There was no mistaking which ship belonged to the feared privateer One-Eyed Standish. Batavia’s Ghost was not only the largest ship at anchor, she was also the most exotic and dangerous looking—just like her owner.
When they boarded the Batavia’s Ghost, her crew stood in a long row along the railing, as if for inspection. Daphne realized she was about to be introduced to sixty of the most intimidating men she’d ever met.
The boys walked slowly down the line and shook the hand—or hook, in one memorable instance—of each sailor, almost paralyzed with joy to be meeting the most famous band of privateers in the world.
Daphne nodded and smiled, entranced at the number of missing eyes, ears, and other body parts. But it was the last man in line who made the biggest impression, mainly because he was just that: the biggest. He was even taller than Hugh and probably weighed more than three men. His long, glossy black hair was pulled back into a knot held with a beaded leather clasp. He wore a heavy silver ring in his nose, silver cuffs on his wrists, and a wide band of the same metal around a bicep the diameter of the boys’ waists. The only garment on his upper body was a vest made of some type of fur, the animal’s head still attached. He wore fringed buckskin trousers and his enormous feet were encased in leather slippers.
“This is Two Canoes,” Hugh said. “He was named thus because even as a child he was of prodigious size and needed two canoes to transport him.”
Daphne smiled at the gargantuan man, who pointedly turned away, an expression of withering disdain on his hawklike features.
Hugh took her arm and leaned close as he led her toward his cabin, leaving Rowena to guide the boys.
“You must remember that Two Canoes, like most of my men—” He paused and then corrected, “Well, with the exception of Martín, perhaps—has spent very little time, er, socializing with women.”
Daphne gave him a skeptical look. They were sailors—wasn’t that what sailors did? Womanize?
Hugh shook his head, as if she had spoken out loud. “Every one of these men has, at one time in his life, been a slave—some of them were even born into slavery. Two Canoes was taken from his village in America by English sailors when barely more than a lad and then captured by corsairs not long after that.”
A wave of shame washed away her suspicion. “Oh. I am sorry, I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” He continued without waiting for an answer. “In any case, I am sure Two Canoes does not intend any insult. Among his people, women and men occupy quite different and separate spheres. Theirs is a society with sophisticated rules regarding hierarchy and rigid roles for each sex.” Daphne swore there was a hint of approval in his voice. “Even their meals are eaten apart and their courtship and mating rituals are very different from English customs.”
Words like sex and mating conjured unwanted images in Daphne’s mind, ensuring that her face was the color of a poppy by the time they went from the dim light of the corridor into the well-lighted captain’s quarters.
She risked a glance at Hugh and was greeted by another of his wicked smiles. He chuckled at whatever he saw on her face and her foot itched to kick him. Oh, the man was such a wretched tease!
“Why do I feel like Two Canoes is not the only man on this ship to hold such antiquated beliefs when it comes to the sexes?” She turned her back on his laughter.
Hugh showed the boys his luxurious cabin, a well-conceived space that held many fascinating objects—foremost of those being a very large bed covered with a rich dark green velvet counterpane and a multitude of cushions. Daphne tried not to imagine what the handsome pirate did in such a bed.
The boys were particularly curious about a shadowbox containing a variety of shark teeth.
“Those are large, but this one is in a class by itself.” Hugh showed them the single fob on his watch. The tooth was set in gold with a large ruby at the top.
“This is the tooth of a great white shark we encountered on a journey around the Cape of Good Hope. We’d hooked a rather large rockfish and its ascent attracted the great white. We finally brought the monster on board, and, believing it to be subdued, we approached too closely. I am lucky only to have lost this.” He pulled the glove from his left hand and held it up for their inspection. His nails were clean and impeccably manicured, but it was a hand that had seen its share of work. His third finger was missing and deep cuts extended into the fingers on either side. “When we opened the beast’s stomach we found a rather impressive ruby necklace. We took our trophies, had several excellent meals, and nursed our battle scars from the encounter.” He grinned down at the marveling twins. “So there, Cousins, is the story of the missing finger.”
“Did it hurt?” Lucien asked.
“Like the dickens.”
Richard shot Daphne a glance. “Is that how you lost your eye, too?”
Hugh chuckled. “No, the shark had to be satisfied with a finger. Now, shall we inspect the rest of the ship while your mother and Rowena rest here for a few moments? Two Canoes and Martín told me they would show you how to load a cannon.”
The prospect of roaming the ship without female oversight drove thoughts of Hugh’s missing eye from her sons’ minds and they began to pull him from the room.
“Please excuse us, ladies,” Hugh begged as the door closed behind them.
Rowena sniffed, her expression pinched. “What an unsavory-looking lot that was.”
“I believe sailors are often colorful men.” Daphne studied the small collection of books in the built-in bookshelf.
“Sailors?” Rowena snorted. “Pirates is more like.”
“Mmmm.” Daphne was not in the mood to argue. Hugh had books by Swift, Pope, Defoe, Smollett, and Paine. There were also a few Daphne had heard of, but not read. And there was one title, Fanny Hill, by John Cleland which was new to her. She took the volume from the shelf, opened it at random and read a few sentences. And then she reread the passage and slammed the book shut. Good Lord! Blood thudded in her ears and she swallowed, staring down at the book as if it were a dangerous animal. She foolishly glanced around; there was only Rowena, and she was busy with her eternal mending. Daphne opened the book again, this time to a different page. She didn’t have to read very many words before she closed it again, clasping it tightly to her chest, as if it might somehow get away. Thomas’s library contained thousands of books; it was one of the most respected libraries in the south of England. But it contained nothing like this. Nothing.
Daphne stared down at the book’s innocuous calfskin binding, her mind churning. She wanted it. Badly. She could not recall a time she’d experienced such gut-wrenching covetousness. Her hands seemed to assume minds of their own and, before she knew it, she’d opened her reticule and tucked the slim volume inside. There! Yet another thing she had stolen from Hugh Redvers.
She ignored the hot guilt rolling through her body and looked at the shelf; the gap between books was conspicuous, so she grabbed another volume to make the single gap less glaring and dropped into a chair.
Rowena looked up from her needlework and squinted. “Is aught amiss, my lady?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your cheeks have become quite red.”
“A trifle warm.” Daphne fanned herself with the book, her mind on the volume in her reticule. She had just stolen something, a book—a thing she valued above all other possessions. She stared at the door to the cabin, her heart still pounding. There was time to put it back. She reached for her reticule, but then stopped. Even from her brief look she could see the book contained valuable information. When had she ever rejected an opportunity to learn? And just a quick glimpse had been most enlightening. Not to mention . . . disturbing. Perhaps this book could help her understand some things. Things she could ask no one else—things a woman her age would know if she’d had a real marriage. Besides, she wasn’t stealing it so much as borrowing it without Hugh’s permission.
She imagined his expression if she were to ask to borrow it and shu
ddered; he would tease her to madness.
A searing flare of anger blazed in her chest; she was a widow—a mother of two and a woman of twenty-eight, and yet she was utterly ignorant and inexperienced when it came to sexual relations. It was ridiculous. She opened the book still in her hands—something of Pope’s, she noted absently—too agitated to read it.
Really, it was insupportable! How was she supposed to live with these tumultuous feelings he caused inside her on an hourly basis? How was she supposed to tend to her children, manage a vast estate, and pursue her philosophical work if she could think of nothing but . . . him?
Daphne didn’t fool herself that reading this stolen book would solve any problems. Likely it would just cause more. No, the only solution to Hugh Redvers was to get away from him, or for him to leave. But she could not eject him from his own house. She would have to be the one to leave.
She was staring blindly at the book in her hands when the thought popped into her head: Why not go to London? She had planned to go after her mourning ended. The boys required a full-time tutor and she needed . . . well, she couldn’t think of what she needed just now, but she was sure she must need something.
Yes, London. She would get away from Hugh’s distracting presence just long enough to decide how to go about confessing the truth to him—to get her ducks in a row for the day when she must take her sons and leave.
Daphne sagged with relief at having made a decision—any decision. She was about to reshelf the Pope book when the door opened. Hugh stopped near the bookshelf and bent to pick up yet another book, one she must have knocked to the floor in her frenzy.
He held it up. “Did you want this, my lady?”
“It must have fallen when I pulled out this one.” Daphne shoved the Pope volume at him and he re-shelved both books. The vacancy on the shelf seemed to glow more brightly than a beacon, but Hugh did not appear to notice.
“Lucien and Richard have inspected my ship to their satisfaction and are starving, having not eaten for almost three hours. If it is all right with you, my lady, Kemal will escort you to the Pig and Whistle while I exchange a few words with my first mate, Mr. Delacroix.”
Daphne was ridiculously relieved to leave Hugh’s cabin, where all she could think about was the book she’d stolen and what Hugh did in the large bed that took up half the room.
* * *
Hugh watched as Kemal led Daphne and the children toward the old inn. She had certainly seemed flustered about something. He pushed the thought aside and turned to the grizzled Frenchman, the only other man still alive to have escaped Babba Hassan’s prison.
“We’ll be ready to leave on the next tide, Captain. Or should I call you ‘my lord’ or is it ‘Your Grace’?” Delacroix’s weather-beaten face was as unreadable as ever but his dark eyes glinted with amusement.
Hugh scowled. No doubt his crew was greatly entertained to learn their captain was actually an English aristocrat. “Very droll. You know who you will be collecting, my friend, and I beg you to be very cautious. She is not without enemies, as you are well aware.”
“Aye, Captain,” Delacroix said with no change of expression to indicate his true feelings on the matter, which were, most likely, that Hugh was an insane man to risk his ship for one of Sultan Babba Hassan’s wives.
“Do not risk your lives. No heroics—do you understand?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“I am sorry to send you off after so little shore leave.”
Delacroix shrugged. “It is better that the crew—myself included—do not linger in this sleepy English town. There are no whores, no decent wine or food, and no amusing entertainments. The citizenry is hostile and too many days spent here would result in one of us doing something foolish and ending up dangling from a gibbet.”
“I daresay you are correct.” Hugh knew there was no point reminding Delacroix of the danger involved in venturing so close to Oran. They’d been together since both of them were breaking boulders on the outskirts of the sultan’s palace, each believing that was how they’d end their days. Instead he said, “I want you to take Martín with you. God knows I don’t need him running amok here.”
Delacroix gave him a lazy smile. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”
Hugh did not doubt that for a minute. Delacroix was one of the few men able to control the young, arrogant New Orleanian.
Hugh extended his hand and Delacroix grasped his forearm. “Until you return, my friend.”
“Aye, Captain.” Delacroix smiled sardonically up at his captain before shooting a meaningful glance toward the Pig and Whistle. “I wish you fair winds and calm waters, Captain.” His knowing look gave Hugh a moment of surprised embarrassment.
“You rogue,” Hugh said, chuckling as he turned away. He could only hope Delacroix recognized the signs of Hugh’s obsession because the two men knew each other so well. He hated to think his interest in Daphne was so obvious to everyone around him.
* * *
Daphne had just finished ordering tea when Hugh entered the private parlor at the Pig and Whistle. He took a seat across from her, a boy on each side, and submitted with patience to their relentless grilling: Where was the Batavia’s Ghost bound? When was it leaving? What was it doing?
He responded to their questions, but Daphne couldn’t help thinking some of his answers were rather vague.
When there was a lull in the conversation, Daphne saw her chance.
“I, too, have a trip in mind—although not as exotic as Mr. Delacroix’s. I’ve decided it is past time we went to London.”
“London?” Lucien and Richard exclaimed together.
“London?” Hugh echoed, sounding remarkably like his putative cousins.
“But, Mama, why are we leaving just when Cousin Hugh has come home?”
Hugh’s honey-blond brows arched like silent echoes of Lucien’s question, and Daphne had the urge to throttle her eldest son.
“Cannot Cousin Hugh come with us, Mama?” Richard asked.
Daphne stared at her usually reticent son, a boy who often went entire days without speaking, until Daphne had to tease information out of him, just to make sure his voice still worked.
“Lord Ramsay likely has many important matters to see to now that he’s come back from—” She paused, but he just looked at her, expectant. “Well, now that he is back.”
The boys appeared to be struggling to absorb this new development and Daphne couldn’t blame them. She sounded like a dunce.
Only Hugh wore his customary smile, as if he knew she was trying to run and hide.
“It just so happens I had an idea to visit London myself, Richard. I’m sure we will see each other in town,” Hugh added, his words easing their crestfallen expressions even though both boys still stared at her.
“We shan’t leave for London immediately.” Nobody spoke and Daphne sighed, defeated. “Certainly not before the end of the month.”
The twins looked relieved, but Hugh’s smile grew larger, as if he couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say next.
Naturally she didn’t want to disappoint.
“Now that you’ve returned to England, perhaps you might take some interest in your uncle’s estates.” Daphne bit her tongue; she’d meant to introduce the subject in a subtle fashion, not hurl it at his head like a brick. The room was silent but for the muted voices of inn customers in the adjacent taproom. She glanced around the table: Rowena scowled, the boys tilted their heads, and Hugh cocked an eyebrow.
“It would allow me to spend more time on my studies,” she explained.
Hugh’s second eyebrow joined the first.
“It is not only Lessing Hall I must see to, but all the other properties. All five of them.” Must she sound so desperate? “Randall is an excellent steward but he is stretched rather thin. He has already requested some assistance. Naturally I would spend time familiarizing you with Lessing Hall’s operations. It would be a great help,” she repeated when he appeared to have gone mute. “Pa
rticularly if I decide to spend some of the year in London. Or elsewhere.” She clamped her jaws tightly together to stop the flow of blather.
A crease had formed between his eyes and his expression was very different from his usual teasing look. “I am your servant, ma’am.”
Daphne shut her mouth and vowed to keep it shut for at least the rest of the afternoon. First she’d made plans to get away from the distracting man, and then she’d offered to spend more time with him showing him the workings of the estate.
Who knew what she’d say if she kept talking?
Chapter Seven
Hugh’s presence was not as disruptive as Daphne had initially feared. She spent part of each morning with Hugh and Randall—her overworked steward—who was overjoyed at the prospect of some assistance. The unseasonably warm spring weather disappeared as suddenly as it had come, keeping the three of them inside and studying the daunting bookwork for the properties while they waited for a break in the wretched weather to inspect the estate.
Randall’s presence kept Hugh from being a dreadful tease—for the most part—and also prevented Daphne from behaving like a besotted fool. For the most part.
Their afternoons were spent separately, Hugh managing his business—which seemed to involve a great deal of correspondence—and Daphne working on her most recent paper and taking care of the usual household tasks.
The evenings still presented something of a danger in terms of spending too much time with him, but Lady Amelia had suddenly decided to put in an appearance every evening, and Hugh did not again request Daphne’s presence in the music room.
They saw each other so infrequently that Daphne almost wondered if he was avoiding her just as much as she was him.
As a result, the days fell into a comfortable pattern, until the third week after Hugh’s arrival, when blue sky began peeking through the clouds, heralding a change in more than just the weather.
It was noon and Daphne was in the smallest sitting room, where she’d come to work on her paper. Instead of drafting her conclusion, however, she was rereading The Critique of Pure Reason. The beautiful logic in the book was a balm to her fevered brain and she was deep in thought when something disturbed her and she looked up to find Hugh leaning against the door.
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