His Pirate Seductress (Love on the High Seas Book 3)

by Tamara Hughes

  Thomas’s brothers cast her disapproving glances at her choice of words. They could disapprove all they wanted. She may be dressed in finery, but she was from the Rookery of St. Giles. And while not exactly proud of the fact, she wouldn’t pretend to be of their class.

  Thomas didn’t seem to notice. “We’ll talk to Dunn. Maybe he knows something we can use against Brewer. If he’s aware of how Brewer has been exacting his vengeance, he may agree to stand witness and testify on our behalf.” Thomas rose from his seat and turned to her. “We should go. We only have until midnight to get things ready.”

  Get what things ready? It wasn’t as if they could build a case against Brewer in these few hours prior to the exchange.

  Charles pulled a watch from his pocket and flipped open the lid. “At this time of day, you’ll find Dunn at Shergold’s Coffeehouse just down the street.” He motioned toward the east.

  “How do you know this?” Thomas asked as Catherine took to her feet.

  As they had when she’d entered the room, the brothers stood. “The old man never changes his habits…or his mind on issues of import,” Charles grumbled, returning the watch to his pocket.

  “Good.” Thomas nodded to them both. “My thanks for your advice,” he ground out, then gestured toward the door. “Mrs. Fry.”

  Thomas ushered her out of the dining room and into the corridor as if in a great hurry to leave this place. And leave it, they did. Before the butler could even reach the door, Thomas had her outside and on their way.

  “What things do we need to get ready prior to midnight?” she asked. He’d already spoken to his men.

  “We’re going to talk with Walter Dunn.”

  Now? Then again, he was close by. She rushed to keep up with his long strides. “Visiting your brothers wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Thomas’s only response was a grunt.

  All this nonsense because of pride. “Your brother Charles may have been eager to needle you, but Stephen seemed quite amiable.”

  “Don’t let him fool you. Stephen may not gloat in my face, but I have no doubt, he and Charles are having a good laugh right this minute at my expense.”

  How dramatic. “All I saw was the usual teasing between siblings. My brother acts much the same.” Or he had. She missed his teasing now. “And like brothers should, I think they worry about you.”

  Thomas’s eyes rolled her way.

  A laugh bubbled up, but she managed to hold it in. “I could tell,” she insisted. “The questions they asked, how adamant they were to know about your involvement… I’m surprised they didn’t offer themselves as your respectable witnesses.”

  “They would never offer. They would insist I ask, maybe even beg,” Thomas growled. “And I’m sure Father will hear about this before the day is out.”

  “Because you could be in danger.”

  The look he presented her called her the worst kind of fool. “Because I had to come to Stephen for advice.”

  Such worry over nothing. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Not really, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me, anyway.”

  How true. “I think this competition nonsense between you and your brothers is all in your head.”

  He didn’t look her way, but a muscle in his jaw clenched. “You don’t say.”

  “Yes. All this talk of being a third son, and the achievements of your brothers… You’ve built in your head a rivalry that doesn’t need to be there.”

  He said not a word, just kept walking at a rather quick pace.

  She hurried to keep up with his long strides, not finished by far. “Perhaps your father had a hand in your way of thinking. And if that’s the case, he should be ashamed.”

  When he continued to hold his silence, his pace unabated, she grasped his hand and tugged him to a stop. “Simply because you’re the third son doesn’t make you any less of a man. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone.”

  “Maybe I have to prove it to myself,” he bit out. His eyes flared wide for an instant as if surprised by his own words.

  Oh, Thomas. “You prove yourself all the time. When will you be satisfied?”

  His eyes met hers with a look of impatience. “I see you’re not going to let this rest until you’ve had your say. So let’s have it.”

  She held in the choice words that came to mind in response to his surly comment. And yet, what had she expected when challenging his beliefs? She took in a deep breath and blew it out before carrying on. “Don’t you see? Your riches, your employment, none of those things truly matter.” She rested a hand over his heart. “What matters is who you are in here. You’re a good man, Thomas.”

  His gaze rose to the heavens. He didn’t believe her.

  Well, he should. She took him by the chin and directed his attention her way. “You said yourself that after you’d taken the Ruby Cross, you could have left me or turned me in to the authorities. Instead, here you are…” She gestured in the direction from which they’d come. “Seeking advice from your brother—although the very thought obviously sickened you—looking for a way to bring Simon Brewer to justice, and helping me get Jonas back, even if it means losing the cross.”

  He cocked his head to the side, then resumed walking. “I fully intend to take the cross from Brewer as soon as I can.”

  “I know.” Still, he was utterly missing the point. She kept pace with him as he approached the coffeehouse. “Thomas, you are kindhearted, and no matter what has happened between us, you have always been honest with me. Those are the qualities of a good man, not how much money he makes.”

  He strode to the coffeehouse door. “If you continue, I’m sure to blush.”

  She heaved a sigh. Whether he believed anything she said, she had no clue. Still, if nothing else, hopefully she’d given him something to think about.

  Thomas pulled open the door. They entered, and he reached into his pocket, retrieving two pennies, which he handed to the door attendant. The young man collecting coins for entry and a cup of coffee took one look at her and held up a hand. “No women allowed inside.”

  “We won’t be long.” Barely acknowledging the boy, Thomas scanned the long tables. “We’re looking for Mr. Walter Dunn.”

  The attendant’s lips pursed. “I insist—”

  Thomas stared the poor boy down. “We’ll leave all the quicker if you point him out.”

  The boy’s mouth twitched as if he would say something untoward, and he glanced around him, perhaps for someone to step in. No one came. “He’s over there.” He finally pointed to an elderly gentleman on the nearest bench. “Say your piece and leave.”

  Thomas nodded to the attendant and flipped him an extra coin.

  The single great room was sparsely decorated. Long, rather crude tables lined the floor, their benches filled with all manner of men. From their dress, some were workmen, some sailors, and others were of a higher class. They chatted and read their newspapers as if their difference of station mattered not at all.

  They headed to the closest table where Walter Dunn sat wearing a fancy gold brocade suit and an old-fashioned wig, its volume making his head appear twice its size. He spoke with the thin reed of a man in worn attire next to him. “Did you see the hanging last night at the old Triple Tree?” he asked in a guttural voice that raked along her skin.

  At his neighbor’s shake of his head, Mr. Dunn laughed deep in his belly. “That one was a sight. Gentleman Jack finally met his demise.”

  Gentleman Jack. She knew the name. Jack Sheppard was a notorious thief who had escaped prison not once, but four times. A hero of sorts to the London poor, and now it appeared he was finally gone.

  “Mr. Walter Dunn?” Thomas asked, interrupting the story.

  The politician looked up and surveyed them both. “Do I know you?”

  “No,” Thomas admitted, but charged on, “Do you remember a John Brewer?”

  Dunn’s brows rose. “What do you want?”

  “We have reason to
believe his son, Simon, wishes to do you harm,” Thomas warned, his voice low so as not to be overheard.

  Dunn grabbed the ornate cane by his side and rose. “Excuse me,” he told the man he’d been speaking to, then indicated that Thomas follow and headed for the door.

  Once outside, the politician stopped and waited. “Go on.”

  “We’ve come to understand that Simon Brewer blames you and others for the demise of his father, John,” Thomas said.

  Dunn tensed. “How do you know this?”

  “Rumor mostly,” Thomas admitted. “We’ve also heard that Simon has caused some misfortunes to befall Zachary Moyle and Roger Lyndon. Do you know of these incidents?”

  His gaze scanning up and down the street, Walter Dunn gave a slight nod.

  Thomas sidled closer. “You must have talked with these men. Is there any proof of Brewer’s involvement in these incidents?”

  “Why don’t you ask them?” Dunn snapped, his hand clenching and unclenching the head of his cane.

  “I plan to.”

  “Then what do you want with me?”

  “We have our own situation with Brewer.” Thomas glanced back at her. “He’s kidnapped this woman’s son, and we need a respectable witness to prove this crime.”

  What was Thomas doing? Why ask Dunn to act as witness to a misdemeanor? Proving the felonies would be far more important, although not to her. If Brewer was brought to court, she would want him to be held responsible for this crime as well as the others, even if the punishment wouldn’t be as severe. Besides, Thomas’s brothers would do just as well as witnesses, if only Thomas would ask them.

  The politician’s eyes narrowed. “Why me?”

  “At the moment, you have the most to gain if Brewer is convicted of these crimes. You’ve been left untouched. You can’t possibly believe Brewer has forgotten about you. No doubt, you’ll be next.”

  Dunn eyed a nearby carriage. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “But—”

  “I have no firm proof of Brewer’s misdeeds, and neither do Moyle or Lyndon. If they did, don’t you think they would have already brought up charges?” Dunn insisted, taking a step toward the carriage.

  Thomas grabbed Dunn’s arm before he could get far. “Perhaps I can get Brewer to talk when we complete the exchange for Mrs. Fry’s son, get him to admit to his other transgressions.”

  “No.” Dunn scowled and yanked his arm out of Thomas’s grip. “Leave me be.” He hurried toward the waiting carriage and climbed inside. In a few fleeting moments, he was away.

  Thomas raked a hand through his hair. “Why wouldn’t he help us?”

  “He’s afraid… He’s seen his associates brought low by Brewer over the years, and he’s just waiting for what will happen to him.”

  Thomas uttered a curse. “All the more reason to help us put Brewer in prison.”

  “He doesn’t know us, or if he can trust us.”

  “Then what now?”

  What other choice did they have? “We ask your brothers to stand as witnesses.”

  “No.” He marched off, treading the same path from which they’d come.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. To speak with Moyle or Lyndon?

  “Let’s go home. If Dunn spoke the truth, and no one has proof of Brewer’s crimes, it’s damned unlikely we’ll find a politician to act as our witness.”

  Her stomach clenched tight. If he wouldn’t speak to his brothers, then Brewer wouldn’t be convicted of any wrongdoing, but at least she would have her son. It would have to be enough.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thomas led Catherine up the steps to the door of his house, his mind on the woman behind him. Beautiful, strong, courageous. From the first, she’d entered his life like a whirlwind, throwing him off balance. Initially, he’d resented her for her intrusion, but now he was glad to have met her…the pirate who’d attacked, burned, and sunk his ship. He must be losing his mind.

  He withdrew his house key from his pocket and heard rapidly approaching footsteps. Two men. The same two he’d seen at Simon Brewer’s establishment. Bloody hell. He should have expected this. No time to escape into the house, Thomas went for the blade beneath his coat, but not before the one named George drew a pistol. He waved them inside with the barrel. “Lead the way,” he ordered. “We’ll be taking the Ruby Cross.”

  “But my son…” Catherine exclaimed.

  He pointed the gun toward her chest. “Inside.”

  Thomas’s protective instincts welled, and he stepped between them. Was the man mad? The idiot would shoot a woman in broad daylight on a street lined with respectable homes? The more muscular brute pulled a blade from his belt. Much quieter form of murder, indeed.

  Thomas glanced toward Catherine with an expression that conveyed his intent to act. He hoped she would catch his meaning. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. Good. He opened the door and let her walk through first. He hadn’t yet reached her side in the corridor, when she lifted her petticoats and retrieved a dagger strapped to her leg. That flash of sultry skin took him aback, as it did the two men who followed, giving her enough time to strike George across the hand, first with the blade and then with her fist, knocking the pistol away from him. The sudden action left the man stunned.

  Thomas seized the second man’s wrist before he could lash out with his blade. They struggled for control, the blasted man even stronger than he looked. Behind him, Catherine brought her dagger to George’s neck. George grabbed her arm, forced it away from his throat, then shoved her and fled through the door.

  Seeing George escape, the brute threw off Thomas’s hand and backed away, following his partner’s retreat. Catherine rushed to the door after him, and Thomas stopped her from following with an arm about her waist. “You’ll get the cross when I get my son,” she screamed at the fleeing men, her body shaking in his arms.

  “Come away, Catherine.” He shut the door and locked it, drawing her into the nearby parlor. “We’re safe now.”

  Despite his words, she clutched her knife as if ready to battle them again. “Why did they come for the cross? The exchange is tonight.” She removed the hat that had become lopsided on her head and tossed it to a nearby table.

  “Good question. They must realize we plan to make a case against Brewer.” Her back to his chest, he rested his chin on her shoulder and brought her close. “They could have seen us enter and leave my brother’s house, then speak with Walter Dunn.”

  She pulled away and paced the room. “Or the worst has happened.” Her voice wavered and tears glistened in her eyes. “What if Jonas is… What if he’s…”

  “Don’t torture yourself with conjecture.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and squeezed tight. “It would make sense. If they have nothing to trade for the cross, they would need to use force.”

  He stopped her midstride, his hands on her shoulders. “Stop.” Grasping her chin, he brought her attention back to him. “It’s more likely they want to prevent us from sending Brewer to Newgate.” Guilt thickened his throat. He’d made things worse by investigating Brewer. If he’d only let things be, Brewer and his men wouldn’t be so eager to silence them. He had no doubt that if he’d handed the cross to those two men just now, they would have killed both him and Catherine.

  Her eyes flared wide. “Maybe we can use this attack against them. We can be our own witnesses.”

  Who would believe them? “It won’t work. It would be our word against theirs, and even if a jury ruled in our favor, Brewer could say his men acted without his knowledge. He would remain unscathed.”

  “Will there still be an exchange?” Catherine’s chin quivered, and her tears fell.

  He looked into her eyes with as much conviction as he could muster. “Most certainly. We have the Ruby Cross Brewer wants. There will be an exchange.” He hoped to God his words proved true.

  She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “The question then is what will happen after the cross has pass
ed hands? Brewer wants us both dead. I’ll need to get Jonas away from him quickly.”

  “I’ll have my men with us, all armed and ready.”

  “So you’ve said.” Confusion crossed her face. “Your crew is so loyal they’ll risk their lives for you? For us?”

  A half laugh escaped him. “Yes and no. There are some who would defend me to the end, but most will require payment.” Therefore, he would pay them all. “They’ll get a share of the profits once the Ruby Cross is sold.”

  “But what about you? You were going to use the proceeds to purchase a new ship.”

  Indeed, paying his men would cost him dearly, but what else could he do? He shrugged. “I may have enough left when combined with what I’ve saved. It depends upon the price the cross fetches.”

  She shook her head, a mixture of gratitude and astonishment playing on her features. “I can’t believe you would risk your dream of owning your own ship for me and my son.” She settled a hand on his arm, her touch warm and gentle. “Thank you. You’re a generous man.”

  He chuckled as he remembered… “And you’re a surprising woman… A blade strapped to your leg?” The way she’d lifted her petticoats, displaying such beauty before extracting something so lethal… Just the memory prompted the most salacious thoughts. Thoughts of stripping away those petticoats for a more leisurely look, and then a touch, a kiss.

  “Where I come from, I always carry a weapon. You never know who you might meet on the streets.”

  He’d almost forgotten the hardships she’d endured, the kind of life she would return to once all this was over. Catherine deserved better. She didn’t belong in a hovel, barely able to afford enough food for her and her son. She belonged with him. The thought took him by surprise, then settled into his very bones. He didn’t ponder the rights or wrongs of the feeling, didn’t worry about what the future would hold, or if the thought were rational or fantasy. Instead, he stared into the loveliest brown eyes he’d ever seen, eyes that shone with kindness, strength, and an unrelenting spirit he admired so much. “You amaze me,” he whispered.