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

by Tamara Hughes

  Hugh’s laughter abated rather abruptly, replaced by a frown as he reached into his own damn pocket and retrieved the necessary coin. He reluctantly handed it over to the stableman, who looked more pleased by the minute.

  “He had just one man with him, both in a plenty big hurry,” the old man finally answered.

  “Did he take a carriage or just a horse?” Hugh demanded, as if somehow he would get more for his coin.

  Gil wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand.

  “Never mind,” Thomas snapped. Although Brewer would want to ride in comfort, a carriage would slow him down. Best assume he was traveling on the back of a horse. “Prepare seven horses,” he told the man, then turned to Hugh. “Gather the men. We’ll meet back here within the hour.”

  “You’ll need more coin for that,” the stableman warned as Thomas walked away.

  “I would expect nothing less. You’ll be paid when we return.” Muttering an oath, Thomas nodded to Hugh and headed for the waiting hired hack.

  Behind him, the old stableman wheezed out a laugh. “Any more questions?”

  Thomas paid him no further attention. Let him have his fun. All that mattered was tracking down Brewer and bringing the son of a bitch back, with the cross.

  He gave the driver his address and climbed into the hack, the carriage lurching with his weight. As he took a seat, visions of his new ship blossomed before his eyes. She would be magnificent, and all his. He’d name her the Seafarer, and she would be the first of many vessels under his command.

  The carriage rolled forward, back to his house, back to where Catherine and her son awaited him, and a pang of guilt dispersed his visions of glory. Brewer had left his wife behind in his quest to keep the cross. Wasn’t he about to do the same with Catherine? Hell no. Brewer was running from the law. He might never return to London. If he did, he would risk discovery and arrest.

  Whereas he was merely pursuing Brewer in the name of the law, and fully planned to come back to Catherine. In fact, he was doing this in part for Catherine and her son, to make Brewer pay for his crimes. To keep them safe from Brewer preying on them again. Besides, now he had men who also had a stake in recovering the Ruby Cross. He owed it to them to lead the chase. Hell, he owed it to himself.

  He’d bragged to his father and brothers about the wealth he’d obtain from the sale of the antiquity, about the grand ship he’d buy. One more reason to get the cross back. If his family heard how he’d let it slip from his fingers, oh how they’d laugh. No, he’d find Brewer and the cross, no matter what he had to do or how long it would take. No one could fault him for that.

  No one, except perhaps Catherine.

  …

  Catherine blinked open her eyes. She’d fallen asleep? She’d been waiting on the settee in the parlor with the intent of listening for a knock on the front door, since she’d taken Thomas’s key. Now she lay sprawled quite comfortably on the cushions. The floor upstairs creaked. Jonas? She rose from the settee and hurried to her son. The first streaks of dawn streaming through the windows lit her way. Up one flight of steps, she headed to the bedroom and peered inside to find Jonas still asleep in the large bed. Then what had caused the noise?

  In the next room, wood slid on wood, like a drawer opening, and her heart leaped for her throat. Retrieving the dagger from her belt, she crept toward the sound. The faint clink of metal reached her as she approached the open door to Thomas’s study. “Thomas.” She lowered her weapon and blew out a breath. He stood behind his desk, filling a pouch with coins.

  He looked at her and smiled. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “How did you get in the house? I have your key.”

  Thomas tightened the pouch string and slipped it into his coat pocket. “I have another.”

  Of course. She should have guessed.

  The satchel sitting on his desk before him was stuffed full, and dread invaded her chest like a ghost from the past. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes. Brewer has left London.” He uttered a quiet curse. “The sight of my brothers must have scared him off. He’s well aware that we can build a case against him.”

  “Do you know where he’s headed? How long will you be gone?” The words tasted bitter on her tongue. She’d had much the same conversation six years ago, with Peter. Afterward, she’d never seen him again.

  “We think he’s headed west.” He shrugged. “We’ll be gone as long as it takes.”

  Dear God. Not again. His gaze rose to hers, and his brow creased as he studied her face. What he saw there, she couldn’t say, but he stepped forward and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  “When? A day? A week? Perhaps a month or a year?” The bitterness she tasted permeated her tone. She’d been through this before. Promises meant nothing when they hindered a man’s dreams. Thomas may seem sincere now, but once away, he would forget. Just as Peter had.

  Averting his eyes, he admitted, “I don’t know.”

  She backed away from him. Pain clouded her vision and brought tears to her eyes, tears she refused to shed. What a fool she’d been for allowing herself to dream of a life with him. For allowing another man into her heart.

  “You can stay here while I’m gone.” He tried to come closer, but she raised her hands and moved away.

  “How on earth could I stay in your home without you? If anyone found me here, I’d be accused of trespassing.” Who would believe someone of her standing had permission to use this fine house?

  Thomas returned to the desk and dug a piece of paper from a drawer. “I could write a note giving you my permission.”

  He needn’t trouble himself. “Then I’ll be accused of forgery, too. Or will you tell our circumstances to someone who can vouch for me? Maybe your brothers.”

  He stared at the blank parchment lying on his desk as if it would somehow solve the dilemma. “I have no time to explain to them…”

  “Who I am to you?” she finished for him. What a conversation that would be. Undoubtedly, his family expected him to marry a proper, wealthy woman who would increase his standing in society, and as competitive as Thomas was, he’d probably planned the same. A woeful laugh threatened, squeezing her throat. She was poor, a thief, a pirate. His family would never accept her.

  “We’ll settle this when I return.” He scribbled words on the page. “In the meantime, stay as long as you wish. If anyone questions you, our family lawyer can attest to the authenticity of my signature.”

  His signature, whether proven real or not, would make no difference. His family lawyer would reveal her location to Thomas’s family, who surely would object to her presence in this home. No, Thomas simply didn’t want to discuss the matter, as he was eager to be away. His every movement, filled with energy and haste… He would be out the door as soon as he could.

  “Leave. But I won’t be here when you return.”

  “Catherine, don’t be ridiculous. Here you’ll be safe.” He reached into his pocket. “I’ll leave you some coin for food and—”

  “Stop,” she ordered. She’d known what kind of man he was, she’d just forgotten for a time. He was a man of ambition, and she wouldn’t stand in his way. What good would it do her to try? “Go after your cross and your dream.” She’d survived the loss of one man. She would survive the loss of another.

  Thomas nodded, picked up his satchel, and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “I will return.” He pulled something from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. His watch. “You’ll see.” His lips touched hers for the briefest instant before he passed her by, leaving her to stand alone in the study.

  He might have meant the watch as proof of his promise, but she knew better. Instead, it served as a reminder of his inner demons, an ambitious nature that would lead to further heartbreak. She set the pocket watch on the desk next to his note, her resolve firm. They would stay as long as Jonas slept, and then they would be on their way.

  …

  Jo
nas squirmed in his chair beside Catherine as they sat at the kitchen table in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Allen. Their housekeeper, Mrs. Whitworth, was a stern woman as thin as six o’clock, who’d had a frown on her face from the moment she’d let them inside, out of the rain. The woman glanced at Jonas with displeasure.

  Forcing a pleasant smile, Catherine rested a hand on his shoulder to still him and looked the housekeeper in the eye. “I was thought well of at my last place of employment. My mistress gave me this dress as a token of her favor.” Better to explain her finery before the question came up. She’d hated her continued use of the gown, but what else could she have worn? She’d have to return it to Thomas as soon as she was able. Ah, Thomas. Every time she thought of him, her chest ached. She missed him so very much.

  Mrs. Whitworth lowered her gaze, taking in the lace stomacher of the rose-colored dress, now soaked from long hours walking from house to house. “You were the abigail to Mrs.…?”

  “Mrs. Hasting. Yes.” Who but a lady’s maid would get a mistress’s cast-offs? “But I’d be willing to take another position, a housemaid or chambermaid. I could even work in the kitchen,” she hurried to add. A lady’s maid would likely not be needed.

  “You would lower your station? Why did you leave the Hasting’s residence?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hasting moved to France to be closer to their son.” The lie slipped from her tongue with ease, as it had countless times this day. “I have no interest in leaving England.”

  Mrs. Whitworth’s eyes narrowed. Had she seen through the lie?

  “Do you have a letter of recommendation?” the housekeeper asked.

  “No, it was lost when I moved back to London from their country estate.” Catherine gave a mental sigh. She wouldn’t be hired here. Just as she hadn’t been hired anywhere else.

  Taking a sip of her tea, Mrs. Whitworth stared at mother and son, making them wait for her assessment. “We do have an open position for a housemaid, but the boy can’t stay here.”

  Catherine leaned forward. This was more progress than she’d had at any other place she’d tried. “He can be an errand boy or help clean pots in the kitchen. He’s really very quiet and respectful.”

  Mrs. Whitworth shook her head. “We have no use for him, but I know a chimney sweep that’s always looking for lads.”

  “No.” Catherine stood and took Jonas’s hand. She would never sell her boy to one of those men. The chimney sweep was always searching for lads because of how many died in those cramped chimneys—burned or fell to their deaths. Those poor boys. “I’ll look elsewhere.” She marched toward the servants’ door through which they’d come.

  “A waste of my time,” Mrs. Whitworth grumbled, following them to the door. “Out with you then.”

  Back into the street, and the rain, they walked on. Dusk would soon be upon them, and she had yet to find a place to stay. Perhaps foolishly, she’d hoped one of these grand houses would take them on, providing both food and shelter. She stifled a hard laugh. Like a twit, she’d let her hopes rise too high. She’d never before worked in a grand home, but she’d prayed someone might hire her. It would have been a great deal better than returning to the dangers of St. Giles. She wanted nothing more than to protect Jonas this time. Her chest tightened. She’d only just gotten him back.

  Her usual customers were common working folk who could afford to hire her to wash their clothes or do their mending, but they wouldn’t offer lodging. Still, she needed employment of some kind.

  Jonas tugged on her hand. “Mama, I’m hungry.”

  “I know, my love. As am I.” She had a few coins in her pocket, but first they’d best use what daylight was left to visit a few more potential employers. “We’ll find something to eat soon.”

  He nodded, well used to going without.

  They ventured just outside the maze of streets known as the Rookery of St. Giles. A loathsome place, one from which someday her son would escape. Tall two-and-three-story buildings towered in front of them, with the usual congregation of people milling in the foul-smelling street. Drunks and prostitutes mingled with the honest workers returning from their jobs, a great many on their way to the nearest gin shop. They hadn’t far to go. Those shops abounded in the Rookery. Her son’s hand in hers, she couldn’t bring herself to go any farther.

  Her breath left her in a long exhale as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd, a neighbor she’d always got on well with. “Anne,” she called out and waved a hand.

  A slight smile flashed on Anne’s lips before her usual tired expression resumed. Anne hurried toward them, a basket of sewing in one hand and a babe cradled to her chest, her fourth child. Thin but sturdy, Anne never complained about her fate, only did what had to be done. “You’re back,” Anne said when she’d reached them, her eyes widening. “And well-dressed, I might add. Where’d you get the gown?”

  “A friend loaned it to me.” Her stomach twisted. She’d rather not speak of Thomas. If she did, she might burst into tears. Without him, she felt so hollow inside, like a vital part of her was now missing.

  “Must be a good friend indeed.” Anne’s gaze dropped to Jonas. “Good to see you again, lad.”

  She blinked away the growing moisture in her eyes. Thomas had been more than a good friend. “I don’t suppose my place is still empty,” Catherine asked, giving Anne’s little boy a smile. While she didn’t want to return, they might have no choice.

  Anne shook her head. “You know better. The very night you left, someone moved in.”

  “I had it paid up for the week.” Not that it mattered to some. “Know of any place we could stay?”

  “’Fraid not. You’ll have to ask around, although I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to find rooms.”

  All too true. The Rookery had too few rooms for all who lived there. “Could we stay with you, for a short time?”

  Sadness blanketed Anne’s features. “I wish you could, but I’ve taken in my sister and her three. There’s barely room to move as is.”

  Catherine ran a hand down Anne’s arm. “I understand.” Anne had enough troubles of her own. She didn’t need theirs as well. “We’d best be off then.”

  With a sympathetic look, Anne hurried on her way.

  What could she do to secure their future? The St. Giles in the Fields church helped the poor, but she didn’t have the necessary certificate of settlement they would require to prove she was a member of their parish. The certificate took time and money, several signatures, and an examination by church officials. As for the workhouse, St. Giles in the Fields had yet to build one, although they planned to within the next year. Still, even if a workhouse were an option, she wouldn’t take it. They would separate her from Jonas.

  Thomas’s house key weighed heavily in her pocket. She shouldn’t have kept it. Only God knew why she had, but when the time had come to leave it behind, she just couldn’t. All day, the possibility of returning had remained in the back of her mind. Was she being daft, letting her pride stand in the way of accepting Thomas’s offer? Even if they were discovered and evicted, what time they could spend in Thomas’s house would be far better than returning to St. Giles.

  Indeed. What if they returned, for one night, and left again come morning? They could be sly. Never answer the door, stay away from the windows, keep the lights out. Who would know?

  “Pard’n me,” a deep voice slurred. A slovenly drunkard with sizable girth waved a hand toward them. “Move,” he ordered. “I need to piss.”

  Catherine squeezed Jonas’s hand and led him away, her decision made. She headed in the direction of Thomas’s house, a mixture of eagerness and dread in each step. While she’d relish the safety his home would provide, she had no doubt leaving in the morning would be no easier than it had been today.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Damn. Where the bloody hell are you, Brewer? After an entire day of riding, they still had yet to find him. Thomas opened the door to the Culley Inn, one of many such places in the town o
f Maidenhead. Beyond tired, he located his men just outside the dining room. Hugh and five others. Soaked through from the constant rain, they all appeared as exhausted and dissatisfied as he was. He knew what their answer would be, but asked anyway. “Any news?”

  All shook their heads wearily. Blast.

  “Don’t worry,” Hugh assured him, “We know he’s here. He’ll turn up.”

  True. They’d followed the trail Brewer had left and had come across two witnesses who’d seen him and another man. He had to be at one of the inns. No doubt he’d bribed the innkeeper to keep silent, but he’d have to leave sometime. “We’ll arise well before dawn and wait him out.”

  The men responded with groans and muttered oaths. Still, no one objected. Their journey would end once they had Brewer in custody and the cross in hand.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” Hugh suggested. “Then we’ll be off to bed and meet again at six.”

  Thomas nodded. Hugh had the right of it, for the most part. “Go on without me.” He’d left his appetite in London. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Are you sure?” Hugh asked. “We haven’t had a decent meal since we left London.”

  “I’m sure. Go on now,” Thomas insisted. He turned away and trudged up the stairs to his room, his mind returning to where it had been all day long. To Catherine. Where was she right this minute? Was she safe? He rubbed at the ache in his chest.

  Her refusal to wait for him made no sense. With his resources, he could make life so much easier for her and her son. If only she’d trust him.

  He entered his room, the accommodations clean and agreeable, the bed beckoning. Heaving a sigh, he locked the door and stripped off his sodden surcoat, then lay down on the mattress, ready for sleep to claim him. But when he closed his eyes, images of Catherine came to the fore. She had such love inside her. He could see it every time she mentioned her son. Of course, it vanished whenever she had spoken of her late husband. Why couldn’t she see he was nothing like that man? If given the chance, he would treat her far better. He would love her, protect her, care for her son as if the boy were his own, and always be there for her… Like he was now?