The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  He added a dollop of marmalade to the bread.

  “I’ll sit in front,” she said, hating the pleading note in her voice. “You can keep your arm about me the entire way. You’ll see that I’m fine.”

  He pushed the plate of marmalade bread toward her. “Eat your breakfast.”

  She glared at him for only a second before hurrying behind the curtained bed to exchange her nightrail for a day dress. They obviously wouldn’t be going anywhere until he deemed her ready for travel. Therefore, she wouldn’t give him any ammunition to hold against her. She swiped a comb through her hair and returned everything to her traveling bag before going to join him at the table.

  He watched her in silence as she added two cubes of sugar and a splash of milk to her tea before turning her attentions to her plate.

  The bread was warm and fresh, the marmalade sweet and tangy. Clara hadn’t had either for so long, the familiar taste nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  But the only thing she wanted more than to savor this meal was to reach the docks as quickly as possible. To get back to her daughter. And to never let her out of her sight again.

  Just as she popped the last bite into her mouth, Mr. Steele rose to his feet and held up her spencer.

  She slid her arms through the sleeves, then frowned when he offered her a thick woolen scarf. “Is that yours?”

  “I’m afraid I have this monstrosity instead.” He pointed to his cravat.

  Frowning, she allowed him to bundle her up to his liking. She couldn’t repay him for any part of the journey. He claimed the Earl of Carlisle was covering all expenses, and she hoped that was true. She already felt indebted to him for rescuing her from loneliness and despair. She was still tired, still coughing, still unsure the surgeon had been wrong in his diagnosis. But her heart now held a spark of hope. And a spark, once lit, burned brighter as it grew. She could almost smell her childhood home.

  England. It would feel so good to be home. To hold her daughter. To finally face her parents.

  When Mr. Steele offered his elbow, she took it, and let him lead her down the stairs and out the front gate, where a single horse was tied to an iron post next to a stepping stone.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you said the innkeeper was readying us a carriage.”

  “Hmm, did I?” His eyes twinkled as he hoisted her up and hauled her into his lap. “I thought you said you preferred to ride with me.”

  She opened her mouth to respond.

  Her words were snatched away on the breeze as the horse shot away from the inn to hurtle down the dirt road.

  Since he couldn’t see her expression from his vantage point, she allowed her lips to curve into a reluctant smile. The insufferable man had manipulated her into doing precisely what he wanted, and didn’t even bother to hide the evidence of his duplicity. He was positively shameless.

  ’Twas a very good thing that they were both on the same side.

  The wind and the relentless pace made conversation impossible. Despite a long night’s rest, Clara found herself drowsing off between the infrequent stops for meals and to exchange horses. The bustle of Philadelphia wakened her as soon as they were within a few miles of the city. Her eyes absorbed with curiosity all the colors, buildings, people, and traffic.

  The scent of the river indicated their proximity to the port moments before the docks came into view. Ships of every size filled the view. Fruit vendors, flower vendors, pie vendors, newspaper boys, and men and women of every age flooded the wooden boards, surrounding every ship in port with their constant movement and shouts.

  Every ship except one.

  Clara’s breath caught. There, at the furthest end of the port, floated a beautiful three-masted schooner with a profusion of billowing white sails. Her heart thudded. The only reason anyone could have to avoid such a lovely vessel would be if it were…

  Balderdash. Of course there wasn’t anything ominous about that ship. Why would there be? Believing in such nonsense was a flight of fancy from reading too many lurid newspaper accounts of soulless pirates like the Crimson Corsair going on murderous rampages in search of treasure.

  But that was in the Caribbean, not here. What would pirates be doing in Pennsylvania? She was perfectly safe.

  Steele dismounted the horse, helped her down, and then hoisted their satchels over his shoulders. “Come. We should make haste.”

  She nodded. She would make all the haste he wanted, if it brought her back to her daughter.

  Except every step took them past the brightly lit passenger liners and brought them closer and closer to the swift-looking schooner at the end of the dock.

  “Welcome back, Cap’n,” came a hearty shout from overhead as a long wooden gangplank lowered to the ground near Mr. Steele’s feet. “Knew you wouldn’t ’ave any trouble with the booty, sir.”

  Captain? Clara shook her head as she began to back away from the ship. Booty?

  Mr. Steele tossed both heavy bags to his other shoulder and grabbed her wrist with his free hand. “Welcome aboard, Mrs. Halton. Adventure awaits.”

  Chapter 4

  Just inhaling the scent of the sea was enough to imbue Steele’s spirit with a healthy dose of Captain Blackheart.

  He flashed Mrs. Halton his most irreverent smile. “A gentleman wouldn’t toss you over his free shoulder and carry you aboard a ship against your will…but then, I’m rarely mistaken for a gentleman. Shall we?”

  The fury in her eyes, he expected. The flash of indecision, he had not. Interesting. Did she think to outrun him? Her incessant coughing through the night indicated her lungs couldn’t outpace a tortoise. Even if she managed to flee, to what end would it serve? She had no money. He had her traveling bag. She was well and truly over a barrel.

  She jerked her wrist from his grip and marched up the plank with her nose in the air.

  Insolent to the bitter end. Steele grinned. He liked that in a woman.

  “Fetch the surgeon,” he barked as he followed her up the plank and onto the deck. “Mrs. Halton hasn’t been feeling up to snuff as of late.”

  The boatswain jerked backward. “Bloody bleedin’ ’ell, Blackheart. You want us all to catch influenza, do you?”

  “It’s not influenza. We’ll be fine.”

  “Blackheart?” Mrs. Halton spun to face him with pale cheeks and fire in her eyes. “The most notorious pirate between here and England?”

  “The very one.” He swaggered a bit, then tilted his face close to hers. “If you could just pen a letter to the American newspapers and insist they cease all this drivel about the Crimson Corsair being ever so slightly more infamous…” He caught her hand before she could slap him. “There’ll be time for that later, love. First, we’ve got to quarantine you.”

  She glared at him in silence.

  He gestured aft toward the stern. “There’s no mold or dust in the Captain’s quarters—”

  “No dust anywhere aboard the Dark Crystal,” one of the riggers called out.

  “—but I suspect it will take some time for your lungs to regain their full strength. So for now, you’re off to the Captain’s cabin.” He smiled. “My cabin.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m to spend the journey confined alone inside your cabin?”

  “I’ll visit you plenty, love,” he assured her, then whispered sotto voce, “This time, we’ll both make use of the bed.”

  She didn’t attempt to slap him. Instead, she blushed.

  Very interesting.

  “Why, good evening,” the boat surgeon said to Mrs. Halton as he emerged from the hatchway. “Are you a Jonah or a siren?”

  Mrs. Halton blinked. “Am I a what?”

  “The crew is a mite superstitious,” Steele murmured to Clara. “A ‘Jonah’ is a passenger with ill fortune whose presence endangers a ship. And a ‘siren’ is a temptress who enchants hapless sailors with her beauty and her voice.”

  “Sirens are Jonahs,” the boatswain put in as he clambered up the steps after the surgeon. “A
nd it’s already a Friday. Let’s not borrow more trouble by inviting a plague aboard with us.”

  “She hasn’t the plague,” Steele said in bored tones. “Or anything else contagious.”

  “You a captain and a surgeon?” the boatswain asked from a safe distance.

  “He’s right,” Mrs. Halton said softly. “If I’m not a risk, why must I be quarantined with you in your cabin?”

  “Fair point, Captain,” the rigger called down from an overhead spar. “Why the devil would a scaly fish like yourself wish to dock a lathy dell with kettledrums like those, eh?”

  The deckhands burst into laughter.

  Mrs. Halton stared up at him in confusion. It was probably for the best that she hadn’t understood the lewd compliment.

  “Enough jest, mates. This delicate lass is under our protection.” Steele reached up to rip his cravat from his throat, then paused. If he wanted his men to treat his captive as if they were gentlemen, he ought to set an example himself. He motioned to one of the swabs. “Have a tea tray brought to my cabin. See that Mrs. Halton doesn’t go hungry between here and London. To your positions. We leave immediately.”

  The swabs scurried off to spread the word.

  Steele strode aft toward the skylights. If he couldn’t enter his cabin during the surgeon’s examination, he certainly wished to be the first to hear any diagnosis. Particularly while there was still time to…to what? His jaw tightened. He was certain her squalid living environment was causing the bulk of her symptoms. Mostly certain.

  From the moment the postmaster had explained her situation—and the town’s indifference—Mrs. Halton had ceased being mere cargo. He would not leave her to die alone. He would not let her die at all. She would recover her health and her daughter.

  He would see to it.

  Chapter 5

  Pneumonia? Possible.

  Consumption? Unlikely.

  Steele willed himself not to betray the intensity of his relief at the surgeon’s pronouncement. Blackheart was always right. Blackheart never doubted.

  Even when gambling with human lives.

  He gave Mrs. Halton a self-satisfied grin. “Quarantined with me anyway, love. Captain’s orders.”

  The surgeon agreed that the most likely culprit for her condition was a combination of several factors. A common respiratory infection, compounded by breathing in dirty air and receiving very limited nutrition, was unlikely to disappear on its own. The surgeon cautioned that just because Mrs. Halton was out of a poisonous environment didn’t mean that she’d regain full lung capacity. There might not be any mold aboard the Dark Crystal, but nor were there plentiful supplies of fresh milk and good meat.

  Steele, being captain, had a private cook and therefore the best meals aboard the ship. However, the freshest items needed to be consumed quickest, and would not stretch for the entire journey. He only hoped they lasted long enough to put her on the path to recovery.

  After that, she wouldn’t be his concern, he reminded himself. His orders were to deliver the package to her parents’ home, where her daughter also resided, and then to collect his fee at the Bank of England.

  He wouldn’t be able to dally long—or even at all. Not only would his men be awaiting their cut of the bounty, there was also a certain Crimson Corsair to deal with. There was plenty of ocean for all the sea dogs, but Steele wasn’t ready to give up his position as number one. Not to someone who turned the peaceful waters into a bloodbath.

  Steele’s fingers clenched. Even pirates had to have principles.

  Most of his power came from the fear of his name. Blackheart. Other pirate ships would even raise a flag of surrender once they realized the crew of the Dark Crystal were preparing to board.

  If the Crimson Corsair was outpacing Blackheart’s notoriety… If other ship captains formed alliances with the Corsair that gave them an advantage… That alone would be hard enough to swallow. But that wasn’t all. If half the rumors about the Corsair were true, he was a lawless, conscienceless madman who deserved to be put down. While there was still someone left to do it.

  Blackheart’s enemies might fear him, but his crew thought of their captain as a leader and a brother. When he conquered other ships, he treated both crew and captain with respect. He might relieve them of their valuables, but there was no need to strip them of their dignity as well.

  So what did he intend to do about the Crimson Corsair?

  Steele tried to push the question out of his mind as he made his final rounds before bunking down for the night. Tomorrow he could think about the Corsair.

  Tonight, he would share his cabin with Mrs. Halton.

  Unlike the bed at the inn, his bunk had neither posts nor curtains. Likely for this reason, she was already in her nightrail when he entered the cabin. But she was nowhere near the bed.

  “There’s no room on the floor for either of us to sleep.” Her lashes fluttered nervously.

  He made no comment. He’d already told her where they would be sleeping. He locked the door and stripped off his coat and his cravat.

  “The bed is…narrow,” she ventured next.

  “That it is,” he replied evenly as he unbuttoned his waistcoat.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a different cabin you might lend me.”

  “Negative.” He whipped his linen shirt up over his head, then sat on the edge of a chair to work on his boots. “The rest of the crew sleeps in hammocks in the chamber beneath the bowsprit.”

  She waved a hand. “Or even…a different room…”

  He grunted as he tugged off the first boot. “I suppose you could sleep in the gunroom, or perhaps beneath the mess tables, if you truly wish. Might roll around a bit that close to the bow, of course.” His second Hessian came free and he shrugged. “Up to you.”

  “Could you please return my pistol?”

  “No.” He tried to keep the amusement from his voice. If she was this feisty while ill, she would be a delight if she regained her health. When she regained her health. Now clad only in his breeches, Steele stretched out on the bunk and took the position closest to the wall. He patted the mattress. “This side’s yours, love.”

  He didn’t need the glow of the moon through the skylight overhead to know that consternation warred with indecision upon Mrs. Halton’s pretty face. He could hear her teeth grinding from across the cabin. He would have to set her at ease.

  He laced his fingers behind his head and tilted his face toward the skylight. “North Star’s bright tonight. Know how to find it?”

  After a lengthy pause came a small, defiant, “Yes.”

  Followed by footsteps. And the soft creak of the bunk as Mrs. Halton joined him on the mattress.

  Good. Resigning herself to him was the first step to trusting him. His muscles relaxed. She was smart enough to realize that they might as well make friends for the length of the journey.

  “There.” She pointed up toward a corner of the skylight, her eyes sparkling. “I can see half of Ursa Major.”

  “That was quick.” He arched a brow, impressed. Familiarity with Ursa Major was as surprising as the ability to locate it in the sky.

  She gave him a lopsided grin, then turned her gaze back up to the stars. “My father loved the constellations. When I was very young, I still hoped I could impress him.”

  Steele frowned and propped himself up on an elbow to face her. “You don’t think your parents were proud of you?”

  At first, she did not respond. When she spoke at last, her voice was empty. “My parents are very proud. Just not of me. We haven’t spoken for decades.”

  And yet they’d written to her. Steele held his tongue. Her secrets were hers to keep.

  “If you’re thinking of the letter, ’twas the first in twenty-two years.” She gave him a wry look. “Its appearance surprised me more than your arrival did.”

  He affected a rakish pose. “You were expecting a delightfully charming pirate to abduct you from your sickbed?”

  “I thought m
y illness was causing hallucinations. Horrid ones,” she countered. “But even at my most delusional, I never hoped my parents would forgive me.”

  For what? was at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the question. He wouldn’t wish to have to defend the mistakes in his past. The last thing he’d do was press someone else to defend theirs.

  He told himself he was keeping a close watch over her to prevent her from tumbling off the bunk, should they hit stormy waters. Not because her words haunted him.

  Other than to care for her safety, he wouldn’t so much as touch her, much less befriend her. The Earl of Carlisle’s orders had been clear: the package was to be delivered unopened and unharmed. Simple. Easy.

  As long as he didn’t dive in over his head.

  Chapter 6

  Less than a fortnight later, Clara climbed to the main deck where the breaking dawn sent shimmers of color dancing across the blue of the sea. Her breath caught at the beauty. She clutched the handrail and gazed in wonder at the endlessness of the ocean and the welcome warmth of the sun. After her week of quarantine had ended, she’d greeted every single day with the same awe and delight.

  She was alive.

  Not just physically, although her health had also been improving on a daily basis. It was more than that. It was the constant breeze in her hair, the taste of salt upon her tongue, the rustle of sails as the wind changed course, the raucous flurry of sailors swabbing decks and swilling grog.

  She grinned. She was an honored guest aboard a pirate ship.

  The men were coarse but amiable, cuffing the backs of each other’s heads and tossing merry insults about in completely incomprehensible sailors’ cant. They treated each other like family, and they treated Clara like…well, the boatswain had at least stopped muttering Jonah under his breath every time she walked past. He now called her siren—with the same level of cheek and suspicion.

  She tilted her face into the sunrise and laughed. They weren’t sparing her the slightest quarter. She felt like family, too.