She had expected him to be angry, but she had thought him reasonable enough to remember the closeness they had shared on board the Reckless as fondly as she did. Instead, he had refused to hear her explanation and assumed that anyone masquerading as a boy was of low moral character.
He was the one lacking character and principles, Cat thought, pacing the terrace. Despite whatever girlish yearnings she might have felt for him, she now saw her captain with crystal clarity. He was nothing more than a coldhearted privateer posturing as nobleman, who thought all women could be bought.
"Out for a moonlight stroll, my love?"
Cat nearly jumped out of her skin, then whirled to face the object of her musings. "How dare you skulk around here in the middle of the night like a common housebreaker?"
"We have some unfinished business, my love," Ransom said ominously as he stepped closer. "Surely, you did not think me such a fool as to leave without finding out the details of your little enterprise."
"Get away from me," Cat warned.
"Not until I get what I came for," he said, advancing until he stood but a hair's breadth from her.
"You're drunk," Cat said. She turned from him in disgust, but he grasped her arm and pulled her back.
"Not drunk enough," he said. "Now suppose you tell me exactly what this charade was to accomplish?"
"Let go of me! Have you taken leave of your senses?" Furious, Cat raised a knee to his groin, but he anticipated her action and held her tighter. "You are making me lose all patience, you conning little baggage."
Even as Cat struggled to escape, he grasped hold of her hair, pulling back her head. "Now, what was the scheme? I want to hear it from your sweet, innocent lips, my love."
Cat had never seen him like this, far too drunk, incoherent, and belligerent. "What are you talking about?"
"If you hope to strike a bargain, let me assure you that you'll get nothing from me. And I'm sure Devlin is paying you enough already."
"Devlin?" Cat gasped. "You think Devlin is paying me? You are insane!"
"You've already admitted your guilt, if you recall. And I saw you with Blakely, who, after a bit of persuasion, confirmed your employment. Now, all I need are the details."
It took Cat several long, dark moments to connect Ransom's accusation with the man she had met in the portrait gallery. But why would that fellow claim she was working for Devlin? And why would Ransom believe him?
"Am I to understand that you think I have been paid by this Devlin to do something to you? And when you claimed to know who I was, that's what you meant?"
Cat's questions were met with stony silence that nonetheless served as a reply. Ransom hadn't recognized her as his cabin boy, which ought to have given her some measure of relief. But she was too horrified at the accusations he was making, which were far worse. How could he believe she was allied with that monster Devlin?
"I never met the man in the gallery before tonight, nor do I have any ties to him. And after all... our acquaintance, how could you take some stranger's word over my own?" Cat asked. But she knew the answer as soon as she spoke: because he cared naught for her. She was nothing more to him than a plaything to be handled and discarded at his leisure.
As to confirm her suspicions, Ransom thrust her away, seemingly unable to touch her. And they faced off in the night, the air charged with the heat that rose between them, a passion that could explode at any moment like tinder to a spark. But this time, there was a dark side to it, a hint of violence in his manner that made Cat shy away, despite his allure.
What might have happened next, she would never know, for into the quiet and darkness came the sound of footsteps and the glimmer of light. She whirled to see Isaac standing not far away, holding a lantern, and loosed a shaky sigh.
"Are you all right, Miss Catherine?" he asked.
"Yes, Isaac. Thank you," Cat said. Gathering her composure, she wondered what explanation to give for Ransom's presence, but when she glanced behind her, he was gone.
***
Ransom's return to the ship was greeted with relief, for too much time ashore left a sailor skint and sore, as the adage went. When Ransom's mood became known, however, more than a few of his crew wished the captain would head right back to land.
Hounded by a lingering dissatisfaction with his handling of Miss Amberly, Ransom snapped orders and complained of the laxity that had developed in his absence. But it was Bert who suffered the most.
"And where the devil did Blakely come from?" Ransom demanded of his first mate once they were alone.
"Who knows, captain? The only other ship in the bay was one of the Simpson cargo vessels, and she's been and gone."
"When?"
"Left yesterday morning, captain."
"I want to know how he slipped beneath our very noses without my knowledge and where he is now," Ransom said. "Send Peabody and as many as it takes to find out. The rest I want back on this ship, sober, and ready to sail."
Ransom's temper did not improve when Peabody returned with the news that Blakely had arrived on the Rampart, recently anchored off the other side of the island, and stayed at a plantation there, owned by William Montgomery. The ship, and Blakely, had sailed away that very morning.
Ransom snorted in disgust. "See that you're awake the next time we're at anchor," he ordered his officers, "just in case Blakely should care to burn you in your beds."
Having received the information he sought, Ransom did not pursue the matter further, for he had no intention of wasting another minute on one of Devlin's minions. He was intent upon the master of the chess game in which Catherine and Blakely only served as pawns.
And so he set a course for L'Etoile.
***
Summoned to Amelia's room, Cat stood before the older woman, who reclined amid a profusion of pillows on her bed. As expected, Isaac had reported the night's events, and Cat was receiving a dressing down over the incident.
"Isaac can be trusted not to spread the tale," Amelia said. "But I'm sure I don't know what's gotten in to you, sneaking out to meet a man in your nightclothes."
"I did not sneak out to meet him," Cat said. "I left the ball in order to avoid the blackguard. How was I to know he would creep into the garden in the middle of the night?"
"Well, I must say I can't approve of you wandering about out of doors at all hours," Amelia said. "My dear, it simply isn't done."
Cat could not deny that lapse, so she said nothing.
"Of course, the best thing would be for him to marry you, but it appears that course was not to his liking," Amelia said, with a sigh.
"Marriage to that..." Cat broke off as none of the names that sprang to mine could be repeated in front of her aunt. "No thank you. And, believe me, he has no intention of marrying anyone, ever."
Cat couldn't help the bitterness that crept into her tone, and Amelia glanced up at her sharply. "One would think he would have to, eventually, if only to have an heir to the title," her aunt said.
Cat snorted, still unconvinced of the man's peerage. Perhaps the true duke would get wind of the impersonator and put an end to it, an end that she now anticipated with glee.
"The man has no interest in family or home," Cat said. "I wonder if he really cares for anything." She fell silent when Marie appeared with a breakfast tray for her aunt.
"Well, you know they say that reformed rakes make the best husbands," Amelia said, buttering a flaky pastry.
Cat sputtered. "I wouldn't call him a rake," she said.
"Ah, well, you know him better than I, having lived with him," Amelia said blithely, before taking a bite.
"Apparently, I don't know him at all," Cat muttered. "At the ball he claimed to know who I was, so I thought he'd recognized me as his cabin boy. Instead, he accused me of being a spy for his worst enemy."
Turning suddenly, she began to pace. "How could he think I was involved with that creature?" she asked, more furious and hurt by that accusation than by anything else the man had said or done
.
"Oh, dear, you can't blame him," Amelia said softly. "You said this Blakely fellow told him so. How was he to know the man was lying?"
Cat halted her steps, but did not say what lay heavy on her heart. He should have trusted me. If he cared for her at all, he would have given her the benefit of a doubt, sought some other explanation, tried to find out the truth... And because he had not, things had changed irrevocably between them.
"Well, the scoundrel is gone now, so we no longer have to concern ourselves with him," Amelia said, with a sigh.
Cat nodded mutely, though she took no pleasure in the knowledge, for the man might be gone, but he was not forgotten.
***
Ransom frowned at the darkened warehouse, empty but for a few broken crates and trash that had collected in the corners. The offices were just as deserted.
Even the furniture had been removed, though in the larger of the two rooms, the floor still carried the imprint of a huge desk that had once stood there, and Ransom knew instinctively that it had been Devlin's. It was just the sort of place where Devlin would hold court, but he clearly had been gone for some time.
For how long? Ransom knew the Rampart, the ship Blakely had taken, and he doubted that the vessel could have arrived at L'Etoile before the Reckless. Even if it could have appeared soon enough for Blakely to warn his master, Devlin wouldn't have had time for a move of this magnitude.
Ransom shook his head. The building must have been standing vacant when Blakely gave away its location. Ransom's fingers twitched as he remembered closing them around Blakely's throat. With uncharacteristic ruthlessness, Ransom wished he had killed the man then and there.
The discovery of Blakely's deception made Ransom draw in a sharp breath, and he felt an odd, dizzying reaction to the news. If Blakely had lied about Devlin's location, had he told other lies, as well?
Ransom felt a familiar pain in his chest at the thought of Catherine. But there had been too many coincidences involving the young woman to hold her blameless. With a shake of his head, he dismissed the notion that Miss Amberly was anything except a conniving wench working for his worst enemy.
Hadn't he made enough of a fool of himself about her already? With a grimace, Ransom vowed he would not make that mistake again.
Chapter Fifteen
Edward slumped in his chair, his cravat askew, his finely tailored jacket rumpled, and his heavy-lidded eyes dulled by his latest vice: opium. Right now, however, he was indulging in liquor at a London tavern that had been a favorite haunt in his youth.
Then he had been willing to do nearly anything for money, and this had been a place of business, where he sought handouts from the wealthy nobles who came here on a dare - or for more personal reasons. He had made some fat purses then, but somehow the money had never been enough, slipping through his fingers as freely as ale flowed in a public house.
After the change in his fortunes, he had returned from time to time, flaunting his title and his coin. But now the thrill of turning the tables was lost, and he found it hard to remember just why he had come.
As if the devil himself divined his thoughts, a ghost from his past sidled up to his table, and Edward found himself looking at the thin, pinched face of Corky. It was not a very fitting name for a former pugilist who was known to beat sense into those who were not sufficiently cooperative for his boss.
"Devlin wants to see you," the wiry man said, his leering grin showing the lack of several prominent teeth.
In spite of his benumbed state, Edward shivered, and the little man laughed. "Now," he said, stepping forward as though he would enjoy pulling Edward along with him like a bag of meal. The prodding made Edward stand up and follow him through a bewildering trail of alleys and lanes toward a man he would just as soon forget.
The years seemed to blur and blend as Edward once again found himself facing Devlin's massive desk and the man behind it. Knowing that his new title meant nothing here, Edward began sweating under the scrutiny of those small dark eyes.
"You look dreadful. I'm disappointed in you," Devlin said, although he sounded pleased enough. "Sunk in gambling and drink and opium, too, they tell me. You've ruined yourself, Edward. Even your looks are going now. You are nothing but one of the dissipated dilettantes you once despised - or aspired to be."
Edward waited patiently as Devlin paused, apparently finished with his ritual bloodletting. "I've called you here to do you a favor, my fine lord," Devlin said as he put his hands together. "I believe you have misplaced something. That cousin of yours. What was her name?"
Edward stared blankly before remembering. "Catherine Amberly."
"Yes, well, I am in a position to collect this piece of baggage and return it to you, for a price." Devlin smiled at Edward's flustered surprise. "Hoping she was dead, were you?" he asked, with a sneer. "Well, that can be arranged. I know exactly where the girl is, and I'll have her under control without any fuss. I'll even eliminate her for you. But in return I'll need a piece of that inheritance before you squander it all."
Edward blinked anxiously, and Devlin did not wait for his reply. "I'll have one of my clerks look into your accounts. I hope, for your sake, that there's some left, for I'm sure you want this Amberly matter taken care of neatly. Don't you?"
Edward mumbled his assent, while Devlin shook his head. "You should have come to me for help, Edward, instead of botching the job. You always were too impatient and careless. I'm assuming you latched onto the old man, rushed to kill him, and let the girl escape."
When Edward didn't reply, Devlin waved a hand in dismissal. "Never mind, Edward. You always were a poor student. Now, I have an associate who makes half the world's seafarers quake in their boots, and he'll take care of the matter for us. With relish," Devlin said.
And even Edward felt queasy as Devlin licked his lips.
***
Ransom heard a dull pounding and rolled over. Only when Bert unceremoniously entered the cabin did he rouse himself. For once, there was not a buxom female in the bed beside him, a circumstance for which was he grateful once Bert started yammering.
"Well, well, here it is nigh no noon and you still abed like the lovesick swain you are," the first mate said, far too loudly. He slammed down a tray of food with a bang that nearly jolted Ransom's eyes from his sockets.
"Are you trying to wake the dead?" Ransom asked, sitting up and putting a hand to his hell. "What ails you?"
"It's what ails you that concerns me," Bert said. "We've been at L'Etoile too long, captain. And though you claim to be trying to ferret out Devlin's plans from his cronies, it appears to the rest of us that you've thrown yourself into a bout of gambling, wenching, and drinking the likes of which we've never before."
Ransom shrugged off the complaint. It was no one's business but his own how he went about trying to get information. He swung his feet to the floor and eyed his breakfast with distaste. Perhaps he'd go ashore for a better meal.
But Bert was not finished. "Either resume your duties as captain or..."
Ransom glared at his first mate. Was he planning a mutiny? "Or what?" Ransom asked, in a menacing tone he usually reserved for his enemies.
But Bert did not flinch. "Or go back to Barbados," he said.
It was not what Ransom was expecting to hear, and only iron control kept him holding his first mate's gaze.
"Take the whip to me if you will, but I'll say it," Bert said. "Maybe seeing this female again will get her out of your blood."
"Who says she's in my blood?" Ransom demanded.
"You haven't been yourself since we left Carlisle Bay," Bert said. "Either go back to her or find another one like her."
"There isn't anyone like her." The words were out before Ransom could catch them. Grimacing, he held up his hand to stop any further remonstrating. Bert was right about one thing. He was accomplishing nothing here. But he sure wasn't going to Barbados.
With sudden, startling urgency, he knew a desire to go home - not to the plantation on W
indlay, but his real home, a place he rarely thought of anymore and hadn't visited in years. And that, more than anything, made him pause.
Perhaps Bert was talking sense. A visit to L'Etoile courted danger at any time. But lingering here and drinking himself witless while Devlin lurked somewhere ready to strike again imperiled the Reckless and all aboard.
As if to bring home that very fact, Ransom heard a clamor outside his cabin and the door was flung open with a violence that made him surge to his feet.
Unprepared for an attack upon his own cabin, Ransom blindly groped for a weapon only to grunt in relief at the sight of Rene, making a dramatic entrance. Behind him stood a grim-faced Peabody, ready to eject the errant guest, if unwanted.
But being caught unawares jolted Ransom far more than his first mate's lecture. Perhaps it was time to move on. As Ransom reached for some clothes, Rene waved away Peabody with a careless gesture.
"He'll never forgive me for the time I cried fire in the whorehouse, sending him into the street naked as a bird," Rene said, shaking his head at the departing back of the ship's master.
"Aye," Bert said. "It wouldn't have been so bad if you hadn't lined up the crew outside and had that hornpipe a'playing."
"Oui, but the hornpipe was the coup de grace," Rene said, grinning wickedly. "He did dance a little jig as he tried to leap into his breeches!"
Bert shook his head and turned to go, muttering something under his breath about Ransom's ill mood, before shutting the door behind him.
"What is this?" Rene said theatrically, the diamond in his ear catching the light. "Then I have arrived just in time, to provide much needed cheer."
But Ransom was not as heartened by the appearance of his old friend as he might have been. Once so eager to have Rene's report on the mysterious Miss Amberly, Ransom no longer had the stomach for what would only confirm his own discoveries. And coming on the heels of Bert's accusation that he was smitten with the wench, Rene's banter would be difficult to take.
As if reading his thoughts, Rene cast him a disparaging look over the lack of welcome. "I left a beautiful fille de joie to rush news to you," he said.
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