Lord Hunter (Secrets & Scandals Book 6)

by Tiffany Green

  Sorrington’s smile grew wide. “Oh, my dear, do not look so startled.”

  “Then tell me what you mean to do?” Her hand came up to her breast as a terrible thought occurred. “You will not harm my husband, if that is your intent.”

  “Oh, no. Not at all.”

  “Then what? You must tell me.”

  Sorrington turned, gazing out to sea. He drew in a deep breath, that horrid smile still in place. “I think I shall tell you. Maybe, you will give up the silly hope of ever seeing Hartford again.” He turned. “Then you will have a change of heart.”

  She swallowed back her sharp words. He must tell her. “What have you done?”

  “When I said Hartford would find you, I meant it.” He turned, his hands settling on her shoulders. “He just won’t find you alive.”

  Her breath caught. “What?”

  He squeezed her. “Oh, I know how that sounds. But trust me, you will be well. You see, Hartford will think it’s you he’s found.”

  Emma stumbled back a step. “What?”

  Sorrington’s hands fell away and he nodded. “That’s right. Hartford will believe you and I are dead. He will end the search and return home.” His smile widened. “Brokenhearted, of course. And at some point, he will move on with his life. Remarry. Have children. You will be but a distant memory to him.”

  Chapter 31

  Lucian lifted his face to the sun and closed his eyes, listening to the ship cut though the waves as the wind tousled his hair. Although the Ella Rose had a ten-day advantage, they cut the distance with each hour. Jack’s ship, the Enigma, was much, much faster than the packet.

  Although Lucian had learned to sail before he learned to walk, he was not as good a captain as Jack. Blowing out a breath, he opened his eyes to the grey-green sea stretched out in every direction. He didn’t blame his cousin for staying with his wife, who was heavy with child. Jack would never forgive himself for being away if Torie went into labor. He’d already risked it once, sailing to Bristol and back.

  Lucian settled his hands against the rail, visioning Emma swollen with his child. He had heard Amelia tell Emma there was a chance she’d never conceive due to the scar tissue. His fingers bit into the wood. Never had he wanted children. Well, not since learning how cold-hearted and selfish Rebecca was, days after marrying her. But with Emma, he had been given another chance at a real marriage. And a family.

  Did she wish the same? Would Emma rather hunt for treasure than mother his children? Was she relieved she might have lost the ability to conceive?

  He straightened, drawing in a deep breath. Once they found that ship and dealt with Sorrington, Lucian would learn her feelings on the matter. He hoped, after suffering this ordeal, Emma would choose him and a family over continuing the dangerous life of a treasure hunter.

  Hearing footsteps, Lucian turned and found Jeremy stepping to his side, pulling a cheroot from a silver holder. “Do warn me if you see Evie.” He pulled a face. “She has the silly notion smoking is bad for me.”

  Lucian nodded toward the aft, biting back a smile. “She is there, speaking with Sean.”

  With a groan, Jeremy set the cheroot back inside the holder and slid it into his inner coat pocket. He turned toward the sea. “We should come upon the ship soon.”

  His stomach clenched at those words. Lucian would see Emma today. Would hold her. Kiss her. He nodded and glanced up at the sails in full bloom, checking the wind direction. Not needing to make adjustments, he turned back to Jeremy. “Thank you for coming. You didn’t need to.”

  Jeremy’s right brow shot up. “Of course, I did. Evie would have marched herself on this ship, regardless.” He grinned. “Couldn’t have her coming alone, now could I?”

  Lucian knew that wasn’t what happened at all. Both wanted to come, to help. They were damn good at helping, too.

  Evie and Sean walked to them. “What sort of trouble are the two of you discussing now?” she asked.

  Jeremy turned to his wife and pulled her into his arms. “The only trouble on this ship, sweet, is you,” he said and leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

  Evie’s eyes danced, her smile growing. Then she chuckled when Jeremy leaned away, shaking her head. “You are wicked, darling.” She held up his silver holder and snapped it open, spilling cheroots to the wind. “But so am I.”

  Jeremy patted his pocket, then plucked the holder from Evie’s fingers. “This means war, wife.”

  Crossing her arms, Evie was about to respond when someone called out from the crow’s nest. “A ship!”

  Lucian sucked in a breath and ran to the front of the ship. “My glass,” he snapped to the nearest crewman.

  “There’s smoke,” someone yelled out.

  Pressing his hand to his pounding heart, Lucian squinted at the horizon. A man appeared with his glass and he held it up to his right eye, searching for the ship. A thin strip of black smoke curled up and he followed it down to the vessel. From this distance, he could see no one on board, nor tell how bad the damage.

  Knowing they were at top speed, Lucian could not make them go faster. He handed Jeremy the glass.

  “I can’t make out the name,” Jeremy said, then handed the glass to Sean.

  Sean shook his head. “We’re too far away.”

  With a sinking heart, Lucian prayed it was not the right ship. He held onto the rail, tamping down his fear. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the wind and the ship cutting though the waves.

  After half an hour, he lifted the glass with a shaking hand and read the ship’s name. Ella Rose. He closed his eyes a moment, then studied the deck of the ship. Men pointed and waved at them. Alive. Thank God.

  Lucian snapped out orders and they soon pulled aside the wounded ship.

  “We are ever so glad to see you,” the packet captain said. “Had a fire on board this morning. We’ve taken on water, but the pumps are holding.”

  Gripping tight to the rail, Lucian glanced around, searching for Emma. “I am the Earl of Hartford. My wife was taken by Lord Sorrington. They are supposed to be aboard this ship.”

  The captain’s red cheeks, above his snowy beard, paled. He pulled off his cap and lowered his gaze. “I-I am sorry, my lord. The fire.” He swallowed and shook his balding head. “The lady and his lordship are dead.”

  If Lucian hadn’t been holding on to the rail, he would have crumbled to the deck. He couldn’t have heard the man right. “Pardon? What did you say?”

  The captain raised sorrowful eyes. “The fire claimed them both.”

  “No!” Sean bellowed. “It’s not true. My sister is not dead.”

  Numb. As though all the feeling somehow drained from Lucian. He stood there, unable to move, unable to breathe. Dead? How could Emma be dead?

  Clearing his throat, the captain swept a hand to his ship. “We just extinguished the fire and finished sealing the crack in the hull. We were about to begin the funeral. Perhaps, you would like to say goodbye?”

  Lucian could not get his feet to heed his commands. They stayed rooted to the deck, his fingers digging in to the rail. A hand came to his shoulder and gave a squeeze. “You will not have to go alone,” Jeremy said, his voice soft.

  He closed his eyes. A nightmare. This was nothing but a horrible nightmare. He was in his bunk, sleeping, and at any moment he would wake. They would find the ship and he would have Emma in his arms once again.

  “Come, Lucian, we will go together.”

  Unable to speak, he gave a jerky nod. The world blurred and he brought his hand up to his wet eyes. Forcing his feet to move, he knew he would regret not going. Not saying goodbye. He somehow managed to follow Jeremy to the other ship without falling in the water. Sean scrambled behind them. “It’s not Emma,” he growled. “It’s not.”

  Lucian followed the captain to the communal dining room below. Across the long table were two sheets. Two bodies beneath them. One large, the other small. The size of Emma. The smell of charred wood and bur
nt flesh filled the hazy air, making him gag. He lifted a handkerchief to his nose and glanced at a cabin, the black remnants of the door on the ground, the room a scorched, black hole.

  “We believe it was an overturned lamp, my lord.”

  Lucian shuffled to the bodies. Staring at the smaller of the two, he swallowed the hot lump in his throat. He couldn’t do this. How could he say goodbye?

  Sean came to his side, his hands fisted. “I don’t believe it.” He shook his head. “I don’t.”

  The captain came forward and held out a small singed box. “We found the lady holding this.”

  Lucian lowered his gaze, not recognizing the thing. His heart pounded with hope. Until he saw the horrified look on Sean’s face.

  “No,” Sean whispered. “It can’t be.” He took the box, his fingers running over the charred surface.

  “Is that the small box you spoke of? Found at the last circle on the map?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yes,” Sean said, then rubbed a sleeve across his eyes. He threw the box across the room. It crashed against the wall, spilling out an assortment of uncut gemstones. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds scattered across the wooden floor. They ranged in size, but the smallest was the size of Lucian’s thumbnail.

  “No! This is not my sister!” Then Sean stormed to Emma’s body and jerked back the sheet.

  A cry escaped his lips. Lucian stared at the small body, burnt beyond all recognition. Just a few patches of skin remained around her middle and on one thigh. All else had been melted away. He turned away as hot bile rose up his throat, gagging him.

  Jeremy moved him to the steps, up and out to the deck. “Breathe, Lucian.”

  He lowered the handkerchief and drew in a ragged breath, then another. Swallowing down the bitterness, he straightened and mopped a hand down his face. Never would he get that image out of his head. Never. The size was right. And with the box… He couldn’t deny it. Emma was dead.

  His legs gave out, and he crashed to the deck on his hands and knees. Shaking his head, he stared at the scarred wood between his fingers. How would he continue to live without her? How? His eyes stung, but the tears wouldn’t fall.

  Lifting his head, he gazed at Evie standing at the rail of Jack’s ship, her face pale and tight. Her sorrowful eyes glistened as she watched him.

  A shadow fell over him. “I told the captain you will bring her body home. Bury her in your family mausoleum,” Jeremy said.

  He could only nod.

  The next two days passed in a blur. Lucian did not eat. He did not sleep. He remained in his cabin, on his bunk, and stared at the darkness, not even bothering to light the lamp. There was nothing left inside him. He had given his heart and soul to Emma, and both were gone with her. Burned.

  Dead.

  Something nagged him, though. But he could not put his finger on it.

  He squeezed his eyes tight, yet the image of her charred body remained. Every Goddamned, gory detail. The way her black, melted hand reached out, as if seeking help that would not come. The other clutching tight to her chest, probably holding the infernal box of gems. His stomach churned.

  What was it? Something elusive he could not bring to light. It swirled in the mist of his misery, just out of reach.

  A tap sounded at the door. He ignored it.

  “Lucian, I brought you something to eat,” Evie said, her words muffled through the wood.

  He did not answer.

  “I am coming in, so you had better be dressed.”

  The light burned his eyes, and he threw an arm over his face.

  “I brought soup and bread.” Dishes rattled as she set the tray on the small table beside his bunk. “You must eat, Lucian.”

  He didn’t want to eat. He wanted Emma back.

  Evie sighed and sat beside him. Her cool fingers brushed back his hair. “I cannot imagine your pain, Lucian. No doubt, I would be in a similar state if something ever happened to Jeremy.”

  Lucian lowered his arm, blinking at the brightness. “I should have done more,” he said, his voice rusty. “I never should have brought her back to Bristol.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “After she had been shot, I should have…” His words trailed away as the elusive detail burst forth in his mind.

  Popping his eyes open, he raised up, startling Evie.

  “What is it?” she asked, sliding off the bunk.

  Lucian scrambled to the floor. “Oh, my God!”

  “What?”

  He spotted his boots and tugged them on. “I must see her,” he said, storming from the small cabin.

  “Must see who?” Evie asked, then her breath caught. “Lucian, I am not sure you want to see her again.”

  His heart pounded so hard, he thought it might leap from his chest. He had to see if he was right. On the second step to the storage area below, the stench overwhelmed him. Pulling the handkerchief from his pocket, he covered his nose. Determination pounded through his veins as he approached the wrapped bodies. The smaller one, his entire focus.

  He reached out, his fingers grazing the rope securing the rough material. A knife. He needed a knife. Hearing a commotion at the stairs, he saw Jeremy and Sean hurrying to him. “I need a knife,” he barked out.

  Sean paled. “What are you doing?” He turned to Jeremy. “The man has gone mad.”

  Lucian shook his head. He didn’t want to say his thoughts just yet. He didn’t want to give them hope in case his theory proved false. But he had to know. Had to see the proof for himself.

  He held out his hand. “Your dagger, Jeremy.”

  With narrowed eyes, Jeremy withdrew his dagger and handed it over. “I hope you know what you are doing, old man.”

  Closing his eyes a moment, Lucian turned and hunched down. He sliced through the wrapping and set the dagger aside. With a shaking hand, he peeled back the cloth to reveal her stomach. Smoke browned the skin that still remained on her lower torso, but revealed to him what he needed to see. Lucian searched the area from her naval to her mons.

  Euphoria made him light headed. He threw his head back and laughed.

  “I told you,” Sean said. “The man’s gone insane.”

  Shaking his head, Lucian retrieved the dagger and handed it back to Jeremy. “Not mad.” He nodded to the body. “That is not Emma.”

  Sean choked. “What? Are you sure?”

  “This body doesn’t have a scar.” He placed a hand on his lower stomach. “Where Emma was shot.”

  Sean’s eyes went round, then he hunched down to verify for himself. “Dear God. You’re right. She has no scar,” he said, coming to his feet.

  The three stood there, staring at the bodies. “What do we do now?” Sean asked.

  “Sorrington went to great lengths to keep us from finding them,” Jeremy said. He tapped a finger against his lips. “If the world thought him dead, where would he go?”

  Lucian slid a glance to his friend. “He gave up his earldom.”

  “His two estates have been losing money for a long time. He would have been bankrupt within the year. The one successful venture he owns…” His voice trailed away, and he jerked up straight.

  “The cotton plantation,” Sean said, gaining Lucian’s attention. “Said he won it in a card game years ago.”

  Jeremy nodded. “That is true. It’s not entailed. And it is the only thing keeping Sorrington from complete insolvency.” He cocked his head. “But I heard he recently sold it. At the time, I thought it strange. Now, I think I know why.” Certainty lit his eyes. “To obtain a new identity.”

  Lucian ground his teeth. “The cotton plantation. Where is it?”

  “New Orleans,” Sean and Jeremy said at once.

  Lucian hurried to the stairs, where Evie waited, eyes worried. “It’s not her,” he said, dashing by. “Emma isn’t dead.”

  “What?”

  He had no time to explain. Jeremy was already at his wife’s side, speaking to her. Lucian raced to the helmsman. “Turn the ship around,” he ordered.


  Chapter 32

  Emma rolled over and moaned. Her stomach churned and twisted. Had the fish been bad? Why, then, was no one else sick? She threw an arm over her eyes, trying to think other thoughts. Lucian. She would think of him. Soon, he would overtake this ship and get her the hell out of here.

  Yet, with each new day, she wondered if Lucian would come. Sorrington strutted about, certain the search had been called off by now. The smug rat irritated her to no end. And if he thought for one second she would ever hold any affection for him, he was out of his mind.

  She lowered her arm and drew in a deep breath. The air was warm and stagnant. Some fresh air would settle her stomach.

  Wiping the sweat from her face, Emma decided not to wear the hot knitted cap. The crewmen knew she was a woman, anyway. They spoke little to her, but when they did, they called her Miss. She pinned a wayward curl and opened the cabin door.

  The faint smells of fish lingered, making her stomach twist. She held on to the doorframe, dragging in gulps of air. If only she could make it up the steps, she would not be sick. But the hot ball of bile had already begun to surge up her throat, and Emma spun around. She crashed to her knees and emptied her stomach into the pot.

  “Ye awwrite, there, miss?”

  Emma wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. Leaning back on her heels, she glanced to the cabin boy and gave a nod. “I’ll be fine, Tom.”

  He scrunched up his face, his bright blue eyes worried. “Ye been sick three days now.”

  She hefted herself to her feet. Drained, as though spewing up her guts had also taken her energy, she moved to the bench in the dining room so Tom could remove the pot. She wanted to crawl back into the bunk, but decided against it. Sleeping the days away did not help her form an escape plan.

  But, God, she was tired.

  Her eyes kept sliding shut, her chin tumbling to her chest. Emma brought her hand to her mouth and gave a wide yawn. Plopping an elbow on the table, she set her chin in her palm and tried to focus on a plan.

  Tom returned with a clean pot, sliding her worried glances.