down here again, the
prisoner will receive fifty lashes.”
She balked. “Father!”
But he’d turned his back and was headed for the
ladderway. Raeven started to go after him then turned
back to Bastien. “I’ll speak to him. I’ll try and help.”
Bastien nodded, knowing she’d not budge the man
an inch. “If I don’t see you again…” he began, uncer-
tain how he would even finish the sentiment.
“You will. I promise. I’ll find a way to help you.”
He cocked a brow. “I could do without the fifty lashes.”
She gave him a quick scowl. “Have some faith.”
And then she was gone.
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Bastien smiled. He had nothing but faith in her.
Too bad in the British Navy she’d finally met a foe
she couldn’t best.
Raeven argued most of the way back to England for
Bastien’s release, but her father would not listen. As
soon as she broached the topic of Captain Cutlass, he
cut her off and turned his back. On one of the last
occasions she tried to reason with him, she caught him
in his cabin. “Father.”
“Do not start, Raeven,” he said, not even bothering
to look up from the charts on his desk.
She plopped in the chair across from him. “I have
never seen you so unwilling to hear me out. What are
you afraid of? That I might convince you Bastien is a
good man?”
He glanced up and back down. “I would like to be
convinced he’s a good man, Raeven. Tell me. What
is so good about him?”
Raeven opened her mouth, but her father cut her off.
“Is it all the times he’s attacked British ships or those
under our protection?”
“No, but—”
“Was he good when he killed Captain Bowers?”
“No, but that wasn’t his—”
“Or did he become good when he sailed away
with my daughter and returned her to me thoroughly
debauched and now arguing for the bastard’s life?”
The admiral stood, red-faced, and glared at her.
Raeven was wise enough not to answer. She still
worried for his health and did not want him too upset.
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“If your mother could see you now…” He trailed off.
Raeven waited, but it appeared he would not speak
again. “If she could see me now?” she prompted quietly.
He shook his head, took his handkerchief, and
coughed into it.
“What would she say, Father? What would she
do? Would she not be happy to see that I’m in love?
Would she not want to save the man I care for?” She
lifted a hand when her father would have spoken.
“Very well. He’s not a good man. He’s a privateer,
and he’s not what you wanted for me. But he doesn’t
deserve to die. If you let him live—”
“How?” The admiral placed his hands on his hips.
“How can he live? He’s wanted by the Crown. When
we dock, he’ll be sent to Newgate, tried, and hanged
for his crimes. I can’t change that. I don’t want to
change that.”
“You could help him escape.”
He glared at her. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t
hear that traitorous statement.”
“Father—”
“No. No more! Forget him, Raeven. You’ll find
another man. I know you will. I have dreams for you
too.” For the first time she saw a flicker of pain in his
eyes. “When I retire, I want to take my grandsons
fishing. I want to see you happily settled.”
“As do I.”
“And I do not want to hear another word about
Cutlass.”
“Please, if you’d just listen to me.”
“Not another word.” He coughed, waved a hand.
“Get out! Go back to y
our cabin and leave me in peace.”
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Hurt and dejected, Raeven obeyed.
She was not allowed to return to the brig to visit
Bastien, and for the remainder of the voyage, she had
only one brief glimpse of him. She happened to be on
deck at the same time he was brought up for air. She
was quickly dragged back to her cabin, but not before
she was able to see he was well and healthy. He looked
paler than she remembered, but he was not suffering.
At least she had that comfort.
Because she was no longer trusted, she spent hours
alone in her cabin. Day after day, she tried to think of
ways to save Bastien, but she knew even if she could
help him escape the ship, he’d not be a free man. He’d
be a wanted man with a price on his head. It would
be next to impossible for him to escape the country
by ship, as every captain would be on the lookout for
him. She had no money, and if Bastien had untold
riches hidden somewhere, she did not think they
would be accessible in London.
And every one of her schemes would require
funds. Who had funds? The aristocracy, of course.
But she did not know any of the ton. She was a
sailor’s daughter.
Bastien’s family was of the aristocracy. Perhaps if
she could travel to France and find them, they might
give her money to help Bastien.
A few days later, she spotted Mr. Wimberley on
deck. Fitzwilliam Wimberley was fourteen and the third
son of a marquess. He was the closest thing to the aris-
tocracy she knew, and she stopped him as he passed her.
“Yes, Miss Russell?” He had the clipped, formal
accent of the aristocracy, and even at fourteen, looked
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as though he’d be more at home in a musicale than
inspecting the rigging on a mast.
“Mr. Wimberley, I wondered if we might have a
word in private?”
His brows shot up in surprise. She couldn’t blame
him. This was probably only the third time she’d ever
spoken to him. “I think the wardroom is empty this
time of day. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes, Miss Russell.” He indicated she should lead
the way, and she did so, her thoughts churning as
she walked. When they’d settled in the wardroom,
Raeven seated across from him, she said, “Your father
is an aristocrat, correct?”
Now his brows knotted together. “He’s the
Marquess of Huntleigh,” he said slowly. “Is that what
you wanted to speak about? My father?”
“No. But I wondered if, because of your upbringing,
you might be familiar with another aristocratic family.”
He nodded. “I know my Debrett’s as well as
anyone, I suppose.”
“It’s a French family. The name is Harcourt, but
the title is the duc of Valère.”
“Duc de Valère. Yes, I know of the duc. He made
an interesting marriage shortly before I signed on to
the Regal. I remember my mother speaking of it.”
Raeven stared at him in open-mouthed astonish-
ment. “The duc is alive and in England? I was given
to think he’d been guillotined.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Russell. The duc was
guillotined. This is his oldest son. I believe his given
name is Jacques or—”
“Julien,” she offered slowly. Julien Harcourt, Bastien’s
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oldest brother, was alive and well—and apparently
married—in England. Her head was spinning.
“Yes, that’s right. I didn’t pay much attention
to the discussion. Marriages and engagements don’t
interest me much, but the duc is quite wealthy and has
investments in shipping, so when I heard his name, I
listened briefly.”
“Mr. Wimberley, do you think when we arrive in
London you might be able to take me to the duc de
Valère? Introduce me?” She noted she was clenching
her hands together, and gently eased her fingers flat
on the table.
“I don’t see how that’s possible, Miss Russell. I
don’t know the duc, and my own family will be
expecting me. They promised to send a coach to drive
me to my father’s country estate. My sister and my
older brothers will be there to welcome me.”
Raeven’s hopes plummeted, but she kept a brave
face. “Of course, you should spend time with your
family. But perhaps you could tell me how to discover
where the duc lives.”
“I expect with the blunt he possesses, he resides in
either Grosvernor or Berkeley Square. But that’s easy
enough to ascertain. I might ask our coachman before
I depart for the country.”
She reached across the table and grasped his hand. “Oh,
would you, Mr. Wimberley? I’d be so appreciative.”
His face colored, and she realized he probably
wasn’t used to women holding his hand. She hadn’t
meant to fluster him, and she released his hand.
“Miss Russell, do you mind if I ask why you want
to meet the duc de Valère?”
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“I don’t mind if you ask,” she said, rising, “if
you don’t mind my not answering.” She winked at
him and watched him blush again. “Good day, Mr.
Wimberley. I’ll find you when we dock.”
Raeven went straight to the bow and stared at the
vast blue ocean before her. The wind was strong today,
the clouds in the cerulean sky billowy white, and the
ship moved through the water at a fast clip. Raeven’s
heart pounded, and she grasped the oak railing to calm
herself. Oh how she wanted to rush down to the brig
and give Bastien the good news. His brother was alive!
More of his family might be alive! All this time they had
been living in England. Perhaps they had been searching
for him. When she imagined Bastien’s happiness at this
news, it took all of her willpower to stay on deck.
It would hardly be good news if the reward for
hearing it was fifty lashes.
If the weather held, she knew they would reach
England in less than a week. They would sail up the
Thames into London, and Bastien would immediately
be taken from the docks to Newgate. He’d be tried at
the Old Bailey and hung at Tyburn.
Unless she saved him. Unless she found the man
who could save him, the duc de Valère.
It was next to impossible for Bastien to escape from
the brig, and even if he did, there was nowhere to hide
on the ship. But once they reached the shore, escape
was another matter entirely. And he might not even
have to hide long if she could qui
ckly find the duc, his
brother. A powerful man like the duc could surely find
ways and means to, if not exonerate Bastien, see him
safely out of the country.
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And when Bastien left the country, she would go
with him. Unless… unless he stayed. What would she
do then? She was no aristocrat. She would never be
accepted by the ton.
She shook her head, unwilling to think of that
possibility now. Right now she had to save Bastien.
That was all that mattered.
Raeven stared at the open sea and formulated a plan.
Bastien knew when they’d reached the Thames
because he could smell it. Even in the dank, musty
brig at the bottom of the Regal, the stench of the
Thames permeated. He’d never been in London,
never sailed up the Thames. He would have liked to
see it, but he supposed there were many things he’d
like to have seen before he had his neck stretched at
the end of an English rope.
Not that he’d given up. He had nothing but time
to formulate an escape plan. He would implement
it when they docked, but as he didn’t know the
ship and didn’t know the city, he had little hope
he’d be successful.
But his main worry was for Raeven. If he knew his
cabin girl, she wouldn’t be content to allow him to
handle things on his own. She’d want to meddle, to
save him, and that would only ensure her own death.
Aiding and abetting a criminal were serious charges.
And that was why when, on the night he felt
the Regal dock, he was not surprised when Rummy
handed him a note.
Bastien took it with a sigh.
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“I think we both know who that’s from,” Rummy
said, eyeing the note as though it were a snake. “If
you’re caught with it, I didn’t give it to you.”
“I found it in my coat,” Bastien said, rubbing the
parchment between two fingers. Rummy and he had
struck up a sort of friendship, as prisoner and jailor
often do. Bastien liked the man, but he was not sorry
to leave the brig and Rummy behind, even if it meant
the prospect of another jail.
“Are you going to read it?” Rummy asked. “She
went to some trouble to get it to me. Threatened me,
too. She’s a wild one.”
“That she is,” Bastien agreed. He looked at the note