Bound by Decency

by Claire Ashgrove

  Like lightning struck his chair, Richard shot to his feet. A flash of silver revealed the muzzle of his pocketed gun. Rage gleaming behind his eyes, he pointed it at Bainfield. Chocolate spilled as the table recoiled.

  For one terrifying heartbeat, India saw her future crumble into dust. But Stanhope moved faster than Richard. Bolting upright, he lunged. In a sharp downward cut, his arm connected with Richard’s. The pistol clattered to the floor.

  Before India could regain her breath, three men grappled Richard. Twisting his arms behind his back, they jerked him upright, thwarting his efforts to retrieve his weapon. Voice shaking, India looked to Stanhope. “I believe you have your proof.”

  Dark eyes glittered with unspoken anger behind his wire-framed glasses. “Indeed, Miss Prescott. To think, we had a wolf amongst our flock.” He nodded at the men she didn’t recognize. “Take him to Newgate please.” He gestured at Bainfield. “And him as well.” Then, addressing her father, his voice warmed. “Prescott, I presume you’ll have your own charges to file?”

  Her father’s hand shook as he reached for his cup. “I will extend my stay in London accordingly.”

  “Very well then.” Stanhope touched the brim of his hat. “Gentlemen, I must say tonight has proved more interesting than the theatre after all. I bid you good night.”

  “Wait.” India clutched at his arm. “You’ve long been a friend to my family. I would ask that you stay a moment longer. I must beg a favor.”

  He cocked his head, a mix of confusion and concern touching his high brow. He nodded at the men who held Richard, signaling for them to go ahead. As they herded Richard and Bainfield through the door, Stanhope assumed his chair. “What can I do for you, Miss Prescott?”

  Her courage fled. This, the most important reason for her meeting, would wound her father most. She’d married, without his consent, to a common man with an objectionable past. Not only must she confess this, but she also must do so in front of her father’s friends as well as a room full of strangers. Moisture clouded her eyes, and she chewed on her lower lip, struggling for control over her emotions.

  “India, dear,” Stanhope dropped propriety in favor of their more familiar association. His clammy hand settled over hers. “You know you are like a daughter to me. What do you need?”

  “I need…” To her humiliation, her voice broke beneath the tumult of the last several days. She dabbed at her eyes, sniffled, and cleared her throat. “I need you to issue a pardon for Cain, absolving him of everything. I need you to deliver this at sea, through the Royal Navy. And…” She braved her father’s gaze. “I need you to take me back to my husband.”

  Choking, her father spit a mouthful of chocolate back into his cup. He leaned forward, sloshing the creamy drink all over the front of his white linen shirt. He grabbed at a napkin and furiously mopped at his lace. “India Anne, I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.”

  She found courage in Tom’s warm brown eyes. “Yes, Father, you did. I married Theodore Cathain in the Canaries.” More quietly she added, “Mister Bennett was in attendance.”

  Her father’s face pinched together so tightly she thought he might explode. But Stanhope interrupted his brewing tirade. He caught India’s hand in his fingers. “What you ask is significant. I will consider the matter thoroughly and return your answer when I visit with your father on the morrow. But I will tell you this, Miss Prescott, you’ll not find a captain in the Navy willing to keep a woman aboard.”

  “Excuse me, my lord.” Tom’s eased around her father’s chair, stepping closer to the table. “I know a man. Captain James LeBlanc. I served under him until we took heavy damage and returned for repairs six months ago. I spoke with him this morning. He would be happy to aid Miss Prescott’s needs, assuming you were so inclined.”

  India’s watery eyes pleaded with Stanhope. Her heart filled with hope, and emotion stifled her ability to speak. But that brimming longing faded with the downturn of his mouth.

  “I am not fond of this, Miss Prescott. Not fond at all.”

  Tom said what she could not yet bring herself to confess. In a low, meaningful tone, he added, “I’m certain their child would appreciate your generosity.”

  351

  Bound By Decency

  39

  Late September winds blew fierce, bringing with them angry storm clouds and rolling thunder. The Kraken bobbed on rough waters, her timbers creaking as the waves escalated. Cain hauled on rigging alongside his crew, bringing down sails and furling them tight. Aloft in the ratlines, he pitched to and fro, captive to the sea’s will. Below, on the steadier deck, Drake hustled to batten down hatches, secure loose cargo, and tie off the freed lines Cain tossed his way.

  As storms went, she would be mild. But she was the harbinger to the deadly season. Better to prepare now than be caught off guard when the gales kicked up and the water churned.

  However, the storm presented a new problem. One far more deadly. With only minimal canvas put to the wind, The Kraken slogged through the water as if her anchors scraped the bottom. Making her a sitting duck for the first-rate Royal Navy warship on her tail. A week now, she’d pursued. One hundred and ten guns at the ready, pointing straight at him, and cruising through the waters at a speed she could only achieve if she’d dumped her crew, or if she’d dumped her ammunition.

  He glanced over the main mast’s high yard and frowned at the warship, barreling ahead, three masts fully rigged. Close enough that Cain caught the sound of her bosun’s whistle on the wind. In weather like this, she’d sink if she didn’t cut her sails. Cocksure Captain.

  That or he had a death wish.

  Cain wound the end of the rope in his hand around the yard and yanked it into a knot. Damnation. If Drake hadn’t insisted on lurking near the Atlantic seaboard for a week, hungry for a bit of Spanish gold, they’d have already made Nassau. The distant shore rose on the horizon.

  Cain set the soles of his feet against the thick main mast and shimmied down to the deck. Very well then, if he couldn’t run, he’d fight. They’d lose, but he no longer cared. The ache inside had become so intolerable he found no comfort in his beloved sea. Nothing brought life to his cabin. Nothing absolved the pain. The only things that mattered, he had abandoned in the fishing village of Brighthelmstone. His wife. His child.

  Cain winced as knives cut through him at the thought of the babe he’d never see. He exhaled through the constricting of his chest and strode to the main hatch. No man aboard wished to hang. They would fight. Now, and be done with it.

  He clambered down the ladder to the gun deck where Reggie sat on a barrel between the runs of cannons, stuffing shot into a ball. “Open the larboard ports, Reggie. Ready the guns. Fire when that bloody Navy bitch gets within the limits of your range. Give ‘em double. At your will.”

  Reggie scrambled to stand. The heavy iron ball thumped to the floor. “We’re goin’ to fight?”

  “Aye. She’s coming down on us like a hellhound.” He pulled his bandanna off and raked his fingers through his hair. “We need to cripple her before she cripples us.”

  “Cripple her, aye, Cain. Ye heard ’im men, man yer stations!”

  Satisfied Reggie understood the gravity of the situation, Cain returned to the ladder. As he climbed, the thundering report of a cannon split the air. Cain swore. It had begun.

  He turned over his shoulder and bellowed, “Reggie, light those wicks!” Climbing faster, he shoved the main hatch open and leapt onto the deck. “Hands, stand by to arms! Redhand, Paul, and Scout, cut those lashings.” With a thrust of his arm, he indicated the smaller cannons secured on the quarterdeck. “Free the guns and fire on my command!”

  A hand gripped his shoulder, spinning him about to meet Drake’s incredulous wide eyes. “What the devil are you doing?”

  “She wants a fight, we’ll give her one.” Punctuating his explanation, The Kraken’s larboard side exploded with action. In one, heart-stopping blast, all twenty-two cannons let loose.

 
; Drake’s face colored with crimson. He stuffed a spyglass into Cain’s hands. “Have you gone blind? You’re firing on your wife. The cannon is her hail.” Pivoting, Drake beat down the main hatch ladder in double-time. His voice rang from below. “Cease fire! Bloody hell, cease fire!”

  Cain’s heart skidded to a stop. India? On a Navy ship? Christ’s toes, he’d just unloaded on the vessel. As his pulse launched into triple time, his heart rose to clog the back of his throat. He charged for the poop deck. But the dense black smoke rising over the rail cloaked the warship from view.

  “India!” he yelled.

  Silence answered.

  Time suspended as he waited for the dark haze to clear. His pulse beat heavy in his ears.

  A shrill whistle cut through the air. As the smoke dissipated, the breath he’d been holding came out in a rush. Intact, the warship crawled closer.

  Cain lifted the spyglass and squinted through it. He scanned the decks, counting, five… ten… twenty men or so lined along the rail. One peered back through another spyglass. No doubt the captain.

  Color caught Cain’s eyes. Deep violet emerged from behind a net-covered stack of cargo. Long dark hair blew loosely in the wind, framing an angel’s face. Cain’s throat closed as India pushed her way through the men to stand at the rail. Spellbound, he stared until the warship’s shadow fell over The Kraken’s decks.

  “Theodore Cathain,” the captain’s voice rang out. “His Majesty, King George, sends his regards and wishes to reward you for your efforts in protecting his beloved cousin, Miss India Prescott.”

  Beloved cousin? Cain almost laughed aloud. She was closer to the deceased Louis, than King George. And he damn sure hadn’t protected her. Well, perhaps from herself. India, the imp.

  “For this noble deed, I hold within my hands a pardon, bearing your name. You need but sign it and find yourself absolved of all crimes past and present.” The captain held up a flimsy piece of parchment. “Your…friends…will see no threat from His Majesty’s Navy this day. Will you come aboard, good sir?”

  “Will you go aboard, good sir?” Drake stiffened his lip and affected a stilted formal accent. He frowned at Cain, but laughter glinted in his eyes. “Get your sorry, decent arse off my ship.” With a shove between Cain’s shoulder blades, he propelled him forward.

  Cain looked back to the warship, his gaze only for India. His heart swelled painfully. She’d done it. God in heaven, she’d done it. “A moment, Captain.” He turned for the stairs, intending to collect the meager things he possessed from his cabin, and tripped over a heavy object. Looking down, he found the lizard and his canvas already at his feet.

  He blinked at Drake. “You knew?”

  A wry smile broke free. “She’s a cunning little bit. Almost worthy of the name pirate.” He toed Cain’s canvas.

  Cain spluttered. “Why did you say nothing?”

  Drake rolled his eyes. “I could not be certain the Navy warship was hers until I heard the hail.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “I say, where did you hide that pretty little box? I’m claimin’ it for my noble deed of stoppin’ you from killin’ your wife.”

  Cain did laugh then, a hearty rumble that barked from his throat and lifted the blackness from his heart. “India has already claimed it. I’ll be sending it back to its rightful owners in Spain.”

  Drake snorted. “You and your bloody decency.” He picked up Cain’s canvas and tossed it into his arms. “Get off my ship.”

  Cain ran an affectionate hand down The Kraken’s rail and turned to survey the decks. For years, she’d held his heart. Fit every need he had. Been his home. His gaze strayed back to India, her smile radiant, eyes he knew were twinkling. He had a new home now. Different needs, she alone could fill.

  A drop of rain hit the tip of his nose. He gave the rail a pat and picked up the caged lizard. With a crisp nod to Drake, he smiled. “Don’t lose her. She’ll take care of you.” He jogged for the rail. His steps felt light, his heart even lighter. The men on the warship lowered a narrow board, and Cain bounded across, into India’s waiting arms.

  Her sweet kiss warmed him from the inside out. Too long he had gone without her. Too long he had believed he would never see her again. Awkwardly dropping his belongings, he fisted his fingers into her long silken hair and lost himself to the heaven of her mouth. The scent of flowers in her hair. The soft press of her body as it melted into his.

  Distantly, he recognized the sound of a clearing throat. With a soft chuckle, he recalled the onlookers and drew the kiss to a lingering close. Her turquoise eyes held his, their sparkle as bright as he’d dreamt of. Perhaps a little brighter. He couldn’t hold back his smile. “Mrs. Cathain,” he murmured. “I have missed you beyond reason.”

  India’s knowing gaze reflected the same shared desire that brimmed in his veins. She stepped to his left, her side fitting neatly against his. “Mr. Cathain, I would like for you to meet Captain James LeBlanc.”

  Hand outstretched, Captain LeBlanc stepped forward. Cain shook, for once glad he stood before a Navy man.

  “And this man, I believe you already know.” India swept an open palm toward a hatless man who stood at the Captain’s side. Dressed in the standard Navy fare of light pants and a short blue coat, Tom grinned broadly.

  “It seems,” India said with a smile, “Tom made such an impression on Captain LeBlanc while he was under his command, that the good captain was the only man willing to chase you with a woman aboard.” She laughed softly, and a mischievous twinkle danced in her eyes. “Of course, I’m sure it didn’t hurt that the news of your false arrest and Richard’s sentencing made the daily post.”

  Everything came together then in Cain’s mind. Drake knew from the beginning what she planned and forced him to let Tom accompany her to England. India’s father had arranged for his pardon. Or perhaps she did it directly. He didn’t particularly care. However it played out, she’d hung Richard by his own noose and given them the freedom to raise their family.

  He brought her back into the circle of his arms, brushed a kiss across her cheek, and whispered, “It pains me how much I love you.”

  The impish twinkle returned to her eyes as she set her fingertips against his chest. “I believe we can relieve you of that ache. The Captain has offered his cabin.”

  His mouth quirked. “Offered?”

  “Well perhaps he required a little convincing. Nothing a good pirate couldn’t negotiate.”

  Laughter rumbling in the back of his throat, Cain drew his wife into a soulful kiss. Four months ago, he’d believed he would never again set foot on English soil. That he would meet his maker in the watery deep. But this tiny little wren, this courageous imp who melted him with a smile, restored his dreams. Bound by decency, they made the perfect pair. He the honorable pirate and she the tainted saint.

  A word about the author...

  Claire Ashgrove has been writing since her early teens and maintained the hobby for twenty years before deciding to leap into the professional world. Her first contemporary novel, Seduction's Stakes, sold to The Wild Rose Press in 2008, where she continues to write steamy, sexy stories for the Champagne and Black Rose lines. Adding to these critically acclaimed romances, Claire’s paranormal romance series, The Curse of the Templars debuted with Tor in January 2012. For those who prefer the more erotic side of romance, she also writes for Berkley Heat as the National Bestselling Author Tori St. Claire.

  She is an active member of Romance Writers of America, and her local RWA chapters, Heartland Romance Authors, Midwest Romance Writers, and North Texas Romance Writers of America.

  Claire lives in Missouri with her two toddler sons, and too-many horses, cats, and dogs. In her “free” time, she enjoys cooking, winning at Rummy, studying Ancient Civilizations, and spending quiet moments with her family, including the critters. She credits her success to her family's constant support and endless patience.

  To learn more about Claire, visit her on the web at www.claireashgrove.com, or www.t
oristclaire.com.